Page 11 of His Wisconsin Wallflower (Stateside Doms #25)

Chapter Ten

The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows of the Carrington family dining room and cast long shadows over the table where Quinten sat.

The room seemed smaller than usual, filled with the murmurs of his parents, Corbin, and Gavin as they settled into their seats.

He’d called the meeting to address the chaos brewing within the family and the business, but his mind was elsewhere.

Raisa had refused to come.

“I’m not part of the family,” she had said firmly, folding her arms in that quiet but unyielding way of hers.

Quinten had protested, pointing out how much she had already helped, but Raisa wouldn’t budge.

Now, as his family gathered around him, he wondered what she was doing.

Was she at the shop, tallying numbers, or taking a break with one of her secret notebooks?

The thought of her sitting cross-legged in a corner, scribbling away, made his chest tighten.

She was too good to be dragged into this mess, yet he missed having her here.

He cleared his throat and addressed the room. “Let’s start with the update from the police.”

His brother leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly on the table.

“Still no sign of Vanessa.” The knuckles of his fingers turned white.

“No cash withdrawals, no traffic camera sightings. They checked her home, and it looks like she left voluntarily. A suitcase and some clothes are missing, as well as toiletries from her bathroom.”

“Convenient,” Gavin muttered, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Did they find anything else?” his dad asked. He seemed to be having a good day, and there was even some color in his cheeks.

Quinten shook his head. “No. They didn’t, and I didn’t get far with Mrs. Clark, by the way”—he turned to his mom—“Any news about her?”

His mother sighed, and the lines around her eyes deepened.

“Milly’s neighbor called the doctor. As you might have suspected, the poor thing has Alzheimer’s.

Right now, she’s lucid enough to stay at home, but it’s only a matter of time before something more permanent will need to be arranged.

The neighbors are keeping an eye on her for now. ”

A heavy silence settled over the room as they absorbed the information. Quinten experienced a pang of empathy for the woman. Milly Clark had been a fixture in Cedarburg for as long as he could remember. To see her fading away like this was hard to stomach.

“Does Vanessa know?” Corbin hadn’t shaved for a few days, and his fingers rasped over his skin as he stroked his chin.

“She probably does.” His mother’s voice was almost inaudible. “Whether or not that played into her decision to leave, I can’t say.”

Quinten exhaled. “Okay, let’s move on to the books and what Raisa found.”

“Raisa?” His father raised his brows in surprise. “What does she have to do with this?”

Gavin shot upright.

“Oh, right,” Quinten said, realizing he hadn’t updated everyone. “She offered to help look through the accounts. Turns out she has an eidetic memory and picked up on some things we missed. Payments to subcontractors with account numbers that don’t match. It’s how we started connecting the dots.”

“Tampering with the books?” Gavin’s chair scraped loudly as he pushed back from the table. “Again, the arrows point toward Vanessa?” he snapped. “You’re telling me we’re still chasing her mess?”

“Calm down.” Quinten held up a hand. “We don’t have all the facts yet.”

“Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down?” Gavin’s face was flushed, and his arms shook as he gripped the edge of the table. “First, she disappears. Then we find out she’s been skimming money. And now you’re saying she might be behind the whole damn thing?”

“It’s not definitive,” Quinten said, though he felt the weight of the evidence pressing on him. “The way it looks now, she’s the most likely person to have stolen from us, but we need more proof before jumping to conclusions.”

Gavin let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t put it past her. She was always self-serving, even back in high school.”

Quinten tried to keep his tone level. “We’re going to figure this out, but losing our tempers won’t help.” He glanced around the table, letting his gaze linger on his father and Gavin, both of whom were clearly struggling to contain their frustration.

His mother broke the tension with, “If Vanessa is behind this, then we’ll deal with it, but until then, let’s focus on what we can control.”

Quinten nodded and relaxed his shoulders. “Agreed. I’ll keep digging into the books and coordinate with the police. In the meantime, Gavin, keep asking around. Someone has to know more than they’re letting on.”

Gavin grunted his acknowledgment, though his jaw was still tight. Corbin leaned forward, and his expression turned thoughtful. “I’ll help where I can. Just let me know what you need.”

Quinten gave him a brief nod. “Thanks. It’s a huge help already that you coordinate the schedule.”

As the meeting wound down, Quinten’s thoughts drifted back to Raisa.

He couldn’t shake the impression that she would have brought clarity to this chaos, her steady focus cutting through the noise.

As much as he wanted to keep her out of the mess, he couldn’t deny that he wanted her at his side—and not only for the investigation, but for everything.

The light from Raisa’s laptop screen cast a pale glow across her small desk, illuminating the half-finished cup of tea beside it.

She stared at the blinking cursor on the blank page, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

A single sentence flickered in her mind, but no sooner had she typed it than she hit the backspace key, erasing it once more.

Her heroine was supposed to be wrestling with the revelation that were-beasts, demons, witches, and other paranormals were real like a normal woman suddenly thrust into a supernatural world.

Yet Raisa couldn’t find the words to convey that disbelief, the raw edge of fear mingled with curiosity.

She wanted to write the scene, to immerse herself in that fictional world, but her thoughts kept drifting to Quinten.

How was his family taking the news? Was Vanessa really the one behind the missing money?

Raisa leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. She didn’t like Vanessa, or any of the cheerleaders from high school, for that matter, but thinking of Vanessa as a criminal—it didn’t make any sense.

The woman came from old money. What reason would she have to steal from the Carrington Building Company?

Sighing, Raisa pushed back her chair and stood, the wooden legs scraping softly against the floor.

She padded into the kitchen with her mug, and after flipping on the light, she drained the tepid tea and reached for the kettle.

As she filled it with water and set it on the stove, the gnawing doubts crept in again.

What if I’m not cut out for this? She glanced back at the desk.

The white page on her screen mocked her, the blinking cursor like a silent accusation.

It wasn’t the first time she’d questioned whether she had what it took to write professionally.

Creating stories in her head was one thing, but putting them on paper—cohesive, compelling, worth reading—was another entirely.

The kettle hissed and popped as it began to heat, and Raisa busied herself by selecting a teabag from the assortment in her cupboard. Chamomile’s soothing properties would hopefully calm her restless mind.

As she poured the hot water into her mug, she tried to shake her nagging thoughts.

She’d finished scenes before, even when they felt impossible.

What she needed was focus, but as she returned to her desk, cradling the mug in her hands and letting the warmth seep into her body, the cursor blinked back at her.

Her gaze drifted again, not to the screen, but to the window, where the faint outline of the moon glowed in the night sky.

What was Quinten doing right now?

Had his family rallied together, or was the tension boiling over?

She imagined him sitting at the head of the table, his brow furrowed in that sexy way of his as he explained everything.

She could envision how his voice would be steady and sure.

She’d heard him give countless interviews.

Whether his team had won or lost, he had been polite and modest while still emanating authority.

She set down the mug and placed her hands on the keyboard again. Her fingers hovered for a moment before she typed a single sentence. Then, just as swiftly, she erased it.

With a groan, she leaned her head in her hands, unable to face the empty page. “Come on,” she encouraged herself out loud. “You can do this.”