CONFESSIONAL 371.5
Judson, Dean: (CEO, Juniper Ridge)
Did I ever tell you what they called me at the first studio I worked for? Mister Fix-It. No, it had nothing to do with repairing shit. It’s that something would go wrong—a sponsor pulling out or a problem with the venue or whatever—and everyone would look to me. Like they thought I had some kind of magical power to solve it.
The thing is, I usually did. Probably ninety-eight percent of the time, I did. That other two percent, though…[scowling] yeah, I’m not perfect. Who the fuck is?
That evening, sitting on my back deck with crickets chirping in the field and a cold beer in my hand, I can’t stop thinking about Vanessa.
It’s nothing new since we started sleeping together, which I realize was supposed to be a one-time thing. But come on, that’s like having one taste of a perfect Wagyu ribeye with a 2008 Screaming Eagle Cabernet and then saying, “no more, thanks, I’m good.” Who does that?
Not me, which is currently the least of my problems.
I spent two hours on the phone with County officials, trying to sort out the bullshit with our filming permits. In the end, I got a tentative okay to continue what we’re doing.
“You’re not in the clear, yet,” the woman on the phone informed me. “There’s still an appeals process we’ll need to go through. And a thorough review of—”
“I’ll handle it,” I told her. “Whatever hoops you need me to jump through, I’ll take care of it.”
“Hmph,” she said and hung up.
Now I’m on my back deck, clutching one of the sample beers we got from a brewer we interviewed late this afternoon. I take a sip, savoring the dark, malty froth of the porter. It’s the creation of a guy named Griffin Walsh, a brewer out of Colorado. He’s got great plans for opening a brewery right here at Juniper Ridge. Great beer, too.
I rest the bottle on the arm of my Adirondack chair and gaze out over the sunset. So many colors, orange and pink and red and even bright magenta right at the edge of the mountains. I wish Vanessa were here to enjoy it with me. I’m supposed to head to her place later, but for now I’m enjoying this rare breath of quiet. I haven’t been alone much since moving to Oregon, and it’s a nice treat.
As though summoned by that thought, my phone pings with an incoming text. I pick it up, heart ticking excitedly at the thought of seeing Vanessa’s name on the screen.
It’s not Vanessa. It’s Andrea.
Hey, Dean. Any chance you’re free to talk?
Hell. I take another sip of beer and sigh. I could pretend I haven’t seen it. Just act like I don’t have my phone glued to my hand at all times.
But Andrea knows me better than that. She once took me to task for checking my phone during our anniversary dinner, which I know now was a dick move. At any rate, she knows I have a tough time disconnecting, so she’ll use that to her advantage. She’ll keep texting until I respond.
What do we need to talk about?
There, that’s plenty blunt. Hopefully enough that she’ll take the hint. I start to set the phone down, but there’s already a message coming in.
I’m moving to Oregon. Please call.
What the—
I stare at the screen, hoping I’ve read it wrong.
I’m moving to Oregon. Please call.
She can’t be serious. Andrea was born and raised in Hollywood. She’s been part of that world her whole life. No way could she leave that behind for this quiet, sleepy part of the Pacific Northwest.
I’m dialing her number before I have a chance to process that this is exactly what she wants. I’m sure Mari would have a name for whatever psychological phenomenon it is, but I’m too annoyed to care.
“Dean.” Andrea’s voice is soft and sweet on the other end of the line. “How are you doing, hon?”
I brace for my body to respond to the term of endearment. My only response is irritation. “What are you talking about? What is this about moving to Oregon?”
“Oh, that.” She gives a musical little laugh. “Yes, well, there’s a cute little ranch that came up for sale near Prineville. I’ve been wanting to find myself some quiet retreat, away from the cameras and gossip rags and—”
“You’d hate it there,” I blurt before she gets the words out. “Trust me, Central Oregon’s too small for you. It’s farms and ranches and not a Chanel boutique in sight.”
That should be enough to scare her off, but Andrea only laughs. “I’m not as shallow as you think, Dean.”
“I never said you were.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, eager to have this conversation over. “You’ve never not lived in a city.”
“Please.” She makes a scoffing sound. “Besides, Portland’s not that far.”
“Three-and-a-half hours’ drive each way.” Longer on snowy roads in winter. “And even Portland’s not like the cities you’re used to. Trust me, this isn’t your scene.”
“Don’t you think I’d be the best judge of that?”
Her tone is mild and almost flirty, which means my gruffness isn’t getting through. “No,” I grunt. “I don’t.”
“There’s the Dean I know and love.” She laughs again, and the sound is starting to annoy me. “You always think you know what’s best for everyone. It’s sweet, actually.”
Her praise leaves a sour taste on the back of my tongue. I swallow and try another tack. “Look, I don’t own the state of Oregon. If you want to come check it out, be my guest. I’m just telling you as a courtesy that this isn’t your kind of place.”
Andrea scoffs. “Is that what you’re telling all the castmates on your show?”
“The ones who won’t love it here, you bet.” I clear my throat. “I believe in being honest.”
Unlike some people.
If she hears my unspoken accusation, she doesn’t let on. “Oh, Dean. You haven’t changed a bit. Another thing I love about you.”
“Great.” If she’s fishing for a compliment, it’s not happening. “Do what you want, Andrea. But I’ve moved on with my life, and I hope you’re doing the same.”
There’s a long pause, followed by a deep breath. “Dean, I just want to say again that I’m sorry.”
Some of the tension leaks from my shoulders. I’m not angry anymore. That’s when I realize it. I’m not sad, either. I’m just…over it.
“I forgive you,” I tell her. “I’m sorry, too.”
“For what?”
“For being a self-absorbed dick. For working too much and ignoring you. I wasn’t a great fiancé.”
“Oh, Dean.” Tears choke her voice, and I think that’s my cue to end the call.
“So, yeah.” I clear my throat. “I guess that’s it.”
Closure. Funny how it feels nothing like the closure I tried for with Vanessa. Every moment with her, every shared breath or sigh, it feels like a beginning. Before I know it, I’m grinning like a fool.
“You’re right,” Andrea says, and I remember I’m still on the phone with her. “LA brought out the worst in both of us.”
“Yeah. I’m in a better place now.”
Andrea laughs. “Well see? Now you’ve convinced me I really do want to see Oregon.”
I sigh. “I won’t stop you. Just please don’t make any rash moves.”
“Like ending our relationship over text.”
Ouch. Ouch, but not incorrect. “I’m sorry again about that.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.” Her voice softens. “It was a cheap shot.”
Maybe, but I don’t care anymore. I truly don’t. “It was nice talking with you.” It wasn’t, but I’m being polite.
“Same. Really nice. Thank you for everything, Dean.”
“I’ll see you around.”
I hang up the phone and stare at it a few beats. It’s not like that’s the first time we’ve spoken since the split.
But it’s the first time I haven’t felt even the tiniest pinch of “what if?” Of wondering what might have happened if I’d stayed in LA or she’d stayed faithful or I hadn’t been such a self-absorbed prick. I wish her the best, but I honestly don’t care what she’s doing with her life. That’s really fucking freeing.
I don’t know how long I stare at my phone before I hear voices. My ears prick up, and it takes me a second to recognize my brothers bickering at the front of my house.
“Well, he must not have seen it yet, dumbshit.”
“Which means he’s not home, dumbshit.”
“Jesus, Gabe—don’t touch it.”
“I wasn’t touching it. Just getting a closer look.”
Even from the other side of the house, I hear Cooper’s grunt of disgust. “Where the hell is he, anyway?”
“Back here.” I shout loud enough for them to hear me. I’m pretty sure they’re on my front porch, and I try to recall if I left the door unlocked. No, wait. I didn’t go inside, did I? Just walked around to my back porch to watch the sunset in silence. I already had my beer, so there was no reason to hit the kitchen first.
My brothers aren’t saying anything, so I shout again. “Gabe? Coop? I’m in back.”
There’s another silence, then footsteps. I turn to see both of them walking around the edge of the cabin. I’m expecting laughter, maybe one of them throwing an elbow at the other.
But I’m not expecting the grim expressions. I sit up as they trudge up the steps to the deck like it’s some kind of death march. “What is it?” I look from Gabe to Coop and back again. “What the hell is wrong?”
“Dude.” Gabe’s trademark brown eyes are wide and a little stunned. “What the fuck?”
I frown. “Can you be more specific?”
“See?” Cooper gives him a look. “I told you he wouldn’t leave it like that.”
Gabe shakes his head and looks at me. “Did you go in the back door or something?”
“I haven’t been inside.” I gesture to the sunset with my beer bottle. “I didn’t want to miss that. Now what the hell are you talking about?”
Gabe stares at me. “How long have you been back here?”
“No idea.” I glance at my watch, struggling to ignore the growing unease in the pit of my stomach. “Twenty minutes or so.”
“Come on.” Cooper jerks a thumb toward the front of the cabin. “You need to see this.”
Neither of them wait for my reply. They just turn and march back around the side of my house. I consider not following. They’re acting like weirdos, and it’d be just like them to play some kind of prank.
But something tells me they’re not messing around. Standing up, I set my beer on the deck rail and follow after them, pushing back the wave of unease in my gut.
As I round the corner, I see them on the lawn beneath my front steps. They’re bickering again, and Cooper’s pointing at the front door.
“Don’t you think we need to call the police?” he’s saying.
“That’s his call,” Gabe argues. “It’s his damn house. Maybe it’s some kind of inside joke with him and Vanessa.”
It’s Vanessa’s name that gets me moving. I practically sprint to the edge of the porch where they’re standing. “Call the police for what?”
Cooper points to the front door. “That.”
As my gaze follows his finger, the blood slowly drains from my body. “Holy shit.”
My brain takes a few beats to process what I’m seeing. There, in my front door, is a large knife. Big and sharp with a dark wood handle and a shiny blade, it looks a lot like the chef’s knife I use in my kitchen. It’s jarring to see it anchored in the wood of my door, but that’s not the worst part.
I blink, trying to refocus my eyes. “Vanessa. That’s a photo of Vanessa.”
“Yeah.” Cooper’s voice is soft as he shuffles closer to me. “I got a good look at it when I went to knock.”
“The dumb fuck actually touched the doorknob.” Gabe sidles closer, looking grim. “Hopefully that doesn’t screw with fingerprints.”
But I already know there won’t be prints. Just like there weren’t any on the snake or the balloons or the postcard. Just like Colleen can’t figure out who the hell is screwing with our website. Just like County officials can’t seem to trace that anonymous tip.
I hate the feeling of helplessness that blasts through me. I hate it more than anything.
“I’m sure whoever did this wore gloves.” I glance from brother to brother. “You didn’t call the cops?”
Gabe shakes his head. “We waited for you.”
I take a few steps closer, trying for a better look at the photo. Unlike the picture of teenage Vanessa, this one’s recent. I can’t tell if it’s candid, but it’s definitely a professional shot. I take one more step, frowning. Something’s off.
It comes to me in a rush. “She doesn’t have a dimple.”
“What?” Gabe steps up beside me and stares at the photo. “What are you talking about? She’s got a dimple right there.”
“Right, but Vanessa doesn’t.” I’ve studied her face awake and in sleep, happy and sad. I know that face like the back of my hand, and this isn’t it. “That’s not Vanessa.”
“The hell it’s not.” Cooper joins us at the door, looking at me like I’m nuts. “That’s definitely her.”
“It’s her sister,” I insist. Not that I’ve met her sister, but I’m sure that’s not Vanessa. “She has a twin, Valerie. That’s gotta be her.”
Both brothers are staring at me now, and I can’t tell if it’s respect or confusion. “I forgot she had a twin,” Gabe says.
I study the photo again. A faint wind rustles the trees behind us, making the knife sway in the door. A shiver runs down my spine.
“Dude.” Cooper shakes his head. “We figured you had something going with her, but that’s next-level stuff.”
I glare at him. “Identifying whether it’s her in a photo is next-level?”
Gabe shrugs. “Seems pretty serious to me.”
“It’s cool,” Cooper says. “Happy for you, man.”
I don’t have time to follow that train of thought. I turn back to the picture, struggling to piece it together. Whoever did this drove the knife straight through the middle of her face. The tip spears her forehead, and even knowing it’s not Vanessa, I’m flooded with rage.
And fear, though I don’t want to admit it.
“Should we get Vanessa over here?” Cooper asks. “Maybe she’d know who’d do this. She could at least tell us where that photo came from.”
“No.”
It’s not ‘til my brothers flinch that I realize how harshly I’ve said it. But I can’t let them terrorize Vanessa with this. It’s one thing to get a postcard in the mail or a creepy reptilian gift on the back porch. It’s another to see a knife between your sister’s eyes.
Eyes that look just like Vanessa’s. God. If I hadn’t spent so much time with her, I’d never have known the difference.
“I’ll handle it.” I tear my gaze off the photo and look from Gabe to Cooper. “I’ll take care of everything.”
Gabe’s brow furrows. “You sure? We should at least let the PI know—”
“I’ve got this.” I slip my phone out of my pocket and hit the home button. “I’ll reach out to Lieutenant Lovelin right now.”
My brothers exchange a look, then shrug. “All right.” Gabe glances at Cooper. “We were going to invite you back to the lodge. That brewery guy left a couple extra cases of beer.”
“And ginger ale,” Cooper says before I can get on his case. “He brews it himself.”
Gabe shoves his hands in his pockets. “Figured you’d be up for a guys’ night in.”
“Can I take a raincheck?” I glance back at the knife in my door, and my gut churns again. “Tomorrow, maybe.”
I don’t mention I’ve got plans tonight. Vanessa had a phone date with her sister, but that should wrap up soon. I’m just waiting for her call to come over.
The thought of seeing her again eases the discomfort in the pit of my stomach.
Gabe’s studying me, frowning. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Positive.” I hold up the phone, which is cued up to call Amy Lovelin. “I’ve got this covered.”
Cooper shrugs. “All right, but don’t blame us if you miss out on the ginger ale.”
Gabe laughs and turns to go. “Don’t worry, we’ll save you one. Maybe two, if you’re not an asshole.”
Cooper cracks up and falls into step with Gabe. “If that’s the criteria, he’s not getting any.”
I watch them walk away, the fading sun spotlighting them from behind. I don’t say it often enough, but my brothers are good guys. Annoying sometimes, but smart and kind and funny as hell. There’s no one else I’d trust to join me in a business venture like this, except obviously my sisters.
Maybe I should think about letting go a little more. Trusting them to handle things on their own.
No way. It’s your job to protect them. To keep them all safe.
I push the thought from my head and hit speed dial for Lieutenant Lovelin. She picks up on the second ring. “Hey, Dean,” she says. “Everything okay out there?”
I stare at my front door, at the knife embedded in a face that looks so much like Vanessa’s. A shudder ripples through me, and I have to pause and catch my breath.
“There’s something I’d like you to see.”
She’s quiet for a few beats. “You’re not in danger, are you?”
I don’t think so, but the knife gives me the creeps. “Probably not.”
“Dean?” Her voice tips up in concern. “Do I need to get a team out there?”
“Nothing that urgent.” The last thing I need is to have the place swarming with cops. “Just—could you come right away?”
“Sure thing,” she says. “I’m maybe ten minutes out.”
I consider Vanessa’s observation about Amy being nearby the last time something happened. I never found it suspicious before, but anything’s possible. “You’re close, then?”
“Just visiting Tia,” she says, and my edginess doesn’t subside. “It’s my day off, so I’ll be in my personal car instead of the police cruiser if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine.” Better, actually.
I stare at the photo, wanting more than anything to rip that knife from the face that’s so achingly familiar. I turn away, not comfortable looking anymore. Not able to bear the thought that I wasn’t there to stop whoever did this.
“Hey, Amy?”
“Yessir?”
“Could I ask you to keep this to yourself for now?”
Again with the long pause. “This call, you mean?”
“Yeah, and the details of what I’ll be showing you.” Maybe that’s not allowed, but hopefully it is. She’s officially on the Juniper Ridge payroll, even if she’s got another week left at her cop job. “I’m not asking you to cover up anything illegal,” I add quickly. “Just…trying to prevent panic.”
I don’t say it’s Vanessa’s panic that worries me. I’d like to spare her that if I could.
Amy’s pause drags out so long this time that I’m sure we’ve dropped the call.
“I’ll be right there,” she says, and hangs up before I can say anything else.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and look out at the mountains. The sun’s completely down now, the color faded from the horizon.
As I glance one last time at the photo, a shiver jerks down my spine.