Bankers' Hours(60)

I really did want to puke, but mostly I wanted to be as close to him as I  could. I pressed my body forward and tucked my head under his chin as I  curled my arms between my chest and his. I felt a tear escape and run  over the bridge of my nose. "Can we talk about the rest later? I don't  like where this is leading. It makes me scared for you."

Tristan had moved his arm under my neck when I scooted closer, so he  could hold me securely. "I know, baby. Don't worry. I'm pretty tough.  I'll figure it out."

The longer we lay there, bodies entwined, the more I thought about the  what-ifs. What if he'd been seriously hurt, and our last conversation  was about living apart for a while? What if I never got another chance  to tell him I loved him? Or worse, what if he had died and our  spontaneous marriage ended a week after it started? Overthinking had  always been an issue for me, and I managed to work myself up into a good  hard cry. I wasn't sobbing, but my face was wet as was his skin where I  touched it-all from my tears.

"I love you, Tristan. I don't want to lose you," I whispered, sniffling.

"I love you too. Go to sleep. We'll talk about it more tomorrow."





Chapter 15: Clues, Capers, And Fifteen-Year-Old Detectives





TRISTAN HUNG up the phone and groaned loudly. "Ah! That girl! She wants  to know why I asked her to look for a crowbar in the shed."

I lifted my eyebrow. "What teenage girl wouldn't? Your explanation  didn't make any sense. Then, when you changed the whole story because  she had too many questions, even I would have a hard time believing  you."

"I just don't want to be wrong and trap Claire in the middle of it." He  sat on the breakfast bar, tapping his hands on the clean counter.

"You already have. When you called and asked her where her mom was last  night, you involved her. When she told you she didn't know, she became a  witness to the fact that Teresa wasn't home around the time you were  struck."

He laid his head on his arms and groaned again, forlornly. "Why is this happening?"

I set the stirring spoon down from the chili I was making us for dinner  and stepped over to pet his head-not exactly in the way I would pet a  hairy head, but more like giving it a good rub. I liked the smoothness,  and I avoided the bandaged area. One good thing about being bald was  they hadn't needed to shave part of his scalp in the hospital. I leaned  down and kissed his head before returning to the stove.

"How does your ass feel?" he asked. I shot him a look, wondering where  his question had come from, and found his attention fully on me where I  stood at the stove, head propped on his hand.

I said, "You snagged that question out of left field."

He shrugged. "I know. I was wondering because you've been walking gingerly."                       
       
           



       

I blushed and smirked. "It aches. I'm glad I had a short shift today. I  bent down to pick up a pen and-man oh man-I swear I could still feel you  inside."

"Hmm," he mused, gazing at me rather lustfully. "I like the sound of that."

"You would. I, on the other hand, was not too thrilled when we had a meeting at the bank and I had to sit down."

Tristan laughed. He stood up and rounded the counter, but as he was  about to wrap his arms around me, the phone rang. He answered, "Hello?"

I couldn't really hear the person on the other end, but it sounded like a  girl. He was standing fairly close as he talked. "You did? Hey, do you  mind if I put the phone on speaker? I don't want to leave Grant out of  this. Thanks." He set the phone on the counter next to me, and I could  hear music in the background.

"Dad?" Claire said.

"I'm here. So's Grant."

"Hello, Grant. I can't wait to see the house. Dad said you've done so much work."

I answered, "I have. I still need to replace the carpet. Will you help  me pick out some furniture? I want to get a new couch, but your dad  works too much."

Tristan was about to protest, but I winked at him and he seemed to understand my intent.

"I'd love to!" she cried happily. "Do you want to do it this weekend?"

"Yes. I was thinking it would be fun to do after we went to the gym.  Tristan and I haven't worked out at the gym in a while. We could get  lunch after, and you and I could go look at couches."

"Oh my God. That would be awesome," she squealed.

Tristan cleared his throat. "Um, not to break up this daddy-daughter bonding time, but I want to know what you found out."

Daddy-daughter? My heart fluttered. Tristan could say the sweetest things.

Claire answered, "Okay, fine. I took a bunch of pictures and a video.  The place was gross. I had to shower after I got out of there just to  get the creepy-crawly sensation off my skin. That shed was infested with  earwigs. Blech!" She made a disgusted sound.

I shot my eyebrow up. "Earwigs?" I whispered to Tristan.

I could tell he was thinking the same as me. Teresa could have been the one to stick the earwigs in his shop.

"Can you send them to me? I need to look them over," Tristan said.

"I already did. I sent them to Dropbox because my video files were too large."

"Okay, cool. I'll open them after I get off the phone. And Claire?"

"Yeah?" she asked.

"Don't do anything else, okay? And don't say anything to your mother," Tristan stressed.

"Dad, I haven't talked to her about anything but ‘what's for dinner' in  eight months. We used to be close in sixth and seventh grades, but she  seems to have less and less time for me. I never asked you before,  because I thought you liked living alone-but, Dad, if you wouldn't mind,  I kind of want to spend more time with you. And I want to get to know  Grant."

My breath hitched, and I brought my hand up to cover my mouth. Tristan  reached for me, and I fell against his chest. He rubbed my back and  kissed my temple before telling Claire, "I want to spend more time with  you too. I've never wanted anything more."

I heard her voice crack as she said, "Thanks, Dad." She sniffled and  then said, "I guess I'll let you go. Let me know if you want more  pictures. Mom isn't home from work for another twenty minutes. If you  see that piece of equipment you're looking for, let me know."

"I will." Tristan picked up his phone and ended the call before going  over to his computer. He brought the laptop to the breakfast bar and  opened it. "Part of me hopes I'll see something, and yet I'm afraid to."

I turned the stove to simmer and then took a seat next to him. I was anxious but curious.

Tristan opened Dropbox and clicked through the pictures of a typical  shed filled with flowerpots, bags of soil, tools, and a lawnmower. He  stopped on one and zoomed in. "Does that look like paint to you, or  blood?"

I swallowed, my shoulder muscles twitching inexplicably. "Um," I  hesitated as I studied the picture of several hand tools lined up  against the shed's wall. The crowbar he zoomed in on sat in the center  of the picture. Tristan had surmised the perpetrator used a crowbar. It  did have red on it. "It does look curiously like blood, but why wouldn't  she clean it off?"

He breathed out heavily. "I don't know. But if it was Teresa, then she's  the same person who put a nail through the tail of that snake. She's  not in her right mind."                       
       
           



       

He clicked the video, and we watched as Claire scanned the small space.

"Oh my God, Dad. This is gross," she noted, holding her phone out as she  walked in a circle. I couldn't see her, but her voice came through  clearly. "I come in here all the time for the lawnmower, but I've never  actually stood in here and looked around. It's nasty. There are earwigs  crawling all over the shelves and the floor, spiderwebs attached to  everything, and even a huge jar of wolf spiders. Eww! I mean, look at  this thing," she instructed as she zoomed in. As soon as I caught a  glimpse of one hairy leg, I turned away. "These things are huge, Dad.  See?"

Tristan whistled and sat back. "I don't believe this."

I turned back, only to cringe at the sight of a wolf spider close up on  the computer screen. He had paused it right when Claire had zoomed in. I  turned away again. "Eww."

"Sorry. There, I exited Dropbox. I've seen enough, Grant. I think I need  to call the cops, or at least file a formal report in case she denies  everything."

"But what about Claire?" I asked.

He paused. The struggle in his expression told me he battled over doing  the right thing. But what was the right thing? Going to the cops would  mean putting Claire's mother in jail. "You're right. Okay, maybe I talk  to Teresa and record the conversation."