“They sound kind of like my parents.” She smiled, surprised at the commonality, after just thinking that their upbringings must have been completely different. “Very thrifty.”
“Oh yeah. You should see my granny’s collection of rubber bands. It filled three utility drawers. Plastic grocery bags, old newspapers. Endless.”
That caught Tina’s attention. Maybe one of those old newspapers mentioned the Night Light Murder. “What did you do with all that stuff?”
“Threw it out, mostly.” He disappeared into the kitchen, then called, “Want anything to drink?”
“I’m good.”
But when he came out with two cans of specialty soda—some kind of prebiotic, botanical, zero-calorie, zero-sugar concoction—she accepted one of them.
“Jessie has several cases of these things. She always buys in bulk because she hates shopping so much. Believe it or not, they’re starting to grow on me.”
They settled onto the couch in the stuffy living room. Duck decoys sat on the mantel of the fireplace; one seemed to be staring right at her. She moved her head, but its painted eyes seemed to follow her. She glared at it and sipped her soda, which seemed freakishly fizzy to her.
She set it down on a cork coaster on the coffee table, which had probably come from Ikea. Maybe one of the rental family’s additions.
“Okay, so you dragged me all the way here and made me drink some herbal version of Pepsi. What did you want to show me?”
“Give me a second.” Jack got to his feet and strolled into the bedroom. That easy, sexy stride was the one thing about him that looked like pure Denver Black to her. Denver’s mind moved at lightning speed, but he worked hard to keep his responses measured. He meditated, he did Tai Chi, or at least the TV version of it. One of his favorite causes was managing the stress experienced by police officers. “If you don’t metabolize your trauma, it will eat you alive,” he’d tell officers involved in shootings. “Literally. The chemicals from stress will stay in your bloodstream and cause cancer, alcoholism, stress disorders, and also death, yours and other people’s. The best thing you can do to be a better police officer is take care of your body, learn how to manage adrenaline, and train yourself to react appropriately in any given situation.”
Even though some of her fellow police officers mocked Denver Black, she’d also seen them secretly take up some of his practices.
As for herself, she was way ahead of them and Denver Black. Her mother taught Tai Chi at the local YMCA, and she’d been forced to do it her whole life. Now she was grateful.
Jack came back with an accordion folder filled with papers. He’d also taken off his sweater, probably because it was so stuffy in this house. She could see the outline of his biceps through his black t-shirt, which reminded her that Denver was also surprisingly strong.
She sighed to herself. Denver Black was the perfect man in almost every way, and it was sort of ruining her fantasy that Jack was Denver and yet not-Denver. She’d never be able to watch the show the same way again.
“I printed out every text I’ve gotten from Jessie since she came out here.” He laid a few sheets of paper on the table. “These are the results of all my internet searches for Seth Baker. You can see that nothing matches up with the man Jessie met. This here,” he set down another piece of paper, “is my one real clue. I have a buddy in the FBI, he’s a consultant on the show. He got me the cell phone records from Jessie’s phone since she came out here.” He tapped a number. “This incoming call is from the Lightkeeper Inn, specifically the landline in the Honeymoon Suite.”
“So someone called her from that phone, but you don’t necessarily know who.”
However, the date matched up with the night Marigold had spent there with Adam. Unless Marigold had been calling Jessie—unlikely, but she’d have to rule it out—Seth Baker and Adam Johnson were the same person. Had he been two-timing Marigold that whole time? How was that possible on an island of this size?
Only with someone like Jessie Finnegan who didn’t leave the house much, she supposed.
“Have you checked out all the other phone numbers?” she asked Jack.
“Yes, and none of them belong to anyone matching Seth Baker’s description. A few calls from friends, a call from Mom, a few from me, several to the client she was working with, and another from someone wanting to hire her. Either Seth Baker didn’t have a cell phone or he never used it to call Jessie.”
Clever. Tina had to hand it to him. “One thing I’m still struggling with is motivation. Let’s assume Seth Baker is the same asshole who messed with my client. In her case, there was no financial loss. No savings accounts were drained or anything like that. What about Jessie? Is it possible he targeted her because her brother is a movie star? Any ransom demands come your way?”
He snorted, then shook his head. “First, I’m no movie star. I’ve never been in a movie. Second, no ransom demands. I wish I’d gotten one, because that would give me a clue to go on and at least I’d know Jessie was alive.” His voice caught on that last word, and his jaw clenched tight. His face went grim, every hint of humor gone.
She watched him wrestle with his emotions, and thought, Just like Denver, but better. Denver kept his emotions locked deep inside thanks to an extremely traumatic childhood spent in a Romanian orphanage. Jack was clearly comfortable with emotion.
An odd impulse struck her—she wanted to give him a hug.
That was strange, because she rarely felt the urge to give anyone a hug, certainly not a witness or anyone else involved in an investigation. During sex, sure, but that was more of a tactile foreplay kind of thing. She wasn’t a touchy-feely person, generally speaking. A fierce and loyal friend and family member, absolutely. But she showed up for people with actions rather than hugs. Airport pickups, house moves and post-breakup meltdowns were some of her specialties.
“Are you okay?” she finally said. “Can I get you anything?”
He shot her a look filled with wry amusement. “Love the hand-holding. No thanks, I’m good. Just worried for Jessie. It’s not like her to disappear, and no one seems to take that seriously.”
“It’s natural to be worried, but hopefully we can channel that energy into finding Jessie.”
“Exactly what I’m doing, but thanks for the psych eval.”
