Page 86 of The Alibi Club

She thought about Cliff sitting in jail waiting for a judge to send him back to prison. She’d tried to straighten things out, tried to explain. But the detectives had made up their minds; he was a freshly paroled thief who was close enough to the scene of the crime to be considered guilty as charged—even though the mystery loot, whatever it was, hadn’t been recovered or even named. The wheels were already in motion and because of Cliff’s past incarceration, his escape from the back of the police cruiser, and with the current accusations leveled against him, he had little chance of getting out.

Her thoughts wandered to visiting him and what she might say. She owed Cliff some sort of reasoning behind her behavior.

She could try to explain just how broken she was, or why she never chose to trust or rely on anyone. How she prejudged people as a way to keep herself safe and shunted off. She might even tell him how empty she felt all the time, how loneliness had warped her so badly that self-sabotage was now part of her makeup, like freckles or dimples or her hideous hereditary cellulite.

Jamie’s ability to destroy relationships was her toxic trait. Though usually her actions only hurt herself, which she could live with. But this time, Cliff was part of her collateral damage. She could explain all that to him, if only he would hear it. He had not reached out, the night they took him away nor since. So, she was left to murmur her apologies into the abyss. She realized she was heartbroken.

Detective Roverson had informed her that Melvyn Ott had been placed under arrest for her attempted murder and was going back to prison for good this time. That meant Cliff was still the prime suspect in the heist of Duncan Reeves’s mystery item.

Jamie was deep in thought when she heard a knock at her front door. She looked out and saw Derick Hampton standing at her front door with a bag of groceries and fresh-cut flowers.

Dash promptly jumped from her lap and raced to the front door, all nine pounds of him unleashing a full-body barking tirade worthy of a Viking invasion.

“Oh calm down, Moppet,” Derick said as he gave Dash a Bacon Buddy dog treat and patted his head. Dash ravenously ate it and followed him into the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, Jamie was sitting at her own kitchen table, wrapped in a chunky sweater over her activewear, knees up by her chin, as Derick served her a martini and three delicately air-fried Castelvetrano olives. He sat down across from her, and Dash hopped on his lap and promptly fell asleep. Food was the only way to Dash’s heart, though his memory didn’t last long. Derick had to bring treats every time he came over.

Jamie took a big slurp of the martini and put her chin on her knees again.

“What if he’s in jail, singularly because of me?”

Derick delicately sipped his martini and leveled his gaze at her. “I know you want to blame yourself, but I will not have it. There’s a real chance he was behind the whole thing anyway.”

“There’s something I’m not seeing. A piece is missing. Complicated by my feelings for him,” she paused, “for the first time in a long time.”

“For a convict?”

“Ex-convict,” Jamie corrected.

“Leopards and spots and all, perhaps you dodged a bullet.” Derick then registered Jamie’s despair and changed his tune. “But yes, I know what you mean. Harder than ever to find someone with whom you find that kismet.”

“It felt different. Easier somehow.” Jamie massaged her temples. “I can’t explain it.”

“Until you fingered him for the heist and had him arrested.”

“Right,” Jamie said, completely deflated. “Up until that point, yes.”

“I’ll admit, getting thrown in the slammer by your date is a premium boner killer.” Derick took a long sip, but kept his eye on her. “But I could get over that. Maybe the right man could, too.”

“You think?” Jamie asked weakly.

Derick fiddled with an olive and popped it into his mouth. “Tell me about work. Let’s gossip about some C-suite shitheads. Get your mind off this.”

Jamie closed her eyes hard and realized she hadn’t filled Derick in on what happened after the debacle with Duncan Reeves at the Arthur J. She put her hand to her head. “Oh, right,” she said. “The coaching firm politely asked me to resign after Duncan Reeves reported that I was woefully inadequate for the role. Then he threatened to buy the entire company and fire everyone if I wasn’t fired. Also, apparently Cliff threatened to break his thumbs if he grabbed my wrist again. My company gave me some severance, had me sign an NDA, and decommissioned my elevator card. I am, by all accounts, unemployed.”

“Reeves grabbed your wrist? And Cliff threatened him?” Derick gasped with mild delight. “How gallant.”

Jamie nodded with a tight smile. “Indeed. Cliff also covered me in the restaurant when the blast went off. And then stopped a killer from strangling me to death. Put himself between me and danger. Thrice.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I put him in jail.”

“I got that.” He put his hand over hers and sighed. Derick reached into his grocery bag and retrieved a copy of the Los Angeles Times, the physical paper, which was so Old Skool, it had become charming again. “How did Elaine Cromwell Frisco take this news?” He handed her the crossword.

Jamie took it and started folding it so she could work on it. “Haven’t had the pleasure of delivering that tidbit yet.”

“Bet she’ll love this new development.” Derick sighed and stared at the ceiling, counting off her recent disasters. “So, to sum up, in the last two weeks, you have lost a job, sent a potential love interest to jail, were nearly murdered, and in less than a month you will lose your sizable inheritance.”