Deadhead: Bedhead Book 3

by Kayt Miller

  Chapter Nine

  Daisy

  I can’t believe I just said that. “I made cookies,” I say in a squeaky voice, making fun of myself. Ugh. I’m such an idiot. I could tell by Gage’s face that he wasn’t happy for the interruption. Hell, he looked downright angry about it.

  “Stupid, stupid Daisy.”

  Well, damn it, it couldn’t be helped. I heard voices in the hallway. Male voices. And I had to check it out—like I always do. When I saw him, I knew I had to do something. Not to mention I’d been meaning to make cookies. I’ve had all the ingredients for days, after all.

  No. I’m not going to beat myself up about it. Mom always said, “A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” For a long time, I didn’t understand what she meant. I thought it meant if a man needed heart surgery, the doctor had to cut through the stomach first, but as I got older and read more, I realized it was merely a figure of speech. She didn’t mean it literally.

  So that’s what I did, or at least what I’m trying to do. Or at least I tried to get to his heart with food. But, the two words I’d use to describe how that worked out?

  Epic. Fail.

  With a self-pitying sigh, I place the finished cookies in a plastic container and clean up my mess. I should have known he wasn’t interested in me that way. He’s just doing his job, and I happen to be a person who pays attention to what goes on around here. No doubt Officer Golden probably has a slew of women making him cookies.

  “Ugh. So embarrassing.”

  Why do I do things like that to myself?

  My last crush was…. I have to stop to think. My last crush was in high school. Chad Esther. He was in my precalculus class and was a wiz at math. Me, not so much. I passed it by the skin of my teeth. I really wanted to ask him to tutor me. I knew he struggled in English composition a little, so we could have helped each other out, but I chickened out. No matter. I heard he was married now, to a man. So there’s that. I hope he’s happy. I really do. He was nice.

  Now there’s Gage. I can’t very well ask him to tutor me. I snort aloud at my thought. “I made cookies,” I say again as I roll my eyes. “You are such a dork, Daisy.”

  With my kitchen tidied up, I decide to work on Dad’s book for a while. I’m nearly finished, thank goodness. Once it’s completed and edited, I need to figure out a way to break the news to my father that I’m done. I won’t be writing any more papers or books for him. Instead, I’ll be focusing on my plan—my goals. He’s not going to like it, but too bad.

  I’m able to concentrate on the writing for about an hour before turning back to Mom’s crap I was working on before making the cookies. I pull up my tall stool to continue. I’ve found the original Vogue magazine and several others published around the same time. Those I placed into a plastic container for safekeeping. The other, less important items, I’ve tossed into large black garbage bags. I’ve filled one and nearly have a second one ready to throw out when there’s a knock on my door.

  I’m immediately excited because it has to be Gage. Hopping off my stool, I make my way to the door. “Just a second,” I say in a singsong kind of voice. But when I pull the door open, my smile disappears.

  “Dad? What are you doing here?”

  I don’t wait for an answer, just turn on my heel and make my way into the apartment, leaving the door open for him.

  He shuts it on his way inside. “Wow, nice greeting, Daisy Fay.”

  I hate when he uses my first and middle name.

  “What’re you up to? Been writing?” His voice is all cheery and fake because he’s hoping I’ve been working on his book.

  “Some.”

  I sit on the tall stool and continue looking at each item in the stack to decide if it’s a keeper or not.

  I feel him next to me, watching me as I lean over and throw something away. “You finally getting rid of your mother’s shit?”

  Ignoring him would be ideal, but that’s impossible with Dorian Buchanan. “Going through it all.”

  “You’ve gotten rid of the boxes. Good.” From the corner of my eye, I see him nod. “Having all of that crap in here makes you look like a crazy person.”

  Ignore him, Daisy. “Uh-huh” is all I say.

  He moves to my desk and sits in my office chair, then wiggles the mouse to wake up my computer. It’s password protected, so he can’t see what I’ve got on my computer. “You gonna show me what you’ve written in the last week?”

  No. That’s what I’d like to say, but it won’t fly. Besides, the sooner I show him what I’ve got, the faster he’ll leave. Tossing another magazine into the trash bag, I stand and make my way to the desk. I pause in front of him, waiting for him to give me my chair. He rises but doesn’t go far, which makes me tense.

  Typing in my password, I make a mental note to change it again as soon as he leaves. Fortunately, the file is already open. Standing, I let him take the seat again so he can read what I’ve got. I know what’ll happen next. He’ll begin questioning some of my findings. He always does. Always. And 99 percent of the time, he’s wrong. Every once in a while, he’ll catch something I missed, but not very often.

  “I’m not sure about this paragraph.”

  See?

  “Which paragraph?” I ask as I reach for the folder that holds my research.

  “This one, about Hemingway’s sister, Ursula.”

  “What about her?” I already know what he’s going to say.

  “She didn’t kill herself. She died of cancer.”

  Yes, she did kill herself, but arguing with my father does no good. Instead, I open my research folder and pull out the information on Ursula. “Here.” I hand it to him. As he reads, I return to my stack.

  “I’ll be…,” he mumbles to himself.

  “Yep.”

  “What about—”

  I don’t know what he’s going to question next because there’s a knock on my door. I cringe.

  No. Not now.

  The last thing I want is my dad to see I’ve made cookies for someone. A man. But when the knock sounds again, I know I’ve got to get it before my father does.

  Quickly, I make my way to the door. Peeking out the peephole, I don’t see Gage. It’s the other one. Sighing, I pull the door open and put a fake smile on my face. “Oh, hey.” Like I’m surprised to see him.

  “I can’t stop thinking about the cookies,” he says with a smile. It’s a nice smile. Not as nice as Gage’s but still….

  “Sure.”

  I step into my kitchen to retrieve my plastic container when my dad hisses in my ear, “What the fuck is a cop doing here?”

  First of all, even though my dad is a cheat and a liar, he rarely cusses.

  “I made them cookies.”

  “Why is he here?”

  “Oh.” I can’t believe my father doesn’t know. “They’re across the hall, investigating.”

  “Investigating what?” He’s still whispering, sort of.

  “My neighbor was murdered.”

  Dad’s eyes grow round. “And you didn’t bother to call me?”

  I raise a brow. “Why would I?”

  “Because, Daisy.” He says my name with contempt. Like always. “You know why. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “It’s fine. Gage says—” Oops. I’m not going there.

  “Gage? Who the hell is Gage?”

  “I am.”

  We both turn to see the one and only Officer Gage Golden in all his police uniformed glory. Except he’s not wearing the same uniform as he did the first night. No. Today he’s in dress pants and shirt with a jacket. He looks nice.

  “You just let yourself in?” my dad snaps.

  “The door was open. Finch was inside.” Gage shrugs. “Plus, Daisy sounded distressed.”

  I did?

  “May I ask who you are, sir?” Gage asks.

  “No,” my dad says gruffly.

  Not wanting this to get out of hand, I say quickly, “This is my father, Dr. Dorian Buchanan.�
� He prefers I say the entire name. Hell, he prefers everyone say his entire name. The “doctor” part is very important to him.

  “Right.” Gage holds his hand out to my father, but Dad doesn’t move. It’s like he’s refusing to shake it.

  Doing my best to end this little standoff, I hand the entire container of cookies to Gage. “Here.” It’s sad, really. I love that container, but I can replace it. “Take these.”

  Gage reaches out and takes it. “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Thanks, Daisy.”

  From behind Gage, the other cop says, “Yeah. Thanks, Daisy.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I follow them both until they’re out the door. Shutting it behind them, I close my eyes, waiting for what’s to come. I don’t have to wait too long.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Daisy?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I say as I turn to face him.

  “Inviting strange men in here?” He points downward. “To my apartment?” The sneer on his face is ugly. Almost as ugly as he is in the inside. “I’ve warned you—”

  “I know.” I nod. “You’ll stop paying for this place if I can’t abide by your rules.” Which is why I’m moving. As soon as this book is done, I’m out of here.

  “That’s right.” He steps closer, lowering his voice as he goes. “I’ve warned you.”

  I nod. He has. Many times.

  “And yet here you are inviting men into my home.”

  “I—” What? I’m not sure what to say in response. “I’m sorry.” Don’t judge. The only reason I said that was to hopefully end this conversation so he’ll leave.

  “You should be.” Dad’s voice softens. “You should have told me about your neighbor.”

  “It was on the news.”

  “You know I don’t watch television.”

  No. My dad is one of those snobby people who thinks television is beneath him.

  “I’m sure it was in the paper.”

  “Don’t be impertinent, Daisy Fay.”

  “Sorry.” Not sorry. Please leave.

  “I need to go. I’ve got an interview.”

  Of course he does.

  Moving toward the door, he reaches for the knob, then turns his head. “No more guests.”

  “Right.” I nod. “I won’t.”

  “Promise?” he asks, and it sounds nice, but it’s actually loaded with something familiar.

  “Promise.” How will he know one way or the other? Hell, he didn’t even know my neighbor was murdered. And trust me, everyone knew about the murder, because things like that don’t happen in Ames, Iowa. Ever.

  Chapter Ten

  Gage

  “What was with that guy?” Finch asks as he bites into another cookie.

  “No idea.” Well, I do. Daisy alluded to the fact that she and her dad weren’t close. “There’s something familiar about him.”

  Finch shrugs. “He looks like your average old white guy.”

  Old? I wouldn’t call Dr. Buchanan old. Older, yes. From the little bit of gray in his hair and some wrinkles around his eyes, my guess is he’s in his late forties or early fifties. But why argue with a kid who’s twenty-three if he’s a day? “Yeah.” I reach for another cookie.

  “These are damn good,” Finch mumbles with his mouth full.

  He’s right. “They are.” Damn good. It makes me wonder what else she’s good at. You know, in the cooking arena.

  “She’s cute.” Finch seems to think I appreciate his opinion or something.

  “I hadn’t noticed.” Yes I had. Take today, for example. She had on another one of her giant sweatshirts, but this one sort of fell off one shoulder, revealing creamy skin and a black strap. It could have been a bra strap or one those tank tops women wear. Whatever it was, it was certainly distracting. Her shoulder looked narrow, and given the fact that she’s rather short, I’m not surprised the rest of her is compact. Sometimes, when she moves, I’ve caught a glimpse of body beneath all that fabric and what I’ve seen makes me smile. Curves. At least my hope is she’s got curves.

  Hope? Why would I hope? I can’t be thinking about Daisy Buchanan in any way other than as an eyewitness.

  I make a scoffing sound, which makes the human garbage disposal stop chewing for the first time since I opened up the container and ask, “What?”

  “Nothing.” Replacing the lid, I point to the bedroom. “Let’s keep going. I’d like to get home sometime tonight.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  We don’t find anything else in Kara Becker’s apartment. That doesn’t mean she didn’t keep things elsewhere, of course. I’d love to go through her bedroom in her father’s home, because we’re missing a significant item: her computer. Everyone’s got a computer. But I’ll need to check with the captain about that. I’d hope Kara’s father would give us access to her things at home, but who knows. He’s been a constant figure at the station since Kara’s death. He sits in the captain’s office waiting for updates which is sad. I feel for him, I really do, but he needs to take a little responsibility for the way Kara was. His help is needed. I’d like to sit down with Mr. Becker to get his insight into Kara’s activities the few months leading up to her death. There may be something he noticed that can help us understand her motives. I’d also like to know if he knew about her desire to move west.

  Sitting on my couch, I’m about to eat the last of the cookies. I stare down at the empty plastic container and frown. I’ve eaten a dozen cookies since she handed them to me, and while I’m full as a tick, I could eat more.

  “What did she put in these things?” I know they have chocolate chips and oatmeal. I also taste coconut along with some crunchy bits in them too. Nuts? Whatever it is, they taste like nothing I’ve ever eaten before. They’re addictive.

  Leaning my head back, I chew slowly so I can savor the last one. What Finch said was true for me too. It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten anything homemade. Sure, I cook for myself, but it’s nothing special and never anything sweet. I cook a protein and a vegetable almost every day. That’s about it.

  Sighing, I look at the empty container again. All that remains are crumbs. Maybe if I wash the container and give it back to her, she’ll fill it up again.

  What? It doesn’t hurt to be optimistic.

  Chapter Eleven

  Daisy

  “Hi?” I say it like it’s a question because it is. Why is Gage Golden at my door at eight in the morning?

  Not that I’m complaining.

  “Hey.” He smiles, and it lights up his whole face. He must be a morning person. Unlike me.

  That’s when I cringe remembering what I’m wearing. The world’s oldest pajama pants and a tight tank top. No bra.

  Sure, I should have thought through the opening of my door, but when I saw him through the peephole, I grabbed the doorknob and wrenched it open. No thinking done whatsoever.

  Crossing my arms to hide my chest, I step behind the door a little bit. “Hi.” This time it’s not a question.

  “I brought you back your container.” Looking down, I see his outstretched hand. It’s holding the now empty cookie container.

  “Wow, you guys ate them all? Already?” Taking it from him, I hold it in front of my chest like a shield

  With a sexy chuckle, Gage says, “I had to fight Finch for the last few.”

  I blush because, well, that was a cool thing for him to say. “You liked them?”

  I’m holding my breath waiting to hear what he’s about to say.

  He leans in closer and lowers his voice like he’s telling me a secret. “Those were the best damn cookies I’ve ever had, Daisy.”

  Holy shit-balls. Whenever he says my name, my nipples get hard. Sorry if that was a little too much info, but it’s true. He says my name, and it’s like I don’t mind it. My name, that is. For years, ever since I read The Great Gatsby, I’ve hated my name. Like detested it. But that changed the day Gage Golden l
et it cross his lips—his sexy, sexy lips—so now I’d like to thank my father for the gift.

  Wait… what?

  No. I won’t thank my father for any of that. I’ll just be thankful he liked my cookies.

  “Well, if you liked those, you should try my brownies.”

  What the hell am I thinking? I want to punch myself in the throat. Pathetic much, Daisy?

  “Well, if you’d like anyone to taste test one of your recipes, I volunteer.”

  Wow. Wow-wow-wow. “How ’bout dinner?”

  “Uh, what?” he stammers.

  “I’ll make you dinner.”

  “Oh.” He moves back one giant step. The most giant step I’ve ever seen. “I don’t think….”

  “Right.” I feel the heat on my cheeks. It’s like fire. “Of course you wouldn’t want that—”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I would. It’s just—” He looks to his left. Toward Kara’s apartment.

  “Oh. Okay. I see. The investigation.”

  Nodding, he says what I already know. “You’re an eyewitness.”

  “Sure. Sure. I get it.” Not really. I mean, I’m not a suspect. Right?

  “But after?” Why does he suddenly sound so unsure? Is he just trying to make me feel better?

  “No. You don’t need to do that.”

  “I want to.” A small smile crosses his lips. “I bet you’re a great cook.”

  And there you have it. He’s just hungry.

  That fact sucks donkey balls.

  “I’m an okay cook.” I’m being modest. The fact is I’m a great cook. My mom taught me. But now’s not the time to brag, especially when I’m lining up a pity date. Yay, me.

  “So your dad didn’t like me.”

  I’m caught off guard by his comment. “My dad doesn’t like anyone in my apartment.” His apartment.

  “I suppose that’s normal. But you’re an adult.”

  “That’s what my birth certificate says.” I snort and regret it the minute it happens.

  Gage steps closer to me, reversing the mammoth step he just took away from me. “Look, Daisy.” His voice is tentative. I’m not sure I want to hear this. “I’d love to have dinner with you—after this case is solved.”