Tension radiated from Rafe in unrelenting waves. My heart hammered. Would Rafe give up on me because I couldn’t delete Charlie from my life? I slipped out the side door into the empty corridor linking the parish hall to the church.
“What was that all about?” Rafe asked.
“It was about nothing.” It was nothing because I said so. It couldn’t be anything. I wouldn’t let it be anything. I was not going down that road again.
“It didn’t look like nothing. It looked personal. Intimate, even.” Rafe’s voice flattened. “Are you getting back together with your ex?”
Even with heels on, I was shorter than Rafe. I hugged my arms to my chest to ward off the chill in the aseptic corridor. “Charlie wants to reconcile. I don’t.”
Rafe watched me behind hooded eyes. “Don’t play games with me, Red.”
The hurt in his voice tore at me. I touched his jacket sleeve. Electricity flashed between us. “I’m not playing a game.”
“I’m getting a mixed signal here. I want you to be happy, but I don’t know what you want.”
“I’m not interested in Charlie. Don’t you see? He’s trying to stir something up, but there’s nothing there to stir.”
“You didn’t give me an answer. Does he make you happy?”
“He makes me mad. And sad. And to be honest, there are times he surprises me with a good deed. But you’re missing the point. I don’t trust him. I’ll never trust him again. Not after the way he hurt me.”
“You sure?”
“With one hundred percent certainty, something an accountant rarely says. He doesn’t make me happy. You do.”
Light gleamed in Rafe’s eyes. The corners of his lips kicked up. “Oh, yeah. That’s the answer I wanted to hear.” He kissed me until my knees went weak. Then he left.
My lips tingled as he roared out of the parking lot. I’d been honest with him, and he’d believed me. I hadn’t had to raise my voice to be heard. He’d understood me, respected me. How novel. How exciting. He cared for me. Bunches. Happiness welled up inside of me.
It was a victory worth celebrating.
Except I couldn’t.
Not when Mama was in trouble.
The crowd inside represented my primary suspect pool. I needed to get in there and gather more information. But first, I needed more punch. Evan and Eleanor stood talking to Muriel at the punch bowl. I slowed, uncertain of the protocol. Grilling them would be tacky, but Mama going to jail would be worse than tacky. I could live with being tacky.
Evan started guiltily as I approached. “Cleo.”
“You have my deepest sympathies,” I said.
“Thank you.” Eleanor looked down her perfect nose at me.
Evan shifted uneasily on his feet. ‘I’m sorry about missing our Saturday appointment.”
“No problem. Gen walked me through it,” I said. “But she wasn’t as good a trainer as you are.”
He shrugged. Eleanor stared at me as if she’d like to dissect my brain. I shivered under her icy glare. Rafe was right about her. She was cold through and through. Encouraged by that thought, I plunged into the realm of tacky. “I heard Crandall House is for sale.”
Evan nodded, sorrow dulling his eyes, bending his shoulders. The tragic knight next to the stoic ice maiden.
“How can you bear to part with it?” I asked. “Crandall House has been in your family for generations.”
“You couldn’t pay me enough to live in this one-horse, know-nothing town,” Eleanor said, depositing her empty punch cup on the linen-shrouded table. “I’m cutting my losses and getting out. Excuse me.”
“What about you, Evan?” I asked once Eleanor was out of earshot. “Are you leaving, too?”
Evan stared after Eleanor for a minute before turning to me. An array of complex emotions flashed across his bereaved face. “I have nothing against this town. I grew up here. I make my living here.”
I didn’t get it. “Then why sell the house?”
Evan’s face and neck flushed beet red. “You don’t know?”
A cautious woman would shut up now. But I wasn’t cautious. “Know what?”
“Mother wrote me out of her will years ago when I didn’t choose the right career. Eleanor inherits everything. I’ve got the clothes on my back, and that’s it.”
Chapter 12
I opened an electronic spreadsheet template, renamed it, and keyed in data for Harlan’s Ridge Community Homeowners Association. Numbers flowed in a steady, soothing stream. Accounting wasn’t a fancy shoe I wore on special occasions. It filled me with purpose, charged my brain, refueled my energy reservoir.
Methodical, analytical, and doggedly persistent. These personality traits complimented my career choice and benefitted my clients. But they created conflict in my personal life. Worrying a problem into resolution worked great for taxes, not for relationships.
When all was said and done, was Rafe the man for me? He cared for me. I knew that. He’d even taken care of my kids while I waited at the jailhouse for Mama. That felt like commitment. But he had drawn a line in the sand about his family. Sure he’d told me some of it, but not enough for me to get the big picture. Bottom line, he didn’t trust me with his family secrets.
Trust.
I craved it. He parceled it out. Unbalanced equations bothered me. The weight of my convictions wouldn’t lessen. How long until my side bottomed out, and he bounced off to find someone younger with fewer demands?
Worse, how long until he realized accountants were boring?
It was a nail biter for sure.
When the phone rang, I startled, striking the zero key. Harlan Ridge’s maintenance expenses grew exponentially. I fixed the error and saved the page before I grabbed the phone. “Sampson Accounting.”
“Hey, Red.” The sexy growl in Rafe’s voice launched my pulse into orbit. “How are ya?”
Not the police coming for Mama, but a dangerous call nonetheless. My heart cartwheeled with teenaged euphoria because he’d called. I hugged the phone to my ear. “Okay. How about you?”
“I’d be better if you were here in my arms.”
I fanned the rush of heat off my face with my free hand. A goofy smile crossed my lips, lifting my spirits. “Me, too. I mean, I wish I was there with you. But I have stacks of work to catch up on.”
“I have this image of a green-eyed, red-headed vixen in nothing but black lace underwear looping through my head.” Rafe’s voice caressed the dark places in my soul, filling me with anticipation. “Do you know how hard it is to meet with sales reps when all I can think about is getting you out of that lacy stuff?”
I’d wasted countless hours fantasizing about his delicious bod, too. “Welcome to my world.”
“You think about me in black underwear?”
“I think about you being naked and me having a can of chocolate whipped cream.” The new Cleo lived on the edge. “I’d use it to cover your interesting points and then I’d help myself.”
Rafe whistled long and low. “Not fair.”
I laughed and was pleasantly surprised at how throaty my voice sounded. “Didn’t want you to be stuck thinking of me in lacy undies. Thought a new visual might spice up your day.”
Rafe groaned. “Take it easy on me, Red. I’ve still got to meet with the Callaway rep and the Titleist rep this afternoon. If we keep this up, I’ll need a cold shower.”
I grinned at the unaccustomed power I wielded. “I’ve never had phone sex before.”
“Let me assure you it doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing.” He sighed. “Come over tonight.”
Last time I went out with Rafe all hell broke loose at home. “Why don’t you join us here for dinner instead? You’re welcome any time.”
“You won’t sleep with me at your place.”
I winced at the truth in his wry tone. “But at least we could see each other.” And maybe figure out how to indulge our passion while he was here.
“How about if you slip out this evening after y
our kids go to bed? We could fulfill your wildest fantasies.”
I sighed. “As good as that sounds, the answer has to be no. Mama is Britt’s top murder suspect. I have to stick close to home right now.”
There was a pregnant pause. “I have this fundraiser dinner for the golf course Thursday evening,” Rafe finally said. “I’ve been meaning to mention it to you. Will you go with me?”
Would my answer be the final straw? “Much as I want to, I can’t accept your invitation. Not while Mama has this cloud hanging over her head. Did you want to invite someone else?”
After his sharp intake of breath, prickly silence invaded the phone line and my veins. “You want me to ask another woman?”
My stomach burned at my horrible tactical error. “Of course not. I was trying to make up for disappointing you, but it didn’t come out right. I know being alone sucks.”
“I wouldn’t be alone if you spent time with me.”
He was pushing hard. Time for me to push back. “I don’t have a key to your place, and even if I did, I wouldn’t sneak around at night. That’s not who I am.”
“I see.”
The hole I was in kept getting deeper. “If you don’t come tonight for dinner, I’ll see you at the course tomorrow for the ladies league. Thanks for calling.”
I hung up and stared at the wood-paneled walls in my office. The new Cleo did phone sex. What a fun discovery. Nothing boring or dull about the new me.
However, the new Cleo couldn’t flit around like a hapless butterfly. I had to find a killer. Since the funeral, I’d been thinking more about the money angle. I tried Charlie’s number again. Earlier he’d been away from his desk, and I hadn’t left a message. He picked up on the first ring. “Charlie Jones.”
“Charlie, I have another favor to ask.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“No!” Alarmed, I leapt to my feet. “Don’t come over. I’m busy. I need more financial information. This time on Eleanor Hodges.”
“Eleanor, but not Evan?”
It appeared that Evan didn’t stand to gain financially from his mother’s death, but he was a Hodges. What could it hurt? “If you have time, run him, too.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Anything out of the ordinary.”
“Okay. Three credit reports coming right up.”
“Thanks, Charlie. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime, babe. I’m your man.”
His words rippled down my spine like a bicycle on train tracks. “Get that nonsense out of your head. We are working together to keep Mama out of jail. I have no hidden agenda.”
“That’s okay,” he said. I sensed his smirk over the phone. “I have enough for both of us.”
* * * * *
Jonette viewed the tangled mess on my bed. “The rags go inside the whelping box.”
I grabbed an armful of my mangled sheets and dropped them back in the inflatable wading pool that was supposed to be Madonna’s whelping box. “I dump the rags in the whelping box every morning, but every night they end up back in my bed. Madonna doesn’t want to have her puppies in the whelping box. She likes the bed.”
Jonette considered the problem as Madonna stepped on the upholstered ottoman beside my bed, then climbed up on my bed. The dog circled until she found just the right spot on the mattress. It had been Lexy’s idea to use the ottoman to help Madonna get up on the bed by herself. “Do you have a waterproof cover on your mattress?” Jonette asked.
“No.”
“Better get one or you’ll be buying a new mattress soon.”
“I’ll put that on the list, Mom.” Lexy scribbled on her clipboard, her dark head bending intently over the page.
“Are we done yet?” Charla checked her purple watch with an injured air. “I have cheerleading practice in twenty minutes.”
“This won’t take long, dear,” I said. “Everyone needs to be familiar with the drill because we don’t know when Madonna will go into labor.”
“Grammy’s not here,” Charla observed with a flip of her curly red hair.
She had a point. Although I wasn’t sure if Mama would see Madonna birth her puppies. I expected Britt to storm the house to arrest Mama any minute now.
I went to the door and hollered down to the kitchen. “Mama! We need you up here.”
Madonna sat up on the bed, ready to leap down and follow me if I crossed the threshold. Her dogged devotion to me was an absolute nuisance. The only thing worse than a neurotic pregnant dog was probably a neurotic dog mother and a batch of newborn puppies.
Lexy cooed to the dog. “It’s okay, sugar. Mama’s not going anywhere.”
With an exasperated huff, Charla flopped down on the bed next to Lexy and Madonna. In the blink of an eye, she wrestled the clipboard from Lexy and began reading aloud. “Towels, blunt scissors, alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, heating pad, baby bottle, powdered puppy formula. All that stuff is sitting in Mama’s chair.”
“Mom. She’s touching my clipboard,” Lexy said. “Make her stop.”
Charla grinned and tossed the clipboard out of her sister’s reach on the bed. “Unlike the rest of you people, I have a social life. Are we done yet?”
“Almost.” Jonette checked the inventory of dog birthing supplies in my chair. “Notify me when Madonna doesn’t eat well for two consecutive meals, when you see her acting nervous or panting, or when her temperature drops. Got it?”
Charla waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Done?”
The likelihood that Charla would deliver Madonna’s puppies alone wasn’t very high. I offered her a hand up off the bed. “Go on. Get ready for cheerleading. Jonette will drop you off on her way home.”
“Cool.” Charla jumped off the bed. “Can I back your car out of the driveway, Aunt Jonette?”
“No,” I answered quickly. Charlie let Charla back his car up in his driveway, and I had yet to forgive him for unleashing this monster on us. “You may not.”
Charla shot me a thunderous look, then practically bowled Mama over as she dashed through the door.
“Careful,” I shouted after her.
“Is it over?” Mama asked hopefully. She smelled of meatloaf and peppermints. Her rust-colored pantsuit flattered her thin frame.
“You, too?” I groaned. Sometimes Charla acted more like my mother than me. I had to remind myself that I’d carried Charla, that I’d given birth to her. Not Mama.
“We verified the supply list. Do you know what to do if Madonna starts having the puppies?” Lexy added as she stroked Madonna’s broad head.
“Sure. Call one of you,” Mama said.
“Great,” Jonette beamed. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.”
A look of resignation crossed Mama’s face. “Not much point in worrying about birthing. It either happens right or it doesn’t.”
Lexy’s face fell. “Nothing bad will happen. Madonna’s going to be fine and so are her puppies. Right, Mom?”
Lexy was only thirteen. Was I putting too much pressure on her young shoulders by allowing her to become so involved in such an adult matter? I wanted to protect her from the disappointments in life, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to experience life in the fullest.
I sent her a reassuring smile. “I hope so, Lex.”
“If we’re done, I’m going back down to work on dinner. I’ve got a few more peppermints to crush for my meatloaf sauce,” Mama said.
A heavy double knock sounded on the front door. With a racing heart, I crossed to the window and lifted the curtain. My worst fear had come true.
Two police cars blocked my drive, one a black-and-white cruiser, and the other Britt’s nondescript sedan. There were no sirens. No flashing lights. Just a routine pickup of a murder suspect. I shivered out a breath and dropped the curtain. “Lexy, why don’t you keep Madonna up here while I answer the door?”
I edged around Mama, with Jonette hard on my heels. “Britt’s outside,” I said, just loud enough for M
ama and Jonette to hear. I breezed down the steps projecting calmness, but I kept thinking, oh God oh God oh God.
“I need Delilah to step out of the house,” Britt said when I opened the door. Two uniformed officers stood behind him.
I wedged myself in the doorway. “I have new information about the night of Erica’s death.”
“Not now, Cleo,” Britt cautioned. “Delilah?”
I planted both hands in the door jam, creating a human barrier. “She didn’t do it.” I liked hearing those words. Best of all, I believed those words.
“I’m not coming out,” Mama said. “I don’t care if you have the whole police force out there.”
“Don’t do it this way, Delilah,” Britt said. “Don’t let your granddaughters see you resisting arrest.”
“They’ve seen worse,” Mama said.
Mama tried to shove the door shut, only I was in the way and the door rebounded to fully open. In four steps Britt apprehended his murder suspect. Mama left under armed guard, head held high.
“I’ll call Bud.” Tears misted in my eyes as I followed Mama and her police escort outside. “Don’t worry, Mama. We’ll get this straightened out in no time.” Those words didn’t ring true, but we needed to hear them. Without proof of Mama’s innocence, positive thinking was our biggest ally.
Lexy, Charla, Madonna, and Jonette stood on the porch with me. Lexy clung to my hand, Charla bawled and held on to my waist. Jonette and I exchanged a look. It was up to us now. We had to learn the truth.
“Is Grammy going to prison?” Charla asked between sobs.
Resolve energized me. “No. She’s not.”
* * * * *
“You shouldn’t have put the house up for collateral.” Mama sank wearily into the passenger seat. Her eyes appeared dull, lifeless even. Her rust pantsuit looked like it had been trampled by an elephant. She hadn’t taken the time to put her pearls back on, leaving her corded neck bare.
The weight of the world bent my shoulders. Our eighteen-hour tour through the arraignment process nearly broke me. I’d worried all night and half the morning. I slid into the drivers’ seat and started the Gray Beast. Like Mama, I couldn’t wait to leave this place. “I didn’t have any choice. It’s the only valuable asset we own.”
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