Nickeled and Dimed to Death

by Denise Swanson

  “Okay, if you’re not annoyed about the broken date or because I haven’t called, then why are you so pissed off?” Jake raised an eyebrow.

  That was a good question. Why was I so furious at him? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t warned me that he’d be leaving Shadow Bend as soon as his leg healed. Or that I was unaware that his ex-wife was his boss. So what was my problem? Could it be guilt about Noah?

  “I said I wasn’t angry and I’m not,” I insisted. “I’m just tired and confused. If you’re working a covert case, why are you here?”

  “Well,” Jake drawled, “I had a chance to make a couple of personal calls this afternoon. And since I wanted to save the best for last, I decided to talk to Uncle Tony before I phoned you. But it turned out he had such a lot of interesting local news to tell me, I ran out of time.”

  “So you came in person. How sweet.” Uh-oh. Tony must have done exactly what Gran had told him to do—ratted me out to Jake.

  “Yeah. Wasn’t it?” Jake angled toward me so he could look me in the eye. “Uncle Tony said you and Noah Underwood have been seen together all over town. As I understand it, you went to a dance with him, then had lunch, and you even took him to a party at Boone’s. Tony is real concerned and he strongly suggested that I talk to you ASAP.”

  “You knew that Noah and I had resolved our differences and that we were attempting to resurrect our past friendship.” I emphasized the last word and crossed my fingers that I was telling the truth.

  “That’s what I told Uncle Tony,” Jake said, his expression unreadable. “But for some reason, he seemed to think it was more than that.”

  “I wonder where he got that idea,” I hedged, unsure of how much Tony knew. “Gran doesn’t like Noah, so she probably exaggerated.”

  “Then you didn’t go to a dance with him Saturday night?” Jake asked. His voice was casual, but the muscles in his jaw were clenched.

  “That was purely business—Noah introduced me to someone who was interested in placing a large gift basket order,” I explained. “And in case you didn’t hear, Boone is under suspicion for the murder of one of his clients.” I gave Jake a quick summary of what had happened, ending with, “So both the lunch and meeting at Boone’s house were about trying to help him.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that Boone is in trouble.” Jake wrinkled his brow. “He’s a nice guy. I wish I was around so I could help, too.”

  “Yes, he is.” I sighed and massaged my temples. “I wish you were around, too, because I think the local PD is in way over their heads and have no idea how to investigate a murder like this one.”

  “You’re probably right.” Jake scrubbed his face with his fists. “It’s quite a bit different from the crimes they usually solve.”

  “Exactly.” I frowned. “I’m pretty sure that Shadow Bend’s finest usually spend Saturday nights breaking up bar fights, responding to car crashes, and arresting kids playing mailbox baseball.”

  “What the hell is that?” Jake asked. “And why is it illegal?”

  “Teenagers riding in the passenger seat of a car use a bat to knock over roadside mailboxes,” I clarified. “They keep score using a system similar to baseball—a point for each dent, and decapitating a mailbox is a home run. They get three strikes, and then the next guy is up to bat.”

  “Sounds like a lot of fun.” Jake rolled his eyes, then slumped back in his seat. “I assume there is alcohol involved?”

  I nodded, and we sat in silence. Apparently, we’d both run out of things to say. After several uncomfortable minutes, I was about to suggest we call it a night when Jake cleared his throat.

  “Look, I know we never talked about not dating other people,” Jake said, then muttered, “and I don’t have any right to question you.”

  “No.” I sat back, totally exhausted. “You don’t. Just like I don’t have any right to ask how things are between you and Meg.”

  “And, really, we’ve only known each other a month and a half.” Jake stared out the Dodge’s cracked windshield. “So it would be silly to even consider demanding exclusivity of each other.”

  “Right,” I agreed cautiously, knowing he was correct but feeling a sudden ache in my chest. “That would be really foolish.”

  “I guess I wasn’t thinking straight when I dropped everything to hightail it over here because Uncle Tony had a feeling,” Jake admitted.

  “Probably not.” I examined the many gauges in the dashboard.

  “I may have blown my cover,” Jake mumbled. “I can’t believe I did that.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure how to respond. Part of me was thrilled that Jake had put our relationship ahead of his duty as a marshal. “So you drove all the way down from St. Louis to see me?”

  “Uh,” Jake hesitated. “Actually, the case I’m working is in KC.”

  “You never were in St. Louis, like your message said?” I fought to keep the anger out of my voice. Why did the fact that he was so damn close make it worse that he hadn’t contacted me until now?

  “Yes, I was.” Jake leaned toward me, seeming to sense my resentment. “I went up there on Saturday, was briefed about the assignment, and then Meg, the team, and I came back down to Kansas City on Sunday.” He looked at his watch. “And speaking of that, I need to get back before they discover that I’m not where I should be.”

  “By they, I take it you mean Meg?” Yes, I knew I was being bitchy and stupid, but I couldn’t help myself. Blame it on fatigue.

  “No.” Jake gritted his teeth. “By they, I mean my new best friends—the scum-sucking drug pushers who I’m trying to get to lead me to one of the cartel bosses who skipped bail. He’s the perp I’m trying to catch.” Jake shook his head. “We have to apprehend this douche bag before he finds the witness against him and kills her.”

  “Sounds important.” I reached for the door handle. “I’d better let you go.”

  “Wait.” Jake grabbed both my hands and pulled me toward him.

  “Why?” A shiver ran down my spine, and a flash of heat swept through my body. “You need to get back to work, and I need to get home.”

  “I just . . .” He trailed off, dropping my hands to cup my cheek.

  The touch of his palm against my face sent another shiver through me, and my pulse began to pound in my ears. I had to suck in a much-needed breath before I could ask, “You just what?”

  “I don’t want to leave without settling something.” He stared into my eyes, and I could almost see the sexual charge zipping between us.

  “Something?” I knew I sounded inane repeating his words, but, once again, I was completely ambushed by the intense attraction I felt for this guy.

  “Where we stand.” He gave me a sinful smile that had doubtlessly annihilated the resistance of nearly all the other women he’d tried it on.

  “I thought we had.” Sensual images zoomed through my mind, and I closed my eyes.

  “Not quite.” Jake drew me into his lap—thank goodness the car was too old to have a console between the seats—and then with his lips inches from mine, he said huskily, “I want to make sure the next time you see Underwood, all you can think about is me.”

  His voice washed over me like sugarcoated temptation, and my breath caught in my throat. “Oh.” It took all the breath I had to utter that one-word response.

  “Yes.” His whisper was ragged, and he stroked my jaw with his thumb.

  I could feel his uneven heartbeats against my palms. There was an unquestionable pull between us, and I knew I should stop this. But before I could force myself to move, Jake closed the gap between our mouths.

  His kiss took my breath away, and as he licked into my mouth, I squirmed closer to him. He wrapped his arms around me, and I surrendered.

  I knew that with him back on the job as a marshal and with my renewed feelings for Noah, we shouldn’t be doing this, but he was a craving that I was compelled to satisfy. I had nearly given in to my lust when a banging on the window made me jerk my head upward.

&
nbsp; It took me a long second to understand what the blindingly bright light was, and when I did, I groaned. We had just been caught necking by Chief Eldridge Kincaid.

  CHAPTER 20

  * * *

  Chief Kincaid apologized for disturbing us and explained that he’d thought we were teenagers. But he couldn’t hide a slight smirk, and I was afraid that our little indiscretion would be the hot topic around the squad room coffeepot the next morning.

  The police intervention had shocked both Jake and me out of lust and into our senses. Soon after the chief returned to his patrol car, I mumbled a quick good-bye, scrambled out of the Charger, and crawled into my Z4. As I watched Jake drive away, presumably heading back to Kansas City, I realized that he hadn’t said when he’d talk to me again or if he’d be coming back to Shadow Bend anytime soon. Then again, I hadn’t asked.

  It was a good thing that Birdie had already turned in for the night when I got home. I was upset that I had allowed myself to get carried away with Jake, and I might have been tempted to hold her responsible for the whole shebang. After all, she was the one who had pushed Tony to snitch on me, which was why Jake had shown up and surprised me into acting foolishly.

  With Gran already asleep, instead of yelling at her—which, let’s face it, was never a guilt-free option—I scarfed down the lasagna she’d left for me and went to bed. I blamed the pasta for causing me to toss and turn, and the restless night for causing me to oversleep the next morning. But I took full responsibility for choosing to shower, apply makeup, and do my hair rather than look for Tsar.

  I paid the price for my self-indulgence at breakfast when Gran eyeballed me from head to foot, then demanded, “Why are you so gussied up? Aren’t you working at the dime store today?”

  “Uh.” I took a gulp of coffee, both for the caffeine and for the time it gave me to think, then hedged, “I’m meeting Max Robinson for lunch. Remember I wanted to ask him about Elise Whitmore’s crusade to get her husband fired?” When Gran nodded, I explained, “I figured he’ll tell me more if I look attractive.”

  “Humph.” Birdie raised a brow as she plopped a ladleful of oatmeal in my bowl.

  I reached for the brown sugar, but she moved it from the table to the counter. Clearly, she wasn’t convinced by my excuse. I got up and silently retrieved the box, then sat back down and started to eat.

  Gran joined me, and just as I took a large bite, she said, “I suppose Noah will be at this lunch with Max Robinson, too?”

  I nearly spit the hot cereal back out, but managed to swallow before I said, “How in the world did you come to that conclusion?” I knew that I hadn’t mentioned Noah when I originally told her about Boone wanting me to talk to the bank president.

  “I may be so old that I fart dust,” Gran retorted, “but I’m not as senile as you or those fancy doctors think I am.”

  Before I could protest, Gran went on. “It took me a while to figure it out, but I remembered that Nadine Underwood recently stepped down from the bank’s board and her son was appointed in her place.”

  “And from that you think Noah will be at the lunch?” I asked, astounded by her thinking. “There are other board members.”

  Gran continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “And in the past, Max Robinson has not been a friend of our family.” She pursed her lips and slitted her eyes. “He was definitely part of the witch hunt when your father was accused of uh . . .”

  “Embezzlement,” I supplied.

  “Right.” Gran nodded.

  “Okay.” I hadn’t known that. Then again, the adults had made every effort to keep me out if it when my dad was being investigated.

  “So, I put two and two together.” Gran smiled triumphantly. “Who has influence with the bank president and wants to get on your good side?”

  “Noah.” I conceded defeat and admitted, “Yes, he’ll be at lunch, too.”

  “Which is why you’re all dressed up.” Gran’s voice was smug, daring me to deny it.

  “Of course it isn’t,” I vowed, unsure whether I was telling the truth or not. “Like I said, it’s to make a good impression on Max.”

  Gran narrowed her eyes but thankfully didn’t challenge my statement.

  After a few seconds, I asked, “By the way, you wouldn’t know a Willow Macpherson or a Bryce Grantham, would you?” I didn’t truly think either of them hung out at bingo or was part of the crowd who went on the senior bus tours—Gran’s usual haunts—but I was desperate for a change of subject.

  “The first name doesn’t ring a bell, but the second one sounds familiar.” She tapped her chin. “Bryce Grantham. Where do I know him from?”

  While she pondered, I took a sip of coffee.

  “Now I remember where I heard that name.” Gran nodded to herself, then said to me, “His little girl is in Frieda’s catechism class.”

  “So he attends St. Saggy’s?” I was referring to St. Sagar’s Catholic Church. When I was seven or eight, I had asked the priest about the name, and although he’d explained who St. Sagar was, further questioning revealed he had no idea why Shadow Bend’s Catholic church had been christened for a martyred bishop from Turkey. Not surprisingly, the parishioners called it St. Saggy.

  “No.” Gran shook her head sadly. “He doesn’t come to Mass; just his daughter.”

  “So his wife is the churchgoer?”

  “No. I don’t think she’s in the picture.” Gran shrugged. “At least, I’ve never seen her or heard anyone mention her.” She paused then tilted her head and questioned, “Why are you asking about him?”

  “I met him when I was looking for Elise’s cat.” I got up and rinsed out my bowl. “He helped me search for Tsar.”

  “He does seem like a nice guy, and Frieda says his little girl is really sweet.” Gran brightened. “If things don’t work out with Jake, maybe you could go out with him. Then I’d have a ready-made great-granddaughter.”

  “Why are you suddenly so interested in my love life?” I demanded. “You’ve never shown any interest in who I dated before.”

  “You were never on speaking terms with Noah Underwood before.”

  * * *

  Once I escaped from my recently turned matchmaker grandmother, I hurried to work. Because the dime store was open for only three hours, the morning was busy with shoppers who needed to pick up a few things before we closed. When the crowd thinned a little around eleven, I slipped into the back room to make a call.

  Paging through my seldom-used Shadow Bend phonebook, I was happy to see a listing for Bryce Grantham. He picked up on the first ring and confirmed that Lindsey was married to Block Captain Ingram. He also reported that there had been no sign of Tsar. I thanked him for continuing to watch for the animal and vowed that I’d be back the next morning to continue the hunt.

  After I said good-bye to Bryce, I texted Boone and Poppy the information that Lindsey did indeed live in town. Then, having completed my sleuthing responsibilities, I went back out front to resume my store-owner tasks.

  Hannah left at noon, and I locked the door behind her. Next, I cashed out the register and took the drawer into the storeroom. Opening the safe, I saw the antique chocolate molds I’d bought from Elise and bit my lip. I was glad that I hadn’t told anyone except Gran about them, since I still wasn’t sure I had purchased them legally.

  Easter was my favorite holiday. I always said that you could learn a lot from the Easter Bunny. He was a smart dude who didn’t put all his eggs in one basket and knew that the best things in life are sweet and gooey. My admiration for Mr. Rabbit was why I had designed such an elaborate window display for the holiday. But considering that if the molds were Colin’s, he might sue me, it was a good thing I hadn’t included them in my window arrangement.

  I ran my finger over the intricate designs, picturing the chocolate molds as the centerpieces of several of the Easter-themed baskets that Oakley Panigrahi had ordered for his high-end real estate clients. Normally, I’d never recoup my money putting something as expensive
as these molds into a basket, but he’d agreed to pay as much as a thousand dollars apiece for a truly fabulous gift. And these antique chocolate molds would make a stunning presentation, one that I was sure would impress Oakley with the uniqueness and luxury of my concepts.

  Still, I probably shouldn’t use them. From everything I’d heard, it appeared that Colin Whitmore might be the true owner and that his wife had sold them without his permission. If I did give the molds back to him, it would have to be secretly, so that he never found out I ever had them. The last thing I needed was to be named in a lawsuit. Who could have anticipated that such wonderful objects would become such a problem?

  I was torn. On one hand, restoring the collectibles to their true owner was presumably the decent thing to do. On the other, I knew my moral compass had grown a little wonky from working in the investment field for so long, and although I was trying to fix that, sometimes I wasn’t sure what was right anymore.

  If Colin was the legal owner, I should return them. But if he turned out to be the killer, he shouldn’t gain from his crime, so maybe I ought to keep them. The fact that I’d be out eight hundred bucks that I could ill afford to lose made the decision even more difficult.

  After several minutes of wavering, I pushed the molds to the rear of the safe, put away the day’s receipts, and closed the door. I’d wait until Elise’s murderer was caught before deciding what to do.

  Checking my watch, I made a quick trip to the bathroom, where I hurriedly kicked off my Keds and exchanged them for black high-heeled ankle boots. Next, I put a pink tweed crop jacket on over my white long-sleeved T-shirt, then inspected my black jeans for lint. Satisfied, I applied lipstick and combed my hair.

  A few seconds after I returned to the front of the store, I looked out the main window and spotted Noah’s Jaguar pulling into a parking spot. I grabbed my purse and rushed outside, opening the passenger door before Noah could even get out of the car.

  As I slid inside, I commented, “What great timing.” I hoped things wouldn’t be awkward between us, as this was the first time we’d been together since he’d kissed me in Boone’s driveway.