“I get it.” He stands, then helps me to my feet before pulling me close for a hug. “We’ll get through this.”
I nod. We will. We have to.
“We should talk, though,” he adds, his voice lowering. “But not here. Tonight?”
I shake my head. “Not tonight. I know we need to talk. I mean, I guess I’m now the only Swift in Swift Red Distillery, right? But I can’t deal with any of that today. I just want to go home, put on a sad movie, and cry myself to sleep.”
“Jo…”
“Tomorrow?”
I think he’s going to argue, but then he nods. “Nine o’clock. I’ll come over. I’ll make you breakfast.”
“So you’ll pour cereal into a bowl?”
He almost grins. “I didn’t say it would be a good breakfast.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, for both offering to feed me and adding a bit of levity to the moment. I rise up and kiss his cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood. I don’t really want him to go. I feel fragile. Unanchored. But even though I’ve lost my husband, I don’t feel alone. I have Red to thank for that.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, pulling away from me, then heading out of what has now become my office.
The door closes with a snick, the soft sound remarkably final. I draw in a deep breath and tell myself I’m not going to cry.
Then I go around the desk and sit in Mel’s chair. I pull open the middle drawer, and there it is—the thin sheath of blue-back papers. The kind I see every day in my job.
I flip to the last page and confirm what I already know.
He didn’t sign the divorce papers before he died.
I really am a widow.
And there, at my late husband’s desk, I finally break down and sob.
Chapter Four
Hours passed, but finally Renly and Red were alone in the distillery. Jo was the first to leave, having gone home after the cops dismissed her. Since she’d arrived in a police cruiser, Damien had offered to drive her home, but when Red remembered that Mel’s new Lexus was parked in one of the employee slots, she decided to drive herself.
Damien left soon after, reiterating his offer of whatever help Red or the distillery needed. Red had promised to take him up on that. He meant it, too. Damien Stark had resources, and Red was willing to call in any favors he could to find the bastard who’d killed his partner.
Once the cops and the personnel from the Coroner’s Office had cleared out, Renly offered to close up. “I’ve done it before. And you’ve had a hell of a day.”
Red almost laughed; wasn’t that the truth? But ultimately, he shook his head. “I called in Jessn and Charlie G. They’re both on their way over. They’ll get the system checks running, drain and sterilize that bin, and clean up in the fermentation room.”
He said the last with a shudder. He’d told his seconds-in-command that he’d do that himself. It wasn’t as if there was much of a mess. After all, the coroner’s office had taken the body.
But they’d both insisted that Red go home, assuring him that they’d take care of it.
“Good,” Renly said. “They’ll know what to do.”
“They will. In the mean time, I need to report the whole incident to the health department.”
“What’s the process?”
Red chuckled. “No clue.” Murder in the fermentation room hadn’t been something he’d added to his checklist when they’d originally got the business underway. “Hopefully we’ll be permitted to keep the other tubs going, but we need a clean bill of health on the distillery as soon as possible.”
“You need to get out in front of the press, too.”
“Already thought of that. I texted our PR company. They’ll manage the messaging, and I’m going to insist we close the tasting room to the public for a week and operate the distillery on a skeleton staff out of respect for Mel.”
What he didn’t say aloud was that he needed that week to find the MacGuffin, then use it as bait to take out Mel’s killer.
“Is a week enough?” Renly asked, making clear that he understood Red’s unspoken meaning.
“I think so.” He damn sure hoped so. He ran his fingers through his hair, hating the fact that he had to think about such things instead of simply mourning his friend. Things having to do with both the business of the distillery and the business of revenge.
Because he was going to avenge his friend, no matter how much he dreaded skirting that dark world of criminals and torture and death.
He drew in a breath as he crossed his arms, holding onto his opposite forearms. His palms closed over the five-inch long scars that marred both arms, and he drew in a breath, the feel of the mutilated flesh as potent as a talisman.
Well, wasn’t it?
His body stiffened as he fought off the rising memories. He didn’t want to go back into that world, but he had no choice. He couldn’t turn his back on his friend any more than he could have stayed away from Nikki Stark that night in New York.
And he damn sure couldn’t push this off on someone else. Not Renly. Not Stark Security. Not when the bastards had threatened Jo.
Hell, even if they hadn’t threatened her. This was his distillery, Mel had been his partner, and Jo deserved answers.
“I can wait with you until Jessn and Charlie G get here,” Renly said, those all-too-knowing eyes studying his face.
“I appreciate it, bro. But I should probably be alone to tell them what’s up. I only said there was a crisis, and that I needed them to get here as soon as possible. Suicide’s a hard subject. I don’t want them to feel uncomfortable reacting around you.”
“I still can’t believe he did that,” Renly said, making clear he understood the need not to talk about the murder. “Killing himself, I mean. I never would have expected it of Mel.”
“I know. The whole thing blows my mind. But he really had been acting strange lately.” That part was not a lie. He’d been moody and evasive. And from what Jo had told him, it wasn’t just at work.
“Why do you think he did it?” Renly asked.
Red translated the question as what is this thing that they’re supposedly looking for?
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think you’ll ever figure it out? Do you think Jo understands what he was going through?”
“I doubt it,” Red said. “Whatever was going on with him, I think he held it close to the vest.”
“You should go see her.”
Red agreed wholeheartedly. “She wanted to be alone tonight. I considered going by and talking to her, anyway, but decided that sleep probably is the right thing.” That decision to let Jo go the night thinking it was suicide had been a hard one.
Renly’s voice was sympathetic when he said, “In a situation like this, nothing’s ever easy. She’ll be better prepared to deal with this in the morning.”
Some of the tension drained from him, knowing that Renly thought he made the right call, too. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Sure.” Renly said, his expression curious as they moved through the property to the customer parking area.