Chapter 15

Fifteen

A CALL FROM LINDSEY BARNES.

Jack's mouth bowed.

That was a midweek treat, even if he still had no idea what to say to her about his culpability in Clair's death.

He detoured into the empty headquarters break room, put the cell to his ear, and greeted her.

"Good morning, Detective. Do you have a minute?"

"Yes. How can I help you today?"

"I have some ... pass ... may be ... the case."

He squinted at a scuff mark on the wall. "Sorry. You're breaking up. Can you say that again?"

"... range, so ... unreliable reception ... different area."

"I'm missing most of what you're saying." But if it was related to the Robertson case, he needed to hear it.

"Why don't ... text, or I could ... afternoon? I'm on ... client's house."

Jack blew out a breath.

So much for the wonders of technology.

"If this is about the Robertson case, I'd rather not wait." Because at the moment, they were dead in the water with that investigation. "Are you in your car?"

"Yes, but ... spotty ... towers."

"Where are you?"

It took three tries, but he finally managed to decipher her location. Naturally, it was one of the worst areas in the city for cell coverage.

But she wasn't far from the Windsor Tea Room, and if she hadn't been there before, she might enjoy stopping in while she shared whatever she had to tell him.

"If you can spare a few minutes, I could meet you to discuss this."

"... shopping early, so ... give you half ..."

"That works." Whatever she'd said, he'd make it work. "You're close to a spot that has quiet corners for conversation." He gave her the name and address. "Did you get that?"

"Yes."

"I can be there in twenty minutes."

"Okay ... you then."

Jack pocketed the phone and pulled out his keys. While he'd keep his fingers crossed that whatever information she had was helpful, he'd also find a way to bring up Clair during their discussion. It would be disingenuous to pretend he hadn't seen the photo and put two and two together. Now that he understood the rationale for Lindsey's antipathy, he had to try and clear the air.

Keys in hand, he swung around to find Cate watching him.

"Morning." She lifted her Starbucks cup in salute and took a sip.

"Morning."

"Where's my chocolate mint square?"

Oh yeah. He'd promised to bring her a piece of the dessert he'd planned to bake on Sunday.

"I didn't get around to making it. Duty called."

"I heard about the lake caper."

The office grapevine was alive and well.

"That, plus a lead on the Robertson case."

"I heard about that too. Anything surface to corroborate the lake story?"

"No."

"Strange situation. Like the car incident."

"Yeah." If she was expecting him to say more, or speculate about Lindsey's reliability, she was out of luck.

"So you're off to a tearoom, huh?"

Oh, man. He'd never hear the end of this.

"They happen to have excellent food."

"I know. I've been there. I'm surprised you have."

"One of my sisters wanted to go to afternoon tea for her birthday." Otherwise he'd never have ventured inside. But they'd had heartier fare in the display cases up front, which had been more his style than the bite-sized delicacies he'd shared with his sisters. And there'd been a few guys in that section of the shop.

"Ah. Mystery solved." She took another sip of her java. "Your star witness ought to appreciate the traditional British tea fare, given her profession."

How much of their conversation had she overheard?

"We're not going to tea. She's in that neighborhood, and she has more information to pass on. It was a convenient meeting place."

"She couldn't share this information by phone?"

"Bad connection."

"Uh-huh."

He jingled his keys. "If what she's got is about the Robertson case, I'm not waiting until she has better cell service to find out."

"I agree we could use a break on that one. And I hope this rendezvous has a more definitive outcome than the lake situation. Of course, if nothing else you'll be able to enjoy a treat."

"True. They have great scones. Or I may get something heartier and call it lunch."

Cate's lips twitched. "I wasn't referring to food."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He planted his fists on his hips and gave her his most intimidating interrogator glower.

It had zero impact. "You're the detective. Figure it out."

"You know what? You're as bad as my sisters."

"I've met your sisters. I'll take that as a compliment. Good luck today—on all fronts." She lifted her coffee again and sauntered out of the break room.

He mashed his lips together as she disappeared into the hall.

Insinuations about his interest in Lindsey were getting old. From Cate and Bri.

But he ought to let them roll off his back. Until the Robertson case concluded, his dealings with Lindsey would remain professional—except for whatever explanation he was going to give her about Clair.

A subject that deserved his full and undivided attention during the drive downtown.

Unfortunately, he was no closer to figuring out a game plan twenty minutes later as he pulled up on the side street beside the tearoom and parallel parked behind Lindsey's Focus.

He'd have to wing it and hope for a burst of eloquence when an opening came up to broach the subject.

Inside the door he paused to scan the shop.

Lindsey had claimed a table for two in the corner of the front window, and at this late-morning hour they had the dining area almost to themselves. The only other customer was seated much closer to the display counter, giving them privacy.

Ideal for the conversation they were about to have.

Lindsey raised a hand in greeting, and he moved across the room to join her.

"Have you been here long?" He stopped beside the table.

"About ten minutes. I ordered a pot of the house blend. I hope that's okay."

"Fine. What can I get you to eat?"

"I have a piece of shortbread coming. All of their sweets are excellent, but if you're in the mood for more substantial food, I can recommend the Cornish pasty or sausage roll. The scones are delicious too."

"You sound like a regular customer."

"I wouldn't go that far, but I have a couple of clients in this area, and if I have a few minutes to spare, I like to stop in for a cup of tea. It's calming on a hectic day."

"Let me put in an order and I'll be right back."

"Don't rush on my account. My shopping today went faster than expected, and the groceries are fine in the cold car."

Despite her reassurance, he placed a quick order for a Cornish pasty and returned just as a server delivered their tea and Lindsey's shortbread.

"Go ahead and eat." He motioned to her snack. "They said it would take a few minutes to warm mine up."

"I can wait." She hefted the teapot and set about filling their cups, shooting him a quick glance. "I don't think what I have to say warranted a trip downtown for you."

"It was hard to tell from the broken conversation, and any lead at this point is worth whatever effort it takes to get."

She set the pot down. "Should I assume there hasn't been much progress with the case?"

"It's still high on our radar, and we're investigating a few persons of interest, but there have only been a handful of significant developments."

"I doubt my new piece of information will fall into that category." She sipped her tea. "I understand from Chad's wife that he may be one of your more serious persons of interest."

He picked up his cup. "What did she tell you?"

"About the earring wedged in the running board of his truck and the bracelet he supposedly gave his homeless friend to pawn. She's very upset."

"Justifiably so. That's compelling evidence."

"Also circumstantial—and convenient."

"Did she say that?"

"No. That's my take. Don't you think the notion that someone could be trying to set Chad up is credible?"

"I haven't ruled anything out." Truth be told, the evidence implicating Chad Allen didn't quite ring true, as Cate had noted the day of the murder.

"I'm glad you're keeping an open mind. I can't see Chad being involved in robbery, let alone murder."

"But someone out there is, and it's my job to find them. Why don't you tell me your new information?"

She broke off a bite of shortbread but didn't eat it. "I remembered something else about the killer."

His pulse kicked up a notch.

That was the best news he'd had all week.

"Tell me about it."

He listened as she described her experience in the parking lot last night, and the memory it had prodded loose.

"Here's the thing." Her brow puckered as she pressed a finger against a crumb from the broken piece of shortbread. "I was half-blinded from the sun. I think I saw what I described to you, and I think the mark on the arm was a pattern rather than random markings. Like a tattoo. But all I had was a fast glimpse. It's possible my eyes were playing tricks on me."

He tapped a finger against the tabletop. "I can see how it could be hard to determine whether the markings were a pattern with only a quick look, but are you also suggesting there may have been no markings at all?"

"I don't know what I'm suggesting." She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "With all the confusing experiences I've had lately, I feel shell-shocked. I was going to wait to tell you about this until I was sure, but I hated seeing Dara so upset last night. I decided to share it with you on the off chance it would help identify the culprit and take some of the pressure off Dara and Chad."

The server delivered his food, buying him a few seconds to digest Lindsey's news.

If the killer did, in fact, have a tattoo, Lindsey's information could be very helpful. If what she'd spotted wasn't a tattoo, less so. Assuming she'd seen anything at all.

"You're wondering if what I've told you has any basis in reality, aren't you?" She popped a piece of the shortbread into her mouth, her posture taut.

Whatever other deficiencies she may have, her ability to read people was top-notch.

"I'm weighing the probabilities."

She offered him the facsimile of a smile. "That's a tactful way to put it. Do they teach diplomacy in detective school along with interrogation skills?"

"No. But according to my sisters, I would have benefitted from a class or two on that subject."

As that admission spilled out, he frowned.

Why on earth had he mentioned his family? It had no relevance to the topic at hand.

Whatever his motivation, the information seemed to intrigue her.

"How many sisters do you have?"

"Two."

"Older or younger?"

"One of each. Bri's six months older, Cara's six months younger."

Lindsey's forehead knotted. "I'm having trouble with that math."

Oh yeah. Anyone who didn't know his background would be confused.

"We're foster siblings. Our foster parents took us in after we were pulled from bad situations. They ended up adopting us." And that was all he was going to say on the subject. He'd already told her more than he told most people. "Let me ask you a few questions about what you saw on the killer's arm."

She hesitated, as if she wanted to delve deeper into his personal history, but in the end took his cue. "Okay."

"Which arm was it on?" After pulling out his notebook and pen, he bit into his pasty.

"The right."

"How big was it?"

"I don't know. It started about three inches above the wrist and disappeared into the coat."

"What color was it?"

"Dark blue or black."

"Any other colors?"

"Not that I could see."

"Can you give me any idea about the shape? Focus on the outline."

Her eyelids fluttered closed, as if she was trying to visualize the mark, but at last she shook her head. "I can't call up any detail. I do have an appointment with my psychologist later this afternoon, though. Do you want me to see if he has any techniques that could help me remember more—or determine if what I saw was even real?"

"It couldn't hurt." He closed his notebook and continued to eat while he processed all Lindsey had told him.

If what she'd seen was real, and if the killer did have a tattoo, this could be a huge break.

But those were two big ifs, especially in light of her bizarre experiences last week.

Maybe her psychologist would be able to dig out a few details that were buried in her psyche, however.

"Would you like to talk to Dr. Oliver?"

At her quiet question, he cocked his head. "Why?"

"He can give you his read on my mental stability."

"I never said I doubted it."

"You didn't have to." She finished the last of her shortbread, brushed the crumbs off her fingers, and reached for the purse she'd slung over the back of her chair. "In your shoes, I'd have plenty of doubts too."

When she rose, he tossed his napkin onto the table and stood. He'd vowed to tell her about Clair before this meeting ended, and if he didn't speak up fast, she'd be out the door.

"Can you give me ten more minutes?"

She remained by the table. "Aren't we done?"

"With business."

Her fingers flexed on the strap of her purse, her expression wary. "What does that mean?"

He took a steadying breath, trying to dispel a sudden case of nerves.

He could use her Dr. Oliver about now. The man was no doubt excellent at mediating true confession sessions and calming stormy waters.

"I've been wondering since the day we met why you've given me the cold shoulder. I think I figured it out Sunday." He fisted his hands at his sides and braced. "I saw the photo of you and Clair on your refrigerator door. She never told me your last name, or I'd have made the connection sooner."

Lindsey inhaled sharply, her features slackening as comprehension dawned. "I should have realized you'd seen that."

"I'd like to talk to you about her."

The sudden shimmer in her irises ate at his gut. "Did you know we were best friends?"

"Yes. I also understand why you'd blame me for what hap pened to her. If it's any consolation, I blame myself too. And nothing I've done for the past three years has helped ease that guilt. All I'm asking you to do today is listen. You don't have to say anything."

The sudden faint indentations on her brow telegraphed her indecision.

If she bolted, he'd let her go and hope that once the shock wore off, she'd reconsider and be more receptive when he broached the subject again.

With every second that ticked by, his hopes diminished. She wasn't ready to—

"Ten minutes." She retook her seat.

Shifting gears, he sat again too and plunged in. "I assume Clair told you about me?"

"Yes." Her features hardened. "In case you didn't know it, she was falling in love with you."

The pasty he'd eaten congealed in his gut. "I began to suspect that in hindsight, but we only dated for four months."

"It doesn't always take long to know when you meet the right person."

"Is that personal experience speaking?" The question was out before he could stop it.

Interestingly, she didn't take offense.

"No. That's what I've observed."

"Is that how it was with your parents?"

She stiffened. "You want to waste your ten minutes talking about my parents?"

Huh.

She was fine with a question about her love life, but she didn't want to talk about her parents.

There was a story there. And not a happy one, if he was reading her body language correctly.

But that was a subject for another day.

"Sorry. I'll stay on topic. Clair was a lovely person, and I enjoyed our dates, but it wouldn't have worked between us long term. We were too different."

"If you knew that, why did you encourage her to go whitewater rafting? Surely you knew after months of dating that those kinds of activities weren't her thing."

"Yeah, I did. And I wish I had a good answer to your question." He raked his fingers through his hair. "By that point, I was beginning to wonder if we had enough in common to sustain a relationship. But I liked Clair a lot. I guess I hoped that if she was exposed to more adventurous activities, she might enjoy them. That if we could find more common interests, there might be a future for us. But in hindsight I realize that was a mistake. When I talked to her parents at the funeral, I took full blame for what happened. I would have told you that too, but in the crush of people at the service, we never connected."

A muscle beside Lindsey's eye twitched, and she turned toward the window that offered a view of the gray urban landscape on this cold day. "I wasn't there."

It took a few seconds for her hoarse comment to register. Once it did, he had no idea how to respond.

She turned back to him. "Did you know I was supposed to go to that dude ranch with her?"

He searched his memory. Came up blank. "She may have mentioned it in passing, but if she did, it didn't register."

"Well, I was. We'd signed up for it months before. I was excited about the horseback riding and hiking and learning how to fly fish. She was looking forward to reading by the infinity pool, the gourmet meals, and the spa."

"Why didn't you go?"

"I'd been saving up for an intensive five-week Le Cordon Bleu seminar in Paris. The session I wanted to take wasn't offered that often. Not long after Clair and I booked our trip, I found out the course was being held in a few months—and it overlapped with our trip. Clair encouraged me to go, said we could change our plans, but we would have lost a lot of money. So I talked her into going alone." Distress etched her features. "I shouldn't have bailed on her. If I'd been there, I would have tried to convince her to skip the rafting rather than push herself beyond her comfort level—or I'd have gone with her."

Jack exhaled.

It appeared he wasn't the only one with regrets.

Hers, however, were far less deserved than his.

"I think your guilt is misplaced. I'm the one who suggested she give whitewater rafting a try. And I'm guessing that if she cared about me as much as you say, she may have done it to please me."

"That's my take too. But me backing out of our trip was also a factor."

He swirled the dregs of his tea, a few fugitive leaves clinging to the side of the cup. "What-iffing and second-guessing doesn't change anything. But for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry I ever mentioned it to Clair."

"I'm sorry you did too. It's better to accept people as they are than try to change them."

The sudden hurt deep in her eyes suggested that comment wasn't just about Clair. That there was a personal component to it.

What was Lindsey's story?

Not a subject he could broach today, with the clock winding down on his allotted ten minutes.

"I agree. And for the record, that was out of pattern for me. If I had it to do again, I wouldn't encourage Clair to go rafting. I'm sorrier than I can say for the loss of your friend, and I understand why you'd hold that against me. But I hope at some point you can forgive me for my mistake."

She searched his face, then dipped her chin and pulled out her keys. "Thank you for sharing all that with me."

No offer of forgiveness—but that would have been too much to hope for while she was still digesting his confession.

"Since we may need to have more conversations, I thought it would be better to address the issue. Try to clear the air between us."

"I appreciate that." She stood, and he rose too. "I'll talk to Dr. Oliver and see what he thinks about the memory that surfaced. If I have anything worthwhile to report, I'll text you."

"Thanks. I'll walk you out."

"Don't bother."

"It's not a bother. My mom taught me to always escort a lady to her door—or her car."

The corners of Lindsey's lips rose a hair. "Clair said you were a gentleman."

"Mom would have been pleased to hear that."

She tipped her head. "Past tense?"

"She died a year ago."

"I'm sorry." Compassion softened her features.

"Thanks. Losing Dad was hard enough, but when your second parent dies ..." He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. "There's a finality to it, an emptiness, that's hard to deal with. Do you still have both your parents?"

"No. My dad died twelve years ago. No siblings, either. I was an only child."

"At least you have your mom."

"Yeah." She averted her gaze and walked toward the door, leaving him to follow—and wonder about that less-than-warm response. Must be issues there.

He reached beyond her to pull the door open, inhaling a sweet, spicy scent that fit this personal chef whose orbit had intersected with his.

As they parted at her car and he watched her drive away, that appealing aroma lingered in the air. Like thoughts of the intriguing woman who'd known too much trauma in her life and apparently had skeletons in her closet, just as he did.

Perhaps one day she'd tell him about them.

For now, though, he'd simply be grateful for her willingness to listen to what he'd had to say, and hope their paths crossed again soon.

But for reasons that didn't involve murders, missing cars, boating accidents—or danger of any kind.