An Unfinished Story(76)

Zeke looked at Whitaker for the first time. “I know you.”

“Oh yeah?” Whitaker said, his ego grinning.

“Yeah, you’re the barista from down the street, right? Made my iced cappuccino this morning?”

Claire froze, unsure of how to react. She kind of wanted to laugh.

Whitaker’s face went white. “Uh, no, actually, I’m not a baristo.” Slicing a hand through the air, he added, “Wrong guy.” A nervous chuckle followed.

Zeke grinned. “I’m kidding. I loved your book.”

A handsome smile rose on Whitaker’s face, accepting defeat in this quick game of wit. He reached for Zeke’s hand. “Well played, sir. Well played.”

The three shared a laugh, and several other of David’s former coworkers herded around them. After more hugs and introductions, Zeke asked, “What are you doing here, by the way? You should stop in more often. We miss you.”

Claire took the floor, feeling David’s old life circling around her, watching her. She wanted them to see she was doing better. “We’re trying to get to the bottom of something and need your help.” She cast her eyes toward the others. “It’s a long story, but I’m trying to find a boy David apparently knew.” Claire dug into her purse. “We found this picture in his desk yesterday.”

Claire handed the photograph to Zeke, and the other coworkers squeezed in around him to take a peek.

“That’s Oliver,” Zeke said.

Claire’s heart buckled.

Whitaker stepped toward her and put a kind hand on her lower back.

“Yeah,” a woman named Eliza agreed, looking at Claire. Eliza had joined the firm the same year as David and was a similar age to Claire, so they’d gravitated toward each other at work events and found they shared similar political views. “David caught him breaking into a man’s car.”

“That’s weird. He didn’t tell me. When was this?” Claire asked.

“Gosh,” Eliza said, her freshly applied lip gloss glistening. “Maybe a year before . . . you know.” Eliza shook her head. “David made Oliver track down the owner and pay him back for the broken window.”

“Yeah,” Zeke said, “David actually gave him a few small jobs around here to make the money.”

“What kind of jobs?” Claire asked.

“A little bit of everything. Cleaning windows. Picking up trash. Washing our cars. Oliver was only eleven or twelve or something. So he wasn’t a huge help, but he was a good kid, under the circumstances. From what David told me, Oliver had been dealt a pretty bad hand.”

Whitaker stepped in. “How long was Oliver hanging around here?”

Eliza lifted a shoulder. “Not long. A few weeks. I’m surprised David never mentioned him to you.”

Claire’s voice cracked. “I am too.”

Everyone was silent. Treading so closely to the topic of David’s death was dangerous business.

Claire once again found herself at the center of a pity party and didn’t like the feeling. Before it got weird, she offered the best explanation. “Probably just another day in the life at the office.” Sometimes, when she’d asked about David’s day at work, he had said something to the effect of, “Just another day in the life. I’d rather leave it at the office and focus on us.”

Zeke returned the photograph. “I didn’t know about him taking Oliver to a baseball game. Actually, I didn’t know he’d hung out with him outside of the few times here.”

Everyone shook their heads, assuring her they didn’t know either.

“That’s the Orioles stadium down in Sarasota, right?” Zeke asked.

Claire nodded.

“What a cool thing to do for him,” Zeke said. “Taking him to a baseball game.”

She smiled, trying to ignore the thoughts of betrayal. Of course, David had had a life at this office that she hadn’t always been caught up with. That was the way office life was. But still. Helping a young boy was the kind of thing he would have mentioned over dinner. Unless he was hiding it to protect her. Her stomach churned.

Claire wasn’t thinking clearly. She looked at Whitaker, encouraging him to take over.

Whitaker read her look and asked Zeke and the others, “Where is Oliver? Or where was he? Any idea how we can find him?”

“Yeah,” Eliza said, apparently eager to get a word in. “I don’t know if he’s still there, but David said he was living in a group home down the street, that big gray house with the white columns. Actually, I saw it for the first time shortly after David died. For a second, I thought I should go tell Oliver the news of David’s passing, but I didn’t know they were still in touch.” At Whitaker’s urging, Eliza shared specific directions.

“What’s this all about?” Zeke asked. “Trying to learn more about David?”

Claire suppressed a rising sadness and looked at everyone. She didn’t want them to see her fragility. Sticking the photograph back into her purse, Claire said, “David was writing a book when he died. About a man helping save a child from a group home. Now we know his novel was inspired by Oliver.”

Zeke looked at Claire and then Whitaker. “So now we know why you’re standing here.”

“Yeah, Whitaker is helping me research the story.”