Page 3 of Philly
“I need to check the reservation system for the rentals. We’re coming up on the high season.” The club managed several properties they’d bought, fixed up, and now rented to vacationing weekenders. Summer and winter were the big revenue seasons. So far, the bookings for the ski season looked good, with a lot of repeat renters, but he needed to take a closer look and determine whether to adjust their marketing plan.
“Sitting in front of a computer isn’t going to be a productive use of your time this morning. If you’re going to be stubborn about it, though, take a run before you start.”
Philly opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. As much as he wished Callie didn’t have an impact on him, she did. And Mantis was right—a run would help clear his mind before having to focus on business.
“I’ll head out to the fire trail on the east side of the lake,” he conceded. The eleven-mile trail would be enough to calm his system down. “I’ll get the rentals sorted by the end of the day.”
Mantis nodded again and, shooting him one last loaded look, took the bag of toys and left the room.
With the trail beckoning him, he followed his brother out, but rather than turn left toward the members’ wing of the building, he turned right. As he strode down the hall toward the main room, the wood floors solid beneath his feet, he considered what Callie might ask. For the hundredth time.
And for the hundredth time, he came up with nothing. He had no shortage of creativity, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine any scenario where their lives intersected. Not for the past twenty years.
As he approached the room, Dottie came into view on her way to the kitchen. She didn’t stop, but she subtly nodded toward the west side of the room.
Pausing at the end of the hall to assess the situation, he spotted Callie sitting at the end of a long table, picking at her coffee cake. She seemed to be forking off the crumb topping, moving it around the plate, then picking off a small piece of cake from the corner. For every three pieces of cake she separated out, only one made it into her mouth.
“Callie,” he said, walking into the room. Fork in hand, she watched as he came toward her, taking the seat opposite. Yesterday, she’d worn a black suit with a white top and heels. Today’s attire wasn’t all that different, although the suit was a rich brown and the top more of a cream color than white.
“Do you want any coffee or anything?” she asked as he folded his hands and set them on the table.
He shook his head. He’d already had four cups—two more than usual. “What’s this old case you wanted to ask me about?”
She set her fork down and straightened. He tried not to notice how the young girl he’d been in love with had turned into a stunning woman. An objectively difficult thing to do as her dark, expressive eyes studied the lines of his face. As if tracing a memory.
“Laura Nolan,” she said.
He paused, then frowned, reminding himself he meant nothing more to her than a potential source of information. Not that he wanted to mean more.
“Who’s Laura Nolan?” he asked.
Her gaze held his before dropping to her phone sitting on the table beside the coffee cake. He followed her fingers as she typed in a code, oddly mesmerized by her fingernails. Trimmed to the exact same length, she hadn’t covered them with any sort of polish, yet they looked smooth and flawless.
She slid the phone across the table, and he jerked his gaze away from her hands to the device. Pulling it closer, he studied the screen and the grainy image taken from CCTV footage. A picture of him and a woman exiting a building. He held the door open with one hand while the other lingered near the woman’s lower back. They both carried bags weighed down by something hidden within the white opaque plastic, and she had a hand pressed to her lower belly.
He squinted at the time stamp, then frowned again. “This was taken nearly two-and-a-half years ago, but I remember that day.”
Callie leaned two inches forward.
“A couple of buddies had leave. I flew down to San Diego, and we were heading to Baja for a few days,” he answered, his gaze still on the image. “She and I were walking into the store at the same time,” he said, tapping the picture. “I made some comment about what a beautiful day it was. She agreed but said something about being sick. I thought maybe she had a cold, but as soon as we walked into the mini-mart, she bolted for the bathroom. Both the clerk and I could hear her vomiting. She sounded miserable.” He paused, then pushed the phone closer to Callie. “She was right in that it was too nice a day to be sick, so I bought her some ginger ale and crackers.” He nodded toward the phone. “I guess that was taken when we left.”
“Did you walk out with her?”
“Only toward the parking lot. I got a call and turned away.”
“You didn’t notice where she went?”
He shook his head. “But there was a white Land Cruiser, maybe a 2004, leaving the parking lot when I backed out of my spot.”
Her brows dropped. “That’s specific. The age of the car.”
He shrugged. “In the places I’ve worked you see a lot of Land Cruisers. And Hiluxes, but those aren’t sold in the US.”
“You didn’t know Laura before that morning?”
He studied Callie. “That’s Laura Nolan?” he asked, nodding to the phone.
“It is.”
