Erin Shaw is receiving just accolades at this prestigious book signing and we’ve barely gotten started. So many enthusiastic fans stood waiting in line for her arrival that even I’m impressed and I don’t impress easily. She should be over the moon, in current Americanism. And her lips are curved in a smile. But her eyes are filled with stress. I do believe my own Tammy Lynn noted it as well before she stepped away to find Erin a bottle of water. She’s so astute for a humanoid. I suspect that’s due to our close association all these years.
Tammy Lynn, however, hasn’t heard some of the conversations which I suspect have contributed to the tension. Conversations such as the one now ending.
“I’m truly sorry you believe my books glorify war. That is never my intent.”
“If you’re truly sorry, then you’ll quit writing them! That won’t happen though. It’s all about the money for you writers, isn’t it?”
Blimey! So much anger from this woman. Her dark eyes would be quite beautiful if they weren’t looking daggers at Erin.
“May I ask you a question?” Erin waits with more patience than most would exhibit in the face of such rudeness.
The woman watches her suspiciously for a moment before saying, “Sure, I guess so.”
“Have you read my book?” Erin’s voice is still very polite, almost gentle.
“I don’t have time for trashy novels and no money for it either.”
“I would be happy to give you a copy if you would read it and then let me hear back from you after. No other strings attached.”
“Give me a copy. No strings.” Her tone isn’t questioning. I suspect she’s conveying her disbelief of Erin’s words by their repetition. I’ll admit some variables of human communication can be confusing. In this exchange, however, Erin couldn’t have been more plain.
“None, except that you read it for yourself and let me know what you think afterward.”
“Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because it’s important to me that people understand my books for what they are. I think you’ll be surprised.”
“Well, if you’re going to give it to me, you might as well autograph it.” Arrgghh, her tone is surly beyond any acceptable bounds!
“I’ll be delighted.”
I watch in patent disbelief as Erin signs a hardback copy of her book rather than one of the cheaper paperbacks. Erin then walks the woman to the front of the store and pays for the book. Humph. Although she wasn’t as combative as one or two earlier protestors, I wouldn’t gift someone who’s just spewed insults to my face and then expresses no gratitude for the gift.
Humans are strange creatures.
Jack Kirkland flipped through the pages of a magazine while he waited for the ping of a response to his last text. The publication was one of those bland, hotel who’s who, places to see sort of magazines. Not his usual political fare by any means.
He froze when the pages fell open at the centerfold. She was there, on both sides. An author’s photo from her first novel on the left, young and full of excitement and dreams, juxtaposed with one from her current best seller, still lovely but mature, confident of her place in the world. His phone pinged and he ignored it as he stared at the girl who had once haunted his dreams. The woman he’d searched for off and on through the years.
It was the younger photo—of the girl—that had caused his heart to jump. His father had never given up but Jack had lost hope. The trail had ended where it began, in a little Northern town where a soldier’s sweetheart had died in childbirth. And—after selling their home and every belonging—her parents, along with her infant daughter, had vanished without a single trace. Until now.
Even as he argued with himself, that it couldn’t possibly be, he tossed his phone to the bed. Pulling open his laptop, he retrieved the photograph he’d long ago scanned from the cracked and fading original before returning it to its place in his safe.
His phone pinged again, in reminder. He glanced at it, then re-focused on the images, his eyes moving from computer screen to magazine. The two could have been twins had the styles—both hair and dress—not been from different eras. The one on his laptop wore the signature cropped, fluffed waves of the iconic Princess Diana. The one in the magazine, the long, face-framing layers preferred by movie stars two decades later—and every campus queen he’d dated.
But the face, ah yes, those features were the same. Large eyes, high cheekbones, a square jaw but not harsh. Nothing about her face was harsh or sharp but there was visible strength in her beauty.
And she was here. Somewhere close to him in this city. Her city. And he’d come by happenstance, a last-minute idea for a story that appealed to him more than most he’d done lately. And his editor had agreed, paid an advance on a feature not yet written.
He felt again that inexplicable urge to find her, to talk to her, and he could explain it no better now than ever. Her father had died long ago on a war-bloodied peninsula. His father was gone now, as well, and would never know. But Jack would know. And it mattered. Somehow it still mattered.
Jack picked up his phone and sent a reply to his editor that he’d call later. He sank into the leather chair in front of the desk and began to read about Erin Shaw.
Minutes later, he stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the lobby. If he hurried, he’d be spared trying to find Ms. Shaw’s home address. It seemed almost like something meant to be, that his business would bring him to her city. And not on just any day. On the very day and at the very hour she was signing copies of her most recent book at one of the largest bookstores in the state. And that the book’s meteoric success just happened to be significant enough to make a hotel publication as a noteworthy event.
He almost hailed a cab but at the last moment had the valet bring his sedan around. Before pulling into the street overloaded with traffic, he activated the navigation screen and pulled up the bookseller and associated directions. Taking a deep breath, he adjusted his seatbelt and merged with the swift-moving headlights.
“Erin? Can I get something for you? Another bottle of water, perhaps? Or would you rather have coffee? You’ve been at this for several hours, now.”
Erin smiled at Tammy Lynn. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? That the book is so well-received here in my home town?”
“Heartwarming is what it is.”
The heartwarming thing, Erin thought, was Tammy Lynn’s smile and her willingness to travel so far to be with someone who was no more than a friend on social media. They’d never been face-to-face before yesterday when Erin had met Tammy’s plane and taken her and the sleek black feline to lunch. But they’d fallen in as thick as the proverbial thieves and chatted for hours. She’d be sorry to see Tammy go in the morning.
“I do think the timing of the release with Veterans Day was helpful.”
“Brilliant,” Tammy Lynn agreed. “Your idea?”
“My editor and I did push the sales team in that direction. He’s such a dear to listen to me and it’s a blessing he holds such sway with the publishing house.”
The store manager stepped closer, grinning broadly at the women. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your willingness to extend your signing, Erin. You would have had some very disappointed fans.”
Erin smiled up at the man, surreptitiously stretching her back. “They were so patient to stand in line as long as they did. And I love talking with readers. Knowing I don’t have to be out of your way at a certain time has allowed me the opportunity for several pleasant conversations.” She didn’t mention that not every conversation had been pleasant. A small number of persons who had stopped by did so to let her know they disagreed with what they believed to be the premise of her novel, that some wars are a necessary evil.
The store manager was almost rubbing his hands with joy. No need for her to burst that bubble. He’d been kind and attentive while careful not to hover or crowd, all of which she appreciated. “Good. Good. I’m glad you got something from the time as well. Besides more royalties, that is.” He chuckled at his own words. “The foot traffic through the store has been enormous. Customers are buying more than your book. They’re walking out with arms loaded with similar work on both sides of the equation.”
And she’d heard both sides of that equation. She didn’t bother to tell any of her fans or critics that the point of view of her protagonist, male or female, wasn’t always her own.
“The good news for you is not only did your fans deplete the entire stock of books I had set aside for this signing but everything I had ready to restock the shelves tomorrow. I’ve already requested an overnight shipment to get them replaced.” By now he was rubbing his hands together with pleasure.
A politely cleared throat from behind had him hastily stepping aside for a customer.
The man gave Erin a quick smile. “I believe I’ve snared the last copy of your book at the register. Will you sign it for me?”
His smile was infectious but it was his gaze that held her attention. His eyes were a rich dark chocolate brown, and mesmerizing in their intensity. He was dressed simply. A polo shirt tucked into jeans and topped with a sports coat. His shoes were stylish but comfortable looking. He almost looked familiar but she felt certain they’d never met.
She was staring. The realization startled her. “Of course.” She held out her hand for the book. “Sit down. Please.”
As he took the seat across from her, she opened to the dedication page and picked up the pen she preferred for signings.
“How would you like it personalized? Is it a gift?”
“No, I’m being selfish. This one’s for me. Jack Kirkland.”
She’d been looking down at the pen poised above the paper but his words drew her eyes back to his face. “Jack Kirkland? The Jack Kirkland? America Reborn?” And, of course. That was why he’d looked familiar to her. She’d seen his byline and photo many times.
“Uh-oh.” His laugh was light and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Friend or foe?”
She smiled back. Even if she’d despised his work, she suspected his laughter would have drawn a smile from her. “Friend and fan for sure. Your stories, as well as your column, are forcing people to think for themselves. That’s a gift and something much needed these days.”
Refocusing her attention, she signed the book with the words she’d just spoken. For Jack Kirkland, from friend and fan, Erin Shaw.
She handed it to him and he bent to tuck it into a bag stamped with the bookstore’s logo. It looked as if he’d shopped quite a bit before bringing this one to her to sign.
When he straightened, he said, “I’d love to interview you for my next story.”
“Me?” The word squeaked out. He’d managed to surprise her. “Why on earth?”
America Reborn was dedicated to covering the ongoing political changes from the perspective of those not in politics but affected by it. His monthly contribution, styled ‘Kirkland’s Case’, was the magazine’s greatest calling card. She was the least politically-driven person imaginable.
“I’m in town for tomorrow’s Veterans Day celebration Vietnam Remembered which ties perfectly with your book.”
Erin tilted her head, still questioning. “My book isn’t a plug for or a diatribe against anyone or anything.” Although a bookstore customer had flung that accusation at her not an hour ago. “It’s a novel. All of them are. They have nothing to do with politics.”
“Which is why they, and you, are perfect for my story. Let me buy you a drink and talk you through what I have in mind. If you don’t like it, all you have to say is no. If the idea appeals, you read it before it’s in print. You can still say no at that point.”
She chuckled, unexpectedly intrigued. She told herself it was because her agent and her publisher, both, would be delighted at the additional publicity and that it had nothing to do with the instant and unexpected attraction she felt for this man.
“I have a friend visiting from out of town so I can’t abandon her for drinks with you.” Hoping Tammy Lynn wouldn’t mind, she hesitated only a moment before adding, “But you’re welcome to join us for dinner.”
“If you’re sure she won’t mind,” he said.
“She absolutely won’t mind.” Tammy spoke from directly behind him, winking at Erin as she did so. When he turned, she smiled and offered her hand. “Mr. Kirkland! I recognized you when you came in and I’ve been dying to interrupt. I’m going to be one of those obnoxious fans and torment you with questions over dinner because I so admire your work.”
Jack had improvised, of course, but he thought he’d done it pretty smoothly. But, if his claim of being a fan of Erin Shaw wasn’t quite the truth, he suspected it soon would be. While she’d been busy with other customers, he’d read the back copy and reviews on the five of her novels the bookstore had in stock. All were sagas of families with multiple generations impacted by American involvement in wars overseas. Some of those families had fared well, some had not. He’d purchased those five and planned to buy her others as soon as he could find them. He knew he’d start reading once he was back in his hotel tonight.
And, though his suggestion of an interview had been a ploy to lengthen his time with her, he rather thought it might prove to be one of his better ideas. The one thing he was less sure of was when and how to reveal his real motives.
There’s something interesting about this gent. Not shady, no. And my intellectually advanced human has given a clear pass on his authenticity and interest in our new author friend. Jack is a celebrity in his own right, it would seem. Still, I saw him watching Erin Shaw when he first entered the store and his expression wasn’t that of a fan. Not that it was threatening in any way. Ah, no. I’d never have let him near her had it been. He looked at her much as I might look at a mystery that needs solving. I realize that’s an imprecise description, but I can’t do better at the moment. Not when there’s no hint of a threat—and I’ve heard the word dinner.
Fortunately, our restaurant is just around the corner and within walking distance. My goal is never to insult, but I could not, of course, have allowed either of the two women in my charge to step into a car with a perfect stranger. I hope they wouldn’t have, in any case, but humans can sometimes be much too trusting.
Also, fortunately, as Erin assured, it has outside seating. Some facilities can be very difficult about serving non-humans. We seem to be the only party inclined to dine out of doors, although the evening is mild enough.
I settle across the toes of my Tammy’s shoes, confident she’ll order something sublimely scrummy for my dinner. As the trio chat about books and writing, I gaze at the foot traffic along the sidewalk. It seems quite heavy for such a late hour but, as I remind myself, this isn’t our small town of Wetumpka. Interestingly, I catch sight of a young woman who purchased one of Erin’s books earlier. She now has a number of additional shopping bags hanging on her arms, all with different store names. She appears to have made a day of her outing.
An older couple stroll hand in hand, though stroll might be too chipper a term as he leans heavily on his cane. Still, the smiles that curve their lips, the conversation with faces close together makes me believe it a good adjective for their walk together.
My cozy position is disturbed as my human rises to powder her nose. Which is a misnomer as I know for a fact that she doesn’t use powder. Sighing, I resettle myself, this time, draping across her purse as much for its safekeeping as for comfort, of course.
A gaggle of people crowded together, perhaps from a bus stop nearby, stride past, some with those inevitable cell phones to their ears, some with briefcases, some with backpacks. And not a happy expression amongst them. I think city life must be very stressful.
As the crowd clears a bit, a gentleman catches my eye. He has a scruff of a beard which seems all the rage now among young men that age. I surmise it’s intended to denote a sophisticated but casual image. I do believe I saw him in the store as well, although he didn’t approach for an autograph so perhaps not one of Erin’s fans. But, then, on second glance, I think not. The other gentleman wore a hideous drab green button-down some designer fashioned with over-sized white buttons and his glasses had seen better days. This young man had the good taste to pair a charcoal tee and black windbreaker. The facial features not hidden by the scruff, however, are markedly similar, the nose, the eyes. I’ve never been a believer of the adage that everyone has a twin somewhere. But, perhaps.
He turns his head toward us as he passes. His gaze falls upon our corner of the restaurant and his eyes narrow the tiniest bit, which causes my attention to heighten. His interest doesn’t seem idle. His hand lifts toward the pocket of his windbreaker and my internal radar sends adrenaline rushing. The hair lifts along my neck, a familiar feeling that presages danger. I dare not wait to see if he’s indeed reaching for a gun as my senses warn. I streak from the table with an angry hiss and howl, bounding across the intricate ironwork of the fence separating the seating area from the sidewalk.
The first bullet whizzes past me and I can only pray my yowl provided sufficient warning for my human charges to avoid those that follow. My claw catches in his sleeve but he’s already turning to run and I’m flung away. I scramble to my feet and give chase as he merges with and disappears into the crowd.
One moment Jack was trying not to stare at a woman he found more fascinating with every word she spoke. The next, he was shoving her out of her chair and covering her with his body in instinctive reaction to the sound of shots being fired. He hoped her friend, Tammy, didn’t walk into the danger unaware.
Jack pulled his cell phone out of his pocket as he murmured to Erin to remain down and still. She stopped struggling as he spoke into the phone, giving the name and location of the restaurant with the succinct message that shots had been fired at patrons. And, no, he didn’t know if there were any injuries. He didn’t mention the cat that had rocketed, yowling, toward the source of the gunfire.
Not until the cat returned did Jack feel it was safe to pull Erin to her feet. And he couldn’t have said why that was so to save his soul. It just was. Sirens wailed in the distance.
He glanced around, noting the waitstaff had positioned themselves at the side door of the restaurant, keeping the other patrons, including Erin’s auburn-haired friend, inside. At least no gawkers had been allowed to place themselves in danger.
When the doors were opened, moments later, the redhead launched herself through the opening toward them. Following on her heels was a man in a suit with a pin at his lapel. Jack’s assumption that he was restaurant management was confirmed by the man’s swift apology.
“Good heavens! I was just advised we had guests seated out here. Are either of you hurt?”
Jack had been studying Erin’s face, reassuring himself that she hadn’t been. Bruised because he’d tumbled her to the patio stones, perhaps, but—thank God—not shot. He released his light grip on her. Dropping his arms to his side, he forced himself to take a step back. In a sense, he’d known her forever but he knew, to her, he was still very much a stranger.
The sound of sirens is ear-splitting as patrol cars pull in along the curb beside the restaurant. And seriously, the ears of a feline are more sensitive than that of most creatures. We are the quintessence of quiet. To my relief, the officers silence them once they park and exit their cars but those blue lights continue to whirl.
I take a protective stand beside the two women, watching and listening as they are questioned. Of course, my Tammy has little to say as she wasn’t present at the moment the shots were fired, for which I shall be forever grateful. I’m not sure my heart would have withstood that fright.
Erin Shaw hasn’t much more to say. Nor does Jack Kirkland, although I note with interest that he continues to watch me far more than he watches the police who now search the dining area. I allow a small sigh as I leave my post to help in that endeavor, which is taking much too long.
Jack’s gaze follows me as I move toward a table in one corner. I duck beneath the white cloth covering and bat a spent bullet out in to the open. I push another from its resting place in a crevice between the brick wall and the pavers. Although Jack doesn’t miss a move I make, neither does he give me away by so much as a twitch. Good man, that.
I find four scattered about but am certain I heard six leave the chamber in quick succession. Stepping back, I gaze up at the windows, then at the heavy wooden frames surrounding the glass panes of the door. I find one of the bullets at once as the wood was splintered by the impact. I provide Jack with that information by the simple method of looking at him—yes, still watching me—then fixing my stare on the damaged wood. The sixth is on the opposite side of the door, a bit farther up and half-buried in the grout between the bricks. Both are quickly seen by the officer Jack dispatches in my direction with a low word.
Jack has that recognizable air of authority that could easily convince me he served in the military or perhaps a police force at some point.
I watch as all six bullets are retrieved from the corner behind the table where my human companions were seated. I commend myself on my intuition and quick action. I shudder to think of the consequences if the wanker had managed to take care with his aim before I put him to flight.
Now to figure out motive and identity. I despair of that being a task I can leave to the law enforcement of this town. I can’t allow them to bodge the investigation. Had I not intervened they would still be searching for bullets. Not that they are inept. They’re simply not up to my level of investigative abilities. My sire taught me well and I share as much of that knowledge as I can. Sharing with humans, however, has its limitations and tribulations. Poor creatures.
Erin sat watching the goings on around her. She knew she would feel some aches in the morning where she’d been pressed between hard pavers and Jack’s equally hard muscles. Her mind shied from the memory of those muscles and she reminded herself how close she’d come to being shot. That dampened any thoughts of how very nice his body had felt against hers. She just wasn’t sure if she wanted those feelings to be squelched. It had been a long time and she had said never again. But—
“Ms. Shaw?”
She stilled, embarrassed where her mind had drifted. “Yes, officer?”
“Detective. Detective Brandt. I have a few questions if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
He took the chair across from her and flipped open a pad. “You’re unharmed, right?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Any idea why someone would take a shot at you? Or six?”
The question startled her. “You think they were shooting at me?”
“You or Mr. Kirkland. I’ll be asking him the same questions.”
She looked across to where Jack was talking with one of the officers. What a mess all of this was. It felt surreal.
“I had assumed…I mean there are so many random shootings these days. Nightclubs and malls and schools and the like.”
“Too many,” he agreed. “And if the shots had been fired into the restaurant with its abundance of customers, I’d be coming at this from a different angle. Those type shooters try to achieve the maximum number of victims.”
Achieve, she thought numbly, like a goal of some kind. She shuddered. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“With only two possible victims here, I don’t think it was random. Not with six bullets expended. The perp was trying to accomplish something. He or she had a target and that target was most likely you or Mr. Kirkland.”
“I suppose.” She stayed silent for a moment then answered his question. “But, no, I don’t know why anyone would try to shoot me.”
To her surprise, Tammy’s cat jumped onto the table between them and stared at her with a piercing green gaze. Almost as if he challenged her statement. But that was ridiculous, of course. Still, it made her think harder.
The detective waited, as if sensing there was something more.
“Well,” she said slowly, “I’m a writer and readers don’t always agree with my thoughts and ideas on things. But that’s no reason to shoot someone.”
Detective Brandt gave a small snort. “You’d be surprised at what some people think is a reason to kill.”
Murder was so far out her realm she didn’t know how to respond to that, so, she didn’t.
“Any recent disagreements?”
Now she wished she hadn’t said anything. She didn’t want to drag the bookstore into this mess with some inadvertent statement. The manager had been very gracious to her and she’d like to be invited back for future signings. But the detective waited her out until she knew he wasn’t going to drop the slant his questions had taken. Her fault.
“Not really, no. Nothing I’d call a disagreement because that takes two.”
“So, what would you call it?”
She had a fierce urge to thump her head against a wall but took a deep breath instead. “I had a signing today. One or two of the customers felt my books extol war. They don’t—I don’t—but I didn’t argue the point.”
“So, what did you say to them?”
“Asked them to read the book, then decide.”
His lips quirked. “That would help, wouldn’t it?”
“It would,” she agreed quietly.
“And you didn’t feel threatened by any of them?”
“Not at all.”
The detective sighed and she almost apologized for not being able to provide him at least one suspect. But, to her mind at least, someone like Jack, whose magazine contributions bumped the fringes of the political, was a much more likely target than she.
“Shall I walk you and Tammy back to your car?” The police had wrapped up their activities. Jack could see the weariness in Erin’s eyes.
She smiled faintly. “Tammy and Trouble and I took an Uber to the bookstore.”
“Then I’d like to take you home.” It was late. Near midnight. And she was clearly exhausted. Even so, he could almost see her thoughts spinning. All the reasons she might think it not a good idea.
“Thank you. That would be nice.”
Relief eased through him at her words.
They were a quiet group as they walked back to the bookstore and his car. Quieter still on the short ride to Erin’s pretty but unpretentious home. More of a bungalow, really, he thought, but the neighborhood was impressive. He pulled into her drive but left the car running as he walked them to the door.
Her friend, Tammy, disappeared inside. The cat was less hasty, giving Jack one long, enigmatic look, swirling his tail in the air as he turned and stepped through the doorway.
“It was nice of you to drive us,” Erin said.
“Are you alright?”
She chuckled but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I haven’t a clue. I’m more confused than anything.”
“I’d still like to interview you and we didn’t get a chance to talk about that.”
“We didn’t, did we.”
At least, he thought, she didn’t immediately reject the idea he hoped to reopen. “May I take you to lunch tomorrow? And your houseguest of course.”
“Tammy and Trouble have to catch a morning flight.”
He waited, not wanting to press so hard she said no.
“But honestly…” His heart sank at her opening. He could almost hear the refusal coming. “I’m not keen on another restaurant just yet. Why don’t you stop back by here tomorrow afternoon? About 2:00? It will be nice out on the patio.” She stepped back to close the door and added, “I’m not that interesting, you know.”
He thought of everything he knew about her that she didn’t. Yet. “I’ll look forward to seeing you then.” And he did look forward to it. More than he had anything in a while.
Hmmm, that was interesting. I do believe our man, Jack, is the professional he claims to be. But I’m not at all certain his interest in Erin is professional, at least not entirely.
I escort my charges to the rear of the house. It’s a homey place, not large, but renovated with rather charming touches that would fit nicely into a posh English manor. Lots of woodwork and mullioned windows. The true beauty of the house proves to be the broad expanse of those windows across the large kitchen, dining, and sitting area. The patio beyond is garlanded with tiny, white fairy lights. We step through a doorway off the sitting area and into the cozy room where Erin crafts her books. It, too, faces the patio and those twinkling lights. It’s clean although a bit cluttered as, of course, one would expect with a creative mind at work.
The ladies settle in for a chat over a bottle of wine and I curl up beside Erin who looks first startled, then pleased. She places a hand lightly upon my back and I purr in appreciation. Although there’s no evidence of a cat here – and believe me I would know – she seems cat-intuitive. None of us like being mauled. We’ll let our humans know if we want to be scratched or petted.
Their conversation is a lazy hum to my own thoughts. Tammy is loath to leave Erin with tonight’s events unresolved. She does, however, have prior commitments, other events to attend over the next few days, other authors to support. Nor will Erin consider allowing her to change her plans.
“Tonight’s excitement is in the hands of the police and they’ll no doubt determine it was some random thing. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She speaks firmly and I think she believes her own words. I, however, do not.
Nor does my human look convinced. “I hope so but I did overhear one or two of your exchanges with readers who are not fans.”
Erin lowers the wineglass she’d been raising to her lips. “It’s true, some can’t seem to separate the book and its characters from the writer, but no one I talked with today seemed the least murderous.”
“But others have been?” Ah, yes, my human is shrewd to hear what Erin didn’t say.
Erin’s hesitation is noticeable. “One or two have been angry.” She lifts her shoulders. “I wouldn’t call them murderous.”
“How would you describe them?”
“Opinionated. Insulting. I’ve come to accept my books are controversial but they’ve been well received by most.” That lift of the shoulders again. “Now, tell me about your next few days. Where are the signings and who are the authors?”
Tammy allows her to shift the conversation and I let my gaze drift around the room as I feel a nap overtaking me. It’s been a long day, after all. Tammy slips off her shoes and tucks her stockinged feet into the large comfy chair as Erin has done. The movement reveals several framed photos upon the shelf behind her. I freeze as all thoughts of a nap leave me. I study the two men posed with Erin and realize I’ll have to let Tammy know I won’t be traveling on with her. I have a case to solve.
My first task will be to determine why Erin was photographed with the man who tried to kill her. His features are unmistakable. I’ve found my man. In a manner of speaking.
Erin still felt a bit bemused as she walked toward the sound of her front doorbell, the black cat at her heels. It would be Jack, of course, right on time. Her heart lifted at the thought of him, which was a scary reality all by itself.
He smiled when she opened the door. He stepped in at her invitation and his glance dropped to the cat. “Did your friend decide to stay on a bit?”
“No. Tammy went on without him. Come on back and I’ll explain.” Not that she could. Not really. Tammy’s note had been confusing at best.
It was the perfect autumn afternoon, with a crispness to the air that suited the patio to perfection. Her veranda was her favorite room, surrounded by a brick wall which blocked the chill winds of winter and shaded by small-statured trees in the heat of summer. She noted that Jack looked around him appreciatively as they walked out.
“Would you like something to drink? I’ve coffee and sparkling water and wine.”
“I’ll tell you what. Let’s get the interview out of the way, then a glass of wine would be perfect.”
That, she thought, was an odd way to word it. As if the interview were a duty to be discharged rather than his purpose in being here.
They moved through the first of his questions easily. How long had she been writing? What motivated her to start? How did she celebrate when she hit the best seller lists in multiple countries? Those and similar questions were easy to answer. Her answers slowed as the questions probed more into the stories themselves. Questions like why war which had everything to do with her father’s staunch patriotism and her mother’s hatred of the Battle of Luzon. The Second World War had taken Erin’s grandfather before her mother ever had a chance to know him.
After the first hour they found themselves talking, exploring thoughts and opinions, pen and paper laid aside. Erin felt herself opening up to him as if they’d known each other a thousand years and smiled when he said as much.
“Indeed, and it looks as if our interview is at an end.”
“The interview, perhaps, but I hope not the afternoon,” he said softly.
She was amazed to find herself blushing. “Are you ready for that glass of wine?”
“Yes, but—oh, wait—I do need a photograph or two of you, if you don’t mind.” He slipped a small camera from his briefcase as he put his notebook away. “The light is beautiful out here, but I’d like some in your office as well.”
Jack was delighted Erin didn’t flee to freshen up, no quick dusting of powder or adding lip color. She posed where he asked and smiled at him in that wonderfully natural way she had. And he realized she had no idea how beautiful she was.
They moved back inside and stopped in the kitchen where she gestured toward the wine cooler. “Pick something for us while I get the glasses. You can’t choose wrong for me.” She laughed, then admitted, “I only buy what I like.”
He turned to watch as she poured a bowl of cream for the cat who studied it as if it were a foreign offering before he deigned to lap at it. “You never told me how he came to stay.”
A faint frown furrowed her brow. “It’s the strangest thing. I woke this morning to find that Tammy had already gone on, leaving her cat and a very odd note.”
“Odd?”
“Very. She said that Trouble—that’s his name—had elected to stay behind and I should be on guard because it meant I was in danger of some sort. I should trust him and do my best to pay attention to anything he tries to tell me.”
“Odd indeed.” Jack glanced down at the cat and discovered he’d ceased lapping the milk and was watching Erin. “But he did thwart the shooting last night.”
“That had to have been more happenstance than intentional.”
Jack raised one brow.
“Oh, come, you don’t believe he has some kind of special abilities?”
“I think animals have more than most of us realize. Think of the service dogs now being used to warn of seizures, rats that detect cancer.”
“That’s a bit different than acting as a bodyguard or solving a crime.”
“Well, Tammy apparently doesn’t think it farfetched and nor—judging by his expression—does Trouble.”
Following his gaze, Erin burst into laughter. “I think you’re right. He looks insulted.”
“Which would indicate he understood your words.” Jack watched as her look of amusement turned to curiosity. He liked that she was more open to possibilities than she realized. In fact, he realized, he liked everything about her.
“It would,” she admitted. “But we can’t even be sure I was the intended victim.” She watched as Jack expertly opened the wine. “What if it were you, instead?”
“I suppose it’s possible I was followed from my hometown, that someone flew on the same plane, hung around outside my hotel and then the bookstore, then tailed me to the restaurant.”
He could tell by her expression that it sounded as unlikely to her as it did to him.
“So, we go with the supposition that the shots weren’t fired at random and the gun wasn’t aimed at you. The detective thinks the shooter was an angry reader. I simply can’t credit that.”
“Then who?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea.”
The anxious look was back on her face and Jack was sorry to see it there. Without thinking about it, he lifted his hand to her neck, gently pulling her close. When he lowered his lips to hers, she met him halfway and his heart jumped at the realization.
After a moment, before the kiss could turn intense, she stepped back.
“I can’t apologize,” he said. “I’m not sorry.”
“Nor am I,” she admitted.
He pulled his thoughts back to the danger that threatened her. “We do need to talk through some possibilities but let’s give that conversation a rest. The wine can breathe for a bit while I snap a few photos in your office. I don’t want to forget those.” He knew he wanted them more for himself than for his story but he wasn’t ready to give voice to that. Not yet.
One must be thankful for small favors. My humans have maneuvered themselves back into the very room where I need them. I glance at the younger man in the framed photograph in Erin’s office and ponder my options as Jack takes pictures, first of Erin seated at her desk then curled up in one of her comfy chairs. I must find a way to bring the likeness to their attention.
And, then, almost as if the intensity of my thoughts brought it to fruition, Jack gives me the opening I need.
“So, if not one of your readers, is there anyone in your past who might wish you harm? Any event that might have triggered violence?”
I know this is the only opening I’m likely to get and I dare not waste the opportunity. Drawing their attention with a low growl, I leap from the floor to an ottoman to the shelf. I bat the frame with the lightest touch so that it falls face down upon the shelf and I’m relieved that I don’t hear the sound of breaking glass. I turn toward Jack, as I feel he’s the most sympathetic to the notion of my abilities. Looking right into his eyes, I growl again, then turn to glare at the fallen photograph.
Erin watched as Jack studied the black cat for a long moment before righting the picture frame. He looked at the trio in the photograph, then at Erin.
“My husband on our wedding day. And his son, who was his best man.”
“Are you divorced?”
“No, he died three years later. Cancer.” She felt a lingering sadness sweep through her although it had been five years ago. They’d barely had time to be happy together, to learn to be a husband and a wife before he’d fallen ill.
“And his son?”
She appreciated that he didn’t mention the unsmiling face of her step-son but his disapproval had ceased to bother her long ago.
“They quarreled soon after we were wed. He felt his father remarried too soon. That it showed a lack of respect for his mother. He attempted a lawsuit to take this house away from his father. It failed and he left the States for the Philippines and never came back. Not even when his father was so ill. I wrote him several e-mails, but he never answered.”
Jack looked at Trouble. “Did you see this man last night?”
Trouble growled very low, then lifted a paw with slow precision and batted the frame face down again.
Erin shook her head, more than a little dazed. “You don’t think …?”
Jack met her gaze. “What I think is that we should call Detective Brandt.”
Long hours later, Erin looked across her natural stone counter top at Jack. “I’m ready for that wine now.”
Jack smiled. “It’s had enough time to breathe, that’s for certain.”
She poured them each a generous amount and watched as he raised the glass to his nose and breathed in. “Nice,” he said.
She lifted hers. “Cheers.”
As tired as she was, Erin was careful to sip. She pulled a covered platter of cheese from the refrigerator and rummaged in the butler’s pantry until she found the crackers she wanted. When she looked up, Jack was watching her carefully. “Are you okay?”
“Stunned, but, yes, I’m okay. It’s hard to fathom.”
She remained amazed at the skill with which Jack had managed to convince the detective to look into her step-son’s whereabouts, that he’d been seen near the scene of the shooting but no, Jack, couldn’t reveal by whom. She rather thought the detective had been receptive more because he had no other suspect than that he thought this was a likely one.
To his surprise, but more to Erin’s, he’d confirmed her step-son was indeed stateside and in the city. With some quick research, a loss of income coupled with suspicion of embezzlement had come to light. A search warrant had been promptly issued, and a handgun retrieved from the microwave in his hotel room. He hadn’t bothered to cover his tracks, registering a room in his own name within walking distance of Erin’s house. The house that had once belonged to his parents.
None of them now doubted the handgun would prove a match with the bullets that had been retrieved. The arrest, as the detective described it, had been almost anticlimactic. Her step-son, nonchalant and unaware, had walked back into the hotel where Detective Brandt had officers waiting for him.
“The will his father and I made together, after our marriage, ensured this house would come to him upon my death. I was more adamant than his father on that point.” Erin sighed. “The worst thing is, if he’d come to me after his father died, I would have relinquished the house to him. As much as I’ve come to love it, he was raised here.”
“No.” Jack’s voice was husky. “The worst thing is, he nearly killed you. If it weren’t for Trouble’s quick actions, he might well have.”
“I think I’m going to have to give him that.” Erin stooped to run a grateful hand down the sleek fur on the feline’s back. “Along with a nice fat steak for dinner.” She straightened and looked at Jack. “I believe I owe you one as well. I might never have listened to Trouble if you hadn’t been here. Not even after reading Tammy’s note.”
“You don’t owe me anything but I definitely could eat. I noticed a grill on your patio.” When she hesitated, he said quickly, “I’m sorry. If that was your husband’s … the shared memories … I understand you might not want someone else using it.”
“Oh, it isn’t that at all. I just bought the thing and haven’t quite conquered it yet.”
Jack looked relieved, but only for a moment. “I can definitely help with that, but I have to share something with you first. It won’t be easy for you to hear.”
Erin put down her wineglass. “Okay,” she said slowly, wondering what could possibly be coming next.
“Come sit down. I’ve got some things in my briefcase to show you.”
Erin left her wineglass on the bar beside Jack’s. She sat with him on the sofa and watched as he placed his briefcase on the cushion between them.
He didn’t open it immediately. When he took a deep breath, she felt butterflies start in her stomach. Whatever he was going to tell her was serious and she wondered if she should stop him, just not hear it. But she stayed silent.
“Too many American soldiers died in Nam.” A heavy silence lengthened between them. “I think your father was one of them.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. Jack wouldn’t have made that statement lightly. And it would explain so many things she’d wondered about during her childhood.
The first thing he showed her were two photographs. One torn from a magazine of some sort, another a photocopy of a woman, really little more than a girl, from another decade, another century now. The one in the magazine was her. The other … she felt unexpected tears gather in her eyes as she placed her fingertips lightly on the face that could have been hers. Not the hairstyle or the clothing. But the features. Yes.
Then he showed her a third photograph. The woman and a man, standing with their arms around each other. He was handsome in his uniform, smiling broadly.
It seemed as if the breath had left her lungs completely. She wanted to speak but found she couldn’t make a sound.
“Erin?”
“Their names?” It was all she could manage.
“His name was George Hollister. Her name was Elizabeth Erin Shaw.”
Her middle name was Georgia. Erin Georgia Shaw. She took several deep breaths. “Where did you get the photographs?”
“He and my dad served in Nam together. Soon after he was deployed, Elizabeth sent a letter saying she was going to have his child. There are letters, that one and the one he sent in return telling her how happy he was, asking her to marry him as soon as he got back, and the original photographs. He and my dad made a pact that if one of them didn’t make it home, the other would get his things to the woman he left behind. My dad made it home.”
And—if Jack were right—hers hadn’t.
“When did he die?”
“September 1969.”
A month before she was born.
“My dad never stopped trying to find your mother, then you. When I was old enough, he and I searched together.”
“We lived in Canada. I was told I was born there. I have a lot of questions for the people who raised me.” She looked at Jack and blinked back the tears that still threatened. “I think I’ll finish my glass of wine now.”
Late in the night, Erin sent a text to her mother. Who am I? Please don’t lie to me.
The answer came immediately. Our granddaughter. Only child of our Elizabeth who died just hours after your birth. Your father was a soldier we barely knew. Please don’t hate us. Please call. We need to talk.
She would never hate them. She couldn’t even be angry. Not yet. Perhaps that would come. But she’d hear them out first. But not tonight. In the morning. She was beginning to have a glimmer of understanding about her upbringing. The isolation with no close friends, no family. The protective, almost smothering, love they’d wrapped around her had been one of the reasons she struck out on her own soon after completing college. One of the reasons she’d dated little and married late.
I’ll call in the morning. Good night. She hesitated, then added, I love you, Mom, before she hit send.
Trouble curled up on the pillow beside her and she could hear his purring in the dark. It was a comforting sound.
Jack rang Erin’s doorbell promptly at 11:30. He’d made restaurant reservations at the nicest place he could find downtown. The Vietnam War Veterans Day Commemoration didn’t start until 2:00. He’d come for this event, both to honor his father’s service and to use the commemoration as the anchor for his story which would honor them all. That had been reason enough, but the day carried a whole new meaning for him now.
Erin’s smile when she opened the door eased a fear that he hadn’t known he’d had.
“I’m ready. Come in for a moment and I’ll get my purse and let Trouble know I’m leaving. He’s listening to the radio on my bed.”
Jack said not a word. He just grinned.
When she returned and they walked toward his car in the drive, he admitted, “I was going to ask if you were sure about going but I can see that you are.”
“Absolutely sure. I’ve never honored my father’s service to this country because I didn’t know about it. I’ll never miss another Veterans Day celebration.” She paused, “And this one is special because it marks the service of Vietnam Vets in particular. I’m glad I knew in time. I’m glad you told me.”
Jack squeezed her hand as he reached to open the car door for her. “I’m glad I found you.” He had a feeling he would be grateful for that the rest of his life.
And that’s a wrap. Erin was gracious enough to put the phone on speaker as she talked with her parents this morning. And, yes, although not her mother and father, they are her parents and always will be. What they did was wrong and, as it turns out, unnecessary. There was no need for them to flee the States and live in hiding throughout Erin’s childhood. They never had to dread her father would come home from the war to claim Erin and take away the last vestige of their daughter. Yes, they were very wrong, but Erin has the truth now and they’ll live easier knowing she loves them in spite of their mistakes.
Now, all I have to do is lounge about this lovely residence for the next day or two until my human comes to take me home. Life is good.