“Flawless was collateral damage in a crime. The reasons why had nothing to do with you, Carly Harrington-Reese. Let it go.”
Except that she couldn’t. The puzzle was like a scab she couldn’t stop picking. Or maybe she was just procrastinating over the final call she needed to make to one of her vendors. Indija had been her hardest sell on Flawless’s box store sample sale idea. Indija, a recent graduate of the Art Institute of Fort Worth, worked with reclaimed stones. Often using chunks of crystal and other stones, she wrapped pieces in copper wire to create rings and bracelets. These items weren’t for the timid or traditionalists. Her jewels demanded that the wearer be as bold and daring as her accessories. But Indija had an attitude problem. She was also stubborn, hard to work with, and deeply suspicious of everything and everyone.
Reluctantly, Carly touched the young woman’s number in her phone.
Indija heard her out in silence, no sound but the occasional sucking of her teeth until Carly finished. “So, I plan to open again as soon as I can. And I very much want to continue to represent you.”
“No, ma’am. I don’t see that. I was never for this store idea. I do fine selling online. But you convinced me to give you a try. You sounded like you had a fire in your belly. I’m hungry, too. But now you’re telling me one little problem and you’re quitting.”
“I’m not a quitter, Indija. I’m being realistic. It will take time to clean up my store, redecorate and restock. It could be weeks or months before I’m ready to open.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what quitters always say. It could be this time or that. Vague promises, and shit. Why am I talking to you?”
Suddenly there was only that cold silence at the end of phone. Carly felt stung by one very angry wasp. She’d been hung up on.
“Great. Now I feel better.”
Only she didn’t. Indija’s words hurt. And that made her, more than ever, determined to get to the bottom of the fire.
It wasn’t about Noah. Even if she hadn’t been there and the fire broke out, she’d still be in the same position. Flawless ruined.
But then Noah, and Harley, wouldn’t be here.
That thought sent a rush of fear through her so strong, she grabbed the wheel with both hands until the shuddering stopped. She was there. She’d saved a life.
To hell with what Noah said. She needed to talk to him.
As she started her engine a GMC Sierra 1500 4WD Denali pulled into the parking lot. The words WISE DEVELOPERS: HISTORIC PRESERVATION were emblazoned on the side. It pulled up behind the burned-out store next to Flawless. Moments later a large fiftyish man in a Sunday suit climbed out. This was her landlord, Burt Wise.
She killed her engine. Now that she thought about it, she had a few questions for him, too. Having dealt with him before, she knew just how to get what she wanted.
She slid out from behind her wheel and struck a pose in the parking lot before addressing him. “How are you, Burt?”
The landlord turned in surprise to hear her voice and got an eyeful. His graying buzz cut practically bristled as he eyed her up and down, taking in every detail of her church attire. Her black sheath dress was simply cut, fabric covering her from a modest scoop neck to below the knee hemline. The pizzazz came from the exacting couture fitting that detailed every curve of her body from breasts to waist to hip to butt.
She watched him swallow hard before he could speak. Or maybe it was his tie tied a little too tightly that made his oversize head appear like an inflated balloon. “Afternoon, Ms. Reese.” He had a hearty Texas drawl better suited to selling used autos or ambulance-chaser attorney services.
“Call me Carly.”
She came toward him, doing an exaggerated catwalk strut in six-inch heels that made her tower over his shorter five-foot seven-inch frame. He seemed to enjoy the view as a grin spread his lips, revealing two rows of capped, Chiclets-sized teeth.
Some men were pathetically easy, depending on what a woman wanted from them.
She threaded an arm through his and turned him away from the building. “You’re just the man I wanted to see. Shall we sit over here and talk?”
“I guess.” He must have sensed something in her eagerness, because he was suddenly wary. “I don’t have much time.”
“This won’t take long.” She led him to an iron bench with wooden slats on the sidewalk and sat first, crossing one long leg over the other. “I’ve been so worried since our fire.”
“You told me insurance covered your loses.”
“That’s true. But merchandise isn’t everything.” She made her eyes wide, while stifling the urge to gag at her own antics. “After all, I was here when the fire started. I could have been a casualty.”
The tomato-pink drained from his face at the thought. “But you look fine.”