Page 42 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)

LEIGH

W hat doesn’t help with the antsy sensation?

Rage cleaning the house to a workout playlist I found on my music app.

I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing at a stubborn spot on a baseboard I just realized might have been paint when the text sound echoes through the speaker I have my phone connected to. I jump, the toothbrush I was using flying across the room.

“Chill out, Leigh,” I mutter.

Unfolding from my position on the floor, I walk toward my phone and pick it up. A part of me hopes it’s Murphy. A part of me doesn’t care.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Okay, sue me. I do care.

But it’s not Murphy.

It’s Charlie.

He and I have texted a few times since the charity event.

Once to let me know that his father has invited the CEO of Project Justice to Nashville for a charity golf event next month and asked if I want to go.

I do, but it is the week after classes start in Knoxville, and I can’t leave classes for the day at the beginning of the semester.

The last time was to apologize for his dad—again—because he had overheard a conversation where his dad referred to me as Charlie’s girlfriend. Charlie had shared with me that while he appreciated his dad’s desire to see him move on, he couldn’t understand Charlie was still grieving.

How was it so obvious to me when I had known Charlie for such a short time?

CHARLIE

Hey, what are you doing?

I avoid the full story and keep it short and sweet. He doesn’t need to know I’m rage cleaning my house because my boyfriend—or is Murphy my ex-boyfriend now?—decided to ghost me.

Deep cleaning my house.

What about you?

There are lots of dancing dots as Charlie composes a message, but it doesn’t come through until I start to set my cell back on the table.

CHARLIE

Today is Selene’s birthday.

I hate this day.

My eyes burn with tears as they build up and I sit down on the couch, blinking the moisture away.

I’m so sorry, Charlie.

CHARLIE

To make matters worse, my dad picked today to tell me he set me up on a date next week.

What the hell? I can’t imagine my parents being as clueless as Charlie’s dad is.

You could tell him you’re not going.

CHARLIE

I don’t know what to tell him.

He’s your dad.

CHARLIE

Exactly. He’s not going to understand why I don’t want to date.

You just have to talk to him.

CHARLIE

Maybe.

My phone stays silent for several breaths and I turn the music back on, putting away the cleaning supplies and checking Hannah Grace’s garage for baseboard paint. It’s dried out, so I take a picture of the brand and throw the dried-out can in the trash can before grabbing my keys and my phone.

Maybe if I stay busy enough, I’ll stop thinking about Murphy. I’ll stop feeling this overwhelming need to move. Which is how I find myself in the hardware store at four thirty in the afternoon in cutoffs and an old Iota Delta Kappa faded T-shirt with no makeup and a messy bun.

After the cashier tries to flirt with me and tells me he’s off in ten minutes, I hightail it out of the store and toss the paint in the back floorboard of my car. As I’m about to pull out, my phone vibrates against my console, and I throw my car back in park and read the text.

CHARLIE

I could really use someone to talk to.

Any chance you’re free?

I glance down at my shirt and cutoffs, chewing on my lip as I consider his request. I hadn’t planned on going anywhere. Except back home. I’m not dressed to go anywhere else.

I’m not really dressed to go anywhere.

Hitting send, guilt rushes through my body and I quickly type another response.

I could meet you in an hour and a half or so? That’ll give me time to shower and change since I’ve been cleaning all day.

There’s the dance of Charlie’s response before it vibrates in my hand.

CHARLIE

That would be great.

Thanks, Leigh.

Centennial Park? Is 7 okay?

Seven gives me more than enough time to get home and get a shower and something to eat before meeting him. It’s also two hours before dark which means I might be able to take my camera and grab some other pictures.

That’s perfect!

CHARLIE

Near the Parthenon?

I’ll be there.

CHARLIE

See you then.

At ten minutes before seven, I pull into the parking lot I parked in before.

“It didn’t take me long to get to the Parthenon from here, I think,” I murmur, wishing I had gotten here a little sooner.

But a traffic accident had slowed traffic way down and I felt rushed, the impending doom of being late pressing in on me.

My stomach flips and I take a deep breath to ease the nausea.

I hate being late. Dark gray clouds rolled in while I drove from my house to the park, but it doesn’t seem to deter anyone here.

The parking lot is almost full, and I have to circle for a minute before I find a parking place.

I grab my phone and slide it into my back pocket and reach for my camera bag from the back, making sure the AirTag Sydney sent me when I moved to Nashville is in the bag.

While she sent it for my purse, what is in there is less valuable than my camera bag.

And since I have been known to set my camera bag down while taking pictures and walk off and forget it, this meant I could track the bag if I did that again.

I pass several people heading the opposite direction back to the parking lot as I speed walk toward the Parthenon, trying not to be late.

Even this late in the evening, there are still people scattered along the trails, and the sounds of dogs barking and people talking are my soundtrack as I turn the corner and the Greek-like building comes into view.

Pulling out my phone, I check the time.

“Seven. Phew, I did it,” I whisper to myself.

There’s no sign of Charlie, so I grab my camera from the bag, attaching one of the lenses and snapping several images before I check my phone again.

7:15.

I don’t know him well, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person to be late. Opening our text thread, I send him a text.

Hey, are we still on for tonight?

I’m here, but don’t see you.

His reply is almost instantaneous.

CHARLIE

Sorry, got a late start from my apartment and am still up the trail a bit. Can you meet me halfway?

A pin accompanies the text and it’s almost ten minutes away.

What the fuck?

First, he’s late, and now he drops me his location rather than just walking over here. My fingers hover over the keys, ready to tell him I’ll wait the ten minutes. I’m not familiar enough with where he is in the park, and the charged feeling on my skin is going haywire.

He probably got a later start because it’s Selene’s birthday. How would you feel if the positions were reversed?

The itch along my skin has been there all day.

How is now any different? The pin shows up clearly on the path, and if I get lost I can always do a search for the Parthenon in my maps and it will tell me how to get back here.

Five minutes and I can meet up with him and we can walk the same loop we did before.

It puts me at my car well before dark too.

Sure.

I start up the trail, the heat of the evening still simmering, but fading in the overgrown, shadowed trail Charlie had texted me he was on.

The sounds are quieter, muted by the denser foliage, and I shiver, a chill chasing up my spine.

The fine hairs along my arm stand up, the anxious electric-like sensations I’ve been experiencing all funneling to an alarm in my head warning me I should stop.

Turn around. Do something other than continue walking.

I stop, feeling around my pockets for my pepper spray.

“Shit.”

I never forget it. But I did today. Too much in a rush to get here.

There’s still some distance between me and Charlie, and who knows who—or what—else is in the wooded areas.

“Stop being a scaredy-cat. It’s still daylight. Charlie is just up the trail,” I murmur.

He needs someone to talk to. If I can make his day easier, I want to help ease the burden. But better to be safe than sorry. Pulling my phone out, I confirm I shared my location with Sydney and shoot her the text.

Hey, are we still on for our rewatch of One Tree Hill tonight?

I’m really curious about how the football team does.

It may be an older show, but both Sydney and I love it and have binged several episodes on the phone with each other. She’ll know the show isn’t about a football team. It is our code for when we have a date gone wrong.

This may not be a date, but I really wish I had told Charlie no. Or waited on a more populated part of the trail.

“It’s fine,” I try to convince myself.

It is.

Right?