by Lauren Carr
At the end of the hallway, Murphy and Susan eased the swinging door open to view the kitchen. Sitting on a bar stool in the corner of the country kitchen was a teenaged girl with thick blonde hair with tight curls and big red-rimmed eyes. With her arms folded across her chest, she glared at a seemingly older girl being tended for a bloody nose at the table. “Tell her the truth!” the girl with the curly hair ordered.
“Shut up!” the injured girl shot back before wrapping her arms around the plump older woman in a worn apron administering to her. “She scares me, Mrs. Peale.”
Since his marriage to Jessica Faraday, Murphy had received a crash course in fashion and the high price of style. The bleeding girl’s high-heeled sandals were a designer name that cost more than the monthly allowance Mrs. Peale received to support the children she took in.
“She’s lying! Can’t you see that?” the girl in the corner said. In faded blue jeans and a Hard Rock Café t-shirt that had also seen better times, she resembled a cinematic ragamuffin.
Caressing the injured girl’s shoulder, Mrs. Peale pointed a finger at the girl in the corner. “You shut your mouth, you little troublemaker!” Then, she turned back to the girl at the table. “It’s okay, Kate, she’s not going to hurt you anymore.”
“She broke my nose … for no reason!” Throwing her arms around Mrs. Peale, Kate sobbed. “Can’t you send her to juvie?”
Behind Mrs. Peale, Murphy cocked his head, observing that—while Kate cried hysterically—no tears came from her eyes. Glancing back at Susan, he saw that she noticed the same thing.
The girl on the stool used the back of her hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. “She took my iPad and said that if I didn’t let her keep it that she and her friends here were going to beat me—”
“Why is she telling these lies about me?” Kate wailed.
“She’s jealous,” Mrs. Peale soothed.
“Jealous? Of what?” the girl on the stool yelled. “She’s a whack-job!”
Her fat flabby arm raised up, Mrs. Peale whirled around.
Seeing the woman coming toward her, the girl let out a shriek and covered her head with both arms while jumping off the stool and backing away.
Mrs. Peal took a step toward the girl only to have Murphy grab her by the wrist and whirl her back to face him. The pressure of his thumb in the palm of her hand instantly dropped her to her plump knees.
Kate jumped out of her chair and headed for the doorway to find Susan blocking it. The stern glare in the agent’s eyes sent the girl back to her seat.
Murphy’s voice was low and menacing. “You lay one hand on that girl and I’ll have this place shut down and your butt tossed in jail for child abuse.”
Writhing from the discomfort of the pressure Murphy was still applying to her hand, Mrs. Peale gasped out, “Who the hell are you?”
Susan opened her jacket to reveal her badge and gun. “Naval Criminal Investigative Services. I’m Special Agent Susan Archer. This is Lieutenant Murphy Thornton.”
“We’re here to see Isadora Crenshaw.” Murphy released Mrs. Peale’s hand. “We’re investigating her mother’s murder.”
Rubbing her hand, Mrs. Peale gestured at the girl on the stool. “That’s the little troublemaker.” Slowly, she climbed up to her feet. “She’s been here less than two hours and already attacked one of the girls.”
Murphy went over to the girl on the stool, who was watching them with wide frightened eyes. “Hello, Isadora. I’m Murphy Thornton.” When he held out his hand to her, she backed away as if she feared he would force her to her knees the same way he had Mrs. Peale. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you either.”
After a long silence, during which she looked Murphy up and down, taking in his white uniform and the ribbons and medals on his chest, she said in a soft voice, “I hate the name Isadora. Call me Izzy.”
“Isadora,” Kate shot in her direction in a mocking tone. Her smirk dropped when Murphy turned around to fire off a glare. The fury that sparked from his eyes was enough to make her back up in her chair.
Kate’s retreat caused the corners of Murphy’s lips to curl. When he turned back to Izzy, he saw that the corners of her lips curled as well, even while her eyes were moist with tears. With a shuddered sigh, she took his hand.
He escorted her out of the corner. “Izzy, you’re coming with us. Get your things.” He shot a glance in Kate’s direction. “And don’t forget your iPad.”
“You can’t just take her!” Mrs. Peale said.
After handing Izzy off to Susan, Murphy brought his face close to hers. “I can respect that.” He took his phone from the case on his belt and pressed a speed dial button. “My commanding officer will call a federal judge to get a warrant for us to take Izzy into protective custody as a material witness in her mother’s murder.” He sat down at the table across from Kate. “And … while we’re waiting for that warrant, Kate and I will have a nice conversation about this protection racket that she’s been running while living under your roof, Mrs. Peale.”
Kate’s pretty green eyes grew big.
Bringing the phone to his ear, Murphy winked at the girl. “Nice shoes, Kate.”
On Pennsylvania Avenue, Jessica Faraday restrained herself from checking the time on the cell resting next to her clutch bag on the table top. It was way after seven o’clock and she was alone at the table for two at the Four Seasons. She had reserved a table next to the windows that provided an excellent night view of Washington, D.C., in all its dazzling glory.
She was alone—only her and her purple martini.
Murphy was late.
Suck it up, Buttercup. You married a hunk who is passionate about doing whatever it takes to make things right. The gold of her wedding band caught in the glow of the candle’s flame. She wrapped her fingers—tipped with elegantly painted fingernails sporting hand-painted violets—around the stem of her martini glass and took a sip. If it means being late for your celebratory dinner, so be it. This is only the first of probably a long line of missed dates.
Her violet eyes lit up at the sight of the handsome man in his white uniform rounding the corner with the host. When he flashed his charming grin, complete with dimples in both cheeks, her heart skipped a beat. Catching her breath, she wet her lips and smoothed her raven hair. Geez, Jessie, this isn’t your first date.
As they neared the table, Jessica noticed that Murphy was not alone. While he had his hat tucked under one arm, his right hand clasped that of a slender girl with a head full of ash blonde curls and the saddest red eyes one could imagine. Her tiny frame and face made her light brown eyes appear that much bigger.
As they grew closer, the maître d’, a short, jolly man by the name of Francesco, was telling Murphy in a thick Italian accent that they would move them to a bigger table.
“Thank you very much.” Murphy slipped some money to the host. He flashed an apologetic grin in Jessica’s direction. “I’m sorry we’re so much trouble.”
“No trouble at all, sir.” Francesco flashed a smile at the sad young girl. He then directed them to a table for four in the middle of the restaurant, away from the windows that Jessica had requested. “Suitable for you, Mr. Murphy?”
Placing his hand on Jessica’s shoulder, Murphy kissed her quickly on the ear before whispering, “I’ll explain.”
Seeing the girl’s tear stained face, Jessica cut him off. “No need.” Grabbing her purse, cell phone and martini, she told the host, “The table is excellent. Thank you so much, Francesco.” She saw Murphy sigh with relief.
“Anything for you, Miss Jessica.” With a grin, Francesco dropped the linen napkin into Jessica’s lap.
“This is Izzy Crenshaw,” Murphy introduced the girl while holding her chair for her. “Izzy, this is my wife, Jessica.”
Wordlessly, Izzy looked Jessica up and d
own. In her colorful soft dress, long bare legs, and high-heeled shoes, Jessica was a complete contrast from the girl clad in jeans and a faded Hard Rock Café t-shirt.
“Izzy is in my protective custody.” Murphy took a seat between them.
“You’re protecting her from what?” Jessica asked while Francesco offered her the wine menu. The maître d’ had learned from their many dinners at the restaurant that Jessica would order the wine for herself, while Murphy drank only water with lemon.
“Right now, the system,” Murphy said. “You should have seen the place they put her. She has no family—”
“You have no family?” Jessica asked the girl.
“That is so very sad,” Making a “task-tsk” noise with his tongue, Francesco shook his head. Signaled by the snap of the host’s fingers, the server hurried over with three menus for them.
“Mom used to have a sister,” Izzy said to Murphy. “She died before I was born. Mom told me that I was just as head-strong as she was.” Her voice trailed off.
Jessica and Murphy exchanged heartfelt glances.
“I’ll have water and a plate of lemon wedges,” Murphy requested from the server before asking Izzy in an upbeat tone, “What would you like, Izzy? You can get anything you want.”
Seeing the girl’s sad expression, the server said, “Even if it’s not on the menu. Our chef is world famous. He can cook you anything. You name it.”
Izzy stared at the menu without opening it. “I’m not hungry.”
“Have you had dinner yet?” Spotting a dessert cart being wheeled past the table, Jessica asked the server, “Do you have your delicious chocolate lava cake and a scoop of ice cream?” He rushed to the kitchen to check on the item.
“It’s okay, honey,” Murphy told Izzy, “I wasn’t hungry for the longest time when my mother passed away. When you’re ready to eat, then you’ll eat.”
“She has to keep her strength up,” Jessica said. “We can’t take her home and put her to bed without dinner.”
“She’s in mourning,” Murphy reminded her.
“Which is why we need to feed her,” Jessica said. “Chocolate makes everything better. It won’t solve the problem or take away the hurt, but it does soften the sting of the pain.”
“Bull,” he replied. “That’s nothing more than an old wive’s rationalization for endorsing gluttony. Grief is no excuse to pack yourself full of processed dairy products and refined sugar.”
“One little lava cake for one dinner isn’t going to kill her,” Jessica said.
They both observed Izzy staring at her water glass seemingly without seeing it. She didn’t appear to have any interest in the outcome of their discussion.
“What happens when she crashes?” Murphy asked Jessica. “She downs a tube of chocolate chip cookie dough and begins the cycle over again. Before she’ll know it, she’ll be a depressed obese diabetic with heart disease.”
“It’s cake,” Jessica said, “not heroin.”
The server arrived to announce that the chef would be glad to prepare the lava cake with a scoop of ice cream. “Would you like me to put in the order for the young lady?”
In unison, Jessica answered “yes” while Murphy said a resolute “no.” A glare from Jessica prompted Murphy to back down. With a roll of his eyes and a shrug of his shoulders, he gave in and the server hurried off to put in the order for the lava cake.
For the first time since Murphy had met her, a hint of a smile crossed Izzy’s face. With the tilt of his head, he caught Jessica’s attention to point out the small breakthrough in the young girl.
At the sight of the young girl’s sadness easing slightly, Murphy was reminded of the surprise that Jessica had promised. Reaching across the table to caress her fingers with his, his eyes met hers. A soft, reassuring smile came to her lips.
Unable to wait any longer to learn her surprise, Murphy excused them both for a moment, took Jessica by the hand, and led her to the lounge. Making sure he kept Izzy, his responsibility, in his line of sight, he pulled Jessica close and kissed her long and hard on the mouth.
When she came up for air, Jessica breathed, “What was that for?”
“For being understanding about Izzy.” He gazed into her face. “You reminded me of what made me fall in love with you so fast.”
“I thought it was my body that made you fall hard for me.” She winked up at him.
For the first time, he noticed that she had changed into a soft pink and blue silk dress that hugged every curve of her body. Holding her against him, he caught an eyeful down the plunging neckline. “That, too.” He grinned. “So, are you going to keep me in suspense any longer? What’s your surprise?”
“Do you really want to know?” she demurred.
“I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon.” In anticipation, he chewed his bottom lip. To his surprise, she opened her clutch bag and pulled out her wallet. Yanking a card out, she handed it to him. “It came in today’s mail.”
Murphy was so caught off guard that he could barely read the heading across the top of the laminated identification card. “What?”
“My license,” she explained. “I’m now a licensed private investigator.”
“You’re a … PI.” Disappointment seeped through his chest. He shoved the card back into her hand and whirled around. Anger taking hold, he turned back to her. “When did you become a PI? Why did you become a PI?”
“Because it’s going to be over a year before I can start medical school,” she explained. “After what happened in Deep Creek Lake, I thought I have the knowledge and natural talent that I could maybe work some cases—it will be a great way to observe and study the human psyche in the field. All of my friends have jobs or are married and have kids or are going to school—and I am not the type of woman to sit around all day and watch television with Newman or go shopping. I mean, a woman can only have so many pairs of shoes. So I decided to take a course online and then I took the test and I passed with a perfect score.” She cocked her head at him. “What’s your problem anyway?”
Humiliated by the error of his deduction, Murphy sighed. It wasn’t her fault that he had jumped to the wrong conclusion and got his hopes up. “I thought it was something else.”
“What did you think it was?” Studying the expression on his face, she narrowed her eyes to violet slits. When he didn’t respond, she uttered a scoff. “What were you thinking?”
“You said your news would make us both happy,” Murphy reminded her. “Why would I be happy about you becoming a private eye, spying on cheating husbands and running background checks?”
“I thought you would be happy that I wasn’t lying around watching movies and getting fat or going out and buying another dozen pairs of pumps,” she said. “You look like I just asked you for a divorce or told you that I was sleeping with another man. What did you think my news was going to be?”
“That we were pregnant,” Murphy confessed in a low voice.
Jessica’s eyes grew wide. With a small gasp, she stepped backwards while clutching her bosom.
Seeing her shock, Murphy stuttered out an explanation, “I know we use birth control, but it isn’t a hundred percent.”
“Murphy,” she said, “we’ve only just gotten married. Did you really want to start a family this soon?”
“No,” he said, “but when I started thinking that was your surprise, I warmed up to the idea real fast. My parents had only been married ten months when J.J. and I came along.” Stunned by her expression, he added, “You do want to have children, don’t you?”
“Yes, but not right now,” she said. “We have a lot of adjustments to make. Plus, we can’t ignore the fact that we still have to get to know a lot of things about each other. I admit we were wild and crazy to get married as fast as we did—but then, to throw a baby into the mix immediately, that’s just plain insane.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m glad to see we agree about that.”
Letting out a deep breath, Jessica brushed past him to return to the table, but not before Murphy caught her by the arm. “So when are we going to have children?”
“Not today,” she replied through gritted teeth. Yanking her arm free, she hurried back to the table.
“I’m ready when you are,” he told her departing figure.
At the table, Jessica ordered another martini. This one was a double.
Chapter Nine
Wrapped up in Dancing with the Stars, Newman didn’t notice the two-legged visitor to his home when his owners returned. He did hear the kitchen cupboard door and smelled the dog biscuit jar open, at which point he sat up and peered around the back of his chair in the direction of the kitchen with his floppy ears at attention.
Across the foyer and around the corner from the dining room, Murphy could feel Newman’s eyes ordering his master to bring his biscuit to him. Heaven forbid the couch potato miss Karina Schmirnoff doing the tango.
Spencer wolfed down her biscuit in only one bite before turning her attention to Izzy, who knelt down to the floor to admire the sheltie while petting her soft blue fur. “She’s got pretty eyes. I never saw a blue dog with blue eyes before.”
“That’s what makes her special.” Jessica turned to Murphy who had returned to the kitchen after giving Newman his treat. “Why is it that when I come home alone, Spencer barks her head off, but she doesn’t bark at you?”
“She didn’t bark just now when we came in,” Murphy said.
“But you were with me,” Jessica pointed out, “and I noticed that she doesn’t bark at you when you come home from work.”
His eyes wide, Murphy shrugged his shoulders with a broad gesture. “I don’t know. Ask Candi.”
“Her name is Spencer,” Jessica said.
“What should I call her?” Izzy asked.
