Josh drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. After an hour of waiting in the semidarkness, there was still no sign of Patrick. He glanced at Caitlyn, who was reading through Helen’s notebooks with a penlight. He breathed in the subtle scent of her perfume. It had been a long time since he’d been this close to a woman, which is why he expected to feel uneasy. But there was something different about her. Something that impressed him. She’d come to him, clearly terrified over what was going on, but not once had she succumbed to that fear. And even though he was a cop, he understood fear.
The light from the street lamp a dozen yards in front of them managed to catch the intensity of her expression and the subtle curve of her lips. Something he really shouldn’t notice. But not noticing her was proving to be harder than he’d imagined.
“I watched how you talked with Sharon,” he said, breaking the silence between them. “How you listened to her like you truly knew what she was feeling.”
Caitlyn shifted away from him toward the passenger window as if he’d managed to say the wrong thing.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “If I’m stepping where I shouldn’t—”
“It’s fine. I just . . . I didn’t tell you everything about my family.”
He wanted to know what she was thinking, but he didn’t want to push her into an uncomfortable spot. “You don’t have to.”
“Sometimes I feel like just when I think I’m okay, and I’ve dealt with everything, it still manages to all come rushing over me.” She glanced up at him and frowned. “The same way I imagine you’re feeling about Olivia right now.”
“Yeah. But I meant what I said,” he said. “You don’t need to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
“Funny—I used to go to huge lengths to hide my past. At school, at church . . . and now . . . I guess I’ve come to terms with not only the reality that I can’t change the past, but also that it’s a part of who I am.”
He appreciated her perceptiveness. And her ability to look beyond herself. Over the last couple of months, he’d begun to see the same thing. To finally feel as if he’d begun to slowly heal. But it wasn’t something that could be nicely folded up and stuffed inside a drawer. And like Caitlyn said, no matter what happened to him in the future, Olivia would always be a part of who he was. That would never change.
He glanced across the street and waited for her to continue on her own terms. Darkness had settled in around them. He could feel the music from the bar pumping into the night air, even though the windows on his car were up.
“My father abused my mother for as long as I can remember,” she began. “Physically . . . emotionally . . . any way he could find to hurt her. Most of the time while she was trying to protect me. And I . . . I never knew how to stop him. How to keep her safe.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Caitlyn. You were a child.”
“Maybe not. But that doesn’t really change anything. It didn’t save my mother.”
“What happened to her?”
“Not too long after that time in the car when the police caught me with his drugs, he . . . he killed her. Over a burnt pot roast.” She looked up at him, this time catching his gaze. “In reality it was much more than that, but the pot roast was his excuse.”
“Wow. I am so sorry.”
“He was drunk that night. He didn’t even wait for an explanation when she brought it from the kitchen. Just got up from the table, pulled out his gun, and shot her.” She drew in a deep breath. “I was put back into juvenile detention, then into foster care, and for a time I lived with my grandmother, who I loved, but she was in poor health. Eventually I was sent to live with my mother’s older sister in another state. She loved me but didn’t have the time or the energy to parent a troubled teen. Her kids were grown, and I think she resented having to deal with me. To her credit, she tried not to show it and she did care for me. In her own way.”
“What happened to your father?”
“He died in prison three years ago. I never saw him after the trial, and he never tried to contact me. I always said it was for the better, but as crazy as it seemed, a part of me still loved him, because I knew he wasn’t always that way. My parents had once been in love, planned to start a family, bought a house together, dreamed of a future . . . There were good times in all the bad times.”
“What changed?”
“My mom said he was always moody. But when he lost his job, he never really got back on his feet. Worked a bunch of odd jobs. Moved us from place to place, and then started drinking. The abuse kept getting worse and worse until he stopped trying. Her family begged her to leave him, but she was scared of so many things. Scared of losing me. Of his threats . . .”
Josh studied her face. He’d seen his share of domestic abuse during his years on the force. “What changed for you?” he asked.
“I made friends with a girl at my new school. I started going to church with her family, hanging out with them on holidays and weekends. For the first time in my life, I realized things didn’t have to be the way they were. They lived their faith and helped me realize I didn’t have to live my life as a victim. I ended up graduating top of my high school class while working twenty hours a week, which got me a presidential scholarship for college. It’s hard to believe how many years ago that was. Anyway.” She shook her head. “Enough about me. Now that you know everything about my dysfunctional family, what about yours? I’m hoping they were a bit more . . . normal.”
“My family?” He couldn’t help but chuckle at her comment. Normal, it seemed, was relative. “I had a pretty good childhood. Dad worked long hours, and Mom stayed home with the three of us kids. She gardened, made the best chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and coconut cream pie, kept three boys in line, plus managed a hundred other little things every day. My aunt and uncle and cousins lived nearby, and we went to church together on Sunday with family dinner afterward. My mother passed away almost three years ago, but my dad still lives in Kansas where I grew up, not far from my brothers and their families.”
“I bet you miss your mom.”
“Every day.”
She turned to him with that empathetic look in her eyes he’d noticed more than once. “I’m going to guess that you come from a long line of cops?”
“Not even close. The majority of my family—except Uncle Bob—were farmers.”
“Really. For some reason that surprises me. What kind?”
“My dad owns a farm that’s been in the family for almost a hundred years. Primarily grass-fed beef, plus organic wheat and soybeans.”
“Sounds like a great way to grow up.”
“It was.” He caught her wistful expression and couldn’t help but wonder if she ever grieved for the childhood she’d lost.
“What was Uncle Bob?” she asked.
“He was the town’s mortician. His wife, my aunt Clarice, ran the local hair salon. She was a trained desairologist—a mortuary cosmetologist.”
“Of course.” She let out a low laugh. “I think I need to meet this family of yours one day. They sound . . . so normal.”
“Normal if you like family reunions with matching T-shirts, ugly Christmas sweater contests, and my aunt Beulah’s homemade fruitcake that weighs as much as a brick. Of course, we never turn down a piece. That would be rude.”
“Somehow I think I’d like that.”
He tried to shake the ridiculous idea of bringing her home to his family and introducing her to his dad and brothers. It was far too soon after Olivia’s death to even think about something like that. A few weeks ago, his father had come to him while he was back home for Christmas, initiating a father-son conversation. He reminded him how he understood what it felt like to lose a spouse, but that it was okay to move on. How Olivia would have wanted him to be happy. And how it was okay to be happy.
And his words weren’t empty. Six months ago, his father had met a woman at church, and they were planning to get married in the spring. But that didn’t mean Josh was ready to open up his heart again.
At the time, he’d filed away the conversation as something to think about much farther down the road. Sometime when Olivia didn’t haunt his dreams at night. When he met someone who would do more than make him forget; someone who would make him want to live again.
Caitlyn broke open the bag of caramel popcorn she’d bought at the gas station and popped a kernel into her mouth. “So, what compelled you to leave the family business and join law enforcement?”
“I had a mentor who ended up saving me from getting into trouble.”
“So, you were another juvenile delinquent like me?”
“In full disclosure, I was nine.”
“Wait a minute.” She let out a soft giggle. “You were nine and already heading down the wrong path?”
“Actually, I was smitten with Susie Baker who lived down the street from me and was in my class at school. She dared me to steal a watermelon out of my neighbor’s field.”
“And you told her that wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“That’s what I should have done.”
“Instead you fell for her womanly wiles?”
“Ha! I snuck into the garden that night and emerged with the biggest and what I was sure was the juiciest watermelon I could find. But as I was heading back across the field, someone shone their flashlight on me, and I realized I was caught. And, being the street-smart nine-year-old that I was, I knew if I got caught, I was going to spend the rest of my life in prison. So I started running as fast as I could while our neighbor shot his BB gun into the air above me. Scared me so bad, I tripped and landed smack dab on top of that melon.”
Caitlyn started giggling. “And . . .”
“You laugh now, but I wasn’t laughing. It burst open, and all of a sudden, I was covered in sticky fruit with a crazed farmer bearing down on me, about to get shot—I was sure—for stealing some of his produce. At that moment I wasn’t sure which was going to be worse. Prison or death.”
“So what happened?” She was still giggling.
“First of all, you have to understand that Gregory Parker used to raise huge melons and pumpkins and enter them into the Kansas State Fair every year.”
“How big?”
“He won first prize one year for a melon that was almost two hundred and fifty pounds.”
“Seriously? You’re pulling my leg.”
“I kid you not. He had a pumpkin weigh in at over six hundred pounds one year.”
“Now I know you’re pulling my leg.”
“Go ahead and google it, because I’m not kidding. You can imagine just how seriously he took his melons. Having one stolen off the vine when it was still growing was blasphemy to him. Anyway, he caught up with me, grabbed me by the back of my pants, hauled me to his yard, and hosed me down. Once I was melon free, he escorted me back home in his truck. On the way, I received the lecture of my life. He told me I had a choice. I could continue with my life of crime, or I could come clean and be a man and maybe . . . just maybe . . . avoid a prison term.”
“All over a melon.” Caitlyn was still laughing.
“He had me terrified.”
“Looks like you took his warning seriously, though I’m still enjoying picturing you covered in sticky prize watermelon.”
“My parents didn’t think it was that funny. They promptly grounded me for the rest of the summer. No outings with friends, no money for the ice cream truck, and certainly no interaction with Susie Baker. Though somehow I have a feeling they laughed about it behind their closed bedroom door.”
Caitlyn was laughing harder now, and her laugh was contagious. She grabbed a tissue to wipe the tears that were streaming down her face.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed till I cried,” she said.
“Me too.” In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time something had made him laugh. “Honestly, I haven’t done much laughing at all recently.”
“Are stakeouts always this . . . entertaining?”
“Stakeouts with Quinton require a bag of kale chips and protein drinks his wife sends, topped off with a box of chocolate donuts he buys, and endless talk radio.”
He smiled, then looked across the street at the bar. A couple came out, engaged in a conversation, but still no sign of Patrick. He needed to focus on why they were there and not on the charming woman sitting next to him. Though maybe this was a lost cause. He’d give the guy another hour, then suggest they leave. The only way he was going to be able to go back to his boss and be allowed to reopen the case was to go to him with a stack of evidence. Like proving Rudolph Beckmann really had an alibi for that night.
But convincing Patrick to provide it wasn’t going to be easy.
“Do you see your family often?” she asked.
“At a minimum, the Fourth of July and Christmas. And then every few years we have a reunion with the extended family.”
“I always missed having family. Someone that, if you ever needed them, would help you no matter what. I think that’s why even though part of me wants to run from all of this, the other part just wants to find out the truth and stay.”
“What makes you want to stay here?”
“I’ve made friends. Found a church home where I feel involved, and I’ve started to volunteer with a couple community service projects. Truth is, I don’t want to start over again.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed her fingers. “You’re not going to have to start over. We’re going to figure this out.”
“And if we can’t come up with proof of what happened? Evidence that your boss will listen to? Then what?”
“Let’s not go there. Not yet.”
“You’re right. I guess I’m just frustrated. Helen’s death, the accident. Part of me keeps thinking I’m simply going to wake up and all of this will be over. Of course, if it were over, we wouldn’t be here talking about fruitcake and stealing prize-winning watermelons.”
He smiled, liking the way she was able to laugh in a tense situation. He liked her. Maybe his father was right—it was time to move on. He knew he was lonely. And Caitlyn made him want to smile again. It was something he hadn’t done for a long time.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“We figure all this out and make it out of here alive, and I’ll take you to the Kansas State Fair later this year. I’ll show you what a prize-winning melon looks like. We’ll ride the Ferris wheel and the sky ride, then eat enough pronto pups, funnel cakes, and barbecue to make you so full you won’t want to eat for a week.”
“I’d like that.”
He caught her smile and felt his heart thud as she turned back to Helen’s notes. The purpose of tonight’s stakeout might end up being a washout, but he wouldn’t complain about the company.
“Wait a minute . . . Of course.” Caitlyn tapped on the paperwork she’d been reading. “Jarred Carmichael.”
“Who?”
“Sorry, but something just hit me.”
“What’s that?”
“I found a mention to Starlighter in Helen’s notes. She writes that a ‘JC’ was overseeing it. That has to be Jarred Carmichael. He’s a technical manager at the lab, pretty brilliant. We all work under him.”
“Jarred Carmichael?”
“Do you know him?” she asked.
“I’ve heard his name before.”
Josh stared at the bar across the street, wanting to ignore the unwanted memory. And wanting to ignore the place he feared this investigation was going to take him.