In between my frequent checks on the teens in the lounge, I pulled out fabric and notions that I hoped would tantalize the sewing group into an impulse purchase, or two or three. Once the temptations were enticingly displayed, I readied the refreshments I intended to sell to the Blood, Sweat, and Shears members.
I was cleaning up the soda fountain when Jake walked out of the storage room. Evidently, he’d complied with my request that he park in the rear lot and come in through the back entrance. His chin was stubbled with a day’s growth of beard and his eyes were deeply shadowed with fatigue. He looked frustrated as hell.
“Hi, sugar.” He took off his Stetson, fingered the brim for a moment, then put it on a stool. “Uncle Tony and Ulysses are going to the all-night poker party at the American Legion.” Jake stared at me. “So I was thinking, if you aren’t busy, you could come over and I’d cook you dinner.”
I flashed back to the last time we managed to find some privacy and exchange some steamy kisses and felt my cheeks get hot and other parts of me tingle. Quickly, almost afraid he could read my thoughts, and because I definitely did not want him to ask if I’d made up my mind about a weekend away together, I said, “The store’s open until nine, and it’s my turn to work.”
“That’s a damn shame.” His blue eyes were as bright as the Hope diamond, and he took my hand. “Any chance Kern would fill in for you?”
“Nope.” I smiled. “Dad has plans.” After I told Jake about catching Catherine leaving my father’s apartment, I said, “Looks like you’ll just have to be patient and wait until our Saturday-night date.”
“Seems as if I have no choice in the matter,” Jake grumbled. “Of course, Saturday, Tony will be at my place and Birdie will be at yours, so there’s no possibility for us to be alone anywhere but my truck.”
“Sorry.” I really was. And I wasn’t. Jake was too tempting, and I still wasn’t any closer than before in making up my mind between him and Noah. “Maybe we could find a movie that isn’t too crowded.”
“Right,” Jake grunted. “Like every horny teenager in the area.”
He didn’t appear appeased, but before I could say something soothing, I noticed a huge hairy creature crawling on Jake’s hat. I pointed at the monster arachnid and screamed. Jake’s gaze followed my finger and he quickly dispatched the fiend.
Returning from disposing of the body, he grinned. “I’ll never understand you.”
“Really?”
He snickered and said, “You can handle boiling hot wax smeared on your privates and still be afraid of a tiny little spider?”
I blinked. How did he know that I waxed? Oh. Yeah. That time in the hotel when we were investigating Joelle’s murder. We had gotten nearly naked before we were interrupted.
Not wanting to remind him of our failed tryst, I asked, “Any luck with the Winston case?”
He summarized the result of his door-to-door canvass, visit to the country club, and chat with Peregrine Pierce, then added, “Elliot Winston called when I was driving back here from Sparkville.”
“Oh?”
“He got another note from the kidnapper.” Jake stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Winston is supposed to bring the money to the bandstand in the town square tonight at eleven forty-five.”
“That’s an odd time.” I poured us both a cup of coffee, and Jake and I took seats on adjoining stools. “Any clue why the kidnapper would choose it?”
“My best guess is that it’s late enough that there will be very few folks out and around, but early enough that the cops wouldn’t be suspicious of the people who are still walking in the square.”
“Smart.” I took a sip of coffee. “Does Elliot plan to pay the ransom?”
“He said he is.” Jake frowned. “He refuses to tell Chief Kincaid about this note, and I don’t feel like I can overrule his decision, which means if things go south during the drop-off, I’m his only backup.”
“Will the kidnapper release Gabriella?” I asked with my own frown.
“The note said that she’ll be set free after the money has been counted.”
“What are the odds of her being okay?” My knowledge of criminals all came from books and television, and I doubted they were a hundred percent reliable. “Do you think she might already be dead?”
“It depends if she’s seen the guy or not.” Jake blew out a long breath. “If she knows her abductor’s identity, I doubt he’ll let her go.”
I shivered at the image of poor Gabriella tied up and blindfolded for the past four days. Jake scooted closer and put an arm around me. His lips brushed mine, but before he could do anything else, the sound of thundering feet echoed down the steps.
“Shit!” Jake jerked away from me as if a cattle prod had been shoved into his groin. “I forgot about all the little buggers upstairs.”
My heart racing, I nodded. What was it about Jake that made me lose my common sense? Getting to my feet, I walked to the register and flipped open the counter. I stepped behind it and quickly closed up the opening. Putting some distance, not to mention a physical barrier, between Jake and me seemed like a prudent move.
“Which of your groups is tonight?” Jake asked. “Is it the book club or the bird-watchers or the calligraphers? I can’t keep ’em all straight.”
“Winnie and Zizi Todd’s sewing circle is on Wednesdays,” I answered, pulling out an old rag and rubbing the brass on the cash register.
While I polished, I watched the teenagers pour out the front door. As they passed me, most waved and yelled good-bye. They were a good group of kids and were grateful for a place to hang out.
Once the register gleamed, I started working on another gift basket.
Jake stared at me for a while, then said, “Did you ever find out why your grandmother got married so quickly after Tony went MIA?”
“What? No!”
I nearly dropped the bottle of wine that I was placing in a basket that I was creating for my best customer to give to one of his clients. He was big deal real estate agent who sold high-end properties in Kansas City and ordered upward of twenty baskets a week—a number of them were thank-you gifts after a purchase, but many were intended to woo someone into signing with his firm.
“What makes you ask about Gran and Tony right now?” I asked.
“I think it’s something we should clear up.” Jake’s expression was a mixture of stubborn and sheepish. “I don’t want to be sandbagged with the information and have it cause trouble between us. You need to sit Birdie down and make her tell you the whole story.”
“Okay.” I drew out the word. While I agreed with Jake in theory, getting Gran to talk would not be an easy task. “Any suggestions on how I force someone as stubborn as a grease stain to confess?”
“I’m sure if you explain why we want to know, Birdie will cooperate.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “She wants us to be together.”
“While that’s true”—I made sure he didn’t see me roll my eyes—“I don’t want to get her hopes up. If I do, she’ll have the invitations to our wedding in the mail the next day.”
“And that’s a problem why?” Jake ran his knuckles over my cheek.
My pulse thudded in my ears and I could barely breathe. Was he proposing?
Jake went on as if he hadn’t just about given me a heart attack, “Maybe the four of us should have a sit-down—you, me, Tony, and Birdie.”
“Any possibility that Tony already knows?” I tilted my head. “Have you asked him?”
“I did and he doesn’t.” Jake fingered the brim of his Stetson.
“Oh. I’m surprised you never mentioned it.” I digested that tidbit, then said, “Do you think he’d be willing to confront Gran with us?”
“He could be persuaded.” Jake smiled widely. “Birdie isn’t the only one of our elderly relatives who wants to see us together.”
Although I knew it would be best if we got whatever Gran was hiding out of the way, I didn’t want to accept what had to be done. Facing my grandmother and demanding to know a secret from her past would be awkward at best and very possibly downright excruciating.
However, since I had been thinking about talking to Gran myself about this issue, I embraced the idea of help and said, “How about we do it Saturday before we go out?” I warmed to the idea. “You can bring Tony with you, and I’ll make sure that Birdie is home.”
“That’s fine, as long as it doesn’t turn into a double date.” Jake gave me a firm stare, then he put a hand in his jeans pocket and asked, “What time will you be finished here tonight?”
“The meeting ends at nine, but it’ll take me fifteen or twenty minutes to clean up and get the store ready for tomorrow.”
“How about we grab a quick bite to eat afterward?” Jake asked.
“That sounds good.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose, unsure how he’d react to what I was about to suggest. Finally, I just bit the bullet and said, “Because I think I should help you with the ransom stakeout.”
Jake wrinkled his brow, then seemed to make a decision and nodded. “That’s not a bad suggestion.” He narrowed his eyes and added, “However, you only observe. If there’s trouble, you call nine-one-one and remain concealed. Under no circumstances do you interact with the perp.”
“Got it,” I agreed. “In that case, I’ll see you around nine fifteen.”
“Until then.” Jake leaned across the counter to kiss my temple, then headed upstairs.
I was shocked that Jake had accepted my offer of assistance so easily. And I couldn’t help compare his attitude to Noah’s. Noah hated the idea of me investigating a crime. Jake was protective, but understood that it was better to show me the safe way to help rather than try to wrap me in cotton and tuck me away in some pretty box.
The difference between the two men was becoming more and more clear. Now I just had to figure out which of them suited my personality best.
CHAPTER 17
Thirty minutes later, I was still weighing Noah’s and Jake’s pros and cons when the first of the sewing circle members arrived. Zizi Todd skyrocketed her vehicle into the best front-of-store parking spot and leaped out of the old muscle car.
Zizi drove a scratched-up GTO with a smashed-in front grille and a series of cracks fanning up the windshield. Between the duct tape and the corrosion, it was hard to determine the Pontiac’s original color, but my guess was red. Or maybe silver. Possibly black.
Zizi’s carrot-colored hair and long-limbed lean body made me think of a grown-up Pippi Longstocking. Her bright blue jumper and striped tights only added to the impression. Did she choose her outfits for that purpose?
Zizi might dress like a nine-year-old, but in fact, she was studying to become a clinical social worker and was in the top of her class. I’d heard her recite complex passages from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders without hesitation. A feat I doubted many of her fellow students could match.
I opened my mouth to greet Zizi, but wasn’t surprised when she ignored me. As usual her focus was on getting to the bathroom in the rear of the store. She generally drove to Shadow Bend straight from her part-time job in Kansas City. Since traffic was usually horrendous this time of day, she’d probably been trapped in her car for over an hour and a half, and she never remembered to use the restroom before leaving work.
When Zizi joined me in the craft corner a few minutes later, she blew her bangs out of her eyes and said, “That was a close one. I thought I wouldn’t make it this time. For future reference, what aisle is the underwear? Or maybe I should just get a box of Depends.”
“Or you could remember to go before getting into the car,” I teased.
We were still giggling when Zizi’s mother, Winnie, arrived. Winnie was the original hippie. Her long gray hair was a froth of frizzy curls, and the fringe on her leather vest reached past her knees.
A teenager during the sixties, Winnie had run away and lived in San Francisco for twenty years. Then in the late eighties she had returned to Shadow Bend visibly pregnant. Although several of the townspeople had expressed concern that she was not only a single mother, but also in her forties, she’d laughed off the worrywarts and as always did as she pleased.
Due to a sizable estate Winnie had inherited from her grandparents, she was set for cash. And since her doctor hadn’t been bothered about her age, neither was she. Zizi was the proof that Winnie had been right.
I gave Winnie a hug and asked, “What’s on tonight’s agenda?”
“With the cool weather coming, we’re back to making blankets,” Winnie explained.
Both Winnie and Zizi were true humanitarians, and together they had cofounded Blood, Sweat, and Shears in order to support the county’s homeless shelter. The group had grown from half a dozen women to over twenty. They ranged from seventeen to eighty-four, but all had one thing in common—compassion for others.
Each member paid for her own materials and donated most of the finished products either directly to the shelter or to the shelter’s resale shop. Their generosity and true desire to help was an example of the best part of living in a small town.
While Zizi and Winnie chatted, I slipped into the storage room and phoned my grandmother. With Dad occupied for the evening with Catherine, I wanted to check in on Gran and let her know I wouldn’t be home right after work. I liked to keep tabs on her, and she felt the same way about me.
Birdie assured me she was fine, and she was happy that I was seeing Jake after work. She’d have probably been okay with the fact that our “date” was to assist in a ransom drop-off, but I didn’t tell her. I was never one for sharing gratuitous information. Especially if said info had even a chance of resulting in a lecture from my grandmother.
When I returned to the craft area, most of the other seamstresses had arrived. Some were still milling around the tables, but others were already cutting fleece into two-and-a-half-yard lengths and measuring out the satin binding.
As I moved closer to the group, I noticed an unusually high volume of whispering and tutting. Had I missed an especially good bit of gossip?
Joining the ladies, I listened to the discussion.
Cyndi Barrows, a woman who had started out as a part of the country club clique but astonishingly had transformed almost into a local said, “I really wasn’t at all surprised to hear that Mac had disappeared.”
Zizi paused in midcut, her shears half open. “Who is that?”
Cyndi pushed her dark brown hair behind her ear, concentrating on the line of stitches she was sewing, then without looking up, she said, “He was the golf pro at the country club.”
Zizi raised a brow. “I thought you didn’t spend much time at the club anymore.”
“I don’t.” Cyndi shrugged her slim shoulders. “But my boyfriend likes to golf, so we do go there for that, and then sometimes we have lunch and I hear people talking.”
Cyndi had been engaged to Frazer Wren, but when after five years he claimed that he was afraid of commitment, she’d broken up with him. We were all glad she’d found a nice man to date. At least I assumed he was nice from her comments—I had never heard his name.
“Why weren’t you surprised that this Mac person had gone missing?” Winnie asked.
“Well.” Cyndi’s hazel eyes sparkled and her voice sank to a whisper and she said, “The poor man was like . . . like catnip to those cougars at the club.”
I hid my smile. Funny that Cyndi used the term since Boone had long since nicknamed the ladies out there Country Club Cougars.
“He didn’t enjoy the attention?” Zizi frowned. “Did he run away from them?”
“Not exactly” After a predictable show of reluctance, Cyndi continued, “The thing is, the poor guy didn’t have a lick of common sense. He let those w
omen talk him into doing some really stupid things.”
“Like what?” Zizi stopped cutting material and cocked her head.
“Drugs and booze and public sex.” Cyndi wrinkled her button nose. “I knew that before long, he’d end up in real trouble and have to leave town.” She sighed. “I just hope he’s okay. He wasn’t a bad guy, but he was immature and just couldn’t seem to say no to anyone. Especially a woman.”
After that exchange, talk turned to the more mundane topics like the weather. I wandered away and got to work. I could use the time to finish up some bookkeeping and complete a couple more of my real estate tycoon’s baskets. He was a stickler for deadlines.
At seven thirty, the sewers took a fifteen-minute break. For five dollars each, I provided coffee, tea, and a selection of baked goods that I purchased at a quantity discount from the bakery. Payment was on the honor system, with the women putting their money in an old cigar box.
After making sure there were plenty of cups, plates, utensils, and napkins, I went back to my spreadsheet. Have you ever noticed that if you run the and IRS together it looks like the word theirs?
Disgusted with the amount of taxes I had to pay, I shut off my computer and started on the baskets. As I stood behind my workbench, my attention was jerked away from the Chocolate to Die For basket when Winnie and Zizi paused a few feet away from me.
“Why are you rubbing your arm?” Zizi asked her mother.
“I went to the clinic for my annual physical today, and Dr. Underwood insisted that I have a tetanus shot,” Winnie complained. “I swear, every time I go in for one thing, he finds something else that I need.”
“You just don’t like going to the doctor.” Zizi juggled her cup and plate in one hand in order to massage her mom’s biceps.
“True.” Winnie shrugged, then, her lips twitching in amusement, she said, “You’ll never guess who’s working at the clinic.”
Lions and Tigers and Murder, Oh My Page 16
