LIVE Ammo (Sunshine State Mystery Series Book 2)

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  She turned and spotted Rand Arbutten standing at the bottom of the steps. There was no way to her car except past him, unless she wanted to hurdle the hedges on either side of the walk. Tempting, but not in a skirt and heels. She hoped he would ignore her, but as she neared him, he stepped forward, his face a mask of fury. “I can’t believe your gall, showing up here,” he hissed. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out who you are?”

  Allie stepped back in surprise. Whomever he had her mixed up with, she was glad she wasn’t that person. When she tried to move past him, he stepped in front of her. “Your aunt was a whore. My mother would be alive if it weren’t for her.” Allie’s mouth fell open, but he wasn’t finished. “Did he think he could just kill her so he could go on screwing your aunt? Well, she can forget it. When I get through with him, they’ll bury him under the jail.”

  Allie’s mouth snapped shut. She had to hold her arms to her sides to keep from slapping him. Despite her best efforts, her voice shook when she spoke. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “The hell you don’t,” he said. “My mother knew all about your aunt, Allison Grainger. She wrote to me when she found out about their affair. It devastated her.”

  “There was no affair, Mr. Arbutten,” Allie said, clenching her hands into fists. “I don’t know what your mother told you—”

  “She told me that your aunt was screwing my father—”

  “Then, your mother lied,” Allie snapped out. “My aunt never slept with the sheriff. She worked for him—”

  Rage made his voice hot, scathing. “I’ll just bet she did.”

  “—and she loved him,” she barged on. “He might have loved her back, but he respected your mother. He and my aunt never had an affair.”

  He looked incredulous. “You expect me to believe that?”

  Allie shook now as if palsied. “I really don’t care what you believe. I believe it, and that’s all that matters.” She started away.

  Rand Arbutten grabbed her arm and turned her back. “You’re full of shit, and you can tell your aunt—”

  Allie wrenched her arm away. “I can’t tell her anything,” she said, lifting her chin an inch. “She died almost a year ago. You really need to do more research before you start slinging accusations. Now, get out of my way.”

  As she brushed past him, she saw Sidney Finch step out of the building under the portico. His eyes narrowed when he saw them together, but Allie was beyond caring. All her attention centered on getting to her Jeep before her legs gave way.

  Her hands trembled so badly that it took three tries to get the door open. She crawled into the car and slammed the door closed, pushing the lock button. From where she sat, she could see Rand Arbutten still staring after her. Sidney Finch was nowhere in sight.

  Allie fought tears that burned her eyelids and closed her throat. She’d be damned if she’d give Rand Arbutten the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  The Jeep should have felt like an oven, but it felt like a safe haven—a steel and glass cocoon. She fumbled with the keys again, and she was about to start the car and drive away when she heard her aunt’s voice in her ear.

  “Don’t hate him, Allie. He’s grieving.”

  “Oh, bullshit!”

  “I know you’re angry, sweetheart, but all he knows is what his mother told him.”

  “And I know what you told me.”

  “Exactly. You trust me, so you believed what I told you.”

  “Are you saying you lied?”

  “Of course not. I would never lie to you. I’m only saying that Cord’s son is in the same situation as you, trusting the words of the person he loved. The difference is that his person, his mother, told him I was the reason Cord didn’t love her. It isn’t true, but it’s what she believed, and she passed that belief on to her son. She was his mother. He trusted her. Think about it, Allie. That’s all I’m asking you to do. Think how you’d feel if you were in his shoes.”

  Allie’s lips trembled. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to give Rand Arbutten the benefit of the doubt. She wanted to punch him. She wanted to scream at him that her aunt wasn’t a whore, that she was a wonderful and giving woman who had lived an honest life, but what she really wanted was to go home and pull the covers over her head until all this went away.

  Instead, she took a deep, shaky breath. Rand Arbutten was nowhere in sight. She opened the door and climbed out of the Jeep, holding her head high as she made her way down the pathway leading to the graveside service. For my aunt, she told herself again.

  The brief service was nearly over by the time she arrived. She felt Rand Arbutten’s eyes pick her out as she drew near, but she felt safe enough. Surely, he wouldn’t attack her, verbally or otherwise, in front of all these people. She remained in the back and a bit off to one side. From there, she had a clear view of the sheriff. He was holding onto one of the handles of the wheelchair she’d seen first last night and then at the funeral home. The woman sitting in it seemed to be praying. Or maybe she was napping. It was hard to tell with her curtain of bluish-black hair. As the service ended, Allie saw Cord lean down and say something in her ear. The woman shook her head. Then, it was over, and everyone was leaving. Alf Reed spotted her and waved briefly. Allie pretended not to see.

  Rather than head to the crowded parking lot and chance being pigeonholed by Rand Arbutten or anyone else, she crossed the cemetery to her aunt’s grave. A fresh bouquet of flowers rested against the headstone. Probably from Cord, but they could have been from anyone. Many people had loved her aunt.

  Allie sat on the damp grass and leaned her head back against the headstone. It was peaceful here. Quiet. The sky above was a pristine blue, with only a few wispy clouds to mar the perfection. It seemed a bit cooler here in the shade of a massive live oak. She wished her aunt would come to her here and whisper a few more words of wisdom in her ear. Not that she’d necessarily heed them, but it was a comfort to know that her aunt hadn’t given up on her entirely, but Louise Smith was stubbornly silent. Maybe she didn’t like the graveyard.

  Finally, when Allie determined that the traffic must have cleared, she got to her feet, brushing off her skirt. She took the shortest route to the parking lot, giving Jean Arbutten’s grave as wide a berth as possible. Still, she saw Rand Arbutten standing near the mound of fresh earth, his back bowed like that of an old man. A dozen yards away, the sheriff stood watching his son. It was hard to guess which man was feeling the greater pain—or why.

  ***

  It was nearly six when Allie pulled into her driveway. She was tired of death, tired of funerals, tired of people shooting lethal looks in her direction. She was tired of people, period. As she stepped into the living room, she smelled the coffee. Sheryl.

  “I know you have a home,” Allie called out. “I can see it from where I’m standing.” Nothing. “How did you get in?” Allie turned to lock the door behind her. “I know I locked it this time.”

  Sheryl stuck her head around the kitchen door. “I still have that key you made me take when I stayed here.”

  Sheryl had stayed with Allie for weeks back when Joe was in the hospital, and then in the days leading to his funeral. It had served two purposes: to ease the strain on Sheryl, whose apartment then was thirty miles away in Titusville, and to allow Allie to keep an eye on her. Sheryl had been a little shaky for a while after Joe’s death.

  Allie threw her purse on the couch and toed off her heels. “If you have a key, why don’t you use it instead of banging on my door in the wee hours of the morning and scaring the hell out of my neighbors?”

  Sheryl’s head reappeared. “Is someone cranky?”

  “Someone is tired of having no privacy,” Allie shot out.

  Sheryl’s face registered surprise, and then hurt before it went flat and expressionless. If Allie didn’t know her so well, she would have missed it entirely. Sheryl put her cup down on the kitchen counter and started for the front door. Allie grabbed her arm as sh
e passed, turning her around. “No, please, Sheryl, don’t leave. I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean that.” She bit her lip as tears filled her eyes.

  Sheryl studied her face for a minute. Then, she led her to the couch. “OK, so who’s the asshole who hurt your feelings this time?” Her voice was brusque, but the concern in her face undid Allie. The tears spilled over.

  Sheryl disappeared for a minute. Then, she was back with a roll of paper towels. “Blow,” she ordered.

  Allie blew. And she wiped. “I’m sorry. It was no one. It was just the whole thing. The—the viewing last night and the funeral. And—and all those people. Then, I went to Aunt Lou’s—” She couldn’t get the word grave past her lips. For a minute, sobs choked her. What in the world was the matter with her? She didn’t usually dissolve in tears when she talked about her aunt. Could Sheryl be right? Could Rand Arbutten’s words have caused this dam to burst? She took a deep breath. Then another. She looked at Sheryl and shook her head. “I’m a mess.”

  “Yes, you are.” Sheryl watched her. “So, no one said anything to you? Because if they did—”

  She didn’t need to finish the thought. Allie knew what Sheryl would do. She was not only a cop; she was a cop who was chronically overprotective of her best friend. There was no way she would tell Sheryl about her run-in with Rand Arbutten. The county didn’t need another murder so soon. “No, I hardly talked to anyone.”

  Sheryl was in civilian clothes—shorts and a tank top. She scuffed a sneaker on the rug. “I can’t believe I’m such a dope,” she said. “I never thought about it reminding you of Lou or—well,” she looked at Allie. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need that.”

  Allie shook her head. “No, this isn’t your fault. Who would have thought I’d fall to pieces like that?” She gave a watery laugh. “Maybe it’s a good thing I missed her funeral.” She got up and went into the kitchen, retrieving Sheryl’s coffee and grabbing a diet soda for herself. “I have to walk Spook. Then, let’s go up on the roof,” she said.

  “Spook’s already been walked,” Sheryl said, taking the coffee cup away from her. “It’s the upside of having no privacy.”

  Allie shot her a look as Sheryl followed her up the wrought iron stairs to the deck. Sheryl’s footsteps were loud despite her rubber-soled sneakers. Allie remembered Joe once saying that Sheryl couldn’t sneak up on a man in a coma. The memory brought a bittersweet smile to her face.

  They each took their usual lounge chairs, Allie the one that used to be her aunt’s chair. She sat back and felt hours and days of strain drop away as she gazed over the water, a dark gray now that mirrored the sky. They’d have rain again before the night was over. Thank God.

  She never could put her finger on what was so special about this area. It wasn’t the house, although she loved it. Her precious deck was private now, but how would she feel if she were on eye level with some idiot in the soon-to-be high-rise condo next door? She shoved the thought down. It wasn’t the neighborhood, or even the beach or water. There was beach and water up and down both Florida coasts. No, it was this beach or, more specifically, the beach between here and Sebastian Inlet thirty-five miles south. If she ever sold this house—and that was a big if, pretty much dependent on how many more neighbors sold their homes to condo developers—if she decided to sell, she would buy a home down near Sebastian Inlet, where there were few condos or hotels or, for that matter, stores. Only single-family homes and fishermen and the giant lumbering loggerhead turtles and wildlife preserves that held this kind of progress at bay.

  She sat forward. “I’m thinking about quitting the paper.” The words came out of her mouth unbidden. Now that they were out, she realized she’d been thinking about it almost since she took the job.

  Sheryl was stretched out on the other lounge chair. “What brought that on?” she asked, not opening her eyes.

  Allie shrugged, then realized Sheryl couldn’t see her. “I’m not sure.” She caught the lie as she uttered it. “Yes, I am. I hate it. I hate the deceit and the sensationalism. I hate the smarmy reporters trying to squeeze the very last drop of pathos out of every tragedy and semi-tragedy they stumble across.”

  Sheryl blinked her eyes open. “You’re really serious about this.”

  “Dead serious. That snake Alf Reed was sitting in the newsroom this afternoon when I went by before the funeral. He doesn’t care if what Rand Arbutten says about Cord killing his wife is true. He said he wrote it because it sells papers and that the sheriff had better look out for himself.”

  “You’re getting to like the sheriff,” Sheryl said with a grin.

  Allie’s head fell back against the chair again. “I don’t know if I like him or not. I don’t know him well enough to say, but I know he doesn’t deserve to have his reputation smeared so the Brevard Sun can sell a few more issues. It’s wrong, Sheryl. It’s morally wrong.”

  “You like him.”

  Allie blew out a breath, looking over at Sheryl. “You’re impossible, you know that?” Then, she smiled. “OK, maybe I respect him and maybe I admire him just a little bit. At least he doesn’t scare me to death anymore.”

  “He scared you?” Sheryl asked in surprise.

  “He terrified me. Doesn’t he scare you?”

  “Well, yeah, but he’s my boss.”

  Allie laughed. They fell silent, each listening to the whoosh of the waves on the beach below. Allie watched the graceful passage of a pelican wheeling overhead, scanning the water as he glided on the air currents. Suddenly, he dived, and Allie winced, thinking about the fish.

  “So what are you going to do?” Sheryl asked.

  “About what?”

  “Work. You know you just can’t sit around and be rich. You said it drove you nuts.”

  “I know. And I don’t know what I’m going to do. Maybe volunteer for something.”

  “Geez, life’s a bitch, and then you inherit a fortune.”

  They watched a jet pass overhead. Allie remembered once when the Blue Angels had staged an air show at Patrick Air Force Base. They practiced for weeks, mostly over this section of beach. She’d never forget how they’d soared overhead in perfect symmetry, wings all but touching. She and her aunt had fallen asleep up here that night, hoping for just one more glimpse of the silver missiles shooting over the house. “Want to camp out here tonight?” she asked.

  Sheryl snorted. “Are you nuts? We aren’t kids anymore. Give me a soft bed any day.”

  Allie had to agree. “But it was fun, wasn’t it? When we used to sleep up here?”

  She glanced over when Sheryl didn’t say anything. She was smiling and nodding as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Then, Allie remembered that Joe had always been their third musketeer when they camped out on the roof. Sheryl sniffed and wiped her nose with her knuckle. “That’s kind of what I came over here to talk to you about.”

  Allie waited. Sheryl swung her feet to the deck and sat up, resting her elbows on her knees. “I know you’ll probably think I’m crazy. Hell, maybe I am. I mean, it’s not like she’s my mother or anything, and if you think it’s a stupid idea, I’ll understand.”

  Allie laughed. “Stop with the disclaimer and just come out with it.”

  Sheryl looked at Allie, and then at the water before turning back. “I’m thinking of asking Joe’s mom to come live with me. I mean, it’s so hard to keep tabs on her at that dumpy trailer park where she lives in Cocoa,” she continued quickly, as if she were afraid Allie would interrupt. “I’m back and forth all the time. I worry about her every minute I’m not there, and there’s no way she’s going to sit still for a retirement home, even if she had the money, which she doesn’t. But if you think it’s a dumb idea, I’ll understand.”

  Allie was too choked up to speak. Joe’s parents had both been alive when he died—his father in the last stages of cancer, his mother disabled by a stroke. Allie had always been convinced that Joe’s death was the final straw for his father, who died two weeks later. His mother hung on s
omehow, but Allie worried about her too. Once, years ago, they had all been close neighbors. Joe’s mother was the woman who had looked after Allie when her aunt was at work all those years ago. Tears spilled again from her eyes.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Sheryl said, getting up and heading downstairs. She was back in a minute with the roll of paper towels, which she dumped unceremoniously in Allie’s lap. “You are a total wreck.”

  “I know,” Allie said, laughing as she wiped her tears, “and you’re an old softie. Why in the world did you think I wouldn’t like the idea? What does it matter if I like it or not?”

  Sheryl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Well, you know, it’s kind of your house too. I mean, if you hadn’t given me the money for the down payment….”

  Allie’s smile died instantly, and her tears disappeared. She threw her paper towel on the table between them. “That has to be the crappiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that you loaned me the money and all.”

  “If the bank had loaned you the money, would you be asking them if she could come live with you?” Allie demanded, her body rigid.

  Sheryl ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “Well, no, but you’re not a bank. You’re a friend. My best friend.”

  “Not for long. Not if you keep making stupid comments like that.”

  Neither said anything for several long moments. Allie was still trying to get her anger under control, and Sheryl seemed to be thinking.

  Then, Sheryl squared her shoulders. “So, does that mean you think it’s a good idea?”

  Chapter 7

  Allie was still on the deck when she heard feet climbing her deck stairs. She didn’t even open her eyes to see who it was. Marc’s step was distinctive. Wasn’t it funny that you could know someone so well that you recognized his steps on the stairs, the pace of his tread, the echo of his shoes on the wrought iron?

  Marc Frederick, a wealthy man in his own right with a successful business, lived in Miami, and it had been weeks since his last visit. They’d met when Allie first returned to Cape Canaveral, and the events following had Allie labeling him a stalker, a savior, and a lover, respectively, before two months were out. He was the first man Allie had been involved with since her divorce, and she still wasn’t quite sure what she felt for him. More than obligation. Lust, certainly. Like that might turn into love someday. Whatever she felt, it was enough for her right now.