Contract Pending

by Jenna Bennett

  Not claustrophobic enough to kill myself, though. I might have been tempted to run away, to get in my car and go back to Sweetwater to hide in the bosom of my family, but I wouldn’t have put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. There are easier modes of getting away from it all, like buying a bottle of Jack Daniels or a ticket to Aruba. So where I might see Marquita being fed up with her job and her charge, and leaving Mrs. Jenkins high and dry to head to Sweetwater for a change of pace, I couldn’t see her killing herself over it.

  Detective Grimaldi nodded. “Those are my thoughts, as well. But I have to keep an open mind.”

  She leaned back in the desk chair, dark eyes steady on my face. “Now that that’s out of the way, would you care to tell me what my call interrupted this morning?”

  “What do you mean?” My voice sounded stiff and fake, even in my own ears.

  The detective rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother trying to lie to me, Ms. Martin. I have a well-honed bullshit detector, and you’re a terrible liar.”

  I sighed. “So I’ve been told.”

  “I’ve gotta figure you were either asleep—and there’s no reason why you would lie about that—or you were with someone.”

  Ugh.

  “You weren’t in your apartment—I know because Officer Slater was there. There was no activity overnight, by the way, other than that Mr. Satterfield showed up last night a few minutes before seven.”

  I nodded. “He called. We were supposed to have dinner, but I forgot. And then I forgot to call and cancel.”

  The detective nodded. “So what did you do with Mrs. Jenkins while you went on your date with Mr. Satterfield?”

  The implication that I’d gone out gallivanting and left the old lady alone at home made me bristle. “I didn’t do anything with her. I didn’t see Todd. She and I stayed out all day, and had an early dinner at Burger King, and by the time we got home she was tuckered out and went to bed to watch TV. I spent the evening reading.”

  “So you didn’t see Mr. Satterfield.”

  I shook my head. And realized too late where this line of inquiry was going.

  She didn’t bother spelling it out, just shot it at me, point-blank. “When did Mr. Collier show up?”

  “What makes you think...” I bit off the rest of the sentence. What was the point of trying to deny it? She was right: if all she had done was wake me, I would have said so. And if I hadn’t been with Todd, then the only logical explanation was that she had interrupted me with Rafe. I’m not the type of woman to pick up a man I don’t know for an overnight quickie, and the detective knows it.

  “He was there when I woke up. Sitting on the edge of the bed. So I guess he arrived sometime in the early morning.” And if the exhaustion I’d seen on his face was any indication, he hadn’t taken the time to sleep in the past 36 hours or so.

  She leaned forward, pulling a yellow notepad closer. “You don’t know when?”

  “I have no idea. I woke up, and he was there.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “None of your business,” I said, my cheeks flaming.

  She looked at me for a moment in silence before she asked, “Did he say where he’d been? What he’d been doing?”

  I shook my head.

  “Did he mention anything about being questioned by the TBI in connection with a cargo heist in Memphis last week? Half a million dollars worth of electronics and furs and brand-name clothes going missing?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Did he mention that he wasn’t supposed to leave Memphis? That he’d been specifically told to stick around?”

  I shook my head. “We didn’t really talk.” And then I realized my error and tried to backpedal. “I mean...”

  “Right,” the detective said, her voice dry as sawdust.

  I opened my mouth and closed it again. We’d been doing exactly what she thought we’d been doing, and she and I both knew it.

  Tamara Grimaldi capped her pen and leaned back in the chair. “A little unsolicited advice, Ms. Martin.”

  “Call me Savannah,” I said, “please. If you’re going to give me advice on my love life, we should be on a first name basis, don’t you think?”

  She didn’t answer. Didn’t answer that, I should say. “I don’t know you well,” she continued, “and it’s none of my business anyway, but I would strongly recommend that you not get too involved with Mr. Collier.”

  “Define ‘too involved.’”

  She arched her brows. “I suppose it’s too late to tell you not to sleep with him. But don’t make a habit of it. Don’t get into a relationship with him.”

  I shook my head. “God, no. I wouldn’t. I can’t. My family would have a collective fit.”

  “Maybe you should consider that they have a point.”

  “And maybe they’re just being overprotective. I’m not stupid, you know. And I haven’t slept with him. You called before we got that far.”

  She actually looked relieved. “You might want to consider keeping it that way.”

  Right. “Are you sure you don’t just want him for yourself? Back in August, you did seem somewhat interested in him. And not only in a professional way.”

  Tamara Grimaldi actually flushed. “No, Ms. Martin. Savannah. I admit the man’s attractive, but I know his type too well to want to get involved with him.”

  The detective was discombobulated, and that was a rare occurrence. “His type,” I said. “Which type is that?”

  “Would you consider that he’s dangerous?”

  “To me?” I shook my head. “No, I wouldn’t. He won’t hurt me.” I was absolutely sure of that. And I didn’t care what Todd or even Tamara Grimaldi said.

  “He might not. But some of the people he associates with may not be as particular. I’d hate for you to get caught in the crossfire.” Her eyes were serious.

  I sat up, any amusement I might have felt gone. “Have you found out anything about the man from yesterday?”

  She shook her head. “I told you, the description is too vague. He could be anyone. But I’m talking about people like him. People who aren’t particular what they have to do or who they have to go through to get to Mr. Collier.”

  Danger by association.

  “I see your point,” I admitted. I wasn’t sure, though, whether it wasn’t already too late to worry about this. After this morning... heck, after yesterday morning, the Hispanic man knew who I was, and that I’d been staying with Mrs. Jenkins. He had already considered using me to send a message to Rafe. I could perhaps cut off all contact with him—with both of them, Mrs. J and Rafe—and make sure I didn’t see either of them again. That might work. Maybe then I wouldn’t end up dead.

  “Is there any reason why you’d need me to stay in Nashville for the next few days?”

  She looked surprised. “I don’t think so.”

  “How long will Megan be staying in my apartment?”

  Tamara Grimaldi thought about it. “Now that Mr. Collier is back, chances are that whoever went through your place will leave you alone and concentrate on him. Even so, I’d like to keep Officer Slater there another day, just to make sure.”

  “That’s fine with me. I think I’ll run down to Sweetwater for the night. Stay with my mother, have that date with Todd Satterfield. Let them both see that I’m fine.”

  Grimaldi nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.”

  It did. It would get me out of Nashville, get me away from Rafe, give me time to process what had happened between us this morning and what, if anything, it meant. Plus, it would allow me to mend fences with Todd, who was probably worried about me. And who, although he couldn’t turn me to goo with a look, was a good, solid marriage prospect.

  I stood. “If you’re done with Mrs. Jenkins, I’ll take her home, grab my stuff, and hit the road.”

  The detective got up, too. “Drive carefully, Ms. Martin. Try not to get in Sheriff Satterfield’s way while you’re down there.”

  “Bob Satterfield lik
es me,” I said. “He wants me to marry his son.”

  “Does his son know?”

  “Oh, yes. Todd wants me to marry him, too. As does my mother. In fact, everyone wants me to marry Todd.”

  “Everyone except Mr. Collier.” Tamara Grimaldi opened the door.

  “Only until he talks me into bed. After that he doesn’t care who I marry.” I stepped into the hallway. “You’ll let me know what you find out, right? And when I can move back into my place?”

  She promised she would. I collected Mrs. Jenkins, who had given her statement before I did, and who was sitting in the lounge eating crackers and watching TV, and set out for the house on Potsdam Street.

  When we got there, Rafe’s motorcycle was gone from the circular drive, and for a few minutes I worried that he’d up and left again, and that I’d have stay on with Mrs. J. Truth be told, the idea wasn’t only worrisome, either; if I stuck around, at least I knew I’d get to see him again whenever he resurfaced. But then while I was upstairs, packing the rest of my things into my suitcase (and trying hard, and unsuccessfully, to keep my eyes and my thoughts away from the rumpled bed), I heard the sound of an engine out front. I went to the window and peered out, onto the roof of a black car.

  After a second, the driver’s side door opened, and Rafe got out. He stood for a second, scanning the front yard, before slamming the car door, and I allowed myself to look at him, staring in a very unladylike manner.

  After only two long-term relationships it may be premature to talk about types, but if I have a type of man that I always get involved with, that would be the blond, blue-eyed, well-dressed, and well-educated WASG. Wealthy Attractive Southern Gentleman. Like Todd, and Bradley, and for that matter my brother Dix. Or perhaps not Bradley, since he had turned out to be lying, cheating scum and no gentleman at all. Just tall and blond, wealthy, attractive, well-educated, and Southern.

  Rafe is Southern, and God knows he’s attractive, but as far as the rest of it goes, he’s batting zero. Any money he has, is ill-gotten gains. He doesn’t have a job, at least not a legitimate one, and he barely squeaked through high school before he went to prison. Physically, he’s dark—eyes, hair, golden skin—and a few inches taller than Todd and Bradley, who both come in at around six feet. Rafe’s at least six three, and he looks dangerous, with that tattoo of a viper curled around his left arm—a very muscular left arm—and with the build and reflexes of a predatory animal, a panther or mountain lion. Fluid, graceful, and deadly; tightly controlled power and strength. He doesn’t look like someone you’d want to tangle with, in any sense of the word. And I couldn’t quite believe that I’d done just that this morning.

  I also couldn’t quite admit that as I was standing here watching him, I wanted to do it again.

  As if the thought had somehow communicated itself through the window and down, he turned and looked up. I stepped back, quickly, my cheeks hot. I wasn’t sure whether he’d seen me or not, and I didn’t hang around to find out. I turned my back on the window and went about the business of packing up the rest of my things.

  Chapter 8

  I arrived in Sweetwater in the middle of the afternoon. After lunch, but well before dinner.

  Saying goodbye to Rafe and Mrs. Jenkins hadn’t taken long. Mrs. J was thrilled to have her ‘boy’ back, and couldn’t have cared less whether I was staying or going. And Rafe didn’t look like he cared much, either. If he’d seen me gazing at him earlier, he didn’t mention it. “Everything go OK with Tammy?” he asked when I came downstairs, carrying my suitcase.

  I nodded. “Fine. She doesn’t know much yet. It’s too soon.”

  “D’you tell her I’m back?”

  I kept my expression neutral. “She knew already.”

  “How?”

  “She realized she interrupted something this morning. She knew that my date with Todd hadn’t happened, and by process of elimination, she decided you had to be back in town.”

  His lips quirked. “No kidding?”

  “No. That’s how she knew.”

  “You were supposed to get together with Satterfield yesterday?” He sounded pleased. Rafe doesn’t like Todd any better than Todd likes him.

  I smiled sweetly. “I’ll make it up to him tonight.”

  If I’d hoped for some kind of reaction, I didn’t get one. “You headed to Sweetwater from here?” His voice was perfectly level and perfectly pleasant.

  “Detective Grimaldi wants to keep Officer Slater in my apartment for one more night. She thinks that now that you’re home, whoever broke in will leave me alone and concentrate on you instead, but she wants to make sure of it.”

  He nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “I’ll be back in a day or two. As soon as the detective tells me I can move back into my place.”

  “I’ll be here.” He turned away. I took it for what it was, a dismissal. Carrying my suitcase, I walked out the door, got into the car, and drove away. Without a kiss, without a goodbye, without anything. Almost like nothing had happened.

  It was two o’clock in the afternoon by the time I got to Sweetwater, which is located about an hour south of Nashville. I would have been there earlier, but I stopped at the office on my way out of town, to make sure nothing was going on that I needed to deal with—Tim commented on the blush in my cheeks—and then I stopped again, at Beulah’s Meat’n Three outside Sweetwater, for lunch.

  It was just a month and a half since I’d been at Beulah’s, and had realized that an old schoolmate worked there. Yvonne McCoy was two years older than me, the same age as Dix—whom she’d always had a soft spot for—and she was one of Rafe’s old conquests. Or vice versa. The way she’d explained it to me—and he hadn’t contradicted her version—was that they’d been bored and curious one day, and had decided to have sex for something to do. Yvonne had enjoyed the experience and would have been happy to do it again, but Rafe hadn’t offered, so that had been it.

  Anyway, she wasn’t ‘our’ sort of people, so Yvonne wasn’t someone I’d known well growing up. She wasn’t from Sweetwater originally—Columbia High is huge, and had students from several different small towns in Maury County—and because she was two years older and hung out with a much rougher crowd than I and my best friend Charlotte, I’d never really spoken to her until that time a month and a half ago when we’d bonded in our mutual dislike of Elspeth Caulfield.

  I was annoyed with Elspeth because she wouldn’t tell me what had happened between her and Rafe back in high school. Yvonne was annoyed with her on general grounds, because Elspeth, who was a fundamentalist preacher’s daughter and the kind of girl who talked about being ‘ruined,’ disapproved of Yvonne’s loosy-goosy lifestyle. She’s been married and divorced a couple of times, and she’s still a year shy of thirty.

  She’s nice, though, in her brash way. I was happy to see that she was working when I walked through the door to Beulah’s.

  She greeted me with a big smile. “Hiya, Savannah! Whatcha doing down this way? Slumming?”

  “Coming down to spend the night with my mother and hopefully have dinner with Todd Satterfield.” I slid into a booth by the back wall, under a picture of a mule in a flowered bonnet. Columbia is the self-acclaimed Mule Capital of the world. We have had Mule Days every year since 1840, a huge festival that brings more than two hundred thousand people into the area.

  “Oh-ho!” Yvonne grinned. “Anything I should know about? Wedding bells?”

  She gyrated her eyebrows, kind of like Groucho Marx. Apparently everyone in Sweetwater knew what was going on. It’s one of the curses of growing up in a small town: everyone knows your business, and everyone’s watching your every move. Especially when you’re Margaret Anne Martin’s perfect younger daughter. There was probably a bet going on when Todd would pop the question. I wondered whether there was one going on what my answer would be, or whether everyone just assumed I’d say yes.

  I shook my head. “Not yet. He’s hinted, but he hasn’t come right out and propo
sed.”

  “Think he will? Tonight?” She pushed a hank of obscenely red hair behind her ear. It had been a natural copper in high school; now it was more like merlot, the texture of straw.

  God, I hope not. The words trembled on the tip of my tongue. I knew the proposal was coming, but I hoped Todd would put it off a little longer. I didn’t want to disappoint him, but I wasn’t ready to say yes, either.

  My marriage to Bradley had been a confidence-shattering experience, both while I was living through it and while it dissolved, and I was afraid to try again. If I hadn’t been able to satisfy one husband, what made me think I could satisfy another? And especially someone like Todd, who already had his own failed marriage to look back on? He may have married Jolynn because she reminded him of me, but obviously she hadn’t measured up. I wasn’t sure I’d measure up either. I was pretty sure the Savannah in Todd’s mind had only a nodding acquaintance with the Savannah who had looked at me from the bathroom mirror in Mrs. Jenkins’s house this morning, and living up to someone else’s expectations is a tough job.

  “What’re you having?” Yvonne asked when I didn’t answer. I yanked my mind back to the present.

  “Oh. Sweet tea and a Cobb salad. Thank you.”

  “You bet.” Yvonne sashayed off to put in my order. Two minutes later she was back, carrying a tall glass of iced tea. “Did you get that thing figured out last month?” Lila Vaughn’s murder. I’d been looking into it last time I was in Beulah’s. “They didn’t arrest Rafe, did they?”

  I shook my head. “It turned out to be someone else. Not that I ever really thought it was him.”

  “Course not. How is he?”

  “Fine.” I couldn’t help the blush that crept up into my cheeks. I’d probably blush every time someone said Rafe’s name for the next week at least.

  “Oh-ho!” Yvonne said again, and nudged me with her hip. “What’s going on, hon? Something I should know about?”