by Ellen Parker
“We have multiple witnesses that put you in the area. Multiple. Reliable.” She stared at him in a dare.
Basil twitched his shoulders and stared back.
“Is this one of your business associates?” She slid a glossy color enlargement of Daniel Larson’s DMV photo across the table.
He blinked. “I don’t have to answer.”
“These molds tested positive for traces of high-quality ecstasy.” She set another photo on top of the first. “Molds with a monogram matching the tablets found on your person, on several of your associates, and on the premises of your arrest early Saturday morning. One week after you were seen in my jurisdiction. Exactly one week after Daniel Larson, manufacturer of illegal drugs, was murdered.”
“I’ve never killed anyone.” Basil’s words escaped before he could seal his lips.
“What’s your shoe size, Mr. Berg?”
“My … Why do you need to know?” Basil did a mental scramble. The rain should have destroyed his footprints outside. Had he stepped in a puddle of the spilled liquid in the barn? He’d tried to be careful. Right now he couldn’t even be sure which shoes he’d worn. He thought it was the engineer boot with the smooth sole, but he wasn’t sure. Or did the sheriff enjoy tossing stuff against the wall until something stuck?
“I’d like a moment with my client.”
“What about it, Mr. Berg? Will five minutes with a lawyer solve your problems?”
Basil moistened his lips. “I don’t need it. I’m done talking.”
“Silence speaks volumes, Mr. Berg. We’ll be talking again. Soon.”
What did she have? The nervous itch across his tattoo begged for a scratch. Daniel had been long past medical help when he’d found him. The additional kick or two from Basil hadn’t made a difference between life and death. The orchard owner did the beating. Daniel’s own words in the notebook gave more than enough motivation. Besides, he’d been careful not to leave fingerprints in the barn. The only time he’d even touched Daniel was to check for a pulse. He’d found gloves before he moved the body. Gloves he burned in a fire pit later that night. They couldn’t have physical evidence that put him in the barn.
Linc, the orchard owner and man sheltering Mona Smith, was the guilty party, the one who should be under arrest.
Chairs scraped against concrete and he looked up in time to see the two interrogators stand.
You’re looking at the wrong man.
Chapter Nineteen
Mona twisted and kicked. The figure in her dream wrapped tighter around her arm. She jerked and screamed. Again and again she flailed out at the shadow, backing away into the unknown.
Plop. “Ow. Oh.”
She opened her eyes and lay panting while the dream faded. A round support came into view. A pole? Two blinks later she recognized the futon leg and started to feel a throb in her hip. Stupid nightmare. She sighed. Her legs and arms were tangled in the bed sheet and she started to work one hand around to find the edge.
“Hey.” Linc’s voice followed two light taps on the door. “You okay in there?”
“Give me a minute.” Her fingers hurried and she kicked the bottom of her cotton cocoon loose. “Door’s open.”
“What? Let me help you.” He stood for a moment in the doorway, his face in shadow.
I invited him in? “No, I can do this.” She pulled up and sat on the edge of her bed using the tangled sheet like a shield. “Only a dream. Nightmare after a hard day.”
“It sounded serious from the other side of the wall.”
“Sorry if I woke you.” She looked at him and her throat clogged with frozen air. He stood backlit and beautiful. Running shorts, the only clothing he wore, displayed well-shaped muscles on long arms and legs. Previous hints of strength through his regular wear faded. She lowered her gaze and concentrated on straightening the sheet.
“No problem. I wasn’t sleeping much.” He moved forward, reached past her, and turned on the desk lamp.
She stared at her toes, red polish intact, peeking out. “Do I want to know the time?”
“Four, give or take.” He settled on the far end of her bed.
“I’m worried about Matt.” She grabbed the first topic to pop into her mind. Anything to keep her from reaching out and wrapping her body around Linc. Her arms ached to hold the real man a hundred times stronger than in the final minutes before she’d fallen asleep.
Linc nodded. “Clarence White called the prison. I don’t think we can do more.”
“I want to visit him.”
“Impossible.”
She blew out a long, steady stream of air. Going to see Matt, the only way she’d feel reassured of his health, was forbidden by the terms of her bail. She and Linc were restricted to six of the western Wisconsin counties. The judge, or prosecutor, or both considered the map and permitted them enough geographical space to travel the primary routes from Eau Claire to Wagoner and Crystal Springs. “I know. But—”
“He’s your brother. Your family.”
“All I have left.”
Quiet settled like a welcome guest in the dim light. Mona continued to loosen her binding and checked that her extra-large T-shirt covered all the vital parts before she allowed the sheet to drop to her waist. “I’m sorry I woke you. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”
“Whoa there. We’re in this together. Remember those vows before God and selected witnesses today? Or rather, yesterday.”
“We have a business deal masquerading as a marriage.” She risked a long, careful look at him. An invitation to move close and rest against his bare chest radiated out, threatened to pull her in like a nail drawn to a magnet. She moved her legs up and wrapped both arms around her knees. “I’m a public wife.” A momentary glance away from him allowed her to steady her voice. “And that’s okay. We’ve known each other such a short time.”
“Short, but intense.” He lifted one end of the sheet from the floor and untwisted a portion. “You … forced me out of a rut. Gave me … new experiences?”
“Is that what you’re calling a night in jail?” A smile argued with seriousness within her mouth.
“I’m not great with words.”
“I’ve noticed.” Mona listened to her heart beating triple loud. Could he hear it? Silence between them occurred often, the vast majority of their quiet moments best described as companionable and easy. This moment nagged at her and sent a mixture of energy and caution to her nerves. They sat on a bed in a dim room. Neither of them wore an abundance of clothes. And—she pressed her lips tight—there was that wedding this afternoon. Yesterday. And Basil. She shivered at the memory of the attempted kidnapping.
“My chances of any more sleep are zero. What about you?”
“Not worth a try.” Please leave. She wanted temptation to walk away, take a cold shower, or give her the opportunity for one.
“Tell me about the photos.” He pointed to the desk.
“Mother on the left. Granny and Grandpa Chen behind the cracked glass.” Relax. He’s earned the right to ask about family. She busied her hand with the sheet, welcomed an excuse not to look at him. Too much inviting skin.
“Nice.” He went to the desk and picked up her mother’s picture. “What was her name?”
“Christine.”
He whispered the full name, Christine Chen Smith, twice before setting the photo down. “You’ve mentioned your grandmother. Why not grandpa?”
“I barely remember him. He died a long time ago.” She stared at the crack in the glass that gave an appearance of a scar across the man’s neck. Anger at the scene in her apartment bubbled and threatened to erupt. She willed a happier memory forward: sitting on his lap, holding her yellow rabbit, and learning math in Cantonese. “The year I turned five.”
“It’s hard to remember five. Did you go to kindergarten?”
“Couldn’t understand why Matt didn’t go with me. We’d been inseparable.” She hooked wayward hair behind an ear. “He’s fourteen months younger.
I think I’ve been looking out for him since he started to walk. And get in trouble.”
He squatted in front of her. “Hey. A dependable older sister is good for a boy. Madison saved me time-outs and swats on the behind any number of times.” He lifted her chin with one finger until they their eyes aligned. “No apologies for nightmares. Got it?”
She blinked understanding and permitted her lips to curve into a smile. If he held his finger against her skin for another ten seconds she’d not be responsible for her arms wrapping around him.
“I’ll dress for a run and be back in half an hour.”
“Good.” She pushed her open fingers through her hair. “I mean, that’s fine. You haven’t been able to run.” Her mouth refused to form sensible words with all the pheromones colliding in the air. “I’ll have the coffee ready when you return.”
“Hey. This snarl in our life will be long forgotten in a hundred years.”
Her laugh refused to be held back. An arrest, night in jail, wedding, and assault demanded more attention than tangled string. He put too much confidence in lawyers and the justice system. Perhaps she did the opposite. “Go. Run. Today we’ve work to do.”
Five minutes later Mona stepped into the shower and turned on a blast of cold water. She soaped, shampooed, and rinsed while her thoughts attempted to organize the different slices of her life.
The career girl insisted on first place. She itched for a return to restaurant work and school. In good moments she’d imagine framed diplomas on an office wall, impressing new hires and salesmen. It would be her place. Either as franchise owner or an independent café—Mona Smith’s dream come true.
Matt’s image drifted into her thoughts and reminded her of family obligations. He didn’t deserve his current sentence. And he needed protection from the remnants of Basil’s organization. Yes, Matt earned the title of thief. He was guilty of several instances of burglary and many other sins. She refused to believe he’d assaulted the elderly homeowner, the charge that sent him from county jail to state prison. How could she help remove the darkest layer of grime from him? Certainly not with a high-priced lawyer. Debt from their mother’s final, short illness threatened to gobble her income and small, positive credit rating.
Linc’s wife. The role would challenge a drama major. Starting today, with Lorraine, she’d smile, avoid direct comment on the wedding night, and pretend to be in love with him. She’d be dutiful and move to the farm when all the inheritance dust settled. Out of necessity, she’d learn to drive. The list of things to do and learn looked endless from this vantage point. Find a job with an easy commute. Enroll in the nearest restaurant management program and deal with transferring credits. Learn more about apples than cooking them.
No apologies for nightmares. How much of this morning had been an act? His appearance in her room soothed her nerves after the dream and embarrassing fall out of bed. In the light of day he could be, already was, a friend. And the rest of the time?
She wrapped a towel around her body and headed back to her bedroom. Assembling a life out of this mess would be more complicated than a thousand-piece puzzle without the aid of the picture on the box. Not even a descriptive paragraph to aid her.
She addressed the family photos as she shook out her last clean shirt. “Any proverbs for me, Granny Chen?”
• • •
Too close. Linc jogged up a long slope and focused on the parking lot at the top. He ran toward the east, where the sky started to show a faded gray ahead of actual sunrise.
Slap. Slap. Slap. His running shoes hit against asphalt in a steady rhythm. He listened and shook his head. Not enough runs. Out of routine. He pushed forward and counted on one hand the number of morning exercise sessions since Mona ran into his life. A few paces later he turned into the parking lot and paused long enough to do a few resistance stretches against a light pole.
“Business agreement. Public marriage.” Did she have any idea how close to the edge this morning took me? Mona, rumpled, tangled, and lost in a faded shirt matched the appeal of the shorts, jeans, or swirl of her dress. Wedding dress. He smiled as the image of Mona holding the damaged shoe after her tussle with Basil surfaced.
What had Daryl called her before he left the police station yesterday? Charming dynamo? Well, he’d agree with the charm in a blink. Her lips, her eyes, came within a leaf’s thickness of undoing all his calm, rational words of the past two weeks the instant he touched her chin this morning. The memory of it heated his lips. Why didn’t I kiss her? Pick her up and carry her to my bed?
If I ever find out you forced a woman you’ll answer to the both of us. His dad’s voice circled in warning mode. Linc trotted along the path leading toward home—and temptation.
Each breath along the rest of his run included a little determination to do this right. Stand by his legal wife. Support without smothering. And don’t touch in private. His shoulders sagged under the weight of it.
“Coffee smells delicious,” he called from the foyer before closing the door behind him.
“It’s just getting started.” Mona’s voice beckoned him like water attracts roots during a drought.
He hesitated on the bottom step. No, he’d already argued that topic, less than a minute ago. “I’ll be up after a shower.”
“Sounds good.”
Her voice echoed in Linc’s brain as he hurried through a shower and shave. As he pulled on clean work clothes he remembered her face when he’d first turned on the lamp in her room. What did she imagine I slept in? In an instant his mind put new sleepwear over her petite, athletic frame. Near nothing. I’d like short and sheer. And red. For good luck.
Mona stood at the stove and tipped scrambled egg mixture into the pan. “Was it a good run today?”
“Overdue. I’ve missed too many in the past couple of weeks.” Since you swept into my life with your plea to pretend. “Tulips at the dental clinic are over. Lilacs are especially good this year.”
“Flowers again. I’m not used to your references yet.”
“I figured I’d go in a little early today. Might be a good day to catch up on the greenhouse things before I start the client route.”
“Lorraine won’t need me at the Polk Street house until nine. I’ll take the bus. Save you the bother of taking me.”
“It’s not a bother.” He’d enjoy her company as he organized pots and mixed plant food. He poured juice for two and risked a careful look at her eyes. The physical, lustful portion of him awakened again. He glanced away before he did something reckless, like pull her away from the stove and carry her down to his bed until noon—tomorrow. “Have you figured out the buses already? You only got the pass Friday.”
“And I intend to use it. I checked the website and made a few notes. I’ll be fine. I’ve been getting on the bus by myself since first grade.”
“Not here.”
She released a little musical laugh and tended the eggs. “You worry too much.”
“You’re my wife. I think it’s in the job description.”
“I don’t remember ‘worry’ as part of the vows.”
He added napkins to the holder between their place settings and searched his memory for the exact words they’d decided to include. “It’s implied. Invisible glue between honor and cherish.”
“Drink more coffee. You’re not awake if you think worry is glue.”
“I’ll call you around noon, when I get a break between clients.” He waited for her to settle in her chair before he dug into his eggs. “How many days before the estate sale?”
Mona chewed and swallowed a bite of toast. “Three, counting today. The auction company will come in on Friday afternoon and take over.”
“And Saturday? Do you need to be there?”
“I doubt it. I’ve been the unskilled labor. I don’t know much about the value of the dishes and furnishings.” She traced an index finger along the mug handle. “I might walk into it all done today. I’ve been gone long enough.”
; “You look skilled to me. I need to spend Saturday at the orchard. Will you come? We’ll have access to the bathroom in the house.” He sipped coffee.
“Tempting me with indoor plumbing?”
He grinned. “I called the Larsons and they don’t mind, even promised to move Daniel’s things out by the end of the month.”
“You went to a lot of effort if you called Daniel’s family. Considering the arrest and everything, I’m surprised they spoke to you.”
“I’d really like your company.” He glanced into the bottom of his mug while he organized his thoughts. How do you explain relationships of a lifetime in a sentence or two? “Joe Larson, his wife, and the rest of the family are decent people. I’ve never quarreled with any except Daniel.”
“How many of the locals know about the arrest?”
“All of them.” He walked to the coffee maker and returned with the carafe. “Instant communication is a hallmark of small towns like Crystal Springs. It’s as fast as the Internet and about as accurate.”
“Then maybe we should put in an appearance at the local tavern. I don’t want it rumored that you married a two-headed crone for money.”
Chapter Twenty
Mona set the last of the empty gas cans in the van and walked toward the farm house. Twilight masked the flaws Linc pointed out during an introduction earlier in the day. The need for a new coat of paint and the mismatch of shingles where emergency repairs had been made blended into shadows. It’s a grand house. With two stories, two full baths, and four bedrooms it was larger than anything she’d lived in. Even the place they rented years ago, when her dad lived with them—three small bedrooms, one bath, and a screened porch—paled aside this one.
Will I ever live in it? She swallowed hard, trying again to banish the fear that the county prosecutor would continue with the murder charges. In the daylight she realized that Daryl Frieberg and Clarence White had asked questions and looked in all the right places to find evidence to clear them. Then every night visions of jail and separation from Linc intruded. By morning her pillowcase wore a damp spot from tears. So far she’d not been able to decide if she cried for Linc, Matt, or herself.
