Forgotten Obsessions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 1)

by Talia Maxwell

  “Nothing. I mean. Roger. I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed he didn’t come running…or…I’m so glad that bastard didn’t kill my dog.” She looked at him, not with the come-hither eyes she’d adopted the past few times they’d been together, unable to keep their hands off each other, little nudges here, taps there, nuzzles and grabbing of clothes, small pinches and smiles—all the nuanced moments that go on between two people courting each other.

  They were too tired and too scared to go through the dance anymore.

  This was real life and in that moment, they didn’t need to play the game with physical affections and tender comments—they wanted to survive until tomorrow.

  In Maeve’s eyes, Derek could see only resolve and pain.

  “I don’t think I could tell if anything was taken from the investigation files,” she lamented. “I hadn’t inventoried that closely.”

  “This isn’t safe,” Derek said.

  “We knew it wouldn’t be.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable asking you to continue the search…”

  Maeve rolled her eyes and gave him a look of pure scorn.

  “I’m not going around and around on this with you,” she said as kindly as possible. “One minute you want to solve this and the next minute you want to run away. You can do whatever you want, Derek. Be as involved as you want or not, but we’re gonna find this creep.”

  “The police need to know who they’re looking for.”

  “Gloria already had a meeting lined up,” Maeve answered smugly. “She’s got an investigator friend. You don’t trust us?” The question landed between them and Derek paused.

  “I trust you,” he answered. “No more pictures of my dead sister in your apartment.”

  “Don’t worry. Holly came over and cleared it all out while I was here. New headquarters. Her house.” She shrugged and smiled. “She also got someone to come change the lock again.” Maeve picked up her purse off the ground, finished her drink, and stood. “The investigation is moving locations and I’m going to stay with my mom for a few days.”

  “Your mom,” he repeated as if suddenly dawned on him that Maeve and Millie would have parents, people he could one day meet. Would he have to explain how his life put their daughter in danger? While attempting to be charming? “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

  “Okay, while you’re here. I need you to pick a song to play for the end of the service tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow…” Derek leaned over and cradled his head in his hands. He hadn’t forgotten, exactly, but he felt like the memorial was further away. Tomorrow was sudden and immediate. “You pick,” he said. “I don’t want to make any choices.”

  “Done,” Maeve answered. She put a folder back into her purse without another word. “That’s fine.”

  “Is it?” he asked.

  Maeve smiled. “You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. You have to show up. Sit. Shake some hands, and take your dad’s ashes when you leave. We have taken care of the rest.”

  “We?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Your murder club, of course. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “I can. We’re a powerful force,” she chastised, warding off any disparaging remarks.

  Derek grabbed her hand and smiled. “I didn’t mean to sound like I don’t trust you,” he said. “I do. It will be great. I know it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rosie from the Love is Murder Social Club knew a group of guys who worked at the dispensary across from the Acropolis, one of Portland’s more recognizable strip clubs, which marketed themselves as having tasty enough steaks to need a pick-up window at the side of the building so prudish housewives could pick up meals without the reminder that naked women danced inside, too.

  The guys at the dispensary were Samoan and their physical presence was commanding. So, Rosie offered good pay for a few extra hours work that weekend and she hired them to work front door security at Timothy Shelton’s service. When she showed up at the Episcopalian church, she was flanked by the boys, all cousins, and Maeve watched as they, in ill-fitting suits and tennis shoes, positioned themselves at the front of the wrought-iron gate leading to the sanctuary.

  They’d scare away the photographers, she hoped.

  “We only approved the Willamette Week to have a camera,” Rosie said with a didactic tone to her impromptu muscle.

  “You want us to search bags?” one of the new security guards asked.

  Rosie shrugged and looked to Maeve. “You want them to search bags?”

  “Nah,” Maeve said. “Just be vigilant. We’re mostly trying to keep out intruders trying to grab pics.”

  Maeve drifted away from Rosie and the boys and walked into the sanctuary where Gloria and Kristy arranged the basic flower display at the front. The church itself was beautiful, with floor to ceiling stained glass and wood paneling in the back. It was Maeve’s choice to keep it pretty and keep it simple.

  As the time approached for the service, the mourners collected.

  Maeve watched as Derek, out of his element, stood near the sanctuary doors and greeted the people as they arrived. He doled out hugs to the people he knew and sturdy handshakes to strangers or acquaintances.

  A woman approached, dressed in a tight black dress, and Maeve noticed Derek stiffened and crossed his arms. The woman put her hand out and touched him gently. Maeve continued to study the interaction and soon she understood.

  Julie.

  Maeve casually made a beeline over to Derek and by the time she arrived, Julie was still there.

  Julie handed Derek an envelope. He took it and held it. Maeve reached out her hand.

  “I’m Maeve,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”

  Julie squinted and smiled. She turned around without saying a word and disappeared into the sanctuary.

  “She’s warm,” Maeve said with a nod.

  “It’s possible to ignore people,” Derek admonished and he nudged her. “Julie has to be at the center of everything, it’s in her DNA. And she’s clearly jealous,” he added. “You can’t let it bother you.”

  “I’m not letting it bother me,” Maeve replied. “Does it bother you?”

  Julie had taken her seat halfway back and she turned at that moment to look at Derek; he took the opportunity to snake his arm around Maeve’s waist and nuzzle her hair with his nose, inhaling her, eyes closed.

  “Yes,” Maeve said with a nod and a laugh.

  “Yes, what?” Derek asked.

  “Yes, I agree to be used as a pawn to make your ex-fiancee’ jealous.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing…”

  “That’s totally what you’re doing.”

  “She’d be jealous no matter what I did. But fine. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “So, then this is a bonus?” Maeve leaned into him again and when she saw Julie’s head slip back to stare once more, she stood up on her toes, kissed his cheek and let it linger. It felt deliciously fun—Julie had broken up with him and she still wanted to chase him and keep him wrapped up in her. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t going to happen. It was the classic case of not wanting someone for yourself, but forbidding the world from having that person, too.

  Derek didn’t think of Julie anymore, or so he said. Maeve was making sure of that.

  When she glanced back a third time, pretending that she was studying the stained glass in the back of the sanctuary, he slid his hand to Maeve’s ass and turned their bodies so Julie could see.

  It was tacky to be so outwardly affectionate at his dad’s funeral, but somehow putting on the show for Julie was more important than what people thought.

  “We should’ve had those security dudes block her from attending,” Derek lamented in a whisper, while a group of congregants moved passed them and directed solemn nods in Derek’s direction. He fidgeted and shifted on the balls of his feet.

  “Please. She knew your dad. Let her mourn, too,” she said.

  “But I can keep teasin
g her by grabbing your ass whenever she’s looking?” he asked.

  Maeve smiled, “Whatever makes you happy, baby.”

  The baby slid off her tongue so easily and she was surprised by the way it sounded.

  “Is that what I am?” he asked. “Your baby?”

  “Is this where we get to have an awkward conversation about what our relationship means?”

  “Maybe,” Derek nodded. He handed a program to a mourner and another couple, who he pretended to remember, grabbed his hand and shook it wildly while recounting memories of Timothy.

  “Can we postpone until…” Maeve bowed slightly to an older couple who walked through misty-eyed, “…thank you for coming today. Yes, here’s a program…until the service is over?” she asked.

  Maeve’s program was amazing and beautiful. She’d found a pastor to eulogize him and a family friend. She didn’t even ask the fourth wife to say or do anything, which Derek was grateful for. And all he had to do was sit there and do nothing.

  She’d done everything she said she would. The Love is Murder girls were all there. A few stayed in the kitchen in the community hall to prepare for the small reception afterward with donated cakes and cookies from local markets.

  Maeve Montgomery. Criminologist. Waitress. Party Planner.

  She didn’t want to spend Timothy’s money on the pageantry of death when he’d been taken from the earth in a cruel way. Simple and sweet was the motto.

  She’d also dressed to capture his attention. Her brown hair was spun into ringlets and it fell on to her shoulders in waves of curls. She could feel Derek watching her. He’d told her that her dress reminded him of a swing dress from the fifties. The bodice was tight across her chest, floral, strapless, and the waist pinched in at the middle before the dress opened up, pleated and full. She wore a camisole over the top, buttoned, to hide her cleavage.

  “When does the service start?” he asked and adjusted his tie.

  “Twenty minutes,” Maeve answered with a look at her phone.

  “I can’t stand here for another twenty minutes,” Derek said with a whine.

  “You want to sit in the little room behind the pulpit and wait? The pastor suggested it as a quiet place to stay if the group was hard to handle. You know, to mourn in private.”

  Derek nodded and Maeve took his hand and led him down the center aisle, to the left of the pulpit and through a small wooden door. She turned on the light and illuminated a wood-paneled storage room. There were boxes of candles and candelabras, a rack with choir robes, and a picture of Jesus on the wall. A bookshelf in the corner boasted hymnals and Bibles, and the rumble of the outside crowd died away completely.

  The room was quiet.

  Maeve stood against the door as if warding off the evil presence outside. Her arms were crossed over her body and her eyes closed. She felt protective of his time alone and she didn’t want him to risk another panic attack.

  “Hey,” Derek said, his voice soft, tentative.

  Maeve opened her eyes. “What’s up?”

  He walked over to her and leaned down and kissed her. He made sure it was long and tender, and he put his hand on the small of her back and the other hand on her cheek, while they kissed and kissed, and breathed, and kissed.

  Derek grabbed the top part of the skirt on her dress and slowly bunched the fabric in his hand until he’d exposed the top part of her hip. Pinning the dress up with his thumb, he ran his other hand along her thigh and then he took a deep breath and smiled.

  “Look at you in your cute little thong,” he said.

  Maeve winked and laughed. She slapped his hand and he dropped the dress, to his chagrin.

  “We’re at a funeral,” she said with a sparkling look of danger and shock in her eyes. “There are, like, five hundred people out there.” She nodded to the closed door.

  “Yes,” he said. “And there’s only the two of us in here.” He walked back to her and put his hands out in front of him. “If I told you…I’ve never made love to someone in public, and I want to...”

  “At a funeral.”

  “At this funeral,” he amended.

  Maeve stood there. She squinted. She put her hands on her waist and she waited, aware that she held all the power.

  “You want to fuck me at your dad’s funeral while all of the people who came to grieve him are ten feet away on the other side of this door?” she whispered at him.

  “It is literally the only thing I want to do.”

  He walked over to the door and locked it, then pulled on the knob to double-check.

  Maeve looked around the room. She smiled and let out a sigh. While Derek watched, she tugged a choir robe free from a hanger and draped it over the portrait of Jesus. Then she reached up under her dress and removed her thong, dangled it on her pinky and shook her head slowly, a wide smile appearing on her face.

  “Okay, Derek Shelton. Come and get me.”

  He didn’t remove the dress. And he kept his pants on, pulling down the trousers and his boxers enough to angle up into her while he grabbed her waist and pinned her to the wall. He held her and he poured out every last bit of energy into her. They were a tangle of clothes—her dress hiding them from exposure—and he slid in and out, each stroke a deep thrum of pleasure.

  She came and her body shuddered against him.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Once. Twice. Rapidly.

  It was so fast and so sudden that Maeve didn’t have time to register the intimacy and idiocy of the moment—the knocking door, the peeking eyes of the Jesus, a stack of hymnals. Her mother would be so ashamed.

  “Derek?” someone’s voice called, muffled by the noise from the outside.

  Maeve’s eyes snapped open and Derek’s too, but he didn’t stop. He turned and looked at the door and the knob, and then back at Maeve. He kept eye contact with her and held her into him.

  “Hello? This is locked! Sorry!” the voice called again.

  Derek laughed. A mirthful, loud, guffaw of sheer joy at the whole scenario. And when he came, the knocking more persistent, he moaned in a whisper in her ear and then looked around for something to use to give Maeve to wipe herself before he answered the damn door.

  He was disheveled but happy. Happy at a memorial service. And Maeve almost hoped the person on the other side could feel the giddiness of that moment seeping through.

  With both of her feet back on the ground, Maeve looked liked she’d been shoved up against the wall and devoured. The back of her hair was matted and messy, her camisole was askew and one of her breasts exposed. Derek tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up.

  He looked invigorated.

  His fantasy. Done. And what an epic choice—a church.

  “We could have sex in churches all over Portland. It could be our, like, freaky sex thing.”

  He was nearly giddy with the idea.

  “We can make it a game,” Maeve replied.

  The knock persisted. The yelling stopped. Someone talked to someone else on the other said, their tone intense and focused.

  “Ten churches and what’s our reward? I knew a church by my house that had band practice on Thursdays and left the doors open,” Derek said. He waited at the door for Maeve to put herself back together.

  Maeve reached down and used her own thong to wipe up Derek from her thighs and then she looked for somewhere to stash it, eventually tucking the stained undies behind the bookshelf with the Bibles.

  “Forgive me, Jesus. For I am leaving these for someone else to discover…”

  Derek watched her place them there with stunned excitement and stifled laughter.

  “Oh God. The poor horny priest who finds your cum stained thong…”

  “I don’t think Episcopalian pastors have to be celibate,” Maeve shrugged. She ran her fingers through her hair and tucked her breast back into the bodice of her dress and straightened the camisole. In a last-second move, she tore the robe back down off the Jesus painting. Then she opened the doo
r.

  It was Julie.

  “Julie!” he said with an exaggerated surprise. “Who would’ve thought?”

  Julie looked at Maeve and Derek, and her cheeks instantly bloomed red.

  “Some of the…” she trailed off, “…clubbers, or women, or whatever, were looking for you two. And I thought I’d tell you—”,

  “Thanks,” Maeve said.

  “Because I thought I saw you two come in here, and so…” Julie tried to continue. Derek’s eyes didn’t leave hers.

  “Did you?” Derek asked. “Well, that’s where we were. Thanks for your assistance.”

  “Of course.” Julie dipped her head. “I did get to talk to a few of the girls,” she continued, not wanting to walk away. Maeve saw the woman’s eyes shift and pour over her, gathering every bit of information she could. “I don’t know, Maeve, if you knew this, but my family lives in Maryland.”

  Maeve’s blood ran cold.

  Her breathing increased and she stared at Julie, confused, alarmed, and unable to stop her.

  “If you get accepted to the program there, I’d be happy to set you up to the people I know for a tour of town.”

  “What? Maryland?” Derek turned. “You’re moving to Maryland?” It was hard not to hear the surprise in his voice.

  “Or Pennsylvania, right? Have you ever been?” Julie asked in a way that made Maeve think she knew she hadn’t been to either place.

  How did she know?

  Maeve seethed and smiled. “Oh, um, that wasn’t—” official, she was going to say, but her voice caught in her throat and she shook the cough away.

  Julie, damage done, mumbled through a few other comments and then scooted back to her seat, promising to catch up more during the reception.

  “Maryland or Pennsylvania. Julie knew and I didn’t know?”

  “I was going to tell you—” Maeve sputtered and then, worried that she was about to burst into tears in the front of the sanctuary, she said, “Excuse me,” and rushed up the aisle. In the reception hall, she found Millie and pulled her aside by her arm into the furthest corner of the room.

  “Julie? How does Julie, Derek’s ex, know about my grad school applications?”