by Donna Fasano
She swallowed. “I just wanted to be safe.”
He looked past her. “The girls?”
“Napping.” Thank God, the doorbell didn’t wake them.
“Your aunt here?”
She nodded.
“Can she watch the twins for a while?” he asked. “I’d like to talk to you someplace private.”
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk to him, but if her case did go to trial it’d be better not to alienate the police. “Hang on. Let me check.”
She left the door open and stepped back to turn to her great-aunt. “Would you mind if I ran out for a while? The girls usually sleep at least two hours. They shouldn’t be any trouble.”
Aunt Hilda eyed Chase in the doorway.
Chase nodded at her. “Ma’am. I’m Chase Merritt, Broslin PD.”
Aunt Hilda scowled. “She didn’t do it.”
“I know, ma’am.”
“You keep my niece safe, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“All right. You two go talk. I’ll keep an eye on the little ones.”
Luanne grabbed a piece of paper from the sofa table and wrote down her cell phone number. “In case you need to reach me.”
“I watched other people’s kids for decades at the church nursery. I can handle these two little angels.”
Luanne thanked her, then walked outside with Chase.
Who stopped and turned to her, too close, too big, too intense, towering over her. His wide shoulders darn near blocked out the sun, making her throat go dry. “Don’t ever run from me like that again,” he said quietly.
But those quiet words were more effective than if he’d yelled and shaken her. Which he might do yet, she reflected, since he wasn’t moving away. Or he might kiss her. The wild thought hit her out of nowhere when his gaze refused to leave her face.
She could swear she could see the chemistry arch between them like an electric charge. Okay, that was just stupid. Of course Chase didn’t want to kiss her.
She gathered herself and ducked around him, then hurried down the front stairs. Better get away from him before he read her idiotic thoughts on her face. “What do you mean you know I didn’t kill Earl?” she asked once she put a safe distance between them.
He strode to his black SUV, for once his gait stiff instead of relaxed. He didn’t look half-bad in blue jeans, she acknowledged, then wished she hadn’t noticed how the denim stretched over his powerful thighs as he moved.
He opened the door for her. “I believe you.”
Her heart leaped. “Did something change? Are the charges dropped?”
“Not yet. First we actually have to prove that you didn’t do it.” He walked around and slipped in behind the wheel. “The ME’s report came in. Whoever hit Earl did it on purpose, not by accident.”
She tried to process that, found that she couldn’t, set it aside for later. “Where are we going?”
“Saw a decent-looking diner driving in. I’m in the mood to try some good Virginia food.”
They always seemed to be talking over food, she reflected. Then something clicked, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Was he feeding her on purpose?
Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. She might not have been swimming in money, but she didn’t need Chase Merritt’s charity. “Or we can sit in the car by the curb and talk right here.”
“I drove straight down, didn’t stop for lunch.”
She didn’t argue with him, but once they were at the diner and the waitress came around to ask what they wanted, she said, “Thanks. Nothing for me. Just a glass of water.”
Chase watched her for a moment, then ordered some peanut soup, salmon cakes, and hickory-smoked pulled pork BBQ. Marble cake for dessert. He grinned at her as the waitress left. “That drive worked up my appetite.”
She grabbed a complimentary biscuit and said nothing.
He watched her eat with a suspiciously satisfied expression. “Is your aunt all right? The house looks a little rough.”
“I had no idea what I was walking into,” she confessed. “She’s been living alone for a pretty long time. I think she’s completely overwhelmed. She needs to go into a home, but first she has to sell the house. I think she put off clearing things out because she doesn’t really want to go.” Luanne couldn’t blame her. “She’s lived in that house with her husband for fifty years. All her memories are there.”
Chase nodded. “How long has she been living alone?”
“Over a decade.”
“Jen said you weren’t close.”
She grabbed another flaky biscuit. Damned things were addictive. “When Mama married Daddy, her family didn’t approve on account of him being a no-good drunk and a Yankee. She told them if they couldn’t be supportive of her choice, she had no room in her life for them, and she cut them off. Aunt Hilda sent Christmas cards, but Mama never answered. After Mama died, I started sending cards back.” She shook her head. “I should have looked Aunt Hilda up sooner.”
“You had your hands full with work and the twins.”
She nodded, relieved that Chase understood her instead of judging her for being a lousy relative.
He pushed the basket of biscuits closer to her.
She shook her head. But then she took another biscuit anyway.
He grinned. “So, what are your plans?”
She chewed. Swallowed. “Once the real killer is caught, I need to go home and start looking for another job. Not as a hotel maid.”
Now that she’d made the decision, it felt right, filled her with excitement. “It’s not that I hate the job. But if I’m fantasizing about smacking guests who grab me… I used to daydream about running Earl off the road and into the gutter. All of us girls at the motel talked about things we’d do if our jobs didn’t depend on it. But I don’t want to be that person anymore.”
She pulled her chin up. “I can do more. I can do better. I’m going to find a job that I enjoy. Something challenging.”
Rather than lecturing her on being grateful if she got any kind of job, he said, “Excellent idea. But whether we catch Gregory in the next few weeks or not, it’d be better if you didn’t skip bail. Skipping looks bad. And Mildred Cosgrove would lose her bail money.”
Luanne winced before she buried her head in her hands for a second, then looked up, her mouth twisting. “Obviously, I didn’t think this trip over.” She hadn’t been able to think past the fear that whoever was setting up her little accidents would succeed, that the twins might get hurt. Once again, she’d acted on the flight part of the fight-or-flight instinct.
“You panicked,” Chase stated without reproach. To her relief, the anger he’d shown up with seemed to have dissipated. “You thought somebody was trying to kill you.”
“Somebody is trying to kill me.”
“I’m not going to let that happen.”
His words felt reassuring. Honestly, the man inspired feelings of safety. He was the biggest of the guys working at the station. Not fat but large-framed. He was like a rock. She had a feeling little could move him if he didn’t want to be moved. She had no doubt he could protect her from just about anything, if he was there when somebody put her in the crosshairs. But he couldn’t watch her 24/7.
“I promised Aunt Hilda I’d help her clean the house.” She let out a puff of air. “I’d really like to do that.”
His lips twisted into a lopsided grin. “So you’re on the run, and you thought you’d take time out to clean generations’ worth of stuff out of the house of a relative you just met for the first time. Don’t you have enough to worry about?”
“She needs help. Did you see that living room?”
He watched her for a long moment. Drew a deep breath. “I have tomorrow and the day after off from work.”
She stared, not sure if she understood him. “Are you volunteering for housecleaning? Isn’t that against some manly code or something?”
He held her gaze. Flashed another lopsided smile. “Obviously, you hav
e me bamboozled.”
That smile made her catch her breath. He was bamboozled? By her?
She gave a strangled laugh, her head spinning from the sudden change of direction in the conversation. Thank God the waitress arrived with the food before things could get more out of control. The purple-haired twenty-year-old kept putting food in front of them until the plates fairly covered their small table.
“Okay, you have to help,” Chase said when she left. “I had no idea how big these dishes were. I can’t eat all this.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I know what you’re doing.”
“What?” he asked, eyes wide with innocence.
“You’re feeding me.”
“You’re perfectly capable of feeding yourself. I hate wasting food. I could take the leftovers home, but I’ll be honest, my stomach has a thing against reheated food. One spoonful and it’s heartburn city.”
Luanne considered resisting, but wasting food was the biggest sin in her house. Even the twins knew that. Either you ate what was on your plate, or it went back into the fridge for later. Here it’d be thrown out. Chase had her in a trap. He looked very pleased with himself on that score too.
She grabbed a fork. “Thank you. I’ll have a taste. For the record, I know that you totally set me up, and I don’t appreciate it.”
He smiled and lined the plates up between them so they could share. But he barely took a bite before his phone rang. He glanced at the display, picked it up. “Chase.”
The entire call lasted only two minutes, his face darkening as he said nothing else but a tight, “Thank you,” at the end.
He looked at her, hesitated.
She put down her fork. “What is it?”
“You were right about the roofie. The lab found traces of flunitrazepam on your clothes. You must have spilled a few drops.”
She sucked in her breath. Here was the proof she’d been waiting for, the step forward that might exonerate her. “So Gregory drugged me.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “He wanted to rape me, but he didn’t go through with it.”
Chase held her gaze. “Are you sure, he didn’t…”
She nodded. “I’m sure.” Paused. “So we’re back to the ‘he drugged me, drove me to the alley in my own car, Earl saw us, and Gregory eliminated him’ theory.”
“Or he just wanted Earl and needed your car, needed someone to take the fall for the hit,” Chase said thoughtfully. “The whole thing could have been premeditated. He might even have selected you specifically, because he knew you worked for Earl.” He thought for a moment. “The drug is illegal in the US, but available from any number of dealers. It’s not that hard to get if someone has money.”
Great. “Why would Gregory want Earl dead?” She racked her brain. “Okay, he was Earl’s enemy for some reason. But how would Gregory even know that I’d be at Finnegan’s that night?”
“He wouldn’t. Unless he made sure you’d be there.”
“But I only went because of Brett.”
“Have you had contact with Brett since the date he skipped?”
“We chatted on the library computer for a few minutes on Saturday. He fell and broke his leg. Can’t drive for the time being with his cast.”
Chase pinned her with a sharp look. “The Brett you never met in person. The Brett you only know from Facebook photos.”
She stared, her mind racing as her brain made the connection. “You think Gregory was posing as Brett online?”
“Can you think of any reason why they couldn’t be the same guy?”
“They don’t look alike at all—” She snapped her mouth shut. Those pictures of Brett could have been copied off the Internet. God, she felt like a naïve idiot.
“How about his voice. Did it sound familiar?”
She rubbed her fingers against her temple, filled her lungs. “I never talked on the phone with Brett. We were FB buddies, chatted online. I thought he was kind of taking things slow, the old-fashioned way. Then out of the blue he sent a note that he was going to be near Broslin Friday night. He wanted to get together.” Chagrin filled her. “I can’t be that stupid, can I? How could I fall for this?”
“You’ve been very carefully targeted. You had no reason to suspect anything. Millions, tens of millions, of people fall for Internet scams each year. Even people with PhDs. Even cops.”
She nodded, feeling dumb as a rock nevertheless. Her brain churning, she finished off a salmon cake on autopilot.
Chase leaned back in his seat, seemingly content to just watch her eat. “One more thing. The lab found no traces of Earl’s blood on your clothes, or residue from the garbage bags he’d been covered with.”
She froze with her glass halfway to her mouth, her heart suddenly beating in her throat. “Does this mean that the charges will be dropped?”
“Probably, although you can never predict with the DA. It’d be better if we had an alternate suspect to charge and hand to him.” He paused. “What’s the connection between Gregory and Earl? Could he be the boyfriend of one of the maids?”
She shook her head, swallowed. “Half of them are married. I know their husbands. Veronica doesn’t have a boyfriend. The other two who do, I know the guys. They come in sometimes.”
He nodded. “Could be someone from the past. Earl forced someone into something terrible. She left. She just confessed it to her boyfriend. He decided to take Earl out of commission. Do you know anyone who used to work at the hotel but quit?”
“Jen, for starters. But her husband, Billy, is not the type to carefully plot revenge. He would just march over and beat the shit out of Earl if Jen told him anything bad. I can think of two other women who left last year, off the top of my head.” She rattled off their names.
Chase pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and wrote the names on a napkin. “Earl might have been an abusive jerk to other people too. Outside of the motel. I’m going to check into that.”
He put the pen away and picked up his fork, ate in silence, but a few moments later, the fork stilled in his hands. He had the look of a man who’d just thought of something important.
Luanne leaned forward. “What is it?”
“I’ve been thinking about something on the drive up here. Have you ever met Mildred and Harold’s son?”
She sucked her bottom lip in as she thought back. “Heard about him, but no. I don’t think he’s ever come into the motel. Why?”
“He’ll be receiving the proceeds from the sale of the motel. Mildred told me she and Harold had given money to their daughter a few years back so she could buy a house. To be fair to the son, they promised to give him the money that would result from the motel’s eventual sale.”
She nodded. “I knew that.” Then suddenly cold spread through her chest. Wait. “Maybe he thought his parents would sell if something horrible happened.”
“They are selling.”
Luanne’s stomach clenched. “I don’t even remember what his name is.”
“Greg Cosgrove.”
The air got stuck in her lungs. “Gregory,” she whispered.
“Could be something, or could be just coincidence.” Chase pulled out his phone and dialed. “Hi, Leila. Could you please do me a favor? Could you ask Mildred and Harold Cosgrove to e-mail you a photo of their son? Their number is on a sticky note on the top of my desk. And then could you please forward the picture to my phone? Thanks.”
Luanne stared at the food, trying to wrap her mind around the idea that Mildred and Harold’s son was trying to kill her. “Now what?” she asked Chase.
“Now we wait.” He pushed the pulled pork toward her. “Might as well eat while we do that.”
She shook her head. She’d suddenly lost her appetite.
“You think you’ll ever go back to college?” he asked out of the blue.
Took her a moment to figure out what he was doing. He was trying to distract her from her troubles. Another couple of seconds passed before she could reroute her thoughts. “If I win the lottery o
n the twins’ eighteenth birthday.”
“I heard you were good. Minus that one test you failed.”
Advanced statistics. Her mother had just been diagnosed. Luanne hadn’t been able to focus. She knew that she’d be leaving her classes anyway. “Hey, my grades are my private business,” she said with mock outrage. She didn’t want him to think that she was stupid.
He gave a one-shouldered shrug and flashed a sheepish look. “Everyone knows everything about everybody else in Broslin. It’s the small-town curse.”
“Not everything.”
“All right.” A slow smile tugged up his lips. “Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know.”
“So you can use it against me in court? If this is some fancy interrogation technique, I can see right through you, buddy.”
His smile widened. “Tell me your middle name.”
She hesitated. He could have asked worse. Like, ‘do you fantasize about me naked?’
Before he could get there, she quickly said, “Lucinda. After my Polish grandmother.”
His right eyebrow slid up his forehead. “Luanne Lucinda Mayfair?”
“Call me Lulu and die.” That’d been her mother’s nickname for her, and she’d hated it all her childhood with a red-hot passion. “I have a black belt in swinging spray bottles.”
“That’s threatening a police officer.”
“Glad you got that. Would hate to have to explain.”
He laughed a deep belly laugh that for some reason filled her with warmth. He raised a hand, palm out. “Hey, who am I to judge? My middle name is Mortimer.”
She’d just taken a sip of her drink and promptly spewed it half across the table. “Mortimer?”
“Don’t say it,” he warned morosely. “We’re not ever going to mention each other’s middle names again.”
As she mopped up the water with her napkin, she bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh.
He edged the pork toward her. “You should really have some more of this.”
The man was more stubborn than a red-wine stain. “Only because I think wasting food is a sin,” she said tartly.
