The storm raged on. It flooded the roads leading in and out of town and wiped out the electricity in the outlying areas. Laurel and Aaron weren’t able to leave Doylestown. They took refuge at The Willow, the small restaurant where Anne Ellsworth had waitressed. The restaurant made the most of the severe weather. Even though an auxiliary generator powered it, they served by candlelight, which might have been romantic under other circumstances. Laurel and Aaron were seated across from each other at a small table in a cozy nook in the restaurant’s quieter back room.
Laurel took it all in and thought about Anne, the young woman she’d never had the chance to meet. Her presence seemed to hover over the restaurant like a specter searching for sanctuary. Or so Laurel felt as she took in the busy bar, the full tables, and the people laughing, drinking, and enjoying themselves over a nice meal while they took shelter from the storm.
Many of the restaurant’s patrons stopped talking when Laurel and Aaron entered the room. It was one of those brief but complete silences accompanied by furtive glances, immediately followed by the whispered, yet loud, buzz of uneasy supposition. It was, after all, a small town, and Laurel supposed they’d heard about the police from New York being involved. Most of these people had met Anne at one time or another. Laurel imagined that to them, Anne’s death was a horrifying occurrence that was also fair game for speculation, sprinkled with shock and dispensed with dread. From their furtive glances at her and Aaron, Laurel realized they were curious and maybe a little scared. Talking about it—human nature being what it was—helped keep their fears at bay. Still, the noise was jarring.
It was visibly different for the few employees who were close to Anne. Her friend, Cindy, the waitress who took Anne into her home when she left David Adams, and the restaurant’s manager, Art, who had tried to protect her, seemed genuinely saddened. Both offered to help Laurel and Aaron in any way they could.
After a young, pretty server brought their plates to the table, an uneasy silence settled between them. Laurel picked at her food and pushed it around her plate. Aaron, a detective whose job exposed him to death and its aftermath in many forms many times, didn’t appear as emotionally involved. Plus, he was a man. His appetite certainly didn’t seem to suffer as he enjoyed the well-prepared food.
If only I could do the same. Laurel continued to rearrange her food and think about Anne.
* * *
Aaron took a sip of the robust, ruby red Barolo wine he had ordered and stole a glance at Laurel over the rim of his glass. He was struck again by her beauty. Her brown eyes were downcast and sad, but that couldn’t hide the passion within. His eyes traveled down to her lips and he remembered how they tasted. As delicious as the wine he sipped. He struggled to push personal feelings aside and wrap his mind around the case.
The last hours after Laurel had returned to the station conference room were a revelation. She was in a panic over not being able to reach Jenna, and the possibility of what had happened to her friend seemed to terrify her. Slowly, in bits and pieces, Aaron learned what Laurel had been hiding.
As the storm raged around them, Aaron used all his skills and training as a professional negotiator to calm her down and get her talking.
“Aaron, there’s something I have to tell you,” she repeated, after he moved his hand away from her rain-soaked and tear-stained face. She shook all over and gulped in air. “I can’t keep denying it. It’s too … too dangerous.”
Her simple sentence blindsided him. He wasn’t prepared for the outpouring of honesty. It took guts for her to tell him that she’d been concealing, and his prior history with her made him expect she wouldn’t come clean. He listened to her words, his emotions going from anger to fear, to something he wouldn’t allow himself to identify. He looked at her soaking wet and trembling before him and was afraid she was going into shock. Quickly, he yanked his jacket from the back of the chair and walked around the table.
Struggling to control his feelings, he wrapped the jacket around Laurel’s shoulders and gently urged her to sit, enveloping her with his arms to help warm her. He swallowed hard and hit the intercom button on the phone. He asked the patrolman who picked up to bring in some towels from the locker room, along with a mug of hot coffee. He held her until the towels and coffee arrived, the whole time murmuring softly that it would be okay. Then he helped her dry off.
She shivered, and he spoke gently and softly, in an effort to calm her. “What is it? What is it you want to say?” he asked.
She gave one last shudder. “I haven’t been entirely honest about the reason behind my story and what Helen and I are working on. I should have told you before we left the city, but …”
It began to spill out. The idea for a story about hidden identity to help protect women like Anne. The plan to use Matt as a foil to David Adams and her request for Helen to help investigate them both. Laurel spoke nonstop, hand wrapped around the coffee mug the patrolman gave her, absorbing its warmth.
Aaron tried to focus on Laurel’s story and not think about her subterfuge. He held up his hand to slow her down. “Why would you want to investigate your boyfriend?” He was barely able to get the word out.
“I thought Matt would be the perfect choice, the hero of the piece, an upstanding Swiss banker with great credentials and nothing to hide.” Laurel laughed cynically, acknowledging her naïveté. “Another great judgment call on my part.”
Everyone has something to hide. In an unconscious attempt to put some distance between them, Aaron moved to the other side of the table as she continued with her story.
“When I mentioned the story to him, he began to act weird.” She put the mug down and absently played with the wet towels piled on the table. “Later that day, I thought I saw him on the street in New York, when he was supposed to be in Siena, and when I called Italy, I couldn’t find him.”
She fixed her eyes on Aaron, as if searching for acknowledgment of the tale she related. He kept his eyes focused on her, his expression attentive and watchful, yet neutral. He waited for her to continue and thought about the information she and Helen had withheld. Trying to mask these thoughts from her, he speculated on what else Helen might have kept from him, and realized his mind had drifted away from what Laurel was saying.
“… and when we were driving here this morning, that call I missed? It was from Jenna. She told me she had some news, some information about Matt and sounded scared.” Laurel shook her head. “You know Jenna, you know she’s very assertive, and has no qualms about getting what she wants. There’s not much that frightens her.” Aaron remembered the call and Laurel’s evasiveness about it, but let her continue in her own time without interrupting.
“I tried to call her back and Tony said she was meeting with Matt. I couldn’t believe it. Knowing Jenna, I’m sure she’ll confront him with whatever it is she found out.” Laurel twisted her hands together nervously. “I tried her cell as well and panicked when I couldn’t reach her. Especially after … after I found this.” She picked up the file she’d read before her trip to the coffee shop, before the outbreak of the storm. She turned to a letter that was its last page and handed it across the desk to him. “Please, don’t be angry with me.” She looked up at him. “I just needed time to think, and try to figure this all out.”
Aaron remembered scanning the file while Laurel was out. He had noted the signature at the bottom of the letter, but the name meant nothing to him at the time. Fury washed over him like a flash flood roaring through a canyon. He quelled it as best he could. “Were you planning to tell me your boyfriend was connected to David Adams and the Santucci family, or were you hoping it would all just go away?” He threw the challenge in her face.
“No … no … it’s not that way…” She paused, seeming to collect her thoughts. “What are the odds of these two people—people I’m involved with and writing about—being connected? How could I know?” Her voice was heated. “How could a coincidence like this happen?”
“Coincidences like this happen all the time, especially between thieves and murderers. So, tell me,” Aaron was barely able to conceal the disgust in this voice, “did you know about this? Did you? Did Helen? Just when did the two of you begin to suspect your Mr. Perfect boyfriend?”
“Stop it!” Laurel tossed off his jacket onto the pile of wet towels and leaned across the desk. Her temper surfaced, and then fizzled. She rested her head in her hands. “I don’t know. I just don’t know what to do, or what to believe.”
Aaron stabbed at the intercom button and asked that Detective Schnall join them. The big man complied and Aaron calmed himself enough to fill him in on the latest developments. It was Norm’s turn to get furious. His face turned red and his voice hardened as he addressed Laurel icily. “I let you come here and be part of this investigation because Aaron trusted you. I can see we both made a mistake. This isn’t a game or some story for a woman’s magazine. Anne Ellsworth is dead. Murdered. That’s what matters.”
Aaron had paced the room while Norm continued to berate Laurel. His old feelings for her threatened to surface and part of him wanted to rush in and rescue her. But the big man was right. Laurel needed to feel the consequences of her actions if she’d ever learn from her mistakes. He let Norm rant at her for a few more minutes until his wrath and frustration were spent. From past experience, Aaron knew that Norm would calm down as quickly as he flared up, and no permanent damage would be done. Aaron slipped out of the room. He wanted to use the detective’s phone out of Laurel’s hearing to call his squad in New York and pass on this new information.
“Identity Theft Squad, Detective Waxman speaking.” The phone was answered on the first ring.
“It’s Aaron. I need you on something right away.” He tucked the phone into his shoulder and spoke softly.
“What’s going on, boss?” Aaron could almost see Larry reaching for a pen and pad as he spoke.
“I want you to set up a tail on a guy possibly connected to the thing here. His name is Matt Kuhn, K-U-H-N. He’s a banker with ZurichBank AG on Park Avenue, so the particulars shouldn’t be hard to find.”
“How does he fit in?” Waxman asked.
“I’m still working that out,” Aaron said. “Keep it on the down low. He might be a link to the Santucci family, as well, and we don’t want it to leak we’re looking at him.”
“No kidding!” The detective hadn’t been able to hide his surprise. “Man, I’d love to get something on that bastard.”
“Tell me about it.” Aaron shifted the phone deeper into his chin and momentarily flashed on Laurel in the other room.
“Make sure he doesn’t know we’re on to him. Do an NCIC search, too. Keep this real close. Just the team. Understand?”
“I’m on it.” Aaron heard the detective clicking away at his computer. “I’ll get what I can find, set up the tail, and get back to you.”
Aaron thanked Larry and hung up.
When he had walked back into the room, the intercom buzzed. It was the Medical Examiner for Norm. He wanted to review the preliminary report on Anne Ellsworth’s case and needed the detective in the morgue.
Norm suggested tersely that Laurel and Aaron take a break, maybe get some dinner, and then they’d talk more. The weather was still causing serious problems. The meteorologists predicted several more hours of severe thunderstorms, and there was a tornado watch in effect. It wasn’t likely they could leave for New York until the morning.
Norm left them for a few minutes, and when he returned, he told them he had booked a pair of rooms at the Doylestown Manor on West State Street, just a few blocks away. Then he left for the morgue with a parting shot at Laurel. “I’m not through with you yet.”
They departed the station, Aaron’s mind churning with unanswered questions. Laurel had tried reaching Jenna several times but still hadn’t managed to get through. The weather and blackout disrupted both land and cell service, and there wasn’t much they could do about it. Aaron was lucky he had been able to reach his squad. He tried to call Helen, as well. All he had gotten was a call failed message.
Now Aaron picked up his wine and took another sip, reflecting on the situation. As things stood, it seemed they’d spend the night in Doylestown. Aaron cast a surreptitious glance at Laurel. He was angry with her, worried about her, and—worst of all—falling for her again. His mind and his emotions were in turmoil and he was being drawn down into a whirlpool as captivating as the deep red wine he swirled in his glass. Taking one last gulp, he looked at Laurel. He didn’t think he’d be getting much sleep tonight, no matter what happened next.