by Debby Giusti
She had removed her jacket and her sidearm, which lay on a buffet in the dining area. As he stepped closer, she poured water into the coffeepot.
“Can I help with something?” he asked.
“There’s a pecan pie in the fridge. Pull it out, if you’re hungry.”
“You bake?”
She rolled her eyes. “What? Doesn’t go with the CID role?”
He laughed as he removed the heavy ceramic pie plate from the cool refrigerator. The rich topping of pecans and the flaky fluted crust made his mouth water. “I’m not complaining. Pecan pie’s a favorite of mine.”
Her expression warmed. “Mine, too. And something every girl from Savannah knows how to bake.”
“Paula Deen, right?”
“Ah, excuse me.” She playfully huffed. “This recipe comes from my mama’s family. For generations McQueen women have been baking pecan pie. Long before Paula Deen opened her restaurant or had even thought of baking her first pie.”
His smile widened, but he made note of something she had revealed, perhaps without realizing it. Kelly had mentioned her mother’s family and the name McQueen. A slip of the tongue, no doubt, but it sounded as if there wasn’t a dad in her life.
No reason for him to mention her family, so he moved on to a safer subject. “Love the watercolors in your living room. I was on temporary duty to Fort Stewart a number of times and always headed to Savannah for shrimp and grits.”
“No étouffée? You sound more like a Southern boy than a Cajun.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve worked hard to get rid of my New Orleans roots.”
She paused to stare at him, her brow raised. “Really?”
He cleared his throat and shrugged, realizing too late he had said more than he should have. “I said goodbye to the Big Easy when I was twelve and moved to the small town of DeRidder, Lousiana.”
“Near Fort Polk?”
“That’s right. Lots of good army folks lived in the area, so as I got older, going into the military seemed to be a good decision.”
“And your accent?”
“My aunt was an English teacher. She went to school up north and was a stickler for proper pronunciation.”
“So no who dat or fais do-do or laissez les bon temps rouler?”
“Ah, ma chère.” He laughed. “It don madda no more.”
“Which is something my father used to say.” Her smile vanished. “Actually anything that mattered to me never mattered to him.”
So there was a dad. “Was he from New Orleans?”
“I’m afraid so.” She turned back to the coffee, but he could see tension in the way she held her shoulders. Evidently, mention of Kelly’s dad was something to be avoided.
“So what about you?” He threw out the question hoping to steer the conversation in a better direction. “Is Savannah home?”
“It was.” She glanced around. “Now this place claims that distinction.”
“Have you been back recently?”
The light in her eyes faded. “A couple weeks ago.” She paused for a moment as the coffee dripped into the carafe. Once again, he had treaded into difficult waters.
She took a deep breath. “My mother passed away. I went home to bury her.”
“Oh, Kelly, I’m sorry.”
“She had been in the local nursing home for the last year, so it wasn’t unexpected.”
“Still, it’s a terrible loss.”
Kelly pulled two mugs from the cabinet. “I moved her here when her condition took a turn for the worse. She needed long-term care, and I wanted to be close so I could check on her often. The nursing home is just a short drive down the road.”
“I remember passing it tonight. Magnolia Gardens?”
“That’s right. Luckily a bed opened up just when mom needed one. At the time, I lived in the bachelor officer quarters on post. When this house went on the market, I decided to move.”
“I’m sure your mother appreciated all you did for her.”
Kelly’s gaze was pensive. “I’m not sure. My mother…” She bit her lip and hesitated for a moment. “Mom wasn’t one to show her appreciation, but being close to her made me feel useful. That at least I was doing something to care for her needs.”
She placed a sugar bowl on the small table and pulled a pitcher of milk from the refrigerator, which she placed next to the sugar. “I admire Lola Taylor for taking care of her mother-in-law this past year while her husband was deployed.”
Phil heard the regret in Kelly’s voice. “You couldn’t have cared for your mom without help. We both know being in the military is a 24/7 commitment.”
“You’re right, but it still bothers me.”
“What about Savannah? Was there anyone else to help with her care? A sister or brother?”
“I’m an only child.”
“And your dad?”
“He died when I was fifteen.”
“Tough, huh?”
Turning back to the coffeepot, she failed to comment. Instead, she poured the fresh brew into the two mugs and handed one to him. “Milk or sugar?”
“Black’s fine.”
Retrieving a knife and serving spatula from the drawer, she placed the utensils on the table next to two plates. “How about some pie?”
“Nothing could stop me from saying yes.”
She cut into the flaky crust and placed a large piece on a plate. The rich sugary interior spilled out like amber gold.
Phil’s mouth watered. How long had it been since he’d last eaten? Too long.
“Kelly, I have to tell you, nothing has looked this good in a long time.”
She laughed. The warm sound echoed in the kitchen and made Phil realize this woman standing before him wasn’t the cold ice queen interested only on the next CID case. She baked, for goodness’s sake.
He slipped his fork into the delectable richness and pulled a huge chunk into his open mouth. His eyes closed, and he sighed with contentment.
“Mmm, this is to die for.” He licked his lips and opened his eyes in time to see Kelly staring at him.
“You’re easy to satisfy, Captain.” She grabbed the pot and refreshed his cup.
“And your coffee’s strong, ma chère, the way I like it.”
She stopped on her way back to the coffeemaker. “Seems a bit of the Cajun is still in your blood, Captain.”
“I guess old habits die hard.” He laughed, but when she didn’t, he stuck another bite into his mouth and washed it down with the hot coffee. “I love this pie.”
In all likelihood, Kelly McQueen didn’t cotton—as they say in the South—to Cajuns. A fact he needed to remember.
“What time do you expect to get to the company tomorrow?” he asked, once again redirecting her attention to something other than his Louisiana roots.
“Early. I’d like to start talking to the men individually, which will take time. Then as soon as the autopsy is completed, Jamison is slated to pick up the spent round and transport it along with the rifles to our lab at Fort Gillam.”
“I’ll let the executive officer know. He’ll ensure the weapons are signed over to either you or Jamison to maintain the chain of custody. He can also assign some men to help transport them.”
“That won’t be necessary. Jamison and a couple of the other CID guys plan to accompany the weapons to Gillam in a military vehicle.”
Phil raised his brow but said nothing. He understood her desire to keep extra personnel from interfering in her investigation. If their jobs were reversed, Phil would be equally as cautious about outsiders muddying up the process.
“What about the kid you saw on the street?” he asked.
“If the local police can’t find him, I’ll call his stepmother and see if he’s staying with her. Maybe she knows why he’s back.”
“Probably to see that girlfriend you mentioned.”
“Maybe. Hopefully, Mrs. Foglio will know how I can contact the girl. I’ll also want to find out who owns the land that butts up to th
e Taylor’s place.”
“Let me know if you uncover anything.” He took a last bite of the pie and carried his plate and mug to the sink. After rinsing the dishes, he placed them in the dishwasher.
“Looks like your mother trained you well.” Kelly smiled.
“My aunt,” he reminded her.
“My mistake.”
Now Kelly was the one who looked embarrassed.
“Aunt Eleanor was a God-fearing woman who ensured I always cleaned up after myself.” Phil smiled at Kelly, hoping to reassure her before he glanced at his watch. “She also told me never to overstay my welcome. Thanks for the coffee and pie.”
“Anytime.”
“I also like peach cobbler and bread pudding.”
“Why, Captain.” Kelly exaggerated her drawl. “You really sound like a good ole Southern boy.”
He grabbed his beret off the table and joined in her levity. “But, ma’am, Louisiana is the South.”
“Why sure ’nuff it is, Jean Philippe.”
Her use of his full name caught him off guard. His mother had called him Jean Philippe. The memory warmed him for an instant until the bitterness returned. How could he feel anything for a woman who cared more about her job than her young son?
Moving toward the living room, Phil stopped short when he heard the garage door close. He glanced back at Kelly. “Are you expecting someone?”
She shook her head, then opened the kitchen door and peered into the garage. Phil put his arm protectively on her shoulder and stepped around her. His gaze flicked over the interior of the car illuminated by the light from the automatic opener.
“Maybe someone else has the same code your system uses on their own remote,” he suggested.
“Maybe. But I didn’t hear a car drive by.”
Nor had Phil. “I’ll take a look around before I head back to Rickman.”
“I hate to put you out.”
“Not a problem.” He made a wide sweep around the house and grounds, but saw nothing that seemed unusual. Kelly was standing on the step when he returned to the front of the house.
“Everything looks okay,” he said to reassure her.
“Thanks for checking.” She patted her right leg. “If it weren’t for the swelling, I would have done it myself.”
Kelly’s house stood alone on a desolate stretch of road. Phil glanced once again at the dense wooded area to the side and rear of her property.
The Magnolia Gardens nursing home was only a couple hundred yards away to the south, but other than the long-term care facility, Kelly was pretty much on her own.
“Have you ever thought about getting a couple floodlights for the backyard? Dead bolts on your doors would help.”
“Security hasn’t been an issue, Phil.” She tilted her head. “Besides, I’m a good shot.”
He nodded. “Top marksman on post is what I heard.”
“Top marksman in law enforcement. There are plenty of other good marksmen on post. I’m one of many.”
“I doubt that. From what I heard, you’re being a bit too modest.”
“Humility has never been my strong suit.” She smiled. “Now don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
He slapped his beret against his pants’ leg. He knew it was time to get going, but he hated to leave her.
She turned to enter her house and then glanced over her shoulder. “See you in the morning, Phil.”
He walked slowly back to his truck. Dawn would come soon enough. He needed sleep to clear his head and override his desire to camp out on her front step. For some reason, he had an overwhelming desire to stand guard throughout the night.
As he climbed into his truck, he glanced once again at the small brick ranch. A light went on in a window on the far side of the house. While he was wondering if she’d be okay, Kelly was, no doubt, thinking of anything except the army captain who had needed a cup of coffee and a piece of pie.
There wasn’t room for their personal interests to get in the way of the job they needed to do. Kelly probably felt the same way he did, and for some reason, that bothered him.
FIVE
Kelly glanced out the window as Phil steered his pickup onto the main road and headed back to Freemont. As she watched, his taillights disappeared into the distance. A sense of isolation she had experienced following her mother’s death returned to wrap around her shoulders. The house seemed too quiet and the night too dark.
While Phil had been in her kitchen, she hadn’t felt that way. In fact, she’d enjoyed seeing him eat the pie chased with coffee, and she was thankful she had invited him inside.
He seemed like a nice guy, even if he was a Cajun at heart. Surely he wasn’t shiftless and deceptive like her father had been. Still, she wouldn’t allow herself to let down her guard.
She was tired tonight, which was probably the reason her emotions were so volatile. In the morning, she would see things in a different light.
Phil didn’t want to think about Kelly or Lola Taylor and her mother-in-law. He wanted to crawl into bed and fall blissfully to sleep. Maybe it was because of Taylor’s death or because he’d been in the field for so long, but today had sapped his energy.
He worked hard to ensure the company accomplished each mission it was given. Today, the mission had failed with terrible consequences. The need to make things right was foremost on his mind. As soon as he grabbed some shut-eye, he had to find out what had gone wrong and fix it. But he couldn’t fix the fact that Corporal Taylor had died.
Although Lola Taylor had practically escorted them to the door earlier, Phil knew she shouldn’t be alone tonight. She had mentioned her mother-in-law. From what he’d seen of Mildred Taylor, she wouldn’t offer the younger woman the support she needed.
A number of the company commanders felt their responsibility extended no further than the soldiers in their units. Phil believed his circle of concern extended to the families, as well. Tired though he was, he couldn’t go back to post until he ensured Lola Taylor was able to cope with her grief and getting the support she needed.
Magnolia Gardens appeared on the left, a single-story brick building with various wings that trailed off from the central string of rooms. He pulled into the parking lot, drove by the front entrance and circled around, exiting back onto the two-lane road, but this time headed north.
He slowed down as he passed Kelly’s place. The lights were still on inside, but the surrounding yard sat cloaked in darkness.
She really was isolated and far from any neighbors. A couple of floodlights might help to deter anyone from approaching the lone dwelling in the middle of the night.
As competent as Kelly seemed, and while she was convinced she could take care of herself, a few precautions would make Phil feel a lot better about her safety.
He glanced at the odometer, mentally making note of the mileage, and increased his speed as he rounded the curve and lost sight of her property. He covered the five additional miles to the farmhouse in good time without seeing another car on the road, once again confirming Kelly’s isolation.
In the distance, he noticed the Taylor mailbox and drive. The lights in the house were still on, and a pickup truck—a dually extended cab—sat parked next to the house. At this distance, he couldn’t make out the make or model, but as he neared, light from the porch spilled over the enclosed truck bed, which was light-colored, either white or beige. A reflective sticker was visible on the right rear bumper. A circle of some sort, not unlike the unit crest decal Phil had on the back of his own truck.
Maybe one of the wives in the unit was comforting Mrs. Taylor. Relieved to know she wasn’t alone, Phil turned around at the next widening of the road. He wouldn’t disturb Mrs. Taylor and the Good Samaritan who had come to offer support.
At least he could now return to post and get some sleep knowing Lola Taylor was in good hands. But as he drove by Kelly McQueen’s house, he realized he couldn’t feel as confident about the CID agent.
He’d talk to her again tomorrow abo
ut installing bolts on her doors and floodlights to illuminate the backyard. He would also talk to her about her own safety, although he didn’t know if she would take his advice. She seemed confident in her ability, and rightfully so. Kelly was a competent CID agent who seemed to tackle her job with determination.
She was totally focused on the investigation, which was as it should be. Phil, on the other hand, had a problem. Separating the CID agent McQueen from the pretty blonde who made him go into protective mode when she was near was a problem he needed to correct.
There was no reason he should think of Kelly McQueen as anything except a competent special agent, yet her blond hair and big blue eyes kept getting in the way.
Kelly opened the dishwasher and placed her own mug and dirty plate in the rack, next to where Phil had placed his. Nice guy to think of loading the dishwasher with his dirty dishes. He’d mentioned an aunt, but not a mother.
She had always thought of him as growing up in a privileged home, especially when she would see him at the club. Invariably, he was surrounded by women who had money and status stamped on their designer clothes. When she was a girl, her mother used to talk about the folks who lived in the beautiful old homes in the historic district.
“Can’t you just imagine what it would be like living in those fine homes, Kelly Ann?” she’d say as they walked along the sidewalk. “Honey, those folks don’t know trouble. Everything comes easy to them that have money.” She would then mention her own family coming from a long line of prestigious Southerners who had somehow lost their wealth but not their lineage.
When Kelly was hungry and left alone because her mom worked two jobs to put food on the table, she could have cared less about the prestigious line into which she had been born. She was more concerned about how her mother would pay the electric bill and whether the canned goods in the cupboard could be stretched until the next paycheck.
Maybe Phil’s life had had a few rough spots, as well. The military was a good equalizer. No matter where a person came from or what their situation had been, once they swore an oath of allegiance to the United States and put on the uniform, what they had been or where they had come from no longer mattered.
