Discarded Promises Read online

  The first was to a local news station, which was understandable. Sadie had just given an interview the day before she died. The next call was to a bank, where the second answering machine clicked on. There could be any number of reasons to contact a bank. Next Quilla reached a corporate executive. Was Sadie job hunting? The fourth call was from a jewelry store in Old Town just a couple blocks up the street. Sadie had plenty of jewelry. It wasn’t unusual for her to have a close association with a jeweler.

  Quilla glanced at the clock. All of the offices were still closed. None of the numbers stood out like a smoking gun, and there was little she could do until later on in the day.

  After a quick shower Quilla headed downstairs to begin her daily routine.

  As she completed her tasks, Denton splashed through the water in front of her door with Lucky trotting on a leash. Wearing a stylish blanket, the tiny dog made an incongruous pair with the six-foot-one man. Awareness skidded up Quilla’s spine the moment she saw Denton. He was handsome in his dark suit under a gray cashmere coat. Something kicked over in Quilla’s heart at seeing that he cared enough about Sadie’s pet to put her into a blanket.

  “I can’t return at lunch today to walk Lucky,” he said. “She isn’t accustomed to staying alone all day. I was wondering if you would watch her for me?”

  Lucky pulled against the leash, struggling to get behind the counter where the treats were kept.

  “Of course I will,” Quilla said, rounding the counter. Soon after she opened her shop, she’d installed a baby gate to keep the dogs from the food. “She’s stayed with me before. We’ll have a grand old time, won’t we, Lucky?” Quilla took the dog from Denton.

  He shifted his briefcase to his other hand. “Well, I appreciate that.”

  “Anytime.”

  “I’ll pay you with dinner.”

  Quilla stroked Lucky’s fur beneath the blanket. “Not necessary.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” he said with just a hint of a smile before he went out into the cold day.

  Quilla thought about that and, truth be told, she was looking forward to dinner with him, too. Meeting him had been the only good thing that resulted from this mess.

  It had started to snow again—just scattered flakes. Quilla wouldn’t be walking today, for more reasons than one, although she’d probably walk Lucky around the marina later when her student arrived to relieve her.

  That afternoon, Quilla closed herself in her apartment and called more of the numbers on her list. This time she reached people at some of them. The first call was Tom Goodwill with Smitherton Corporation.

  “Mr. Goodwill, I’m a concerned friend of Sadie Croft. Her phone records indicate that someone from your office contacted her. She disappeared two days ago and no one seems to know her whereabouts.”

  “Sadie Croft works for me. She manages the Dover House.”

  Sadie’s cushy small apartment–management position must have given her all the time in the world to write.

  “If you hear from her, please ask her to contact me. She has my number.”

  “I will, but I don’t expect to hear from her anytime soon.”

  Quilla called the jewelry store next. The voice at the other end sounded older. According to him, Sadie had left a piece with a loose stone to be tightened.

  A call to the bank wasn’t much help, either. They weren’t about to divulge any information without a search warrant—no one would tell her whether Sadie had used her checks or bank card lately. Upon further reflection, Quilla finally admitted there was that one-in-a-thousand chance that Sadie had been knocked unconscious. But the odds were against it. Quilla sighed. Sadie’s trail was already getting cold. Quilla was unable to get even a nibble. She still believed that somebody out there had wanted Sadie dead. The question was who? The answer must lie somewhere, but it wasn’t necessarily with the people she’d called. If Quilla had been the one killed, Sadie wouldn’t have left her lying on the trail.

  The teenaged Sadie had babysat Quilla when she was a child. Sadie and her mother had lived in the house next door to Quilla. Sadie had been kind and caring. And to this day, Quilla had fond memories.

  Quilla knew very little about Sadie’s personal life. She had been just one of many customers who shopped at the store. But Quilla felt she owed Sadie.

  By the time Quilla returned to her store, it was mid-afternoon and she’d received another call from her father. He must be really desperate to see her. As much as she wanted to leave him in that closed chapter of her life, she knew that she’d have to see him eventually. She attached a leash to Lucky, gathered up a blue plastic bag, and took the dog for a walk.

  Finding Sadie had become an obsession. Quilla found herself walking along the water’s edge and scanning it carefully. The tides and the wind swept the water in a gentle pattern. Alexandrians were fortunate. The city didn’t carry a stench, because the winds carried any odor upriver to Maryland and D.C.

  Perhaps Quilla was on a wild-goose chase. Maybe Sadie did leave town. Perhaps when she came to she continued her journey. The man who’d hovered over her probably thought she was dead and that he would be targeted as the one who killed her. Instead of calling for help, he’d run away. Quilla no longer knew what to think. Perhaps she should wait a few days. She couldn’t believe that Sadie would leave her unconscious on the path and walk away. Someone had carried Sadie away.

  Quilla parked her car on Montrose Avenue in front of the duplex with two small bedrooms where she’d grown up. The houses were older now. Most of the owners were African-American senior citizens. As they died off, their offspring, who’d more than likely moved away or already had homes of their own, sold the places. A couple blocks away, older houses had been replaced with sprawling two-car townhouses and high-priced apartments. Still, some owners held on.

  That wasn’t the case when she was younger. The neighbors had been close and the community thriving. Many had worked for the railroad.

  Now, kids played in front yards and cars whizzed by. A few neighbors fiddled with flowers in tiny yards. Her father’s grass was green and thick even at the end of fall. He must have developed a green thumb. Her mother’s flowers were long gone, but the neatly trimmed hedges grew tall around the house.

  Quilla swallowed the lump in her throat and climbed the three cement steps. Her key was in a jewelry box back home, but she wondered if it still fit. She tapped the knocker on the door. It had been listing to one side when she’d left. As she heard her father’s footsteps approach, she clutched her purse tightly. The door opened.

  For the first time in eleven years, she saw him. Her breath caught. Owen Day was clean-shaven and looked younger than he had back then, although the gray peppering his head was new. But alcohol aged a person and the ravages told their story on her father’s face. They both stood like tongue-tied fools.

  “Come on in,” he said finally. Over time, alcohol also distorted a voice, and his had a deep, scratchy quality. Quilla crossed the threshold with a multitude of emotions exploding through her. She wanted to hug her father. A lump caught in her throat. After all was said and done, he was still Daddy. But she didn’t hug him. She merely followed him through the living room. It still contained the same dark green furniture that had been there when she left. The dining room boasted a new table and chairs. And the place was neat. Brilliant sunlight spilled through open blinds revealing a minuscule backyard.

  It was much easier thinking about objects rather than about the memories those things evoked. A happy family they hadn’t been. Happiness was an emotion Quilla had achieved once she left home. At eighteen she’d thought never to return.

  Her father fiddled around in the kitchen for something. She smelled coffee, so a pot must be brewing.

  “You look . . . wonderful,” he finally said, bringing two cups to the table. “Sugar or cream?” He took an unopened container of cream from the fridge and set it on the table beside the sugar bowl.

  “Thank you, just sugar.” Quilla sat
at the table and dumped a couple of spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee. She was really a tea person, but coffee would do in a pinch, and it gave her something to do.

  He sat across from her, regarding her closely—as closely as she regarded him. “I wondered if you’d come, or if I’d have to come to you.”

  “It took awhile to decide.”

  He nodded. “I know there’s a lot of history between us,” he began.

  Quilla remained silent, and that silence crackled between them.

  Her father cleared his throat. “I know I can’t be a father at this late date. But I am your father, and I want to make up for the hurt.”

  “Can we bring Mama back?” Quilla asked. She didn’t know what prompted her to say that.

  His eyes lowered to the table, and he swallowed noticeably. He wrapped both hands around his cup. “It’s not too late for us—you and me.”

  “I don’t need a father anymore,” Quilla said, wishing she’d stayed home—wishing she were anyplace but there, where the pain from the past tore at her insides.

  “You always need family—at least I do.”

  “You can’t always count on family,” Quilla said.

  He sighed and released the cup on the table. “I didn’t think it would be easy.”

  “Nearly impossible.”

  He glanced up quickly. A muscle worked in his jaw. “No. Not impossible. Your mother would want us to be together.”

  Anger surged out of nowhere. “Don’t you dare use Mom in this.”

  “Look. I’m not drinking anymore.” There was a desperate appeal in his eyes. Quilla felt like a heel because she couldn’t forgive—couldn’t forget.

  “Haven’t in a long time,” he continued. He stuck out a hand with his palm facing the floor. “As steady as a surgeon’s.”

  Past grievances came rushing back—the horrible way he’d treated Mama when he’d had too much to drink. Quilla rushed out of her seat so fast the chair hit the wall. She barely noticed. “And that’s supposed to make up for everything?”

  Owen Day stood, too, wearing his heart on his sleeve. Quilla tore her gaze from the appeal in his eyes. “It can be a start—if you let it.”

  Quilla shook her head, gripped her purse, and started toward the door to put as much distance as she could between them.

  Her father caught her arm. She tried to pull away but he tightened his grip. “Girl, I love you.”

  “I’m not a girl anymore.”

  “I’ve made mistakes, I know, some unforgivable, but I’m not perfect. Letting this division go on between us would be an even larger mistake than those I’ve already made. You can fight me all you want, but this time I’m not giving up. If you don’t visit me, I’m coming to see you.”

  Quilla shook her head, needing desperately to get away.

  “I’ve got to go.” She tugged away from him again, and this time he released her. She nearly ran to the door. And then she was outside in her car. She didn’t take a good breath until she was driving in the sluggish traffic halfway to her shop. Ambivalent feelings were ripping her apart. He was her father. She was supposed to want to see him. She should let the past go so they could start anew. He was right. Her mother would want them to start over. So why couldn’t she let the past go?

  Chapter 3

  “What’s up with Quilla?” Jake asked Denton that evening. He lounged in a chair drinking a strawberry milk shake. “How’d you meet?”

  “She found Sadie’s body. The police aren’t doing enough to suit her. But I think I convinced her to leave it alone.” Denton tossed his keys on the countertop and dropped his briefcase on the floor, then he shrugged out of his jacket. He wondered at the appeal of a milk shake when the temperature plunged.

  “Not good. Not good at all,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Quilla will dig and dig. She won’t leave it alone. Always been that way—even when she was a kid.”

  Denton shrugged around a yawn. Last night had been a long one. He’d followed Tom Goodwill to a warehouse and he’d copied the license plates and taken photos of the people Tom had met with. “What do you expect me to do? Order her to stop?”

  “The people above want you to keep her quiet,” Agent Byron Wright said from the kitchen, smoothing his blond hair into place.

  First the dog. Now Quilla. Pretty soon he wouldn’t have time to investigate the case he was working on.

  “I don’t know the woman. She’s not going to listen to me.” Working undercover, he couldn’t exactly flash a badge to identify himself and warn her off. More skilled cons than her had been set up as traps before, although his gut feeling told him she was for real.

  But his job wasn’t what really bothered him. Left unsaid was the awareness between them, sizzling like a steak on a grill. The feelings weren’t one-sided, either. He sensed that she felt it, too.

  “Get to know her. You two looked like you took to each other,” Jake said, flicking channels on the tube. “You couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.”

  Denton faced Jake. “You know her. You deal with her.”

  “She’ll see me as the little kid she babysat. She’s not going to listen to me.”

  Denton’s lips thinned in irritation. She was gorgeous temptation he didn’t need right now, damn it. “You’re a six-foot-tall expert investigator, not her old neighbor. Make her listen.”

  “You don’t know Quilla. She hasn’t broken the law. My talking to her would be like adding kindling to a fire.”

  “We can’t have her interfering in our investigation,” Denton said.

  Byron came out of the kitchen with a heaping bowl of cereal. “It’ll be easier for us all if you can supply her just enough info to placate her, Denton. Just keep her busy until this is over, which should be soon—very soon at the rate things are going. Then things can go back to normal.”

  “If Sadie is dead, Quilla could stumble onto the murderer,” Denton warned.

  “Who killed her?” Jake asked. “Any suspects?”

  “I don’t know. I said if. Trouble is, I’m beginning to believe Quilla. The television interview spooked someone. Sadie has relationships with high-profile people, and more than likely her book exposes them. I searched for her notes. Couldn’t find anything.” Guilt nibbled at him. He should have protected Sadie. “Besides, Quilla is a logical businesswoman. She isn’t the type to cry wolf.”

  “We’ll let the police handle Sadie. Our investigation isn’t with her anyway,” Byron said.

  That sounded cold, but they had their own cases to deal with. Denton glanced at his watch. He couldn’t keep the sense of betrayal and loss from skirting the edges of his conscience. “Yeah, well, I’ve got to pick up that idiot dog,” he said, thrusting Sadie to the back of his mind as he did anything that interfered with his job. If only he could keep it there. He had a sneaking suspicion that Quilla wasn’t going to let him forget Sadie for one moment.

  “I knew I missed something. Where’s the mutt?” Jake asked.

  “At Quilla’s.”

  “See there. You’ve already made progress.” Byron stood and took his bowl to the sink. “Easy as cake.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said, tossing his paper cup like a basketball into the trash.

  With his sense of right and wrong working him, Denton hurried to his bedroom and changed clothes. Then he collected his coat and slammed out of the door. It took a short three minutes for him to make it to Quilla’s shop. Just a few steps away the sidewalks were filled with people with huge shopping bags dragging at their arms. He opened the door and the tiny bell tinkled above him. Lucky was lying on top of the display case, nibbling on a treat. A teenager stood behind the counter helping a customer.

  Quilla wore a pinched expression on her face. Clearly she wasn’t in a receptive mood. Denton debated whether to broach the lioness’s den or come back later when she was in a less hostile mood. He approached her.

  “I was just going to walk Lucky,” she said.

  “We could walk her together,” he offered.<
br />
  “Oh.” She acted as if the idea hadn’t occurred to her. “Okay. I could use a break. I’ll be back soon, Tanisha.” She covered Lucky with a snazzy blanket, took her off the top of the case, then put her on a leash and handed her to Denton.

  Denton shortened the leash so the dog wouldn’t get into anything, and put her on the floor. They both waited while Quilla went into a back room and returned, donning her coat, hat, and gloves. She took a small blue plastic bag and stuffed it into her pocket before they headed out on King toward the waterfront. When they reached the end of King they turned left, cut through the Torpedo Factory breezeway to the boardwalk, and meandered along the water’s edge to Founders Park. A number of hardy boats bobbed in the water.

  Quilla looked cute buttoned up in her coat and with her sassy hat cocked to the side. And she was still unusually quiet. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well.

  “How was the mutt?” Denton asked to break the silence.

  “Lucky was a very good dog. I didn’t have a minute’s trouble.”

  “And you? How’s your headache?”

  She glanced at him. “How did you know I had one?”

  “It shows on your face.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about Sadie. Why would someone kill her?”

  “How well did you know her?”

  “Not well. She grew up in my neighborhood, but moved away when she was in high school. I didn’t see her again until after my shop opened. She’s always been very kind. I think she single-handedly kept my numbers in the black my first year. I can’t tell you the number of customers she sent my way. I have to find the person who murdered her. Do you know anything at all that will help?”

  “Not really.” Denton studied the wind-rippled water. “You know how neighbors are. They stay out of one another’s business.”

  “Sadie wasn’t that way. She was very personable. You must have noticed that.”

  Denton nodded. “But we still respected each other’s privacy. I think you should leave it alone. If she doesn’t show up, let the authorities handle it.” His theory that Quilla would forget was already shot.