Chapter 10

Cooper grabbed his coat from the open closet in the break room and headed for the department's back door. He needed to get out from under Humph's watchful eye. The chief was a good guy, a solid investigator, and he had your back most times. He wasn't the political animal the last chief had been. In the short time Humph—Chief Duncan—had had the job, there'd been only one other time Cooper had disagreed with the man, and that time Cooper had let it go.

But this time . . . no.

"Haynes."

He was already pushing through the back door, ready to duck against the rain and hopefully dodge the flowing skin of water that was still spreading across the concrete lot even though the rain was taking a break.

He looked back. Verbena stood in the doorway. She said, "Chief wants to see you before you go."

Cooper held in his sigh of annoyance and headed back in. He texted Taft on the way. Will be late. Damn. He wasn't one who believed in inexplicable feelings or messages from beyond, even though his wife had experienced something very like that when her mother died, but he couldn't shake the powerful sense that time was of the essence on the Tim Knowles case. The feeling defied explanation. Tim's death was cut-and-dried and he should accept the outcome of the very obvious investigation and move on.

The chief sat at his desk, his hangdog gaze focused through his office windows at the rest of the squad room, which had thinned out appreciably by five thirty. Verbena was slinging the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder. She shot a look toward the glass office, but didn't meet Cooper's eyes.

"How was the service?" Humph turned his gaze back to Cooper. Like Verbena, he'd only been able to attend the funeral.

"Fine. Raining some."

"Tim's brother was in an accident last night."

"I know."

"Techs came back with white paint on the rear of that silver Mercedes. Someone pushed him off the road."

Cooper took that in. He hadn't heard.

"Public already is trying to make it out to be some kind of conspiracy. Two brothers, dead within a week."

Cooper's mouth was dry. "Gavin Knowles is dead?"

A pained expression came into his eyes. "He's still alive. I should've said two brothers attacked within a week."

But you think he's as good as dead. You didn't mean to, but you spoke the quiet part out loud.

"I want you to be the voice for us. Keep those conspiracy theorists from making it more than it is. Can you do that?"

"Yes." Cooper straightened under Humph's deep frown.

"Because I know you don't like the way Tim Knowles's death was decided. You think there's something more. Do you think the department is covering up?"

"No." Cooper was positive. "Dale Kingman killed Tim and was killed himself. It's on camera."

"But . . ."

Cooper wasn't certain who had told the chief of his reservations. Or maybe he hadn't been as careful as he'd thought in hiding his intentions. "I have a few questions about what led up to it. How it happened."

"Meaning?"

The chief's tone was neutral but Cooper sensed the pitfalls of answering directly. The department was chafing to put Tim Knowles's death to bed, and by all accounts, it should be. Even Cooper sometimes wondered at his own obsession.

"I'd just like to do some follow-up checking," he said.

"If you need a cold case, there are a lot of unsolved ones that could be looked at. Don't waste your time on a cut-and-dried homicide. I want you to make it a point to speak with the press and squelch all of the recent speculation that Knowles was shot from the ‘grassy knoll,' " he said in his gravelly voice, referring to conspiracies that still circled the Kennedy assassination. "Put that one to bed. For the department, and for yourself."

"Yes, sir," said Cooper, though he rarely was so formal with Humph.

Minutes later, he drove away from the station in his Explorer, punched in Taft's number, and put him on speaker.

"Change of plans," he said, as soon as Taft answered. "I'll tell what I've got over the phone, but I can't be seen with you." He then told Taft about the new directive he'd been given to quash the rumble of conspiracy theories that were rising in volume concerning Tim's death and Gavin's accident. "Call if you need something, but you're basically on your own."

"Give me what you've got so far," said Taft.

* * *

Cooper came home to the scent of basil, tomato sauce, and garlic. As he entered from the back door he heard a sharp bark from Duchess, whose toenails scurried down the hall to find him, and a chorus of hellos from Harley and Emma.

Emma was standing by the stove, gazing very seriously at Harley, who was pushing some recalcitrant spaghetti noodles into boiling water, trying to hook the strands with the prongs of a pasta spoon and get them to settle down.

Emma looked at Cooper and said, "Harley is not good at this."

"Yes, I am," Harley protested. "You have to get them wet and then they get all noodle-y and you can push them down. See?"

Emma did not appear convinced and Duchess gave another bark as if seconding her opinion.

"Your mom in bed?" he asked, looking at the marinara sauce bubbling furiously in its pan. "Maybe turn down the heat on that."

"Harley is not good at that, either," remarked Emma.

"Emma . . ." Harley mock-threatened her with the spaghetti spoon, which still had a noodle drooped over its side.

Emma ignored her and looked at Cooper. "Jamie is in bed where she's supposed to be. Twink is guarding her and the baby."

Harley snorted like she was going to lose it. "That's giving Twink a lot more credit than she deserves. We all know what she's good at."

"Jamie and the baby are not going to die." Emma grew very serious.

"Of course not! Jesus. That's not what I meant. The cat predicts that about old people, the ones on death's door." Though she vehemently seconded this opinion, Harley looked slightly alarmed.

"She's just a cat," reminded Cooper. "I'm going to go upstairs."

He took the steps two at a time and knocked lightly on their bedroom door, peeking in to see Jamie sitting up in bed with a cranky look on her face while Twink lay curled in the covered chair and deigned to open one eye as he entered.

"I'm going crazy," said Jamie.

"Going to be a long few months," Cooper agreed.

"I can't stay in bed. I can't."

"You don't have to all the time. The doctor said—"

"The doctor said I should be careful. Really careful. What if I start walking around and miscarry and it's my fault? I just couldn't live with that."

"Then you're on the road to crazy and there's no detour." He sank on the bed beside her, propping himself on one elbow.

"It's an expressway."

He chuckled and she bonked him with a pillow. "It's not funny," she said, half laughing herself. "Oh, God. What am I going to do? You know what I did today? I said goodbye to my class by Zoom. Some of the second graders were crying." Tears immediately filled her own eyes.

"Maybe you should have stuck to substituting at the high school. Bet they wouldn't be crying."

"They'd be telling me how cool it would be to never get out of bed, or want to know if I peed in a bedpan, or . . . I don't know . . . if I'm checking the internet to see the healthiest way to give birth with or without marijuana brownies as a meal of choice."

He started laughing. He couldn't help it. Jamie had always been great with teenagers, his stepdaughter Marissa and Harley two good examples of how she'd help them positively navigate their high school experience. She'd moved to teaching the lower grades when a full-time job had opened up at River Glen Elementary.

"It's not funny," she said again, flinging the pillow at him. He caught the pillow and threw it over the edge of the bed, scooting closer to her, grinning as he snaked an arm around her, his hand sliding alongside her hip.

"What do you think's happening here?" she asked him, mock serious. "With Harley and Emma downstairs and Duchess? Every time the dog walks by the door Twink rears and arches her back like a Halloween cat. If Duchess whines, Twink gives that low cat growl and Duchess always whines. So, I don't think we'll ever have sex again."

Cooper nuzzled her neck. "Okay." His hand slid up to just beneath her breast.

"Bullshit on ‘okay.' I see where your mind is."

"Do you mind where my mind is?"

"No . . ." She grabbed his hand and helped it atop her breast. "That's another question the high schoolers would ask: How do you ‘do it' when you're really, really pregnant?"

"Sounds like they need sex ed," he murmured against her throat. "There's no really, really pregnant. There's only pregnant and not pregnant."

"Yeah, as you well know they would be referencing my shape, which is getting into that pear zone."

"I like the pear zone." He moved his hand from his wife's breast to the bulge at her abdomen.

"So do I," she admitted.

Cooper smiled and pressed his forehead to her temple for a moment before collapsing onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "How're you really feeling, besides bored?"

She sighed. "Fine. Don't worry. I can do this." She was still sitting up and turned to look down on him. "Harley took Emma back to Ridge Pointe to get more of her things and now they're making dinner. What more could I ask for?"

None of them knew exactly how this was going to work when two babies entered the household, especially as Emma required extra care herself. Not that she wasn't helpful. She just didn't process the world the way most adults could and sometimes it came with interesting consequences.

"I haven't told Mary Jo yet. Not sure I want to, somehow."

Mary Jo was the surrogate who was carrying their first child together. She was due about two months ahead of Jamie. Even though they'd embarked on the surrogacy together, it had taken Jamie a long time to warm up to Mary Jo and vice versa, and since then Jamie had been reluctant to tell her about her unexpected pregnancy.

"Take your time with Mary Jo," he advised, like he had from the beginning.

"I don't know why I'm so worried. She loves babies. She's been a surrogate before. My being pregnant shouldn't change any of that." A frown creased her forehead. "What's going on with you?"

"Gavin Knowles, Tim Knowles's brother, was in a car accident last night. He's in the hospital. Serious, maybe critical, condition. Looks like there was another car involved that didn't stick around to help."

"Oh, no. Hit-and-run?" She sucked in air between her teeth. "What about the parents?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"You told me you think there's something more going on with Tim's death. Does this have something to do with that?"

"I don't know," he said again. "I've been warned not to investigate." At her look of concern, he brought her up to speed on his meeting with Humph, finishing with, "I'm the one who's supposed to tamp down any and all conspiracies."

"So Humph chose you because he wants you to stop investigating."

"That's what I'm thinking, but . . . I have someone looking into it."

"Really? Who?"

"Better you don't know." He smiled wanly.

"Okay."

She squinched down in the bed beside him and pressed her nose lightly to his. "So, you're a double agent? I could get into that."

"How into it?" he asked.

"I think I could ‘do it.' Maybe later, after dinner? When they've all gone to bed."

"I thought we were supposed to stop. Being careful and all."

"Nobody said that . . . exactly." Her brow furrowed.

"Well, if we can't ‘do it,' we can try some other things."

"Like what?"

He spread his hands and arms to encompass his whole body. "You could certainly have your way with me."

"If I had another pillow I'd smother you with it," she muttered.

He leaned forward and gave her a big sloppy kiss. She started laughing and so did he and suddenly Duchess was barking at their door, which made them laugh even more and sent Twink into full-on Halloween cat mode with arched back and furious hissing, which only added to their mirth.

Duchess actually leapt at the door and the latch hadn't quite caught so the door burst open with the rushing dog. Twink leapt from her chair onto the bed, swarming up to the headboard, where she deemed the safest place, so both Jamie and Cooper immediately covered their heads with their arms.

"Oh, God!" Jamie laughed.

"Emma!" Cooper bellowed.

"Duchess!" Emma snapped from the stairway and the dog, shivering beside the bed at the still hissing cat, looked back at the door and whined. Duchess was a great dog, really a great dog, who generally listened to her mistress's commands, but the black-and-white tuxedo cat was almost too much for her.

"That cat has got to go back to Ridge Pointe," Cooper growled.

"She only she hisses or spits when it's Duchess," Jamie defended Twink.

The brown-and-black midsized mutt seemed to understand they were talking about the cat and barked twice more at Twink, her tail wagging. Duchess was torn between wanting to scare the cat away or play with it, unaware that Twink was completely disdainful of her.

Emma appeared in the doorway. Her blue eyes were stern as she took in the scene.

Upon seeing Emma, Duchess padded slowly toward her, head down. Twink slowly lowered her back but that low growl continued.

"Twink can't go back," reminded Emma.

The cat being a prognosticator of death was a little bad for business at Ridge Pointe. But having her at the house, and now with Emma and Duchess moving back . . . Jamie's prescribed peace and quiet was going to be hard to achieve.

"This might be more excitement than you need," said Cooper, getting up from the bed. He stood between Twink and the dog, whom Emma had firmly by the collar and was half walking, half dragging out of the room.

"It's entertaining," said Jamie, lifting her chin to look at the cat behind her head. Twink was still on alert, every hair on end.

"Dinner's ready," Emma said, as she closed the door behind them. From the hallway Duchess gave a bark of disapproval at being so summarily removed.

Twink stopped growling, then stepped delicately around Jamie's head to curl into a ball where Cooper had just been, one eye still on Cooper as if challenging him. Cooper picked up the thrown pillow and handed it back to Jamie, shooting Twink a mock glare at her highhanded way of taking over. At the door, he said, "Don't think that feline has pride of place in my bed."

"Never."

"I'll bring you up some spaghetti."

She rolled her eyes. "I am not eating spaghetti in bed."

"I'll bring a tray with a small vase and flower."

"Yeah, right."

"And we can talk about what you can do for me later."

She freed her pillow and it hit the door just as he closed it.

* * *

Mackenzie sat in her chair and slowly unwrapped her ankle, wrinkling her nose at the purple and slightly green swelling. She gently started to rotate her foot and then instantly stopped as pain shot through her. Okay, no serious rotating yet.

"Ouch," she muttered through her teeth.

She leaned back in the chair and thought about Gavin. It had shaken her to see him brought so low. Sure, he was an ass and she'd thought a lot of unkind things about him . . . a lot of unkind things . . . but man, she hoped he was going to be all right.

Which brought her back to what he'd said, not just on the phone call in the middle of last night, not just at the hospital, but also his earlier call and at the cemetery parking lot.

. . . Ethan was killed by The Sorority. One of them did it, or maybe more . . .

. . . It was Kristl . . .

. . . If not Kristl, one or the other of them. Maybe all of them . . .

. . . They all had sex with him . . .

Was that true? All of them? Sounded like hyperbole to Mac, but she'd agreed to look into Ethan's death and so, okay, she would. And also, was there any correlation between Tim's death and Gavin's accident?

Mackenzie shook her head, chasing out the cobwebs. One thing at a time. She wanted to review what she'd learned from the Beckwiths about Mia, which wasn't much. They had information on their daughter that they were withholding because they had effectively disowned her. She would bet that Mason had an inkling of Mia's whereabouts as well. They all knew where she'd been living before she disappeared, but were unwilling to share.

If she disappeared, she reminded herself.

The person to talk to again was also Leigh . . . Elayne. She'd basically dumped the job of finding Mia in Mackenzie's lap and rushed away. Mac glanced toward the drawer where she'd stuffed the money Leigh had thrust into her hands. It was a large enough amount that she should really put it in the bank, but the thought of making a deposit with her sprained ankle made her feel weary.

Mac picked up her cell and called Leigh's number. It rang and rang and went to voice mail. Well, okay. She would leave a message.

"Hi, Leigh, it's Mackenzie. I've run into a brick wall with the Beckwiths. They're unwilling to give me any information about Mia. I need some actual dates: when Mia stopped contacting you, where she was at that point, that kind of thing. Call me." She left her number again, though Leigh already had it, and clicked off.

It was entirely possible Leigh would give up on the idea of hiring Mac. She'd assumed the Beckwiths would have more recent information on Mia and would be willing to share it with Mackenzie, which had turned out to be false. In that regard, Mac had fewer "ins" to information than Leigh did herself.

She limped to the kitchen and rooted around in her refrigerator. Nothing even remotely worth eating. Everything inside was too close to rendezvousing with the garbage disposal or waste bin.

She settled for peanut butter on crackers and a glass of Syrah from a bottle that hadn't turned sour just yet. She stared out the kitchen window and let her thoughts wander to Taft. She seemed to have gotten over the worst of her utter madness about him, at least during the past few hours. She'd tolerated holding his arm as he'd led her to his car without swooning . If she got involved with him, and then inevitably the relationship ended . . . then what? Could they still work together? Maybe? Possibly?

She made a sound of disgust in her throat. Who was she kidding? She wouldn't be able to make it work.

"Future tripping," she warned herself.

You can't let it happen. You know you can't let it happen.

Why not? her head argued. Why the hell not? Take a risk, Mackenzie.

The restlessness inside her core seemed to be growing. Even recognizing getting involved with Taft as the bad idea it was couldn't quite quell it. The kind of bad idea that made you exchange dinner for a bottle of red wine and a sixteen-ounce bar of chocolate.

She wanted to rip her thoughts out of her head.

Back in her chair she put in a call to her stepsister, who was more sister than step-, needing to hear a sane and friendly voice. Stephanie was in the first year of motherhood and she and her husband, Nolan, were over the moon about their baby daughter, Jessica. Mac felt a lot the same way. In her downtime she tried to spend as much time with the Redfields as possible.

As Mac waited for her to pick up, it occurred to her that none of The Sorority had any children yet. Yes, they were still young, but Leigh and Natalie had both been married a few years. It wasn't unusual, it was just . . . a point to consider.

The call went straight to voice mail, so Mac left a message telling Stephanie to kiss the baby for her, that there was nothing urgent, and to call when she had a chance.

Her thoughts drifted back to Taft and the anxious feeling she had in her gut, which she examined and realized was less about her feelings for him, and more about her concern for his well-being since the reading of Mitch Mangella's will. He'd simply brushed her worries away, but he had to know, as she did, that Prudence Mangella and Anna DeMarcos were not the kind of women who would wade lackadaisically through a potential lawsuit that could string out for months or years. They were more likely to act. And they weren't going to forgive and forget in any case, no matter what the outcome was. That was the kind of women they were. Deadly. Vindictive. Grudge holders and worse. Gavin Knowles thought the members of The Sorority were the same kind, but Mac didn't necessarily believe that, though she couldn't say she would trust them, based on past experience.

Her cell buzzed and she saw that Leigh was calling her back. Well, good. She was sick of her own company. "Hi, Leigh, I was—"

"I'm just about to be seated for SIX , so I don't have a lot of time. Did you talk to the Beckwiths?"

"I did . . . I didn't learn anything, though. They wouldn't talk about Mia, and neither would Mason."

"Shit. Okay . . . Goddammit," she muttered. "I can't talk now. I've got to go in."

"You want me to keep trying to locate Mia?"

"Of course. You're not giving up, are you?"

She sounded almost put out that Mac could even think that way. "Nope."

"Let's talk tomorrow. I've got to go."

"Okay, enjoy SIX. I hear it's really good."

"You haven't seen it?" asked Leigh. "I've seen it four times, this is my fifth."

"Wow. Okay. No, I haven't seen it yet." SIX was a one-act rock opera/musical where each role depicted one of Henry VIII's six wives through mostly song.

"Don't you go to the theater anymore?"

"Well . . . not a lot."

"It could've been a career choice, for both of us. In fact, I just went to an audition for Chicago. Trying out for the role of Roxie Hart. "

"Ah. Well. Good luck," Mac said lamely.

That didn't seem to be the answer Leigh sought. Tersely, she said, "I gotta go. Bye."

Mac clicked off, remembering how destroyed Leigh had been when the part of Laurey Williams had gone to Summer. She sure hoped she'd found some balance in rejection, now that she was older, because it was always difficult to get the main role if you weren't a name. While Leigh's passion for the theater apparently still burned bright, Mac's had been pushed aside as soon as she graduated. Ethan's death graduation night had brought reality home with a bang.

We're all just having fun, aren't we?

Gavin's words came back to her.

She wondered if Taft had connected with Cooper Haynes yet.