Vivien’s eyes were stinging and she blinked rapidly. “Why did it take me eleven years to figure that out?”
Helga heaved a sigh, then rose. “Because you’re human. And humans protect themselves from hurt.” She came over to the chair, and Vivien stood to accept her tight, heartfelt hug.
“This is cop training too, you know,” Helga said, giving her one last squeeze before stepping away. “But that doesn’t mean when I go all emotional and anxious you won’t be able to do this for me.” She grimaced. “I have to go, Viv. Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes. Thanks. I’ll be fine. Really.”
Helga nodded and went to the door, but she paused and gave Vivien a meaningful look. “Lock up tight. I know it’s warm tonight, but at least put a wedge in the windows so they can’t open too much, all right? I’ll drive by or have someone drive by every half-hour until I’m off. Hey! Why don’t I go get Butch? I was going to pick him up anyway—he likes to go on patrol with me at night. He can stay with you instead.”
Vivien loved Helga’s dog—a big, super-friendly, but ferocious-sounding German shepherd—but she didn’t want the extra hassle, nor even to have to wait up for Helga to return. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m just going to go to sleep. I’m not worried, really. There are houses on all three sides, and these lots are tiny, so they’re close enough to hear anything—and I’ll leave all the exterior lights on and lock the doors and wedge the windows and keep a baseball bat next to the bed,” she said, forcing a smile.
“All right. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock?”
“Yes,” Vivien replied, then did as directed and locked the door behind Helga. She finished securing the tiny house as promised, made sure the lights were on outside—front and back—and climbed into bed at five o’clock in the afternoon without even checking her email.
Chapter Twelve
Jake decidedto stake out the theater.
He didn’t know what else to do, but he needed to do something.
He didn’t have to work tomorrow, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to sleep tonight, so he packed himself a cooler with a sandwich, some water, and an array of snacks, charged his tablet, and was just about to leave when his friend Baxter texted him.
The message was short and to the point:Sup?
Jake hadn’t been in Wicks Hollow all that long, but he’d been there long enough to meet and befriend the town’s brewmaster: Baxter James, the creator of Baxter’s Beatnik Brews—also known as B-Cubed.
It helped that Jake had been sitting at the Roost with his pop for lunch back in March when Bax brought in a case of his latest creation, broke a bottle when he accidentally dropped the case on the counter, and ended up cutting himself on a piece of glass while trying to fish it out of the box.
Though Jake was generally most useful when looking at images of fractured bones or organs with shadows or other abnormalities, he was certainly able to butterfly up a deep cut without breaking a sweat. His payment had been half a case of the latest B-Cubed (the Straw Lager) and a two-hour mutual rant about Star Wars and how Disney had ruined the franchise (this topic came about because of the vintage poster fromReturn of the Jedi, which was hanging on the wall of the Roost along with that of about fifty other eighties movies).
Going on a stakeout. Want in?Jake texted back to Baxter.
His friend definitely wanted in.
So, fifteen minutes later, Jake and Baxter pulled into the theater parking lot in Jake’s car, taking care not to drive where the glass from Vivien’s vandalized Honda had been, and settled in the darkest corner behind the theater. If anyone cruised by, or even pulled into the parking lot, Jake and Baxter wouldn’t be noticed unless the newcomer drove all the way behind the building.
Jake had given his friend the short version of what was going on—after all, it wasn’t a secret that Vivien’s windshield and headlights had been smashed, since she’d filed a police report—and explained that they suspected someone had been making their way in and out of the building. And since there’d been an incident today, he thought whoever it was might want to come back and remove evidence.
“If I can catch the bastard red-handed—or at leastseethe asshole, even if he gets away—that would shut this down pretty damned quick,” he concluded. And he was more than happy to have company, just in case things got ugly.
In fact, if Jake could have gotten into the theater, they would have waited inside to surprise the culprit…but, of course, he didn’t have a key. He also realized he didn’t have Vivien’s phone number to ask her to borrow a key. Even if it was the same cell phone number she’d had back at NYU (which was possible, as he still had the same one himself), he’d deleted it from his phone years ago.
Nor did he know where she was living or staying in Wicks Hollow. He supposed he could have asked any of those questions of Baxter, but pride won out—because how awkward would it be for Bax to find out Jake was doing all this and he didn’t even know how to get in touch with the woman he was doing it for?
It was around ten o’clock, not long after the sun had set, when they rolled down the windows, turned off the car, popped open their first set of beers (of course Baxter had brought appropriate supplies), and waited to see what would happen. Jake had thought far enough ahead to bring a cool little bug zapper device that the gadget-happy Mathilda had sent him, and he set it on the console between the two front seats. The fresh air with its pleasant breeze was great, but the rabid mosquitos were not.
“So…why’re we doing this again?” Baxter asked as he lifted the beer to his mouth. He was a good-looking guy of about thirty with a neatly trimmed mustache, goatee, and a tight-cropped Afro. He was almost always dressed like he was going to a dinner club in neat button-downs tucked into creased chinos or dressy jeans.
“Ah,” Jake began, then figured he owed it to Baxter to spill some of the details. “Well, Vivien and I used to date about eleven years ago when we were both at NYU. So I kind of know her, since we had a thing.”
“A thing.”
“Yeah.”
“Seems like one of you still might have a thing,” Baxter said, grinning around the mouth of the brown longneck then taking another sip.
Jake scoffed, but neither confirmed nor denied it. He guessed it was pretty obvious anyway, since he was spending his Thursday night sitting in a dark parking lot watching over an empty building. All in the name of love.
