Chapter 16
Sixteen
"GOOD MORNING."
At the greeting from behind her in the Robertson kitchen, Lindsey spun around, sending a handful of grated cheese spewing over the countertop and onto the floor.
Heidi stood in the doorway. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
Trying to rein in her galloping pulse, Lindsey gripped the edge of the granite behind her. "No worries. I was, uh, lost in thought."
Not a lie. She'd been replaying her session with Dr. Oliver yesterday and thinking about her tearoom exchange with the detective who was beginning to dominate her thoughts.
"I don't want to disturb you, but I was hungry for the first time in two weeks and decided to scramble an egg or eat some yogurt before I go to James's office." Heidi sniffed and pulled out a tissue. "To be honest, I was also lonely. The house feels so empty and quiet."
Lindsey's throat tightened. Her client might not have been the warmest person in the past, but tragedy could shake anyone's world, leave them feeling vulnerable—as she knew from personal experience. It wasn't difficult to empathize with someone going through that ordeal.
"Why don't I make you an omelet?"
"Won't that interrupt your cooking?"
"No. I'm at a stopping place. I can put everything on hold for ten minutes." She gathered up the grated cheese littering the floor and counter and tossed it in the trash as she responded.
"Well, if you're certain ..." Heidi slid onto a stool at the island. "Thank you. And I also appreciate your willingness to continue on as my personal chef. I know it has to be hard to come back here after ... after everything that's happened."
"I don't like to disappoint people, or renege on commitments." Lindsey crossed to the fridge and removed a carton of eggs, along with a container of mushrooms.
"Admirable traits. Ones that sometimes seem in short supply in today's world." Heidi rested her elbows on the granite countertop and linked her fingers. "At least the lead detective on James's case appears to be dedicated to his job. But I don't think the police are making much headway." She sighed.
"I wish I could have been more help." Lindsey sliced a few mushrooms and put a pat of butter in a small sauté pan.
"I'm sure you told them everything you know."
"Yes, but it wasn't much."
"Detective Tucker mentioned the shoe brand you noticed."
"As far as I know, that didn't lead anywhere. But I did remember one other thing." As she added the mushrooms to the sizzling butter, she described the mark she'd seen on the person's arm. The same information she intended to share with Dara later today when she called to check in with her. Hopefully that would help relieve her mind about Chad.
Heidi's forehead crimped. "That could be an important new detail. Have you told the detective?"
"Yes." She whipped up eggs, milk, and chives and poured the mixture into another pan.
"What did he say?"
"He listened, but I have no idea where it will go from there—if anywhere."
"Why wouldn't he follow up? He struck me as conscientious. I can't imagine him not investigating a lead like that."
"Unless I remember more about it, there's not much to investigate. Besides, I've had a couple of ... strange ... experiences over the past week that haven't helped my credibility." Enough about that. "Would you like a cup of coffee with your omelet?"
"I already have a cup. James kept a small coffeemaker in his office. He liked to have his caffeine close at hand." A tear brimmed on her lower lashes. "Sorry. I can't get used to the fact that he's g-gone."
"I can't begin to imagine how hard this must be for you." Lindsey continued to put the omelet together by rote, adding the mushrooms and folding the eggs over at the appropriate stage of doneness.
"It's like a nightmare that—" She stopped and withdrew her phone from the pocket of her slacks. Checked the screen. "Sorry. It's James's office. I have to take this." She stood.
"Shall I bring your omelet to the study when it's ready?"
"Yes. Thank you." She put the phone to her ear and greeted the caller in a businesslike tone.
Lindsey finished the omelet, walked it down the hall, and set it on the burnished desk in the study after Heidi motioned her in with a distracted wave, obviously more interested in the call than the food.
After exiting quietly, she retraced her steps to the kitchen and continued preparing the dishes Heidi had selected for this week's menu, her mind only half on the task.
Strange how life worked.
Like ... what were the odds that she'd have been in this kitchen at the very time the killer was here? Or that the detective assigned to the case would be the man who'd captured Clair's heart? Or that her hostility toward Jack Tucker would not only begin to soften, but morph into ... attraction?
And that's what it was, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
She sprinkled chopped garlic into the olive oil marinade for the salmon entrée, the pungent aroma swirling around her.
Truth be told, it was hard not to like a man who was willing to admit his mistakes. Who acknowledged culpability and felt guilty about errors in judgment. Who came across as dedicated and conscientious, as Heidi had noted. Who radiated integrity and honesty.
As she stirred the marinade, her comment to Dara on Tuesday about how everyone makes mistakes replayed in her mind. As did her suggestion that the younger woman put Chad's transgression aside and move forward. That it wasn't wise to let one error in judgment forever shape your image of someone.
Lindsey winced as she added a splash of lemon juice to the marinade.
If she believed what she'd told Dara, she'd give Jack a second chance. Accept that a person who made a bad judgment call wasn't necessarily a bad person.
Just as she wasn't a bad person, even if she'd put her selfish desires above her commitment to Clair and the trip they'd planned. A choice she'd regret for the rest of her life, as Jack had confided he'd regret his.
But dishing out advice was a lot easier than following it.
She set the salmon fillets in the marinade, put them in the refrigerator to steep, and moved to the next menu item on today's prep schedule.
Yet as she went through the motions, her mind remained on Jack.
She ought to report back to him about her session with Dr. Oliver—not that there was much to report. He hadn't been able to help her remember more about the mark she'd seen.
But while she had Jack on the phone, perhaps she could summon up the forgiveness he'd asked for. His remorse seemed real, and it would be hypocritical to offer Dara advice she wasn't willing to follow herself.
Yes, that would be the ethical and charitable course.
And she'd follow it.
As soon as she gathered up her courage—and corralled the butterflies that took flight in her stomach whenever an image of the tall, handsome detective flitted through her mind.
FILE FOLDER IN HAND, Eric stopped outside James Robertson's office, where the man's wife was waiting for him to discuss the pros and cons of the strip mall project.
Hopefully, he'd built a sufficient case to convince her it was a bad deal.
If he hadn't, reporting back to Nolan wasn't going to be fun.
Squeezing the folder, he knocked on the door.
"Come in."
He pushed through.
Heidi Robertson was seated behind James's desk, glasses perched on her nose as she read a document in front of her. She spared him no more than a quick glance, then waved him into the chair across the broad mahogany expanse. "I'll be with you in a minute."
He took the seat she'd indicated, waiting while she scribbled on a yellow legal pad beside her.
At last she looked up. "Sorry. I wanted to jot a few notes before I shifted gears."
"No problem."
"Let's talk about the strip mall opportunity." She pushed the folder in front of her aside and replaced it with another one. Flipped it open. "After our brief conversation in the hall on Tuesday, I gave these financials another review. I didn't see any red flags." She scanned the sheet he'd provided. Took off her glasses. "You mentioned liabilities. Tell me about them."
Heart hammering, he opened his own file. "Location, for one. Crime statistics in that area have been trending upward for the past few years."
She frowned. "I'm familiar with that part of town. It doesn't trigger any alarm bells."
"The numbers don't lie." Although data could be manipulated to support any position, if you knew how to frame it.
"You have reports to back that up?"
"Yes." He withdrew a sheet and passed it across the desk, keeping his features neutral. Unless she dug in deep, they appeared to paint a less-than-rosy picture.
She put her glasses back on, and for two eternal minutes, while sweat trickled down the side of his neck, she pored over the sheet he'd handed her.
Finally she set the paper on the desk and removed her glasses. "I'm not certain this is worrisome. There's been no increase in violent crime, just a bump in minor vandalism and shoplifting. From what I hear in the news, that's happening everywhere. Crime is rising, period. How do these statistics compare to trends in other areas of town?"
The moisture in his mouth evaporated.
She was much shrewder than anyone in the company had given her credit for. Almost a clone of her husband.
"I, uh, was more focused on running the numbers in the vicinity of the mall."
"Do the same for a few other similar areas and let me know what you find." She folded her hands on the desk. "Anything else?"
"Yes. The structure is overdue for cosmetic updates, and the systems are older." He extracted another sheet from his file and handed it to her. "I ran a few of the costs we could expect to incur over the next five years."
Once again, she settled her glasses on her nose and examined the paper. "Is this based on a physical inspection of the property?"
"Yes."
"Did my husband see this?"
"No. We hadn't yet had an opportunity to discuss it."
She perused the financial analysis sheet again, the creases on her brow deepening. "A steady increase in income stream may justify these kinds of expenditures. Are any of them urgent?"
"The infrastructure won't fall apart tomorrow if no investments are made, but the mall is showing definite signs of age and wear. Image matters for retailers that want to attract higher-end customers." He did his best to sound matter-of-fact rather than desperate.
"Hmm." She slipped both of the sheets he'd offered into her project file. "Let me think about this. Is that all?"
"There's one more factor to consider—the mix of properties we own. We're already heavy in retail. If we want to maintain a diversified portfolio, we should think about bumping up our holdings in one of the other sectors. We have a reasonable amount of industrial and multifamily residential, but we're light on office buildings." He handed her his last sheet.
"I would think that would be a benefit, given the work-from-home trend spurred by Covid." She gave the paper a cursory skim.
"If the trend continues. Many businesses prefer to have their people on-site."
"Except in tight labor markets, employees have a great deal of power. I'm not hearing many of them clamoring to fight rush hour traffic or spend unproductive hours every week commuting. James and I had talked about that." She cleared her throat, sniffing as she slid the last paper into the file. "I'll take everything you've said into consideration. Thank you for your work on this."
He was being dismissed, with no resolution to his dilemma and no clear indication of whether she shared her husband's rabid interest in adding that particular strip mall to the company portfolio.
"If I can be of any other help, let me know." He stood.
"I will." Her cell began to vibrate on the desk, and she checked the screen. "I have to take this. It's the detective handling James's case."
"I hope he has positive news."
"He may. There's been a development I want to discuss with him. Our chef has remembered a new detail. If you'll excuse me." She picked up her cell and gave him a pointed look.
He dipped his head and retreated, slowing his pace as he walked toward the door and cocking his ear in the direction of the desk. But her volume was too low for her words to be intelligible.
Nevertheless, this meeting had been bad news all around.
As far as he could tell, the arguments he'd put forth against the mall hadn't persuaded her. And the witness was remembering more and more.
He scratched his arm as he walked back to his office.
Nolan wasn't going to be happy about any of this.
Meaning it was very possible he'd have more unpleasant tasks to pass along to a certain CPA who was already in a very precarious position.
"THAT'S GREAT NEWS." Phone to ear, Dara sat at her kitchen table, relief coursing through her at Lindsey's news about the killer's tattoo. "That should get Chad off the hook."
"I hope so. I only got a quick peek, though. But the more I've thought about it, the more certain I am there was a mark of some kind on the person's arm. I'm going to tell that to the detective too. How are you doing otherwise?"
"Better since you and I talked on Tuesday. We do all make mistakes, and Chad is sorry now he didn't tell me about Pop. He's also being more open, even though that's hard for him."
"I'm glad to hear that. You'll be at class next week, right?"
"Yes." The back door opened, and Chad stepped through. Dara smiled and lifted a hand in greeting.
"I won't keep you. I'm sure you're in the midst of dinner prep. I'll see you Tuesday."
"Thanks for calling."
As she pressed the end button, Chad shrugged out of his heavy work coat. "Smells good in here."
"We're having beef stew." She crossed to him, and he wrapped her in his arms. "Ooh! Your fingers are cold!"
He tightened his grip. "You can help me warm them up later."
At the husky note in his voice, a little thrill zipped through her. "I think that could be arranged."
After a few moments, he released her to hang his coat on a hook by the door. "Who was on the phone?"
"Lindsey. She had news."
Chad listened as she told him about the mark or tattoo.
"What do the police think?"
"She didn't say, but it has to be a positive. I mean, you don't have a tattoo or a mark of any kind on your arm. This should clear you."
"I don't know, Dara." He rubbed his forehead. "They could still think I was involved. As an accomplice or something. Like a lookout while my partner robbed the place."
Her spirits deflated. "No one's mentioned anything about two people being involved. Why would you jump to that conclusion?"
"I know how cops think. They've connected me to the crime already with circumstantial stuff, so if I'm not the killer, they're still going to wonder if I'm linked to the crime."
Was that true—or was he overreacting?
"Maybe not, Chad. It's not like you have a record or have ever had any trouble with the police."
He pulled her close again, his grip fierce. As if he was holding on for dear life. "I like your optimism. I wish I had it."
"I have enough for both of us."
After a few seconds, he drew back and offered her a smile that seemed forced. "I'm ready for that stew."
"Coming right up."
She served their dinner, and though they focused on more pleasant topics during the meal, the underlying tension was almost palpable.
For if Chad's take on the situation was correct, they weren't out of the woods yet.