Читать книгу P.I. Daddy's Personal Mission - Beth Cornelison - Страница 8

Thanks to a new missing-person case on Friday and his promise to take Patrick to the game on Saturday, Sunday afternoon was the first chance Peter had to follow up on his suspicions regarding the Colton family’s connection to Craig’s poisoning and his father’s murder. The best place to start, Peter always figured, was the beginning—in this case, the circumstances and events surrounding the Coltons at the time of Mark Walsh’s first “death” in 1995.

He left Patrick in the capable hands of his mother, Jolene, and headed to the library to begin his research. In 1995, when his father went missing and was presumed dead, Peter had been a typically self-absorbed teenager. He hadn’t cared what political causes or social events his family or the rival Coltons were involved in. But in hindsight, he thought maybe he could glean some helpful information to focus his investigation.

As he headed into the library from the parking lot, he noticed a number of large limbs and debris still cluttered the lawn. He frowned at the reminders of the tornado that had struck Honey Creek recently. Most of the brick and stone buildings in town had survived with minimal or no damage, but many homes, including his own, had sustained varying degrees of damage. He scanned the library’s brick exterior searching for signs of damage before mounting the steps to enter the front door.

He spotted his younger sister, Mary, near the front desk and made a beeline toward her. “Well, if it isn’t the future Mrs. Jake Pierson.”

Mary’s head snapped up, and a broad smile filled her face. “Peter! How are you?”

Love—and Mary’s recent, significant weight loss—looked good on his sister. She positively glowed with her newfound happiness.

“Clearly not as well as you. Look at that radiant flush in your face.” He tweaked his sister’s cheek playfully, and she swatted his hand away. “So what are you doing here? I thought your days as librarian were over now that you and Jake are opening the security biz.”

She leaned a hip against the front desk and grinned. “I may not work here, but I have friends who do. And I volunteer to lead the story time in the children’s area on Sunday afternoons. What brings you in today, and why didn’t you bring my favorite nephew with you?”

“Mom’s watching Patrick so I can get some research done.” Peter unbuttoned his coat and glanced around at the tables where people were scattered, reading and studying. An attractive dark-haired woman at one of the corner tables snagged his attention.

Lisa Navarre.

Patrick’s teacher was hunched over thick books, scribbling in a notebook and looking for all the world like a college co-ed the night before exams. Her rich chocolate hair was pinned up haphazardly, wisps falling around her face. A pencil rested above her ear, and a pair of frameless reading glasses slid down her nose. Chewing the cap of her pen, she looked adorably geeky and maddeningly sexy at the same time.

Peter stared openly, his pulse revving, and his conscience tickling. No time like the present to apologize for his oafish behavior on Thursday afternoon.

“Hello? Peter?” Mary waved a hand in front of him and laughed as he snapped back to attention. “I asked what kind of research you were doing. Geez, bro, where did you go just then?”

Peter shifted awkwardly, embarrassed at being caught staring. “Sorry. I saw someone I need to talk to.”

Mary glanced the direction he’d been looking. “Would that someone be an attractive single female who teaches at the elementary school?”

Peter ignored the question and his sister’s knowing grin. “Say, where do they keep the microfiche around here? I need to look through old issues of the Honey Creek Gazette.”

Mary shifted through a stack of children’s books, setting some aside and discarding others. She thumbed through the pages of a colorful picture book, then added it to her growing stack.

He tipped his head and smirked. “Just how many books are you planning on reading to the story-time kids?”

Pausing, she looked at the tall pile. “Looks like about fifteen to me. But I could always add more later.” She gave him a smug grin. “How far back do you want to go with the Gazette? Anything older than two years is filed in a room at the back. Lily will have to get it for you.”

When she nodded toward the other end of the check-out desk, Peter shifted his attention to the raven-haired woman who’d earned a bad reputation before leaving town years ago. Now Lily Masterson was back in town, repairing her reputation after being hired as the head librarian. She was also Wes Colton’s fiancée.

Tensing, Peter took Mary by the elbow and led her several steps away from the front desk. “I want everything from 1995.”

Mary stilled and cast him a suspicious look. Clearly she recognized the time frame as when their father disappeared. “What are you doing, Peter?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Looking for the answers that the sheriff either refuses to find himself or is covering up to protect his family.”

Mary’s shoulders drooped, and she lowered her voice. “You make it sound like Dad’s disappearance was part of a big conspiracy with the Coltons.”

He twitched a shoulder. “Maybe it was.”

She looked skeptical. “Look, Peter, I don’t know what you’re up to, but be careful. When Jake and I dug into Dad’s death this summer, we clearly rattled some skeletons. This research you’re here for could lead to trouble for you if word gets out. I don’t want to see you or Patrick in any danger.”

Craig had said as much, too, when he’d visited him in the hospital. Peter’s gut rolled at the suggestion his investigation could threaten Patrick’s safety.

“And considering that Damien was proven innocent of killing dad, since dad wasn’t really dead all these years,” Mary added, “I’m not sure what sort of conspiracy you think the Coltons are involved in. But Jake trusts Wes, and that’s good enough for me. What makes you think Wes isn’t doing his job?”

Peter glanced around the bustling library, his gaze stopping on Lily. “That’s a conversation for another day and another, more private place.” He shoved his hands deep in his jeans pockets. “So do you still have access to the Gazette microfiche? I really don’t want the sheriff’s new girlfriend knowing I’m digging into his family’s history.”

She frowned and flipped her red hair over her shoulder. “I can’t access the back room anymore, but I’ll ask Lily to get the microfiche you need. Meet me over by the film reader.” She jerked her head in the general direction of the microfiche machine on a far wall, then headed across the room to speak to Lily.

Peter noted the machine she indicated but headed the opposite direction. He had to eat a bit of humble pie.

Wiping his suddenly perspiring palms on the seat of his jeans, Peter headed toward the table where Lisa Navarre sat. As he approached, she paused from her work long enough to stretch the kinks from her back and roll her shoulders. When her gaze landed on him, he saw recognition tinged with surprise register on her face, along with another emotion he couldn’t identify. She seemed uneasy or flustered somehow as he stepped up to her table and flashed her an awkward grin. He couldn’t really blame her for being disconcerted by his presence. He’d been rather gruff and unpleasant last time they met.

Ms. Navarre snatched off her reading glasses and smoothed a hand over her untidy hair. “Mr. Walsh…hello.”

He rocked back on his heels and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “Hi, Ms. Navarre. I’m sorry to interrupt. Do you have a minute?”

She closed the massive book in front of her and waved a dismissive hand over her notepad. “Sure. I was just doing a little studying for my class.”

Peter read the title of the book. “Critical Evaluation in Higher Education. Huh, I didn’t know fourth grade was considered higher education nowadays.”

She tucked one of the stray wisps of hair behind her ear and sent him a quick grin. “It’s not for Patrick’s class. I’m working on my PhD in Higher Education. I’m thinking of moving to teaching college-level classes instead of elementary.”

“Because at the college level you won’t have to deal with jerk fathers who read you the riot act for doing your job?” He added a crooked smile and earned a half grin in return.

“Well, there is that.” Her expression brightened. “Although, for the record, the term jerk is yours, not mine. Concerned, somewhat overwrought fathers might be a better term.”

“Call it what you want, but I still acted like a jerk.” He met her golden-brown eyes and his chest tightened. “Please forgive me for taking you to task. I do appreciate your concern for Patrick and your willingness to bring his errant behavior that day to my attention. I’d already had a rather stressful day and was on edge about some family matters, but that’s no excuse for the way I bit your head off.”

She blinked and set her glasses aside. “Wow. That’s, um…Apology accepted. Thank you.”

Peter noticed a pink tint staining her cheeks and added her ability to blush to the growing list of things he liked about Patrick’s teacher. “So if jerk fathers aren’t why you’re thinking of moving up to higher education, what is behind the career change?”

“Well…” Her dark eyebrows knitted, and she fumbled with her pen. “My reasons will sound really bad without knowing the whole long, boring personal story behind my decision. Let’s just say teaching older students would be less…painful.” She winced. “Ooo, that sounded more melodramatic than I intended.” She laughed awkwardly and waved her hand as if to erase her last comment. “Forget I said that.”

“Forgotten.” But Peter had already filed both the comment and the shadow that flitted across her face in his memory bank. He had no business delving deeper into her personal life, but he couldn’t deny he was intrigued. And sympathetic to her discomfort. He had painful things in his past that he avoided discussing when possible.

“Is Patrick with you?” she asked looking past him toward the children’s section.

“No. Not today. I’m here on business matters, looking for information for a case I’m working on.”

He could tell by the wrinkle in her brow that his working on the weekend away from Patrick bothered her. A jab of guilt prodded him to add, “But yesterday, Patrick and I took in the MSU game and spent most of the evening playing Monopoly together.”

“Oh, good.” Her lips curved, although the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure he enjoyed that.”

“I hope so. You made some valid points the other day at school.”

She blinked as if surprised, and Peter chuckled. “Despite how it may have seemed, I was listening. I heard what you said about Patrick’s withdrawal and falling grades.”

She held up a finger. “Um, slipping. I believe I said his grades were slipping.”

He scratched his chin. “The difference beings…?”

“His grades are still good. They’ve come down a bit, just a few points. But falling to me is more dramatic. Big drop, by several letter grades.”

Peter chuckled. “You are a master of nuance, aren’t you? Incident not accident. Slipping not falling.”

She flushed a deeper shade of pink, and Peter’s libido gave him another hard kick.

“I’m not trying to be difficult. I just believe in saying what I mean. Exactly what I mean.”

Mary caught his attention from across the room. With an impatient look, she held up the microfiche Lily had retrieved for her.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you from your studying.” Peter motioned to her books then took a step back. “I just wanted you to know I’m sorry for shouting at you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Walsh.” She held out her hand, and he grasped her fingers. Her handshake was firm and confident, and the feel of her warm hand in his sent a jolt of awareness through him.

Ms. Navarre, Dad. She’s not married.

As he turned to walk away, Peter hesitated. The woman was beautiful, intelligent and single. “Uh, Ms. Navarre…”

Good grief. Suddenly he was thirteen again and asking Cindy Worthington to the Valentine dance. He was a geeky ball of jittery nerves and sweating palms. He hadn’t asked a woman on a first date in more than thirteen years. Not since he’d asked Katie out for the first time in high school. Since Katie’s death, he’d preferred to be alone, to focus on Patrick and losing himself in his work.

But somehow Lisa Navarre was different from the other women in Honey Creek. She’d managed to stir something deep inside him that had been dormant since Katie died—an interest in getting back into life.

She raised an expectant gaze, waiting for him to continue.

His heart drummed so loudly in his ears, he was sure she could hear it. “I was wondering if you might be free next Saturday to—”

Wham!

A loud thump reverberated through the library, drawing his attention to the front desk. When he saw the source of the noise and the ensuing commotion, he tensed. Maisie Colton was not only a Colton, reason enough for Peter to steer clear of her, but the Vogue-beautiful woman was well-known in town as being eccentric and unpredictable.

Maisie angrily slammed another stack of books on the counter, and Lily Masterson rushed over to quiet Maisie.

“No respect!” Maisie steamed, full voice. “Do you know how many times I’ve called that damn show? And they still won’t talk to me!”

Lily murmured something quietly to Maisie, who retorted, “The Dr. Sophie show, of course. My God, this town has enough dirty secrets and public scandals to fill the show’s programming for weeks! But the ninny they have working in PR not only wouldn’t listen to me, but told me to stop calling or she’d contact the police!” Maisie tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder and scowled darkly.

Peter gritted his teeth, mentally applauding the Dr. Sophie show’s PR rep for recognizing a kook when they heard one and having the guts to stand up to Maisie. Not too many people in Honey Creek did. She was, after all, a Colton, and Coltons held a great deal of power in the town.

He knew he should ignore Maisie’s outburst as most of the other library patrons were, but watching Maisie Colton was a little like watching a train wreck. Despite knowing better, you just can’t look away.

In hushed tones, Lily tried to calm Maisie, but she bristled and railed at Lily, “Don’t tell me what to do! This is a public building, and I have every right to be here and speak my mind.”

Mary edged up to the front counter to give Lily backup, and Peter groaned. This could get ugly.

Mary spoke quietly to Maisie, and, as he’d predicted, Maisie rounded on his sister in a heartbeat. He heard a hateful, derogatory term thrown at his sister, and he’d had enough. Turning briefly to Lisa Navarre, Peter said, “Excuse me. I have to go.” He hustled up to the front desk, where Maisie was bristling like an angry cat, flinging insults at Mary.

“…Walsh slut like your sister! Lucy ruined my brother’s life the instant she hooked her talons into Damien and seduced him. I pity poor Jake Pierson. You damn Walshes are all the same!” Maisie huffed indignantly.

Peter stepped up behind his sister, not saying anything but drilling Maisie with a warning look.

“And you!” She aimed a shaking finger at him. “You killed Katie, same as if you’d pulled a trigger.”

Peter stiffened, bile churning in his gut. “That’s enough, Maisie. Go home.”

“She died having your baby! Or don’t you care? Your father sure didn’t care how many women he hurt, how many hearts he broke, how many lives he ruined!”

Mary gasped softly, and Peter sensed more than saw the shudder that raced through his sister. He stepped forward, prepared to bodily throw Maisie from the library if needed, just as another woman brushed past him to confront Maisie.

Lisa Navarre. Startled, Peter caught his breath, as if watching a fawn step in front of a semi-trailer.

“It’s Ms. Colton, right?” Lisa smiled warmly and held her hand out for Maisie to shake. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I taught your son Jeremy a couple years ago.”

Maisie gaped at Lisa suspiciously, then shook her hand. “Yeah. I remember you. Jeremy loved your class.”

“Well, I loved having him in my class. He’s such a sweet boy. Very bright and well-mannered. I know you must be proud of him.”

Maisie sent an awkward glance to Lily, Mary and Peter, then tugged her sleeve to straighten her coat. “I am. Jeremy is the world to me.”

Lisa smiled brightly. “I can imagine.” Then, gesturing with a glance to Mary and Peter, Lisa continued. “Somehow I doubt he’d be happy if he knew you’d been yelling at these nice people, though.”

Maisie lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with contempt. “There is nothing nice about these or any of the Walshes.” Nailing an arctic glare on Mary, Maisie added, “I’m glad your father is dead. One less Walsh for the world to suffer.”

Peter had never struck a woman in his life, but Maisie tempted him to break his code of honor. He squared his shoulders and would have moved in on the hateful woman if Lisa hadn’t spread her hand at her side in a subtle signal asking him to wait.

“Ms. Colton, the town is justifiably upset over the murder of Mark Walsh. Emotions are running high for everyone. I know there is a lot of bad blood between your families, but this kind of name-calling and finger-pointing serves no good. Think about Jeremy. I’m sure the last thing he needs is to hear from his friends that you were causing a scene here today.”

Maisie crossed her arms over her chest and moisture gathered in her eyes. “Their family has caused me and my brother years of heartache. Damien spent fifteen years in jail for something he didn’t do!”

“I’m sorry for that, truly. But do you really think Damien wants you adding salt to the wounds now, or would he rather put the past behind him?” Lisa’s calm tone reminded Peter of the tactful way she’d handled his tirade earlier in the week.

While he hated to consider himself in the same category as Maisie Colton, he had to admire Lisa’s people skills. Already Maisie’s ire seemed to have cooled. Incredible.

Maisie glanced away and quickly swiped at her eyes before returning a less militant gaze to Lisa. “You’re right. I just get so mad when—”

She shook her head, not bothering to finish. Dividing one last cool glare of contempt between Mary and Peter, Maisie tugged the lapels of her overcoat closed and breezed out the front door.

To Peter, it seemed the entire population of the library sighed with relief.

Lisa turned to Peter and twitched a lopsided smile. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have butted in, but—”

“No apology necessary. You handled that…beautifully. You have a real talent for talking people down from the ledge, so to speak.”

“If I have a talent, it’s simply for keeping a cool head. And, spending most of my day with a room full of rowdy fourth-graders, it is a skill I’ve practiced and have down to a science.”

Peter laughed. “I bet.”

“So before…you were saying something about next Saturday?” She tipped her head in inquiry, inviting him to finish what he’d started.

Peter blew out a deep breath. “Right. To say I’m sorry, I’d like to take you to dinner.”

Lisa’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “You’re asking me out? Like…on a date?”

Somehow the notion of a date seemed to bother her so he backpedaled. “Well, not really a date. I thought you could give me some advice about how to handle all the stuff that’s been happening in my family. You know, with Patrick. You aren’t the only one who’s seen changes in him lately. I’m worried about him, too. I want to help him but…I don’t know where to start.”

Patrick’s teacher eyed him suspiciously. “Hmm. Good cover.”

Peter feigned confusion. “Excuse me?”

When she laughed, the sound tripped down his spine and filled him with a fuzzy warmth like the first sip of a good whiskey. “I’d love to go to dinner with you. But—” she held up a finger, emphasizing her point “—it’s not a date.”

Peter jerked a nod. “Agreed. Not a date.”

Yet even as he consented to her terms, a stab of disappointment poked him in the ribs. Not a date wasn’t what he’d had in mind and seemed wholly insufficient with a woman like Lisa Navarre.

But for now, it would do.