[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set
Page 65
“So you think Deputy Johnson might have killed her because she was trying to take her kids back from him?”
“It’s worth looking into, don’t you think?” I pulled out one of the dining room chairs, circa 1877, property of great-great-a few more greats-aunt Marie, and sat. “I was going to mention it to Sheriff Satterfield, but it’s probably better if you do it. He might feel uncomfortable investigating his own deputy.”
“He might,” the detective agreed blandly. “All right. I’ll make some inquiries. I don’t think Deputy Johnson did anything to his wife, but you’re right, it bears looking into. If nothing else, we can put the idea to rest.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doing my job.”
“Right.” I looked at the sandwich. It didn’t look as appetizing as it had earlier. “I’ll probably be down here another day, at least. It turns out that Todd went to Chattanooga for the night. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow night to make him propose.”
“Pardon me?”
“Nothing.” I thought about knocking my head against the mahogany tabletop.
Her tone fell somewhere between incredulous amusement and amused horror. “You’re trying to make D.A. Satterfield propose?”
“It occurred to me that if I’m engaged to be married, I won’t be tempted to sleep with Rafe.” And I couldn’t believe I’d said that. Out loud.
“I see,” Detective Grimaldi said. “That’s drastic, don’t you think? Couldn’t you just practice saying no?”
“It’s hard to say no.” Especially to a man who has his tongue in your mouth. And when you don’t want to. And God, just the thought of it had me blushing again. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“I imagine because you can’t tell anyone else. You need a friend, Ms. Martin.”
“I have friends, Detective. They’re just not friends I can talk to about this. And I kind of thought we were friends. Sort of. Except friends generally call one another by their first names.”
She sighed. “All right. Savannah.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Tammy.”
“I told you, not even my mother calls me that.”
“Rafe does.”
“Not to my face,” Tamara said grimly. “OK, Ms.... Savannah. You want some advice?”
“I’d love some advice.”
“Then I think you should run as far and as fast as you can from Rafe Collier.” She hung up.
So that was it. I gnawed on my sandwich and thought dark thoughts until bedtime.
* * *
I didn’t hear Mother come home. I fell asleep pretty early, trying to recover from two very restless nights and a couple of rough days. She was there when I came downstairs the next morning, though, so Bob Satterfield must have brought her home at some point.
And of course she was bright-eyed and polished when I stumbled into the kitchen at seven thirty: her hair perfectly coiffed, her make-up perfectly applied, her clothes perfectly matched and accessorized. While I looked like a troll, with my tangle of hair, my heavy eyes, and my worse-for-wear lacy nightie.
Mother looked me over. “Oh, dear. Sleepless night?”
“Kept waking up,” I mumbled, crawling onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar and resting my chin on my hand, struggling to keep my eyes open.
Mother clucked sympathetically while she stirred grits on the stove. “Bad dreams, darling?”
“Not exactly.” Although she’d probably think so. A glimpse into her perfect younger daughter’s subconscious would likely turn her pale with fright. Picturing me naked in bed with Rafe Collier would be pretty close to my mother’s worst nightmare.
Once upon a time I would have agreed with her. It was amazing to realize that it was only a couple of months ago. Whereas now...
It would be fair to say that the idea didn’t fill me with the same horror as before.
Still, it would be nice if these dreams would leave me alone. I had hoped that after I saw Rafe again, and knew that he was safe, and after I got some of the frustration out of my system, maybe I wouldn’t dream about him anymore. So much for that comforting fantasy. Not only was I still dreaming about him, but the dreams had gotten quite a boost in verisimilitude since yesterday morning. Which didn’t exactly make them easier to ignore.
“So what are you planning to do today, darling?” Mother inquired, pulling my thoughts away from things I ought not to be thinking about anyway.
I yawned. “I didn’t really have any plans. Specifically, I mean. I need to scrounge up a dress for tonight—” since the right dress is imperative for soliciting proposals, and since I hadn’t realized I’d need a cocktail dress three days ago, when I packed my bag for the move to Mrs. Jenkins’s house, “and I also thought I might stop by the Bog to see if I could find the contact information for the construction company that’s going to build the houses there. I want to introduce myself and give them my card, and see if I can’t get some business from it. Someone has to market and sell those houses, and it may as well be me.”
Mother smiled. “How is the real estate going, darling?”
“It’s going well. I have a house under contract in Nashville. A nice young couple I started working with a couple of months ago found a house they want to buy. They’re supposed to close by the end of month.” And then—fingers crossed—I’d finally make a few thousand dollars to offset some of what I’d been spending over the past three or four months of having no income.
“That’s wonderful,” Mother said warmly. “So where are you going for your dress, darling?”
Dress...? And then I realized we were back on the subject of Todd again.
“I wasn’t planning to buy one. Surely someone has a dress I can borrow. Sheila, maybe. Or Catherine.”
“You can’t go to dinner with Todd in one of Catherine’s old dresses,” Mother said. “Why didn’t you bring a dress, darling?”
“I didn’t think about it. Didn’t realize I’d need one. And I can’t afford a new dress. Plus, I have lots of dresses at home already.” Old dresses, from two years ago, when I was married to Bradley and had the money and the responsibility to look up-to-date. I hadn’t had the money to buy anything new for a while.
“That doesn’t help you here and now,” Mother pointed out.
“I know that.”
“Audrey will make you a good deal on a dress.” She let go of the wooden spatula and reached for the phone.
“I don’t want...” I began, but she had already speed-dialed her best friend.
“Audrey? It’s Margaret Anne. Listen, Savannah’s in town and needs a new dress for a date with Todd Satterfield tonight. Do you have anything you think might work?”
Audrey is my mother’s best friend from childhood, and she owns the closest thing to a designer boutique Sweetwater has to offer: Audrey’s on the Square. Mother shops there; that should tell you a little about the kind of place it is. Very choice merchandise, very expensive.
“I can’t afford one of Audrey’s dresses,” I protested when Mother had hung up the phone and was back to stirring her grits.
She smiled beatifically. “She’ll give you a good price, darling. Or wait... why don’t I buy the dress for you? As an early engagement present?”
“We’re not engaged yet!”
“But if the dress is all Audrey described, you will be by midnight.” She beamed. “We’ll have lunch on the square after you try on the dress.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to try on the dress after lunch?” That way I’d know that I’d be able to eat in it.
“Darling,” Mother said, shaking her head sadly, “what have I told you about gorging yourself on a date?”
“I wasn’t planning to gorge myself. But I should be able to eat and still breathe. Todd will think it’s strange if all I do is pick at my food. I won’t have dessert, though.”
“Of course not, darling!” Mother looked shocked that I’d even thought about it.
It’s a cute little place, if you like late Victorian construction and the typical Southern town square with a town hall on one side and three sides of red brick commercial buildings on the others.
The family business is there, started by my great-grandfather Richard Martin more than a hundred years ago: the law offices of Martin and McCall. The current Martin is Dix; the McCalls are Catherine, who spends most of her time at home with her three children these days, and her husband Jonathan.
Mother insisted on stopping in to see the family, of course. I tried unsuccessfully to demur, but it turned out all right in the end anyway: Dix was closeted with a client, and only Jonathan was available to see us. And since he knew nothing about my relationship with Rafe, that touchy subject didn’t come up. I was thrilled.
Audrey’s place is across the square from the law office, and she was waiting for us when we pushed the door open. I’ve only rarely seen a live customer in the store, but Audrey has kept the place running for ten years or more. She doesn’t have a husband to support her, but she lives fairly cheaply, in a small house just a few blocks away, that she inherited from her parents and they inherited from theirs.
Other than the trip to the drugstore the other day, to replace my lipstick and romance novel, the last store I’d visited was Sally’s House of Security, with Mrs. Jenkins. Stepping into Audrey’s with Mother was almost surreal, and for a second I was floored by the realization that my life in Nashville was so different from my life here, from the life I’d been brought up to have. The life I’d be going back to if Todd proposed and I accepted. For a second, I wanted nothing more than to turn on my heel and run out of there, as fast as I could, and never see Todd again.
Then my good manners reasserted themselves, and I smiled at Audrey. “Hello.”
“Hi, Savannah!” She grinned.
Audrey and my mother are pretty much total opposites, at least physically. Mother is shorter than me, blonde, dainty and tastefully elegant. Audrey is tall, almost five ten, with short, dark hair, cut straight across her forehead and severely wedged in the back, coming forward to two points. She has fabulous cheekbones and always wears glossy, bright red lipstick. And of course she’s always dressed to the nines, in dramatic colors and cuts. Today’s outfit was an elegant black pantsuit, with an emerald green shirt underneath, and black and white polka-dotted shoes that put her over six feet tall.
She and Mother air-kissed, so as not to mess up their respective make-up. I’m pretty adept at the air-kiss myself. I leaned in and smacked my lips in the vicinity of Audrey’s cheek too.
Mother clapped her hands. “Show us the dress, Audrey. Where is it?”
“Hold your horses,” Audrey said, smiling. “It’s this way. I have it in a couple of different colors. Black, white, red, and blue.”
“Black,” Mother said decisively, following Audrey toward the dressing rooms in the back. “It’s so slimming.”
I’m a respectable size eight, so it’s not like I’m a heifer, although I will admit to having to lose ten pounds before I’d be comfortable wearing a bathing suit in public. I already own a half dozen little black dresses, though. I wasn’t sure I needed another.
“But white is so simple, don’t you think?” Audrey retorted. “Pure and evocative?”
Evocative of wedding dresses, I assumed. Or debutantes.
“Her eyes are blue...” Mother mused, looking at me over her shoulder.
I own a few blue dresses, as well. And one or two white ones.
“Red,” I said.
Both of them turned to look at me.
“Darling...” Mother began.
“I already own black and blue and white dresses. I even have a wedding gown. And a debutante gown.” That I didn’t fit into anymore. “But I’ve never owned a red dress. I want one.”
“I don’t know, Savannah...” Audrey said.
“Can I at least try it on? If it doesn’t look good, I promise I won’t insist.” I looked from one to the other of them. And yes, I do know that at twenty seven, I’m responsible for my own clothes and what I want to look like, and I don’t actually need my mother’s permission to wear a red dress. Habits are hard to break, though.
They exchanged a look.
“I suppose it can’t hurt just to try it on...” Audrey murmured.
Mother agreed, although she didn’t look happy.
As soon as I looked in the mirror, I knew I had to have the red dress. Even if I had to scrape the bottom of the savings account to buy it. If Mother refused to buy me a red dress, then by gum, I was going to buy it for myself.
It was stunning. Thick, shiny satin, with a tight bodice and a tight skirt, hitting a demure two inches below my knees. And there wasn’t anything special about it other than the fabric and the cut. Simple and elegant. No lace insets, no sequins, no beads. The neckline was square, with straps that fastened behind my neck. Half my back was exposed, and the satin clung to every curve. It managed to be demure and sexy all at the same time, with sexy definitely running ahead. My stomach tightened as I imagined someone’s hands slipping over the slick satin, pulling down the short zipper in the back, lifting my hair out of the way to unhook the halter straps...
Even as my cheeks heated, I gave myself a mental slap. This dress was supposed to solicit a proposal from Todd, not a knee-jerk sexual reaction from Rafe. He wouldn’t even see me wearing it. By the time I got back to Nashville, I’d be engaged to Todd, and I wouldn’t be seeing Rafe again. Especially not wearing this. But even so, as I turned to Mother and Audrey and announced, “I’ll take it!” it was a pair of hot, dark, knowing eyes I saw in my mind.
Chapter Ten
By the time I made it out to the Bog, it was late afternoon. I’d had to try on all the other dresses, too—Mother liked the slimming black, Audrey the bright blue that brought out my eyes—but I had insisted on the red, and eventually they had given in. It did look good on me, and as Mother reluctantly admitted, other than the bright color, it really wasn’t common at all. As if Audrey ever carried anything common in her boutique.
After shopping, we had lunch with Audrey at the café on the square, and then I drove Mother home with the dress. And set out for the Bog, under the guise of wanting to look for the contact information of the construction company that was developing the land, but really to take a look at the crime scene.
Growing up, I had never visited the Bog. I didn’t know anyone who lived there, and honestly, I thought driving down the rutted track from the highway would be like taking my life into my hands. The stories I heard about the Bog made it sound like the Wild West. Shootings, murders, fights... and of course the presence of LaDonna Collier’s son, who was enough in and of himself to scare all us prim and proper future debutantes into a tizzy. Even then, he’d had the kind of sex appeal and charisma that drew women. Or girls.
* * *
The place looked just like it had last time I was here, two months ago. Just after I’d found Brenda Puckett’s butchered body in Mrs. Jenkins’s house. I had come down to Sweetwater for Mother’s birthday, and when I mentioned running into Rafe in Nashville, she had told me that LaDonna Collier had died. And my mind had put two and two together and gotten five, and I had driven out to the Bog to see if I could discern a connection between Brenda’s murder and LaDonna’s death. Back then, I would have been perfectly happy to think Rafe guilty of both or either.
He’d been here, cleaning out his mother’s mobile home, and we’d been talking—or flirting—when Marquita came driving down the track. That was the first time I’d seen her too, in over twelve years. I’d left shortly after that, with her snapping at my heels like a Rottweiler.
And now she had died. Here.
The place looked the same. The small creek—or crick—was still sluggish and brown, the trees were spindly and stunted, and the homes—ancient singlewide trailers and leaning clapboard shacks—were downtrodden and sad. There was no sign of life. Not even the chirp of a bird.
Of course, there’d been no sign of life last time either, and Rafe had been here then. Probably parked behind his mother’s home. Where Marquita’s car and body had been found. I looked around for the yellow crime scene tape and spied it, behind one of the decrepit fifty-year-old trailers.
Last time I was here, I had gotten the heel of my shoe stuck in a snake hole and had fallen flat on my butt in front of Rafe, so this time I was careful about where I put my feet. I made it over to the trailer without any trouble, and peeked around the corner.
There was no one there, and although I hadn’t expected there to be, I was aware of a sense of disappointment. No, I hadn’t really expected him to be here, but I’d been hopeful. Since I couldn’t in good conscience seek him out again, it would be nice of him to oblige by finding me.
But there was nothing exciting to see behind the trailer. Just the crime scene tape strung around a sort of carport stuck to the back of the structure. I peered down, but saw nothing of interest. The ground was too dry for tracks, and the only thing I noticed was a big splotch of oil that had sunk into the dirt. Marquita’s old Dodge must have had a leak, and over the couple of days it had been sitting there, the drip had made a spot on the ground.
However, the back door to the trailer stood ajar.
No reason why it shouldn’t be, of course. No one lived here anymore. LaDonna was dead, and Rafe hadn’t lived here since he was eighteen. Chances were the police had walked through yesterday, to make sure there was nothing inside that seemed connected to Marquita’s murder, and they had neglected to close the door when they left.