“The story is over. It’s out.”
“It’s not,” he said as they left the garden. “Not until we get the truth. We have one more day. Isn’t there a saying about never giving up?”
“Yeah, it goes something like ‘Don’t give up.’” She looked cheered. “We must have missed something.”
“I refuse to believe this is the end. I won’t let it be.”
“We’ll do it for Dot,” she said, holding her hand in a high five.
He slapped it with his own, feeling a small lift through the heaviness the conversation with Jason had left. “For Dot.”
Forty-one
Despite their eagerness to stick it to John Wilson and peripherally theSpear, the rest of the day was spent rechecking the house without success. They were in the dress room, hoping for a breakthrough, when Brent called. Wes put it on speaker.
Nadine took the opportunity to walk around the silver room as Wes went through a quick explanation of what happened with theSpear. Brent didn’t say anything much beyond “I see” and “They did what?” and “Holy shit, they didwhat?”
“What a mess. I’m sorry that happened to you,” Brent said when Wes finished. “Do you think theSpearwill get sued?”
“If they do, it could be bad news for their financial standing,” said Nadine. “Potentially very bad.”
“Really?” Brent sounded interested. “Will it be up for sale?”
“No idea,” said Wes, looking over to Nadine for help.
Nadine shrugged. She had to budget for a new pair of shoes. It wasn’t like she was in the market to buy a media outlet.
When Wes confirmed the story Tyler wrote was based on their actual finds, Brent’s intake of breath was audible. “The story is all true?”
“We think so,” said Wes. “The problem is we can’t prove a more direct connection from John Wilson to Dot, and we don’t have proof that he’s guilty. Only allegations and a manuscript.”
Brent made a disgusted noise. “It really grinds my gears that he’s getting away with this, especially if he also screwed over my aunt.”
“Us too,” said Wes. “We’re going to keep looking.”
“Well, I have faith in you, and so did Dot.”
They hung up. Seeing John Wilson parading around complacently assuring media the “lies and mistruths spread by theSpearwill soon be put to rest thanks to my legal team” had reaffirmed Nadine’s commitment to taking him down. She wouldn’t let Dot be forgotten. Not that it was much of a risk, since the woman was one of the country’s most beloved authors, but it sounded good in her mind.
She glanced over at Wes, who was doing his best to keep positive and currently stood looking at the Victorian hair art on the wall, seemingly pleased with his lot of searching through a dead woman’s belongings. Nadine knew he was putting a good face on it. He occasionally came up to give her a kiss or simply hold her, and she was happy to comfort him. She suspected once he didn’t have Dot’s mystery to keep him busy, it would be much different. She had already decided to plan some fun dates to keep him occupied. Her online orders should be waiting at her apartment when she got home, and she prayed the packaging was discreet. And double prayed there were no more surprise parental visits.
Perhaps she could take that stripping album from the secret room too.
“Why don’t I get lunch and we can eat while we work?” Wes turned around and ran his hand through his hair. They were both sweaty messes. Thank God Wes had seen her during some questionable style choice eras, including the brief period she’d worn dresses over button-down shirts.
“Thanks,” she said, raising her face for his kiss. It was incredible how good he felt. She blew him another kiss as he left for the kitchen.
***
Hours later, they lay in Nadine’s fancy canopied bed after working off their frustration at finding nothing in the attic. It would have been gross had Wes not dampened a washcloth in cold water to run over Nadine’s sweaty skin. Wes was perfect, she thought as she returned the favor. Make that almost perfect, because when she dropped the washcloth on the side of the bed, promising to put it away later, he sighed, got out of bed, and returned it to the bathroom.
“It’ll make the sheets damp,” he said as he climbed back beside her. “I’m getting hungry, but I was thinking we work for…” His voice trailed off, and when Nadine looked over, it was to see him staring up.
“Wes?” She followed his gaze. The late afternoon sun had come in at the ideal angle to illuminate a dark outline on top of the bed’s pale yellow canopy, as if someone had stored a box or book.
They looked at each other.
It was very like Wes that he pulled on a pair of shorts before grabbing a chair to stand on. Nadine threw on her dress and stood on the bed itself, trying to feel what the rectangle was through the canopy. “It’s light,” she reported. “Not a book or a box. Maybe a newspaper.”
