Page 80 of Call Back

Chapter 16

“Where’s the box?” Ava asked when I walked in through the back door, slightly sweaty after my five-block walk from the parking lot outside of the Belles, made more strenuous by the fact I’d packed up all my belongings at Brady’s and brought them with me. There was a huge pot on the stove and several baking sheets were spread across the counter.

I closed my eyes, then blinked them open. “I’m sorry. I forgot it.” How could I have been so stupid? I’d been so anxious about going to that house later, I’d spaced out about everything else.

“Did you get it done?”

“No, ma’am.” But I wasn’t so sure it mattered, at least from my perspective. I’d been searching the box for clues about my father’s involvement in the Jackson Project. I’d gotten plenty of information from other sources.

“Why do you look so bedraggled?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “You look like you’ve been awake for two days.”

She wasn’t far off. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Well, be sure to put plenty of concealer on to cover those bags under your eyes before you play hostess in a couple of hours. I can’t have you looking bad in front of my guests.”

I nodded slightly, too tired to get angry. “Yes, ma’am.”

I started to head out the swinging door toward the dining room, but she called after me in a harsh tone. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Back upstairs to work on the other box of papers.”

“That can wait,” she said briskly. “I need your help in the kitchen.”

I turned around but stayed in the threshold between rooms. “Like I told you, I’m not much help in the kitchen.”

“Poppycock,” she said, grabbing an apron out of a drawer. She started to hand it to me, but after she got a good long look at my jeans and well-worn, blue, scoop-neck T-shirt, she stuffed it back in the drawer. “There’s plenty you can do.” Then she reached for a coffee mug, filled it with coffee, cream, and sugar, and handed it to me as I approached her. “Here. You look like you could use this.”

I took it from her, trying to cover my shock. “Thank you.”

“Don’t be thinking I’ve gone soft,” she snapped as she grabbed a spoon and started to stir something in a bowl. “I need you to perk up, or we’ll never get everything done.”

I hid a small smile as I took a sip. Maybe there was something to my mostly bark and little bite theory after all.

“I need you to remove those croissants from the baking sheet and put them on that blue and white plate,” she said, her side still to me. “Are you capable of such a simple task?”

“I hope so. I’ll do my best.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “At least you’re honest.”

I started working on my assigned job, and to my surprise, she broke the silence.

“Are you still searching for information about your father?”

I stopped mid-scoop, then resumed my task. “Yes, ma’am. There was helpful information in that box you gave me.”

“Is that so?”

I nearly laughed at her smug tone. I decided to be honest with her. “I found out he was part of the Jackson Project. A big land deal gone wrong.”

She tsked and shook her head. “Quite a few people lost money on that venture.”

“I also had no idea my father had helped manage some country music artists’ money.”

“He was known for it for a while, which was why I was so surprised to hear he’d run off with Shannon Morrissey.”

“He didn’t run off with Shannon Morrissey,” I said with a frown. “Geraldo Lopez killed him.” Or at least that’s what a lot of people believed now. It didn’t explain the serial numbers on the gold.

“Are you sure about that?”

---