Coffee & Crime

by Anita Rodgers

  Studying my reflection in the mirror, I felt like one of those dowdy housewives who'd gotten a free makeover. I looked good. I looked damn good. "Welcome back to the living, Scotti Fitzgerald." I checked myself front and back. No bags under the eyes. No hairy legs. No drooping hems or panty lines. Sometimes, things simply come together.

  Tossing on a pashmina, I stepped out of the house. The moon hung full and yellow in a black starry sky. The rain was gone and left a crisp sense of spring in the evening air —offering the scent of night blooming jasmine as proof of a new season. Everything was right with the world again and I let out a blissful sigh.

  Headlights flashed through the open gate and a limo pulled in, stopping in front of me. The fresh-faced driver stepped out and smiled. "Ms. Fitzgerald?" I nodded. He opened the rear door. "Mr. Jordan is waiting."

  <<>>

  The driver opened the door and offered a hand. Smiling, he said, "Have a lovely evening." Then he pointed to the walkway.

  I turned to the house and saw that single long-stemmed roses led the way up to the front door. I bent and picked up each one as I came to it, like you collect seashells as you walk the beach. With an armful of roses, I arrived at the front door with a happy heart.

  When I raised my hand to knock, the door opened and Ted grinned back at me. "Hi Gorgeous." He wore a tailored black suit, white shirt, open at the throat, and a rose on his lapel. "I'm so glad to see you."

  "The roses are beautiful."

  His eyes caressed my body. "God, you're beautiful." Offering his arm he said, "Dinner for two?"

  He led me into the living room, lit by candles in glass goblets and a fire crackling at the hearth. A table was set up by the fireplace with linen tablecloth, flatware and silver domed plates. An ice bucket held a bottle of champagne and two champagne flutes, stems up. Handsome in the flickering light, Ted smiled at me.

  I blushed and smiled back. "Moonlight, champagne and roses. You're a man of your word Ted Jordan."

  He tipped up my chin and kissed me softly. Pulling out a chair he said, "Hungry?" He snapped opened the napkin and lay it across my lap. In a terrible English accent he said, "I've prepared a delicious meal for you, which I’m sure you’ll enjoy." He lifted the silver dome from my dish with a flourish. "Ta-da!"

  I snorted and laughed. "Pizza with everything. How did you know?"

  Though I've never had pizza with champagne, it turned out to be a winning combination. And our conversation didn’t involve clues, motives or murders. No arguments. No disagreements. Just two people on a proper date talking in earnest. Ted told me about his family — five brothers, no sisters and a very strong mother. I told him about foster life — me and Zelda railing against the system.

  We played footsie. A second bottle of champagne was opened with a pop and a fizzle. We giggled like teenagers. He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. I kicked off my shoes and put my foot in his lap.

  I giggled. "Did you just gasp?"

  "That's one frisky little foot you've got there."

  I teased my foot along the inside of his thigh. "Yes, and it has a mind of its own."

  Ted's foot had a mind of its own too. "Now who's gasping? Didn't see that one coming, did you?"

  Our eyes locked. "Is it really just about us now?"

  Ted pushed back his chair and stood in one fluid motion. Then he pulled me to my feet and into his arms. "I want you."

  "I'm yours. I'm all for you, baby."

  His mouth was hungry and urgent on mine. Hands explored. The room became a blur. We fell onto the sofa in a tangle of heat and desire. Nothing existed but me and Ted, wanting and breathless. Our bodies pressed and pulsed. My legs wrapped around him, his hands searched for entry, pushing aside any obstacle in their way. Lace yielded to probing fingers and I groaned and arched. "Wait, wait. Stop. Wait." He stopped, liquid green eyes searching mine. "Slowly, baby. Let's go slowly."

  He nodded, nuzzled my neck and breathed in the scent of my hair. Then he sat back on his haunches and looked at me like I'd disappear if he looked away. He pulled me up and held me tightly. In a breathy whisper he said my name. He touched my hair as

  though it were spun of gold and looped a curl behind my ear.

  I traced a finger along his strong jaw, stopping at his lips. I could've stood there, just looking at him all night — my heart was so full. Like in a fairy tale, I was entranced by this handsome prince, and I never wanted the story to end.

  He scooped me up into his arms and slowly carried me upstairs to his bedroom. The flickering candlelight danced across the walls as he set me down on my feet. We stood face to face, taking in every detail of one another. I unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it away, dropping it to the floor. I frowned at the tee shirt he wore beneath and reached for it, but he took my hand gently away. He eased the dress over my head and dropped it to the floor. Belt unbuckled, trousers dropped with a whisper, and he walked me backwards to the bed.

  His hands, his mouth, his tongue plotted a course over my body, and I opened like a flower under him. And then it was happening — he was inside of me. Bodies clinging, hips in syncopated rhythm, heat pulsing. Explosion.

  Afterwards, we lay in each other's arms for a long while, afraid to move and break the spell. I don't know when it happened, but I knew that I loved this man, more than I thought I could love anyone. Our bodies eased apart, and we lay facing each other. I stroked his cheek with my hand. "I love you."

  He rolled me over on my back and wrapped himself around me, laying his head on my breasts. "I love you too."

  I combed my fingers through his hair and then down his back. Tugging on the tee shirt he'd refused to take off I said, "Why is this thing still on?" He held me tighter and kissed my breasts. I moved out of his embrace so I could look at him. "Honey? What is it?"

  He took my hand and kissed it. "Something you don't want to see."

  I sat up and grinned. "You're one beautiful hunk of man cake." I wiggled my eyebrows. "I want to see all of you." He didn't laugh, instead a wary look came into his eyes. I stroked his arm. "You don't have to hide anything from me, Ted." He hesitated and I could see he was anxious. "But I won't force you either. If you want to leave the shirt on, leave it on. It's okay."

  Keeping his eyes on me, he sat up, pulled the tee shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. The angry red scar ran from his ribs to his lower back. Dozens of smaller scars peppered his side and shoulder. Some as small as pebbles, others jagged white lines,

  knobby and shiny. I reached out to touch the large scar, but he grabbed my hand. "A gift from Baghdad?"

  "Fallujah," he murmured.

  I kissed the scars, one by one. His body tensed. "You don't have to do that. I know they're hideous." He nudged me away and covered the large scar with his arm.

  Gently I pulled his arm away. "They're part of you." I put my arms around his neck and he relaxed against me. I kissed his neck. "I love all your parts."

  He rolled over and pulled me on top of him. "Do you now? Equally?" He wiggled his eyebrows. All of them?"

  I looked him up and down and wiggled my eyebrows too. "Maybe some parts more than others."

  And then we started from the beginning.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  After my blissful weekend with Ted, I discovered that the story of George's murder was all over the news. And the coverage continued non-stop, even when there was nothing new to report. News or entertainment? You decide.

  The phone rang constantly with calls from television stations and newspaper reporters seeking interviews. Zelda was game, but I wasn't interested. My goal was to move on and figure out what to do with the rest of my life — not to become a non-celebrity celebrity.

  Eventually, a famous lady wrestler came out on a national TV show and knocked us out of the news cycle. Thank you very much. After that, we heard little about the case, and I wondered if Landis Pembroke had anything to do with the media black-out. A couple of alleged Lily Bennett spottings renewed interest in the
story, but on both occasions they turned out to be a hoax.

  Maggie Manston did indeed keep her word, and I received a check for $100,000. Then I turned around and split it five ways. Though Ted refused to accept the check, I got his office manager Kathy to deposit it in the business account. If I didn't owe it to him, I

  definitely owed it to his business, given all the resources we used in our pursuit of George's killer.

  Shortly afterward, I received a cheerful letter from the IRS, along with some helpful forms, so I could be sure to send them a check too. Lloyd Sessions also contacted me to say my inheritance from George would go uncontested and to expect a notification in a few weeks. Everything was falling into place, except that the cops hadn't found Lily, and she was still out there. How could one skinny blonde stay hidden for so long?

  One day I'd face Lily again. There'd be a trial, and I'd have to testify. Lily wasn't the type to make a deal. She liked the limelight and attention too much, and it must've been killing her to hide out. Chances are she'd have a book and a movie deal sewed up before the jury was selected. Unless the other case that Pembroke mentioned casually, trumped Lily's. But what kind of case could do that, I wondered.

  Questions still lingered. Where was Nick Farmer and who was he? How did he know George? Did this other case have something to do with him?

  A brief blurb on Jake Kannanack's arrest popped up, but the details were fuzzy, and little about the investigation was known. I only know it had to do with money and assumed it was his embezzlement of client funds. So, life had finally caught up with him. Yet, no apparent punishment would come his way for his part in covering up George's murder. Odd, that.

  Spring had arrived with temps in the mid-70s, a sky of unclouded blue and lots of sunshine. Dressed in ratty clothes and sneakers, Zelda and I turned the soil in the garden plot. I wiped the dirt off my face with an old bandana. "I could get used to this kind of living."

  Unlike me, Zelda hated digging in the dirt, and she worked quickly. "I thought you were the one so desperate to decide on what to do with your life." I said nothing. "Hey, did you listen to the messages from Manny?"

  I crouched and wrestled a weed out of the soil. "No, I erased them."

  "He wants us back." Zelda laughed. "He even offered to work for you."

  I plunged the shovel into the soil. "Pass!"

  Zelda unearthed a rock and tossed it aside. "Says he'll wait as long as it takes to get us back there."

  I paused and surveyed our work. Good progress. Soil turned, mulch worked in and I grabbed a rake and started leveling in small sections. "Then he's going to be waiting a long time. I'm never going back there." I rubbed my nose with my forearm to

  dislodge a gnat that flew up there uninvited. "There's not enough money in the world to make me go back there."

  Zelda grabbed the other rake and leveled the soil on the other end of the plot. "Damn, remind me to never cross you." She creased a brow. "You won't even consider it?"

  Surprised, I stopped raking and looked up at her. "Why? Do you want to go back?"

  Zelda swatted a gnat out of her face. "I don't know. I made good money there, and I know what to expect." She raised her eyebrows. "And now that it's a buyer's market, he'd probably sell it to you a lot cheaper." I went back to my raking and said nothing.

  Zelda grinned and fanned out her arms. "And you could have what you always wanted, your own little diner."

  I shook my head and muttered, "That item is no longer on the menu."

  Zelda groaned. "What else are we going to do?"

  The leveling finished, I set aside the rake and snapped open the garden tarp. "Grab the other end of this and help me lay it down." Zelda took hold of the opposite corners and we positioned the tarp. "There's all kinds of things we could do." I weighted the tarp with bricks. "A world of possibilities."

  She pulled her corners of the tarp tight and weighted them with bricks on her end. "Oh yeah, like what?"

  I gave her a sheepish grin. "How about a food truck? Our own mobile diner? We could own it outright, no mortgage or loan repay. No Manny. It could work."

  Zelda squinted and frowned. "A food truck?" She gathered up the tools and headed for the shed. "A food truck?"

  "Why not? You like to drive, I like to cook. Sounds like a good fit to me." I followed her to the shed and opened the door. "Or we could work for Joe. He thinks we're pretty good investigators. Plus with the all the news coverage of George's case, maybe we could attract a few clients?" Zelda made a face, still not convinced. She put away the tools, closed the shed door and walked to the patio door. I slid the patio door open and stepped inside. "We could work under Joe's license."

  Zelda followed me into the kitchen. "You've already talked to Joe, haven't you?"

  I pulled a jug of milk from the fridge and a plate of cookies from the counter and put them on the butcher-block. "Not officially."

  Zelda poured the milk, then snagged a couple cookies. "And?"

  I pulled up a stool. "We'd work case by case under Joe's license. Racking up the hours we'd need to get our own licenses. And between cases, I thought we'd run a food truck or do catering." I dunked a cookie in my milk. "Doesn't that sound like fun?"

  Zelda polished off her cookies and milk, slid off her stool and carried her glass to the sink without being asked. She turned back to me and said, "I'll think about it."

  I waved my arms in the air. "Or we could be waitresses again. Willing slaves to another irate food Nazi who lives to make us miserable. Or we could go the girlfriend route, Eric could teach you to hack, and Ted could train me to limo."

  Zelda frowned. "Me, work for Eric? Not ever going to happen."

  "Right."

  "And I don't want any more bosses."

  I grinned because she was coming around to my way of thinking. "Right."

  Zelda eyed the kitchen clock. "To be continued. Eric's picking me up soon. Gotta get ready."

  I hopped off my stool. "Me too. I can't wait to get away from here for a few days. I rinsed the milk glasses in the sink. "Where are you guys going?"

  She ran ahead of me to get into the bathroom. "Vegas baby."

  By the time I got to the bathroom door, it was locked. "Hey, I had dibs."

  "Too bad," Zelda said through the door. The shower went on, and she started singing Viva Las Vegas at the top of her lungs.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  With Zelda off to Vegas and Boomer boarded at the vet's I had two hours to myself. My packed suitcase and bag waited at the front door. The fridge was cleaned out, trash bins sat at the curb, and Marge had the spare key so she could keep an eye on the house.

  Two weeks alone with Ted on a sunny beach was as close to heaven as I could imagine. He wouldn't tell me where we were going, just that I'd need a swimsuit and sun block. Sunshine, Mai Tai's and Ted with no distractions or interruptions were fine with me. We could go to the moon for all I cared.

  I put Miles Davis on the sound system, poured a glass of merlot and ran a bubble bath. When the bath was ready, I turned up the music, lit candles, and stepped into the tub. I sunk into the fragrant water, rested my head against the little bathtub pillow I've had for

  years but never used, and drifted to my happy place.

  "Well isn't this sweet."

  My eyes popped open to the sight of Lily standing next to the tub, pointing a snub-nosed revolver at me. I blinked twice but Lily didn't disappeared as I hoped. I was naked and vulnerable. The only thing within reach were a jar of bath salts and scented candles. My cell phone was with my bag at the front door. Zelda was halfway to Vegas, and Ted wasn't due for an hour. "I am so screwed."

  Lily snorted. "You got that right, bitch." She waved the gun in my face. "Get out of the tub."

  I covered my chest with my arms. "I'm naked."

  Lily waved the gun again. "Don't worry, you're not my type."

  My eyes remained on the gun and I said, "Can't you hand me my robe or a towel?"

  Lily grabbed the robe dra
ped over the sink and threw it at me. "Out of the tub, now!"

  I caught the robe before it landed in the water, stood, and fumbled into it. "Hurry up!"

  Rattled, I slipped but caught myself by grabbing the towel bar. Once out of the tub, I bent to blow out the candles. Lily jabbed the gun in my back. "What are you doing?"

  That goosed me upright. "Blowing out the candles."

  "Leave them!"

  Conscious of a gun in my back, I stood very still and said, "What if they start a fire?"

  Lily grabbed a handful of bathrobe and shoved me aside. With a sweep of the arm she knocked the candles into the bath water. "There. All done." She shoved the gun in my back again. "Now, get moving."

  Forcing me into the bedroom, Lily told me to get dressed. Laid out on the bed were the clothes I'd planned to wear for Ted; high-heeled black boots, skinny jeans and a turquoise empire-waisted tunic. A great outfit to seduce your boyfriend but not so much when trying to escape a murderer. Instead of going to the clothes on the bed, I walked straight to my dresser where Ted's GPS tracker sat on top. Keeping my back to Lily, I lay my hand over the tracker and palmed it.