Valerie Gauthen
Miss Mae welcomed me into her cozy living room, ornamented with vintage furniture and the faint scent of lavender. An aura of nostalgia and affection permeated the air.
"Oh dear, I am so sorry to hear about your renovation. I understand that it might be unpleasant; breathing in so much dust is bad," she said empathetically, her eyes displaying real worry. Her motherly mentality, so authentic and caring, made me feel a twinge of guilt for deceiving her.
I created a story about my apartment undergoing a bedroom renovation, something I made to excuse my sudden need to seek a roof over my head elsewhere. The reality was much more complex, a maze of dishonesty that I had to unravel and the need to confront the cheater I once trusted appeared ahead. I wasn't prepared for any of this.
She asked, "Are you hungry, dear?" in a gentle way. Her lips formed a smile, her eyes sparkling with kindness. Her face was marked with wrinkles that each told a tale of laughter and joy, a tribute to a life well lived. The comfort of her presence nearly made me overlook the real reason I was here. "Well, it is so nice to have some company around here," she remarked, her voice laced with hospitality. The innocent-sounding but piercing question then arose. "Where is your husband? Would he also be staying with us?"
The word "husband" crept into the cracks of my mind and remained in the air like a thick fog. I forced a tight-lipped smile on my face, hoping she wouldn't see the flicker of pain in my eyes. "No, he's not around. For now, it's just me," I answered, sounding more composed than I actually felt. "We are just together--not marriage yet," The words slipped out my mouth.
Miss Mae graciously took the duffle bag, placing it near the bottom of some stairs before offering directions to my temporary stay. "The upstairs room to the left is yours to have. I stopped going up there ever since my joint pain started, and also, my nephew is staying, if you don't mind. He's not a bother at all," she informed me, her voice carrying hospitality. Nephew? This was news to me. Her having a nephew in New Providence was something I had never heard of.
As she settled onto the well-worn couch with floral patterns, I followed. The cushions were stiff, preserving the history of countless conversations. "What about your stepdaughter, Amanda?" My question flew out of my mouth before my thoughts could gather themselves. Her mention of a nephew raised more questions, but I hesitated to overwhelm her with inquiries.
My heart sank as the words left my lips, momentarily forgetting how I had intended to break the news to Miss Mae about Amanda Gomber. The room seemed to hold its breath for me, caught between the unspoken tragedy that had unfolded just the night before.
Guilt coursed through my veins as I sank into the couch, aware that I was harboring the knowledge of her stepdaughter's death while staying at her home. As I sat down across from Miss Mae, her face twisted in confusion. She firmly declared, "I don't have a stepdaughter named Amanda," eliminating any possibility of a relationship of that kind. The possibility of her aging memory contributing to the confusion flickered in my mind, but the thought disappeared.
I shifted in my seat and got ready to ask more questions. "You informed me and multiple other law enforcement officials that Amanda Gomber was your stepdaughter, looking after you," I gently reminded her, trying not to put her through any more stress. Miss Mae's face stiffened, and she got up from the sofa as quickly as her aging body would allow. Her voice quivered as she asked, "Officers? oh god, am I in trouble?"
"No, Miss Mae, please, sit down," I urged, maintaining a built tone. She obeyed my request despite her hesitation. "I don't have a daughter named Amanda; her name is Gabby. "My nephew is staying here because Gabby is returning to Italy to be nearer to her other family," Miss Mae said, trying to clear up any misunderstandings while remembering every specific. "Gabby worked with me at the bakery, she came months after you started working with the law, I'm certain; You probably haven't noticed because you became so busy that you only come weekly," she continued, chuckling a little. I remained silent, allowing her to continue providing explanation.
My mind instantly flashed back to the day I questioned Amanda Gomber; to the young lady who served us coffee. I felt a wave of relief pass over me, but my mind kept racing. Amanda must have been keenly observing Miss Mae to exploit her memory loss issues. New inquiries followed, such as: Who was Amanda Gomber really? Did she really go by that name? Was she the thief?
"I don't need to hear any more of this," Miss Mae sighed as she rose from her seat. "My medication already makes me paranoid and woozy; hearing about this imaginary stepdaughter is not going to do any justice," she innocently remarked, unaware of the unintentionally help she just provided. I realized that the case I was working on might be getting closer to closure or at least a resolution. Still, there was something uncomfortable about Amanda stalking me, I supposed, by what was with her in the motel when she died.
I have to tell Sergeant Williams about this, but he doesn't know I dug into the Salvatores and Gomber already. With all the lying I've been doing lately; I could be a politician. I wasn't going to let Amanda Gomber nor this Bianchi individual pass by me so quickly.
A series of knocks interrupted Miss Mae's path to the kitchen. She turned back to me, requesting, "Can you please open the door for me, honey? It must be my nephew." I nodded in acknowledgment.
I rose from the stiff couch, and as Miss Mae continued her journey to the kitchen, I walked toward the house's door and unlocked it, pushing it open. Before me stood a figure, towering over me more than usual. Time seemed to stand still, and I nearly stopped breathing. I looked up to see a man with lustrous blonde locks that cascaded effortlessly down to the top of his shoulders. Each strand danced in harmony with an unspoken rhythm, a subtle glint of a nose ring highlighting the sharp contours of his face, adding a touch of rebellion to an otherwise flawless visage. A strange sensation pulsed through my chest—something equivalent to desire. I disciplined myself; this isn't how I should be thinking.
Detailed tattoos decorated sinewy arms, telling a silent tale of a life lived on the edge. These inked masterpieces, glimpsed beneath the tailored sleeves of his clothing, hinted at an unknown past that only enhanced his mysteriousness.
His model-like features—chiseled jawline, piercing gaze, and sculpted physique—created an arresting combination that effortlessly captivated me. What the hell am I saying? My senses screamed at me to buckle down, but the irresistible appeal of this mysterious individual briefly clouded my judgment.
With a cigarette burning between his pink lips, his hazel eyes stared straight into mine. "Are you looking after my aunt?" With his voice rumbling from deep in his chest and the cigarette still clinging to his lips, he added, "I told her I would be here helping." He posed the query as though he didn't genuinely think it was true. I said, "No, sir, I am not," and I opened the door a little wider to let him in. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he tossed it to the ground and promptly crushed it between the bottom of his shining shoes. Knowing that not everyone knew who I was, was a relief.
He stepped in, and I closed the door behind him. The man arched his eyebrows as his icy gaze moved to the steps where the bags were lying. I was aware that he wished to ask me questions, but I owed him nothing. Instead, he walked right by me and into the tiny living room. It immediately clicked—her nephew was the one I made eye contact with at Miss Mae's Cafe, the day I questioned Amanda Gomber. I had no idea that a man like that could be Miss Mae's nephew—such a traditional woman. I seemed like Miss Mae hid him.
This city is too small.
"How many more tattoos are you going to keep getting, Ale?" As the nephew ventured farther inside the house, I heard Miss Mae cry out. I was snapped out of my reverie right away. I had never witnessed Miss Mae's mood swing so badly before. "Hello to you too, zia," the man greeted Miss Mae politely before embracing her. I decided to give them their time and went towards the stairs to pick up my bags for the temporary stay.
The conversation grew louder as I ascended the creaky stairs, and I stopped dead in my tracks. Looking at me, I turned to see Miss Mae and her nephew casually making their way to the edge of the stairs. Miss Mae told her nephew, "Ale, this is Detective Gauthen," with joy. "Detective, this is Alejandro," With his angular jaw clenched, this man's gaze caught my attention.
"Please, just call me Valerie." I offered, my tone steady despite the unexpected intensity in his gaze.
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Though my team was at work, I refused to call them. I couldn't bring myself to form the right sentence nor order to give them on how I am going to dig any deeper in this case. The information Miss Mae gave me in the afternoon had me rethinking everything. There were open folders all over the silk bed sheet, with no sense of order. For hours, I spent hours wandering the bedroom alone with my thoughts. I wasn't knocked out of my own head until there was a knock on the door. Shit. I debated whether or not to pack up this mess in the room as I looked at it. Another knock echoed through the room, narrowing my options.
I let everything be and strolled to the door, hesitantly opening it. The man standing over me greeted me. His eyes were fixed on me as if I were a raw piece of meat as I looked up at him. I couldn't get a word out because he began talking, "Zia was checking if you were okay."I answered prematurely, "Yes, I'm fine." There was a noticeable tension in the air. His expression was unreadable as he stared at me for an extended period of time. I shifted uneasily under his observation, the small space feeling smaller under his weight.
I kept the door open, only enough to show my head and a bit of my torso. He raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, but it immediately dropped, and a neutral expression settled onto his face. "Well, I am taking her out for some time; she said to make yourself at home. There's leftovers in the fridge," Alejandro elucidated, his eye contact so intense that I had to break away. "Thank you, I'll keep that in mind," I responded and was about to close the door when he stopped it with his foot.
"And if anything, an extra key is under the outdoor mat."
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