Page 69 of Enigma

CHAPTER 45

Chelsea’s house sat on a quiet cul-de-sac lined with mature oak trees, the kind of neighborhood where kids rode bikes in the street and neighbors knew each other’s names. Her small, white house had a beige carport and numerous toys scattered outside.

“I probably should have called first,” Jason said as he pulled into the driveway. “But I didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone.”

“She’s going to want to help,” Olive murmured. “And that might put her in danger.”

“I know. But she’s family and . . .” Jason’s voice trailed off. “She deserves to know what’s going on.”

Olive couldn’t argue with that.

Just as they climbed out of the Tahoe, another car turned into the driveway behind them—a silver Mercedes that looked out of place in the modest neighborhood.

Jason tensed. “That’s not Dean’s car.”

The Mercedes parked behind them, effectively blocking their exit. The driver’s door opened, and a man in his fifties stepped out. He was tall and lean, with graying hair and expensive casual clothing.

“Dr. Schmitt . . .” Jason murmured.

Olive could only assume Jason had met the man before and that was why he recognized him.

The doctor approached them with a calm, professional demeanor that somehow made Olive more uneasy than outright hostility would have.

How had he found them here? Had he been following them? Or were those men behind them on the road sent by Dr. Schmitt?

“Mr. Stewart.” Dr. Schmitt extended his hand. “I’m glad I caught you. We need to talk.”

Jason didn’t take the offered hand. “About what?”

“About your visit to my medical practice last night. And about your father.” Dr. Schmitt’s smile never wavered, but his eyes held a hardness that didn’t match his friendly tone.

“I want to thank you for not pressing charges,” Jason said. “That was generous of you.”

“It was practical. Bad publicity isn’t good for business.” Dr. Schmitt glanced at Olive, then back at Jason. “But that doesn’t mean this is over.”

Before Jason could respond, the front door of the house opened.

“Jason?” Chelsea Stewart Johnson stepped onto the porch, a toddler balanced on her hip.

The woman had dark hair and a strong jawline, but her expression was purely maternal concern as she looked between her brother, Olive, and the man in her driveway.

The little boy on her hip was Henry, and he was just over two years old. Olive had met him when she was in town working the other case a few months back. Right now, the tow-headed boy with his bright blue eyes had chocolate smeared around his mouth and clutched a sippy cup with both hands.

“Hey, Chels.” Jason kept his voice neutral despite the tension radiating from his shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Chelsea’s gaze moved from Jason to Dr. Schmitt, clearly sensing that this wasn’t a social visit. “Dean told me you were in town, but . . .”

She trailed off, seeming to take in the scene more fully—Jason’s stiff posture, Olive’s alert stance, the expensive car blocking their exit, and Dr. Schmitt.

“Is everything okay?” Chelsea’s tone suggested she already knew the answer was no.

Dr. Schmitt stepped forward, his professional smile still in place. “Mrs. Johnson, I’m not sure we’ve ever officially met. I’m Dr. Schmitt. I took over your father’s old medical practice.”

“I know who you are.” Chelsea’s voice contained an edge of coolness.

“Your brother and I were just discussing a small misunderstanding,” Dr. Schmitt continued.

Chelsea shifted Henry to her other hip. “What kind of misunderstanding?”