Santa's Subpoena Page 14

  “Yeah, but you got shot,” I said, losing some of my sleepiness.

  Aiden shrugged, nearly dislodging me. “Eh. Guy was a moron. We took him and his three guys down, called for backup, and arrested the entire operation. We have enough to make the charges stick, but I’m headed over to Portland tomorrow to interview the main guy.”

  “To find out how your cover was exposed?”

  “Yeah. He also has lines on several other operations, so he has some leverage to make a deal. Although any deal will include prison time for him, no matter what.” Aiden’s voice thickened and his body relaxed even more. “They were running opioids smuggled in from the southern border. The fentanyl kind that kills people.”

  I tightened my hold on his hand, which was near my hip, his arm heavy over my waist—right below my still aching ribcage. “Then I’m glad you shut them down.”

  “Me, too.” He nuzzled my neck.

  I shivered.

  “Tell me you’re not trying to figure out how to keep a teen and a dog. Please,” he murmured.

  I grinned. “With our lives? No.” Then I sobered. “But I don’t know what to do with them. She doesn’t want to go into foster care, and even if I talked her into it, she wouldn’t get to keep the dog. The dog isn’t really hers, although they seem to have adopted each other.” It wouldn’t be fair to tear them apart.

  “We can’t keep them,” he whispered.

  I knew that. I really did. “There are some really good foster homes, but she’s just adamant.” If Violet ran away, she’d get hurt. Enough had happened to her in her young life, and I wanted to help.

  “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” His breathing evened out, and that fast, he was asleep.

  Yeah, I admired that ability. Was even kind of jealous. It took me forever to get to sleep, but with Aiden warming me, I finally nodded off.

  The nightmares got me early in the morning. Full on, Jareth Davey, coming at me with red roses and spray paint. Crackle laughed in the background, throwing knives made of ice at me while I ducked. I awoke, gasping, still warm in Aiden’s arms.

  Nightmares sucked.

  Morning light, weak from the weight of winter, filtered through the blinds covering my sliding glass door. I slid out of bed, leaving Aiden sleeping, and used the bathroom before tugging on yoga pants, a sweatshirt, heavy socks, and a ponytail holder. A bruise covered my right cheekbone in painful purple, red, and yellow striations. The yellow was a good sign that it was healing quickly. It was unfortunate I knew that fact. Then I padded out into the living room, remembering at the last second that I had company.

  Huh.

  The dog looked up, stretched to his feet, and padded right over to the door. Smart dog. I tiptoed around the sleeping girl on my sofa and let Bowser out, watching him take care of business quickly in the snow and run back inside. More snow lightly fell, almost lazily. He moved for the food and water I’d given him the night before and then returned to flop by the sofa, going right back to sleep.

  Violet didn’t even stir. When was the last time she’d felt safe enough to sleep like that?

  My heart hurt for her. I grasped my phone from the kitchen counter and moved into my laundry room, shutting the door quietly. A washer and dryer took up one wall next to a sink, while the opposite wall held a board I used to diagram legal cases. There was a ton of room beneath the board, and I thought the owners had intended to install cupboards but didn’t. I opened the door to the garage and tugged out my yoga mat, placing it on the floor.

  Then I stretched before moving into several different poses, allowing my mind to wander. I enjoyed yoga but wasn’t very good at it. Even so, I went through the poses and mulled everything over. Through the Santa case, through Violet’s case, through Aiden’s case. One thought after the next, just letting them flow.

  My phone buzzed and I sat, reaching for it to see the screen. Happiness bubbled through me. “Are you back in town?” I asked.

  My cousin Bosco chuckled. “Yeah. I wanted to get your scoop on this Heather.”

  Seriously. Everyone thought women could gossip, but the Albertini boys were in a world of their own—especially when it came to one of their brothers. Bosco was the youngest of six, and Quint was the second oldest. Although considering Bosco was a tough guy in the Navy, it was hard to imagine him as a little brother. “Heather is awesome, and I think she’s perfect for Quint. The second you meet her, you’ll love her,” I said.

  Bosco was quiet for a second. “That’s good news, then. Hey. I’m watching Fabio for Knox, and if I get called into work, do you mind taking him?” Knox was another older brother and Fabio his adorable mutt.

  I thought about the teenager and dog already in my living room. “No problem. Just let me know, and I’ll figure it out.” I actually loved dog-sitting for all of my cousins and was usually the first in line when somebody needed a place for their pooch. “I don’t suppose you know someone who’d like to take in a cute teenager and her own dog?”

  “You’re not a teenager, and you don’t have a dog.”

  I sighed. “Not me, dumbass. I have a young friend, and she’s alone in the world, and I’m trying to figure out a good place for her.”

  “Like a foster home?” Bosco asked, the sound of coffee percolating in the background.

  “Yes, but one that we know,” I said. “She’s hesitant.”

  Fabio barked in the background.

  “Knock it off,” Bosco called to the dog, and the dog stopped barking. “Well, I don’t know, but what about Mom and Dad?”

  “Huh?” I extended my left leg and leaned over, grimacing as pain flared through my abdomen from hitting a coffee table thanks to good old Crackle.

  Bosco drank noisily. “Ugh. I need a new coffeemaker.” He sighed. “Mom and Dad were foster parents years ago, and I know our mother needs something to do other than try to matchmake us all and get grandbabies. I swear, I’d like to ground her from hanging out with Nonna. They’re obsessed.”

  I perked up. “I’d completely forgotten that they used to take in foster kids.”

  “Sure. Through the years, they’ve taken in kids.”

  There had always been so many kids at the Albertini houses that it had seemed normal to have a bunch of extra people at family gatherings. “Do you think they’d want to take in a teenaged girl?”

  “Dunno, but why not? I mean, if they want to take in another kid. They might not want to at this point,” Bosco said. “Dad won’t retire from the mine, and Mom is pretty busy overall with her antique shop, but she might also like having a girl around for a change. Or not. I don’t know, Anna Banana.”

  Fair enough. I’d call after I finished with Bos. “Are you home for good?” He normally worked out of Fairchild, on the other side of Spokane, but lately he’d been traveling quite a bit.

  “Not sure. I was only gone a couple of weeks, and I return to find out that Quint is in luv.” Bosco snorted.

  “Well, Heather is a zillion times better for Quint than who he was dating. Can you believe it? He slept with my nemesis,” I said.

  Bosco’s chuckle was all Albertini. “You have a nemesis?”

  “Yeah. Jolene O’Sullivan. You remember her, I’m sure. She’s now a reporter with the Timber City Gazette.” I settled in and gossiped my heart out with Bosco, enjoying his easy laugh the entire time. Finally, I wound down. “I should go get breakfast ready for a teen and a dog.”

  “All right. Catch you later.” Bosco hung up.

  My doorbell rang.

  I stretched to my feet and opened the laundry room door to see Violet sitting up sleepily on the sofa. “Sorry about that,” I said. “It’s early for UPS.” Although, after a quick glance at my phone, it was nine in the morning. The sound of my shower running in the master bath caught my attention as I bustled for the door and opened it.

  My spine tingled as I saw the dozen red roses.

  “Delivery for Anna Albertini.” The delivery lady looked to be in her mid-sixties, and she’d left her
van running in the driveway.

  I took the flowers. “Wait a sec.” There wasn’t a card. “Who sent these?” A quick glance to the side of my garage confirmed that the same heart was there with no additional markings.

  “I don’t know,” the woman said, pushing her black knit hat farther back on her gray hair. She wore a down jacket, dark jeans, and rubber-soled black boots. “I just deliver the flowers, and that one doesn’t have a card.”

  I gently grasped her arm and drew her inside. “I need to know who these are from. What florist sent these?”

  The woman pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Honey? Are you okay?” She looked at my face with a sympathetic wince.

  “Yes,” I said. “Long story. Again, what florist?”

  “Bev and Bern’s, over on Sixth.” She dug a cell phone from her pocket and pressed it to her ear. “Hey, Bev? It’s Mary. Just delivered those roses to Albertini, and she’s a little insistent that we know who sent them. There’s no card.” Mary looked at Anna, nodded, and then sighed. “Gotcha. Thanks.” She shoved the phone away.

  I sighed. “Don’t tell me. The flowers were purchased over the internet with a credit card number and no real name.” Another prepaid card.

  “Well, the name was Aiden Devlin,” Mary said. “At least, that’s what was typed into the online form. They have to type something, or it won’t go through. But I can’t guarantee these are really from a guy named Aiden Devlin.”

  “I can guarantee they’re not,” Aiden said, striding out of my bedroom, his hair wet and his eyes a piercing blue.

  Mary swallowed. “Wow.”

  Yeah, he got that a lot. In his faded jeans and dark tee, he looked like a bad-boy from a television show. Except he was real, and right now he was emanating an angry tension that heated the entire room.

  I handed the flowers back to Mary. “Deliver these to the hospital, would you?”

  “Sure.” With one last and fairly long look at Aiden, head to toe, she turned and carefully picked her way back down my walkway.

  I shut the door, my head ringing. “My new admirer is persistent.” Or my old one. Were the flowers from Jareth Davey? I turned to see Aiden silently looking at me. “Right?”

  His chin slowly lowered. “What the fuck happened to your face?”

  Violet gasped and dragged the dog onto the sofa.

  Aiden read the room. His shoulders instantly relaxed and he calmed, although his eyes freaking blazed. “Sorry about the rough language.” He turned all his formidable charm on the teenager. “I’m Aiden.”

  “Violet,” she whispered.

  He moved toward the kitchen. “The guy who swears has to make breakfast. How about pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs with too much cheese?”

  Violet slowly grinned. “Sounds great.”

  “Good.” He looked toward me. “You can tell me what happened as I cook.”

  Ah, crap.

  Chapter 21

  In my office, I stacked case files neatly on the right side of my desk, angling my head to look down the hallway. Violet and Bowser were in the normally vacant office to the left, while my cousin Pauley worked in the office across the hall from them. He’d taken one look at Violet and the animal, shut his door and hadn’t been seen since.

  Pauley was a sixteen-year-old autistic genius and sometimes just didn’t want to deal with people.

  The firm’s other employee, our receptionist and sometimes accountant, Oliver Duck, had made three trips to Violet’s temporary office in the last hour. Oliver was eighteen, dorky, and a sweetheart. He’d brought Violet coffee, more markers so she could work on the filing he’d found, and then water.

  As he made his way to the office again, this time with a handful of colorful pens, I motioned him to keep walking in my direction.

  He paused and then did so, moving inside my office.

  “Door?” I asked.

  He switched all of the pens to one hand and shut the door. His red hair had been combed back, and his freckles were standing at attention. “What’s up, boss?”

  I’d never been great with subtlety. Since I wasn’t in court, I’d worn jeans with a white sweater under a navy-blue blazer, and I felt like a grownup, which wasn’t ever fun. “She’s pretty but underage, and you’re eighteen.” Although Violet was probably more mature and definitely had a stronger edge, the numbers were the numbers.

  He shuffled his feet. “I was just bringing her pens.”

  “Friendship only for the next two years,” I said.

  Oliver nodded, his ears turning crimson. “Totally agree. Is she going to work here, too?”

  Clark and I couldn’t afford to hire another teenager—or anybody for that matter. “No. She’s just here until we figure out a good place for her to live,” I said, having already left a message on my aunt’s cell phone. If Aunt Yara couldn’t take Violet, I’d figure something else out.

  Oliver looked at my aching cheekbone. “I should’ve asked. How’d you get this shiner?”

  It was a sad fact that my having a bruised face didn’t faze him in the slightest. “Got into a brawl with a guy named Crackle.”

  Oliver’s eyebrow rose. “Gut feeling is that you should never fight physically with a guy named Crackle.” He leaned to the side, studying my face. “The yellowing is good—shows it’ll heal fast.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Oliver winced. “Has Aiden killed him?”

  “What makes you think I haven’t killed him?” I reached for my half full mug of coffee.

  “You would’ve led with that fact,” Oliver said wisely.

  He wasn’t wrong. I sipped. “Aiden wasn’t happy, but he realized that he’s an ATF agent and can’t just go kill people. However, I have a plan to turn Crackle in as soon as I take care of a couple of things.”

  “Like Violet?”

  Yeah, Oliver was no dummy. “Yes. Like Violet.”

  The blue in Oliver’s eyes stood out against his pale skin once his blush retreated. “If this law thing doesn’t work out, maybe you could start a business where you find strays places to live—like you did for me.”

  I grinned. Oliver had been arrested for trespass on a farmer’s land, and it turned out both the farmer and Oliver were alone in life and could use help, and now Oliver lived on the farm. What he didn’t know was that the farmer had recently changed his will to leave Oliver millions someday, hopefully in the far, far future. It was odd how life turned out. “I’m glad things have worked out for you.”

  “I owe you,” Oliver said, turning as voices could be heard. “Sounds like your client is here.” He opened the door and hustled down the hallway, skipping Violet’s office as he did so.

  Then he led Bernie and Florence back. They were holding hands and giggling as they sat on my two guest chairs.

  I sighed.

  Bernie frowned, his comb-over neater than usual. Today he wore pressed brown slacks beneath a blue vest. “What happened to your face?” His chest puffed up like he was a Silverback ready to rumble.

  I waved a hand in the air. “You should see the other moron.” Then I took in Florence’s flushed face. She looked lovely today in a pale green pantsuit with a pink silk scarf knotted at her neck. “Please tell me you two haven’t been all over town holding hands,” I said.

  Bernie’s bushy eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Of course we have. We found each other again.” He leaned toward her, happiness in his faded eyes. “We’re taking it slow. Well, kind of.”

  Florence released his hand. “We thought you’d be happy for us.”

  I sat back, not wanting to squelch their happiness. “Bernie is the main suspect in a murder involving your ex-fiancé, the man who left you millions as an inheritance. You can see that this might look bad to the prosecuting attorney’s office, not to mention a jury someday?”

  Florence fluttered her hands together in her lap, flashing several sparkly rings. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She settled. “Have you found out any information about t
his Sharon Smith?”

  “Not yet,” I admitted. “I’ll speak with the detective later today, and if he doesn’t have any information, I may call in a private detective.”

  “Oh, I already have,” Florence said, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling. “I can check with them, or you can, I guess.” She dug through her handbag, pulling out her wallet, lipstick, and a brush before snagging a business card to hand over. “There you go. I have several because I said I’d hand them out all over town.”

  “Great.” I took the card. While I normally used my great-uncles, several times removed, it was always good to know another private detective. Until I looked at the card. The front was pink with lime green squiggles, and the words ‘Hawk Investigations’ in electric blue in a fancy font. It looked like it had been printed on an older dot printer. The number at the bottom looked familiar.

  My stomach sank. “Please tell me—”

  “Yes,” Florence said in a rush. “Can you believe it? Thelma and Georgiana have started a detective agency. I think you inspired them.”

  “Me?” I asked weakly.

  She nodded vigorously. “Yes. You’ve solved so many cases together. They figured they should start a business.”

  I looked at Bernie, who was shifting uneasily in his chair. His expression said, ‘no way,’ while his mouth opened up and said, “It’s a great idea, right?”

  I pressed my lips together. Apparently Bernie didn’t want to upset the détente he had going on with the love of his life, and I guess I couldn’t blame him for that. Even so, the thought of those two ladies on the loose hiding in shrubbery taking pictures made me reach for the antacids I’d discovered in my top drawer.

  Bernie held out his hand, and I dropped two tablets onto his palm.

  We both chewed and swallowed in unison. Then I tried to retake control of the situation. “Bernie, I need to ask you more details about your night with Sharon Smith, and we can do that privately if you wish.” The skin between my shoulder blades itched at my even bringing up the subject.