“I’ve got you,” a low voice close to her ear soothed. Strong arms wrapped her body then lifted her, resting her gently on the sofa.
She blinked at him, lifted her head then let it fall back to the cushion. “Where did you get that?” Her voice cracked.
“That’s what I need to talk to you about. I found it. On the trash route.”
Charis’s head spun with images of Deason—challenging Vic on Mr. B’s lawn, finding Vic’s dead body in a dumpster, finding his billfold in a trash cart. It was all too convenient. “You found Vic’s wallet in the trash this morning?” She forced herself to sit up a little and drew her legs in, locking her arms protectively around her knees.
“Yes.”
“But, it’s not Thursday—you couldn’t have found it behind Suds. Plus, I’m sure the police combed every inch of that alley.” She struggled to keep her voice steady, to keep suspicion from seeping into her words.
“You’re right. This is Tuesday.”
He wanted her to pick up on his thoughts, she could tell by the look in his eyes. Beneath the troubled brows, through the blazing gold flecks, his gaze practically screamed...something.
Charis turned her eyes to the wall clock: a white heart, the international symbol for nursing, a gift from Mr. B. “It’s seven-twenty. You’re usually working your way down Kentucky Street about this time. Tuesday mornings I always see you a little after seven through Mr. B’s window—” Her throat closed around the word. She pressed her fingers to her temples, rocking her head back and forth in her hands. “No. You did not find that in Mr. B’s garbage.”
“Charis. I did.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” She shrank from him, deeper into the cushions. “How is it you always seem to be around when bad things happen?”
Deason knelt beside the couch, his face close to hers. “Other than the fight me and Vic had on the lawn, I had nothing to do with any of this. Not the wallet, and for god’s sake not his death. I know finding his body and wallet makes me look suspicious as hell…”
She searched his eyes as he spoke, scrutinizing them, looking for clues, for shadows, for inklings of guilt. Finding none. “Why didn’t you take Vic’s wallet to the police? Why did you bring it to me?”
“You were the first thought in my head.” He reached out, as if to touch her hand.
She crossed her arms over her chest, finding that hard to believe.
Deason lowered his gaze. “I see I’ve made a mistake.” He rose and walked toward the door.
“If it was inside Mr. B’s trash bin, how did you know it was there?” she asked.
“There was a DVD player box on the ground beside the trash cart. The wallet rattled around inside. I thought it was a forgotten remote. I was walking to the door to give it to Wendell, and then noticed what it really was. For some stupid reason, I thought I should come over and tell you about it. So here I am.” He turned the doorknob. “And here I go.” He stepped onto the front porch, closing the door behind him.
Charis stood, steadying herself against the arm of the couch then walked to the door. Through the little window she watched him slide on his boots and wad his coveralls into the crook of his arm. He strode down the walkway, still gripping Vic’s wallet.
God help her. She believed him.
Chapter Five
Deason closed his eyes, letting his head fall back as the hot water rushed over him. Where did he go from here? The detective had cocked an eyebrow, looking at him as if he’d lost his mind when he’d asked if he could carry out his plans to move to Montana. The job at Glacier Park wouldn’t wait on him forever, he’d explained. He’d already asked the head ranger for an extra week after discovering Vic’s body.
“Son, don’t even think of leaving town until this mess gets sorted out. Suppose you hadn’t clocked Ricky Holland in the jaw last summer and earned yourself a record. Even if you’d never stepped foot inside a jail cell before in your life, the fact you discovered the dead body of a man you’d beat the crap out of the week before is curious. Add you finding his wallet to the scenario, and curious turns to suspicious. Leave town after finding your enemy’s corpse and billfold, and then suspicious turns to ‘guilty beyond a reasonable doubt’ in the eyes of a jury. Got it?”
The detective punched his index finger onto the statement in front of Deason. “I suggest you write down every detail surrounding the discovery of that wallet, right down to how many gnats were swarming Bob Barnaby’s trash bin.”
Deason had heard Jagger in the next room spouting to an officer about conspiracies, the government and—Lord help him—UFO’s. If he kept it up, Deason feared his friend would be the one who wound up in a cell. The padded kind.
Nowhere. That’s where Deason would go from here. He lathered his hair and body, rinsed, then grabbed the towel hanging over the shower curtain. He dried off, and then cleared the steam from the mirror, not liking the dark circles beneath his eyes.
After shaving, he padded down the hall to the kitchen, grabbed a bag of chips and a Mountain Dew on his way to the living room. Sleep, rare and broken, brought with it images of Victor Locke’s clouded eye, or sometimes little Beth’s exposed blue one. As a result, he and Kinko were spending more and more nights in the recliner watching the static filled television set. Charis was right. He always seemed to be around when bad things happened.
He settled into the chair, flipped to a MythBusters rerun on Discovery, and raised the footrest. A knock sounded on the front door. Figured. “Coming.” He lowered the footrest and deposited Kinko onto the floor.
He opened the door, breath and heartbeat picking up speed as he blinked through the screen at the vision standing on his front porch. Charis, bathed in moonlight.
“I know it’s late. I’m sorry. I just had to apologize for my behavior earlier. I don’t know what came over me. A nurse, fainting? I’ve never fainted before in my life—I didn’t even know women did that kind of thing anymore.” She hid her face in her hands, shaking her head. “I guess I was just…overwhelmed.” She pulled her palms from her flushed cheeks and looked at him, her light blue eyes filled with embarrassment.
“Come in,” Deason pushed open the screen door, stepping aside. Kinko whimpered gently as Charis entered the room.
“You are adorable,” Charis exclaimed.
Deason closed the door then turned around to find Charis giving Kinko a good scratching. Kink flipped to her back, allowing full access to her stomach.
“Who gave you that hairdo? A lady pretty as you shouldn’t have a bad hair day.” The skirt of her sundress fanned around her legs as she knelt beside the poodle. She looked at Deason and held up an uneven portion of the dog’s fur. “Are you responsible for this?”
“Guilty as charged,” he answered, regretting his unfortunate word choice.
She rose with Kinko in her arms. “I need scissors.”
Deason grinned and stepped to the kitchen. Charis followed him, set Kinko on one of the chairs and began to clear stacks of mail and car magazines from the table. She picked up a newspaper, examined the date then spread it out on the surface. “Come on up, girl.” Gently, she hoisted the dog to the middle of the table, and then took the scissors and snaggletooth comb from Deason.
“So how did you find this place?” Deason asked as Charis lifted a section of Kinko’s fur, measured it against another section, and then cut.
“Daphne gave me directions. Seems Jagger and her are becoming pretty good friends.” She briefly raised her gaze to his then resumed working on the dog.
“Don’t get your hopes up. She doesn’t know him too well yet.” He let out a little chuckle.
Charis lowered the scissors to the table. “Is there something she needs to know?” Her voice sounded serious.
Deason stepped closer, realizing what he’d said. “I wasn’t implying…”
Her eyes flashed with what looked like aggravation, or maybe impatience. “If there’s some reason Daph shouldn’t see Jagger, tell me now.”
Through narrowed eyes she studied him, her jaw working. Finally, she sighed and picked up the scissors. “I’m sorry. It’s just that ever since Vic…” She swept the back of her hand across her brow. “I don’t want anyone stumbling into a trapdoor straight to hell like I did.”
“Understandable.” Deason straddled a kitchen chair and looked up at her. A few blond strands escaped the twist of hair at her crown and floated around her face as she worked. He took it all in, her slender fingers, tender against the black fur, her focused, sky-blue eyes, the line of concentration creasing her smooth brow, the pout of her lips as she blew a lock of hair from her face. Warmth rushed him. He shifted in the chair and cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking—how did a girl like you end up with a guy like Vic?”
“Well, to hear Lita tell it, it was destiny. Having unhealthy relationships with redneck alcoholics is in my genetic makeup. She attracts losers, therefore I attract losers. I’m powerless to stop it. End of story.”
“And who’s Lita?”
“My mother. She was asleep in the spare bedroom this morning when you stopped by. Hers was the other car in the drive. We’ve been estranged until very recently. She has…issues, with men mostly. But she is making an effort to change. She’s even found a job and is staying with me until she gets on her feet.”
“So is that what you believe too? Has she brainwashed you with that redneck destiny hogwash?”
“Nope. I know better. Let me tell you the real story about me and Vic. I was young, barely twenty-three, and had just received my BSN from Northwestern. Daphne and I were college roommates before she dropped out, so I came here to visit her the summer after graduation. Vic’s father, Butch, owned the only grocery store in town at the time. I’d stopped in for a few things and Vic fell over himself waiting on me. I thought he was nice.” She shrugged.
“BSN—a bachelor’s degree in nursing? How many years did you have tied up in that?”
“It was a four year program. I enrolled at eighteen, right after high school. Lita didn’t work, so I was able to go to college on scholarships and grants.”
Deason raised his eyebrows. “Four years? And you gave up your dream of being a nurse, just like that, because a man was nice to you?”
Charis inhaled through her nose then let it out slowly, as if calming herself.
Deason held his breath, knowing he’d gone too far.
“There’s a little more to it than that. A lot more to it, actually. Vic was different back then—sweet, smart, a gentleman—if you can believe that. He was good to me. We fell in love. A year later, we married. Shortly after the wedding, his mother committed suicide. He plunged into depression, developed a drinking problem. Things got complicated. He became angry, hostile, abusive…” She rested her hands on Kinko’s back and closed her eyes.
“So, I left. It took me five whole years. I was hard headed, thought I could change him—don’t we all—but eventually I walked away. Of course, I have to give some of the credit to Mr. B and Daphne, both of them hounding me, breathing down my neck. In the end I think I was more afraid of what they’d do to me if I stayed than I was of what Vic would do if I left.” She chuckled and opened her eyes. They were glistening.
“Sounds like hell.”
“The day our divorce was final, I marched down to the jewelry store and asked Pete to melt my white-gold wedding band down, into this.” She held up her left hand. A pair of open wings wrapped her third finger. “It symbolizes my freedom. It’s been over a year now and I’ve never taken it off.”
“It’s a beautiful ring.” His throat clenched, he wished he could say something to ease her suffering. He knew by finding Vic’s body, Vic’s wallet, he’d inadvertently hurt her further. “I’m sorry you’ve been through so much pain.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad. Before Butch Locke decided Wendell was the devil, they’d sort of been friends. When Butch found out I was a nurse, he talked Wendell into hiring me to help manage Mr. B’s medication.” She smiled. “That was seven years ago. I love Mr. B so much, I’ve been by his side ever since.”
“Yeah, Bob Barnaby’s a great guy. I worked for him back in high school as a stock boy. My dad was the butcher.”
“Mr. B mentioned that.” Charis placed the scissors on the table then fluffed Kinko’s fur. “All done, pretty girl.” She kissed the top of the poodle’s head then set her on the floor. Kinko ran full force, nails clicking over the kitchen linoleum. She loped over the living room carpet, rounded the coffee table then shot down the hallway, celebrating her new haircut. Deason and Charis laughed as Charis folded mounds of fur into the newspaper.
“I’ll take care of that,” Deason said, taking the bundle from her hands, stepping it to the garbage can beneath the sink. “She looks great. I can’t thank you enough.” Kinko returned to the kitchen, wagging her tail and panting, looking up at Charis. “I think she’s actually smiling at you,” he said, smiling himself.
He turned to Charis, gliding his gaze over her body as she stood on her toes and arched her back, stretching. His face warmed as he imagined what he must look like—grinning, practically panting. If he had a tail, he’d be wagging it just like Kinko.
****
“I should go,” Charis said. “I didn’t mean to keep you. I only came by to apologize. Earlier, at my house, I didn’t mean to insinuate you had anything to do with Vic’s death. I’m just so confused about everything.”
“Well, finding a body and then finding the billfold that belongs to the dead person is unbelievable. I completely understand. I’m confused myself. I wonder if someone is setting me up, and if so, for what reason. I only wish I knew what was happening.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out two cans. “I’m going out to the back porch to watch Kink run around the yard. Join me?”
“Mountain Dew?” She widened her eyes at the can, taking it from him. “Stuff’ll keep you up all night.”
“I don’t sleep much anymore. Don’t really care for nightmares.”
She followed him down the hallway, through the laundry room and out the back door. They reached the patio. He pulled a frayed lawn chair out for her then seated himself. He pried the lid from a citronella tin in the center of the small table and lit the wick.
“Romantic,” she teased.
“Romantic compared to swarming mosquitos,” he said. “Keeps the bugs away.”
Kinko dashed through the dark yard, barking at shadows.
“When I left your place, I walked to the police station and turned in Vic’s wallet. Talked to a detective named Benton about it.”
Charis nearly choked on her soda. “You did? What did he say?”
“Not a whole lot, just that finding the wallet was suspicious. He got bent out of shape when I asked about taking off to Montana. Apparently, I’m forbidden to leave town until everything blows over. I know he suspects me, has from the beginning. The fact I have a record isn’t helping me any.”
“Detective Benton. That’s the same man who talked to me at Mr. B’s house. He asked me several questions about Vic.”
“Guy’s kind of a prick. Excuse my language.”
“What about the job at Glacier Park?”
Deason sucked in a long breath then let it out slowly. “Guess that dream’s over.”
Charis’s heart broke a little with his words. Disgrace lowered her eyes as she again thought about the remark she’d made earlier when he’d brought her the wallet—how she’d asked him why he always seemed to be around when bad things happened. She couldn’t believe she’d suspected him. He was a good man, she could feel it. A rare, heroic man who’d buried his dream alive by uncovering Vic’s dead body. It wasn’t fair.
She lifted her gaze to find his eyes
on her, gold flecks burning like embers in the candlelight. Her breath caught then escaped in hot puffs, scorching her throat like steam. She reached for her soda, downed the whole can. It didn’t quench the slow simmer in her midsection. Ribbons of heat rose through her belly, her breasts, her neck, and she trembled. She wet her swelling lips, the action igniting a flame in Deason’s eyes that nearly made her moan.
“Charis.”
Her name seemed to melt on his tongue like a snowflake.
“Yes?”
He slid his chair close, his eyes never leaving hers. “Do you trust me?”
He smelled wonderful. Clean skin with a hint of sandalwood. She nodded, her gaze once again magnetized by those incredible golden flecks. “Completely.”
“Then believe me when I say you have to leave,” he whispered, the words tingling her ear.
“N-now?” Dangerously close to gaping, she snapped her mouth shut and blinked.
“Right now.”
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, despising the quiver in her voice.
“You’re a beautiful woman, and I haven’t felt this way in a long time—hell, never. If you don’t leave now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to contain myself.”
“What makes you think I want you contained?” Her eyes drifted to his mouth. As if reading her mind, his lips were on hers, firm, warm, hungry. He buried his hands in her hair, shaking the strands free as the aroma of strawberry shampoo wafted on the breeze.
Breaking the kiss, he framed her face in his strong palms, his gaze intently on hers.
“Do you still want me to go?” she breathed, her heart beating through the thin fabric of her dress.
“I want you to stay,” he answered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “So I’m certain you should go.”
She sighed, sliding his hands from her cheeks to her lips, kissing them. “Okay, I’ll go. Since you can’t be trusted.” She smiled and stood, smoothing her sundress.
Deason lifted his eyes to the starlit sky and blew out a long breath. “I suppose it’s too late to change my mind?”
Another Man's Treasure Page 8
