A Match Made in Mystery (17 page)

Amy wasn’t sure how to respond to that cryptic comment. “I apologize if I somehow offended you, ma’am.”

“I want you to leave my son alone.”

Amy blinked, stunned. “Have I done something to offend you?”

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you the key if you’ll promise to never see him again.”

Amy stared at Brady’s mother, speechless.

“You must see that you’re not right for each other,” Mrs. Stewart insisted. “You don’t really think whatever
this
is,” she waved her hand dismissively, “will last. Do you?”

Forcing herself to keep her voice even, Amy said through clenched teeth. “With all due respect, I don’t think that’s for you to decide.”

“No,” his mother agreed. “It’s yours. Either you agree and you get the key, or you’ll never get your inheritance.” She held out her hand, a safety deposit box key balanced in her palm. “Which will it be, Ms. Winn?”

The decision was an easy one for Amy to make, so she blurted out her response without hesitation. “I choose Brady.”

She’d lived her whole life without knowing about the mysterious inheritance; she could live the rest of life without knowing what it was. What she couldn’t live with was not knowing what could have been with Brady.

Frowning, Mrs. Stewart closed her fingers over the key, hiding it from view. “Not the response I expected. I thought you’d have more sense.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Amy said drily, fixing the other woman with a cool stare.

“Surely you must see that the two of you have very different backgrounds, interests, social standing, career paths.”

Amy nodded slowly. The woman wasn’t saying anything that she hadn’t already worried about herself. Brady had made her believe that none of those were important.

“Plus, I’d have thought you’d have been dying to know.”

“Know what?” Amy couldn’t help but ask.

“What your father left for you in that box.”

A rush of excitement left Amy feeling lightheaded. “You know who my father was?”

“I know who your father
is
.” Brady’s mother stressed the last word.

“My father is dead,” Amy countered.

Mrs. Stewart shook her head, a sad smile stretching her lips. “If that was true, you’d know who he was.” She opened her hand again, holding out the key. “If you take this, you’ll know,” she promised.

Hope and dread pooled and squeezed Amy’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. “Are you telling me my father is alive?”

“He was twenty years ago.”

Amy shook her head. It couldn’t be… and yet…

“My son will tire of you quickly,” Mrs. Stewart proclaimed.

Despite knowing she was wrong, Amy allowed the idea to take root in her head.

“You can find out where you came from, who you are, with this.” She dangled the key in front of Amy, the morning sunlight glinting off the metal. “The choice is yours.”

Amy considered her options.

“Who is it going to be, Amy? My son or your father and the rest of his family? Your family.”

It was the offer of family that made the decision for Amy. “Fine.” She held her hand out, palm upward to receive the key. “I’ll stay away from Brady.”

What she didn’t say was that she hoped Brady wouldn’t stay away from her.

Brady followed the scent of brewing coffee to his kitchen, thinking how nice it was to be able to start the day with Amy.

His mother was not the woman he’d expected to find in his home when Brady woke up.

“Where’s Amy?” he asked immediately.

She poured two cups of coffee while she spoke. “Gone. She got what she wanted and left. Said to say thanks for your help, but she doesn’t need it anymore.”

Brady took a step back, his mother’s words socking him in the gut.  He dipped his head to recover from the pain.

Almost immediately he realized that Amy would never say or do such a thing.

Raising his chin, he glared at the woman who’d given birth to him. “What did you do?”

“Do?” His mother’s matter-of-fact veneer cracked a bit under the intensity of his anger.

“What did you say to chase her away?”

Holding out a cup to him she explained, “I didn’t chase her away. She made a choice. She decided that key was more important than you.”

He refused to take the cup.

“I know you won’t believe me, but I’m looking out for you, Baby.”

Remembering Mildred’s words from the night before he goaded, “Preventing me from being corrupted?’

His mother put the cup down on the kitchen counter. “Something like that.”

“How could a woman who works two jobs and stops to help out an old lady who’s being mugged corrupt me, Ma?”

His mother closed her eyes. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

“Ma?”

“Her father.”

“She never even knew her father,” Brady shouted, pounding his fist on the counter, making the coffee splash out. “He died before she was born.”

Suddenly looking much older, his mother collapsed into the nearest chair. “No. He didn’t.”

“How do you know that?” Brady asked suspiciously, a nervous feeling making his gut flip.

“Because,” she admitted tiredly, “he’s the one Willen was working for. He left that key and whatever the content of that box is for his daughter.”

“He’s alive?”

She shrugged. “Who knows. He’s a criminal. Maybe his thieving ways have caught up with him.”

“Or maybe she can find him.” Knowing how lonely she’d been, the thought flooded Brady with a sense of hope.

“He’s a criminal,” his mother lectured. “No good can come of anyone finding him. Do you understand now? Do you get that I was protecting you?”

Brady shook his head. “That wasn’t your decision to make, Mom. Neither was threatening to fail to hand over the key.”

“I understand that you’re upset with me, but don’t forget
she
made the choice and she didn’t choose you.”

Hours later, his mother’s words still echoing in his head, Brady slammed a basketball against the backboard while waiting for the pick-up game he was playing in to start.

“What did the ball do to piss you off?” Tom asked as he strolled onto the court.

Brady shrugged, noting that his friend looked happy, tan and rested after his honeymoon.

Tom narrowed his gaze. “Alyssa told Jane that the job you roped her into is more challenging than she expected.”

As he spoke, Jackson, Brady’s childhood friend and neighbor, joined them.

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Brady told Tom. “Do you think I should find someone else to look after Mrs. M.?”

“She’s a big girl. She can handle herself,” Tom replied easily. “So is that what’s bugging you?”

Taking a shot from the free throw line, Brady shrugged again. His shot missed.

Jackson chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

Clenching his jaw shut, he shot his oldest friend a dirty look. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s the chick, isn’t it?” Jackson taunted, recovering the ball.

“Chick?” Tom asked, intrigued.

“Amy.” Jackson threw the ball to Tom.

“Why don’t I know about this Amy?” Tom sank a shot.

Scrambling after the ball, his back to his friends, Brady said, “We’re over.”

“Over?” Jackson asked. “How? When last night you were giving her puppy dog eyes?”

Brady dribbled the ball three times. “Her choice. Not mine.”

“So change her mind,” Tom urged, slapping the ball out of Brady’s hands and passing it to Jackson.

“Not everyone gets a Happily Ever After like you,” Brady growled.

Tom and Jackson shared a look.

“Oh he’s got it bad for this one,” Jackson said with mock seriousness.

“He certainly does,” Tom agreed.

“Question is,” Jackson threw the ball to Brady, “what are you going to do about it?”

Amy climbed the stairs to her apartment tiredly. She hadn’t even inserted her key in the first lock when the door across the hallway opened.

“Hey, Amy.”

Turning, she offered Roscoe a half-hearted smile. “Hi.”

The big man frowned slightly. “You okay?”

“Rough couple of days.” She leaned against the wall behind her.

“Your date didn’t work out?”

“It was never going to,” she muttered.

Tilting his head to the side, he considered her thoughtfully. “Want to talk about it? I just made a pot of coffee and I’ve got cinnamon buns in the oven.”

Amy’s mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten all day and she knew that Roscoe’s baked goods were always delicious.

“C’mon,” he invited, pushing his door wide open and beckoning for her to follow him inside.

The scent of coffee and cinnamon proved to be a siren’s call she couldn’t resist. She followed him inside. She’d never been in the apartment across from hers and she couldn’t believe how different they were. While hers was dull and barren, Roscoe’s brimmed with life. Houseplants of all kinds seemed to spill from every corner of the room.

“Wow.” It felt as though she’d stepped into a greenhouse. “It’s beautiful.”

“I need something to occupy my time.” Roscoe moved across the apartment to the kitchen area and poured her a cup of coffee. “How do you take this?”

“With sugar if you’ve got it,” she replied, eyeing a collection of cookbooks stacked almost to the ceiling. “Black is fine if you don’t.”

“What kind of baker wouldn’t have sugar?” Roscoe tssked. “So tell me why you and, what was his name? Brady? Didn’t work out.”

Instead of answering him directly, she asked, “Do you have family?”

Pulling a pan of steaming dough from the oven, he seemed to choose his words carefully. “I do, but we’re not in touch.”

Amy, who was pretty sure she’d do just about anything to have a family, asked quickly. “Why not?”

He handed her a cup of coffee, but remained silent.

When Roscoe didn’t answer, she felt a surge of guilt. “There I go again, inserting my foot into my mouth. I should have minded my own business. I had no right to ask.”

“They weren’t there for me when I faced the murder accusation.”  He spoke so softly, she had to strain to make out the words.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered back.

Shrugging, he turned away to pry some cinnamon buns out of the pan. “Ancient history. You didn’t answer my question about Brady.”

Feeling as though she owed him the same kind of honesty he showed her, she said slowly, “I had a choice to make and I didn’t choose him.”

“And you regret that?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, reaching for the safety deposit key she’d stowed in the front pocket of her jeans. She wrapped her fingers around the piece of metal that would unlock her future.  “I’ll find out tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“I’m hoping I get to meet my father.”

An hour later, having thoroughly enjoyed coffee, two cinnamon buns, and Roscoe’s company, Amy made another choice. This one was easier than giving up Brady.

She strode into Busy Bea’s with a sense of purpose. After exchanging pleasantries with the kitchen prep staff, she went in search of Adrian.

She found him in the office, sprawled out on the couch, watching an episode of
Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares
.  Unaware of her presence, he chuckled as the celebrity chef told off a hapless restaurant owner.

She glanced around the room, noticing how he’d made it his own. He’d stripped every last bit of Bea’s influence from it. Bea was no longer there, which meant Amy no longer needed to be there either.

“Despite the yelling and cursing, he gives good advice,” Amy said from the doorway.

Adrian didn’t bother to sit up, turn off the television, or even take his eyes off the screen. He just waved her inside. “Did you need something?”

Amy had mentally rehearsed a whole impassioned speech about how much Bea had meant to her and what a difficult choice she’d had to make, but all she said was, “I quit.”

That got Adrian’s attention. He jumped up from the couch. “You can’t.”

“I can,” she told him steadily. “And I just did.”

“But you promised Bea.”

“I kept my promise to Bea, but you’ve done nothing but sit on your butt since you inherited this place. You don’t want to learn. You certainly don’t want to work.”

“Don’t you dare judge me,” Adrian roared. “I don’t need to listen to a lowly waitress.”

“Of course you don’t,” she agreed pleasantly. Turning away, she tossed over her shoulder, “Good luck, Adrian.”

“Wait! Stop!”

She paused.

“When will your last day be?”

Squaring her shoulders to bolster her determination, she spun around to look him in the eye. “I quit effectively immediately.”

“You can’t do that. You owe me at least two weeks’ notice.”

“No, Adrian. I don’t owe
you
anything.” Head held high, she walked out of Busy Bea’s.

As she emerged into the parking lot, she noticed the diner who always insisted on sitting at her table, sitting in a car watching her. She made eye contact with the creepy guy, making sure he knew that she knew he was there.

He rolled down his car’s window and gestured for him to come closer. “I owe you an explanation.”

Against her better judgment she took a few steps in his direction. “You can’t go around following me,” she blustered. “I’ll go to the police. I’ll get a restraining order.”

He smiled and shook his head sadly. “You sound so much like your mother.”

Amy jumped back a step. “You knew my mother?”

“Your father may have a lot of enemies, but he has many friends too.”

Amy stuck by the story she’d believed most of her life. “My father died before I was born.”

Ignoring her empty lie, the man continued, “We’ve been watching over you. Making sure nothing happened to you.”

“You’re  not  doing such a bang-up job. First, I was robbed and then I tangled with a mugger.”

“But you didn’t walk in on the burglar,” he reminded her, causing her to remember the old man who’d stopped her on the street corner the day she’d been robbed. He’d grabbed her arm and made her repeat the directions he’d asked for four times before finally letting her go. Had he intentionally slowed her down so that she wouldn’t run into the thief?