Hot Water

by Maggie Toussaint

  “That’s harsh.”

  “I want that promotion, so I can’t screw up.” Laurie Ann leaned forward to speak in confidence. “Which brings me to why I came here tonight. Can you get me a list of the folks who had access to the place while y’all had the keys?”

  “It’s a short list. The only people who went out there during our listing were the Foxworths.”

  Would Wyatt see that as incriminating evidence? She pressed on. “Your firm handled the sale of Pirate’s Cove. Are the Foxworths the type to torch the place for the insurance money?”

  “I don’t think so. Besides, it will cost them more to replace the restaurant than the insurance payout. If they replace it. Nothing there now except ghosts.”

  “You think ghosts set the fire?”

  “Ghosts are good for tourism. Arsonists aren’t. We need property buyers. Make that arson investigator fall in love with you so he’ll stick around. Then I’ll make him buy something from me. I’ve got four nice waterfront listings to sell.”

  Laurie Ann fingered the rim of her ginger ale glass. “Wyatt’s a short-timer.”

  “That’s a crying shame. Especially with him being so tall and all.”

  She caught her friend’s eye. “And such a good kisser.”

  “I knew it.”

  Chapter 15

  Sunday dawned with an ugly squall, keeping all but the most devout out of St. Luke’s Episcopal, but Laurie Ann was glad of the low attendance. Fewer people to ask her questions about the man who’d accompanied her to the picnic. Fewer people to hail her as a hero for finding little Taylor Sutton. Fewer people to grill her about her new assignment.

  By late afternoon, the sun came out, and Laurie Ann worked in her flower garden. The simple motions of tugging out dollar weed, clover, and Virginia creeper kept her hands occupied. But not her mind.

  James Brown had been murdered.

  She yanked out the withered leaves from last season’s lilies, feeling the dry husks crumble in her hand. When she was a kid, James Brown had worked odd jobs for families. Her father had invited him to dinner several times, and he’d eaten twice as much as either of them. She remembered thinking what a big appetite he had for such a small man. Another memory surfaced. He sang while he raked leaves and painted the house. Gospel music. She hadn’t thought about that for years.

  The last two times she’d rousted Brown, once from the highway convenience store and the other time from the Catholic churchyard, she’d been sharp with him. Her father always had a kind word for the drifter, and he must have had similar run-ins with Brown when he worked the city beat. How did her father rise above what Brown had become and treat him like the man he used to be? She was embarrassed that she’d seen the man only as an obstacle. His noncompliance made her look bad.

  She rocked back on her heels, thoughts whirling. She’d become her job, and she wasn’t the hotshot officer she thought she was. She’d lost sight of helping people. People in Mossy Bog respected her father, even though he’d retired and devoted the last five years of his life to hunting and fishing, he still commanded their respect.

  What would folks say about her in twenty years? Would they remember her callous treatment of James Brown and other homeless people? Or would they remember her for finding little Taylor Sutton? Would she be defined by what she didn’t do or what she did?

  Her pocket chirped.

  The phone.

  Wyatt’s name flashed on the display. Her smile went bone-deep at the sound of his deep, rumbling voice.

  “I’m headed your way,” Wyatt said.

  She pressed the phone closer, hungry for his news. “Was it your arsonist?”

  “Not hardly. An amateur started this fire. The burn was less complete. No structures were involved, and no one died.”

  He sounded disappointed. “Those are good things,” she reminded him.

  “I need to catch this guy.”

  “You will. When one of my cases stalls, I go back to square one. There’s usually another line of inquiry buried somewhere in the information.”

  “I’ve been over the files so many times I can practically recite them. If anything was there, I’d have found it by now.”

  “I’ve been thinking about our case,” she began. “About tangential information.”

  “Yeah?”

  “James Brown wasn’t always the town drunk. He did odd jobs for a long time, and he was a good worker. Daddy occasionally brought him out to the house and gave him work, food, clothes, and some money.”

  “Your father’s a good man.”

  His observation was on point. She cleared her throat. “Just thinking out loud here. Somehow, he went from productive to shiftless. I want to know why. I’ve got a lead on his last known associates, Ray Spivey and Frankie Miles.”

  “Go ahead and pick Spivey and Miles up. I’ve got questions for them, too.”

  “They’re in the wind. I put out a BOLO on them. They’ll turn up soon. Not many hiding places floating in free booze in Tidewater County.”

  “Good.”

  He sounded weary, and that depressed the hell out of her. “How about dinner tonight?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound desperate or needy.

  In the time it took him to answer, she mentally kicked herself to the curb and back three times. Men didn’t like take-charge females. Men liked to think they were in charge. Men liked to do the asking.

  “Dinner sounds great,” he said. “I’ll be in Mossy Bog by six. Where shall I pick you up?”

  Might as well jump off the high dive, she thought to herself. “Come out to my place. I’ll cook dinner. Any food allergies or preferences?”

  His voice deepened. “I eat anything that isn’t moving.”

  She laughed as her mind veered off on a big bad wolf tangent. The better to eat you with, my dear. Would Wyatt North eat her up? “I promise not to serve you roof shingles or road kill. Come on out whenever you’re ready. Dinner’s at seven.”

  “It’s a date.”

  The phone clicked in her ear before she could tell him where she lived. This would be interesting. She gathered up her pile of weeds and carried them to her new compost pile behind the pump house. The entire edge of the adjacent woods was fronted by a bamboo thicket, courtesy of her great grandmother.

  How resourceful was Wyatt? Would he wander the back roads of Tidewater County for hours? Would he call and admit he was lost?

  A quick glance at her watch confirmed the time. Four. He’d said he’d be back in town by six, which meant he might head directly to her place instead of stopping at his hotel. She gulped. That meant she had two hours to clean the house, bathe, dress, and cook up a hot meal for a man she wanted to impress.

  Yikes.

  Chapter 16

  She’d straightened the house, thawed the shrimp, and climbed out of the shower when she heard the knock at her door. Gabby barked like Godzilla was in her yard. Laurie Ann froze. Was Wyatt here already? No way.

  “Gimme a minute,” she called.

  The knocking stopped. Still dripping, she slipped into her bathrobe, wrapping the bath towel turban-style around her head. Before she unlocked the door, she glanced out the window and saw her dad’s pickup truck.

  “Hey,” she said, opening the door to her father.

  “Got your firewood,” her dad said. “Where you want it?”

  Laurie Ann glanced out to the truck and saw her cousin Lester at the wheel. He returned her wave. Why was her dad bringing next year’s wood now? “By the fence. I’ll get dressed and be right out to help you.”

  She hurried to her bedroom. No point in putting on date clothes if she was moving firewood. She put on her cargo khakis and a black knit top, jammed her feet into a pair of rubber gardening clogs. At the flurry of activity, her cat moved out of her warm pool of sunshine and hid under the bed. After tossing the damp towel over the shower rod, Laurie Ann dashed outside, her three-legged dog bounding at her heels.

  Lester had backed the truck over to the fence
, and he stood in the truck bed, handing the wood to her father. She stepped into the rotation pattern with her dad, easily hoisting the two-foot sections of oak and pine over to the woodpile. “I wish I’d known y’all were coming over. I would have waited to take my shower.”

  Her dad grunted as he lifted another log. “Decided I should deliver the wood today before I forgot. Lester offered to help.”

  With warm temperatures already, she didn’t need the wood. Something else was behind this impromptu visit. Even so, her dad was no spring chicken. Unloading heavy wood wasn’t good for his back.

  “I can do this, Dad. Sit down and take a break,” she suggested.

  He rubbed the small of his back as he straightened. “No way in hell am I sitting down when there’s work to be done. Tell her, Lester.”

  Her heart stuttered at Lester’s smirk. “Tell me what?”

  “Your dad’s decided you’re a girl.”

  She shook her head to clear it. “What?”

  Her whipcord-thin cousin stopped to toss a small chunk of tree bark for Gabby to fetch. The dog barked excitedly and took off. “A girl. Someone who dates boys. Someone who needs looking after.”

  She studied Lester, then gazed over at her dad who seemed fascinated with her camellia bush. For her entire life, her father had stressed self-defense.

  This about face in her father’s mindset troubled her. “Wait a minute. I need looking after? Since when?”

  “Since you got a boyfriend,” Lester explained. “Who are his people? What are his intentions?”

  The firewood she’d been holding slipped out of her hands, and Gabby had to jump to keep from being clobbered.

  “Easy, gal,” her dad said. “No need to take it out on the dog.”

  Words tumbled from her mouth. “Wyatt is a co-worker. And I can take care of myself. I can wrestle either one of you to the ground and have you cuffed in less than a minute, tops.”

  “You’re right.” Her father blushed and leaned against the tailgate. “The rumors got to me.”

  His comment worried her on several levels. “What rumors?”

  “About how this Atlanta guy stands too close to you.” Lester sounded peeved. “About how you kissed him at the church picnic. About how you look at him.”

  Good Lord. “The picnic was a chance for us to unwind. He didn’t know the people there, so of course he stuck close. What did you expect?”

  Her dad took a deep breath. “Makes sense. I should’ve known you wouldn’t run off half-cocked with a stranger from Atlanta.”

  “You kiss him?” Lester asked.

  “I’m a grown woman,” Laurie Ann said. “If I choose to kiss a man, it’s my business.”

  “Dang, girl, simmer down,” her cousin observed. “We’re looking out for you.”

  Her fists went to her hips. She’d had enough male interference. “Bull. How would you like it if we were grilling you? Let me see. I heard you were sleeping with Charletha Woolsey. No. That’s not right. You sleep with your hunting dogs.”

  Her father cleared his throat. “I had a good reason for visiting. Lester and I head out at first light on a three-day fishing trip. Keep an eye on my place while I’m gone. Feel free to take out the boat if you like. It’s gassed up and ready to go.”

  “I’ll stop in over there for you. No problem.”

  He could’ve mentioned the trip over the phone, but he’d wanted to read her body language about Wyatt North. Once a cop, always a cop.

  People were watching her and talking about her.

  Not good.

  Chapter 17

  Wyatt tried the last of the three unmarked dirt lanes off Mossy Pines Road. The first two places he’d found looked like scenes from a backwoods movie.

  Dinterman’s place had to be here.

  A few homes at either end of the road bracketed her house number. How did 911 responders find these places embedded in the woods? Her house number should be posted at the road. And her driveway needed trimming. The oaks framing the drive formed a narrow, mossy tunnel. A tight fit for a fire truck, he noted, which could be an issue if a fire broke out on her property.

  He rounded another bend and a fairy tale cottage came into view in a stunning meadow-like setting. The setting sun cast a deep orange glow on the gingerbread trim framing the front porch. White wicker rocking chairs and hanging baskets of lush ferns exuded hospitality and good cheer.

  Best of all, her Mustang was parked at the end of the drive. Bingo. He took a deep breath. He could’ve gone to the hotel and showered first, but he wanted to see her.

  Thinking about the way she’d responded to his kiss had kept him awake last night.

  It would be good between them.

  A small dog barreled out the screen door, barking for all it was worth. She hadn’t mentioned anything about pets, but he doubted she’d have a killer dog. And this one had an odd gait. Only three legs. That was different. He squatted down to pet the little dog and was rewarded with licks all over his hands and face.

  “Gabby! Get down,” Laurie Ann rushed outside, red-faced. “I’m so sorry. I was in the kitchen and didn’t hear you drive up. Gabby is my official greeter. He’s got a lot of energy.”

  He rose holding her pet. “No harm done. We’re friends now.” He stroked the dog’s head and filled his gaze with Laurie Ann. She had a bit of flour on one cheek and some wood chips in her hair. Her shirt and khakis were casual, her feet were bare.

  He liked what he saw. When women got all lacquered up with hair spray, spandex, and spiky shoes he felt like prey at a watering hole. Laurie Ann didn’t put off that on-the-hunt attitude at all.

  And she smelled great. Woman and kitchen spices and sex all rolled into one heady aroma. Yeah. He’d been right to come straight here.

  “Welcome,” she said. “You must be exhausted from your drive, and I know you must be ready to put your feet up. Please, come on in. Supper is on the stove, and I’ll fix us something to drink. Beer okay?”

  They started up the wooden stairs. “I could use a beer.”

  He reached around her and opened the door. Inside her place, the heavy furniture reminded him of his granddad’s house, but the feminine touches were unmistakable—buttercup yellow curtains tied to the side, a bright red afghan on the leather sofa, a jumbled basket of yarn by the easy chair, and hand-sized stuffed dogs and cats everywhere. The bookshelf brimmed with books and magazines and a few boxes of bullets. A new smoke detector was mounted high on the wall, with another visible down the hall.

  “Make yourself at home,” she said. “I’ll be right back with the beer.”

  He put the dog down and wandered over to the electronics nook. The TV wasn’t much, but for music, she had an older Bose system. Sweet. He browsed through her music selection, settling on Tracy Chapman.

  She padded in with two beers as the music started, and it felt perfect. “Hope you don’t mind about the music,” he said, accepting her offering.

  “I meant to do that, but it’s been hectic this afternoon. Dad and my cousin showed up with a load of firewood as their cover story, but they really wanted to know about you.”

  “Ah. An inquisition.”

  “No kidding.” She settled on a corner of the couch, tucking her long legs underneath. The dog curled up next to her. For a three-legged dog, he sure got around good.

  Wyatt joined her on the sofa, leaning against the soft afghan, letting the music wash over him. “I like your place.”

  “Thanks. I inherited it from my grandparents. Dad thought I should sell it and get a condo in town, but I’ve always liked being out here. It’s my space, you know?”

  He nodded. “Any breaks in the case?”

  “Nothing new there…”

  “But?”

  “But folks are mighty curious about you.”

  “I’m an open book.” Too late, he realized she meant their personal relationship. “Did it bother you?”

  “A little. I’m not used to being a topic of conversation.”
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  “Don’t worry. Something else will come along and we’ll be old news. I know that much about small towns. Unless—You want to talk about it?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  Tension eased from his body. A yellow cat rubbed against his head. Wyatt reached up to pet it and saw it had one eye. The cat jumped down in his lap and purred. “Tell me about your pets.”

  “Gabby and Pumpkin were on death row at the animal shelter. The director asked me to foster them. Once they came home with me, I realized they belonged here, so I adopted them. They’re always happy to see me, even if I pull a double shift.”

  A timer beeped in the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready,” she called. “Are you hungry?”

  That was a loaded question. “Very.” He gently moved Pumpkin off his lap and rose. “But first there’s something I need to do.”

  He lifted her up beside him. “There’s a little something in here.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, caressing her scalp and damn if she didn’t purr like the cat. Very nice. He brushed the wood chips from her hair. “That’s better.”

  He kissed her, taking his time about it. “Much better,” she murmured.

  She was like quicksilver in his arms, flashing and bold in one moment, fragile and utterly feminine in the next as her body molded to his. Oh, yes, he was hungry. Hungry for more of what Laurie Ann Dinterman had to offer.

  A remnant of common sense warned him to slow down. He’d been invited for dinner, not to spend the night. But even as he ended the kiss, he longed for more.

  “You are full of surprises,” he said as he pulled away.

  Her laughter tickled his senses. “The surprise is on me.”

  Chapter 18

  Laurie Ann marveled at how husky her voice sounded. She felt as if she were channeling an ultra hot star of screen and stage, Lauren Bacall or Greta Garbo, someone men had lusted after for generations. A quick glance down confirmed she was wearing cargo pants and a sap-stained T-shirt. There hadn’t been time to change between getting rid of her dad and preparing dinner for Wyatt.