Planting Evidence (A Rainy Day Mystery Book 4)

by Jeff Shelby

  And when I finished, I’d heated up a can of tomato soup for dinner, and grabbed a bottle of wine and parked myself on the couch in the living room, intent on going through the stack of magazines parked on the coffee table so I could send them off to the recycling bin.

  The knock startled me. I set my glass down and contemplated whether or not I should answer it. Knowing my luck, it would be Sophia or Vivian—or even Walter—with some crazy new tidbit of information for me to run wild with.

  “Rainy? You home?”

  I relaxed.

  It was Gunnar.

  I hurried to the door and flung it open.

  Gunnar was there, dressed in a green and blue flannel and a pair of faded jeans. His baseball cap was missing, and his salt and pepper hair was damp, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. He smelled like aftershave and soap.

  He held out a white bakery box.

  “What’s this?” I asked, reaching for it.

  “Donuts.”

  “Donuts?” I could smell the grease and the sugar, and my mouth watered. “It’s evening, not morning.”

  “There’s never a bad time for donuts,” he told me, grinning. “I was in Winslow, running a couple of errands, and I stopped by the bakery. The donuts smelled good so I thought I’d grab a few for dessert. Donuts can be dessert and breakfast.”

  I smiled. “Sounds logical to me.”

  He took a seat on the couch while I retreated to the kitchen to find another wine glass. I polished the glass on the kitchen towel and then hurried back. He had the bakery box open and the smell of the donuts filled the living room.

  I sat down next to him and poured a glass, then topped off mine.

  “Which one do you want?” he asked.

  I checked out the selection. There were sugar dusted ones, chocolate glazed, and blueberry cake donuts.

  “All of them.”

  He chuckled. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He fished out a sugar donut and handed it to me.

  The sugar dusted my lap and I brushed it away. I’d need to vacuum later.

  Gunnar grabbed the other sugarcoated one and bit into it. “I actually stopped by this morning to see if you might want to tag along but you weren’t home.”

  “I had some errands to run.”

  “Oh?” He took another bite of his donut and the sugar sprinkles dusted his upper lip. “To where?”

  It was an innocent question. I knew that. But still, I hesitated.

  “Just some stuff in town.”

  “Like what?”

  I took a tiny nibble of my own donut. “Oh, I stopped at the boutique. And I went to see Vivian.”

  “Vivian?” His brown wrinkled. “Why?”

  “Oh, just to visit.”

  “You seem to be going over there to visit an awful lot these days.”

  I picked up my wine glass and took a long drink to fill the silence.

  “Rainy.”

  I looked at Gunnar.

  He’d finished his donut and was wiping his hands on his jeans. “What’s going on?”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  He gave me a patient smile. “What are you hiding?”

  “I’m not hiding anything.”

  “Fine.” He shifted on the couch, crossing one of his legs so that his foot rested on his lap. “What are you not telling me?”

  I didn’t respond and he sighed, deeply. “Is this how it’s gonna be?”

  “How what’s going to be?”

  “You. Me.” He frowned. “Always keeping me at arm’s length.”

  I responded with a frown of my own. “I do no such thing.”

  “Yes, you do.” His eyes bored into me and I squirmed under his gaze. They were like needles piercing my soul. “What are you so afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything.” I swallowed another mouthful of wine. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why were you at Vivian’s again? What has you so preoccupied these days?” He paused. “And why are we stuck in neutral?”

  My heart did a little flip-flop. The first two questions would be easy enough to answer, but the third sent my heart skittering.

  “I…I don’t know that it’s my place to say.”

  His brow furrowed. “What?”

  “There’s…there’s something going on with the Latney Ladies Society and I’ve sort of been sucked in, and it’s not something that’s been made public.”

  “So now I’m ‘public’?”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Then what do you mean, Rainy? What exactly am I to you?” His voice held a note of anger. “Partners tell each other things. Partners trust each other. Remember your words to me yesterday? ‘You can tell me anything.’ It goes both ways. Or at least it should.”

  I opened my mouth but no words came out.

  “Maybe we’re not partners,” he said, his tone eerily calm and matter-of-fact. “Maybe we aren’t anything at all.”

  “That’s not true.”

  His lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “No? Then tell me what I am to you, Rainy. Because for weeks now, we’ve spent time together, but it’s always been me seeking you out. It’s me coming over, trying to keep whatever we have going. So when you shut me out, when you don’t tell me things, when you keep me at a distance, I have to wonder: maybe this isn’t what you want, after all.” He held up his hand, motioning between the two of us. “Maybe there’s nothing here. For you, at least.”

  My heart was jackhammering so hard, I thought it was going to beat right out of my chest. “No,” I said, weakly. “That’s not it.”

  He planted both feet on the ground and leaned closer. “Then what is it? Because I know what I want, Rainy. I’ve known for a while now.”

  I stared at my half-full wine glass. “What do you want?” I whispered.

  “You.”

  I stole a glance at him.

  His eyes were on me, his expression resolute.

  “I just need to know if you want me. If you want this. Us. Because if you don’t, then all of this—the time spent together—is a waste of time. I’m not getting any younger, and I’m done wasting time in this life. When I see something I want, I go for it. That’s the lesson I’ve learned.”

  His words slammed into me. It was as if he knew exactly what I’d been thinking, exactly what was holding me back, and he’d found the perfect rebuttal.

  What was I doing with Gunnar? Yes, I was protecting myself and making sure that I didn’t lose myself after spending so many years living life for other people. But was that going to make me happy if it meant I would spend it alone?

  Gunnar was a good guy. He was helpful and kind, and his smile and hazel eyes made me weak in the knees. He made me laugh, and his kisses turned me to jelly.

  Why couldn’t I have a relationship with him? Why couldn’t I find that sweet spot between holding on to me while developing a ‘we’? Other people managed to do that; after all, there were an awful lot of successful marriages and partnerships in the world.

  I set my barely eaten donut on the table and downed what was left in my wine glass. Gunnar was still watching me, still wearing a look of fierce determination.

  “I think I know what I want,” I said slowly.

  He arched an eyebrow, an unasked question.

  I nodded.

  And before I knew it—and before I could stop myself—I did the only thing I wanted to do.

  I kissed him.

  TWENTY THREE

  An unfamiliar noise woke me the next morning.

  The sound of someone’s breathing, light and steady, in my ear.

  I snuggled under the sheets, half-asleep, and tucked my feet under the person lying next to me.

  My eyes flew open.

  Gunnar.

  It was morning, and Gunnar Forsythe was in my bed.

  I resisted the urge to bolt out of the room.

  What had I done?

  Heat crept into my cheeks. I had vivid memories of just exa
ctly what I’d done the night before.

  A wave of something—regret?—washed over me, and I tried to push it aside. What did I have to regret? I was a grown woman in my own bed in my own house, not some teenager sneaking off with her boyfriend. I had made a conscious decision to take my relationship to the next level.

  I was not going to have regrets.

  Gunnar’s words from the night before flitted through my mind. We weren’t getting any younger. We shouldn’t be wasting time. If there was something we wanted, we should go for it.

  I had applied all of that same logic when I’d made the decision to sell my home in Arlington and move to Latney. Laura had thought I was being rash and reckless, but I’d known it was something I needed to do for me.

  And now I had Gunnar, and I’d needed to decide where I wanted to go with our relationship, which path I wanted to take. Sure, we could have gone back to being just friends, but would that have made me happy? Would I have regretted the what-ifs that I knew would have consumed me if I’d walked away from what he was offering?

  I knew I would have. And as hard as this particular risk was, to try out a relationship that was fraught with uncertainties, it would have been even harder to wonder what might have been if I’d only been brave enough to try.

  I closed my eyes and nodded. I’d made the right decision.

  At least for now.

  I glanced over at my bed partner. Gunnar was still sound asleep. With his eyes closed and his features relaxed, he looked younger, almost boyish. His chin was dotted with stubble and his nostrils flared slightly as he breathed, blowing warm air against my cheek. His legs were warm, and his arm hooked underneath me was the best kind of anchor, keeping me firmly next to him.

  I smiled.

  Yes. I’d made the right decision.

  I stayed in bed for a few minutes longer, relishing the feel of another person lying next to me, before finally slipping out. I would get coffee going, and breakfast, too. Scones or muffins or something.

  I glanced out the window, saw the sun shining brightly. With any luck, the temperature would be warm enough to sit outside on the front porch so we could enjoy a cup of coffee.

  I grabbed a bathrobe from the closet, slid into my slippers and padded down the hall and downstairs to the kitchen. Within a matter of minutes, coffee was brewing, the oven was pre-heating and I was mixing up batter for blueberry muffins.

  So when my phone rang, I was loath to pick it up. The clock on the oven indicated it was just shy of nine o’clock. Not an ungodly hour, but I didn’t want my morning interrupted. Not this morning, anyway.

  I let it roll to voicemail, but it immediately began ringing again. Frowning, I turned away from the mixing bowl and picked up the phone. It was a local area code, but it wasn’t a number I recognized.

  “Hello?”

  “Rainy?” a timid female voice asked.

  “This is Rainy.” I was immediately suspicious. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Elena.” And then, when I didn’t respond, she added, “Elena Klersy from the Latney Ladies Society.”

  Recognition hit. “Oh, that’s right. What can I do for you?”

  There was a pause. “Well, I was wondering if you might have a chance to meet me sometime today.”

  I pressed my phone harder against my ear. Her voice was so soft, it was almost impossible to hear. “Meet?”

  “Yes,” she said, a little more firmly.

  “Why?” I knew the question was blunt, but I didn’t care.

  “Oh, well…” She was clearly flustered. “I might have some news you’d be interested in.”

  “News? About what.”

  Her voice lowered again, and she said something indecipherable.

  “What?” I asked.

  In a stage whisper, she responded, “About the missing money.”

  I sighed. “I’m not really involved in that. I’m sorry.”

  She must have heard the finality in my tone because she spoke up, louder this time. “Wait,” she said. “I…I don’t know who else to talk to. Savannah is so angry about everything and if I tell her, she’ll insist on going to the sheriff.”

  I shuddered.

  “I really just need some advice on what to do. I hate being in the middle of all of this.”

  That was one thing we could agree upon.

  “Can’t you just tell me now?” I asked, but I already knew what the answer would be. This was Latney, after all.

  “I’d prefer to do it in person.”

  I wondered if people were worried about their phones being tapped. It was the only thing that made sense of these people’s aversions to electronic communications.

  “Fine,” I said, sighing again. “When do you want to meet?”

  “How about for lunch?” she suggested. “The Wicked Wich? I can be there at noon.”

  Against my better judgment, I agreed and we hung up. The oven had beeped while I was on the phone, and I hurried back to the mixing bowl, anxious to finish the batter and get the muffins cooking.

  A pair of arms encircled my waist and I let out a little squeal.

  A warm mouth nuzzled my neck, sending goose bumps down my back.

  “Good morning,” Gunnar murmured. His breath was hot against my skin.

  I leaned into him. “Morning.”

  “How did you sleep?” he asked.

  “Good,” I said. His mouth moved to my cheek. “How did you sleep?”

  “Great,” he said. “When I was sleeping.”

  The blush bloomed instantly on my cheeks.

  “Who were you on the phone with?” he asked.

  It was an innocent question but my body stiffened.

  He noticed. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “It was just a woman from town. Elena Klersy. Do you know her?”

  “Blonde? A little mousy?”

  I nodded, and continued stirring the batter. I didn’t want to over mix it, but there was still flour along the sides of the bowl.

  “Are you two friends?”

  Another innocent question. All I had to do was answer it. But I knew that answering it truthfully—no, we weren’t friends—would lead to more questions.

  I silently berated myself. What was my problem? Why couldn’t I just let my guard down with him? What on earth did I have to lose? I’d already shared my bed with him…wasn’t it time to just let him in, period?

  “No, we’re not friends,” I said. I turned around and leaned my back against the counter. The muffins would have to wait.

  Gunnar shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He was shirtless, his chest dotted with the same salt and pepper hair he sported on his head, and I tried not to get distracted by his physique. “No?” he asked, keeping his tone nonchalant.

  “No,” I repeated. “She has some new information about a case I’m sort of working on.”

  “A case?”

  I poured him a cup of coffee and pressed it into his hands. He took a sip.

  “Sit down,” I told him, steering him to a chair. “This might take a while.”

  TWENTY FOUR

  “Wow.”

  It had taken thirty minutes to bring Gunnar up to speed. I’d finished spooning batter into muffin tins while I told him, and we were now on the front porch, sharing an afghan and a plate of warm blueberry muffins.

  Gunnar bit into a muffin. The steam curled into the air, wafting away from the porch and into the front yard. “That’s some crazy stuff,” he said.

  I reached for another muffin. I’d already had two, but I was still hungry, My cheeks grew warm when I thought back to my night and realized why my appetite was so strong.

  “I know,” I said. “It’s all pretty hard to believe.”

  “So who do you think took it?” he asked.

  I folded the paper wrapper and set it down on the plate. “Honestly? I have no idea. When I first found out about the money, I didn’t think anyone being mentioned was involved, because none of them seemed to have a reaso
n to take it. And now they all do!”

  “By all, you mean Sophia and Vivian?”

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “But Walter now, too.”

  Gunnar sipped his coffee. Despite the cool morning temperature, he was still shirtless, and his feet were bare. With his hair mussed and the stubble dotting his face, he looked like a burly lumberjack.

  “Both Sophia and Vivian seem to have the need for additional money,” he said. “What’s Walter’s motivation?”

  “Wanting to sabotage the things he sees are keeping Sophia from wanting to start a family.”

  Gunnar gave me a look. “So you think he’d ruin his wife’s reputation and risk having her arrested just so he could get her pregnant? That seems a little far-fetched.”

  “So does slipping libido enhancements into her drinks and trying to keep her from going to the doctor to get birth control,” I pointed out.

  “He wasn’t keeping her from going.”

  “Well, no,” I conceded. “But he was certainly planning to take advantage of the timing.”

  Gunnar nodded. “I guess.” He took another long sip of his coffee. “I don’t know. I honestly can’t see any of them stooping so low as to steal from a charity. I mean, sure, Vivian wants to go on vacation and she’s hit some hard financial times. But she’s put the trip off before; why would she all of a sudden decide that stealing the money would be the best way to finance it? And Sophia—if the business isn’t doing well, she has the easiest access of anyone in town to a loan or a line of credit.”

  “Except her husband doesn’t want her running a business.”

  “Sophia has him wrapped around her finger,” Gunnar said. “As much as Walter might try to appear as though he wears the pants in that family, we all know it’s a farce.”

  I didn’t know that I agreed. Gunnar hadn’t been in the Rey’s kitchen with me yesterday. He hadn’t seen Walter’s fury, and he certainly hadn’t seen his fierce determination that, come hell or high water, he was starting a family with his wife.