Easy Innocence

Chapter 48

THAT EXPLAINED the urgency, Georgia thought as she drove north on Sheridan Road. Harry Perl wanted to cash in on the Glen property by building condos and a mall. He couldn't risk it being rezoned in light of the upcoming low-income housing regulations. So after buying the land from Fred, Perl got Walcher to use his "leverage" with village officials to make sure the zoning went his way. He probably used the same "leverage" with Broadbent to come up with an environmental report that got a clean bill of health from the state.

A weak sun broke through the overcast. Georgia rolled down the window, bracing against the rush of cold air. She was close. When you examined Walcher's business practices, factored in his relationship with Sara Long, his possible involvement with Derek Janowitz's murder, maybe even the attempt on her life, even the most aggressive prosecutor—including Jeff Ramsey—would have to take a closer look.

But it wasn't a slam dunk. She still had no proof Walcher had a hand in Sara Long's murder. Kelly would insist that wasn't necessary, that they had enough reasonable doubt to clear Cam Jordan, but Georgia wanted to find Sara Long's killer. Not just for her own safety, but for Cam Jordan and his sister Ruth. For the Long family, as well, for Lauren, and for all the teenage girls who made decisions that put themselves at risk. The problem was she wasn't sure of her next move, and she was running out of time to make it.

Her cell phone chirped. "Georgia Davis."

It was her landlord. They'd finished the repair work, installed a new floor and window, even thrown a fresh coat of paint on the walls. She could move back in.

That afternoon she packed up her clothes, thanked Sam profusely, and went home. The living room was virtually empty, but the walls and new floor gleamed, and they'd put a special chemical coating on the walls and floor to seal in the lingering odor of smoke. The new furniture she'd ordered, thanks to a speedy resolution of her claim by her insurance company, hadn't arrived, but her new computer, which the super had brought upstairs, was in a large box in the middle of the floor.

Her bedroom furniture was still intact, but her mattress reeked of mildew and smoke. She lugged it down to the curb and, anticipating the insurance reimbursement, went to buy a new one. It must have been a slow period at the mattress store, because they said they could deliver it that afternoon. She swung by Target on her way back and picked up new bedding, towels, and a pillow.

The mattress arrived on schedule, and she made up the bed. She was just pulling the computer out of the box, thinking she'd order a pizza before she assembled it, when there was a knock on the door.

Pete Dellinger grinned when she opened it. "I saw your lights were on. When did you get back?"

"Just now." Georgia returned the smile. "Good to see you up and about. Are you okay?"

"The hospital kept me overnight, but I came home the next morning." He kept one hand behind his back. "What about you? I heard someone tried to take a shot at you."

"Looks that way."

"Are you holding up?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Everyone in the building got a call from the detective in Evanston, you know."

"I didn't."

"I asked if they had any leads. He said there hadn't been much movement, but the case was still open."

"That's cop speak for 'we don't have a clue, and we can't spend more time on it.'" When Pete frowned, she shrugged. "Happens all the time."

"How can they just give up?"

"They don't have a choice. There are always new cases that demand your attention. Cases that haven't gone cold."

"Do you think the shooting is related to your case?"

"Probably."

"Jesus! How can you be so—so calm?"

"What makes you think I am? Hey, let's talk about something else, okay?"

He looked at her unblinkingly for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Okay," he said, pointing to his leg. "Look."

She did. His cast was gone, and he was wearing a sock and sandal on his bad leg. His ankle seemed thick. "I'm down to an Ace bandage. And a cane."

She looked around. "Where is it? The cane?"

"Still upstairs." He moved his other hand from behind his back and held out a bouquet of flowers. "These are for you. To thank you."

Her cheeks grew warm, her neck too. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had brought her flowers. She felt suddenly shy. "Let me find something to put them in," but even as she said it, she realized she didn't own a vase. The empty mayonnaise jar under the sink would have to do. She started for the kitchen, then stopped and turned back to the door. "Oh— I'm sorry. Would you like to come in? I promise to scare off any snipers."

He grinned and limped inside. He was wearing his usual khakis and a button-down shirt. The light blue color set off his sandy hair. She remembered the first time she'd seen him, the day he moved in. He'd been wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. She remembered how his biceps strained against the load.

"Sorry," she heard herself say again. "I bought some new furniture, but it hasn't come yet."

"No problem." He carefully got himself down on the floor near the computer box. "New?"

She nodded.

"Need help setting it up?"

She didn't. Computers were easy to assemble. Even a kid could do it. "Sure."

An hour later, it was done. Including the cable connection, which had somehow survived the fire.

"Did you salvage data from your old machine?"

"I haven't tried. It's in the basement."

"Well, let me know if you want to try. Maybe I can help."

"Thanks."

"You want to go online now and send me a test email?" he asked.

"How about we order a pizza first? My treat."

"Deal."

After finishing the pizza, they tested out the broadband connection. Everything seemed to be working.

"Do you ever wonder whether all this email has made a difference in the amount of snail mail?" Pete asked. "I mean, the post office ought to be thankful, don't you think?"

"Why? Their business is shrinking. Then again, we still get mountains of junk mail, so I guess they're not suffering."

"And there are always some Luddites who will never use email." He laughed. "It's a major accomplishment for them to use a cell phone."

Georgia stopped short. She stared at Pete.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I—you just said something that made me think."

"About your case?"

She nodded.

"What? What did I say?"

"Cell phones. You said—" She shook her head. "Oh, never mind."

He continued to gaze at her for a moment. Then, "You never stop, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "Never mind."

Georgia didn't know what he was thinking, and that made her uneasy. Pete must have felt the same way, because he said goodnight soon afterwards and went upstairs. As Georgia closed the door, she wondered if she should feel bad the evening ended on a sour note.

Then she pushed Pete Dellinger out of her mind. Ricki Feldman said Harry Perl didn't go near computers. He used his cell all the time. He didn't care who or what he interrupted. What if Walcher was with Sara Long when Perl called him? Lauren had said Sara had a special relationship with "Uncle Fred." How Sara thought of him as the uncle she never had. What if Sara overheard something about Fred and his land and what Perl and Walcher were doing to get it? And what if Walcher realized she'd overheard? What would Sara have heard? And what would Walcher have done?