Winning Amelia. Ingrid Weaver

stuff, which was okay with Hank, because it meant he hadn’t yet taken on a case he couldn’t solve. But he doubted this case would be routine. The last time he had seen Amelia, she had vowed never to speak to him again. She’d kept her word for almost fifteen years.

      Nevertheless, here she was, sitting in the worn leather armchair across from his desk like any other potential client. For the first time since he’d started the business, he wished he’d put more effort into the office decor. He wondered what she thought of the wheezing air conditioner in the window behind him, or the five-year-old computer that hulked on his desk, or the prize pickerel that occupied the place of honor above the coffeemaker. He also wondered why her opinion should matter to him.

      If she noticed the thrift-shop decorating scheme, she didn’t let it show. She kept her face as politely neutral as her request. “Will you take the case?”

      Her voice sounded the same. In his more fanciful moments, he used to compare it to syrup, but he was no good with words, and that wasn’t right, anyway. Her voice wasn’t sugary, and sweet wasn’t an adjective people would use to describe Amelia. It was the way syrup flowed, rich and clear, that reminded him of her voice. It was also hard to stop the stream of her words once they got going. They tended to stick, too.

      Her appearance hadn’t changed much over the years. Her hair was a bit straighter and cut to chin length instead of corkscrewing over her shoulders, and it had darkened marginally, yet it was unmistakably the Goodfellow red. Did she still insist on calling it auburn? Beneath her flowered blouse and denim skirt, her figure appeared to be as slender as when she’d been a teenager, although she’d lost that coltish, all arms and legs look.

      He suspected that even if he’d been blindfolded, he would have recognized her presence. The leather chair creaked as she shifted because she couldn’t sit still. The air around her seemed to crackle with energy she couldn’t quite contain. Amelia never did anything halfway. When she wanted something, she pursued it with her whole heart.

      “Or would you have a problem working for me?” she asked.

      The blunt question didn’t surprise him. The Amelia he’d known wouldn’t tiptoe around an issue. She’d been the most honest person he’d ever encountered. Well, except for her blind spot when it came to her hair color.

      Would he have a problem taking her on as a client? As a rule, he didn’t make spur-of-the-moment decisions. He preferred to inspect all sides of a topic first. That’s what made him a good investigator. This situation was different, because he already knew the answer to her question. Of course, he wouldn’t have a problem working for Amelia. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He would never again be that idealistic fool, goofy with puppy love, laying his heart bare for her to trample with her size-eight feet. The pain had faded. They’d both moved on.

      And the truth was, he was curious. Whatever had brought her here had caused her to swallow her pride and break one and a half decades of silence. Anyone, even if they weren’t a professional snoop, would want to know what it was.

      “This is what I do for a living, Amelia,” he said. “The problems that happened between us were a long time ago.”

      “Distant past,” she agreed.

      “We were friends long before we made the mistake of trying to be more.”

      She exhaled. It was accompanied by a subtle lowering of her shoulders. “That’s a good way to put it. Yes, we were friends once, weren’t we?”

      “And since you need help, I’m glad you came to me.”

      “I was hoping you would feel that way.”

      “Did you think I would kick you out?”

      “After the way we parted, I wasn’t sure. People can change.”

      “Not me. I’m the same old, dumb lug I always was.”

      “You were never dumb, Hank. Otherwise, I wouldn’t want to hire you.”

      He smiled. “It’s good to see you, Amelia. You haven’t changed, either.”

      If he’d hoped to relax her, he’d been wrong. Instead of returning his smile, she shifted uncomfortably and glanced at her wrist. It likely was a reflex action, since she wore no watch. “Thanks,” she said. “I apologize if this seems rude, but would you mind if we do the catching-up later? You weren’t open yesterday, and I’m a little anxious to get things going.”

      The old Amelia used to charge straight ahead once she’d decided on her course of action, too. He could see for himself that she was anxious. The skin beneath her eyes appeared shadowed, as if she hadn’t slept the night before. There were new lines at the outer corners, which added maturity to her gaze. The color was as striking as ever. He’d once compared it to the shimmering patches of blue-green his father’s outboard used to leave on the surface of the water when they went trolling back when he was a kid. Not the smoothest compliment to use when trying to impress a girl, comparing her eyes to an oil slick.

      “Hank?”

      Her tone wasn’t exactly cool, but it wasn’t warm, either. It was cautious. Businesslike. Which he should have expected. As she’d just made clear, this wasn’t a social call. He picked up a pen and readied a fresh page in his notepad. “You said that you want me to find a painting?”

      “That’s right.”

      “I’ll need as many details as possible before I can plan how to proceed. You do have time to answer some questions, don’t you?”

      “Go ahead.”

      “How did the painting go missing?”

      “My sister-in-law held a yard sale on the weekend. She sold the painting yesterday while I was at work. She remembers getting thirty dollars for the painting, but she doesn’t remember anything about who bought it.”

      “So it was your sister-in-law who sold the painting.”

      “You remember Jenny? Will’s wife?”

      He and Amelia had been in their final year at high school when they’d gone to her brother’s wedding together. They had laughed and danced and figured it was fate when she had caught the bouquet. They’d been sure they would always be as happy as they’d been then. That alone was proof they’d had a lot of growing up to do. Less than three months later, they had broken up.

      “Yes,” he replied. “I remember. How are she and Will doing?”

      “Fine. They’re expecting their fourth child next month.”

      “Is your brother still working at that custom furniture place north of town?”

      “Lancaster Cabinets, yes.”

      “I heard business wasn’t good last year. Are they doing okay now?”

      “As far as I know.”

      “Why did Jenny have the yard sale?”

      “She wanted to clean the excess junk out of the house.”

      “Can’t blame her, with a fourth kid on the way. So this painting had been kept at their place?”

      “Right. I’ve been staying with them since...” She hesitated.

      He wouldn’t pretend ignorance. “Since your legal troubles?”

      “I see you’ve heard about it.”

      Anyone not living in a cave would have heard about it. The scandal and ensuing criminal trial that had bankrupted Amelia and her husband’s investment business more than a year ago had been featured on the nightly news of every major network. It had been splashed across the national papers, too. There had been a mini business boom for local hotels and car rental agencies caused by the reporters who had come to her hometown looking for information to do background pieces. For a while, she had been Port Hope’s most infamous native.

      The scandal had also ended her marriage to Spencer Pryce.