“All right.”
“This is your town,” he said, not seeming remotely surprised that she’d agreed to eat lunch with him. Of the two of them, she bet she was more shocked. “Where to?”
They walked to the main doors and she peeked out. The middle of the afternoon wasn’t the social high point of the day in downtown Swiftcurrent. Most people were at work, at home with kids or at the grocery store. But it was a small town. They hadn’t had a murder since–since never, that she knew of, so it wasn’t surprising that many of the town’s curious had managed to find their way downtown. On the other side of the yellow crime scene tape, a small crowd was gathered, talking in hushed voices as though in church. Or in the library itself.
If she and Duncan passed through the second set of double doors she’d be as good as mobbed. There was even a TV crew and Dash Trembley from the Swiftcurrent News hanging around out there.
“We’ll go out the employees’ entrance,” she said, backing away from the main doors. “We could go across the way to Elda’s Country Cafe where the food’s pretty good, but we’d be surrounded in seconds.”
A grimace from her companion had her nodding. “If we want real food, we drive past all the fast food franchises along the highway till we hit Delaney’s, a steak place, where with luck no one will know about the murder.”
“Done. But my vehicle’s at the cottage where I’m staying. I walked up.”
“My car’s out back.” She turned and led the way, already rooting in her bag for her keys. She had a sudden craving for a Delaney’s steak sandwich. If ever there was a time for comfort food, this had to be it.
They reached her Prius and got in without attracting notice. But as she pulled out of the municipal employees’ lot, she caught the startled gaze of Mildred Wickerson peering in the window at Duncan, and then at Alex, as though she couldn’t believe her eyes.
“Well,” Alex muttered, “this will be all over town within the hour.”
She knew she’d been heard when her companion said, “Is that a problem for you?”
“Hmm?” She turned onto the highway and then glanced his way.
“Is there a husband or significant other who won’t be too pleased we’re having lunch together?”
“If that were an issue, I’d hardly be here.” And if he were trying to gauge her marital status he was going to have to come right out and ask.
Which, rather surprisingly, he did.
“So, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“You’re too smart to play dumb. Are you married?”
“No.”
“Involved?”
She didn’t like the spurt of — something his line of questioning evoked. “No.”
A McDonald’s, Wendy’s, and Arby’s flashed by in a blur of primary colors and parking lots scattered with family vans.
“Why not?”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud and it felt good after all the dismal seriousness of the morning. “That’s a personal question.”
“They’re more interesting than impersonal ones.”
She shook her head and kept driving. A deep red highway sign announced that Delaney’s would be found at the next turnoff.
“Well?”
She pulled smoothly off the highway and into Delaney’s parking lot, pulled up close to the brown siding of the building and cut the engine before turning to him.
It hit her then, what a truly attractive man he was. Here in the close confines of the car her skin prickled as she found his blue eyes staring at her. His skin had the rugged look of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors. A couple of grooves tracked from his cheeks to a square jaw. His mouth was shockingly at odds with the rest of his face. It was sensual and belonged to a man who loved to talk, loved to eat exotic foods, a man who loved to kiss.
It was obvious he hadn’t simply been making idle conversation and she needed to be clear that she wasn’t interested. “Mr. Forbes—”
“Come on. We’ve faced each other over a corpse—I’m pretty sure that automatically puts people on a first-name basis. It’s Duncan.”
“Duncan. I have known you for less than a day. In that time I have not grown to like you particularly.”
He simply stared at her, waiting patiently for her answer. In spite of herself, her lips twitched. “Inside.”
As she’d hoped, Delaney’s was close to empty. They slid into one of the anonymous, high-backed red leather booths and she felt a little of the morning’s tension slide off her shoulders.
Harold, the owner and maitre d’, handed them menu folders in the same color—probably the same fabric—as the booths. It was that sort of place. Nothing ever changed. There was rice mixed with the salt in the shakers, six pages of menu items, including Greek, Italian, and recently some stir-fries, but everyone came to Delaney’s for the steaks.
“Steak sandwich,” she told Harold, not bothering to open her menu. “Medium rare, on sourdough. Blue cheese dressing on the salad.”
“Sounds good. I’ll have the same,” said her companion.
“Anything to drink?”
“Perrier and lime.”
Duncan Forbes opened the wine list. He ordered a bottle of something that sounded French and expensive.
“The bottle, sir?” Harold sounded impressed which confirmed her guess that the wine was expensive.
“Please. And bring two glasses.”
She smiled rigidly until Harold—who must be blissfully unaware of the morning’s discovery at the library since he hadn’t asked a thing—took their menus and disappeared. “I don’t usually drink wine at lunchtime,” she said.
“Neither do I. But there’s nothing usual about today. I think we both need a drink.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “God knows I do.”
Maybe it was that oblique admission that he was as shaken as she by their grisly discovery that made her shut up and let Harold place a wineglass in front of her.
“Nice day,” he said as he went through the business of uncorking the bottle.
She wanted to giggle so badly her throat tickled with it. Nice was not how she’d describe her day so far. Nice had nothing to do with dead bodies shot through the heart, with police teams, with wondering if she’d ever forget the sight of that gray, slack-skinned face that had stared sightlessly up at her.
Ever seen him before? Detective Remco had asked her as Duncan had.
Being a woman who was always careful with facts, and who believed passionately in the importance of careful research and the truth, she’d taken an extra minute to study the dead man’s face, but all her extra study only confirmed what she’d known at first glance. The man was a stranger.
“Having a day off?” Harold asked as he poured the wine.
A beat passed. If she told him the news it would end the relative peace of this place. “We’re just in for a late lunch,” she said. She watched the rich, red liquid fill the glass, deep and sparkly as garnets and decided there were times when a glass of wine at lunch was a very good idea.
She sipped and sipped again. “This tastes expensive.”
“You know wines?”
“I’m no oenophile, but I managed to graduate from wine in a box.”
He touched his glass to hers. “Drink up.” He watched until she’d downed more of the wine. “I’m still waiting for the answer to a very simple question. Is there a man in your life?”
Not since Grandpa died, she thought with a pang, wondering when she’d stop missing the man who’d taken the place of her father in many ways, who’d given her a stable home, who’d taught her about art and antiques, about history. They’d been friends and recently they’d become colleagues. But of course, Duncan Forbes wasn’t interested in her relationship with her ninety-two-year-old grandfather.
“No. I’m not involved with anyone. And, so we’re clear, I’m not interested in getting involved.”
Those blue, blue eyes studied her and she had to force
herself not to lick her lips. God, he was gorgeous in that rumpled, intellectual way. There was a craggy line between his eyebrows as though he’d ruminated over plenty of thorny scholastic puzzles in his time. “Why not? Don’t you like men?”
His arrogance staggered her. And made her blunt. “I don’t like you.”
He didn’t beat his chest, storm out, or even look hurt. He sipped his wine, his gaze never leaving her face. “Maybe I’ll grow on you.”
Maybe she’d get gangrene.
Their food arrived and she could have kissed Harold for his timing. She sliced into her steak and found it as sizzlingly perfect as always.
Like her, Duncan ignored the salad and went for the meat. After an enormous bite which he demolished rapidly, he said, “You were right. This is great.”
“Best steaks in town.”
“Did you know him”
Him, today, could only refer to one person. The recently deceased.
Her brows pulled together. “I told you I didn’t know him. I never saw him before today.”
“Well, you told the police that.”
If he wasn’t careful, Duncan Forbes was going to wear his far-too-expensive wine all over his rumpled cream denim shirt. “I have no reason to lie to the police, or you, or anyone. I did not know that poor man.”
“Okay. Then why do you think somebody put him there for you to find?”
She shook her head. In the back of her mind, like a dull headache, the same question had plagued her for hours.
Why?
“I wish I knew.” She gazed up at him, not wanting to trust him, but feeling at least on some level she could talk to him. He barely knew her, had arrived in Swiftcurrent all of one day earlier, and yet his assessment of the situation exactly coincided with hers. “You think whoever put him there knew I’d find him?”
“It’s the logical conclusion. From what you told Dudley Do-Right in there—”
“Sergeant Tom Perkins.” And she would not even smile at the uncomfortably exact comparison Forbes had made between their local sergeant and the upright cartoon character.
“—the cleaners finished around ten last night. There was no stiff on the floor when they left.”
She nodded.
“Who else might be expected to find the guy? Other librarians?”
She shook her head. “I always open up. I’m the only full-time librarian in town.”
“Anybody else in city hall?”
“A few people have keys to the library, but they wouldn’t go in first thing in the morning. There’d be no reason to.”
“So, we have to assume whoever put the body there knew you’d find it. And do you think it was significant that the body was in the art section?”
“You think the killer was an art lover?”
He put down his knife and fork and contemplated her. “Alex, I don’t know squat about this town, but I think you need to watch your back.”
She repressed a shiver. “I think a couple of creepy guys had an argument and one shot the other. It could have happened anywhere and the body was tossed into the library to get it out of plain sight while the killer or killers drove off. They’re a thousand miles away by now.” She started on her salad. “Are you trying to scare me so I’ll throw myself in your arms for protection?”
His eyes crinkled all too attractively when he almost, but not quite, smiled at her. “I never resort to cheap tricks to get a woman in bed. You’ll get there in your own time.”
Don’t even acknowledge his colossal arrogance. You’ll only encourage him. “How’s your steak?”
“Fantastic. So, tell me what a woman like you is doing in a dinky little town like this?”
Maybe it wasn’t the change of subject she’d prefer, but she could live with it. “It was my grandparents’ home. My father’s an executive with an international oil company so we moved around all over the world. By my mid-teens I’d lived in the Middle East, Africa, South America, and all over Europe, including a stint in boarding school. I was sick of it, so I came here to live with my grandparents. After grad school, my grandfather wrote that the librarian job was open, so I applied.”
“You with your master’s degree.”
So, he remembered that. “Yes. I wanted to look after my grandfather after my grandmother was gone. He passed away a couple of months ago.” She blinked suddenly and took a sip of wine.
“I’m sorry.” He touched her hand, and the warmth felt good. “Did your parents retire here?”
“No. They’re in Europe. Stateside, there were only my grandparents, my aunt who’s living in a hippie commune in Montana, and my cousin and me.”
On top of a bad day, she didn’t want to think about her pathetic family story. “Grandpa was old, but he was in such good health that it was a shock when he died suddenly.”
“Was he ill?”
“No. A heart attack.” She sighed. “They practically brought me and my cousin up. Well, her mom abandoned her not long after she was born. Mine relied on nannies until I was old enough to fly home for summers.”
“How old was that?”
“Twelve. I spent nearly every summer here. It was a lot more like home than the homes and apartments my parents lived in.”
“Sounds miserable.”
She smiled. “Sounds like I’m whining. I don’t mean to. It’s hard on a kid to have no roots. When I was sixteen, I rebelled and finished high school here.”
“Do you ever see them?”
“My parents? Oh, yes. I joined them for Christmas last year in Prague.” And she’d never make that mistake again. Alexandra, that dress is vulgar. Darling, you’ve got too much cleavage for décolletage.
On New Year’s Eve she’d had her navel pierced.
4
“Why do you dress that way?” Duncan asked.
She’d driven him back to the summer cottage which he was renting by the month since it was off-season. She’d left the car engine running and thanked him for lunch, but he seemed interested in carrying on their chat and, once again, asking her a very personal question.
She glanced down at herself—not that she’d forgotten she was wearing the rose drawstring off-the-shoulder silk top and hip-hugging black leather skirt, but to try and see it through his eyes. “What way?”
“Sex on heels.”
She chuckled softly. It had started out as a childish rebellion, she supposed. Provocative clothing got her noticed by her mother, who was a brilliant entertainer, perfect corporate wife but a lousy mother, and by her father who never stopped climbing the corporate ladder long enough to look around him. Maybe he thought if he climbed fast and far enough, he’d get to heaven without the bother of dying first.
She hadn’t shocked so much as irritated her parents by her flamboyant dress code, but by the time she realized her plan hadn’t worked, she’d grown into herself and she liked the way she looked. Apparently, so did Duncan. “You noticed.”
“Every man noticed from the forensics guys to the old geezer at the steak house. It makes me wonder about you.”
He shifted so his body was turned toward her, and there was a lazy glint in his eyes that teased. “There are two reasons a woman dresses like that.”
She lifted her brows. The single glass of wine she’d allowed herself had dulled the horror of the morning, but the memory of that poor man hovered like a threatening storm, so it was nice to have her mind taken off her troubles, even if it was in a criticism of her wardrobe. “Okay. I’ll take the bait. What are the two reasons?”
He gazed down at her in a way that suggested he was more concerned with what was under her clothes. In spite of herself, the intensity of his inspection had her nipples tightening.
He said, “You could be totally at ease with your body and dress that way to celebrate your sexuality and your pleasure in your own skin.”
She didn’t say anything, but she kind of liked that view of things. “You mentioned two possibilities.”
“Or, you could be so i
nsecure you project that sex goddess image as a smokescreen. You could secretly be terrified of men. You could hate sex.”
“I could be faking who I am?” She was more than a little irked at this second possibility, but refused to show it. Instead of wrapping her arms around herself in annoyance, which was her first impulse, she deliberately edged her elbows open a little more. Body language for I’m so comfortable in my body I can hardly stand it.
“And?” she asked.
“And?” he parroted back, the disturbing glint in his eyes more pronounced.
“Which do you think is the reason?”
He rubbed his jaw, half narrowed his eyes, and let his gaze roam her body. His blatant assessment of her attitude to her own sexuality struck her as offensive, inappropriate, and annoyingly enticing.
“I don’t like how long it’s taking you to decide.”
“I’m an academic. I’m trained to research a thesis, not jump to conclusions.”
She’d forgotten he was a professor. He was too sexy for academia, and far too sure of himself. Also, she was in no doubt that he was more than comfortable with his own sexuality. He was so potently male he damned near hummed with it. She wouldn’t be so aggravated if she weren’t picking up his frequency like a tuning fork.
He wasn’t her type and he irritated the hell out of her, but it didn’t stop her body from reacting to the raw animal appeal of the man. “Research . . .” She let the word trail off her lips. “You mean you’d ask around about me? Interview former lovers?”
His gaze narrowed further. “Secondary sources—as you, being a librarian, should know—are notoriously unreliable. I prefer firsthand research.”
She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her mouth. He could both insult and intrigue at the same time. “That is certainly an original come-on.”
Right now, she could do what he thought he’d manipulated her into, which was proving her sexuality to him in no uncertain terms, or she could take a turn at his little game.
She let her gaze run up and down the length of his body. “What about you?”
Wild Ride: A Changing Gears Novel Page 4
