by Josie Belle
“Uh-huh,” Sam said.
He didn’t look impressed with the miracle before him, more like annoyed. He sat on the wrought-iron furniture, making the couch look smaller than it was, and said, “Maggie, I think it’s time you and I had a little chat.”
“Really?” she asked. “What about?”
Her grandmother had always said you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Of course, Maggie had always wondered why you’d want to, but since she’d been throwing nothing but vinegar at Sam since he’d gotten back and he still hadn’t left her alone, maybe she needed to toss a little sugar his way. He might just run for the hills, which did seem to be his modus operandi.
He narrowed his eyes as she sat in the seat adjacent to his. He didn’t trust the nice her. Smart man.
“What were you really doing at the jail today?” he asked. When she opened her mouth to speak, he added, “And please do not give me any baloney about a sick cat. We both know he’s fine and always was.”
“Claire is my friend,” she said. “I wanted to see that she was all right.”
She took a sip of her own lemonade, trying to look the part of a worried friend who had no ulterior motives. One of Sam’s eyebrows lifted, and he watched her like a hawk tracking a field mouse. She stared at the rim of her glass, the picture of innocence.
“Did she tell you about Baltimore?” he asked.
Maggie’s gaze flew up to meet his blue one. Did he know about John Templeton? Had Claire told him about what she’d seen? Or was he trying to trick her?
“Mostly, we talked about how she was feeling,” Maggie said.
She didn’t like lying to a law enforcement officer, but since he hadn’t said he was here in an official capacity, and since she had been talking to Claire about her feelings, she felt pretty good about her answer.
“And how is she feeling?” he asked.
“About what you’d expect,” Maggie said. “Miserable.”
“Listen,” he said. He leaned forward and set his glass on the table. He rested his elbows on his knees and gave Maggie a very direct, no-nonsense stare. “I don’t think your friend killed Templeton.”
Maggie sucked in a breath of surprised relief. This was great. Hopefully, he’d let her out of jail and turn his attention toward finding the real killer.
“But,” he said, and raised his hand as if to halt the happy bubble that was beginning to float up inside of her, “your friend knows things about John Templeton that would help me to find his real killer, and she’s not talking.”
“What makes you think that?” Maggie asked.
“A woman does not abandon a promising career in a large municipality to take a job as second banana in a midsize town with no growth potential,” he said. “Unless she’s trying to get away from someone or something.”
Maggie felt her heart pound hard in her chest. How could she have forgotten that Sam was as smart as he was good-looking? She should have expected him to connect the dots and come up with the same question mark she had.
Of course, she now knew why Claire had abandoned her life in Baltimore, but Maggie had no idea what impact it would have on Claire if she told Sam. Besides, she really didn’t think it was her place to say.
“She told you, didn’t she?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
Sam blew out a breath. “I’m not playing games, Maggie. This is your friend’s life at stake. If she doesn’t cooperate, she’s going to go down for the murder of John Templeton.”
“So, she hasn’t told you anything. This is just a fishing expedition for you,” Maggie said. She was feeling annoyed at being caught between her friend and the law, and at not knowing what she should do. “So, what does that make me—the big-mouthed bass?”
Sam opened his mouth and closed it—remarkably like a big-mouthed bass, in fact.
“You really thought that you could intimidate me into telling you anything my friend told me in confidence,” she said. She rose to a standing position. This conversation was over.
Sam rose to his feet as well. “Then you admit that she told you something.”
“I admit nothing,” Maggie protested.
A knock on the door frame sounded, breaking them out of their staring contest, and they turned as one to the door.
“Sorry to interrupt, but the wee man is sleeping,” Sandy said. “Do you think you two could keep it down?”
She glanced between them, and Maggie knew she was taking in their tense posture, rapid breathing and the palpable hostility polluting the air between them.
“I’m very sorry,” Sam said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, any of you.”
“He didn’t wake up,” Sandy said. “So, no harm, no foul.”
“I’m sorry, too, honey,” Maggie said. “Fortunately, Sam was just leaving.”
He looked back at her in surprise. Obviously, that had not been his plan, but it was certainly hers. Unless he had a warrant for her arrest, she saw no earthly reason why she should even be talking to him.
A knock on the front door sounded, and Maggie turned to Sandy. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No,” Sandy said. “Study group is tomorrow night.”
“Speaking of which, you should get back to it,” Maggie said. She shooed her niece away with her hands. “I’ll get the door, you hit the books.”
Sandy gave them one last considering look before disappearing back down the hallway.
“I’ll show you out,” she said to Sam, and led the way from the sun porch.
Sam didn’t put up a fuss, but followed her to the front door. Maggie undid the latch and pulled the door open. Joanne stood there, looking puffy-eyed and trembling.
“Joanne, are you all right?”
“I talked to Michael.” Her words were fast, like a stream when it tumbles over the rocks in its path. “He said he knew John Templeton, that he had actually loaned us money for some of our investments. Michael met him through the young entrepreneurs group, but he didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to worry about the money.”
“Oh,” Maggie said. “Well, that’s interesting. Thanks for stopping by, Joanne. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She tried to shut the door on Joanne before she said anything else within Sam’s earshot. Maggie could feel Sam beside her, just behind the door, looming like a dark shadow at midnight. She didn’t know how much he had heard, but given that Joanne wasn’t being quiet in her blubbering, she was betting he’d heard all of it.
“But, Maggie, don’t you want to—” Joanne began, but Maggie interrupted.
“Meet for coffee in the morning? Yeah, that sounds great.”
She didn’t know how to get Joanne to stop talking without letting Sam know that that’s what she was trying to do. Damn it.
“I can’t wait to talk in the morning. Maggie, don’t you realize what this means?” Joanne wailed. Maggie shook her head, frantically trying to get Joanne to shut up.
“It means,” Sam said, stepping out from behind the door, “that you and your husband have just landed on my list of suspects.”
Chapter 19
Joanne gasped as she took in the sight of the sheriff in Maggie’s house. She looked at Maggie in horror.
“Oh, it does not!” Maggie snapped at Sam. “Stop being a bully.”
“I am not—” he protested, but Maggie hushed him by holding her hand up.
Joanne burst into big hiccupping sobs and moaned. “Oh, I can’t go to jail, I just can’t. It would mess up everything, my shots and taking my temperature. They probably don’t let you have thermometers in jail.”
“Joanne, are you on hormone shots right now?” Maggie asked.
Joanne nodded and then let out another sob. Maggie pulled her into her arms and let Joanne cry on her shoulder.
“She and her husband are going through in vitro fertilization right now,” Maggie whispered to Sam.
“Maggie!” Joanne pulled back and gave her a fu
rious look. “Why don’t you take out an ad in the daily paper?”
“Joanne, we have to tell him,” Maggie said. “Look at you, you’re a mess. He needs to know that it’s your hormones and not that you’re nuts.”
“I’m not hormonal,” Joanne argued. “I’m in here. I’d know if I was hormonal, wouldn’t I?”
Maggie stared at her until Joanne burst into tears.
“Oh, God, I am hormonal, aren’t I?”
“Little bit,” Maggie said. “Come on in and sit down. I’ll get you some lemonade.”
“Okay.” Joanne sniffed and followed Maggie to the sun porch.
As if afraid to be alone with the crazy, hormonal woman, Sam followed Maggie into the kitchen while she got a glass for Joanne.
“Is she always like that?” he asked.
“Only when she’s on shots,” Maggie said. “She gets very weepy.”
“Reason number five hundred and one that I’m glad I’m a dude,” he said.
Maggie shook her head at him. “How very sensitive of you.”
“What?” he asked.
“Weren’t you leaving?” she asked.
“Not now,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m staying,” he said. “I want to hear what Mrs. Claramotta has to say.”
“You can’t! That’s illegal,” Maggie said.
“No, it isn’t,” he argued.
“Well, it’s unethical,” she said. “Not that I ever thought you suffered from an overabundance of ethics anyway, but still.”
Sam glared at her as if he were considering strangling her. Maggie tipped her chin up in defiance. She wasn’t scared of Sam Collins.
A breath hissed out between his teeth. “Listen, I can either talk to her here or haul her down to the station and get a formal statement. Up to you,” he said.
Maggie watched as he nosed around her counter, obviously giving her a few seconds to weigh her options, until he found her large ceramic cookie jar. He lifted the lid and peered inside.
“Yes, there are oatmeal raisin cookies in there,” she said, taking the lid away from him. “No, you can’t have any. I am plum out of hospitality for you.”
“That’s too bad,” he sighed. “Those are my favorite, and I’m a much nicer person with a few cookies in me.”
“Fine. Three cookies and not one raisin more,” she said. “And you had better not make Joanne cry again, or it’s the last time you’ll ever see the inside of my cookie jar.”
A grin spread across his face as Maggie felt a hot flush of mortification spread across her own.
“I did not mean that the way it sounded,” she said. “I mean, I did mean that the way it sounded—oh, why are you here?”
“I’m beginning to wonder myself,” he said. He fished three cookies out of the jar. “But it’s nice to see you’re thinking about giving me access…to your cookies.”
Maggie was clutching the ceramic lid in her hand so tightly she was afraid it might shatter. That would be better than throwing it at him, she supposed.
Sam started to walk back toward the sun porch but turned around and said, “You should bring her some cookies. I bet that’ll make her feel better.”
Maggie glared at him. She didn’t need him telling her what would make her friend feel better. She did, however, put some cookies on a plate and brought them as well as a glass of lemonade into the sun room, where Joanne sat, looking like a weepy, miserable mess.
“Mrs. Claramotta,” Sam said. “I’m Sheriff Collins, but please call me Sam.”
Joanne looked up at him as if he were a snake and she was trying to figure out if he was poisonous or just creepy. Maggie would have told her just creepy, but she doubted it would endear her to Sam. Not that she cared what he thought, but she didn’t want this to be any more traumatic for Joanne than it already had been.
“Sam,” Joanne said as if trying it out. “My name is Joanne.”
“Nice name,” Sam said.
Maggie rolled her eyes. Joanne didn’t see her, but Sam must have because he stepped on her toes, and when she jerked her leg back and frowned at him, he gave her a bland “I have no idea why you’re mad at me” look.
“Joanne, neither you nor your husband are in any trouble with the law,” he said.
“We’re not?” The shoulders that had been clenched around her ears slowly lowered.
“No, but I do have some questions about John Templeton, and anything you can tell me may help me catch his killer, which would be great for your friend Claire.”
Joanne looked at Maggie, who gave her a small nod.
She’d have to trust that whatever Joanne told Sam wouldn’t incriminate Claire any more than she already was.
“What do you know about John Templeton?” he asked.
Joanne took a sip of her lemonade. She looked at both Maggie and Sam, and said, “Not very much. My husband Michael might be a better person to talk to, but I can tell you what he told me.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. He finished off his cookies and fished a small pad and pen out of his shirt pocket. Then he nodded at Joanne to continue.
“My husband belongs to a young entrepreneurs group,” she said. “Several local businessmen in St. Stanley belong, like Jay Morgan from the Perk Up and Mr. Santana, the grocer, and Jerry Paulson, who owns the hardware store. There are others, but I can’t think of their names right now.”
Sam wrote down the names she had said and nodded for her to continue.
“Anyway, about a year ago, Mr. Templeton came and spoke at a group meeting,” she said. “He told them he was a venture capitalist and looking to invest in St. Stanley because he really believed it could become the next hot suburban community for Richmond.”
“Huh,” Maggie grunted. She didn’t like that at all.
Sam gave her a quelling look, which she ignored.
“Anyway, Mr. Templeton offered to find capital for anyone looking to buy up some small businesses to increase their net worth. Michael, my husband, took him up on it, and we bought two apartment complexes on the edge of town.”
“Which ones?” Sam asked.
“Arbor Cove and the Windscape apartments,” she said.
Sam made a note and glanced up at her. “Go on.”
“There isn’t much more to tell,” she said. “Michael had an attorney check the deal out, so we knew it was legit. Now we’re paying on those apartment buildings, and trying to keep our tenants happy. We didn’t kill John Templeton. We had no reason to.”
It was silent in the sun room as Joanne broke down sobbing and Maggie glared at Sam.
“What?” he asked. “I didn’t accuse her of anything.”
“Can’t you see that she’s not at her best right now?” Maggie snapped.
Sam looked from Maggie to Joanne and sighed. “You’re right. I should be talking to her husband anyway. This young entrepreneurs group sounds like a promising lead.”
“Oh no,” Joanne wailed. “Now they’re all going to be mad at me, and they’ll probably kick Michael out, and he loves that group.”
As Joanne spiraled into yet another meltdown, Maggie looked at Sam and jerked her head in Joanne’s direction. Sam gave her a confused look, and Maggie bugged her eyes at him in a clear signal for him to say something to calm her friend down.
“Oh!” Sam cleared his throat. “I don’t think there will be any need to tell the other members of the entrepreneurs group where I got their names from.”
“Really?” Joanne sniffed.
“Really, it’s all public record, and I’m sure we would have gotten to them eventually on our own,” he said.
Maggie dialed back her glare just a little. At least the big oaf was showing some humanity. She rose from her seat, and said, “Can I show you out now, Sheriff Collins?”
He raised his eyebrows at her abrupt tone, but slowly rose to his feet.
“Good night, Joanne,” he said. “Thanks for the information. You’ve been a big help.”
&
nbsp; “Good night, Sam,” Joanne said. She reached for a cookie as Maggie and Sam left the room.
“Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?” Sam said as he followed her through the living room to the front door.
Maggie stopped by the door and turned to face him. “I think you officially owe me.”
“Owe you?” he asked.
“Joanne said a lot more to you than she would have if I hadn’t been here. In fact, if she had come at any other time, you wouldn’t know any of this.”
Sam rocked back on his heels and considered her. “Maybe.”
“There’s no maybe about it.” Maggie could feel her temper getting wound up. How did this man manage to do that to her with one word? Argh. It was maddening.
“So, if I owe you one, and I’m not saying that I do,” he said. “How do you plan to collect?” His voice was full of innuendo, and so was his steadfast blue gaze for that matter.
Maggie shook her head. “You really think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”
He shrugged. It was a practiced move that showed off more muscle than it should have. Maggie turned her head in disgust.
“Please, save it for Summer Phillips and your other female fans,” she chided him.
They were standing by the door. Maggie had her back to it, and Sam reached out and braced himself against the wall with one arm, effectively trapping her between him and the door. Yet another practiced move, she was sure.
“Are you saying you’re not a fan?” he asked.
His face was just inches from hers and, as she met his gaze, she was transported back to those summer nights all those years ago, when they snuck out of St. Stanley in his old beat-up pick-up truck and went swimming in the abandoned quarry on the edge of town.
She was also made infuriatingly aware of how handsome Sam Collins, the football star and valedictorian of his graduating class, still was. Before she heard Karen Carpenter’s voice start singing about birds suddenly appearing, Maggie closed her eyes and shook her head as if she were trying to shake off a bad case of fleas. When she opened her eyes, she felt her good sense return.
Sam watched her, tilting his head as if he was trying to figure her out and it would be easier from a sideways angle. Then his gaze moved down to her lips, as if looking for her answer and daring her to deny that she had been a fan of his. Maggie slipped under his arm and sidestepped away. She turned the knob on the door and yanked it open, leaving him no choice but to move his arm.
