Emory began to sweep the hair into piles. “River didn’t want to go out that night,” he said softly. “He wanted to stay in, order pizza, and watch his favorite movies. I insisted we go out on the town for his thirtieth birthday. If I had just listened to him…” His words broke off, and he began to cry.
“Emory.” I dropped what I had in my hands and hugged the man tight while his body shook with the force of his sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
“He was my whole world, and I didn’t listen to him. I put myself first and lost everything that had any meaning to me. I don’t want to feel or love again. That part of me died with him in that icy water.” He ran his fingers through his bangs again and said, “River loved my long hair; I just can’t stand the thought of anyone touching it like he did.”
“I wish I could make this better for you, Emory.” I hated feeling helpless when someone was hurting. I wanted to do or say anything that might put a smile on their faces. My first reaction when those feelings bubbled up was to alleviate the emotional turmoil with my snarktastic sense of humor, but there was no place for that in Emory’s kitchen.
“Nothing and no one can help me,” he said. I knew he was wrong because I had felt the same way before I met Gabe. Our situations were not in the same hemisphere of tragedy, but broken is broken, and I knew that the right man could come along and mend his heart—if only he’d let him. Emory would have to be the one to decide when and if he was ready for that. Cleary, he wasn’t ready yet. After several long minutes, he pulled back and wiped his tears. He groaned as if he was embarrassed and covered his face with his hands.
“I hate to leave you here like this, Emory. I will cancel the rest of my appointments and…”
“No! Don’t do that for me. I promise you that I’m okay. The whole thing with Jonathon hit me hard and has left me reeling since. Thanks to you, I feel better now.”
The old Josh would have remarked that hair grew back and, unless he had a time-stamped vision, it could’ve been a glimpse of years in the future. The new Josh hugged his new friend once more and kept his shit together until he stood by himself in the kitchenette in the rear of his salon. Only then did I allow myself to grieve for Emory because had it been me, I don’t know how I would’ve gone on.
I had to believe there was more for Emory than a life of loneliness, but that didn’t mean I thought that Jonathon Silver was the answer to his broken heart. Emory seemed like a good man with a tender soul, who deserved to be happy. I had lived both sides of the coin, and I knew damn well which one I preferred.
“You okay?” Chaz asked, popping his head into the room. “Mrs. Tasker is here.”
I wiped my tears and nodded. “I’ll be right there.” I could tell he wanted to know what was going on, but I couldn’t share Emory’s private pain with anyone, except maybe Gabe.Gabe.
I knew what I needed to do to feel better. I whipped out my phone and sent a quickI love youtext before I squared my shoulders and entered the salon. I knew it was going to be obvious as hell that I’d been crying and I didn’t want to give them the wrong idea. The last thing I wanted was for their tongues to be wagging all over town and telling people that Gabe and I broke up.
“I can’t believe Missy and Mark broke up,” I said, rattling off the name of the latest Hollywood it-couple to call it quits.
“I know,” Mrs. Tasker said. “I heard he had an affair with his nanny.”
“It’s always the nanny,” someone said.
“Nanny? It was the young Russian co-star,” another added. “I could tell there was going to be trouble when they announced thatshewas playing his wife in the movie. She’s broken up about five marriages already.”
Crisis diverted.
DORCHESTER ANDIDECIDEDnot to drive to Cincinnati unless something new developed in the case. We had already met with all the witnesses who were available to interview in person and would have to wait until the Robertson brothers returned to town to speak with them. In all honesty, Lawrence Robertson didn’t like or trust his nephews, but we had found no evidence to connect either of them to his death or the others. Rick Spizer was the only one I could tie to the deaths, with Owen Smithson being the exception. What bugged me the most was not understanding Rick’s motive to commit the crimes—ifhe did. I’d been in law enforcement for too long to think that every case was going to get wrapped up in a pretty package like it did in cop shows.
Sometimes, people did things that made no sense at all. Were the homicides an example of that? I honestly couldn’t say, but I was certain that the CPD would consider the cases solved soon unless new evidence surfaced that pointed to, or concluded, someone else was involved. They had the possible weapon in evidence along with a note from the man who claimed “responsibility” for their deaths before he supposedly took his life. There were too many uncertainties for me, but I didn’t have the final say.
If something broke on the case, we would head to the city. Until then, Dorchester returned to his partner with the CCSD, and I was happy to sit across from Adrian’s desk and get caught up with what was going on locally. There’d been a recent string of break-ins and vandalism cases that had kept Adrian busy.
“Any similarities to the break-in and vandalism at Georgia Beaumont’s?” I asked. It still bothered me that we couldn’t connect that to her death. I hated unsolved cases because, regardless of their size, a crime was a crime.
“No, buddy. As best we could tell, nothing was stolen from Georgia’s,” Adrian stated.
“According to her murderer, Wanda Honeycutt,” I mumbled. Wanda confessed to everything else and had no reason to lie about ransacking the place. It was most likely someone else that Georgia had been blackmailing. What was the likelihood that her attempt to blackmail the county commissioner was the first time in her life? On the other hand, it was personal for her since his lover happened to be her ex-husband; who was also her lover at the time of her death.
Adrian’s laughter reverberated through the small police department. “Oh, how I’ve missed razzing you about her,” he remarked.
I ignored his comment and turned the conversation to my future goddaughter, as I had started to think of her. It had been less than a week since I last saw them and got updated on their health, but it felt like a year had passed. Adrian immediately started talking about the final plans for the nursery. He joked and said that Sally Ann had changed her mind at least four different times, but had finally settled on a theme. “For now,” he added. “I’m sure that will change by the time I get home.”
I laughed, but not too hard because I figured Josh would be the same exact way if we decided to have a family. I knew in the deepest part of my soul that I was going to marry Josh, even though we hadn’t discussed it, but I had no idea where he stood on fatherhood. I did know that he would be an amazing dad to a very lucky kid if we were so blessed. If not, we’d be the best uncles on the planet.
I was just about to say something to Adrian when I noticed I had a new email from the state lab. They had finally sent back the test results of the paint transfer found on Nate’s bumper. I opened the email and read it out loud to Adrian.
“The test concludes that the paint sample provided for testing is a hundred percent match to the Absolute Black color used on Ford’s F-150 trucks.” I looked up from my email and said, “Hot damn!”
“Does Spizer or anyone in his immediate circle own a Ford F-150 that matches the criteria?” Adrian asked.
“Damn, Adrian,” I admonished. “Let me have this little victory before you go throwing cold water on me.”
