Hot Mail

by Maynard, Janice

  “How did you know that?”

  “I stopped by the station to thank you this morning. They told me.”

  “There’s no reason to thank me,” he muttered. “I was just doing my job.” He didn’t deserve her gratitude, not after what he had realized earlier. He’d been a lousy friend in the past. So if he was trying to make up for those sins, it didn’t merit her thanks.

  She was sitting with her feet flat on the floor, her spine ramrod straight. He didn’t need the department shrink to read Jane’s body language. She was uneasy.

  Even so, he was afraid this might be the last chance he had to get through to her. And he wanted a few answers, even at the risk of making her even more uncomfortable.

  He sighed. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  Her eyes flared. And something that looked like alarm filled them. “Um . . . sure.”

  “What happened between us? Why did we stop being friends?”

  The oddest thing happened. Jane was relieved. He could see it written on her face. What in the hell did she think he wanted to talk to her about?

  She licked her lips and tucked her hands in her lap. “People drift apart, Ethan.”

  She scored high points for evasion, but she was pitting her wits against a professional interrogator. “Nice try,” he said wryly. “You removed yourself from my life. I want to know why.”

  Sudden fury vibrated like an aura around her, charging the air and turning his guest from merely attractive to downright gorgeous. The transformation hit him in the gut.

  She leaned forward, her fists on her knees. “I don’t owe you any explanations, Ethan Oldham.”

  He held up his hands, ignoring the discomfort. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

  She sat back, but her gaze was still turbulent with emotion. “The past is in the past. Nobody gets do-overs. We’re two different people now.”

  He smiled placatingly. “You don’t seem all that different. Please, Jane. I spent a lot of lonely nights wondering what I had done to offend you.”

  Now her face was wiped clean of all expression. “Are you really that dense?”

  Her tone was deliberately provoking, but he refused to let her rip at his temper. “Clearly I am. Men aren’t the brightest creatures on the planet.”

  Her angry posture deflated suddenly, and once again he saw a flash of vulnerability. “It was four years ago, Ethan. Do you remember anything else that happened four years ago?” Her sarcasm seemed out of character, but he had it coming.

  This wasn’t going to be fun. He’d suspected as much, but hadn’t wanted to admit the truth to himself. “I got engaged,” he admitted dully. It was a dark moment in his life. And one that didn’t portray him in a good light at all.

  She bowed her head, staring at her hands as they twisted at a button on her sweater. “You got engaged,” she repeated, “and under other circumstances, I would have tried to be happy for you, but you picked her.”

  His ears perked up. “Are you telling me you knew what she was like?”

  She blanched. “Of course I knew, Ethan. Everybody in town knew. At least everybody but you.”

  Her incredulity nicked his pride, but he deserved it. He’d been blinded by momentary lust, and had allowed himself to be reeled in hook, line, and sinker by a woman who was a con artist, a congenital liar, and a master manipulator. To his credit, it had taken him very little time to discover his monumental mistake.

  He’d broken the engagement without any qualms, and thankfully, his disgusted fiancée had cut her losses and moved away. During the same period of time, Jane had slid out of his orbit with barely a ripple to call attention to her absence.

  He’d noticed. Of course, he’d noticed. But he was too embarrassed and at too much of a low point to do anything about it. By the time he recovered his equilibrium and got back on his feet emotionally, the damage had already been done.

  Something struck him. Something unpleasant. He stared at her. “If you knew she was a wacko, why didn’t you warn me? You were my friend.”

  The look she gave him was one reserved for the clueless and the deranged. Her blue eyes were dark with something that looked like pain. “Give me a break, Ethan. It’s utterly impossible for one woman to criticize another woman to a man without looking . . . ” She trailed off, her gaze fixed on the far wall.

  “Without looking what?” He felt as if he was on the verge of a major breakthrough.

  Her gaze swung back to his and their eyes locked. She twisted her lips in a faint, self-mocking smile. “I was your best friend, Ethan. Did it ever occur to you that I might have been jealous?”

  Her answer felt like a blow to the stomach—the kind that knocked the wind out of you. The kind where you lay on the ground gasping desperately for air until finally you can breathe again.

  Jane had been jealous of the psycho woman. In a romantic way? His heart leapt in his chest, but his common sense smacked it down. Not bloody likely. He’d not treated Jane well back then, but it was her pride that he hurt, not her heart.

  He closed his eyes, for once not feeling at all like the assistant chief of police. It was a position he had worked hard for. He’d given blood, sweat, and tears to the department, and later this year, his dream would be realized, barring any nasty surprises.

  But now that he had made it so close to his goal, he realized with sick certainty that the job, no matter how important to him and the community, was in the end just a job. And there was still a big empty place in his life that he’d somehow never been able to fill.

  For a brief moment, he remembered the valentine he had opened earlier. When Jane wasn’t looking, he had tucked it out of sight. Did he think she wouldn’t understand? Or perhaps that she would think he was bragging?

  Friends shared things with each other. Maybe it was time to be more honest than he had been in the past.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for what happened back then. I should have apologized long before now, but I let my pride get in the way.”

  Her face softened. “You made some mistakes, Ethan. We all do.”

  “But mine was a doozy.”

  She bit her lip, probably to keep from laughing at him. “This is true.”

  He wished he could stand up and give her a hug, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight.

  Tension gripped him, not at all what he needed at the present moment. “I’m glad we cleared the air,” he said slowly, his voice husky.

  Her gaze was sober. “Me, too.”

  He was about to suggest they load the DVD, but Jane stood up. “I think I’ll pass on the movie.”

  He struggled up on his elbows. “Do you really have to go?” He’d been hoping their talk might smooth things out between them. But Jane seemed more fidgety than ever.

  She nodded. “I’m sure.” She stopped on the way out. “Will Sherry check on you tomorrow?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Apparently I’m going to be her guinea pig for some catering stuff.”

  She lifted a hand and gave a sort of fluttery wave. “Well, that’s good then. Take care of yourself, Ethan.” And suddenly, she was gone.

  His stomach felt funny, and he didn’t think it was the anchovies. Her farewell didn’t sound like a woman who was planning on seeing him again. He’d assumed they were back to the old Ethan and Jane, but instead, he had a sneaking suspicion that he was no closer to being Jane’s good friend than he had been for the past four years.

  Jane closed Ethan’s front door and leaned her back against it, feeling the pull from inside the house. More than anything, she wanted to stay. But she couldn’t make things too easy for Ethan, or before she knew it, he’d be taking her for granted again.

  And it still bothered her that he had hidden the valentine. In the old days, they would have laughed together about such an odd piece of mail.

  But that was then and this was now. Maybe he hid it because he didn’t want her to know a mystery woman was interested in him. Maybe he thought it would m
ake her jealous. And it would . . . if the mystery woman wasn’t her. Oh, Lord, she was so messed up.

  She got in her car and drove the short distance back to her home and business. It had been dark for a long time now, but there was a streetlight where she parked her car, so she refused to get all jittery and scared over something that had to be nothing more than an isolated incident.

  By the time she made it safely upstairs and bolted her door, her legs were a bit shaky, but she was fine. She didn’t need the oh so handsome assistant police chief to hold her hand.

  She wanted a lot of things from Ethan Oldham, but babysitting didn’t make the list. Let the man have a few days to think about his mystery valentine sender, and then . . . voilà. She’d send the next one, and her erotic seduction would be back on track.

  As she performed her nightly routines, she tried not to think about the fact that she would have to compose another naughty ode. Maybe this time she’d go for a limerick. Or a haiku.

  She snorted and climbed into bed, looking wistfully at the side where Ethan had lain the night before. It took all she had not to bury her face in the comforter and seek his smell. That would be pathetic.

  She closed her eyes, too weary for a self-inflicted pep talk. Her plan had to work. She was thirty-two years old. If this thing with Ethan didn’t pan out, there would be no more second chances. She’d walk away and not look back.

  Ethan might be the man of her dreams, but she wouldn’t settle for his lukewarm friendship. She wanted grand passion or nothing at all.

  Five

  Sherry sat in her car in the parking lot of the police station and tried to convince herself she wasn’t going to throw up. She stared at herself in the rearview mirror. For God sakes, woman, get a grip.

  Ethan was counting on her, and it was time she started to believe that she had more to give than her mothering skills. Debra’s mischievous face popped into her head, but she shoved the image away. Her daughter still loved her. Moving to Tampa had nothing to do with their mother-daughter relationship. It had to do with Debra’s dreams and her future.

  If Sherry told herself that enough times, she might start to believe it.

  Resolutely, she got out of the car and walked toward the building. The bitter cold of the past week had vanished, leaving sunny skies and comfortably warm days. Perhaps the weather was an omen.

  She’d barely made it into the building before a nice-looking young policeman stepped into her path with a smile. “Ms. McCamish? Your brother sent me to help with the lunch. Just tell me what you need to have carried inside.”

  He followed her back out to the car, chatting casually about the weather. Sherry tried to keep up with the conversation, but she was too busy making sure nothing spilled in transit to pay much attention.

  He was of medium height and sturdy build, and even beneath his shirtsleeves, she could tell that he was muscular. She’d never really had a thing for blond-headed men—maybe because her own dishwater color had never been all that exciting to her—but Officer Temple was very appealing. His short hair was lighter and brighter than hers.

  In the large conference room, he helped her arrange the chafing dishes, outfitting them with long-handled spoons, and lighting the warming flames beneath them. Sherry had baked pork chops with French-style green beans, scalloped potatoes, wheat rolls, and apple cake for dessert. She’d also brought tea and coffee.

  The station would be supplying the paperware and utensils each week. Ethan had already warned her that she would need to serve the plates ahead of time, or some of the men would go overboard on portions. In which case, her profits would shrink, and the idea of eating healthy meals would be torpedoed by too many calories.

  Judging by the smiles and compliments she received, the first meal was a runaway success. She would figure out her profits later, but if this number of men and women participated each time she cooked, she’d be guaranteed a steady income.

  Ethan was one of the last to come through the line. She lowered her voice. “How is your back?” It was Tuesday, and she knew he’d returned to work the day before. Stubborn man refused to take a sick day.

  He took his plate and urged her to join him. When they were settled at the empty end of one of the tables, he took a bite and groaned aloud. “God, this is good.” Then he leaned in closer. “I’m fine. The muscle relaxers finally did the trick.”

  “And what about Jane?” Sherry had been thrilled to hear that Jane looked after Ethan on Saturday afternoon.

  Ethan swallowed some tea and gave her a warning glance. “How should I know? I told you, she came by to say thanks for helping her out during the break-in. When she found out I was not feeling well, she brought me dinner. End of story.”

  “Did you talk?”

  “About what?” He evaded her eyes this time, scooping up a hefty forkful of potatoes.

  She nudged his arm. “You know. The long, cold silence between you two.”

  Ethan finished off the last of his pork chop and glanced at his watch. “Butt out, sis. And I say that with the utmost affection. Worry about your own love life, and I’ll take care of mine.”

  Jane gleefully bypassed the heavy coat in her closet and pulled out a lightweight jacket. She loved living in Tennessee for many reasons, not the least of which was the sheer unpredictability of the elements. Never a dull moment, as all the forecasters in the area would testify.

  She’d decided to take a long lunch break since Mrs. Fitzhugh was back. After enjoying a bowl of soup at the little restaurant on the corner, Jane paid her check and headed out the door. It was rent day, and her genial landlord liked receiving the checks in person.

  It was his only eccentricity, and Jane was happy to oblige. Mr. Benson, who was somewhere between eighty and ninety years old, owned Jane’s building and several more in the downtown area. In addition to being an absolute sweetheart, he hadn’t raised any of his rents in the last decade, which won him many admirers, not to mention the loyalty and goodwill of all of his tenants.

  He didn’t need the money. By local standards, he was richer than God. And it was common knowledge that he’d willed his entire estate to charity. His extended family was an unimpressive lot. Without the carrot of a possible inheritance, they’d abandoned the old man to his climbing years, although one or another of them would pop up now and again with a pitiful story to try to con him out of some cash.

  Jane had timed her visit for one p.m. Mr. Benson had a soap he liked to watch at two, and Jane knew better than to interrupt then.

  He opened the door seconds after she rang the bell.

  She greeted him with a hug. “I’m guessing your arthritis is doing okay today.”

  He nodded his mostly bald, liver-spotted head, his bright but watery blue eyes keen. “Yep. No complaints. This nice, warm day is a gift at my age.”

  Jane followed him into the house. “At any age.” She handed him the check along with a small box of homemade chocolate-chip cookies. He tucked the former away in a bank envelope in the small writing desk beside the window, and then popped the lid off the tin of cookies and gobbled one down, childlike glee on his face.

  Then he turned, his gaze eager. He had a cane, but on good days, he didn’t use it. “Do you have time for a game of gin rummy?”

  She slipped off her jacket. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  It wasn’t disloyal to wonder from time to time what would happen to her business when Mr. Benson was gone. She assumed his assets would be sold off. Which meant she’d either be evicted, or else the new owner would undoubtedly raise the rents significantly, thus adversely affecting Jane’s bottom line.

  At one time, she thought she would be married and have kids by now. But it hadn’t happened. And truly, she was very happy with her career. It gave her an outlet for her creativity, and she loved being her own boss.

  But until she could make Ethan fall in love with her or, conversely, get him out of her heart for good, she was never going to be completely satisfied. Shaking off her unset
tling thoughts, she turned her attention to the game.

  Mr. Benson was sharp, and he wasn’t above cheating if he thought no one would notice. Jane nailed him on it every time, and she was pretty sure it gave him a kick to get caught.

  Just before two, they wrapped things up. Jane bade her host goodbye. As she slipped into her jacket, he patted her arm, and she smelled the familiar scents of Old Spice and pipe smoke. His expression was shrewd, as though he saw every thought in her head. “You worry about me too much, little lady. There’s a lot of fight left in this old bird, all evidence to the contrary. You should be out living your life, instead of checking up on an old man.”

  She kissed his cheek. “Maybe I come here for me. Have you ever thought of that?”

  He was standing at the door grinning as she waved and went down the walk. She was suddenly eager to get back to the shop. A new shipment of paper had arrived earlier in the day, and she couldn’t wait to pick out the perfect one to use for her next erotic valentine.

  She and Ethan hadn’t seen each other all week. On Tuesday, they’d had a brief phone conversation, in which he had updated her on the break-in. As they had both suspected, the partial prints were no help. And without any other significant physical evidence, it was doubtful the case would ever be solved.

  Fortunately, she had gotten over being spooked every time she ventured downstairs at night. She often tidied things up in the shop or looked through catalogs after she had dinner. So it was a relief to know that one frightening incident hadn’t turned her into a complete wuss.

  Back at the store, she sent Mrs. Fitzhugh on her way and finished out the afternoon dusting shelves and straightening stock. After a quick dinner of an apple and yogurt, she settled in to prepare her second mysterious valentine.

  This time, she picked a sheet of whisper pink vellum. She cut apart a lace doily and carefully glued it around the edges of her note-to-be. While that was drying, she grabbed some scrap paper and composed her next verse.

  Or tried to . . .

  Poetry was not an easy skill to master. She should have remembered that from high school. And besides, back in tenth-grade English class, she hadn’t been attempting to use suggestive phrases and sexy come-ons. Dirty poetry was even more difficult. Especially since she was trying to write classy dirty poetry.