Did Violet have love in her life? Josh imagined a man kissing her. Perhaps a child holding out its arms for her.
Josh turned the steering wheel and pulled away from the curb, the images in his mind becoming bothersome. He headed to Austin’s, then dialed his friend’s number.
“Austin! It’s Josh! Hey, man. I need to beg a favor.”
Austin chuckled. “Anything.”
“I’m still in town. Can I bum a room?”
“Absolutely. Where are you?”
“Outside your front window.”
“Sweet. I’ll open the second garage. You can park next to my vintage Bugatti.”
Josh drove up the drive, and the back gate opened electronically. There was a short concrete drive around to the second garage. That door opened automatically. Sure enough there was a blue 1926 Bugatti roadster sitting in the bay.
Josh pulled the Chiron inside.
Austin came walking out with a glass of white wine for them both.
Josh exhaled and smiled. “Bro, you are the very best.”
“I think you need this more than I do.”
“Oh, jeez. You heard,” Josh groaned.
“It’s a small town. Come on, Katia and Daisy are making a seafood dinner. I told Katia we’d sit on the terrace. I have the wine in an iced cooler. We can talk.” Austin slung his arm over Josh’s shoulder. “I’m here for you, man.”
“Seriously, I need this. I need you.”
“Yep, friends are the best,” Austin said. “Unless you have family.”
They sat at a glass patio table.
Josh stared at him. Austin’s parents were dead, too. Just like Josh, he was an only child and had no aunts, uncles, nieces or nephews. No wonder they were close.
Just then Katia came out onto the terrace carrying a glass tray of appetizers decorated with tropical flowers. “Josh! How are you?” She placed the tray on the patio table. She bent and kissed his cheek.
“Katia, you are a vision,” Josh said. Then he slid a glance to Austin. “You don’t mind me saying that, do you, dude?”
“It’s the truth. And she’s my vision.”
When Katia looked at Austin, Josh knew she wouldn’t have known if a cyclone blew into town. He’d seen the look of love before, but theirs was so intense, he felt he was interrupting.
“Listen, guys, I know you have a lot to talk about,” Katia said. “Daisy and I are still cracking crabs for dinner. So, take your time. Josh, seriously, always know this is your haven. Okay?”
Josh felt a lump the size of a speed bump in his throat. “Thanks.”
“You okay?” Austin asked as Katia went back inside.
“You’re a lucky man, Austin.”
“I know that. But so are you. I saw that photo of you in Racing People. That girl. What’s her name? Joycelyn? She’s a knockout.”
“Who?”
“Joy—”
“Austin.” Josh shook his head. “She’s an infield girl. That’s for publicity. I don’t have anyone.”
Austin’s eyes widened. He took a long slug of wine. “I thought... Well. That you had your pick.”
“There’s never been anyone special. Certainly no Katia.”
Austin’s gaze went to the wide kitchen window where they both could see Katia and Daisy laughing and poking each other with crab legs. “I’ve loved her all my life.”
Josh felt chills down his back. He’d give anything to say that. To know there was a special someone for him. He didn’t know what it was or why this was happening to him now. Was it being in this small town? Was it the shock of finding himself behind bars? Or was it Officer Hawks? He couldn’t stop thinking about how she looked at him when the jail cell door had clanged shut. If a gong had been struck in his head, he couldn’t have been more affected. He felt derailed, on a new course, and he hadn’t the slightest idea where he was headed.
As much as he daydreamed about a different life, the reality was he’d been living as the image Harry and he had concocted for the media years ago. He was a winner. Women came and went. He was successful, rich and alone.
Quite alone.
Yeah, his dreams were mirages. A life like Austin had would never be possible for Josh.
VIOLET DUMPED SOME vegetable soup into a bowl and shoved it into the microwave. Her thick black belt, holster, handcuffs and gun were methodically arranged on the sofa table her mother had given her when she moved into Mrs. Beabots’s apartment. Though she’d picked up her clean uniforms from the laundry, Violet had re-pressed the shirt, taking out the tiny crease she’d seen on its back.
She chuckled as she extracted a soup spoon from her organized flatware drawer. Her mother, Connie, often kidded Violet’s compulsive need for order and cleanliness had finally found a purpose in her “spit-shine” world of law enforcement. Violet didn’t think she was all that obsessive. There was right and wrong. Good and evil. Black and white. “And clearly, clean and dirty.”
The microwave dinged. She took out the soup just as her cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Violet,” Mrs. Beabots said, “don’t think about eating that sodium-laden canned soup. Come downstairs for dinner. I have pasta and chicken in a pesto sauce. Homemade.”
Violet narrowed her eyes. She’d known Mrs. Beabots since she was a child, and the woman always made her think she had eyes in the back of her head. “How did you know what I’m having for supper?”
“I’m a detective.”
“You saw the cans in my trash bag.”
“That, too. Now come down here for dinner. Sarah and Maddie are coming over. And Liz is bringing wine. Oh! I hear Liz’s truck now. She really does need to get that muffler fixed.”
“See you in a sec.” Violet looked down at her skinny jeans, sky blue high-top sneakers and powder blue turtleneck cotton shirt. She was comfortable and had planned to go for a walk after dinner. Now that it was May, the evenings had finally warmed to a brisk fifty degrees, and she loved the flowering Bradford pear trees and forsythia. Having grown up in the country, she’d never appreciated town living, but after six months living on Maple Boulevard, she’d found it had innumerable charms.
Violet tucked her cell phone in her back pocket and walked down the long staircase to the main floor landing. She heard voices and laughter, and she could smell the aroma of garlic and basil coming from under the door. Her stomach growled. “Guess I do need more than soup.” She knocked on the back kitchen door.
“Come on in, honey,” Mrs. Beabots said. “Door’s always open.”
Violet entered the kitchen to find Sarah Bosworth, the next-door neighbor, architect and mother to Luke Bosworth’s children Annie and Timmy. Sarah and Luke’s toddler, Charlotte, looked just like blonde, cornflower blue–eyed Sarah.
Sarah hugged Violet. “It’s great to see you. Where’re the kids?”
“Luke got pizza and a movie. Need I say more?”
“Nope.”