Tangled Thing Called Love: Life and Love on the Lam (A Loveswept Contemporary Romance)

by Juliet Rosetti

  “Really?”

  “No, you credulous fool! It was sheer, dumb luck. Did you see the look on Oscar’s face when his gun went flying?”

  “Priceless.”

  Ben backed his way through the curtains, carrying a hospital tray loaded with slices of microwave pizza and two Sprites in paper cups.

  “Oops,” he said when he saw Holly. “I’ll go and get more. The cafeteria was closed and this was the best I could find in the vending machines.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Holly said. “I’ll snitch off Mazie. Wouldn’t want her to get fat.”

  They all dug in. The crust was soggy, the cheese was stringy, and the pepperoni had a flavor like Necco wafers, but they were too hungry to care.

  “Pizza is like sex,” Holly commented. “Even when it’s bad it’s good.”

  Ben pointed an accusing finger at Holly. “I’m still mad at you for not telling me you were taking off for the garage. I came running down the gangplank, half-dressed, just in time to see the Hummer vanishing down the street.”

  “Sorry,” Holly said. “But you managed just fine without wheels. I think you did two miles in five minutes flat. In the rain. Without shirt or socks.”

  “You were utterly incredible,” Mazie told Ben, bestowing a kiss on his pizza-greasy lips, and then, channeling Scarlett O’Hara, added, “You big, strong, macho, hunky ol’ thing, you!”

  It was fun watching his ears turning red. He gave Mazie a sip of his soda. “You still haven’t told us what happened when you got to the garage.”

  Mazie told them everything. It took a long time, because she had to backtrack to explain the events of thirteen years ago.

  Holly set down her pizza slice, and suddenly she didn’t look so hungry anymore. “Channing really strangled Fawn? That wasn’t just a delusion?”

  Mazie shook her head. “When that grease pit is drained, I think they’ll find Fawn’s remains down there. It was Derek’s idea originally—he’s the one who thought of hiding her body in the pit, figuring the chemicals would dissolve her body and cover up any odors.”

  Ben finished his drink and crumpled the paper cup. “Ralston was always the loose screw in the whole thing. Knowing that Channing killed Fawn gave him an awful lot of power.”

  “But helping Channing hide the body made him almost as guilty,” Mazie said. “If he turned Channing in, she could drag him down with her.”

  “To help keep Derek quiet, Bodelle started subsidizing his meth-making operations,” Ben said. “Bodelle had been siphoning off the profits from Buzzy’s shop for years. She was pretty safe doing it, since Buzzy could barely add or subtract and she kept his books.”

  “How do you know that?” Mazie asked, staring at Ben.

  “Because while you two were strutting down runways, I was doing research.”

  “Impressive,” Holly said.

  Ben rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “Plus, I have a nasty habit of listening outside doors. When I came back from getting the pizza, I heard voices from the room where Channing was being questioned. I accidentally—purely by chance—eavesdropped on the conversation.”

  “Accidents happen,” Holly said, grinning.

  “I hope the two detectives who were questioning her told her she had the right to remain silent, because she was babbling like a brook.”

  “No wonder the pizza was cold,” Mazie said. “What else did you find out?”

  Ben went to the curtain and peered out to make sure no one was listening. “Apparently, a few months after Channing killed Fawn, Derek Ralston got drunk at Oscar’s one night, started bragging that he knew what happened to Fawn, and dropped enough hints for Oscar to put two and two together.”

  “Which Oscar should have reported to the police,” Holly said.

  “Of course, but Oscar was the ultimate opportunist. He saw Fawn as his golden goose. Fawn’s body being found would be just a one-day sensation, whereas Fawn, the mysteriously vanished beauty queen, was worth money and could be exploited for years. Oscar went to Bodelle and threatened to expose her daughter as a psycho murderer if Bodelle didn’t go along with his scheme.”

  “You mean starting the Fawn Foundation?” Mazie asked.

  “Right. As it turned out, Bodelle’s organizational savvy is what turned the charity from a nickel-and-dime operation into a money-generating machine. She started a website, got television stations to run free on-air ads, encouraged every wild Fawn rumor, went around the country speaking to groups of parents who had missing kids, and told donors that the money raised by the charity would go toward following up leads and hiring private detectives.”

  “How much of the money raised actually went to into looking for missing kids?” Mazie asked.

  Holly snorted. “I’m guessing zero. I bet every penny went into Bodelle’s and Oscar’s pockets. We’re talking about a substantial amount of money here—enough that Oscar could buy that bar and Bodelle could drive around in a Mercedes and go on shopping expeditions to Chicago. They probably threw a few bones to Gil Fanchon, too, to keep him happy.”

  “And to Ralston,” Ben said. “To keep him quiet.”

  Holly picked up a string of cold mozzarella and popped it in her mouth. “So everything was humming along sweetly until you guys showed up—poking around the files, filming, opening up a thirteen-year-old can of worms. Oscar and Bodelle must have been sweating bullets. Remember that day we were at Gil’s trailer, Mazie, and he came home early? Oscar must have overheard us talking about searching Gil’s trailer. He phoned Gil and tipped him off.”

  “And Channing’s the one who overheard me telling you that Ben and I were doing the Fawn reenactment that night. She told Bodelle, who sicced Derek on us.”

  “Why was he wearing a werewolf costume?” Holly asked.

  “I think Ralston’s had that outfit for years,” Ben said. “Probably enjoyed running around the woods scaring people. Which might explain why Mazie and I are still alive—Ralston got off on terrorizing us, but he didn’t have the stomach for murder. If he’d really wanted to kill us in the woods he could have.”

  “But Oscar did have the stomach for murder,” Holly said. “You said he was the one who shot Derek?”

  Mazie nodded. “Derek was badly burned, but he managed to drive himself back to town and went straight to the back door of Oscar’s Bar, begging for help.”

  “I think Oscar told Derek he’d drive him to the emergency room,” Ben said. “Instead he drove him to the dark lot behind the grain elevator, shot him, left his body there in the van, and walked back to his bar. The whole thing probably only took about five minutes. Most of Oscar’s customers wouldn’t even have noticed he was gone.”

  Holly collected their trash and dumped it in a wastebasket. “But Derek tried to run you off the road that first day, Mazie—before he even knew who you were.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Ben said. “I think that was just the way Ralston rolled—you see a bicyclist, you run ’em off the road. No reason. Just because he was a jerk.”

  “What about him trying to kill Mazie with the falling bucket?” Holly asked.

  “Probably orders from Bodelle,” Ben said. “She must have heard we were planning a Fawn documentary—it was all over town by then. If Mazie was hurt or killed, we would have abandoned the documentary.”

  Dr. Ringwalla returned, inspected a beeping machine Mazie assumed was a heart monitor, and made notes on a chart. She smiled. “Miss Maguire, you will be happy to know that you are being released. However, you need to avoid strenuous activities and must report to me immediately if you have symptoms of nausea, headache, or dizziness. You must carefully monitor yourself for any unusual symptoms.”

  “I’ll monitor Miss Maguire.” Ben gave Mazie a look that sent her electrocardiogram into gyrating spikes. “I like monitoring.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  “She sure poops a lot,” Joey observed, watching his baby sister being changed.

  Emily smiled
. “You did too when you were her age.”

  “And your poops were stinkier,” Scully said, tousling Joey’s head.

  The household was even more chaotic than usual this afternoon. Emily had just come home from the hospital with the baby. A delivery truck had dropped off six months’ worth of diapers, which were now stacked in towering heaps in the living room. Neighbors and family members had stopped by with casseroles and pies. Emily’s mother was moving in to help out while her daughter recovered, and Mazie was struggling to pack her own things while helping Emily’s mom move into her bedroom.

  It wouldn’t be Mazie’s bedroom much longer. Next time she came to visit the room would have been turned into a nursery. The thought brought a pang. It truly is the end of your childhood when the new generation takes over, Mazie thought, and she might even have squeezed out a few nostalgic tears if she hadn’t been so busy.

  Muffin was in a state of high excitement; fascinated by the new baby, sniffing at all the new and exotic smells, and getting under everyone’s feet. He’d made himself at home here. He adored the boys; he still had a few scores to settle with the barn cats; and he had established a nice routine of barking at the thug turkeys, digging up the flower beds, and wee-weeing on the tractor tires. For Muffin, farm life was an endless adventure.

  “Can’t he stay?” Sam asked for the thousandth time.

  Leave her best buddy behind? The prospect of a Muffin-less life was depressing, but Mazie surprised herself by saying, “Okay. For two weeks. And you and Joey will be responsible for him. Your mom will have her hands full with the new baby.”

  The boys hadn’t heard anything after the okay. But Mazie knew they’d take good care of Muffin, because they’d been doing just that all along. Anyway, it was only for two weeks, until she and Ben had to return for grand jury testimony.

  Finally it was time to say their good-byes. Sam and Joey gave Mazie enthusiastic hugs and didn’t even wipe their cheeks after she kissed them.

  “You don’t need me to read Caddie Woodlawn to you,” she reminded them.

  “Dumb girl book,” Sam said, though Mazie had seen the twins sprawled in the hammock yesterday, reading the book aloud to each other.

  A dozen kisses for the baby, hugs from Emily and Scully, and a quick exit, because Mazie knew that if she lingered she’d start crying. Katie Maguire was waiting for her on the porch, wearing a pale green pantsuit, a floral scarf, and the Miss Quail Hollow tiara.

  “I’m never taking it off,” Gran said, beaming as Ben and Mazie walked out, hauling their suitcases. “I always wanted to be a beauty queen.”

  “You always were,” Mazie said, kissing her on the cheek. “You look beautiful.”

  “Are you sure those girls are all okay with this?” Gran asked.

  “It was unanimous,” Mazie assured her.

  Yesterday, Sunday, had been an exhausting day. Everyone involved in the pageant had been extensively questioned by the police—as well as by the FBI, the county sheriff’s department, and officials from the EPA. The BZ Garage was not only a crime scene but a biohazard site.

  An IRS agent had also shown up, because it appeared that the Fawn Foundation had violated its tax-exempt status in dozens of ways. If Oscar and Bodelle managed to wriggle out of the other charges against them, they’d be nailed for tax evasion.

  Then there was the media frenzy. No one could set foot outside the courthouse without being mobbed by dozens of reporters and cameramen. The Fawn story was even bigger news now than the day she’d disappeared. Late in the afternoon the remaining Miss Quail Hollow contestants had met one last time in the only place they could be sure of having privacy: the ladies’ loo in the courthouse, an old-fashioned, high-ceilinged room with a chandelier and a marble floor.

  Holly had somehow gotten hold of the official Miss Quail Hollow tiara, the one that would have crowned the winner if the final night of the pageant had actually been held.

  “We, the assembled, do hereby declare ourselves the official board members of the Miss Quail Hollow competition,” Holly said. “All those in favor.”

  Seven ayes.

  One “This is against the rules” from Gretchen Wuntz.

  “First order of business—” Holly began.

  “Who made you boss?” Tabitha Tritt-Shimmel sniped.

  Holly thrust the tiara at her. “You want it? Go ahead, Danica Patrick.”

  Tabitha grinned. She shoved the tiara back at Holly. “Just playin’.”

  Holly rolled her eyes. “Okay. Who gets the title of Ms. Big Kahuna?”

  “It should be Mazie,” Rosie Martinez said promptly. “She was tied with Sophie when the Olsons pulled her out.” She thrust the tiara at Mazie.

  “Forget it.” Mazie refused to even touch the crown “Give it to the runner-up. I guess that would have been Channing, but now it’s you, Holly.”

  “I pass. The crown is cursed! Set that thing on my head, I guarantee you, nine months from now Greenberg number five will be popping out!”

  Holly handed it to Rosie Martinez. “Here you are, Miss Second Runner-Up.”

  Rosie held it by the tips of her fingers. “No way. It’s got Curse cooties.”

  It passed to Tabitha. “I don’t believe any of that Curse garbage.” She squinted at the tiara, sparkling in the chandelier’s soft glow. “On the other hand, our tax returns are being audited next week, and it doesn’t hurt to cover all your bases. So, I pass. Darlene?”

  “The Curse is bullshit,” Darlene Krumke said, handling the tiara gingerly. “But I work with sharp knives and hot fryer fat all day … so, just to be on the safe side—no, thank you.”

  The tiara passed from hand to hand, the beauty queen version of Hot Potato.

  “I don’t believe in the Curse either,” Ashley Dorfmann sniffed when the tiara reached her. “But I had unprotected sex last night.”

  They all turned to stare at her. “It was with my boyfriend,” she said, blushing. “I’m not a slut, like some people I could mention.”

  Gretchen Wuntz’s turn. She took the tiara, set it on her head, and checked herself out in the mirror. “It looks good on me,” she said. She was right. Somehow the tiara softened the sharp lines of her face. Reluctantly, Gretchen removed it. “But I didn’t earn the title. It would be cheating.”

  Finally the tiara came back to Mazie. This time she picked it up.

  “I know a real beauty queen,” Mazie said. “She’s kind, beautiful, and she raised over five thousand dollars—”

  “Are you talking about your grandma?” Holly interrupted. “The one who talked you into wearing that dress?”

  “Yes. She—”

  “In a way, it’s too bad the pageant got canceled,” Tabitha cut in. “Because if you’d showed up for the finals in that yellow submarine, I’d have trounced you.”

  “There ya go, Tabby,” Holly said. “The true pageant spirit—stomp the competition.”

  “All those in favor of making Mrs. Maguire the new queen,” Rosie said.

  The restroom rocked with ayes.

  Which was why Katie Maguire was wearing the crown. She planned to wear it to her next card game and make her friends call her “Your Majesty.” Gran gave Mazie a long hug. Then she turned to Ben and hugged him, too. “Take care of my granddaughter,” she told him. “She can be a little reckless sometimes.”

  “I kinda noticed that.” Ben smiled and kissed Katie. “I promise to take very good care of her.”

  They’d just finished stowing their suitcases in the back of the car when a police car rolled down the driveway. Ben and Mazie heaved sighs. They’d given statements, gone over everything a million times—what more did they have to do?

  Johnny Hoolihan got out of the patrol car. He held up his hands to show that they didn’t contain a notebook. “No questions, I promise.” He grinned. “Just stopped by to wish you a safe trip back.”

  He and Ben regarded each other, then they solemnly shook hands.

  “Nice job on Oscar Woods’ face,”
Johnny said.

  “Thanks,” Labeck said, looking pleased, though an unspoken conversation was also taking place.

  Labeck: I walk off with the girl. Too bad for you.

  Hoolihan: But you’re coming back in two weeks. And all’s fair in love and war.

  Chapter Forty

  “Are we lost?” Mazie asked, wondering why Ben was turning off the main highway onto a winding secondary road. Below, she could glimpse the Wisconsin River through the trees.

  “Me—lost? Are you kidding?” Checking his GPS—which he still didn’t trust—Ben slowed down and turned onto a bumpy blacktop road. After a half mile they pulled up in front of a small motel. Ben cut the engine, turned, and looked at her. “You don’t have to be back tonight, do you?”

  “No, but you do.” It was already four in the afternoon, it would be late when they got back to Milwaukee, and Ben had to report for work tomorrow morning.

  “I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise,” Ben said, “but they gave me an extra day of vacation. Right now I’m golden. Thanks to all the video I sent in on the Fawn story, WPAK’s ratings went through the roof.” He took Mazie’s hand in his, suddenly seeming nervous, almost shy. “I thought maybe we could spend the night together before we went back.”

  “Here, you mean?” Mazie’s heart leaped. The motel was called The Willows. Its exterior was weathered wood and stone, and it looked as though it had been built by Tolkien’s tree elves. “Do you think they’d have a room?”

  “Yeah. I reserved one.”

  “Ben! You didn’t!”

  “Remember how you called me a stuffed-shirt, stick-in-the-mud old fogy?”

  “I never did!”

  “General concept, okay? So to prove what a fun-loving, spur-of-the-moment, feel-the-music kind of guy I am, I booked us a room.” He got out, came around, and opened the door for her. “Ready?”

  Not really. She was still in shock. It wouldn’t have mattered to Mazie if the place had been the Roach Motel. The fact that Ben Labeck—a guy who gave plumb bobs as gifts—had planned this was enough.