Fatal 5 Page 3

  My cheeks reddened again. Why did that embarrass me? It shouldn’t. I should be proud of my heritage—even if I was still living at home at twenty-eight. “Yes, it is.”

  That grin began curling his lips again. “So you bought your parents’ place?”

  My eyes narrowed. I knew exactly what he was doing. He knew the truth; he just wanted to make me say it. “No. I live with my mom. There. Are you happy now? I said it, so now you can go ahead and gloat.”

  “Just your mom?” He glanced over before his steady gaze went back to the busy, slanted streets the neighborhood was known for.

  “My dad died two years ago.” My throat burned as I said the words. I still couldn’t believe he wasn’t here anymore, that he’d left me alone with . . . well, alone with the rest of my family.

  Chase’s grin disappeared. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was a nice man.” Sincerity stretched across his voice, softening my heart for a moment.

  “He was the best.”

  “What happened?”

  “Pancreatic cancer.” Tears still stung my eyes whenever I thought about it. I had so many plans for my dad and me, starting with him walking me down the aisle one day. Life really stunk sometimes. Thank goodness for the hope of heaven. “He fought it, long and hard. Tried every treatment out there. None of them did any good.”

  “How’s your family doing?”

  I shrugged. “We miss Dad. But otherwise, everyone is great. As always. My sister’s getting married. I think I told you my brother’s running for office. My mom’s involved with all of those boards still. She’s always running around doing something. She’s still a real estate agent and does some interior decorating.”

  “All in this area?”

  “Yep. We’re all here.”

  “And you’re living at home still . . . why?”

  I kept my head high and my shoulders back. “Social work really is a labor of love. The monetary rewards aren’t that great. I’m trying to save some money, have a little more financial freedom, and keep my mom company in the process.”

  “That’s it.” He jammed a finger into the air, stealing another glance my way. “There you go. That’s the real reason. You’re there for your mom.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s very sweet, Holly.”

  I kept my chin raised high. He thought he was so smart. I guessed that he was, because he’d nailed it even though he hadn’t seen me in years. “And you?”

  “I live over in Clifton.”

  Clifton was the neighborhood near the University of Cincinnati, where there would be plenty of parties and young college girls. That fit my opinion of Chase perfectly.

  “I got a great deal on this fixer-upper there. My problem is I just haven’t had time to fix anything up.”

  So maybe parties and girls weren’t the only reason he’d moved there. Still.

  I sucked in a breath, trying to think of the proper way to respond. “Demanding job, huh?”

  “I’ve been working some extra gigs to earn some more money. You know, security at ball games or special events. Such is life.”

  Such is life. Could be my motto lately.

  I pointed to my street. “Right there.”

  He pulled to a stop in front of a Tudor-style home. It was on the outskirts of the neighborhood, in a section where the city’s rich had once lived. Each house on my street had an expansive yard—expansive for Price Hill, at least—and a unique design. The surrounding streets were run down and crime ridden, but these houses never failed to make people pause and relive the area’s glory days.

  Chase stared up at the house now. “That place is a beauty. It really is. Your parents did a great job fixing it up.”

  A grin wanted to emerge, but I fought it. “Thanks.”

  The next thing I knew, he was turning off the car and running around to my door to open it for me. He stood there in the driveway, offering a hand, and appearing like the perfect gentleman. And, for some reason, I found myself reaching for his hand and letting him help me out.

  I wasn’t sure who was more dazed—Chase or me.

  I immediately let go of his hand.

  “You didn’t really have to get out,” I muttered.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t mind. I need to make sure you get safely inside, with your head injury and all.”

  “It’s just a little cut on my forehead. I’m fine.” My pulsating headache could be knocked out with a couple of Tylenols.

  But Chase’s hand was on my elbow, and he swept me past the lush green grass that my mom paid someone to maintain, past the Better Homes and Gardens flowerbeds, and toward the front door. If luck had been on my side, there would have been no cars in the driveway, signaling that no one was home. But luck was hardly ever on my side, especially not today.

  Before we even reached the door, it flew open and my mom stood there. She was tiny and blonde and wore expensive business suits and handed out her business card with all the ease of a little kid spreading the flu. She was what most people would consider a “mover and a shaker.”

  She grinned and clapped her hands. “If it isn’t Chase Dexter! How are you?”

  I was convinced that my mother had been southern in a previous life. She even made sweet tea with the best of them. But no, she was a Cincinnati original, born and raised here and proud of it. She’d fought to preserve historic houses, and worked on the committee to organize “Price Hill Pride Days,” and served on uncountable boards and clubs. Every time I turned around, she was doing a fund-raiser for some cause. It was a wonder—and a shame—she was even home now.

  “Mrs. Paladin! You look beautiful, like you haven’t aged a day.” Chase gave her a friendly hug.

  My mom fluttered her hand in the air, her entire face beaming. She may have been almost sixty years old, but her skin looked flawless and her hair was still glossy and youthful. “Oh, you. What a sweetheart. Come on in.” She hooked her arm through his and ushered him inside.

  Only then did she glance back at me. When she saw my face, she squinted. “Holly, are you okay?” She dropped her arm from Chase’s.

  “It’s nothing. Just a little accident.”

  “It was more than a little and more than an accident,” Chase interjected.

  “Oh, sweetie.” She reached for me. “Can I do anything?”

  I shook my head. “Just let me get cleaned up. I can explain later.”

  “Call me if you need me,” she insisted, before continuing to lead Chase inside.

  I came from a family of overachievers. They were all type A success hounds. They’d climb one mountain, and instead of enjoying that victory, they’d search for the next challenge, so they could climb higher and higher.

  I’d been more like my dad. I was laid back, a dreamer who enjoyed evenings alone or with a close circle of friends who liked having deep conversations over warm tea. I liked baking using old recipe books from the bygone eras and dancing alone in the living room when no one else was there. I liked sending handwritten notes to people and taking long baths where I could reflect on life.

  I hated fund-raisers and election campaigns and being fake with people just so they’d give you their money or their vote. I hated rubbing elbows with people, only on the premise of what they could do for you. Most of all, I hated hurrying through life so quickly that you didn’t take time to appreciate every moment.

  Now that Dad was gone, I didn’t feel like there was one single person in the world who really understood me. I sighed, pulling back the tears that threatened to emerge. I stepped onto the glossy hardwood floors of my home and shut the door behind me. The comforting scent of orange, rosemary, and vanilla filled my senses.

  Chase and my mom were already gone, though I could hear their voices floating through the air, probably from the sunroom, if I had to guess. My mom laughed as if Chase were hysterical. Chase’s voice rose, like he was telling a great story.

  Too bad Chase wasn’t born into this
family.

  I sighed. Maybe that title of “Most Optimistic” didn’t fit me at all. At least when it came to my family and Chase Dexter.

  I dropped my purse by the front door and kicked off my shoes.

  My etiquette guide—one I’d found at a thrift store that was copyright 1955, a real treasure that had made me smile for weeks—would instruct me to go and be social. I just didn’t feel up to it, though. Instead, I went upstairs and changed into a clean dress, another one that I’d found at the thrift store. I loved searching there for finds from eras past.

  After I cleaned up, I made a quick stop in my favorite room in the house—the study. Ceiling-to-floor bookcases and cozy chairs just beckoned someone to sit in them and relax. Which is exactly what I did. This had been Dad’s favorite room also.

  I reached over and pulled out my favorite Ella Fitzgerald album, stuck it on the antique record player, and let the soft strands of “You’d Be So Easy to Love” float through the room.

  I laid my head against the back of the chair and closed my eyes, trying to block out today. Crazy, crazy today.

  Crazy, crazy last night.

  And now my mom and Chase were catching up. Wasn’t that just peachy?

  My mom had gotten to know Chase when she chaired the prestigious Newhart Family Scholarship Fund. The fund offered a full-ride scholarship to someone in the community who’d risen above a hard upbringing and overcome challenges to excel in both academics and community service.

  The committee had weeded out applicants from all over the city before choosing Chase Dexter as their man. My mom had nothing but good things to say about him after reading his application and sitting through an interview with him. “This boy,” she would insist, totally oblivious to the fact that he’d made my high school years miserable. “He’s someone to watch for. He’s taken life by the horns.”

  Chase’s mom had passed away when he was six. As soon as my mom found out about that, she began inviting Chase over for dinner. As in, all the time. I always tried to disappear, however. Chase and I went to high school together and—

  “That is so awesome.” Chase’s voice rang through the room. “I’ve always loved this about your house.”

  I pulled one eye open. This could not be happening. But it was. My mom and Chase stepped into the room from behind a swiveling bookcase that offered a secret passageway from this room into the living room.

  My dad had been a regular handyman, and when he redid the house, he added all kinds of quirky features, including a couple of secret passageways. One of the bookcases in this room could turn and become the bookcase in the family room.

  My mother gawked when she spotted me in the chair. “Holly! I didn’t realize you were in here. Especially since we have a guest over.” Her voice subtly rose in pitch, her polite way of reprimanding me.

  My mom still thought I was eight. Some things would never change. Nor would anything ever change how disappointed she was that I was . . . well, me.

  “She had a long day. We had a run-in with a shooter, and she hit her head,” Chase said.

  “I just needed a minute,” I told her.

  “A shooter?” My mom gasped.

  “It’s a long story,” I insisted. “But the good news is that I’m okay. No harm done, unless you count my dress.”

  Chase looked at me and then back at my mom. Why did it seem like he had some insight into our relationship that most people didn’t?

  Finally, he nodded toward my mom. “Well, I need to get to work. It was a pleasure seeing you, Mrs. Paladin. You too, Holly.”

  I fluttered my fingers in the air. “Bye, Chase.” Good riddance.

  Man, I was not in a good mood, was I? I had to be more gracious. It was what God would want me to do. To be forgiving and loving and accepting.

  Besides, I was limited on time. So why live out my final days with a grudge?

  I reminded myself that this was probably the last time I would see Chase Dexter in a long time. Sure, I might run into him on the job once in a while, but I would just keep it professional. Now that I knew he was back in town, I could prepare myself to deal with him more effectively.

  “Thanks for everything, Chase,” I muttered, glad to put this encounter behind me.

  “Don’t forget about your car,” he called over his shoulder. “You don’t want to leave it on the street overnight.”

  “I’ll call the repair shop now.”

  Then I’d borrow my dad’s old Ford F-150, grab a bite to eat, get back to work, and hopefully see what kind of information I could find out about the dead man at Katrina’s house.

  So much for staying home for the rest of the day.

  CHAPTER 5

  I met Jamie at some gluten-free pizza joint after I finished up work for the day. The place was located in an area of town appropriately called Mount Healthy. Jamie knew where all of the local organic restaurants were, but they were scattered all over the city. It didn’t matter to her; she’d traverse deserts and climb mountains to get good food that fit her diet.

  I wasn’t going to eat there—no, my mom had cooked something, and I’d promised her I’d be home. I tried to honor her nightly ritual of eating together whenever possible. That was when there wasn’t a fund-raising dinner or some other philanthropic activity going on. The scent of bubbly cheese and roasting vegetables from the wood-fire oven against the back wall made me question my commitment to eat at home, though.

  “The police knocked down your door yet?” Jamie asked, taking a bite of her veggie pizza. She’d turned her life around two years ago and lost a hundred pounds. Ever since then, she was a health food nut.

  The two of us had met in English class on our first day at the University of Cincinnati. We’d been inseparable since then. Her family had moved to the area only a few years ago from Pittsburgh, much to Jamie’s dismay. She claimed they’d followed her here, afraid their only baby girl would get in trouble. They claimed that her father, a musician, had been offered a gig he just couldn’t refuse.

  I shook my head. “Not yet, but I’ve been watching over my shoulder all day.”

  “I thought you’d like to know that I did hear something over the police scanner this morning. Then I used my contacts at the newspaper to find out some more information.”

  I leaned closer, pressing my arms into the thick wooden tabletop. “Okay. You’re leaving me in suspense here. I tried to find out stuff all day on my job, and everyone was tight lipped. I couldn’t press too hard or people would get suspicious.”

  She put her pizza back on the plate and leaned closer, as well. “The guy was apparently shot three times. He had traces of some kind of drug in his system—not surprising. So many crimes in this area are, in some way, because of drugs.”

  “Was he related to Katrina?”

  She shrugged and leaned back, picking a mushroom from the gooey cheese. “That, I haven’t been able to find out. I did hear that a neighbor called the police. He saw the front door was open and got suspicious.”

  Oops. That would have been my fault. At least my mistake had meant I hadn’t had to report the crime myself. It had also meant that the police now had my cleaning supplies.

  How long did it take to run fingerprints and DNA through the system? My sister probably knew. I just had to think of a creative way to ask her.

  Jamie raised her pizza again. “The bad news is that there was a suspicious van reported fleeing the scene.”

  The blood drained from my face as “Jailhouse Rock” began blaring through the overhead. “Are you serious?”

  She nodded. “Dead.”

  “Oh, Jamie. I had no idea.” I bit back a frown.

  “I willingly went with you, so the blame’s on me. Still, I really don’t want to have to explain all of this to the police.”

  “I’m going to make this all better, Jamie. I promise.”

  “It’s going to be hard to do that from jail.”

  My jaw dropped open.

  She waved her hand in the
air in that sassy, sarcastic manner I should have been accustomed to by now. “I’m just kidding, girl. You keep quiet. They’ll never discover you.”

  “You are not making me feel better.”

  “I’m giving you a dose of reality.” She pulled out a bottle of vinegar from her purse and put a squirt in her water.

  I tried not to turn my nose up. She insisted that vinegar in her water helped to keep her thin. I’d just keep drinking my lemon water, thank you very much.

  I closed my eyes, fixating again on my problems instead of Jamie’s vinegar water. “What am I going to do?”

  “You can’t do anything except wait . . . or turn yourself in.” She took a long sip of her drink.

  Guilt pounded harder. I struggled with guilt over small things, like bugs that flew into my windshield or the snake that accidentally got caught under the lawn mower. Those moments of guilt seemed gnat sized compared to the mountains of culpability I faced now. “If the police show up at your door, I’ll explain everything, Jamie. I’ll take the blame and make it clear that you had nothing to do with this.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “And if they don’t believe you that you didn’t murder anyone, why would they believe you when you say I had nothing to do with it?”

  “Good point.” I buried my face in the table. “I’ve made a huge mess, Jamie.”

  She patted my hand. “Yes, you have.”

  I sighed and pulled my head up. “I guess it’s not your job to make me feel better.”

  “Most of the time, I’d say yes. But this one is all over my head, girlfriend. I don’t even know what to tell you.” She shook her head. “Why don’t we change the subject? Anything else new?”

  I frowned. The only other “thing” new that I could think of wasn’t a happy thing. It was . . . “Chase Dexter is back in town.”

  My friend raised her skinny little eyebrow. “Who is Chase Dexter?”

  “The guy I had a major crush on in high school.”

  Her eyebrow crept higher. “The one who looks like that actor who plays Thor?”

  I frowned again. “Yeah, he’s the one. He’s on the police force here. I hope I don’t end up working with him anymore.”