“You really never went on a picnic in the park before?” He asked softly, sadness creeping into his voice.
“No, but you know, it’s okay. I did today.”
“How could you not experience all these normal things?”
I knew what he meant, but his words stung. Normal. Just a reminder that I wasn’t. “Momma was strict. She didn’t believe in having fun; picnics were frivolous things. Gardners did not do frivolous things.”
He took my hand in his, slowly stroking his fingers along the back and up to my wrist. “Your mother sounds like she was a hard woman to live with.” His other hand moved up to my hair as he looked into my face. “You’ve had a lot of pain in your life. I’m sorry.”
My vision got blurry from tears. I didn’t want to cry with Joe. I looked down at the list. “Oh,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “I forgot one.”
Joe moved the hand in my hair down to my back, holding me in an embrace like I had seen Mike do with Violet.
“Wear a lacy bra and panties.” Check.
Joe started to cough and then laugh.
“Why is that funny?” I turned to face him, ready to pounce on him for making fun of me.
His eyes grew dark. “Trust me, there’s nothing funny about what you just said. You just caught me off guard.” His arm around my back pulled me closer to him, so my shoulder fit into his chest, his hand pressed against my arm. “Listen Rose, I know you’re very inexperienced, and I know that you’re not used to talking about things like this, so I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t warn you that you can’t just talk about these kinds of things with guys.”
“But I’m talkin’ to you about it.”
“Well…I’m different. A lot of guys would take advantage of the situation. You’re too trusting. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Why are you different than other guys? Do you not want to, you know, with me?” I still couldn’t bring myself to say it. “It’s okay if you don’t want me, just tell me.” If he didn’t want to, it would hurt, but I’d rather know now.
Joe groaned, long and deep, and his arm tightened around me. “You have no idea how much I want you. But I can’t yet, I just can’t and you don’t know how hard it is. In fact,” he turned my head to look at him, his eyes burning with desire. “All I can think about at this moment is the bra and panties you’re wearing under your clothes. What do they look like? What color are they? What do you look like in them? I think about how I can take your clothes off so I can see.”
“Lavender,” I whispered. “They’re lavender.”
He groaned again and kissed me, smashing my body against his. I was at an odd angle, and felt awkward but he soon made me forget. His lips claimed mine while his hands slid up my back, under my shirt. I wrapped my arms around him, fearful he would stop, but Joe showed no intention of stopping.
He pulled me out of my chair so I sat on his lap, how he managed it, I had no idea. There were only so many things I could concentrate on at a time. I sat across his legs, his arm around my back the other hand working on the buttons of my blouse, his mouth driving me mad. Who said men couldn’t multitask? Joe seemed to be very good at it.
He moved his hand from my back and pulled his lips away from mine. I started to protest but saw him gazing at the front of my shirt which now gaped open, revealing my bra. His hands moved to my shoulders, slowly slipping my blouse down my arms. It fell to the floor behind me.
I knew I should be embarrassed, but I couldn’t help feeling empowered, that I was the one who made him gape like that. I felt sexy. And alive.
Joe’s hands moved to my waist and slowly up my sides, teasing me with anticipation. Then his eyes searched mine, his full of longing and regret. “I can’t stop myself any more, Rose. You’re the only one who can stop me now.”
His mouth moved to mine, a hand on my breast, slipping inside my bra. I gasped in surprise, amazement and need. I never knew I could feel like this. His mouth followed behind his hand, astounding me even more.
I clung to him, silently pleading for more even though it felt like a greedy request, but he must have understood. The next thing I knew, he carried me to my room.
He dropped my legs to the floor, and we stood next to my bed. I turned to face him, my almost bare chest against his shirt. I wanted to feel the skin of his chest against mine. I reached for the bottom of his shirt. His hands joined mine and we lifted it off together, then he tossed it on the floor. He found the button of my skirt, undoing it and then the zipper. It fell, puddling at my feet. I absently kicked it to the side and looked up at him, wondering what happened next.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured running his hands up and down my back as he studied my front. His hands stopped at the clasp of my bra on my back. “It’s not too late to stop, Rose. You only have to tell me no and I’ll stop immediately.”
“Why would I want you to stop?”
His mouth was on mine again, my bra soon gone and his mouth moved down to my breasts until I moaned. I was almost embarrassed but an overwhelming need overshadowed shame.
“Oh Joe, please…”
“What do you want, Rose? Do you want me to stop?”
“No!” I nearly shouted. “Don’t stop!” But I didn’t know what I needed either. What I felt was primal and instinctual. I had no idea what I needed, I only knew I needed it or I would die.
If all my senses hadn’t been thoroughly occupied at the moment, I would have laughed at the irony of it. Maybe that’s how I died on Sunday, from lack of sex.
Somewhere in that thought process, Joe moved us to the bed, and shed his jeans. I made a mental note to compliment him later on his multitasking. His skills were quite impressive. He wore a pair of boxers and lay on his side next to me. My view of him was somewhat obscured by his angle, frustrating me. I wanted to see more.
His mouth and hands made me forget.
His hand slid down into my panties and I was sure I was going to die tonight, my vision got the date wrong, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t think of any better way to go. I even heard bells. Maybe they were the bells on Saint Peter’s gate.
I came to my senses the moment Joe’s body was gone, like in the The Time Traveler’s Wife. Maybe that was Joe’s big secret. Maybe he time-traveled.
But Joe was still in the room, on the floor, digging his ringing cell phone out of the pocket of his jeans. He looked at the number. “Shit!” he said before he answered. “Yeah.” His brows furrowed as he listened. “Yeah,” he said again, and then he hung up.
I heard guys weren’t big on talking on the phone, but that call was ridiculous.
“I’ve gotta go.” He sat on the edge of the bed and scrambled to put his jeans back on. Then he stuffed his feet into his still-tied shoes.
“What? Now?”
He reached over and pulled my head to his, giving me a quick kiss. “You have no idea how badly I want to finish this, but I have to go.”
“Will you come back?” I couldn’t have gotten this close to stop now.
“I don’t know how long this will take. I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll work on your list tomorrow night.”
He grabbed his shirt off the floor and pulled it over his head as he walked out of the room.
I threw on the first thing I could find, a t-shirt that didn’t cover my bottom. My panties, amazingly enough, were still on my body. I ran after him.
“Joe, wait!” I stood in the kitchen doorway, watching him climb into his car. I didn’t care who saw me. “Where are you going?”
“Work.”
“At nine o’clock at night?”
He was already in the car, but got out and stood next to the door. His face changed. He wasn’t my Joe anymore. If I had run into this Joe at the bar in Jaspers I would have run home. “Don’t ask me questions, Rose. If you’re smart, you’ll stay out of this. Now go back inside.” The last part was a direct order. One he expected me to obey.
I didn’t tell him to stop bossing me around be
cause for one thing, his car had already left, and for another, I was too scared. For the first time since I met Joe, I was honest to goodness scared of him.
EIGHTEEN
Joe didn’t come home until around two in the morning. I felt like Mildred, snooping through the window, as I spied on him. But Joe didn’t go directly in his house; he went to my shed. He opened the door, slipped inside and came out less than a minute later. What could Joe up to?
And how did he get in?
Joe went inside his house. As he passed my bedroom window, I noticed his clothes were dirty and grimy, like he’d been rolling in dirt. A million questions ran through my mind, but I was tired of pondering it all. I just wanted to go to sleep and so did Muffy. She lay on my bed and looked irritated that her glares hadn’t stopped me from getting up and down. I finally fell asleep, cuddling Muffy, until I couldn’t take the smell rolling out of her every ten minutes and covered my head with a pillow.
The next morning, I made a pot of coffee and stared at the television. Here I had gone to the trouble of getting cable and I still hadn’t watched it. So I turned it on, flipping through two hundred channels until I found a rerun of Little House on the Prairie. I spent most of the morning slumped in the chair, which made me frustrated. I had a day and a half left to live and I was watching reruns.
I made myself shower and dress, and then clean up the mess in the kitchen. There wasn’t much to clean but we’d left out Chinese food cartons and the chopsticks were stuck to the table. I threw everything away and found two fortune cookies, still unopened. In twenty-four years, I had never had a fortune cookie, which seemed pitiful. I ripped the cellophane wrapper open and broke the cookie in half, pulling out a rectangular paper.
Your future looks bright and promising.
I almost laughed. I must have really bad karma.
The phone rang, and I jumped. Everything startled me these days, obviously with good reason.
“Rose? What are you doing home? Why are you off work again?” Joe asked.
“Joe, if you don’t think I’m home, why do you keep calling?” I asked, suddenly weary.
“I wanted to leave you a message.” He sounded like a kid caught throwing rocks at the neighbor’s window. “I wanted to apologize for last night.”
I sat silent, unsure what to say. He took my silence as encouragement.
“I was really harsh with you and I shouldn’t have been. I didn’t expect to be called into work last night. They called me in for a tense situation and it made me short. I’m sorry.”
I still didn’t say anything, unsure how I felt. Why did he have to be so complicated? But then, if that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black, I didn’t know what was.
“Can I make it up to you tonight? I want to take you out to dinner. We can go to the Italian restaurant, Little Italy. Then you can check off go to Italy since you can’t actually fly there before Sunday.”
My eyes burned. “You remembered Go to Italy?” How did he remember?
He heard the crack in my voice. “Oh, Rose, don’t cry. I’m so sorry about last night. Of course, I remembered. I remember everything about you, including your list. Please, just give me another chance. I promise to make it up to you.”
I wiped the tears off my cheeks. I’d be an idiot to say yes. I wanted to ask him why he was in my shed the night before, but then he’d know I’d been snooping on him. Why did I have to like him so much?
“Please?” He was begging, desperation clinging to his voice.
It was a public place, what could happen? I’d make him answer my questions and if he didn’t answer them to my satisfaction then I’d just avoid him all day Saturday.
“Okay,” I sighed.
I heard his exhale of relief.
“But I’ll meet you there. We’ll go separately.”
“Why? No, never mind. I don’t care. How about seven-thirty? I’ll make reservations.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then.”
I hung up, exhausted. There were a million things I needed to do, but I couldn’t face a single one. Instead, I went to bed to take a nap, pulling an afghan over me.
Muffy sat on the floor by the bed and whined. I patted the space beside me. “Come on, Muffy.”
I woke up hours later, rested but groggy. For someone not used to naps, I seemed to be getting my fair share. I looked over at the clock. It was six o’clock. I had literally slept the day away.
Unsure whether to dress up or go casual, I decided to go fancy since I might never get the chance again. I wore a red sleeveless dress with a deep V in both the front and back. The slim skirt hit above my knee. I almost hadn’t bought it, wondering where I would wear such a thing. Now I was glad I did. I decided to wear my red lingerie underneath. Might as well go all the way. I flipped the ends of my hair out and put on makeup. After I put on my strappy black heels, I looked into the mirror and felt pretty. No, beautiful. I felt like a princess.
I pulled up to Little Italy right at seven-thirty but didn’t see Joe’s car in the parking lot. I ordered a glass of wine to sip while I waited. And waited. At seven-forty-five, Joe still hadn’t shown up. I pulled my cell phone out of my purse, surprised to see a text message Joe sent only a minute earlier. I wondered why I hadn’t heard it ding, and saw it was still on silent.
Can’t make it. Tied up at work. I am so sorry. I’ll make up to you tomorrow. Promise.
I shook my head. Over my dead body. Then I laughed at the irony. Give him a day and it would be.
I couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with me. Two dates and both guys left me stranded in a restaurant. One thing was sure, I wouldn’t go hang out in the bar and get the bartender killed.
The thought made my heart skip. Oh my goodness, had I gotten Sloan killed? Joe had a good point. That was a lot of activity for a small city like Henryetta, all of it having something to do with me. The memory of Daniel at the DMV came back.
“Sloan isn’t your brother, is he?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“He’s a cop, isn’t he?”
Daniel Crocker thought Sloan was a cop and I was somehow involved with him.
Oh my God, I got Sloan killed.
Facing my own death was one thing, but causing the death of someone else was completely different. It made being stood up on a date seem pretty insignificant.
I paid for the glass of wine and left, unsure what to do. I felt drawn to the funeral home. Sloan’s visitation might be tonight. I could pay my respects. It was the least I could do if I really got him killed.
I drove past the building, the parking lot filled with cars. It didn’t mean it was Sloan’s, but I knew one way to check. It was so crowded I had to pull into the gravel overflow parking. Picking my way through the gravel proved a challenge, considering I wasn’t used to wearing heels. By the time I made it to the paved lot, teetering on asphalt felt like walking in flip-flops.
A sign propped up inside the front door announced that Sloan Chapman occupied the Magnolia Room. The Magnolia Room was the big room, which explained all the cars in the lot. I walked down the hall, making my way around the mourners milling about.
“It’s such a shame,” a woman said to her companion in a hushed tone. “He was such a nice guy.”
I knew that firsthand.
Overdressed for a wake, I attracted more attention than I wanted. When I entered the Magnolia Room, at least four times the size of the Jasmine, I stood toward the rear, getting my bearings. A throng of people gravitated to the front, where an elderly woman stood next to the casket, weeping. A younger woman stood next to her, looking shell-shocked.
I found it hard to believe that a week ago I had been in the same spot.
“Did you know him very well?” The man next to me wore a suit, but he tugged at the collar like he wasn’t used to being dressed up. I guessed him to be around my age.
I shook my head. “No, not really. I only knew him from Jaspers. He was really nice to me.”
“That
was Sloan, nice to everyone. He took off to Dallas for several years and came back about six months ago sporting his tattoos and his earrings, but still the same sweet guy. A giant teddy bear.”
What little I knew of Sloan, I believed that. “Why did he come home?” I asked.
“His mom is sick. That’s her up there.” He pointed to the woman up front. “She’s got breast cancer. Sloan came home to help her out.”
A lump formed in my throat, making it difficult to talk. “I’m so sorry.”
He turned to look at me with a quizzical expression. “Yeah, everyone is sorry. The world’s a sadder place without Sloan.
The casket lid was propped open, but I didn’t think I could bring myself to go up and look. I’d seen enough. I was ready to go.
Turning to leave the room, I saw him standing at the door watching me.
Daniel Crocker.
“I wondered if you’d show up,” he said, looking me up and down. “You look nice. I was about to give up on you but patience is what got me where I am today.”
“Where? In a funeral home?” My retort was so unlike me, but I found his cocky attitude irritating, especially if he killed Sloan.
“Feisty, huh? We’ll see how feisty you really are.” He grabbed my arm. It looked innocent enough, a man assisting a woman, but his fingers pinched deep into my arm. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”
My heart wanted to fling itself from my chest. Should I scream? Should I try to run? I couldn’t get very far in my three-inch heels and screaming seemed irreverent to Sloan. Getting him killed was bad enough; I didn’t want to disrupt his visitation.
“What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep up with him. I willed myself to be brave. I needed to be brave to get out of this.
“You know what I want. Let’s not play stupid.”
He continued to drag me down the hall toward the back exit, past the offices. I knew from standing outside with Joe at Momma’s visitation that the rear of the funeral home was fairly secluded. Going out there alone with Daniel Crocker was a very bad idea.
“You’ve got the wrong person. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I tried to pull my arm out of his grasp without making a scene, but his fingers dug deeper. I almost cried out in pain, but swallowed it down.
Crimes of Passion Page 76
