Speak Easy Speak Danger

by Sharon G Clark

  “You mean we. You’re not alone in this, honey.” Tessa clasped a hand in Jo’s. “First, you come to dinner tomorrow night, with Warren and me. Let him see for himself how wonderful you are, how important you are to me.” Tessa locked the front door, turned the window sign to the “closed” side, and tugged their joined hands. “I’d like to go to my apartment and spend more time kissing.”

  Jo smiled as they walked through the shop to the stairs. “Do you think we need to practice?”

  Tessa snickered. “Heck no. I was thinking more along the lines of refining the methods. Find a way to last all day without needing to take breaths in between.”

  “That’s quite the undertaking.”

  “Think you’re up for it?” Tessa asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I may have been labeled as being an overachiever from time to time. One thing you should also know about me is that I do love a challenge.”

  “And I do love kissing you. Wouldn’t want to be the cause of you failing a challenge.”

  Jo laughed. They’d reached Tessa’s apartment. Jo shifted, which allowed her and Tessa to gaze at one another. “When you look at me, Tessa, I get all warm inside. One thing I know for certain, I can and want to do everything for you, with you.”

  “I’ve never been this important to someone before,” Tessa said, tears building in her eyes.

  When a lone tear fell, Jo carefully wiped it away with the pad of her thumb. She gently tugged Tessa to the couch. “Careful, sweetheart. Tears could drown us before we’ve accomplished our pursuit of the day-long kiss.”

  Tessa pulled Jo into a tight hug, and her tears flowed freely. Jo suspected their kissing-fest had turned into simple bonding time. What the heck, hugging was wonderful too.

  Jo heard her name called from the front of the barn’s workshop. She stopped planing the cabinet door and looked up to see Randall standing outside. She waved him in, but he didn’t budge. Jo knew he was upset with finding her and Tessa in an embrace, but she wouldn’t deny her affection for Tessa. She’d told Randall many times they’d never be more than friends. If his feelings were hurt, too bad, as he should have heeded her warning. Jo didn’t have time to coddle bruised feelings from some unfounded expectations he may have about them.

  She just hoped he didn’t tell the wrong people. People who could make life more difficult for them. People who could harm them as Fiona was hurt. “No time for games. Randall, I’ve things to finish.”

  He must have sensed where her thoughts had taken her. “No, Jo. It’s about Ethel Walters, her murder.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled. Was this how it would be? Were her and her family automatic suspects because they didn’t conform to normal expectations, so they must be criminals? Well, so be it, she certainly wasn’t going to make it easier for him. Jo put down the plane, dusted her hands on her coverall pant legs, and walked toward Randall.

  Randall glanced at her with hurt in his eyes. “It’s still not what you think, Jo.”

  “Then tell me what it is.” Jo had no intention of making this easy for him. If he had even a remote belief that he could use their friendship to bully her into his affections, he was in for a surprise. “Because I have things to do, Patrolman Braddock.”

  “Can we take a little walk?” asked Randall. There was another flash of hurt, which he quickly masked. They walked to the back of the barn and paused. The grass was higher here. Jo made a mental note to add yard work to her list of things to do around the house. She’d neglected a lot of things in place of time spent in town with Tessa. She leaned against the building and shoved her hands into her pockets.

  “Let’s get the obvious issue out of the way.” Randall mimicked her posture and leaned against the structure beside her, but not close enough to touch her. “I saw it, Jo, before your walls went up. And I’ve been thinking.”

  She suspected what he meant but didn’t acknowledge it. “Saw what?”

  He shook his head and grinned. “Okay, right to it faster.” Randall looked out across their property. “Your heart beaming across your face as you held Tessa. The look I’ve hoped you’d someday have for me.”

  “Randall—”

  “Wait, Jo, let me get this out. Your affection was never meant to be mine. Yeah, I thought I could overlook the fact you didn’t share my love the same way. Considered sharing you, even. If you were my wife, I’d keep you safe from the verbal and physical reactions of people, and you could—very discreetly— have your liaisons. But the more I obsessed about it, the more I realize I wouldn’t want you to provide me the same attention. Sounds silly, but I believed, over time, you’d realized you’re meant for me. Realize your attraction to women was a phase. Now I see I’m a fool.” Jo glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His expression reflected open honesty. “No way your emotions when you held Tessa would ever be mine. I don’t think it makes you a bad person, Jo, but I can’t say I understand how this happens.”

  “Are you dissolving our friendship?” She pushed away from the barn. “You will if you harm Tessa in any way.”

  Randall’s expression was, at first, confused. “What?” Then he seemed to understand. “No, Jo. You’ve been my friend for four years, looking after me, the weird kid, the kid you befriended when others teased me mercilessly. Even throughout all the torturous attacks. I never wanna lose our bond. Heck, you gave me the guts to be a cop.” Randall pulled his hands from his pockets, crossed his arms over his chest. “I get it. And, as your friend, I’ll look out for you, both of you.”

  “I’m confused, Randall. Why couldn’t you say this in the barn?”

  He stared at her so hard, as if to gauge, anticipate her reaction. “I don’t want anyone to see me warn you and your family. You need to be more cautious.” Randall inhaled and exhaled deeply. When he spoke again, he lowered his voice. “I was at the station when your sister’s friend came in, trying to explain his hobo theory.”

  Theory. So, Randall didn’t believe them either. She shouldn’t be surprised. “You don’t believe them?”

  “Actually, we do. A couple of us new guys checked out the areas of the murders.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  Randall nodded. “We went over the reports, too. The first murders all appear to be committed by the same person.” He paused. “Jo, the hobo signs are near every attack, and Mr. Tirrell saw someone at Mrs. Walters’s place, but we don’t think the killer is the same one for the Walters murder.”

  “You think there is more than one killer?” Jo knew Fiona believed the same.

  Closing the gap between them, Randall leaned close. “We rookies,” he gave a self-deprecating chuckle, “think Ethel was killed by someone she knew well. She had marks around her neck indicative of strangulation. Beneath the rope marks from her hanging. No other defensive wounds. You’d think there would be if a stranger came after you. Also, the other victims weren’t hung. Only Ethel. The other women were all killed inside the home from strangulation, yes, but left inside their homes. And they had skin and blood under their nails, and other bruising.”

  Jo digested this information. Had Ethel been killed by someone she knew? Is this someone closer to home? That could only mean— “You can’t possibly believe Nicholas or one of us killed Ethel?”

  She must’ve raised her voice considerably because Randall glanced around anxiously and said, “Shush, Jo, let me finish.”

  Reigning in her anger, but only a tad, Jo said, “Make it quick, Randall. You’re straining any remaining semblance of our friendship.”

  “I’m out of line here—”

  “Really?”

  “Listen. I meant with checking this. Me and the guys are using our time. But we got a problem. Sergeant Langford got wind of it, and he’s not happy. Ordered us to back off, and toot-sweet.”

  Jo wasn’t surprised. She didn’t understand why, but Warren didn’t appear to appreciate anyone with the Cavanaugh name, and subsequently, anyone ass
ociated with them. “You did what you could. I don’t want you or your friends getting into trouble. I appreciate you letting me know.”

  “No, that’s still not it. It made us more curious. We’ll be careful not to work on this at the station, but no way we’re giving up.” He grabbed her hand, which startled her, but she didn’t pull away any further than the startled flinch. “I came so that you can choose how you tell your family.” Randall squeezed her hand just short of painful, and said vehemently, “Just be careful. Fiona and Nicholas may not be safe. Maybe they’re just in danger of Sarge’s anger, but,” he shook his head, “I think it’s worse than just pissing him off.”

  “You think Warren would hurt them?” Jo felt the knot of tension clenched in her stomach. Would Warren be that petty? That spiteful? That dangerous?

  “One more thing, Jo.” Crap, there’s more? “It’s obvious you care very much for Tessa. Heck, the signs were all over both of you yesterday. If it turns out Warren is just an asshole, then we all live with that. If Warren isn’t as clean as he should be, this household isn’t the only thing in harm’s way. The damage could hurt Tessa. You need to prepare for that.”

  Jo nodded. This information was unexpected. They needed a family meeting. Talk all of this out. On top of the list of things to do, Jo would need to prepare for any backlash on Tessa.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fiona was right where Margaret expected she’d find her. What she hadn’t planned was finding Brigid, Richard, and Nicholas in the workshop with her. She watched them from the large open doorway. Nicholas had presented Richard with an older camera, a Kodak 2A Folding Autographic Brownie, as he’d explained to them earlier in the week. Nicholas provided suggestions and pointers as Richard aimed the lens at Fiona, who went through a myriad of crazy expressions as she posed for the giggling child. Richard laughed so hard he could barely hold the camera.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Brigid said, lifting Richard into her arms. “Time for lunch and a nap.”

  “’Togaffers don’t take naps,” Richard whined. He looked at Nicholas.

  “Rules are rules,” Nicholas said. “Even for photographers.”

  “We can always finish later,” Fiona said, kissing Richard’s forehead. Margaret smiled, warmth from love flooded her. Fiona was good with him, with a lot of children, and she didn’t even realize she drew them like flies to sugar. Of course, if awareness were about positive attributes, Fiona never recognized them in herself. If she didn’t already love Fiona deeply and dearly, watching her with Richard would have been a clincher.

  “Afternoon, Margaret,” Nicholas said, slinging his satchel strap over his head, his Seneca Competitor camera in hand, and following behind Brigid and Richard. “We’re off for a nap.”

  “Enjoy.”

  He grinned, then winked. “All of us will enjoy the time, except the one going down for the nap.” Nicholas glanced back at Fiona. “Thanks for letting us interrupt your work.”

  Once they left, Margaret went to Fiona and pulled her in for a kiss. She increased the pressure, hands exploring every muscular contour of her wife’s body. Gosh, she’d missed this. Fiona gently caressed Margaret’s breast, thumb brushing across the nipple until it peaked. Maybe Fiona had missed the intimacy too. Margaret deepened their kiss until the need for air forced them apart. They maintained contact, Margaret’s hands rested on Fiona’s shoulders, Fiona’s hands around her waist.

  Fiona’s honey-gold eyes grew hooded. “What was that for?” She frowned. “I didn’t miss a birthday, did I? An anniversary?”

  Margaret slapped her shoulder, lightheartedly. “I wouldn’t be kissing you if you had, silly.”

  Fiona’s expression fell. “Then I guess you want to talk.” She attempted to pull away, but Margaret held her tighter.

  “I know you’re having nightmares and migraines,” Margaret said. “I suspect there’s something more. Why won’t you tell me?” She squeezed her eyes shut. Heart pounding in anticipated distress, she asked, “Are you leaving me?”

  “What? No. Margaret, no.” This time she was the one who pulled away, and Fiona let her. Was Fiona distancing herself with her actions, if not her words? “How can you ever think that let alone ask?”

  Margaret barked an unexpected laugh. “How can I not, Fiona? We’ve had over four great years of sharing, loving, and growing. Of trusting. We used to trust one another.”

  “We still do. I still trust you,” Fiona said, yet her voice faltered. Margaret couldn’t say which emotion caused it.

  “You can’t trust me, or you’d tell me what’s been going on with you. Instead, you’re spending more and more time here in the workshop.”

  Margaret focused on the cluttered workbench of tools, multi-sized pieces of wood cuttings, and three new music boxes. Two appeared completed, one still waiting for the installment of the inner workings. The carvings were exquisite. The final product was a remarkable work of art. These were a new side to Fiona’s work, one Margaret hadn’t seen before now.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, so I can’t fix it. You’re distancing yourself, which makes me believe you don’t want to fix the problem.” Margaret bit her lower lip, hoping to control an emotional breakdown, one she’d bottled up for months, from overtaking her. “Have I lost you, Fiona?”

  How would Margaret survive if she had, when her life, her heart, wasn’t complete without Fiona? But what right did she have to keep her hold on Fiona if Fiona didn’t want her? Margaret turned away unwilling to be so vulnerable, not wanting tears to be the catalyst for Fiona staying when she didn’t want to do so. “I love you too much to bind you to a relationship you don’t want. I won’t keep you in my life like that, honey. But please,” Margaret said, ignoring the pleading tone in her voice. “Can I know what I’ve done wrong?”

  Only a moment passed before the warmth of Fiona’s body encased her back. The arms wrapped around her waist trembled. Fiona’s face pressed against the side of hers, wet with tears. “You have done nothing wrong, my love. It’s me being so afraid. Afraid of losing control of things I never had control over in the first place. Afraid of losing you to my helplessness.”

  What? Confused, Margaret turned in Fiona’s embrace until standing front to front, her arms wrapped around Fiona. Gazing into Fiona’s eyes, Margaret saw the raw fear glaring back at her. “Helplessness? I don’t understand.”

  Fiona squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Too long a moment as far as Margaret’s pulse was concerned. “You’re aware of the nightmares, the migraines, and recognize they’ve been getting worse.” Margaret nodded when Fiona paused to gather herself, indicated by the shaky inhalation of breath. “What you don’t know is the blindness during and after the bouts of migraines.” Fiona’s anguish insinuated every syllable. “I don’t know what’s happening or how to fix it. How am I to protect you, support you without my sight? I’ll be a burden.”

  Blindness? No wonder Fiona acted so distantly. Fiona was processing things as only she could—in private. “Oh baby, you shouldn’t have tried dealing with this on your own.”

  Fiona’s torment was evident, and she drew away from Margaret, swiping roughly at her eyes with the back of her hand, and then wrapped her arms around herself. “Dammit. This stupid problem has me acting like a baby.”

  Margaret moved behind her, placing hands and arms over Fiona’s arms already held tight against her stomach. “For one thing, honey, you could never be a burden. The things you have done for this family in the last five years is more than most men do in a lifetime, in the guise of support.” She placed a light kiss on the back of Fiona’s neck, another behind her ear. “It is way beyond the time you let us—me especially—support you. You should never have to face your fears alone.” She squeezed Fiona, released her, and shifted to stand in front of her.

  When Fiona didn’t look up, Margaret stepped closer and framed Fiona’s face in her hands. At first, Fiona’s gaze darted to fall on anything but her. Margaret was p
atient, acknowledged how hard showing vulnerability was for Fiona. After a moment, Fiona directed her gaze on Margaret’s nose. Close enough, she thought. “I love you, Fiona. Nothing will ever change that, no matter how you fear it might. We’ll find a doctor and fix whatever is wrong.”

  “And if we can’t fix it?” Fiona’s voice low and filled with dread. “Am I to be an invalid? Are you going to set my clothes out, as Brigid does for Richard?”

  “If need be, yes.” Margaret placed a kiss to the underside of Fiona’s jaw. Geez, touching this woman, did incredible things to her insides. Just looking at Fiona’s handsome features made her heart pick up the tempo, even after five years. Margaret would never—could never—stop loving her. Fiona made every cell in her body throb with heat, want, and need. Fiona was her blood, her breath. Losing Fiona would be like losing her will to breathe, to live. “I’d even go so far as to dress and undress you.” She placed a kiss to the hollow at the base of Fiona’s throat. She slowly skimmed a palm up Fiona’s waist to graze the underside of Fiona’s breast. Fiona gave a soft whimper in response. “Although, you’ve never had a problem with me undressing you before now. Didn’t seem to mind the first time I dressed you.” Margaret pictured how dashing Fiona had looked, five years ago. When Margaret believed she’d been dressing a boy named Finn. The memory caused heat in Margaret’s body to burn hot. All for Fiona.

  “Margaret, someone could walk—” Fiona’s breathing grew ragged.

  “Walk in here? I know, you’re right. We will continue this later.” Margaret took a deep breath to settle her pulse. Physical contact with Fiona always had her burning volcanic hot. “Patience, on my part, won’t be easy.” Margaret knew it had to be done, couldn’t afford the distraction and single-minded focus, to the exclusion of awareness to all else, lovemaking with Fiona wrought.