CrissCross (Crossroads Book 1) Page 9

  “It’s an abstract of a seascape.”

  Her breath caught as it came into focus. “At sunrise,” she breathed. “The sky is still dark.”

  “Yes.”

  “The sea is churning,” she continued. “The globbed silvery blue is the sea foam.”

  “You see it?”

  “I do. It’s beautiful.” Jimi turned to look at him. “Where did you get it?”

  “A friend of a friend painted it. His name is Remy LaGuarda.”

  “Should I recognize his name?”

  “No,” he grinned. “He paints as a hobby. But he’s so good, I like to give credit where credit is due.” He looked at the painting. “He gets inspiration when he’s out on his boat sometimes. He hasn’t done a whole lot of seascapes, but I was at a party at his house once and his wife showed me the studio. She paints too. Watercolors. Really pretty, but kind of feminine for my taste. When I saw this, I had to have it. It reminded me of so many mornings being out on a ship or sitting on the sand in some godforsaken country and seeing these colors on the horizon. Those were times that I was reminded there is a God. I was always grateful for those reminders.” His lips formed a tiny smile. “I asked Remy if I could buy it and he told me it wasn’t finished yet. I told him it looked complete to me, so he grabbed a brush and signed it. I asked how much he’d take for it and he wanted to know how much money I had in my pocket. I pulled out my wallet and counted out sixty-two bucks. He said that was a coincidence because that’s exactly what he was asking for it. I took the canvas home and sent him a check for another couple hundred with a note instructing him to tell me if it should be for more.”

  Jimi’s face softened and she asked, “I’m guessing he didn’t ask for any more.”

  “He never even cashed that check. Just let me have this for sixty-two dollars and a handshake. Our mutual friend told me to let it go because Remy wanted me to have it in appreciation for my service. I guess they had talked about it. Whenever I ran into Remy again, we never spoke of it. Just hung out and I’d buy him a beer. Maybe talk about whatever game happened to be on.”

  She looked over the painting again. “Well, it’s a gorgeous painting, but now that I understand what it means to you, it’s breathtaking.”

  He turned away from it and seemed to shake off the mood. “Are you done nosing through my crap now?” he teased.

  “Not really, but we can get to the other rooms another time.”

  He threaded his fingers through hers with a grin and led her to the door.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  It was coming up on midnight when they arrived back at Crosswinds Apartments. It had been a fun evening. Instead of eating at one of the restaurants, they opted to go directly to the bar and ordered a selection of apps, snacking on those instead.

  The conversation had been light . . . some of it was Jimi asking this-or-that questions. It hadn’t felt like an interrogation and Chance found it was a fun way to get to know about each other.

  “Coffee or tea?” she’d asked.

  “Coffee. The stronger the better.”

  She’d scrunched up her nose. “Tea . . . or coffee with flavored creamer.” After a pause, “Lake, river or ocean?”

  “Ocean usually. Lake for water sports. Never river.”

  “Really?” she’d asked skeptically. “You live in a river town.”

  “Okay, I’ll say river for fishing. What about you?”

  “Well . . . I was only at the beach once, but I loved it and always wanted to go again. So, if I have to choose now, I’d say beach. But the lake is fun too.”

  “See?” he challenged. “You didn’t choose river either.”

  She’d snickered. “The Mississippi is dangerous with undertows. And I don’t fish.”

  “That’s a shame. We could go fishing. I haven’t been since I’ve been back.”

  “I’d go with you, but I’ll be sitting on a blanket under a tree reading or making macramé belts for fall festival season.”

  “I can live with that. We should do it next weekend.”

  “Sorry. I have a bike rally to go to.”

  “Where?”

  “Southwest Missouri in the Ozarks.” She’d thought a moment. “Drive in or movie theater?”

  He’d given her a get-real look. “You have to ask? Drive in, of course.”

  “Me too. Pancakes or waffles?”

  “Am I cooking or eating?”

  She’d blinked at him. “You cook?”

  “I’m single and I grew up taking care of my little brother. Of course I cook.”

  “Wow, okay. Umm . . . eating.”

  “Waffles. But, pancakes if I’m cooking. They’re easier and you don’t need special equipment.”

  “That’s true.”

  “You?”

  “French toast,” she’d said mischievously.

  “Wait. You didn’t give me that option,” he’d accused. “Never mind. I’d still pick pancakes and waffles over French toast. They’re more filling.” He’d taken a sip of his beer before saying, “Let me do one. Morning person or night person?”

  “Morning.”

  “Both for me.”

  “That’s not possible,” she’d snarked.

  “Is too.”

  “Spring, summer, fall or winter?”

  “Summer. You?”

  “Fall. I love fall sooo much!” she’d exaggerated.

  “Ugh,” he’d choked out. “Are you one of those sweatshirt-bonfire-autumn leaves-hot cocoa-pumpkin spice everything-loving girls?”

  “All of that except the pumpkin spice. Except in candles. Pumpkin spice candles are the bomb. And you have to add in caramel apples. Because caramel apples are the bomb too.”

  Chance had laughed. “Great. You are one of those girls. But you’re cute and interesting, so I think I can roll with it.”

  “Well, that’s big of you. I didn’t dis your love of summer even though summer is too hot and everyone is sweaty . . . and the humidity in these river towns is ridiculous . . . and the mosquitos are the size of bald eagles . . . and the only thing anyone ever talks about is Cardinals baseball . . . an—”

  “Okay, okay, okay. Touché.” He had leaned closer bringing his face close to hers. “Good news for you, peaches . . . October is almost here.”

  “A week-and-a-half,” she’d said giddily. “Book or movie?”

  “No brainer. It’s always the book.”

  “Agreed.”

  River had shown up around that time and chatted them up for a bit, while he shot his brother questioning looks about the fact that he’d brought a date with him and, Chance assumed, the fact that the date he’d brought was Jimi.

  The band had taken the stage soon after and the bar filled up almost to capacity. This was due to the fact that River’s Edge was a popular band and that it was Saturday night at a casino. Chance and Jimi ended up staying through two sets but left the moment the second set concluded.

  Now they were making their way up the stairs in their building and, to their surprise, they found Willy and Axel standing in the hallway. It was unusual to see the older woman out of her apartment at that time of night and—not only was she in the hallway—she was there in her nightgown.

  Axel watched Jimi and Chance ascend to the top of the stairs, seemingly surprised to see his cousin with their neighbor. It had to be very obvious that they’d been out together.

  “Where are you two coming from?” Axel asked suspiciously.

  “We went to see my brother’s band,” Chance answered.

  Axel opened his mouth to begin an inquisition, when Jimi—having recognized that Willy seemed agitated—approached her.

  “What’s going on, Mrs. Wilson?” she asked gently.

  The older woman’s hand fluttered to the neckline of her gown. “I just . . . well . . . it’s probably nothing, but—”

  Axel stepped in. “There are some things missing from her apartment and she thinks someo
ne’s been in there.”

  “What sorts of things?” Chance asked, joining the little group at the end of the hall.

  “Well, I went out to the fish fry at the senior center with Olga, Roscoe and the Riccis from downstairs. When I was dressing to go out, I was trying on some jewelry to go with my blouse, but ran out of time to put away the pieces I decided against. I left a little ruby and diamond ring and the matching pendant necklace on my dresser instead of putting them back in the lockbox hidden in my closet.” She patted her chest, flustered. “Oh, I knew I should have taken the time to do that, but . . .”

  “Did you check the lockbox?” Chance asked. “Maybe you did put it back and forgot.”

  “Oh, no. I checked that first thing. But they’re not there. The boxes I keep them in are empty. I looked on the floor all around the dresser and the vanity in the bathroom. Axel moved the dresser away from the wall so I could look under and behind it.” She sighed. “But they’re not there.”

  “Have you been home tonight?” Chance asked Axel. “Did you hear anything from her place?”

  “No, I got back about twenty minutes ago. I have a . . . well, uh . . . a friend coming by in a little while.”

  Normally Jimi would snort at that, but Willy was too upset to get sidetracked by giving Axel a hard time over his bevy of female “friends.” Suddenly the gist of Chance’s question grabbed her attention.

  Jimi grabbed his arm. “Wait. You think someone broke in and took her jewelry?”

  “I don’t know that, but Willy is as sharp as they come. I have to believe that if she remembers leaving her jewelry on the dresser, that’s exactly what she did,” Chance answered. He lifted his arm so Jimi’s hand would slide down into his.

  Axel watched this without a word before stepping over to check the older woman’s doorknob. “It doesn’t look like it’s been jimmied.” He looked at Willy. “Do you mind if we go in and check the windows?”

  “Of course not,” she answered.

  They all accompanied her inside and found all of the windows locked, except for the one in the kitchen next to the fire escape.

  “I know that was locked,” she exclaimed. “I haven’t had that window open since last spring. I’d bet my life on that.”

  Chance reached out to pat her shoulder. “Let’s call the police and have them look things over.”

  “Oh, they’re just going to think I’m a senile old lady,” she fretted.

  “No, they won’t. And we’ll be here with you through the whole thing,” Jimi soothed. “Let’s all go over to my place and call the police from there. Maybe we shouldn’t be touching anything until they check things out.”

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  The hour was closing in on two o’clock in the morning when Jimi and Chance stood at her living room window looking down at the shadows beside the dumpster. A pair of police officers walked toward the shadows. One of them raised a high-powered flashlight and lit those shadows up.

  “I don’t see Shad, but I recognize those three as some of the kids he’s been hanging out with,” Jimi commented. “Think they have anything to do with this?”

  Chance shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they just saw the flashing lights and stayed around to see what was up. You said they hang out there all the time.”

  “Yeah.” Jimi shifted her attention to the officers who were engaged in conversation with the teens. “What about the cops? You think they took Mrs. Wilson’s story seriously?”

  “I wanna say yes, but it felt like they were just humoring her,” he said regretfully.

  “I felt the same way. They probably just think she misplaced the jewelry and forgot she left the window unlocked and the two aren’t even related.”

  “Probably.”

  Jimi turned her back to lean against the wall beside the window, facing him. He kept his eyes to the window. “But, you believe her.” He nodded. “Did you report the attempted break in of your car?” she asked.

  “No. I’d decided to let it go, but now I’m thinking maybe I should make a report just in case.”

  “Just in case these incidents are related? Do you think they are?”

  “I don’t have a theory on that yet. I just think I’m gonna be keeping an eye on things for awhile.” He turned his attention to Jimi and his face went soft. “We didn’t get you tucked into bed early after all—did we?”

  “Guess not,” she yawned.

  “I’m going to get out of your hair.”

  She fell into step with him as he moved across the room to the door. Once there, he leaned in and laid an almost imperceptible kiss on her mouth.

  “That’s it?” she asked in disappointment. “After all we’ve been through together, that’s the best kiss you can conjure up?”

  Chance grinned. “We’ll give it a go next time. Hopefully when you’re not dead on your feet and have to get up in just a few hours.”

  “Oh, alright,” she said, playing along.

  “’Night, peaches,” he murmured.

  “’Night, Chance,” she answered.

  She would have watched him until he disappeared inside his apartment, but he pulled her door shut behind him.

  CHAPTER 7

  Early the next afternoon Jimi dropped exhaustedly onto her couch. There was a Hallmark Movies & Mysteries channel movie playing on TV, but her main goal was to nap. She had only slept a couple of hours, but still got up and made it to church and Bible study on time. She’d joined Isla for lunch out afterward, filling her in on her time spent with Chance . . . including the almost-car theft and mysterious possible jewelry heist at Willy’s. But now she was home alone and hoping to sleep for a couple of hours, the sound of a Murder, She Baked movie marathon playing softly in the background.

  Her phone buzzed with a signal there was activity on her Facebook account. She sighed and reached for her cell, knowing she wouldn’t be able to go to sleep for wondering what that activity was. She opened her Facebook app and touched the notification icon. “Lucky Seven sent a friend request.” She blinked at the unfamiliar name that frankly seemed pretty shady. She never accepted requests from people she didn’t know or weren’t associated with more than one person in her own friend group. She connected to Lucky Seven’s profile and began scrolling. There wasn’t much to see, because whoever it was had strict privacy settings. The only public photos or posts were profile and cover photos. After she’d scrolled down pretty far, she noticed a pattern that the profile and covers sometimes had U.S. Navy themes and there were a couple of vaguely familiar tattoo shots. One was of a frog skeleton with a trident that she’d thought she’d seen on Chance’s forearm among all of the images that made up his full sleeve tattoos.

  Jimi did a search to find River Loughlin’s profile, and his privacy settings were much more lax, probably because he promoted his band through his account. She sneakily looked through his friends list and found Lucky Seven. She scrolled a bit and eventually discovered a photo of River and Chance at a Cardinal game that was tagged to Lucky Seven.

  Even though she was pretty certain that Lucky Seven was Chance, she didn’t want to risk it. She wasn’t keen on getting catfished by some creep out there, so she sent Lucky Seven a private message. “Chance? Is that you?”

  Pretty quickly she got back, “Sorry. I should have sent you a heads up about my profile name before I sent the request. Will you be my FB friend?”

  She tapped the Accept Friend Request icon, before answering his PM question “This is just so sudden, but yes. I’m flattered that an international man of mystery such as yourself would ask.”

  “Ha.”

  “What’s with the weird name?”

  “It’s a special forces thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Right.”

  “At my place watching baseball with River. Want to come over?”

  “No, thanks. I’m going to take a nap.”

  “Okay. See you soon, I hope. Sweet dreams.”
<
br />   Jimi resisted the urge to scour his profile now that they were friends, deciding she needed sleep first. She’d do that when she had more time to kill.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Monday was a short workday for Jimi because it was many of the New Hope Fellowship ministers’ day off. She had opened the office at nine o’clock, ate lunch at her desk and activated the voice mail system at two that afternoon right before she left. This was her normal routine and she liked the Monday schedule. Things were usually pretty chill.

  She had gotten home and changed into her knock-around-the-house clothes to get her house cleaning done. It wouldn’t take long, because she lived alone and was something of a neatnik.

  She hadn’t grown up in a family that functioned on a set schedule but, being the white sheep, she reveled in hers now that she was out on her own . . . not that she wasn’t willing to let it slide if an occasion called for it. Jimi could be spontaneous, but there was a big difference between spontaneity and the chaos she’d grown up in.

  Her routine went as follows: Saturday mornings were for laundry and the rest of the day was Anything Can Happen Day—as long as that anything was something fun. Sunday was for church and relaxation. Monday she had a short day at the church office and she used the extra few hours off to clean her space for the rest of the week. Tuesday through Friday she worked full days, and Wednesdays she attended evening church activities. Friday night was another Anything Can Happen opportunity and usually involved friends and some sort of entertainment. And, of course, she might be weaving or working in her friend’s pottery studio during any free time she encountered throughout the week.

  On this Monday afternoon, Jimi had finished dusting and vacuuming her apartment, scrubbed down her bathroom and kitchen, and damp-mopped the floors of those two rooms. She knotted the large trash bag in which she dumped all of her trashcans, stuffed her door key in the pocket of her ancient cotton shorts and hefted the bag.