"I see you've been shopping." Claire picked up the conversation that Marcy felt she was letting drag.
"Yeah." Marcy laughed. "Nothing I have fits. I can't wear my sister's clothes forever. Then I'd really look like her."
Claire laughed with her and then hooked a thumb in the direction of the row of stores at the edge of the parking lot. "I was just going into The Greenery for some lunch. You have time to join me?"
Marcy's first impulse was to say no thanks and make a quick escape. What was she going to say to Claire Drummond over an entire lunch? But a part of her wanted to have lunch with Claire... wanted a friend. "Um... yeah. Sure. That would be nice. I'm still not eating a lot, but I am hungry." She clicked the remote key lock and the car beeped.
"Great."
Seated inside the cute little lunch shop, Claire and Marcy both ordered salads, Claire a Caesar and Marcy a Greek. They both added sweetener to their iced tea and stirred loudly to fill the silence.
"So... I've been following the paper," Marcy said finally, licking her spoon and setting it down beside her glass. She was still ill at ease sitting here with Claire like they were lunch buddies, but not as nervous as she had been. After all, why should she be? Claire was the one who had asked her, so she must have thought Marcy had something of interest to say. Some worth, even if it was just the novelty of being a woman who had crashed her car off a bridge and had plastic surgery that made her beautiful.
"No idea what happened to Patti yet?"
Claire sipped her iced tea, shaking her head. She was a beautiful woman with that white-blond hair Marcy had always admired. Her own blond hair was more golden, with subtle streaks of red that become more pronounced in the summer. And Claire had the most profound blue eyes. She didn't look like a police chief, or even a cop. She could have been a model.
"Of course I can't tell you exactly where we are in the investigation," Claire confided. "I can tell you no one's been arrested."
"I heard you were looking for some homeless guy." Marcy didn't give her source. She didn't want to get Patrolman McCormick into trouble. Claire probably wouldn't appreciate one of her officers giving out information to women on barstools.
" Word gets around quick, doesn't it?" Claire flashed a smile. "One of the joys of living in a small town. Yes, we're looking into a guy who was seen hanging around town."
Marcy studied Claire across the table from her, noting the lines of concern at the corners of her mouth. "But you're not too hopeful?"
Claire stared into her glass of tea. "Let's just say it's not looking too promising."
"Do you think Patti knew her killer or was he a stranger?" Marcy thought of the creepy feelings she kept getting and Phoebe's ridiculous comment about a "night stalker."
"I'm not even sure if the killer was male or female yet, Marcy."
"Women kill other women like that?"
"Not often, but it's done. Usually out of jealousy, according to what I've been reading." She gave a humorless laugh. "Needless to say, I've been up late nights brushing up on my traits of a killer"
Marcy lowered her gaze, lifting her glass to her mouth. She could see how what Claire said could be true. She would never kill anyone, of course, but she understood jealousy. She'd been jealous of Phoebe her whole life, and it was an emotion that could possess you, eat at you like a cancerous tumor. For some, maybe it turned to rage.
"A Caesar and a Greek," the waitress announced, sliding huge wooden salad bowls in front of them. "Anything else I can get you ladies besides free refills on the teas?"
Marcy glanced up and smiled, shaking her head.
"Nope, we're good. Thanks, Trina."
Marcy and Claire attacked their salads and moved on to less morbid topics. They commiserated on having teen daughters, and Marcy found herself thanking God that while Katie could sometimes be difficult, at least she hadn't dyed her hair black. Not yet, anyway.
As they talked, Marcy marveled at how easy she found Claire to talk to once she relaxed a little and stopped feeling so self-conscious. She'd never been good at conversation before. Not had any real girlfriends for years. They just seemed too hard to make, too hard to maintain. Talking to the police chief this way, she realized how much she missed female companionship with someone other than her sister, whom she always felt she was in competition with.
"So how are things going at home?" Claire asked, pushing her salad bowl aside and wiping her mouth with her napkin.
"Okay." Marcy set her bowl aside, too, though she had only eaten half the salad. She didn't know if it was because she was afraid of getting fat again or not, but she just didn't have the appetite she had once had. Six months ago, she'd have devoured the salad and a double-decker BLT, too. "It's going to take Ben and Katie a while to adjust, of course." She didn't meet Claire's gaze. "But Dr. Larson said that's to be expected."
"It's got to be a big change for you, too. Waking up to look like a different person," Claire offered gently. "Jake, too."
Marcy lifted her gaze to meet Claire's gaze. "You've heard," she said softly.
Claire nodded, and Marcy grimaced. "Talk about a small town. Jake's only been gone two nights. I suppose he's been crying all over town that I kicked him out."
"Actually, he's been pretty quiet. I ran into him at the diner last night. He seemed mostly concerned about how you were making out alone with the kids."
"Well, my sister's still staying with us for now."
Claire didn't say anything.
"But you know Phoebe."
"She can be a handful," Claire offered with an understanding chuckle.
"You're not kidding." Marcy pressed her lips together, pausing for a moment. "I know you're divorced. It had to be hard. Everyone says it's worse with kids."
"My ex and I should never have gotten married. I knew it the day I stood at the altar. I should have listened to my instincts and my dad." She was smiling. "But you and Jake... you always seemed different. You made a good couple from day one."
Marcy fiddled with her napkin. "Maybe. But things haven't been great in a while." She glanced up hesitantly. "And now after this accident, everything that's happened, I think I need to take a good, hard look at my life. I was even thinking of checking out some other line of work. I've always hated accounting."
"You're a smart woman, Marcy. You could do anything you want to. What are you considering?"
"I know this is going to sound silly." She looked up, unable to believe she was actually telling Claire this. She hadn't told anyone yet. "I've always wanted to own a restaurant. Like a little French Bistro or something. You know, with good bread and homemade soups. Fancy desserts." She hesitated. "Crazy?"
"Not at all. And this is certainly a good area for restaurants."
Claire didn't mention Phoebe and her husband's failed restaurant, but Marcy knew that was what she was thinking about. What Marcy was thinking about.
The bell on the door jingled as someone entered The Greenery. "Hey, Chief."
Marcy looked up to see Ryan McCormick approaching their table. He was dressed in that same uniform as Claire's in green and tan, and looking mighty fine with his broad shoulders and GQ-meets-GI good looks.
"McCormick." Claire acknowledged. "You looking for me?" Her hand went to the radio on her shoulder. "No one called in."
"Nah. Jewel said you were on your lunch break with Mrs. Edmond. I just stopped in to grab something to go." As he removed his dark sunglasses, he turned to Marcy, a hint of a sexy smile beneath the cop poker face. "Good to see you, Mrs. Edmond. I hear you're making one heck of a recovery."
She blushed, unused to the attention he was giving her. But she couldn't miss the look of interest on his face. It wasn't that Marcy hadn't been able to see that sexual attraction in men before, it had just never been directed toward her. "I'm feeling great." She closed her hands around the cool, wet glass in front of her.
"I have to tell you, I'm pretty amazed, considering what the scene looked like. I don't know that I've ever seen
anyone else survive a wreck like that, certainly not come out as beautiful as you did."
"Patrolman First Class McCormick and his partner, Patrolman Savage, were the first on the scene of your accident," Claire explained. "He pulled you out of the water."
Marcy looked at him again, forcing herself to meet his gaze despite her discomfort. She was tired of her habit of always looking away, always feeling undeserving of anyone's attention, especially with a man as attractive as the officer. If he deemed Phoebe worthy of his attention—which he obviously did—why not her, too? "Then I have to thank you." She offered her hand. "I guess you saved my life."
He closed his hand over hers, warm and firm. His touch sent little tingles of pleasure up her arm. She pulled back. He was still looking at her. Definitely smiling now.
Claire glanced at her officer and rolled her eyes. "McCormick, pull your tongue back in your mouth. You're drooling on the table." She wiped it with her hand. "You're still on the clock, right?"
He seemed to snap out of it and took a step back from the table. "On my way, Chief." He nodded toward Marcy. "I hear you're alone now, Mrs. Edmond. I'm sorry to hear that, but you need anything, you just call me... I mean, give us a call."
Marcy couldn't help smiling back. "Thanks, Patrolman McCormick. Have a good day."
"You bet."
Marcy watched him swagger off before looking at Claire across the table. "Nice guy," she remarked. "I think my sister has gone out with him a couple times." She tried not to think about what Phoebe had said about the rough sex and handcuffs. He seemed too nice for that sort of thing... the rough sex, at least. But her sister did tend to sensationalize things.
"Yeah, I hear he's quite a ladies' man." Claire slid out of the booth, taking the check the waitress had left on the table.
"Oh, let me—" Marcy opened her handbag.
"Nah, I'll get this. I'm the one who asked you to lunch. Next time you can pay."
Marcy nodded, sliding out of her seat. She liked the idea that they might do this again. She liked Claire. Liked how sensible she was. Strong minded. "Sounds like a plan."
Out on the street, Claire surveyed the parking lot. "I'm parked over there." She pointed to the tan cruiser.
"Well, thanks for lunch."
Claire hesitated, meeting Marcy's gaze. "I don't mean to stick my nose where it doesn't belong, Marcy, but you should give this thing with you and Jake some time. Not do anything permanent right away."
Marcy was touched by her kindness. "Thanks. And thanks again for lunch."
"You bet."
This time when Marcy climbed into the SUV, she started it up and backed it out of the parking space without a moment's hesitation. She felt good today. Better than she could remember feeling in years.
* * *
The Bloodsucker watched Marcy from the sidewalk in front of the strip mall. He'd been lucky today. Lunch break. Right place at the right time.
Through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, he observed her walk to her new car. Long shapely legs. Blond hair fluttering in the warm breeze. It was a big green SUV, and somehow it fitted her new look.
He watched her back out of her parking space and pull out of the lot, heading home probably, from the direction she was going. Of course, he already knew where she lived.
He'd already been there.
That had been very bad of him, to go there. To watch her. It was wrong. It was dangerous. The police were looking for him.
Of course they didn't know it was him because he was so clever. So smart. Granny had never known just how smart he was.
And he wanted Marcy. That was why he had gone to see her. Because he wanted her. Needed her.
She made him feel good. Something he never recalled feeling before, really. Not like this.
Of course, Patti had made him feel good for a little while.
The blood. Her blood.
He swallowed hard, squirmed a little. He glanced up quickly, making sure no one was watching him. He didn't want to draw any attention to himself. He couldn't.
Not if he wanted to avoid suspicion. Not if he wanted to bring Marcy home with him.
* * *
Two days later, Marcy walked into the kitchen to find Phoebe folding the clothes she had tossed in the washing machine that morning.
"You take Ben swimming?" Phoebe asked.
Marcy dropped her keys on the counter. She wanted to go for her jog before it was too warm out, but she didn't feel like she should be out running when her sister was standing here folding her underwear. "Swim lessons first, then he's going to Pete's house. Liz said she'd pick them up." She went to the kitchen table and pulled one of her new T-shirts from the laundry basket.
"Oh, I can do these. You rest."
Marcy eyed Phoebe. "I don't need to rest. I slept eight hours last night, and you don't need to keep doing things like this." She added the tee to a growing pile and reached for another piece of static-crackling clothing.
"I'm sorry. I was just trying to help."
From anyone else the statement would have sounded properly contrite, but somehow Phoebe didn't quite pull it off. Maybe Marcy was being overly sensitive, but somehow her words didn't quite ring true, and she couldn't put her thumb on why. Maybe because she knew her sister too well?
"Jake's coming after work to get the kids," Marcy said, changing the subject, "so don't make anything for dinner."
"I was going to pick up some mahi mahi at the seafood place."
"Well, don't." Marcy glanced at her sister and saw the hurt look on her face. "Phebes, you're stuffing me like a pet pig. I'll be back in my old jeans in no time if you keep feeding me this way."
"I'm just trying to help you get your strength back." Phoebe added a folded pair of shorts to the pile.
"I swear, I don't know how you eat that way and still stay so skinny." Marcy shook her head, looking at her sister in knit shorts and a baby tee. "And you never exercise. I figure I need to run three miles a day just to maintain."
"Just my metabolism, I guess." Phoebe dropped a yellow sock on the table and dug for another piece of clothing. "I can run the kids over to Jake's after work if you want me to. Just so you don't have to—you know, deal with him."
Phoebe had been good about helping out since Jake left, not just with the kids but with handling Jake, too. She glanced at Phoebe as she dug into the basket in search of a mate to the sock she held in her hand. "No. It's fine. He probably wants to get some more of his stuff anyway. So how was the interview?"
Phoebe glanced up blankly.
"The one at O'Hara's? The assistant manager's position you told me about the other night?"
"Oh, that." Phoebe gave a wave and began to stack the piles of clean clothes in the basket. "It wasn't worth taking."
"I thought you said it was salaried, with benefits."
Phoebe busied herself with the clothes. "You know how it is. People advertise something they're really not offering. I'm not worried. Everyone will be hiring soon. Mid-June, schools are getting out everywhere. People will be flocking to the beach. Restaurants will be desperate for people with my kind of experience."
Marcy wanted to tell her sister that she didn't think she was in a position to be turning down any job offers, not considering the fact that she had no others. Then she reminded herself that she should be grateful Phoebe had been unemployed and able to be here all these months, looking after Jake and the kids. "I'm sure something better will come along." She added the last of the clean clothes to the basket. "Was that Matt on the answering machine for you this morning? He must have called late."
"I don't know why he calls here. He has my cell number." Phoebe grabbed the basket.
"The divorce close to being settled?"
"Of course not. He's trying to say we weren't equal partners in the restaurant, even though he was the one who took out those extra loans. Jerk." She headed out of the kitchen with the clothes. "If no one's going to be home for dinner tonight, I'll probably go out." She halted in th
e doorway. "You'll be okay here alone while the kids are with Jake?"
"Of course." The truth was, Marcy was looking forward to a few hours of peace and quiet. Mostly from Phoebe. She fussed over her like a mother hen. It was so unlike her that it made Marcy uncomfortable. Though Phoebe was older by twenty minutes, she had never had that big-sister quality about her. Growing up, it had always been every girl for herself.
"You going out to jog now?"
"Yup."
"See you later," Phoebe called as she disappeared down the hall.
After changing into her new running clothes, Marcy stretched, grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, and headed out of the house. Her plan was to walk a quarter of a mile, jog a quarter of a mile, and then do it again. Her goal was to make it into town and back without collapsing on the road and having to take another ride in an ambulance.
Marcy made it all the way into town, but as she turned to head back, she realized she should have started with a bigger bottle of water. The one she was carrying was empty. She had no money with her to run into the mini mart, and she was dying of thirst. Walking along the sidewalk next to the diner, she cut across the parking lot. Trying to catch her breath, she darted inside. The place was empty except for a couple of teenagers, all dressed in black with dyed black hair, seated in the rear. She spotted Claire's daughter, at least who she thought was Ashley, seated next to a guy with spiked black hair, and a nose stud. He was resting his arm possessively around Ashley's shoulder. When he made eye contact with Marcy, he studied her for a moment, lifted his chin in a quick acknowledgment and returned his attention to his milkshake.
"Well, well, well, little lady. Marcy, right?"
Marcy glanced up to see Ralph leaning over the lunch counter toward her. Instinctively, she moved back. She could have sworn he was staring at her breasts. "Right. Marcy." She offered a half smile.
"So what can I do for you?"
Marcy wished now that she'd come into town in something more than her running shorts and new matching blue and green jog bra. When she left the house it had seemed perfectly decent enough; she was wearing more than most women wore on the beach. But the way Ralph looked at her made her wish she'd worn the beach towel, too.
She'll Never Tell Page 8
