Melinda Lorenzo - Captivating Witness

“The lunch rush is the only part of that I understood.”

“The Garibaldi Gala is tomorrow.”

“Right.”

The exclusive party had slipped his mind in the height of all the excitement. He’d spent the week hearing about it. Even inquired about somehow getting a ticket only to be told it was absolutely invite only. An event catered to stroke the egos of local businessmen. Every one of whom would be in attendance.

Except Reggie, if she stays here.

“No one will miss you at the fireworks tonight?” he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.

She shook her head. “I was skipping them in favor of resting. Is that bad?”

“It’s fine. Just don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself than necessary. Chuck’ll already be on high alert. He doesn’t know for sure that you witnessed what happened. You said yourself you don’t think he saw you. And even though it’s not proof, he does have that shoe of yours. If I were him, I’d be trying to find out exactly what you knew.”

Her face pinched with worry. “So you think he’ll be looking for me?”

“I think you should find a way to let him know not to be looking for you.”

“How?”

“Got a friend you can call? One who’ll be at the fireworks and be willing to lie for you with no questions asked?”

“I think so. Why?”

“I want you to fake an illness. Nothing too serious. Just a good excuse for keeping out of sight unless you have to be seen.”

“Okay. I think I’ll call—” Her face fell as she reached for the pocket on her uniform. “I left my phone in my locker at the diner.”

“You can use mine.” He went for his own pocket before remembering. “Which you dropped outside.”

She smiled ruefully. “Sorry. Again.”

“Forgiven. Again. I’m almost done with your feet, and as soon as I am, I’ll go grab it.” He lifted a fresh wipe from the first aid kit, then said, “So. Your invitation to the Gala. Does that mean your family works for Garibaldi?”

“No. We don’t work for him. But we do lease the diner from him,” she replied. “You don’t know Garibaldi’s story?”

“Not really.”

It wasn’t quite a lie; Brayden knew the man’s history, not his current story. It had taken him and the other guys nearly two years just to track him to Whispering Woods. So when he’d asked around a bit, he’d done his best to be subtle. All he got in response was a lot of people singing Garibaldi’s praises. Like he was the town’s personal savior. Something in Reggie’s tone as she explained made Brayden think she didn’t necessarily share the sentiment.

“Well,” she said, “when the forestry industry bottomed out fourteen years ago, a lot of people foreclosed. Or just walked away. The minimal tourism wasn’t enough to maintain their homes and businesses. Then Garibaldi showed up. He assumed a few dozen mortgages. Then a few more. He invested a lot of money in the town and built the lodge.”

Brayden finished with the antiseptic and moved on to the bandages. “You don’t sound all that impressed.”

“I don’t want to seem like I’m not grateful,” she replied. “Without his help, we would’ve had to leave town, too, I’m sure.”

“But?”

“I don’t know. I was just barely a teenager when Garibaldi showed up, but the whole thing gave me a weird feeling.”

“No one questioned his interest in the town?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“There were a couple of business owners who weren’t all that happy. They got kind of vocal.”

“People you knew well?”

“You could say.” She offered him a ghost of a smile. “All three were local businessmen. One of them happens to be the man who plays Santa Claus every year in the little parade we have.”

Brayden fastened the last of the bandage on one foot, then moved on to the next. “No one listened to them?”

“They left town.”

“What?”

“Two of them moved away. Only Santa Claus stayed.”

“Well. Santa Claus does have a certain amount of obligation.” He patted her foot and smiled. “All done.”

She sighed and leaned back. “So what next?”

“After tonight, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“If you’re feeling up to it tomorrow, you do exactly what you were planning on doing. Go to work. Then go to the Garibaldi Gala.”

“Really?”

“It’s the least suspicious thing to do.”

“I don’t know if I can do it. I’m scared.”

“Rightly so. But the alternative will draw more attention than you want. You can probably get away with lying low tonight, but after that...anything out of the ordinary is going to seem like you’re hiding.”

“Because I want to be hiding.”

“You could leave town.”

“But my dad...”

“So the Gala it is.”

Reggie was quiet for a long moment before sitting up abruptly, a hopeful look on her pretty face. “You could come with me.”

Brayden frowned. “I don’t think I’m on the guest list.”

“The invite was for a plus-one.”

He started to protest, then realized that the idea actually had appeal. On multiple levels. He could stick close to Reggie. He might even get a chance to speak to Garibaldi directly—something he’d been trying to do for a week without success.

He nodded. “All right.”

Relief filled her face. “Do you have a suit?”

“I do. And I’m even willing to put it on. But first. The phone call to your friend. I’ll go grab my cell from outside.”

He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze as he pushed to his feet, and before he could stop himself, he bent down to tuck her hair behind her ear. For a second, she looked startled. Then she smiled up at him. A small, appreciative look that carried up to her eyes, and warmed him from the inside.

“Thank you, Brayden,” she said. “Again.”

“No problem.”

He slipped out of the cabin, his mind working to process what she’d told him about Garibaldi and the men who opposed his takeover of Whispering Woods. If all three had left town under the described circumstances, it would’ve raised a lot of questions for him. As it stood now, the circumstances were still suspicious enough that he wanted to talk to the one who’d stayed behind.

Santa Claus.

At least the idea of interviewing Saint Nick provided some comic relief. All he had to do was ask the pretty waitress for an in.

Brayden snagged his phone from the ground, then made his way back inside, the request on his lips. “Reggie, do you think you could—”

He stopped immediately when he spotted her. She’d tucked her legs up onto the couch and pulled her arms in to her body. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was slow and steady.

“Reggie?” he called softly.

She didn’t stir.

For a second, he contemplated waking her. Even though he was sure she didn’t have a concussion, there was no such thing as being too careful, and there was the phone call he’d asked her to make. He moved toward her. Then stilled again as she let out a little sigh. She was far too peaceful to disturb, and the call could wait and be altered to suit their needs. No one would be looking for her here.

The couch, though, was a cringeworthy place for a solid rest.

Brayden crossed the room, then bent to carefully scoop her up. She mumbled something incoherent, pressed her head against his chest, then settled in like she belonged there.

With his own sigh and a strange tightness in his chest, he carried her from the living room to the bedroom, where he tucked her soundly sleeping form into his own bed. When he was satisfied that she was comfortable, he moved to leave the room. He found that he couldn’t quite do it. So—chalking it up to a need to ensure Reggie’s safety—Brayden settled into the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room and closed his own eyes.