Chapter 22

 

 

 

 

LINDA STOOD with her ear piqued for any sounds in the house. Only silence bounced back. She closed her eyes smiled. She was blessedly alone. The kids were on playdates and Octavia was visiting her horse at Grim Hollister’s.

She walked to the kitchen and ferreted out a bottle of red wine someone had brought to the house when Sullivan had passed away. She’d thought it odd at the time, but now it seemed genius. She had to rummage for the corkscrew which had migrated to the very back of the utensil drawer. The wine glasses were buried even deeper in a cabinet. Sullivan had preferred beer and on the few occasions she drank, she would simply snag one of his. But once upon a time, she’d enjoyed wine. One of these days she wanted to be the kind of person who had a wine fridge and a station of bar supplies.

For now, she’d be happy to get the doors back onto the cabinets and flooring down over the plywood.

After wrestling the bottle open with the dull corkscrew, she poured the glass half full, then added a couple more inches. Then she lifted the glass to toast her silent surroundings. “To solitude.”

Her sip of the wine was interrupted by Max’s bark from his bed in the living room. She laughed, dribbling wine on the breakfast bar. “Sorry, boy. I forgot you were here.”

He stood and lumbered over for a scratch. A scent caught his attention, sending him sniffing around the floor. Probably something Octavia had tracked in on her riding boots, she mused.

She worked her mouth side to side. That was two visits to ride her horse in the space of a few days… was it possible…?

No, her uppity sister would never cavort with the likes of Grim, which is why she dearly hoped the man didn’t make the mistake of falling for her.

Linda took a drink of the wine and let the unfamiliar flavor wash over her tongue. The alcohol pleasantly burned the back of her throat. She realized with a laugh that her tolerance was way down—it wouldn’t take much to get her tipsy.

Max followed the unknown scent around the room and down the hall, long ears swinging, so intent that he bumped into things. She watched and wondered if he still had the ability to detect scents he’d been trained to find when he was a pup, or if as Oakley had insinuated, she was imagining a mystery where there was none.

To assuage her guilt for the way she’d been feeling about her marriage? Or because she wanted to turn Sullivan into some kind of martyr?

A few minutes later Max lost interest in the scent and walked back to his bed to flop down.

Linda took another drink then surveyed her sister’s explosion of clothes and shoes and toiletries around the battered futon. If Octavia was going to stick around, they were going to have to figure out a more permanent storage solution. She walked over to clear a path, picking up one pile to stack on another. A few minutes in, she spotted something sticking out from under the futon and came up short.

The charger for Sullivan’s phone.

She gave a little laugh, then scooped it up and walked back to the breakfast bar. After fishing his old phone out of her bag, she plugged it in, relieved when the charging light began to flash.

Happy to have one item off her to-do list, she settled in at the bar with study notes from the class and the glass of wine that was starting to taste really, really good.

Reviewing the segment on weapons made her think of Oakley and his comment the first night he’d shown up to teach.

Linda, you know I’ve always had feelings—

She’d interrupted him because she hadn’t wanted to hear the rest. But she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it since.

And right now. Oakley was knee-weakening handsome, and his maleness made her feel feminine… and wanted. She hadn’t felt wanted in a long time.

Guilt struck low in her abdomen. She owed it to Sullivan and to her children to grieve for an appropriate amount of time before she started thinking about spending time with another man.

She took another drink of wine and forced herself to study. One of them needed to pass the exam in case the coupon generated a case or two. If necessary, she’d run the cases through Dunk, but after Klo’s comment that Dunk and Sullivan had butted heads and Octavia’s suspicion that Dunk had posted the bad reviews, she didn’t want to.

She owed Sullivan that much.

The phone buzzed to let her know it had charged.

She took another drink of wine to prepare her for an onslaught of emotion when she had to review his final texts and phone calls to her and to the kids and other people he’d cared about, not realizing he’d never talk to them again.

When she turned on the phone, it chimed over and over as unanswered voice messages flooded in. She frowned to see that some were as recent as two days ago and from the same number. Unless it was a telemarketer, someone didn’t know he’d died.

She pulled up the most recent voice message and hit the play button.

“Sullivan,” a young woman’s voice said. “I’m getting worried. You haven’t returned any of my calls. Where are you? I’ve missed you. Please call me as soon as you can.” The woman’s voice broke off on a sob.

Linda blinked. Spots appeared behind her eyes as her brain raced to process what she’d just heard. She’d thought Sullivan’s recent change in personality, his moodiness towards her and the kids, was due to stress and frustration over his job.

Instead, there was a much simpler explanation: He’d been having an affair.

An automated voice sounded. “To save the message, press nine; to delete it, press seven—”

Linda stabbed the seven button, then covered her mouth and breathed into her hand. How could she have been so blind?

She turned off the phone and stuffed it down into the bottom of her bag.