Sundays Are for Murder
Page 28
He slanted a glance toward her. “Must be the company I keep. It rubs off no matter how hard I try to stay out of the way.” He realized that he hadn’t a destination. “Now can I take you home?”
She leaned back in the seat. The day had been forty-eight hours long. “Now.”
There were only a few cars on the road. He relaxed a little. Perhaps for the first time in a very long time. Glancing at her profile, Nick gauged his words carefully, trying to keep them casual. At least in tone.
“You know, my family’s coming out here for the holidays. At first they wanted me to come there, but they decided maybe they’d like to see what a Christmas with temperatures above freezing is like.” He paused, then said the only sentence that counted. “I’d like you to meet them when they come.”
“Sure, why not?” But even though her tone was almost flippant, something inside her was cheering. This could be the beginning of something meaningful. “You met my mother. Kind of.”
Nick spared her a look as he took another turn. “It’s going to be all right, Charley.”
“Yeah, it is.” And for the first time in six years, she believed it was a distinct possibility.
Sundays Are for Murder
BONUS FEATURES INSIDE
Alternate Ending
Bonus Read: The Spy Who Loved Her by Marie Ferrarella
Sneak Peek: Husbands and Other Strangers by Marie Ferrarella
Alternate Ending
Sundays Are for Murder
by Marie Ferrarella
After reading Sundays Are for Murder, did you wonder how the story would have ended if there had been an alternate last chapter? If so, read on and find out what could have been….
ALTERNATE LAST CHAPTER
CHARLEY DID HER BEST to talk him out of coming with her to the hospital. Admittedly, she was too drained to put up a decent fight.
She said as much when he pulled the car into a parking space. “This isn’t fair, you know. You’re taking advantage of the fact that I’m having trouble thinking straight.”
He shrugged carelessly. “I use what I can.”
So she gave in even though her pride told her that she should have stood her ground. Because this was so very personal, so very private. But because it was so personal, there was this need inside her to hold on to something. To hold on to someone.
Even so, she had her doubts as she walked through the front entrance of the squat, two-story building.
Charley never felt more naked than when she came to visit her mother. She could feel every one of her emotions being exposed for all to see.
But because she was Charley, she gave it one more shot, even though she knew it was hopeless. Nick was as tenacious as she was. A disturbing thought if ever there was one.
“I don’t see why you won’t stay in the car. I won’t be long,” she promised, her words almost echoing down the long, winding corridor as she led the way to the room where her mother existed.
Nick noticed that she had picked up her pace. He matched it.
“I don’t like sitting in cars,” he told her. “It’s too much like a stakeout. Besides,” he added after a momentary internal debate about the wisdom of giving voice to his concern, “you look like you might need the moral support.”
Charley slowed down and looked at him. She didn’t know whether to feel touched or invaded. “This is my mother, not my father. She never uttered a harsh word to anyone, least of all to me.”
“That’s why I figure you might need the support. Because it hurts to see her like this.”
Charley did her best to hide the effect his words had on her. She’d never had anyone care like that before. She’d even shut her old partner out on this level. But there was no shutting out Nick.
“Wow, one course in Bureau profiling and you think you can read everyone.”
“Two courses.” He held up two fingers. “And not everyone. Just you, Special Agent Dow. Just you.”
The way he looked at her, she could almost believe him. Her mouth felt dry. “Lucky me.”
They’d reached her mother’s door and Charley hesitated before it, the way she always did. Not because she wanted to turn on her heel and run, but because she was bracing herself. And then she glanced at Nick, about to make one last appeal for him to remain outside. Or better yet, to say she’d decided to come back tomorrow because she was too tired for this.
“If you’re going to say you’ve changed your mind, I’m not buying it.” Leaning over her, Nick knocked once, then turned the knob and opened the door.
Sunlight streamed into the room, bathing everything it touched in shades of gold. Claire Dow sat by the window, where the attendants had placed her this morning. Her face was turned toward the sun, but she seemed to be in the shade.
Charley approached quietly, on the balls of her feet, as if any undue noise would disturb the silent woman in the armchair.
“I brought someone with me, Mama.” Her voice was so soft, Nick had to concentrate to hear her. Moving so that she could be in her mother’s line of vision if the woman turned her head, Charley introduced him. “This is my partner, Special Agent Nick Brannigan.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Dow.” He moved forward, just to the left of Charley, and took the woman’s hand in his. He kissed it, then gently placed it back in her lap.
Charley thought she saw something flicker in her mother’s eyes, but knew it was just wishful thinking on her part.
“Your daughter’s a very good FBI agent, Mrs. Dow,” Nick said to her mother. “She keeps me on my toes constantly.”
Claire continued looking out the window.
Charley pressed her lips together, wondering if any of the words she was about to say would get through to her mother, or if, like every other time, they would somehow float through the air without finding a target. She knew in her heart that if this news had come five years earlier, it might have meant all the difference in the world. It might have saved her mother from this living tomb.
“We got him, Mama. We got the man who killed Cristine. And it wasn’t a mistake.” Charley dropped to her knees beside her mother’s armchair, the way she used to when she was a little girl. She placed her hand over her mother’s, trying desperately to reach her, to somehow bridge the gap that seemed only to grow wider each time she came here. “It wasn’t me he was trying kill. It’s not my fault that she’s gone, Mama. It’s not.”
It was a plea, a plea for her mother’s forgiveness. A plea to her mother to have her return.
And then Charley felt hands coming around her. Felt Nick carefully raising her to her feet. As she allowed herself to be helped, she realized there were tears on her cheeks.
Realized it at the same time that Nick saw them. Before she could brush the tears away, he had tilted her head toward him. Very gently, using his thumb and knuckles, he did away with the evidence.
“C’mon,” he whispered softly, urging her to move toward the door. “Give your mother a little time to absorb what you just told her.”
If only, she thought. If only it was just a matter of time and nothing more.
Charley shook her head, struggling to keep fresh tears from seeping through. “I don’t even know if she heard me.”
Nick glanced at the older woman’s profile. “She heard.” Something within his gut told him that he was right.
“I wish I could believe that.”
Taking her hand, Nick looked at her. His eyes held hers. “She heard, Charley,” he repeated. “She heard.”
Charley clutched the thought to her.
They were almost at the door, about to open it, when the words “Not your fault” seemed to softly float through the air.
Charley’s heart almost stopped. She looked at Nick, her eyes wide. He was as surprised as she was, and then he simply looked pleased. Like someone whose faith had been rewarded. He nodded, confirming what she was afraid to ask.
Charley looked past his shoulder toward her mother. “Mama?”
“DID YOU HEAR IT?” Charley asked once they were at the car. “Or was I just hallucinating?” Because at this point, she was ready to believe almost anything.
Nick grinned at her as he got into the car, commandeering the driver’s side again. She realized that she had let him hang on to the keys. “I heard.”
She eyed him, trying to make a decision as she slipped on her seat belt. “You’re not just humoring me.”
He laughed softly, starting up the car. “Humoring you is not one of the things on my list, Charley. I heard what you heard. Your mother spoke.” He backed the car out of the space. “And when she’s ready, she’ll come back to you.”
He guided the car onto the road. Charley stared at his profile. “Since when did you become such an optimist?”
He slanted a glance toward her. “Must be the company I keep. It rubs off no matter how hard I try to stay out of the way.” He realized that he hadn’t a destination. “Now can I take you home?”
She leaned back in the seat. The day had been forty-eight hours long. “Now.”
There were only a few cars on the road. He relaxed a little. Perhaps for the first time in a very long time. Glancing at her profile, Nick gauged his words carefully, trying to keep them casual. At least in tone.
“You know, my family’s coming out here for the holidays. At first they wanted me to come there, but they decided maybe they’d like to see what a Christmas with temperatures above freezing is like.” He paused, then said the only sentence that counted. “I’d like you to meet them when they come.”
“Sure, why not?” But even though her tone was almost flippant, something inside her was cheering. This could be the beginning of something meaningful. “You met my mother. Kind of.”
Nick spared her a look as he took another turn. “It’s going to be all right, Charley.”
“Yeah, it is.” And for the first time in five years she believed it was a distinct possibility.
“You know,” he continued in his casual tone, “you’ve got a lot on your shoulders. Most burdens are easier when you share them.”
She glanced at him. Where was this headed? “You volunteering to adopt my mother?”
He laughed. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of marriage.”
Charley shifted in her seat. The seat belt bit into her shoulder. “You want to marry my mother?”
“Someone a little younger, with a smart mouth.” He glanced at her. Okay, so she was going to need the whole nine yards. He could go the distance. She deserved it. “You, Charley, you. I want to marry you.”
This had to be some trick. Her hearing was going. Or her mind. “Why?”
He blew out a breath. Was she trying to make him jump through hoops? Was that what a woman wanted when the most important question of their collective lives was on the table? “Why do you think?”
She ran a hand over her forehead. “I’ve done enough thinking these last few days, Special Agent Brannigan. I don’t want to think.” And then she grinned. “I want to be spoon-fed the information.”
Spoon-feeding it was. He told her the truth. All of it. “Because I love you. I’ve tried to talk myself out of it, but I’m not listening. I’ve never felt about a woman the way I do about you. You make me think of forever instead of one day at a time. I like that. I like the idea of you in my forever.” He paused, collecting himself. Hearing silence. He glanced at her, worried. “You’re not saying anything.”
No, she wasn’t. She was thinking and wondering how she’d gotten so lucky all at once. The case solved, her mother speaking and a man who made her feel as if the Fourth of July was exploding inside her was proposing. “For once, I’m listening.”
“And?” The air in his lungs needed to be moved out by conscious thought, then replaced.
“I like what I’m hearing.”
She still hadn’t said yes. “And?”
“Forever sounds pretty good to me. Scary,” she told him honestly, “but good.”
If Mohammed wouldn’t come to the mountain, the mountain was going to have to make the trip to him. “So is that a yes?”
She laughed, enjoying herself. “If you have to ask, then you’re not as special an agent as I thought you were.”
“Wait until we get to your place, and I’ll have you reevaluate that statement,” he promised meaningfully. And then, because he was concerned about her, he added, “Unless you’re too tired.”
“I just suddenly got my second wind.” It took everything she had not to throw her arms around him. “Oh, and by the way, I love you, too.”
Nick grinned. Having her say the words out loud didn’t change anything, but he had to admit it was really nice to hear.
Impulsively he pulled over to the side of the road. It wasn’t every day a man proposed to the woman he was meant to be with. It deserved to be sealed with a kiss.
Being Nick, he didn’t put it off.
THE END
BONUS READ
The Spy Who Loved Her
by Marie Ferrarella
CHAPTER ONE
“NO, I DON’T WANT TO MEET him,” Marla O’Connor told her best friend for the third time as the elevator doors of the St. Charles Hotel closed. Miraculously, given the number of people staying at the San Francisco hotel, the car was empty. With luck, she’d reach the twelfth floor in a minimum of time, with a minimum of words from Barbara. Barbara and her fiancé, Stewart, were staying on eleven. “I don’t want to meet anyone. This is a teachers’ convention, Barbara, not one big singles bar. I came here to learn, not date.”
A pert brunette, half a head shorter than her friend, Barbara frowned. “The two are not mutually exclusive, you know. All I’m saying is that you have to keep your eyes and options open.”
It was an old tug-of-war, one Marla engaged in with not only Barbara but, it seemed, every female relative in her family tree, including her three very-much-married sisters.
“I’ll take care of my own options, thank you very much. And as for my eyes, they’re going to be open on this book.” She held up the hardback she’d purchased in the hotel gift shop.
“I’d say something here, but it would be X-rated.” Barbara glanced at the title. Mystery at Midnight. “Honestly, Marla, you’re an English teacher. That’s pure pulp.”
Not to me, Marla thought. To her it was pure escape. She shrugged, tucking the book back under her arm. “So I’m letting my mind go slumming. There’s nothing like a good mystery to get you stimulated.”
Barbara’s smile was positively wicked. “I can think of something else—to get you stimulated.”
Marla stopped her before she could elaborate. “I’d rather curl up with a good book than a bad man.”
Barbara’s smile widened. “That all depends on your definition of bad.”
“Does the word lemon mean anything to you?”
“Let’s see.” Barbara pretended to think as the floors slowly passed. “Lemonade sipped slowly at poolside while some gorgeous hunk of a man is gently rubbing suntan lotion on my warm body.”
Marla could only sigh, shaking her head. “You are hopeless.”
“No, ever hopeful.” Barbara grasped Marla’s arm imploringly. “Marla, we’re in the big city here. This is our chance to kick up our heels.”
“You kick, I’ll read.”
Barbara sighed in defeat. “Then you won’t meet Stewart’s friend?”
“Not tonight I won’t.” Marla had all the excitement she wanted between the covers of the new mystery. “I’m just going to take a nice hot shower, call room service and crack open this book.”
“You’re passing up the chance of cracking open champagne instead.”
Barbara, never one to give up easily, had already elaborated her dinner plans with Stewart and his friend at length.
“Afraid so.”
The elevator stopped on eight t
o pick up two people. Marla moved to the side. “Sometimes I don’t know why we’re still friends,” Barbara whispered to her. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to turn into Mrs. Everett.”
The name from their mutual past pulled up no fond memories. “I promise that before I turn into a dour old assistant principal I’ll go out with Stewart’s friend.”
Barbara looked at her reprovingly. “Dour old assistant principals are made, not born.”
The door opened for Barbara’s floor. The other two people got off. “Go.” Marla all but shooed Barbara out. “Have fun. I hope you have a great dinner. I’ll be perfectly happy alone in my hotel room. After listening to all those long-winded seminars I could use a little diversion.”
Barbara held the door open with her hand. “My point exactly.”
“A diversion that didn’t try to get into my bed at the end of the evening just because I absently smiled at it over dinner.”
Barbara shook her head. “You really don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Then write me a note about it—fifty words or less. Remember, spelling counts.”
“Yes, Miss O’Connor.” Barbara released the door and it closed.
Marla laughed to herself as she stepped off the elevator on her floor. Barbara meant well, but she just didn’t understand. Barbara found it easy to meet men, to strike up conversations and be vivacious. She, on the other hand, became instantly tongue-tied when confronted with a prospective date. It was only when she was living vicariously, imagining herself the heroine of a wonderful novel, that she knew just what to say, that her conversation was pithy instead of pathetic. She positively shone in the English literature class she taught at Bedford High. But her light was extinguished when it came to face-to-face encounters, especially with good-looking men.