The Next Always

Chapter Fifteen

Clare barely had the coffee started and the computer booted on her preopening routine when the bookstore doorknob rattled. She glanced over, saw Sam Freemont through the glass panel. Too late to hide, she decided as he’d spotted her, gave her that sly wink and smile.

She considered just shaking her head, but he’d only knock, wink, smile. She’d never been able to figure out why Sam thought he was so charming.

Unlocking the door, she angled herself in the narrow opening. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m not open yet.”

“I smell coffee.”

“Yes, I just started it, but I’m not open for an hour. I really need to—”

“I could sure use a cup. You can spare a cup for a friend now, can’t you?”

He didn’t exactly muscle his way in, but she found herself backing up. Easier to just pour the damn coffee, she thought, and slipped behind the counter.

Sam had given her the mild creeps since middle school.

“How do you want it?”

“Hot and sweet. Why don’t you just tip your finger in it. That’s all the sugar I need.”

Maybe more than mild these days, she decided.

“I saw your car in the back, and thought, Clare’s getting an early start today. Honey, you work too hard.”

“Can’t run a business without working.” Unless your daddy owned the car dealership where you put in time when it suited you. She set the go-cup on the counter. “Sugar’s on the shelf right over there.”

He only leaned on the counter. “How are things going with you, sweetheart?”

“Busy. In fact, I’ve really got to get to work. So—”

“You’ve got to take time for yourself. Isn’t that what I always tell you?”

“Yes, you do. But right now—”

“Did you see the demo I’m driving? She’s one sweet ride.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Come take a look. In fact, let me take you for a spin.” He gave her that wink again.

“I have work to do.” She slapped the top on the cup since he’d made no move to doctor it. “Coffee’s on the house.”

“Now you can’t buy yourself pretty things if you give it away.” With that sly look on his face he reached in the inside jacket pocket of his gray pinstripe suit, flashed gold cuff links and monogrammed French cuffs.

He took a twenty out of his wallet, set it on the counter.

“You keep the change, buy yourself a little something.”

She came around, intending to get to the door, get him out. He timed it well, turning into her so she ended up trapped between him and the counter.

Enough, Clare decided. Just enough.

“You’re in my way, and you need to leave.”

“I tell you what we’ll do. We’ll go for a drive tonight.”

“No, we won’t.”

“A long, pretty drive,” he said, trailing a finger down the side of her throat before she slapped it aside. “I’ll treat you to a nice dinner. And then—”

“I don’t know how to make this any more clear. I have a business to run. I have children to raise. And I’m not interested in going for a drive with you, a dinner. Or lunch. Or brunch.” That got through, she thought as the smile fell away from his face. “Now I’m telling you to get out of my store.”

“You should be nicer to me, Clare. You should stop playing games with me. I could do things for you.”

“I can do for myself.” She started to step to the side, but he shot out his arm, slapped a hand on the counter and blocked her.

The first prickle of fear scraped the surface of sheer annoyance. “Stop it. What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re always too busy to spend a little time with me. But not too busy to spend plenty with Beckett Montgomery.”

“That’s my business.”

“You’re wasting your time with him. The Montgomerys, they’re nothing but blue-collar punks. I could buy and sell Beckett Montgomery.” He stepped in, put a hand on her hip, and shot twin spears of temper and fear through her when he slid it around, squeezed her ass. “I just want you to take a drive with me. Let me show you a good time.”

“Get your hands off me.” She hated the jerky sound of her voice, fought to steady it. “I’m never going to take a drive with you. I’m not interested in you or what you can buy and sell. I want you to get out of my store, and I don’t want you to come back.”

The pseudo charm switched to a bright, sharp anger that sent her heart on a gallop. “That’s no way to talk to me. It’s past time you realize a woman like you needs to be grateful, needs to show some appreciation.”

She thought of the coffee behind her, slapped one hand on his chest, reaching for the cup with the other.

Someone banged hard on the door. “Clare!” Avery, her face furious through the glass, banged again. “I need you to open the door.” She turned her head, raised a hand. “Hey, Owen! Come over here.”

Sam stepped back, shot his cuffs. “You think about what I said.”

Because her legs trembled, she pressed back against the counter. “Don’t come back here. Don’t come to my house again. Stay away from me.”

He walked to the door, flipped open the lock she didn’t realize he’d turned.

Avery bolted in when he went out. “Creep,” she yelled behind him, then shut the door hard, locked it again. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yes. Yeah.”

“Was he actually putting moves on you? Stupid, pin-striped bastard. How many times do you have to turn him down?”

“Apparently I haven’t reached the magic number.”

“Clare, you’re shaking.” Instantly, Avery moved over to hug her, to rub her arms as she felt how cold they were. “Damn it, what did he do? He really scared you.”

“A little. Maybe a lot. Don’t tell Owen—where is Owen?”

“How the hell do I know? I just used him as a threat of a beat-down. Sam’s always been scared of the Montgomerys. What the hell was he doing in here?”

“I’m stupid, just stupid.” She went behind the counter, got a bottle of water out of the little cooler. “He said he wanted coffee, and I figured it was easier to give it to him than argue about being closed. He usually just makes a pest of himself. Today was different. He got mad, and pushy.”

She remembered the feel of his hands on her, let herself shudder it away.

“He knows I’m seeing Beckett, and that seemed to set him off.”

“Sam the creep Freemont always gets what he wants, and you’re screwing with his record. His mother just indulges the crap out of him; always has. You know there was talk about him and some woman he was dating a couple years ago.”

Clare nodded, soothed her throat with water. “That he’d knocked her around, and his mother paid her off. I thought it was just gossip. Now . . . I’m inclined to believe it.”

“You should’ve kneed him in the balls.”

“I was stupid there, too. He just took me by surprise. I was going to toss his damn coffee in his face, which wouldn’t have worked very well since I capped it.”

“Do you want to call the cops?”

“No. No, he was just being obnoxious, and creepy. He’s bound to be embarrassed since you scared him off. And I told him not to come back. He’ll have to get his damn coffee and books somewhere else.”

“Like he reads.”

Clare took the cap off the cup, deliberately poured it down the drain in the under-counter sink. “He left his damn twenty. Keep the change, he says, buy yourself a little something. He is an asshole.”

“Tear it up.”

“I’m not tearing up a twenty-dollar bill.”

“Then I will.”

“No.” Laughing now, Clare slapped a hand on it as Avery reached for it. “I’ll just mail it to him.”

“You will not.” Face flushed with temper, Avery slapped a hand over Clare’s. “No contact. I mean it, Clare. Contact of any kind encourages his type of obsession or whatever it is.”

“Where do you get that?”

“I watch a lot of cop shows since I’m not currently spending any time dating and having sex. Seriously, Clare, tear it up, give it away, spend it, but don’t send it to him.”

“Okay, you’re probably right. I’ll give it to the church or something.” She jammed it in her pocket. “I’m really glad you came by.”

“So am I.”

“Why did you come by?”

“I saw the asshole’s car when I was walking to the shop. Flashy car, dealer tag, so who else could it be? I thought I’d stop in, keep you from being bored to death. I didn’t expect to find him practically assaulting you.”

“Thanks. A lot.”

“When’s one of the girls getting in?”

Clare glanced at her watch. “Any minute. God, now I’m behind.”

“You’ll catch up. Go on and get started. Since I’m here, I think I’ll browse for a couple minutes.”

“Avery, he’s not coming back—and I wouldn’t let him in if he did.”

“I’m forced to remind you—not dating or having sex currently. I could use a good book.”

Hands in her pockets, Avery studied the shelves of new releases.

Clare sighed, got out two cups. Since her friend decided to be her sword and shield, they might as well have some coffee.

Beckett liked his timing. The way he calculated it, he’d get to Clare’s right after homework, and before dinner. So maybe he could wrangle an invite to stay. He liked his chances. They’d had a good time Saturday night, spent some time with the kids in the park on Sunday afternoon.

He’d had a good week so far with no major glitches on the job, so he figured his luck was in—right up to when he pulled up to Clare’s and didn’t see her car. But he did see Harry on the little porch with his measuring tape.

He got out of the truck, hefted the box he’d brought with him.

“I’m measuring to see how big a pumpkin we should get for Halloween. We put it on the post.”

“Good idea. What’re you going to be?”

“I’m either going to be Wolverine or the Joker.”

“Hero or villain. Tough choice.”

“We got a catalog with all kinds of costumes, but we have to pick soon. Mom gives out candy at the store on trick-or-treat night.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll have to get me some. Where’s your mom?”

“She had to go back to work for something. Mrs. Ridenour’s here until she gets back. What’s in the box?”

“Something for you guys my brothers and I made.”

“For us? What is it?”

“Let’s go in. I’ll show all of you.”

Harry bolted to the door, shouting as he shoved it open. “Beckett’s here! He’s got something for us in a box.”

It sounded like a stampede. Alva came out from the kitchen as the boys raced from different directions to surround him.

“Isn’t this a nice surprise? Boys, inside voices. Clare had to run to the bookstore. You just missed her.”

“I’m just dropping something off for the kids.”

“He made it with his brothers,” Harry said. “What is it?”

“Let’s take a look.” He crouched on the floor, put the box down, took off the lid.

“Wow.” Liam’s tone was reverent.

“Those look like . . .” Alva shook her head at Beckett.

“You made coffins?”

“Yeah.” He grinned at Harry. “Heroes and villains all deserve a decent burial, right, guys?”

“What are these?” Liam picked up a miniature headstone. “Like their shields?”

“Not exactly. Those are the headstones. You mark the grave with them so you know who’s buried where.”

Liam stared at Beckett with a nearly religious fever. “This is awesome .”

“They have their symbols on them and everything.” Murphy lifted a coffin out, opened and closed the lid on its tiny hinges. “This is for Batman.”

“This is the Hulk’s. See, it’s bigger like he is.” Harry studied it, then Beckett. “How did you know how big?”

“Measured.” He poked Harry in the belly.

“This is the coolest ever.” Overcome, Liam launched himself at Beckett. “We never had anything like this. Can we bury them? For real?”

“That’s the idea.”

“In the sandbox, for now,” Alva warned. “No digging in the yard.”

“We gotta go get the dead guys.” Harry dashed to the playroom.

“We got more upstairs.” Liam charged up the steps.

Murphy took out coffins, headstones, examining each one. “Here’s for Moon Knight and for Captain America and the Green Lantern.”

“Bad guys in there, too.”

“Mrs. Ridenour?” Harry poked out of the playroom. “Can we have something to carry them all out? The ones who aren’t dead have to go to the burying.”

“Yes, I’m sure they’d want to pay their respects. I’ll get you something.” She shook her head at Beckett again, walked back to the kitchen.

Murphy stacked coffins, opened and closed lids. “We have to decide who got killed in the war and who didn’t. My daddy got killed in the war.”

“I know.” What did he say, how did he say it? Jesus, what had he been thinking, making coffins for kids with a dead father? “I’m sorry.”

“He was a hero.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“I didn’t get to meet him first ’cause I wasn’t borned yet. Mom says he loves me anyway.”

“Count on it. I knew your dad.”

Somber interest gazed out of Murphy’s eyes. “You did?”

“We went to school together.”

“Were you his friend?”

They hadn’t really hung out together, but Beckett thought of the night they’d TP’d Mr. Schroder’s house, and the night they’d celebrated the event. “Yeah.”

“Did you go when they buried him?”

“Yeah, I did.” Horrible day, Beckett remembered. In every possible way.

“That’s good, ’cause your friends are supposed to be there.” He smiled, beautifully, then clambered up. “I’m gonna take them outside to the sandbox.” He tried to lift the box, gave a puppy-dog look. “It’s too heavy.”

“I’ll get it.”

“I got them, Harry!” Liam ran down with a small red basket, loaded with figures.

“Get your jackets.” Alva stood outside the playroom. “There’s a nip in the air.”

“Beckett’s bringing the coffins!” Murphy ran after his brothers. “I wanna dig! I get to dig!”

Beckett picked up the box. “I guess you heard that.”

“It breaks your heart.”

“I didn’t think when we made these they’d make him think about what happened to Clint. I should have.”

“Nonsense. Those boys have a normal fascination with war and death, villainy. They know it’s just pretend. They’re well-adjusted, healthy young boys. Clare’s a fine, fine mother.”

“I know. She really is.”

“Being a fine mother, she makes sure those boys know their father was a good man, a loving father, and that he died in the service of his country. And now Murphy knows that you were there when his daddy was laid to rest. That his father’s friend is his friend, too. That’s a good thing, Beckett.”

“I just don’t want to make a mistake.”

“Even superheroes make mistakes, or they wouldn’t have to be buried in handmade coffins in the sandbox. Do you plan to wait for Clare?”

“Yeah, since I’m here anyway, I thought I would.”

“That’s another good thing. I’ll just go on home then, and leave the boys and the funeral arrangements to you.”

She patted his cheek on the way to the door. “She’s got chicken thawing. I’d say there’s enough to stretch for one more.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Ridenour.”

“You can start calling me Alva now. School’s been out a long time.”

Avery chewed over the incident with Sam Freemont all day, and the more she chewed, the more she worried.

“He’s always been arrogant,” she told Hope. “Even as a kid.”

Hope held out her hand for another picture hanger. “She should’ve reported it.” Setting it on the mark she’d made, Hope nailed the hanger on the wall.

“Maybe. Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I realize she should have. I get why she didn’t, didn’t want to.” Uneasy, Avery paced to the window just as Hope held out her hand for the print she wanted to hang. “It’s weird calling the cops on somebody you’ve known most of your life. Even if he is a flaming asshole.”

Hope stepped off the stool, picked up the print, climbed back up to hang it. “From what you’ve told me, he sounds like a stalker.”

“I don’t know, that sounds extreme.” But worry took on jagged edges that churned in her stomach.

Hope retrieved a small level. After setting it on the top of the frame, she tapped the right side until the bubbles lined up. “You said he’s asked her out again and again, drops by her house, by the store at closing when she’s there. What else? Oh yeah, flowers on her birthday, and he just happened to be on the spot a couple times when she’s hauling groceries in the house.”

“ ‘Let me help you with those, little lady.’ ” Avery nodded. “That’s true. But it’s not like he’s got a shrine to her in his bedroom closet.”

“How do you know?”

“If he has a shrine, trust me, it’s to himself. But still, he scared her today, and what I saw was definitely over the line.” She rubbed her arms as she paced. “Do you really think he’d try something? I mean, something more than annoying, boring, and creepy?”

“I don’t know why she’d risk it. Look, if she won’t file a report, she should at least tell Beckett.”

“I don’t think she will. She’d worry he’d do something. He doesn’t have a quick switch like Ry, but he’s got one.”

“Then you tell him.”

“Oh God, that feels like betrayal.”

“Did she ask you not to say anything to him?”

“No, but it was implied.”

“Avery, ask yourself how you’d feel if something happened. If this guy hurt her—or worse.”

Now Avery pressed a hand to her uneasy stomach. “You’re making me feel a little bit sick.”

“You’re worried. Not just mad, but really worried about this. Trust your instincts. And mine,” Hope added. “Because you’re scaring me about this.”

“I should tell Beckett. Come with me.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t let me get distracted when we walk through the shop,” she said as she got her jacket.

“We can go around, in the back.”

“No, I should make sure everything’s okay. I’d drive myself crazy if I lived here. I’d look out the window all the damn time to check the traffic going in and out of the shop.”

“I’ll pull the shades when you’re here.”

As they went out, Avery hooked her arm through Hope’s. “I love having you so close. And I’ve been so obsessed about Clare and Sam Asshole Freemont I didn’t even ask how things went today.”

“They had everything reasonably organized.”

“But not Hope organized.”

Hope smiled. “It will be. I’ve been spending most of my time at the storage unit. It’s coming along. And so’s the tile work. I was in there today.” She glanced back, pleased to see the exterior lights beaming. “They’re working in The Penthouse. You should see the tile on the tub side of the floating wall. They’ve finished the main level, except for the backsplash in the kitchen. They’re doing the cabinet install next week. We had a delay.”

“Listen to you, all in the know.”

“Owen keeps me in the loop. I barely get a grunt out of Ryder.”

“A man of few words.”

“Straight through,” Hope said at Vesta’s front door. “If you need to deal with anything, you can do it after you talk to Beckett.”

“Right, straight through.”

Decent enough crowd, Avery decided, and waved to her night manager with a be-right-back signal. When she glanced toward the kitchen, Hope steered her to the stairwell door.

“After.”

“I wouldn’t think about checking if I wasn’t right here.” They went out and up the stairs. “I don’t even know how to put this. I should’ve practiced something.”

“Oh, for—” Hope knocked briskly on the door.

“You know Clare’s going to be mad at me—no, at us, because I’m telling her you insisted.”

“We’re doing this because we care about her, and we’re worried. She won’t stay mad.”

“I don’t think he’s home. He could be over at his mother’s, working in the shop. Hell, he could be over at Clare’s. Maybe she’ll break down and tell him and we won’t have to. Maybe I should—”

She broke off at the sound of footsteps.

“Sounds like he’s back,” Hope observed, then adjusted her thoughts and attitude when she saw Ryder.

She didn’t know why the man always seemed mildly annoyed with her.

“Hey. Beckett’s having a party and didn’t invite me.”

“No.” Avery tried a laugh, but it sounded false and lame even to her ears. “I just wanted—that is, Hope wanted to ask something about—something. Since we were right here . . .” She hated to lie, Avery thought, because she so totally sucked at it. “Anyway, he’s not home.”

“I was wondering if I could look for a coffee urn for the dining room. And chafing dishes. I’ll need two.”

Ryder spared Hope a glance. “You’re good at it, she’s not.”

“Excuse me?”

“Coming up with bullshit. Talk to my mother about coffeepots. Now, what’s up?” he asked Avery.

“Nothing.”

“How long have I known you?”

“Look, it’s just . . .”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Hope said impatiently, then spoke directly to Ryder. “Do you have a key?”

“Yeah.”

“If you don’t think Beckett would mind, can we go inside? We really shouldn’t discuss this in the stairwell.”

He nudged by her, pulled out his key ring.

“Want a beer?”

“No.” Avery folded her arms over her chest as she followed him inside.

“I’m getting a beer.” Making himself at home, Ryder switched on lights as he walked back to the kitchen. “Now, spill it.”

“Do you want me to tell him?” Hope suggested when Avery stayed silent.

“No.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “I have to. Okay, look, it’s about Sam Freemont.”

“That asshole?”

“Yeah, that asshole. I saw his car outside TTP this morning, before opening.”

Hope studied Ryder as Avery told the story. He didn’t react, just nodded, sipped at his beer. If you weren’t looking closely, she realized, you wouldn’t notice how tight his jaw got, how his eyes chilled.

She’d expected heat—a flash and boom—and found the ice more lethal.

“And I decided Hope was right,” Avery finished. “If—on the off chance, the slim chance I really think—anything happened, I couldn’t stand it. So we were going to tell Beckett.”

“Okay, we’ll take care of it.”

“You’re not going to go beat him up.” Now Avery pulled at her hair. “Not that he doesn’t deserve an ass-kicking for scaring her, but if you do that, she’ll only be more upset. And people are bound to hear about it, and talk about it. Talk about her. She’ll hate that.”

“He doesn’t care about any of that,” Hope observed. “He cares about kicking this jerk’s ass for scaring Clare. And I agree with him, on principle.”

“Common sense and a quick mind for bullshit. Not bad,” Ryder commented.

“In principle. What I’d worry about, and I don’t know this guy, but I’d worry that he’d take it out on Clare. That pounding on him might make the situation worse for her. So you’d have the satisfaction of making him pay, and risk her paying more.”

Ryder took a contemplative pull on his beer. “We’ll take care of it,” he repeated, “one way or the other.”

“Ryder—”

“Avery. You’re a good friend, and you did the right thing, the smart thing. Now you can stop worrying. We’ll look out for Clare.”

They would, Avery thought. Of course they would. “All right. If you get arrested for assault over this, I’ll get your bail.”

“Always good to know. Why don’t you send up a Warrior’s pizza.”

“Sure. Well, okay.”

He waited until they’d gone out to take out his phone. “Need you at Beck’s,” he told Owen. “No, I don’t care what you’re doing.”

He hung up, settled down to wait.

Beckett jogged up the stairs, light on his feet. Damn good day, he decided—and a most excellent funeral. When Clare got home, she’d called the coffins gruesome little works of art, and he’d earned a very nice chicken dinner.

He decided he’d cap off the very good day with a little work, a little ESPN.

The minute he opened the door, he smelled the pizza.

“Jesus, make yourselves the fuck at home. Is that my beer?”

“It’s ours now. One slice left.” Ryder indicated the pizza box. “If you want it.”

“I had dinner at Clare’s. What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Owen suggested.

He did. “If something was wrong with Mom, you wouldn’t be having pizza and beer, but something’s wrong.”

“Here’s the deal. I found Avery and the brunette at your door earlier. After a little dancing around, Avery told me what she’d come to tell you. Sam Freemont talked himself into the bookstore this morning before Clare opened. He got pushy.”

Beckett’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, he got pushy? Be specific.”

“I wasn’t there, but according to Avery, when she looked in—spotted his car outside and decided to check—he had Clare pinned against the counter.”

Beckett got to his feet, slowly. “He put his hands on her?”

“He scared her,” Owen said. “Wouldn’t leave when she told him to leave, wouldn’t back off when she told him to back off. Then Avery pounded on the door, faked like she was calling me over, and he took off. Hold it!” he ordered when Beckett turned back toward the door. “Do you even know where he lives?”

He couldn’t think, not with the red haze in front and in back of his eyes.

“I found his address.” Owen tapped his phone. “But I don’t think going over there and smashing his face into bloody pulp is the best idea.”

“I do,” Ryder put in.

“You would. And if that’s what Beckett wants after we talk this through, well, majority rules, and I’m in.”

“Give me the fucking address.”

“I’ll give you the fucking address after you give me five minutes. If you kick his ass, he’s the type who’ll charge you with assault.”

“Avery said she’d make the bail.”

“Shut up, Ry. You’re not worried about that now because kicking his ass is what you want. Can’t blame you,” Owen added with a glint in his eye that belied the mild tone.

“But you’ll be in jail or facing charges, and Clare’s going to be more upset. The kids, too. He’s also the type—I’ve always hated that smug bastard—to take it out on Clare. Scare her again, or threaten her, or just badmouth her like he did to Darla back in the day.”

“Ry kicked his ass over that, didn’t he?” Beckett demanded.

“Yeah, but Darla didn’t have kids who’d end up hearing the kind of crap he might spread about their mother. You know that’s just the sort of thing he’d do.”

“And you expect me to do nothing?”

“I expect you to pay a visit to his daddy’s dealership tomorrow and have a talk with him. If you can’t intimidate that weasly son of a bitch, you’re no brother of mine. You scare him, maybe he stops this shit. If he doesn’t, since we—and the crew—will be looking out for Clare, we deal with him.”

“It’s the roundabout way of kicking his ass,” Ryder commented. “When there are witnesses.”

“If it comes to that, and we deal with him in public, or in front of people, he’s humiliated. Side benefit there.”

“Maybe.” Calmer now, Beckett picked up Owen’s half-finished beer. “Maybe.”

“You need to talk to Clare.”

Fury surged back. “Believe me, I’ll be talking to Clare. Why the hell didn’t she tell me this herself?”

“That’d be my first question,” Ryder agreed. “And I have to agree with what Owen said before you got here. She’s got to file a complaint or report or whatever with the town cops so they’ve got it on record. So do we talk to him or punch his face in?”

Beckett understood the “we,” though he’d be the one taking the action.

“Talk first, punch later.”

“Good. Get your own beer,” Owen said and took his back.