Chapter 1
“At my age, I never dreamed I’d be getting a divorce, starting a business, or finding myself attracted to a man who wasn’t my husband.”
Cece Cavanaugh
I hauled my aching body through the front door of Weezie’s Bar and Grill, in serious need of alcohol. The hostess led me to a table in the back where my neighbor and best friend, Angie Valenti, Wickford’s first female cop, nursed a beer. Three shot glasses lined the edge of the table, hearkening back to our party days many, many years ago. She was not on duty, and the shot glasses were not empty. Yet!
Her eyes filled with concern, Angie said, “Cece, you look beat.”
“I am. Between Phillip’s constant badgering, and working my butt off, I’m wrung out.” I bent for a hug. I’d been at work before dawn cleaning condos at Hunter Springs, my backup job—the only job currently paying the bills while I worked toward turning my new cleaning business into a profitable venture.
“Hang in there. Once your divorce is final, things will get easier.”
“Can’t get worse, Ang. I’m scared.” I slung my purse over the chair and dropped onto the seat. “I’ve never been on my own.”
“Not true. Before you married Phillip, you took care of your mother. At sixteen, you were more of an adult than her. If it weren’t for you, your mom might not even be alive. You were the glue, Cece. Stop selling yourself short. You worked two jobs while you were in school. After you got married, you managed to get yourself through nursing school with a toddler.” Angie pushed a menu across the table. “And no one says you have to be alone.”
“If you’re trying to sell me on Detective Alder again, you can stop. I’m not divorced.” I blew out a breath, ruffling the menu in front of me. Immediately after Phillip left, Angie started a two-month-long campaign to set me up with a detective from her department.
“You’re not divorced yet because it took you so long to wise up to Phillip’s antics. But you’re working in the right direction.”
Before I let myself spiral into an endless cycle of self-pity, which I’d become quite good at, I changed the subject. “Where’s Carla?” I waved my hand to get the lone server’s attention. “She’s always late, I swear.”
“She’s on her way. Cut her some slack. She sounded frazzled to the bone when I talked to her. This deal with her mom is wearing on her. Looks like we all could use some downtime.”
Our friend Carla had arrived in Wickford on a morning flight after a call from the hospital. Delores Redmond, Carla’s elderly mother, had fallen and broken her hip. The three of us had grown up together, but Carla relocated to Hillsborough, North Carolina, after her first husband died in a car accident. She’d enrolled in classes at the university, where she’d met and eventually married Max Edison three years after I’d wed Phillip Cavanaugh. Her marriage still thrived. Mine didn’t, which explained the condo job and my increasing frustration. Phillip let our mortgage payment fall six months in arrears. He’d also cleaned out our bank account before leaving me for a floozie named Willow, half his age and half my weight. To set the record straight, Willow appeared to be anorexic. She had big feet too. And thanks to Phillip, she now had boobs to match.
Carla breezed in carrying an air of havoc. Her usual disposition. Naturally curly hair in unnatural shades of ash blonde framed her worried face.
“What a ‘freaking nightmare.’” She made little quote marks in the air. “Crap piled everywhere. Hundreds of fast-food ketchup packets, three boxes of empty toilet paper tubes, and a drawer full of bread ties. How long does it take to eat enough bread to fill a whole drawer?” She slowed down long enough to bestow hugs.
“What’s going on?” Angie waved again for the waitress.
“All the touristy kitsch my brother sends her is piled everywhere. Hula girls, state magnets, tapestry rugs, and dozens of cheap statues and plastic trinkets.”
Angie held up a hand to slow her down. “What are you jabbering about?”
“Mom’s house is a disaster. There’s a condemned sign on the front door for the whole neighborhood to see.” Carla pushed her hair back and fanned herself with a menu. “I’ve got thirty days to make it livable.”
“That doesn’t sound like Delores,” I said.
“She’s turned into a hermit. A messy one,” Carla said.
Our waitress arrived at the table tapping her foot. Weezie’s had great food, but the wait staff bordered on obnoxious. A huge, silver ring hung from the girl’s lower lip, and a safety pin poked through her eyebrow.
“I already know what I want. Ever since my plane landed, I’ve been craving Weezie’s toasted ravioli. And I’ll take a double cheeseburger and a margarita.”
“Dang, you must have a good metabolism. I thought Angie ate a lot,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Carla stuck out her tongue.
Angie and I ordered, and I handed the menu to the adorable safety-pin girl. “Tell the bartender to make me something with those little umbrella thingies and toothpicks full of fruit. A Missouri Tornado sounds good. Tell him not to skimp on the rum.” My body ached from working muscles I rarely used. I’d taken a muscle relaxer earlier in the day, which limited my alcohol intake. If I could only have one drink, I might as well make it count.
She shoved the menus under her arm and stalked off, muttering something about old, dried-up grandmas.
“None of us are old enough to be grandmas, squirt,” Angie called after her.
“You wish.” We were all old enough, except I was the only one for whom it was a possibility. Carla and Max had chosen not to have children. For Angie and Dave, the first years of their marriage had been an endless barrage of disappointing fertility treatments. They weren’t childless by choice. But at our age, they’d given up hope.
Carla cackled, which in turn cracked me up. Angie joined in, and we laughed until we teared up.
I pulled myself together first. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s coping. I spent the morning with her. Afterward, I went to her house. Talk about the shock of my life.” Carla sighed. “My mother’s a hoarder. Like the ones you see on TV. When I saw the mess, I couldn’t breathe. I started shaking and felt a heaviness in my chest. It’s quite possible I had the early warning signs of a stroke.”
“I’ve got a prescription to make you happy, or at least numb your pain.” Angie grabbed a shot glass from the trio at the end of the table and pushed the other two toward Carla and me. “Kamikazes to the rescue. Last one down is a loser.” She made an L out of her thumb and pointer finger and held it against her forehead. She tossed the shot back and slammed the glass on the table. “It’s between you two weenies.”
It had been years since I’d done a shot, but I tipped my glass and drained it. “We all know who the loser is,” I said with a smug tone. Okay, two. Two drinks and no more.
Carla toyed with hers. After finally downing it, she promptly burst into tears. “This is too much. I don’t know how I can deal with it. It’s bad enough she’s in the hospital, but now this. I’ll never get it all cleaned up.”
“Do you think Lloyd leaving triggered any of this?” I asked, referring to Delores’s husband, Lloyd Redmond. Lloyd had run off with their younger next-door neighbor several years ago.
Carla sniffled and swiped her eyes. “Who knows? She changed so much after she met him. I’m sure my dad rolled over in his grave the day she married Lloyd.” Carla waved her hands like she was trying to erase history. “Getting back to the house, it’s a nightmare. I don’t even know if I can make a dent in thirty days.”
Angie shook her head. “Carla, it’s not as easy as tidying up to give her a clean slate. Your mom needs help. I worked a case a couple of years ago. An old woman died when a gargantuan pile of garbage bags stuffed with who-knows-what fell on top of her and suffocated her while she slept. We had to shovel our way in to get to her.” She closed her eyes and shivered. “I can still smell the filth.”
“Let’s talk about something else. I need to get my mind off it,” Carla said.
We shifted our conversation to old times until our drinks arrived. Mine glistened an enticing electric blue.
“Biohazard blue. Think I’ll stick to something less toxic.” Angie wrinkled her nose. “Speaking of biohazard, did Cece tell you about her crime scene cleaning gig? One job almost got her killed.”
Carla’s eyes widened, and she leaned in. “You? Of all people. Do tell.”
Angie chattered on while I squirmed. Physical labor wasn’t my forte, but I’d traded in my tennis racket and social calendar for a new lifestyle. A lifestyle barely keeping me afloat. I still wasn’t comfortable with my new career, especially with Angie blabbing to Carla and making me feel like a chump. Maybe the wound was too fresh. Losing my husband and my financial freedom all at once had left me feeling vulnerable. Sharing my vulnerability, even with friends, stung. I gave Angie the stink eye, hoping she’d get the hint, but she continued. Carla lapped it up like fresh milk or, should I say, a margarita. She had already drained her first and ordered a second when safety-pin girl brought our food.
“Maybe Cece can help at your mom’s,” Angie offered.
I sank into my seat. It wasn’t like I didn’t need the work, but I needed paying work, and in good conscience, I wouldn’t be able to charge Carla.
Carla nodded. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but the three of us could knock it out in no time.”
Angie held up a hand. “Count me out. The department’s short on manpower. They’ve got me working twelve-hour days.”
“Carla, any other time, I’d be all in,” I said, “but my finances are in the toilet, and I have this huge project at Hunter Springs I need to focus on.”
“I understand,” Carla said.
I breathed a sigh of relief and took a sip of my drink, relaxing as the smooth liquid made its way down my throat. Seconds later, tears welled in the corners of Carla’s eyes. She brushed them aside and took a big bite of her burger.
A moment of guilt almost made me rethink my decision. What kind of friend refused to help? I wanted to, but my family came first.
“Is anything salvageable?” Angie poked around her salad, fishing out chunks of chicken.
“I can sort the good from the trash, but it will take a while to get it manageable. There’s a lot headed straight to the dump. She has boxes of old books and magazines from the Friends of the Library sales. The library had retired them all, and Mom couldn’t bear to throw them out. She never intended to read them. I’m not going through all those boxes. There’s not enough time for a garage sale. Besides, no one wants them. There’s a whole set of encyclopedias like we used in grade school. My new motto is dump and forget. I can’t get bogged down. I’ll salvage the sentimental things like photos, jewelry, and anything of value.”
I nodded in approval. “No sense wasting time if you know it’s not worth it.”
Carla paused between bites. “I think I need a lawyer.”
I sat straighter. “What for?” If she and Max were having trouble, I’d feel even guiltier. I knew all about imploding marriages.
“Technically, I have Mom’s power of attorney, but the house is still in Lloyd’s name. When they married, Mom sold her house, the one where Noah and I grew up.”
Lloyd Redmond swept into our tiny town of Wickford, Missouri, twelve years ago with a pocketful of cash. Before he’d unpacked a single suitcase, he set his sights on Delores, the widowed town librarian. Six months later, Lloyd and Delores married in a quiet ceremony attended by Carla and her older brother, Noah.
Delores idolized Lloyd, and he seemed to share the sentiment. Until five years later, when he left a note on the kitchen table telling Delores that it had been fun, but he was headed to California with their much-younger neighbor, Rhonda Bray.
Angie dropped her fork. “Are Delores and Lloyd still married? How many years has he been gone?”
“They are. He left six or seven years ago.”
“Seems like yesterday,” I said, remembering how crushed Delores had been.
“I know, it’s crazy how quickly time goes,” Carla said. “It would make my life a whole lot easier if we found out the old coot had died.” Carla leaned back in her chair and yawned.
I shivered. “Yikes, knock on wood. Don’t even think about it.” With Angie’s connections at the department, she might have access to locate him. “Any suggestions on where to begin a search, Angie?”
“My first thought would be the internet unless he changed his identity. Or you could hire a private investigator. I can give you a name.” Angie pulled a pen from her bag, scribbled on a napkin, and pushed it in front of Carla. “She’s not cheap, but she’s good. If Lloyd can be found, she’ll find him. I can run a check at the office as a last resort. Does Rhonda’s husband still live next door to Delores? He might know something.”
“I’m not sure. Mom hasn’t mentioned him, but I understand why.” Carla nodded for the waitress to bring another round of drinks.
Angie cut her off. “I’ve had my limit. I have to work in the morning.”
“I’ll have another.” My resolve officially scampered out of the building. This was the first outing I’d had since Phillip left, and it felt good to sit with my friends and push my problems aside.
By the time the drinks arrived, our talk had transitioned to divorce—mine.
I jerked the fruit from my drink and dove in.
Angie frowned. “Maybe you ought to go easy on the booze.”
Carla turned to Angie and said, “Since when are you the party pooper? Cece, can you still tie a cherry stem with your tongue?”
“Cherry-stem tying isn’t exactly smiled upon at the country club,” I said.
Angie leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You’re no longer a member.” She raised an eyebrow at Carla. “Her mother-in-law had her membership canceled. She’s probably rusty anyway.”
Thoughts of Hazel Cavanaugh ruling my life surfaced. Money was power, and Hazel had both. I doubted Weezie’s had enough alcohol to erase Hazel from my memory.
“Do I detect a triple-dog dare?” I asked. What the heck? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a good laugh or a triple-dog dare. What better way than by making a fool of myself with friends? Plucking the cherry from my drink, I twisted off the stem and poked it in my mouth.
It took a few tries, but I finally stuck out my tongue with a neatly tied stem.
“Impressive,” said a familiar male voice behind me.
I gulped. The stem lodged in my throat. The dang thing wouldn’t come up and wouldn’t go down. My gag reflex kicked in. Cough. Gag. Cough. Gag. Tears rolled, and more tears rolled.
Angie and Carla hooted with laughter. Seconds away from peeing my pants, I grabbed my throat to show them I wasn’t joking.
“Alder, give her the Heimlich!” Angie yelled.
Next thing I knew, I felt myself yanked from the chair. Strong arms grabbed me under my boobs and jerked my stomach into my backbone. The stem shot from my mouth.
It was the second time in two months he’d saved me from my own stupidity.
“Are you okay?” Detective Case Alder whispered in my ear.
My face grew warm. I nodded and shot a sour look at Angie. “What’s he doing here?” I mouthed.
The corners of Angie’s mouth hiked in a knowing grin. Of course, she’d invited him. Another attempt to fix me up with the eligible bachelor—even though my divorce wasn’t final. I’d been fighting feelings for Alder since I’d met him back in April on a job. The one where I’d almost been killed.
“I’ll deal with you later,” I whispered to Angie.
Carla batted her eyelashes. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
I rolled my eyes, removed the fruit from my drink, and took a long swig.
“Carla, this is Detective Case Alder.” Alder slid into the chair next to me as Angie introduced him.
Carla shoved her hand across the table. “I’m Carla Edison, from North Carolina,” she said in a phony southern drawl. She may have lived there for more than twenty years, but she still talked like a Midwesterner, except, apparently, in the company of an attractive man. An attractive man with incredibly blue eyes, brownish-black hair shot through with enough silver to make him look sophisticated, and a mustache that made me quiver.
Alder grasped her hand and shook. “Nice to meet ya, ma’am.” He must have caught on to her bogus accent. Alder had a fine southern drawl, the kind that made you crave sweet tea, but he’d gone overboard on the twang.
Angie stood. “I hate to break up the party, but I’ve got an early day tomorrow. Good to see you again, Alder. Since you went on evenings, I haven’t seen much of you.”
That explained why she hadn’t been on my back to go out with him. Out of sight, out of mind.
Carla’s cell rang, and she excused herself. We were still saying our goodbyes to Angie when Carla came back to the table, visibly shaken, tears in her eyes.
“Max had a heart attack,” she said with an unsteady voice. “He’s in the ICU. I need to get home.”
Alder stood. I started to, but my knees buckled, and I fell back onto the chair.
“Too much to drink?” Alder asked me.
I held two fingers in the air. “I only had a couple.”
Angie hugged Carla. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Can you follow me to Mom’s? I have to drop off her van.” Carla curled her lower lip and frowned. “But I also need a ride to the airport. I booked the last seat on a flight that leaves in two-and-a-half hours.”
Angie nudged her with a hip and said, “Come on. I’ll take you.”
“What am I going to do about Mom’s house? I only have thirty days.” Tears welled in the corners of her eyes again. “Never mind, I can’t even think straight. I need to get to Max.”
I knew I shouldn’t have, but my mouth opened, and the words rushed out. “I don’t have anything going on at Hunter Springs until the day after tomorrow. The least I can do is get it started until you figure something out.”
“Are you sure?” Carla asked.
“Yes.” I mentally kicked my butt for being so easy.
“The key is under the ceramic frog on the front porch.” Carla’s hand shook as she pulled a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to me. “I started a to-do list.”
“I’ve got this. Don’t worry,” I said with bravado. “And I can take you to the airport since Angie has to work in the morning.” I grabbed my purse and started to follow, but Alder nudged my chair with his knee.
“You’re not driving anywhere.” He motioned for Angie and Carla to go ahead. “You ladies go on. I’ll make sure Cece gets home.”
“Are you kidding? I’m fine.” I pushed against him until he relented and moved out of my way.
“I’ll take Carla to the airport. Don’t worry.” Angie winked and practically shoved Carla out the door.
Alder took my elbow. “We’ll get your car in the morning.”
My knees wobbled, and I stumbled.
“See?” Alder steered me toward the door.
My head went woozy, and my insides went woozier. A Missouri Tornado was fixing to touch down in my stomach.
Outside, Alder led me to his car and buckled me in. My head spun like a funnel cloud. I leaned against the door and closed my eyes. A deep, black hole opened in front of me, and I spiraled down. Alder waited, arms open, at the bottom of the tunnel. I slid farther and farther and farther.
