I tapped Flynn’s name into my computer. I shouldn’t waste my time. It wasn’t like I had a bunch of calls and messages from him to ignore. But here I was, searching him online. I sifted through several recent articles about him and his work until I found his dad’s obituary. A plain and simple article that listed his kids Flynn and Lynne as survivors. The cause of death was drowning.
From the year, Flynn would’ve been fourteen, maybe fifteen. Poor kid, losing his dad so young and taking care of his mom and sister.
No. I couldn’t feel sorry for him when I didn’t know his circumstances. He certainly hadn’t told me. Nor had he disputed Mr. Woods’s insinuation that he was paying his mother off to leave him alone and keep quiet about his sister.
I wanted to believe the best. So badly. Yet he wasn’t here. He hadn’t called. He’d let me leave and hadn’t come after me with an explanation. Despite what Mr. Woods had said about Flynn’s mom, his reputation at work meant more.
After all, he hadn’t invited me to bring lunch again. As if that moment in the office had exposed us too much. As if he’d never put me on his arm and call me his girlfriend.
There was nothing I could do about him. I had to help myself. Tapping around on my keyboard, I eventually spit out Mrs. Woods’s full name. A search turned up nothing. No honors. No top of her class. She’d probably been a spoiled girl who’d gotten her way, then found a man to give her everything she asked for with minimal work.
That hadn’t been my future. I’d had to scrounge to keep out of the gutter, and I hadn’t stepped on one person to do it. Yet people suspected me of hitting a child when Mrs. Woods was the one with a Hulk-sized cruel streak.
I pulled up Mrs. Blumenthal’s number and dialed it. When the woman answered, I explained my dire situation with work and a future income.
“Oh, dear, that’s bad. How could they think that of you? But thanks to your man friend, I’ll give you two free months of rent. That’s what it would’ve cost if I’d had to pay the deductible.”
I slumped, letting my eyelids fall closed. Finding a place to rent in the cities was hard enough, but a nice and reasonable place was almost impossible. And I had no extra money for a deposit or first and last months’ rent. “Thank you so much. I wasn’t sure what I’d do. I just need to find a temporary job to tide me over.”
“I’ll call my son. He’s always looking for help in his grocery store in Bloomington. What hours can you work?”
“Anything and everything.” For the first time in days, I smiled. Just being able to bring in an income, even save some money, would take a load of stress off my mind.
“Okay, let me call him. Can I give him your number?”
“Of course. And thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“It’s no problem, Tilly. You’re my best tenant, and I don’t believe that load of shit for one second.”
“Between you and me, I think Charlie’s mom beat him.” I snapped my mouth shut. Where had that come from? But it made sense. Mrs. Woods was the only other person with consistent access to Charlie. For all Mr. Woods’ many, many faults, and no matter how he’d treated me, he seemed to truly care about Charlie’s welfare. “I honestly wouldn’t put it past her to do it when I was working, or when the nanny was there, so she had someone to blame it on.”
“That shouldn’t be between you and me, Tilly. Tell the police.” After a few more encouragements to hang in there, she hung up.
Who’d believe me, with the pull Mr. Woods had?
Mrs. Blumenthal had my back, though. I sighed. My boyfriend was too concerned about his image to stay by my side, but my landlady believed me. So there was that.
I didn’t want to get too excited after the call, so I cruised more help-wanted ads. Scribbling down my choices from best to worst, I listed all the jobs I thought I’d be competent at and where my potential legal woes wouldn’t be a problem. Basically, a place that wouldn’t vilify me if word reached them about what I’d been accused of.
My phone rang. For a moment, I fervently hoped it was Flynn checking on me. I didn’t recognize the number.
Foolish girl.
I answered. It was Mrs. Blumenthal’s son, offering me a job. I could start tomorrow, stocking shelves on the graveyard shift.
I clicked my phone off after agreeing to start at eleven p.m. the next night. I’d work all weekend, eleven to seven. It wasn’t like I had lessons to plan all day for the rest of the summer.
There was a knock at the door. My heart leaped into my throat. Flynn?
I sprinted across the room to answer it. Without even checking the peephole, I swung the door open.
Two police officers, a male, and a female waited on my stoop.
“Tilly Johnson?”
Flynn
“Flynn? Dude? Mr. Halstengard, sir?”
I glanced up at the sarcastic tone. Matthew stared at me, one manicured brow raised.
“You never call me Mr. Halstengard.”
“Because it’d be a waste of air after two years as your PA. But, dude, you so weren’t listening to me. Do you want your hair appointment after your suit fitting so you don’t shed little stubs all over new threads you haven’t bought yet?”
“Yeah, I don’t care.” Not one bit. Usually, I did, was very particular about what I wore and when I upgraded my work clothes. Always the best image possible.
“Seriously.” Matthew set his tablet down. “I’m going to step out of bounds here, so fair warning. Now I’m not oblivious. You came back from your bachelor vacation a moody beast. Then you were skiing on rainbows for the last few weeks. I even got home at a decent hour every single night.
