“You’re biased,” she said, but his words still pleased her.
“No I’m not. I’m a single guy who knows what’s out there. Believe me when I tell you that someone like you, someone who is normal, nice, and can cook, is not easy to find. If Dirk doesn’t throw himself at your feet and kiss your toes, he’s a moron.”
His words made her feel good, but coming from him they were confusing. Of the two, he was much more reserved with his emotions as well as his words.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Something has to be wrong for me to say nice things to my little sister?”
“Bryce,” she pressed.
He sighed. “Fine. Kelsey dumped me.”
It had been too long since they talked because she had no idea he was even dating anyone. “I’m sorry. How long were you together?”
“A year.”
“A year,” she echoed. “You never told me. I never even met her.”
“That would explain why she thinks I’m aloof and emotionally unavailable.” He sighed again. “It’s a lot easier to be there for other people than it is to let them be there for you. Have you ever noticed that?”
“Yes.” She knew exactly what he meant because she was the same way. She would drop anything to help Dirk with anything but, until last night, she had never asked him for anything, at least not emotionally. Occasionally she asked him to change a light bulb or two. “That’s what we get for having parents who like to serve others.”
He chuckled. They had spent most Thanksgivings and many Christmases serving food at homeless shelters. Serving others was bored into their brains from birth.
“There’s such a thing as too much of a good thing,” he said. “I can’t seem to ask anyone for anything.”
He had never been so candid with her before and it was a revelation. Maybe he didn’t hole up in his apartment and surround himself with computers because he wanted to. Maybe he did it because he didn’t know any other way.
He was in a rare, chatty mood and she listened with glazed eyes while he talked about his latest work project. If anyone needed a makeover, it was Bryce. He had her brown hair and hazel eyes, but he was tall and lanky. His standard uniform was sneakers, jeans and a t-shirt. Occasionally he mixed it up by adding a hoodie. If he drank, he would most likely get carded because he still looked fifteen.
Finally she realized he had stopped speaking. She was safely inside her house, so they disconnected and she went to bed.
Chapter 6
Two days later Link Stone stood outside Liza Benson’s house with his figurative hat in his hand. The more he had learned about her the last couple of days, the more anxious he became to make amends. He had expected to have his suspicions confirmed and find she was as nutty as a fruitcake. Instead she was a mild-mannered schoolteacher whose only brush with the law had been a couple of speeding tickets. He had been so desperate to find something on her that he tracked down the actual tickets to read the disposition, hoping to see the officers note her mental instability, but they both commented on her politeness.
He finally raised his hand to knock. When she answered, he knew he was in trouble. His last vestige of belief in her lunacy had been her hair. No one normal had hair that bad. But now she stood before him polished and pretty from the top of her dark brown head to the tips of her perfectly manicured toes. He had taken what was obviously the worst hair day in history as a sign of her insanity, and now he was going to have to eat a whole lot of crow. If she complained about his behavior, he could end up stationed in Antarctica.
It was too much to hope for a friendly smile, but her wounded expression cut him deeply. He must have been more brusque with her than he realized, or she was extremely sensitive.
“Have you come to finish the job and embarrass me to death?” she asked.
He winced. “Miss Benson, may I come in? I have some things I would like to discuss with you.”
She arched an eyebrow at him.
“It’s about your case.”
Her arms crossed over her chest.
“I’ve been looking into things since we spoke.”
She tapped her bare foot impatiently.
“All right, I’m sorry. Geez,” he blurted, and immediately regretted his harsh tone. If she was sensitive, he had probably ruined any headway he was trying to make.
Instead of closing the door in his face she left it open and turned to the kitchen. He thought it was his cue to leave until she spoke.
“Do you want some iced tea? It’s hot outside.”
Relief washed over him. He closed the door and followed her to the kitchen. “Tea sounds great.” Groveling can make a man thirsty, he realized. He sat at the kitchen table without being invited and froze, uncertain if he should get back up and wait for an invitation. He wasn’t normally so unsure of himself, but he didn’t normally mess up this badly. Or if he did, he didn’t usually care about making things right again.
She poured him a large glass of tea and set out a plate of cookies. He nibbled one tentatively and found it was delicious. It looked and tasted homemade. The women of his acquaintance didn’t usually bake. He gobbled down another before remembering he was here for information and not an after school snack.
The way she was watching him didn’t help, with a benign smile like she was his mom and he had just finished all his vegetables.
“Is it all right if I verify some information with you?” he asked.
She nodded and folded her hands on the table in front of her.
“Your name is Elizabeth Benson.”
She nodded.
“And your nickname is Liza.”
Another nod.
He looked up from the pad of paper in front of him. “Isn’t that an unusual nickname for someone so young?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. He ducked his head to hide his smile. She had freckles on her nose. Cute, very cute.
“Why do your parents live in Singapore?” He worked to keep the suspicion out of his tone. Singapore was a hotbed of international crime right now.
“They’re missionaries.”
He frowned. That was an unexpected answer. “Is that where you grew up?”
“No. I grew up in Brighton, a couple of hours away from here. My dad was a pastor and my mom was a teacher. They moved to Singapore after they retired.”
He nodded as if this made perfect sense to him, but it didn’t. He had been to Singapore. He couldn’t imagine moving there on purpose.
“And you have one brother three years older.”
“Yes. His name is Bryce.”
His hand tensed on his pen. Did she know her brother’s true occupation? “And what does he do?”
“He’s a computer programmer.”
He searched her face and tone, but she looked perfectly innocent. He nodded and made note not to mention her brother again. With his track record lately he didn’t trust himself not to blurt out the truth.
“Your boyfriend is Dirk Xavier.”
He looked up when she didn’t answer. She was staring at him and blinking rapidly. “How do you know all this about me?”
“We have our ways,” he said.
Her hands clenched before crossing over her chest. Her lips tightened and her eyebrow quirked.
He rolled his eyes and threw down his pen. “All right, geez, I followed you and asked questions about you.”
Her mouth fell. “Followed me where?”
“To your friend’s house where I saw Puck who is the same blabber-mouthed idiot he was when he was eighteen. He told me as much as I wanted to know about you and then some. I’m trying to make sure it’s factual because Puck tends to embellish. All right?”
She frowned. “Are you always in such a bad mood?”
“No,” he practically growled. He massaged his forehead. “I’m starving and I have a headache.”
She sighed and stood to retrieve pain reliever from the cupboard. After she set it in front of him she began pulling items from the
refrigerator.
He swallowed the pills and closed the bottle. “What are you doing?”
She paused and turned to him. “Feeding you.” She said it like it should be obvious. If she had any idea how unusual the whole situation was, she would know why he had to ask. His girlfriends didn’t feed him, let alone the people he dealt with through work.
“You don’t have to,” he said unconvincingly. He was really hoping she would. If the cookie she made was any indication, whatever she made was going to be delicious.
“There’s no stopping me,” she said. He smiled at her back. She was prettier than he remembered from their first meeting. Then his impression had been ordinary and passable. He wondered how he had missed her prettiness. Certainly it wasn’t possible that she had gotten prettier in two days. Then again, he hadn’t looked much beyond her garish hair.
“You were telling me about your boyfriend,” he prompted.
“No I wasn’t. You asked and then yelled at me. Again.”
Her hands nimbly formed hamburger into a thick patty, and his mouth began to water in anticipation. His enjoyment of a good burger was almost a religion.
“Sorry,” he said, although he wasn’t. “I’m trying to get the facts of the case straight.”
“’Just the facts, Ma’am’,” she quoted, turning to look at him over her shoulder. “Yes, Dirk is my boyfriend.”
“How long have you been together?”
Her hand tensed on the skillet. “Five years.”
“That’s a long time. You’re not engaged?”
Her back went rigid and she cleared her throat. “No.”
Hmm. Definitely a sore spot. He tucked the information away. He might either need to avoid or exploit it at a later time.
“Why is he in Cleveland this week?”
She didn’t relax and he couldn’t imagine why. It seemed like a simple question.
“So that’s where he is,” she muttered.
He frowned. That was odd. By the time he was dating a girl for five months she demanded to know his whereabouts at all times. Five years was a marathon relationship, yet this Dirk had kept his destination a secret from his girlfriend. Interesting. He made a mental note to call the Cleveland office and put a tail on Dirk Xavier.
His eyes roamed over the house while she worked. It was small but clean and warmly decorated. She had the highest credit score of anyone he had ever investigated and he saw how; she lived within her means. It was a simple concept, but one most people failed to grasp.
She set the burger in front of him, and he was pleased to see she made one for herself. He hated to eat alone. She sat, closed her eyes, and moved her lips.
“Were you praying?” he asked as soon as she opened her eyes.
“Yes. Does that offend you?”
“No, it surprises me, and not much does anymore.”
She shrugged. “My dad’s a pastor. I wouldn’t think it would come as a great shock.”
“I once worked a case where a pastor’s kid killed three people in their sleep.”
She blinked at him and worked to clear the mental image from her thoughts. “Pastor’s kids are either very good or very bad, they say.” She smiled. “Except for me and my brother. We’re both disgustingly good.”
That’s what you think, he thought, but of course he didn’t say it.
They finished eating in strangely comfortable silence. She handed him a napkin before he could ask, and he used it to wipe his hands and face.
“Why don’t you show me your bedroom?” he suggested. Her mouth fell and he actually found himself blushing. “The place where you found the tape,” he added.
She relaxed visibly and even smiled at him. “You don’t have to do this. I get it; you’re sorry. You don’t have to humor me.”
“I’m not humoring you,” he said flatly. “At first I was, but then on a hunch I decided to drive by an address; Ten James Street. No one was more surprised than me to find a half dozen police cars on the scene.” He broke away from her and looked toward the sink. “The officer in charge wasn’t happy when I guessed there had been a murder in apartment 2C, but he was glad I could pin down the exact time of death to three PM.” He looked at her then and wished he hadn’t been so blunt. The meal and pleasant atmosphere made him forget he was talking to a civilian. He should have been more delicate. “Are you all right?”
She was as white as the painted cupboards behind her. He tensed, ready to spring forward and catch her if she fell over.
She nodded and swallowed a few times. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” Her voice was unsteady. “Someone left a message inside my pajamas about a murder that hadn’t happened yet.”
“No,” he drawled. “Someone left instructions about a murder to be performed. It was clearly a professional hit.”
She swayed and gripped the table. “A murderer stole my pajamas,” she whispered.
“Show me your room,” he commanded gently.
She nodded absently and stood shakily to her feet. He was beside her in an instant and used his hand to press against the small of her back to steady her. She drew in a breath and flushed before gently easing away from his touch.
“This way,” she said.
He followed her to the bedroom, not sure why he was frowning at her back.
Chapter 7
Liza couldn’t shake the feeling that she was dreaming. She focused on the man now rifling through her underwear. That part was reality. She knew because she would never dream something so embarrassing.
“Everything is clean,” he announced.
“Of course it’s clean,” she said. “I would never put dirty underpants in my drawer.”
He turned away to hide his smile, but she still saw it. “That, uh, wasn’t what I meant. Whoever has been here didn’t leave any traces of his presence.” He turned to face her again. “Is there anyone who might have seen someone enter or leave your house?”
“My neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins. She watches me like it’s her job.”
“Don’t knock busybody neighbors. I would be lost without them in my line of work.” He closed the drawer. A pair of black underpants impeded his progress, so he stuck his hand in to try and tug them free.
“Leave them,” she choked. She was sure her face was puce by now.
He nodded and coughed. The cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
He was dressed better today than last time she saw him. Today his pants and shirt looked new and crisply professional. Still, there was something casual about him that made her feel at ease. He wore an open, friendly expression that under normal circumstances would have made her feel comfortable. Now she was so keyed up she found herself questioning its authenticity. Was he only pretending to believe her story? Did he think she had something to do with the murder?
She bit her lip as she led the way to Mrs. Jenkins’ house. Should she get a lawyer? She was over her head, but at least her thoughts distracted her from reality. An assassin had been in her house. She shivered and tried to pretend she hadn’t when she caught Agent Stone watching her.
Mrs. Jenkins was her usual acerbic self. She opened the door with a scowl while three cats prowled at her feet and wove themselves around her ankles.
“Mrs. Jenkins,” Liza began, “this is my friend Mr. Stone. He’s helping me with a problem, and I was wondering we could ask you a few questions.”
Mrs. Jenkins looked Agent Stone up and down. “Another one, huh? You sure have a lot of ‘friends’ for a missionary’s daughter.”
Liza’s cheeks flamed. “I have only one boyfriend, the same boyfriend I’ve had for five years.”
“Uh huh.” The older woman sounded unconvinced. “Awful lot of cars of men coming and going from your place.”
“There are?” Liza asked.
“That’s what we would like to talk to you about,” Agent Stone said. “We’re concerned Miss Benson may have been the victim of foul play. Anything you could tell us might be helpful.”
&nb
sp; The old woman’s eyebrows drew together. “I got better things to do with my time than watch her place every minute.”
“I’m sure you do,” Agent Stone said smoothly, “but sometimes we pick up on things without meaning to. Any observations would be very helpful.”
“Well come in then.” She sounded slightly mollified as she turned and led them into the living room. At least a half dozen cats were strewn about, prowling or purring. The house smelled like cat urine. Liza felt sure she was glimpsing her future without Dirk.
“We’re specifically interested in last Saturday,” Agent Stone said. “Liza went out in the morning and came back late afternoon.”
The old woman scrunched up her face and tried to think. “Saturday.”
“It was the day I came home with yellow hair.”
“Oh, that day.” The sound that came out of her mouth then was somewhere between a giggle and a cackle. “Never seen hair that color in my life. It was like Big Bird curled up on your head and decided to take a nap.” She laughed again and this time Agent Stone joined her, at least until he caught Liza’s look and tried to suppress it.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, do you remember anyone stopping by while she was out that day?”
“Just the usual,” Mrs. Jenkins said. She shot Liza a disapproving look.
“The usual?” Agent Stone repeated.
“The same one that comes all the time. The dark-haired one.”
Liza frowned. “Dirk? My boyfriend?”
Mrs. Jenkins nodded. “Except this time he was dressed in his uniform and driving his truck.”
“But,” Liza started, but Agent Stone cut her off.
“His uniform,” he prompted. “Can you describe it?”
“He’s a cable repairman. He comes over during the middle of work, I guess, because whenever he’s dressed like that it’s the middle of the day. When he comes at night he’s dressed regular and driving his fancy black car.”
“Do you ever see anyone else?” Agent Stone leaned forward.
Mrs. Jenkins shook her head. “At night I hear cars and doors. Once I saw headlights pulling away at three in the morning, but that’s none of my business.” Her eyes bore into Liza’s as if to say it was most certainly her business and Liza should be ashamed of herself.
The Pajama Affair Page 5
