by Kathy Altman
“Too much,” Charity muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Why can’t it ever just be plain?”
“Because you already have too much vanilla in your life. What’s wrong with a little flavor?”
“Vanilla is a flavor.”
Dix scrubbed his napkin across his mouth and glanced at Mo. “What did she blow?”
Charity blinked. Damn, she was tired, because it took a few seconds to realize he was talking about Justine and the breathalyzer. She struggled to focus on all the bad things Grady West had done when they were together, but still her mind lingered on bad-naughty instead of bad-thoughtless. She swallowed a groan and snatched up the plastic wrap.
“Point-one-five.” Mo’s lips twisted in disgust. “That was after baptizing herself in puke. Twice.”
Brenda June scowled at him. “Mind your manners. People are trying to eat.” She perched her bony behind on the bench. “More cheesecake, Chief?”
Dix shook his head while Mo and Charity exchanged a look. Dix was sensitive about his Cree heritage, but he also had one hell of a sweet tooth. Only Brenda June, aka Dix’s sugar dealer, could get away with calling him “Chief.”
“Enchanted cheesecake,” Charity whispered.
“Magic oven,” Mo whispered back.
Charity gasped out a laugh. Mo was going to get himself slapped.
Brenda June snapped her backbone straight and eyed Mo and Charity with suspicion. “Why don’t you two go home and get some sleep?”
“Maybe we will.” The prospect of sliding between cool sheets made Charity light-headed. When Grady’s face flashed across her brain she wanted to kick her own ass. “Justine will fill in her lawyer tomorrow, and then we’ll all know why she did it.”
“If she did it.” Dix drank the rest of his coffee and frowned down into the mug, as if waiting for more brew to magically appear.
“Oh, come on, Dix.” Mo slapped his palms against the tabletop and pushed himself upright. “You said yourself she’s not an idiot. She could have stayed at the scene to throw us off.”
“Don’t forget that first call to her brother.” Charity ignored a kick of guilt as she folded and refolded a dishcloth. “Which she made before she called nine-one-one. Not the action of someone with nothing to hide.”
“Or maybe she’d never found a dead body before, and panicked.” Dix scratched his jaw. “That leather necklace we found under the body is not something Justine Langford would wear.”
“Maybe it was already there before the murder,” Mo suggested.
Dix jerked his chin in denial. “No weathering, and the clasp was broken.”
“That doesn’t mean it belonged to Sarah’s killer,” Charity said.
“Tell me this, Charity.” Dix cocked his head. “Can you be completely unbiased here?”
Her breath left her lungs with a searing whoosh, as if she’d fallen out of a tree and landed flat on her back. She pushed away from the sink and glowered at Dix. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”
Mo ran a hand through his hair, swung around and peered at his reflection in the door of the microwave. “Come on, vanilla. How many times have you brought Justine in for driving under the influence, then had to deal with Hampton West making sure his precious little pie-eyed princess got off scot-free? And we heard about that thing you had with Grady West.”
“That thing?” Charity jerked away from the table, the stainless steel forks she’d collected rattling in her fist. She glared at Brenda June.
The dispatcher hunched her shoulders and busied herself wrapping up the remains of the cheesecake.
“He was my boyfriend in high school,” Charity said. “We were kids. And yes, I can be impartial.”
Mo smirked. “I don’t know, vanilla. You sound pretty heated for ‘impartial.’”
“You know damned well it’s because you’re winding me up. And if you call me ‘vanilla’ one more time, I’ll get Big Mike to hold you down while I shave your head.”
Mo paled. “Why are we even arguing? The woman confessed.”
Brenda June harrumphed. “You don’t think her lawyer’s going to try to talk her out of that confession? Claim it was coerced?”
“He’ll have a hard time making that stick,” Mo said. “We’d barely started questioning her.”
Dix grunted as he got to his feet. “Which could mean she’s protecting someone.”
Charity gave him the side-eye. “Or wants us to think she is.”
* * *
Charity was halfway through the parking lot, trying to remember if she had enough milk at home for a bowl of cereal, when she noticed the shadow hovering near her car. Her heart bounced and her right hand slid to her holster. Twenty-hour workday and serious calorie deprivation aside, she should have expected this.
Then she realized the shadow was too tall to belong to baby brother Lucas. Too tall and too—
Grady.
Her stomach slid down to her toes. She stopped, shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her duty jacket, and tipped her head.
“You do realize it’s not the smartest thing in the world to stalk a police officer. In the middle of the night. In the parking lot right outside the station.”
He moved forward, stepping into the underachieving beam of a floodlight. He’d changed out of the suit. In jeans, turtleneck, and worn leather jacket, he looked more like the Grady who had teased her dreams for years. Only, in her dreams his posture hadn’t been rifle-barrel rigid.
And they’d been standing a lot closer.
Charity braced herself against an inconvenient shudder. “Why are you here?”
“You think she did it.”
“So does Justine. Which might explain the confession.”
“I don’t believe this,” he growled. “You actually think she could have—”
“Why would I think anything else? What with the DUIs and the shoplifting and the public scenes she was famous for?”
He moved closer, the light making his dark hair gleam. “None of that makes her a killer. There’s a difference between stealing a lipstick and committing murder.”
“It’s called progression. You gotta start somewhere.”
He leaned back against her car. “So you’re done? You’re taking the word of a woman who was wasted when she claimed she killed her best friend?”
Charity bent her head and scrabbled in her pockets for her keys. “I’m not doing this. I’m not discussing this with you. I’m not explaining myself to you. You have to go. Now.”
“Dammit, Charity, you’re not—”
“Who is it you’re really angry with?” She threw her head back and stared up at him. “Me? Justine? Or yourself?”
“You going to let me finish a fucking sentence so I can tell you?” The leather of Grady’s jacket whispered and creaked as he lifted his hands to his hips. He looked away, exhaled, and shifted his gaze back to meet hers. “I need to know she’s all right.”
A sudden sadness, hot and bitter, bristled behind Charity’s eyes. Did Justine know how lucky she was to have someone like Grady on her side?
“She’s my sister,” he said simply, but the dare in his eyes proved he knew the words weren’t simple at all.
“You can see for yourself tomorrow. Visiting hours are eight to four.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s an eight-hour window.”
His eyes narrowed and he pushed away from the car. “I mean, is that all you’re going to tell me?”
She picked through her keys, one by one, gratified when she found only four she didn’t recognize. “Bring her a change of clothes.”
He gave a frustrated groan and Charity stifled a whimper. Good Lord, would every sound he made conjure up memories of sex?
“I need more.” He moved quickly, snagging her arm. “Did she give you a reason? A motive?”
“This is an active investigation. I can’t answer your questions.” Not that I have any answers to give. Beneath the pa
dded nylon of her jacket, Charity’s skin burned. Her fingers fisted around her keys. “Now let go, before you really piss me off.”
He didn’t let go. Instead his grip tightened and he pulled her closer. Oh, no, you don’t. She braced a hand against his chest. He relaxed his hold and inhaled, the zippered edges of his jacket scraping against her wrist. The stroke of chilled metal sent heat sparking up her arm and tingling across the tips of her breasts. She shuddered, and stared through the gloom at the back of her hand. The furious throbbing behind his shirt had her mesmerized.
“I have to go,” she said.
She didn’t move.
Spring nights in Montana were chilly. Which explained the vapor that spilled from her mouth when she spoke. It also explained the rigid state of her nipples. She wouldn’t, couldn’t let the reason be anything else.
“This isn’t helping your sister,” she gritted.
He released her and backed up a step, jaw rigid. Then he surprised her with a wry half smile. “Guess I should count myself lucky you didn’t break out your nightstick.”
“It’s called a blackjack,” she said. “Though in situations like these, my weapon of choice is a Taser.” She refrained from telling him this wasn’t the first time he’d tempted her to use it.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You do that.” She inhaled, wishing the butterflies fluttering against the wall of her chest would drop dead. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through. Yes, I have a sibling in jail, and yes, he’s facing time, but there’s no doubt my brother is guilty. Plus he’s no stranger to prison.”
“And he’s not charged with murder.”
“There is that. What I’m trying to say is, I understand your frustration. You have my word that if your sister doesn’t belong in jail, she won’t be there long.”
He studied her, shoulders rising and falling as he grabbed and released a mammoth breath. He nodded, and looked down while he palmed his neck. When he looked back up, some of the bleakness had faded from his eyes. “I’m in town for Justine,” he said quietly. “But I hope you and I get a chance to talk while I’m here.”
We are talking hovered on her lips, but she knew what he meant. He wanted to clear the air. Shame poked at the thought of the phone calls she’d never returned.
She took a sideways step toward her car. “Even if I had the time, that wouldn’t be advisable.”
One eyebrow lifted. She knew that look. He was all but calling her chicken.
Hurried footsteps scraped across the pavement. “There you are, you ungrateful bitch!”
Charity spun to her right. Here we go. She slapped her hands to her belt and widened her stance.
Although she’d expected this visit hours ago, she’d never figured she’d welcome it.
Chapter Three
“You release him this instant!” The woman marching toward them wore a faded plaid bathrobe over a thin cotton dress and ragged jeans. One end of the robe’s belt bobbed along the pavement behind her. A fluorescent-green scrunchie held her thin, gray hair in a ponytail on top of her head, like something out of an eighties exercise video. Her face was flushed crimson with anger, and she kept reaching for the burly, baby-faced man at her side, as if assuring herself she wasn’t facing the big, bad deputy all on her own.
“Mom,” Charity said evenly. “Lucas.”
Her brother scowled and opened his mouth, ready to do battle.
Charity shook her head. “Hank stays in jail.” She breathed in through her mouth. A wonder that after all these years, she hadn’t gotten used to the smell of stale sweat and cigarettes. “He’s charged with felony gun theft.”
While she and Dix had questioned Justine, Mo had handled the search of Hank’s truck and found a loaded nine millimeter Glock. The problem wasn’t that the idiot had been driving a loaded weapon around without a permit—Montana law required a concealed weapons permit for personal carry only. Nope, problem was, the pistol had been reported stolen.
Her mother fisted her hands in the lapels of her bathrobe. “Well, you’d just better uncharge him, priss, or I’ll make sure this entire pisspot of a town knows what you’re up to with the sheriff.”
Charity threw out an arm but Grady pushed right past it. At least he wasn’t dumb enough to try to shield her.
“Mrs. Bishop. Lucas.” He didn’t offer his hand, but shot Charity’s brother a meaningful look. “You might want to take your mother home, man. This isn’t the time or the place.”
“This isn’t any of your fuckin’ business, man.”
“Who the hell are you?” Charity’s mother squinted through the early morning dark at Grady.
“He’s nothin.’” Lucas was shorter than Grady but twice as wide. He shoved at the sleeves of his sweatshirt and flexed his hands.
Perfect. Just perfect. “Stay out of this,” Charity snapped at Grady and turned to her brother. “Take her home. Please. Before I lock her up for being a public nuisance.”
“Go ahead! Arrest me! I dare you!” Eve Bishop drew out the word “dare” so long, she staggered sideways. “I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re the sheriff’s whore.”
Charity barely refrained from slapping a hand to her forehead. She had to admit that trumped the last rumor her mother had started—that Charity had been boinking the owner of the grocery store so he’d refuse her mother cigarettes whenever she tried to use her government benefits card to buy them.
“That’s enough.” This time Grady didn’t let Charity push him behind her. “Your daughter is no more a whore than you are an astronaut.” He jabbed a finger at Lucas. “And you get your mother out of here before you both end up in jail and there’s nobody left to come up with bail.”
It had been a long time since anyone had risen to Charity’s defense. The sharp ache in her throat could attest to that. But she needed a protector like Mo needed an ego boost. And Grady had no idea who she was anymore.
Anyway, there’d be no bail. Hank was headed to city jail in the morning.
She popped out from behind Grady and saw all kinds of mean working its way onto Lucas’s face. Her muscles bunched.
Lucas glowered at Grady. “I told you to mind your own goddamned business.”
Eve Bishop hummed a gotcha. “I know you. You used to date our priss. Threw her over and went off to college. So, what, you found out she’d been doing the rest of the soccer team?”
Grady grunted a warning and Charity gritted her teeth. If she didn’t clear this parking lot—and quickly—she’d have yet another mountain of paperwork to scale.
Charity glared at her mother. “Either go home, or get banned from visiting Hank. Yes, I can do that. And I will, if you’re still here by the time I count to one. One.”
A confused silence. Her mother scratched her neck while Lucas curled and uncurled his fingers. Charity reached under her jacket for her radio. Mother and son looked at her, then at each other. They mumbled a hurried conference, scowled a dirty double whammy at Charity and Grady and then left, trailing curses, and the raggedy belt to Eve Bishop’s bathrobe.
A mocking chorus of crickets rolled into the silence. Somewhere nearby metal clanged—a raccoon checking out a trashcan.
“So.” Grady zipped up his jacket. “The families haven’t changed.”
“Yes, they have. They’re worse.” Charity faced him. “Astronaut, huh?”
“Got my point across, didn’t it?”
“I don’t know whether to thank you or knock you on your ass.” The surprised sound of his laugh triggered a throb of wistfulness. Before said wistfulness could get her into any more trouble, she jabbed a finger at his chest. “I could have handled that on my own. You. Stay away from me.” She spun away and headed for her car. He was right behind her.
“I deserve the thanks, but I’ll settle for the ass-knocking thing if you’ll answer one question. What happened to your nose?”
She yanked open the driver’s side door and dropped into the front seat of her Camry. �
��I stuck it where it didn’t belong.” She slammed the door.
Grady leaned down and rapped on the window.
Charity lowered it, but only because she had more to say. “You’ll only make things worse for your sister if you don’t leave me alone.”
“That the only reason you want me to stay away?”
“Isn’t it enough?”
“Way I remember it, with the two of us it was never enough.”
Her belly lifted, then dropped, and a spiny heat tickled the inside of her chest. Then fury struck, and the heat flared into a scorching resentment. “You son of a bitch. You’re trying to play me.”
He frowned.
Charity gave a rasping laugh. “I’m not the same needy, insecure teen you nearly screwed out of a future, West.” Liar, liar. “And your juvenile innuendos? Don’t do a thing for me.” Pants on fire.
She snatched at her seatbelt. “I have a murder to solve and a campaign to run. So stay the hell out of my way.”
“Your problem, Bishop, is that you were always in your own way.” Grady slapped the car twice and stepped back. “Seems that much hasn’t changed, either.”
* * *
Charity was two miles from her house when she turned her car around and headed back toward the county seat. As hungry as she was, and as much as she looked forward to wrapping herself in her electric blanket and pretending she might actually manage some sleep, she couldn’t resist the compulsion to check out a place she hadn’t visited in years.
It wasn’t sentimentality. It was the need to lay a ghost to rest.
Three minutes later, she gave a disbelieving squawk and her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. The ghost had beat her to the punch. His rental car sat in the parking lot.
Charity hesitated, letting the SUV’s engine idle, even as her heartbeat pulsed faster. After half a dozen shallow breaths, she lifted her foot off the brake and pulled into the nearest space.
She’d wanted closure. Seemed she’d be getting it in person.
The cold mobbed her as she hopped out of the SUV. She tugged the collar of her jacket up around her neck and followed the sidewalk past the one-story brick library to the small, walled-in garden in the back. Moonlight streamed through the leaf-fringed branches of middle-aged oaks, brightening the spaces neglected by the streetlights. A tall, shadowed figure stood by the circular fountain, one foot propped on the rounded rim. The hushed burble of the water nearly masked his grunt of surprise.
