Ashli chuckled. “That,” she said, “is the secret formula to these magnificent gardens. Mr. Parnell swears by the stuff. I have no idea what is in it, but it’s his own concoction, and he’s very secretive about it. He’s won several different awards and contests for his flowers and vegetables, and he says he owes it all to his secret plant food and fertilizer.”
“It stinks to high heaven,” Lange complained, moving away from the window.
“You’re telling me. But he’s good to only spray it when no one is out and about. Sometimes the yard will smell after he first puts it out, but that dissipates with a little bit of a breeze. See this back wall? This is where we play our movies. You should come next time.”
“Maybe I will. I’m assuming it will be a Doris Day flick?”
“If Mr. Parnell has anything to say about it, it will be. I still can’t believe I never knew he had a movie theater. He’s always talking about the past. I wonder how that never came up.”
“Maybe he forgot,” Lange said wryly.
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” she chided, but she was smiling as she bumped his arm with her shoulder. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I’m ashamed of myself for what I’m thinking right now,” he told her.
“Which is?”
“That I’d love to take every stitch of clothes off your beautiful body and make love to you right here in the open.” He ignored her startled intake of breath and dropped a kiss onto her nose. “And then again under that rosebush.” A kiss to her brow. “And over there by those daisies.” A kiss to her cheek. “And what I’d love to do to you under that mimosa tree,” he breathed, nibbling on an ear.
“You should be ashamed,” she murmured in agreement, without any real conviction. Then, with a wicked grin that flipped his heart on its side, she countered, “My bed is much more comfortable.”
She heard his breathing quicken, and loved the bright flicker that sparked his eyes. He leaned in to say, “Race you,” deceptively low and slow. Then he took off with a head start.
“Hey, no fair!” she protested with a laugh.
When he came to a sudden stop, Ashli ran into him. “What in the world is the matter with you?” she laughed. “Letting me win? What are you looking at?” She followed his gaze to the corner of the mansion where her condo was.
Morning sun streamed over her balconies, offering no shade and easy visibility. Ashli gasped when she saw the red letters splashed across the French windows of her living room. The word “BITCH” glistened in the bright sunlight, the paint - or was it blood? - still wet and beginning to drip.
Lange reached for her as she crumpled to the ground in despair.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Detective Sullivan and his forensics team arrived within twenty minutes. While they went to work swabbing and printing and taking photos, Ashli disappeared into her kitchen. She needed the distraction of keeping busy, and the comfort she found in cooking. By the time the detective came back inside to question her in depth, the house smelled of cinnamon and yeast.
Ashli carried a tray into the living room, where the policeman and Lange were speaking in clipped, terse tones. She caught some of their words as she approached.
“Please, don’t let us keep you from your event, Mr. Sterling.” Detective Sullivan eyed Lange’s formal attire with a downward tilt of his lips. “It’s not necessary for you to be here while I question Ms. Wilson.”
“Our event was last night.” Lange deliberately goaded the other man. “And she prefers to be addressed as ‘Miss’.”
High levels of testosterone circled between the two men as they stared each other down. A sigh escaped Ashli’s lips. She pushed through their ridiculous competition and set her tray on the coffee table.
“I fixed us a bite to eat.” She stated the obvious as she motioned for the officer to take a seat.
“That wasn’t necessary.” The pleased expression on his handsome face did not match the protest from his lips. “But it looks delicious.”
Lange felt an unexpected pang of jealously as he watched Ashli hand the other man a plate. She was cooking for the policeman, the same way she had cooked for him! What did she do, go around collecting lost hearts? He could clearly see the other man’s heart, hanging right there on his sleeve, shining through that silly lovelorn expression in his eyes. She wasn’t just handing the man a sandwich, she was handing him a piece of herself, a piece of her kindness. Resisting the urge to knock the plate from the other man’s reach, Lange willed his jealously under control.
“It’s not much,” Ashli shrugged. She presented crusty grilled sandwiches, made with thick slices of potato bread, two kinds of cheeses, slabs of honey cured ham, and a tangy mustard sauce. Potato chips, pickle spears, and the last of the chicken puffs rounded out the meal, with fresh-from-the-oven coffee cake for dessert.
“It looks like a feast, ma’am. It’s not often that a victim makes me a meal.”
Ashli handed him his tea glass with a frown. “Is that how you see me, Detective Sullivan? As a victim?”
“I meant no disrespect, ma’am. But the fact is, someone is stalking you. That makes you a victim.”
“No, that makes me the target. I refuse to be a victim.”
God, she was brave, Lange thought, taking the glass she offered. His chest swelled with pride at her courageous attitude. Lifting the glass in salute, he wondered briefly if he even had the right to feel that pride. It implied a definite involvement, a relationship. Catching her eye, he relaxed. The light in her blue eyes told him he had the right.
“That’s a very good attitude to have, ma’am. I commend you for your bravery.”
The officer’s praise paled in comparison to the warm glow Ashli saw in Lange’s eyes. Forcing her mind to stay focused, she pulled her gaze from those deliciously dark orbs. “I’m not sure how brave I am. I simply refuse to allow this person to control my life.”
“And there have been no other stalking events in the past week?”
“No, although I did remember there was a rhododendron bloom on my balcony the day Jasmine was . . . that morning. I had forgotten all about it until a couple of days ago.”
“And you feel that is significant?” the detective asked with a perplexed frown, glancing at Lange for confirmation.
Lange shrugged. “It could be, when you consider that the meaning of the flower is ‘beware’.”
“Has there been any more word on Jasmine?” Ashli broke in anxiously.
“No. Forensics was able to confirm that her foot had been frozen, making it even more difficult to establish a time of death.”
“Death?” Her intake of breath was sharp.
“At this point, I’m afraid we have to proceed under the assumption that your friend is, in fact, dead. There has been no sight of her, no hospital admissions for anyone with a severed foot, no contact made with any of her friends or family, no activity on her credit cards or cell phone. If not for the foot, we would consider her a missing person. But given the circumstances, we are now handling the investigation as a murder.”
Until now, Lange had remained standing. It had been his feeble but very male approach at proving dominance over the situation. Now he sank onto the sofa beside Ashli, allowing her to lean into him for support. He no longer cared about making his claim on her obvious to the other man. He only cared about comforting her.
Lange’s hands were full with his plate and tea glass, but Ashli leaned her head against his arm gratefully. “Frozen?” she murmured. “Why would someone do that?”
“It’s impossible to understand the mind of a murderer, Miss Wilson,” Detective Sullivan told her candidly. He did not miss the ease in which she leaned into the investigator, or the familiarity between them. Even before today, he had suspected there was more between them than a professional relationship. The tux and this intimate gesture confirmed his worse fears. Lange Sterling was one lucky son of a bitch. “We have confirmed that your neighbor missed her flig
ht to Milan and has not reported to her job in more than four weeks. That leaves a broad time-frame to work within establishing a time of death and dismemberment.”
“And there are still no clues? No traces of the rest of . . . the rest of her body?”
“I’m afraid not.” He finished half of his sandwich and changed the subject. “Other than the flower on your balcony, has anything else happened in the past few days? Has anyone seemed angry at you, argued with you, anything out of the ordinary?”
“It’s been such a crazy week,” Ashli sighed, straightening away from Lange, “but no, nothing really.”
“You sound hesitant.”
She was thinking of Veronica and her odd behavior. Reluctant to reveal information about Lange’s recent relationship with another woman, she brushed her concerns away. “Just tired. Like I said, it’s been a crazy week.”
“I saw this morning’s paper. Congratulations.”
Ashli’s smile for the officer was wide and genuine. “Thank you.”
Beside her, Lange stiffened. So maybe he did need to stake his claim, after all. The two of them were grinning at one another like he wasn’t even there.
Before he was forced to make a fool of himself, the forensics team stepped through the French doors. “All done,” one of them announced.
“I don’t think I have any more questions at this time,” Detective Sullivan said, setting down his empty plate. “Miss Wilson, you will keep me posted if anything else happens?”
“Of course.” When she started to rise, Lange stilled her with a hand upon her knee. “You sit here and relax. I’ll see the detective out.” He picked up her untouched coffee and pressed it into her hand. “I can’t believe I’m encouraging you to drink more coffee, but drink it.”
She wrinkled her nose at his teasing, but took the mug and wrapped her hands around its warmth. Suddenly extremely tired, she skipped the role of hostess and allowed Lange to see their guests out.
Their guests. Ashli berated herself for thinking in such terms. She acted like this was a social call, and that she and Lange were a couple. There was nothing social about being stalked. Detective Sullivan and his team were there on business, because someone hated her enough to write on her windows with bright red paint. And despite spending last night in his arms, Lange was still the man she had hired to protect her. She couldn’t be spinning daydreams from this nightmare she was living.
Lange came back into the room and resumed his position beside her. Tucking her under the curve of his arm, he kissed the top of her head. “Maybe you should stay at my place for a few days.”
Her heart took a funny leap at his words, but she knew they were spoken out of concern, not commitment. “I appreciate the offer, but like I told Detective Sullivan, I refuse to let this person control my life. I was thinking, though, maybe we should have my parents meet us at your place.” Her eyes drifted to the windows. The blinds were closed, but there was no forgetting the ugly message they hid.
“I’ll get that cleaned up for you. But I think it’s time you told your parents what’s going on.”
Ashli sighed. “I know. I haven’t wanted to worry them, but I know they’ll be hurt that I’ve kept this from them.”
“What have you told them about Jasmine?”
“Nothing, actually. Somehow they missed all the news coverage showing Daisy House in the background, and for once, the media didn’t give the exact address. If they’ve heard the story, they haven’t made the connection to me, and I haven’t enlightened them.”
“So come clean now.”
“I will. But, still, can we meet them at your place?”
“If that’s what you want,” he shrugged.
“I can’t risk putting them in danger.”
“Ashli,” he growled. “If you’re afraid of being in danger, there’s no way I’m letting you stay here.”
Ashli pulled away from his arm and perched on the edge of the cushion, shoving a plate of the untouched coffee cake into his hands. “It’s not up to you. This is my decision. Now eat your dessert while I call my mom and tell her there’s been a change in plans.”
* * * * * * * *
As predicted, her parents were upset with her for not telling them about her stalker before now, but mostly they there worried.
“You are coming home with us,” her mother immediately declared.
“Mom, I can’t do that. I have a business to run.”
“Let Rachel take care of it. You’re always saying how she’s your right hand, and how she knows the business as well as you do. Now’s the perfect time to prove your claim.”
“I can’t, Mom.”
“And why not? You haven’t had a vacation since you opened. You’re way past due a break.” Alice Wilson reached out to take her daughter’s hand, squeezing it for emphasis. “I know this wouldn’t be a vacation, but it could be. We could go to Vermont like we’ve always talked about doing.”
“We talked about a fall trip, Mom, when the leaves are changing. And while I appreciate the sentiment, I can’t just walk off and leave. I know Rachel could run things without me, probably so well that no one would know I was even gone, but it’s not just that. There’s some idiot out there stalking me, and I doubt my disappearing for a few days is going to change that. Delay it, perhaps, but not change it. I need to find out who this person is, and stop them.”
“And just how do you plan to do that?” her father demanded.
“I’m not sure yet.” She glanced at Lange, hoping he could offer a solution. Taking a deep breath, she made another confession. “Lange is helping me more than you know. To be honest, he’s a private investigator. I hired him to protect me and to find whoever is stalking me.”
“Hired him?” her mother asked in confusion. “Then you two aren’t . . . ?” She waved a hand between them, a disappointed frown marring her forehead.
“Protect?” Her father picked up on the hint of an imminent threat.
When Ashli hesitated, Lange surprised her by answering. He leaned slightly forward, staring across the table to look her father solemnly in the eyes. “Mr. Wilson, I take my job very seriously and pride myself on being a true professional. As a professional, I know to never become personally involved with my client. It can cloud judgment and distract attention to detail.” His tone softened as he placed his hand on Ashli’s and glanced at her with delightfully dark eyes. “As a man, I find your daughter particularly distracting.” He refused to let himself get distracted now, forcing his eyes back to meet her father’s. “But you have my word, sir, that I will do whatever it takes to protect her. I’m going to find this man, and I’m going to make certain he doesn’t harm your daughter, and that he never bothers her again. I swear, I will protect Ashli with my life.”
He held Albert Wilson’s steady gaze, resisting the urge to squirm beneath the older man’s scrutiny. They were talking about more than just keeping her physically safe, although that was paramount at this moment. After a painfully long moment of taking the other’s measure, Ashli’s father gave a slight nod of the head. Lange released the breath he hadn’t realize he held.
“All right, Lange,” he said evenly. “I will hold you to that promise. Now tell me how you intend to do that.”
Ashli, too, breathed a sigh of relief as the tension eased between the two men. Lange’s hand remained over hers as he began discussing the case with her father. After a few private words with her mother, she joined the conversation. By the time the meal was over and all the details of the case were revealed to her parents, Lange’s arm had come to curl around her shoulders and she was tucked up against his side, a fact not lost upon the couple across from them.
“You still refuse to come home for a few days?” her father asked as they made their way out to the parking lot.
“Dad, you understand why I can’t.”
“I do. I don’t like it, but I do understand,” Albert said. He stopped as they reached his car and put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders,
turning her toward him. “That’s why I want you to do something for me. I want you to stay at Lange’s apartment until this mess is taken care of.”
Her eyes widened at her father’s suggestion. Blushing in spite of herself, Ashli wondered if he would still be asking that if he knew about last night. “Dad, I can’t do that, either. I refuse to let my stalker have this kind of control over me. If he drives me from my own home . . . No, I won’t let him.”
Albert sighed and pulled her in for a hug. “Looks like my little girl is all grown up now, and quite a determined and brave young woman. You just be careful.”
“I will be, I promise.” She hugged him back, then turned to do the same with her mother. After hearing a long list of instructions that included locking her door and calling at least twice a day to let them know she was all right, Ashli moved to Lange’s side.
“One last thing,” her father said, pausing as he slid behind the steering wheel. “If you won’t stay with Lange, then let him stay with you.”
“Dad!” Ashli cried in chagrin. “I can’t believe you just said that!”
“I didn’t specify sleeping arrangements, although we are all adults here. Right now, I’m more concerned about your safety, than your virtue.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” Lange said, putting his arm around Ashli’s waist. “I don’t plan to let her out of my sight.”
* * * * * * * *
Back at Daisy House, Lange made Ashli wait in the hallway while he checked out her apartment. Once he cleared each room, he swept her inside and locked the door behind her.
“Lange, it’s really not necessary that you stay here tonight. You’ve checked out the entire place and it’s fine. I’m fine.” She dropped her purse on the table as she passed through the entry.
He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not Page 20
