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“So you live in St. Louis?”
“Yes.”
They drove a few more miles. The silence in the SUV was oppressive. “In a house?” Lately she’d had houses on the brain.
He shook his head. “A thirty-year mortgage isn’t my style,” he said. “I’ve got a six-month lease on an apartment in the Central West End.”
“What happens after six months?”
He shrugged. “I sign another lease. Or I don’t.”
“How long have you lived there?”
“Five years.”
That was weird. He’d been on the job for thirteen years and lived in the same apartment for five years but he was still only interested in a six-month lease. Maybe that was how things were done in the Central West End.
She had no idea where that was but assumed it was likely sort of upscale, like Chase. He wore a nice watch, good leather shoes, had nice manners and he’d looked very comfortable in a tux.
“I’ve been saving for a house,” she admitted. “I love my apartment building and my neighbors but lately, I’ve been thinking that it’s time for me to get a house. But now...I’m not sure. Maybe the security of having neighbors close by is what I need.”
He took his eyes off the road in order to look at her again. “You’ve had a tough couple of months. Don’t make any big decisions right now. Sit back, consider, then act when you’re ready.”
Others had given her the same advice, although not in those exact words. She let out the breath she’d been holding. Maybe in Ravesville, she could do that. Just relax.
She felt the ever-present knot in her stomach release just a little. Now the quiet was no longer oppressive. It felt safe. Nice. She closed her eyes and didn’t open them again until she felt someone lightly shaking her shoulder.
“We’re here,” he said.
She was surprised to see that it was getting dark. She looked at the clock on the dash. Twenty minutes after six. Her stomach rumbled and she pressed the palm of her hand against it.
“I imagine you’re hungry,” he said.
She’d had toast for breakfast, nothing for lunch and a bite of cake that he’d popped into her mouth. “Yes,” she said, turning her neck slowly to get the kinks out. “So this is it?”
It was a wide street, lined with freshly painted perpendicular parking spaces. The buildings were mostly old, lots of red brick, nothing over three stories. There were a few flower boxes with brightly colored mums below the windows and some more pots scattered down the sidewalk. There was an empty bike rack at the end of the block.
He’d been right about the restaurant. The Wright Here, Wright Now Café had its lights on and there were a few cars parked in front of the two-story brick building. Other than that, the only other cars were three or four gathered together at the end of the next block. “What’s down there?” she asked, pointing. “Besides the edge of town?”
“A bar. Everything else closes up tight in the evenings.”
She’d grown up in Manhattan and moved to Miami when she was sixteen, after her mom got a new job as the general counsel for an insurance company. Her dad had been a writer and had worked from home. They’d been killed by a drunk driver four years later. She’d stayed in Florida, hadn’t really had anyplace else to go. While not Manhattan, Miami was still a large city where they didn’t roll up the streets at half past six.
“I hope the food is good,” she said, almost under her breath.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” he said. “But we need to eat. I’m not confident that there will be anything at the house.”
They got out of the car. When Chase crossed in front of the hood, she thought she saw just a hint of a limp. She hadn’t noticed it before. “Did you hurt your leg?” she asked.
He waved it off. “Stiff from driving,” he said.
“So how did your stepfather die?” she asked as they walked down the sidewalk toward the restaurant.
“Car accident.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Was it a big funeral?”
He didn’t answer. But he did hold the door open for her. She walked into the restaurant. It was brightly lit. There were three tables with customers. On the nine other available tables, there were tan paper placemats and silverware wrapped in white paper napkins.
A woman, maybe midthirties, with gorgeous long red hair to her waist pulled back into a low ponytail, walked through the swinging door at the rear of the restaurant. She carried plates in both hands. She gave them a quick smile, but when her gaze settled on Chase, it faded.
She set her plates down with a thud, startling the older couple at the table, who also turned to stare at the two of them.
“Damn you, Chase Hollister,” she said. “You just cost me ten bucks. I bet that you wouldn’t come back.”
Chapter Three (#ulink_1b839b65-6c82-56b6-a684-93b75d46368d)
She watched as Chase reached into his pocket, pulled out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to the woman. “Now we’re even.”
The woman threw her head back and laughed. “How’s your good-for-nothing brother?” she asked.
“Still thinks he’s the boss of me,” Chase said.
She laughed again. “Nobody was ever the boss of you, that’s for sure. People round here still talk about some of the stuff you pulled.”
Hmm... Was it possible that there was more to Detective Hollister than his professional attitude let on?
Chase turned toward her. “This is my wife, Raney,” he said smoothly, as if it were really true and he’d been introducing her for a long time as his wife. “Raney, this is Trish Wright.”
“Wright-Roper,” the woman corrected.
“Didn’t realize you were married,” Chase said.
“Widowed,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Chase apologized, sounding as if he meant it.
The pretty woman shrugged but Raney could tell that the pain was still there. But she lifted her chin and extended a hand in Raney’s direction.
There was a history between Chase and Trish but Raney couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Not lovers. But something. She shook the woman’s hand.
“Been to the old place yet?” Trish asked.
“Nope. Just got into town.”
“You’ll have your work cut out for you,” she said. “It’s gone downhill in the past few years.”
Chase shrugged as if the news didn’t bother him. But Raney saw him swallow hard. “Not planning on staying there long,” he said.
“Well, don’t be a stranger while you’re here,” she said. “I know Summer would like to see you. She works the day shift.” Trish grabbed two menus from the counter and led them to a table in the corner of the café. Raney noticed that Chase didn’t make eye contact with anyone else in the room.
They sat down. “Old friend?” Raney murmured, opening her menu.
He nodded. “I’ve known Trish since I was a kid. My older brother, Bray, dated Summer, Trish’s sister. I always thought they might get married someday but he enlisted in the marines right out of high school and she married some other guy.”
“How long since you’ve been in Ravesville?”
“I came back once, about eight years ago, when my mother died. Other than that, thirteen years,” he said. “What are you having for dinner?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.
So he hadn’t come for his stepfather’s funeral. That was why he hadn’t known whether it was big or small. But he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t care. She didn’t need his life story. She just needed a place to stay where she’d be safe. Someplace in the middle of Missouri was as good as any.
When Trish returned, pen in hand, Raney closed her menu. “I’ll take a salad with grilled...” She caught a glimpse of her reflection and almost jerked back in surprise. The change was almost too much to take in. If Sandy had been more forthcoming about the intended results, she’d have probably bolted from the chair.
But she was glad that she hadn’t. She liked the new look. Had never considered going blond but now she might never go back.
One thing she could thank Harry Malone for.
“Actually,” she said. “No salad. I’ll take a bacon cheeseburger. With fries.”
Chase ordered the meat loaf. Once Trish had walked away, he looked at her. “Salad just wasn’t going to cut it?” he asked, obviously trying to think of something to say.
She was going to shrug it off but then decided that if they were going to live together for the next month as husband and wife, she needed to be honest with him. “That would have been BHM. Before Harry Malone. Now I pretty much treat myself to whatever I want, when I want it.”
Come to think of it, maybe that was why she was digging the new haircut and look. It fit the new Raney Taylor. The Raney Taylor that she was molding.
He studied her, then spoke quietly but with conviction. “If it’s any consolidation, the son of a bitch is going to pay. He’s going to go to prison and, trust me on this, there will be somebody there that will make his life a living hell.”
She was counting on that.
When Trish delivered their food, it looked delicious. She picked up her burger, squished the bun so that it would fit in her mouth and took a bite. A bit of sauce leaked out and she licked her lips. And then swallowed too quickly when she realized that he was watching her.
“Ouch,” she said, pressing on her esophagus.
“Careful,” he said.
She always used to be. And look where it had gotten her. “So what did you do to earn your reputation as the town bad boy?” she asked.
He scratched his head. “A little of this, a lot of that.”
“And you became a cop to redeem yourself?”
“I became a cop because the St. Louis Police Department was hiring and I needed a way to support myself and my younger brother. Fortunately for me, it was a good fit. Maybe because of my troublemaking youth.”
She took another bite, smaller this time. “There wasn’t much you hadn’t seen or done.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Trust me on this. I might have made some people talk here in Ravesville but what I was doing was kid’s play in comparison to what I saw my first six months on the street.”
“So you were just naughty enough to cause your parents some angst.”
His very nice amber eyes clouded over. “Something like that.”
They ate in silence. Trish swung by and picked up their dirty plates and left a check. Chase pulled some bills out of his pocket and tossed them on the table.
“Ready?” he asked.
* * *
WHEN HIS WIFE nodded that she was good to go, he almost said, Hell no, let’s have some cheesecake. Anything to delay a trip back down memory lane.
But he wasn’t going to make it any better by putting it off. He led her back to the car and drove a mile and half farther on the highway before taking a right on Mahogany Lane. The road turned to gravel and he slowed his SUV. He passed the Fitzlers’ house and noticed that there were lights on. Was it possible that Old Man Fitzler and his wife still lived there? Or maybe they’d moved on to one of those assisted-living centers and one of their daughters had moved in.
Damn, he’d envied those girls.
He didn’t think Mr. Fitzler had ever even raised his voice, let alone his hand.
He slowed the vehicle even more and turned into the driveway. His lights picked up the details of the old house.
Over a hundred years old, the two-story white farmhouse looked sturdy enough. It had been the traditional four rooms down, kitchen, dining room, living room and bath, and four rooms up, three bedrooms and a bath, until sometime in the mid-1960s. The owner had pushed out the back wall and added to the downstairs, putting in another large bedroom and private bathroom. They’d done a nice job with the construction and the addition seemed to fit nicely with the rest of the house.
When Chase’s parents had looked at the home some ten years later, it had seemed perfect to the young couple who were anxious to have a family. Chase always figured that once three boys had come along, his mother had been eternally grateful that she could ship them upstairs.
There were a few changes, Chase noted dispassionately. Brick had added green shutters at some point in the past eight years. They hadn’t been there when Chase and his brothers had come home for his mother’s funeral.
The wide wraparound porch looked the same, down to the hammock that was strung in the corner. He’d slept in that more than a few times. Nights when it was warm and he chose to. Nights when it was cold and Brick had banished him from the house. Those were the nights when he’d wanted to keep walking, to wake up somewhere else, but he would not do that to his mother, to Cal.
The bushes near the foundation were wildly overgrown and as he pulled closer, he could see that the paint on the house was peeling and the front steps looked as if they were rotting away in places.
He chanced a glance at Raney. Her eyes were moving, taking it in.
She was probably getting ready to bolt from the car. “Hopefully, it’s better inside.”
She shrugged. “It’s got good bones,” she said. “I love the porch and all the big windows.”
Brick had pushed Calvin’s hand through one of those windows one winter night. That was when Chase and the man had come to a deal of sorts.
He turned off the car and killed the lights. It made him realize how dark the yard was. “Watch your step,” he said when she opened her door.
They each grabbed their own suitcase and picked their way across the patchy grass. When they reached the long sidewalk that led to the house, he stopped. Bray had sent him a text letting him know that the attorney was putting a key in the mailbox. Chase flipped down the rusted aluminum door and sure enough, it was there.
He led the way up the sidewalk and stairs and onto the porch. “Be careful,” he warned again. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, listened for a minute but didn’t hear anything. He reached his hand around to feel for the light switch and, he had to admit, felt better when light flooded the area.
To the right was the living room with a couch and two chairs that he didn’t recognize and to the left, the dining room with his mother’s big wooden table. He glanced down the hallway. In the back of the house, still in darkness, would be the big kitchen. It had a window over the sink and his mother had loved to stand there and watch the deer and the wild turkeys wander through the backyard.
At some point Brick had painted the dark brown woodwork white, but it must have been a poor grade of paint because it was peeling in multiple places. There were cracks in the plaster walls and multiple brown patches on the ceiling, suggesting that rain had leaked into the second floor all the way to the first floor. That wasn’t a good sign.
He flipped on additional lights as they walked. When they entered the kitchen, the first thing he saw was the open newspaper on the table, along with a half-drank cup of tea with the bag still in it. Out of habit, he felt the cup. It was stone cold.
There was a dirty plate in the sink. Brick had had eggs for his last meal.
