12
Clementine pulled on her socks and running shoes, like it was a normal morning. She cleared her laptop’s history and tucked it in her briefcase, then she laid a fine thread over the bag—a precaution Lucien had drilled in. She may have been unfocused this job, but some habits were ingrained: leave a pen sticking up, a business card pressed between the leather. Anything to indicate if someone had touched her belongings.
Her incriminating folders were hidden and locked in her car. Nothing here would set off red flags, but she’d been using the Do Not Disturb sign anyway. She’d fetched her own towels and toilet paper. She would know if someone was snooping around.
Precautions in place, she drove to meet her running date and tried not to get too excited. She failed miserably.
She stretched her quads by Wherever Park’s bridge, adjusted her sports bra and pink tank top. Ten a.m. came and went. Clouds darkened the sky as she stretched some more. She replayed Jack’s last words to her, how he had wanted her company more than he should. It had been the sentiment of a man who’d keep their date.
Nerves took a bite out of her happy.
He could have panicked and decided he couldn’t jog with a festival judge. He could have found out who she really was. He could be talking to the cops now, and orange was so not her color. Or something important could have come up—unrelated to her because she was clearly narcissistic—and he’d had no choice but to bail. They hadn’t even exchanged phone numbers for him to call. No need when she conveniently appeared wherever he was, eager to hang out.
“Clementine!” Imelda waved at her, only one dog on a leash today. The ancient Labrador Retriever dragged his feet, his coat more gray than black. His thick middle suggested Imelda didn’t walk him enough. “You, honey, owe me big time,” Imelda said as they walked her way.
“How’s that?”
“Tami just about died when Jack dragged you from the bar Friday night. Almost busted my ear drum with her squawking. Please tell me my hearing loss was worth it.”
Considering Jack hadn’t shown for their morning run, she wasn’t sure. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Does that mean there was a kiss?”
Dammit. The stupid saying had just slipped off her tongue. Now Imelda scented fresh blood, her and Tami their own breed of canines: Gossip Hounds. “There’s nothing to tell. He’s sweet, is all.”
“And hot as Lou Anne Baker’s award-winning chili.”
Clementine snorted. “I think we established that Friday night.”
Imelda unclipped the dog’s leash and clucked at him. “Go on, Colonel Blue. Take a drink from the pond.” Colonel Blue did as asked, lumbering his lumpy body to the water. Ducks quacked and slapped the surface in their retreat. Imelda zipped up her windbreaker. “Rains are about to break.”
They sure were, judging by the dropping temperature. Clementine had expected to be running by now, working up a sweat. Instead she was shivering in her shorts and tank top, wondering where Jack was. She’d planned to work on him while jogging, finagle an invite to the estate. Keeping her options open meant continuing with her plan. She shivered harder.
Imelda called to Colonel Blue again, warning him not to terrorize the ducks. Clementine stared at the dog and narrowed her eyes, something about the pup’s name familiar. Blue. Blue. Colonel Blue. She knew that name. She’d heard it somewhere…
Her pulse sped up. “Is that Jack’s father’s dog?”
Imelda nodded. “I’ve walked him since Mr. David left the country. His wife’s busy with their younger daughter, and Blue’s arthritis means he needs slower solo walks. I take him three days a week.”
Jack had a sister? He’d never mentioned her before, nor any details of his family members. Oddly enough, Clementine had shared more about her family than he’d divulged about his. That fact wedged itself beside the knowledge that he’d kind of stood her up. At least she now had a way into his family estate, her breakthrough in the form of an arthritic black Lab.
She smiled at Imelda. “I can finish the walk with you, if you don’t mind company.”
“Am I allowed to ask you about Jack?”
“Nope.” She mimed locking her lips and tossing the key.
“You’re a tough nut to crack, Clementine. Must be why I like you.”
Warmth fizzed through her. First joking at the bar, now offering offhand compliments. If Clementine didn’t know better, Imelda was becoming an actual friend.
“My husband forced me to watch Pet Sematary last night,” Imelda said as they walked. “Now I can’t look at Colonel Blue without seeing yellow eyes and sharp fangs.”
“That old dog is harmless.”
“Until someone brings him back from the dead.”
Clementine laughed. “I stick to mechanic and car auction shows. Less nightmare inducing.”
They also reminded her of her father. As an only child, before his depression had hit, Clementine had owned her father’s affections. She’d sit on their driveway, legs crossed, sun-scorched asphalt burning her thighs while he’d worked on his car. Torque wrench. Ratchet extender. Nut splitter. She’d learned every tool used, passing them without hesitation, not a care to the grease on her hands. The memory made her smile.
“Don’t tell my husband you watch those shows,” Imelda said. “It will give him ideas, and car auctions sound worse than half-dead cats.”
They walked and talked and joked, Imelda stopping periodically to scratch Colonel Blue’s ears. They chatted about movies and books, easy impersonal topics. That didn’t make the time any less meaningful.
By the time their walk ended, the sky was crazy dark, and Jack hadn’t showed. There was nothing to do but follow her plan. “I’m heading toward the David estate. I could drop the Colonel for you.”
Imelda waved her hand. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t, and I don’t mind.” Clementine Abernathy, con artist, had returned. She was never far, after all, but this cloying guilt was new. Still, she persisted. “It’s Sunday. Your family must be at home, waiting on you.”
A large oak tree swayed in the rising winds. A few leaves drifted downward as Imelda glanced at her car. “You sure it wouldn’t be a bother?”
“None at all. As long as the Davids wouldn’t mind.”
“That family’s as kind as kittens. I just don’t wanna put you out. Unless…” She smirked and planted her fist on her hip. “Are you hoping for a run-in with handsome Jack?”
Clementine rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.” And kind of right. Jack David. Van Gogh. She had two works of art on her mind.
Imelda was all smiles now, pushing the leash into Clementine’s hand. “Go on, then. Take Colonel Blue home, where you won’t be looking for his human brother. And I expect details this time, honey. None of this locked mouth nonsense.” She blew Clementine a kiss as she jogged to her car. “And do it before it pours. The sky’s gonna rip open.”
A rumble sounded, confirming Imelda’s prediction.
Hunched to fight off the chill, Clementine coaxed the Colonel to her Prius and helped lift the old pup inside. This was it. She’d finally secured her ticket into the David estate. Excitement should’ve been coursing through her. Confusion abounded instead. She wasn’t sure what she’d do once she located that Van Gogh. She wasn’t sure what she’d do when she saw Jack again.