Deadlier than the Male

by Sharon Sala

  Poor Adam.

  Mrs. Fairmont gave a little laugh. “You don’t understand. People around here are tired of being ‘Arizona’s best-kept secret.’ The resort Adam Jakes is building is going to put this place on the map, just the way he did for that little California town where he made himself a big name. We’re talking millions of tourist dollars pumped into Red Bluff, and no one wants to jeopardize—”

  “I’m not sure I want to hear this.” Mara’s face burned, and a buzzing started in her ears.

  “He’s an important man in this town. Almost untoucha—”

  “I was wrong. I am sure,” Mara interrupted. “I prefer starting every school year fresh and forming my own opinions of each student.”

  “How commendable,” Mrs. Fairmont said flatly before pointing out an inch-long scorpion that had wandered onto the path between them, its tail and stinger arched above its back. “But when you’re in unfamiliar territory, it does pay to be cautious. At least until you figure out the lay of the land.”

  With the slightest smile, she lifted one red sandal and crushed out the tiny creature like a burning cigarette.

  Chapter 2

  W ith the knock at the door, the fuzzy gray-and-white kitten somersaulted off the sofa with a squeak of surprise. Laughing at his theatrics, Mara coughed into her tissue—a noisy remnant of the upper respiratory infection that had kept her home for the past two days.

  She was tempted to play dead, but another knock convinced her she’d been heard, or else the Beethoven playing on her iPod speakers had given her away. Reluctantly, she put down the papers she’d been grading and peered through her front door’s peephole.

  Adam Jakes stood on the other side, looking so perfect in his crisp, rolled-sleeve shirt and khakis that embarrassment ignited her face. She couldn’t believe he’d stopped by without warning, especially on a day when her nose was red, her hair a disaster and she was wearing the same ratty pink bathrobe she’d had on all day, though it was past six on a Friday afternoon.

  Well, she reminded herself, she’d been telling herself for three months that she should discourage his attentions. If this didn’t frighten him off, she wasn’t sure what would.

  Opening the door, she smiled to see Rebecca standing beneath the level of the peephole with her skinny arm extended, offering a hand-painted get-well card.

  “I made this for you.” The child’s thin voice trembled. “To help you get better so you can come and teach me.”

  “Why, thank you, Rebecca. What a nice surprise.” Mara felt a flush of warmth unrelated to her cold. For Rebecca to dare to come here, to initiate a conversation, was an incredible achievement.

  Adam stood a few steps behind her, carrying a paper grocery sack.

  Pleasure lit his dark eyes, along with unmistakable male interest. An interest Pippa had warned Mara she would do well to ignore, considering the community’s double standards regarding the behavior of its teachers.

  Good advice, thought Mara, especially in light of the static she’d been getting from the principal. Avoiding Adam’s stare, she looked at the card she’d just accepted. “This is beautiful.”

  Using the technique Mara had taught her in one of their private, after-school art sessions, Rebecca had created a watercolor sunset imbued with sparkling glitter. She’d written the words get well soon above a jagged black ridge meant to represent the silhouetted local rocks.

  Mara recognized the outline of a bluff Rebecca drew into every picture. A bluff that Adam had confirmed resembled the two-hundred-foot drop-off where the girl’s mother had died.

  Mara shivered at the thought of Rebecca’s recent drawings, which had included a tiny figure tumbling off the edge. More disturbing still, Mara had watched the girl at work, her pale eyes growing glassy and unfocused as she worked. If asked about her art, she would turn tearful, ripping up the picture and crying “You hate it!”

  Adam gently told his daughter, “We need to leave the card and let her rest now.”

  “Thank you, both of you,” said Mara. “I’m feeling much better already. I’m over the contagious part and expect to be back at school on Monday morning.”

  “We really shouldn’t have disturbed you, but when Rebecca asked…” His dark brows rose, acknowledging his one weakness—he could deny his child nothing. And hinting, too, that he had been aware that Mara’s kindness to his daughter had gone beyond professional concern.

  Just as Mara was unnaturally aware of everything about him, from the speculation in his brown eyes whenever they spoke to the way his muscles gathered, strong and firm, beneath the surface of his skin when he moved. As he moved now, to pass the bag in her direction.

  “Careful,” he said. “It’s hot.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Chicken soup. I had Mrs. Somers make her magic recipe. It’ll have you on your feet in no time.”

  Mara had met his housekeeper, a regal, graying woman who invariably wore pearls and nodded stiffly when she stopped by the classroom to pick up Rebecca on those days when Adam couldn’t make it.

  “That’s very kind, but—” Mara started as the kitten, only ten weeks old and ornery, slipped through the open door and scampered into the rock garden that separated the casita from the main house.

  “You have a kitty.” Rebecca lit up, staring after him.

  “His name’s Jasper,” Mara said. “Do you think you could keep him company for a few minutes? He’d love to play with you.”

  Rebecca looked to her father, who nodded and said, “Just stay where I can see you.”

  Once Rebecca was out of earshot, Mara glanced down at the bag he offered. “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “Maybe I wanted to,” Adam insisted, his unrelenting focus setting off a pleasant round of shivers. “To wish you a quick recovery and as a thank-you for all you’re doing for Rebecca.”

  Mara lifted her palms. “I’ve told you, seeing your daughter blossom is thanks enough,” she said, but her stomach did that nervous flip-flop that told her she was lying to herself. That they’d both been lying, pretending it was no more than their shared concern for the subject of Rebecca’s artwork that had him lingering longer and longer after school to discuss her progress.

  “It’s just soup, Mara,” he said, his smile teasing.

  Though she knew better, she accepted the bag anyway. As she set it on the straight-backed wooden chair beside the door, she thought of other offerings dropped by her classroom, from a wind-sculpted piece of desert wood to a beautifully striated rock to local piñon candies. Little things, she’d told herself. Things that didn’t matter. Still, she felt their tendrils winding tight around her heart.

  “I know you mean well,” she told him, “but this is going to have to stop. People have already noticed the visits to my classroom. If someone sees you coming here, too…”

  “How would that be any of their business? We’re two unattached adults, two people both concerned about my daughter. If we want to be friends—”

  “I’m Rebecca’s teacher,” she cut in. “There’s a line there, and I want to be sure I stay on the right side of it. Especially with the principal watching me like a hawk.”

  “Mrs. Rhodes? Why would she? I’d think she’d be delighted to have hired such an excellent new teacher.”

  Mara shook her head and frowned. “She’s a back-to-basics educator—and no fan of innovation. Wants me to stick with drills and rote memorization, and forget about what she calls ‘all that touchy-feely nonsense.’”

  Mara still couldn’t believe that the same techniques that had made her teacher of the year back in New Jersey had gotten her into hot water here.

  “But that’s ridiculous,” Adam said. “Anyone can see those kids are happy and they’re learning. Rebecca’s responding in a way she’s never—”

  “I know, but I can’t get Mrs. Rhodes to read the research links I sent her, and she couldn’t care less that my students wouldn’t think of missing school.” With an ironic smile, she tapped her r
ed nose. “Even when they’re germy.”

  “What if I went in and spoke to her? I could talk to some of the other parents, get them to back you up.”

  “Don’t, Adam, please. You’ll only make things worse.”

  They both turned at the sound of Rebecca’s laughter, which was aimed at the kitten, who was leaping wildly at a stick the girl was dragging through the white stones near the back wall.

  “Careful around those cacti,” Mara warned.

  “She’s lived here since she was two. She knows,” Adam assured her. “But what do you mean, I’ll only make things worse?”

  Mara didn’t answer. Didn’t want to say.

  “What is it? Has Mrs. Rhodes already warned you off me?” Raw anger flashed over his face, a bolt of pain slashing through a field of darkness. “Warned you people think that I’m some kind of mur—that my wife—”

  “Of course she didn’t say that.” That would be Barbara Fairmont. But the PTO president was one problem Mara didn’t want to discuss. “I only meant that Mrs. Rhodes wouldn’t take it kindly if you called her judgment into question. Besides, I intend to prove to her my methods work. Pippa Kelly’s interested, too, so we decided to conduct a little experiment. We’re going to check the two classes’ progress side by side.”

  “But that would mean you’re still using your—”

  Mara put a finger to her smiling lips and gave him a meaningful look. “Things will work themselves out. But until they do, please, no more presents. And let’s try to keep our conversations focused on Rebecca.”

  Behind her, the lamp flickered out as the Moonlight Sonata died midnote.

  Adam looked over his shoulder. “Lights are still on in the main house.”

  Mara shook her head, annoyed with the all-too-frequent inconvenience. “It’s the wiring in this old place. It’s very temperamental.”

  Concern furrowed his forehead. “It’s also very dangerous. And look, right here. These are pry marks near your door lock. And they’re fresh, judging from the way these paint chips are still hanging.”

  Studying them, Mara shivered.

  Had someone tried to break in? If so, it must have happened while she’d been at the doctor’s office. Otherwise, she surely would have heard it. A fresh chill skated up the back of her neck. Last night she’d fallen asleep listening to music with her headphones. On the sofa, less than ten feet from the door.

  She hugged herself tightly. “That’s a little creepy. Do you think—should I call the police?”

  “No police here. It would be the sheriff.” He frowned before adding, “But let me look around first, see if there’s anything else.”

  He took a few minutes to walk the guesthouse’s perimeter before returning. “I don’t see any other signs. Whoever damaged the door must’ve either slipped through the gate and past the main house, or he scaled the back wall.”

  She nodded, looking at the spiny, desert-hardy plantings that lined the concrete-block wall surrounding her landlord’s backyard. “Front entrance, I’d imagine. Guess I should report this.”

  “Absolutely, you should. There might not be anything they can do, but they should know there’s been an attempted break-in. Meanwhile, I’ll get hold of your landlord, see that he locks that gate tonight. He’ll need a deadbolt and a chain installed, too. Plus, the circuits are fried back there—whole box’ll have to be replaced before you get your power back.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks at the mention of her landlord. “Maybe I should hire a handyman, get things replaced myself. If my landlord fixes this place up, he’ll raise the rent sky high.”

  The crumbling, one-bedroom adobe was the best she could afford, and she’d been lucky to find it. Besides, few places would allow her to keep her kitten.

  “No, he won’t. I know Enrique. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it,” Adam told her in a voice that brooked no argument. “I’ll just send over a small crew and an electrician. They’ll take care of it in half a day or so on Monday, but first thing tomorrow morning, I’ll have a generator and some power cords brought out so you can run your lights and the refrigerator.”

  Mara reminded herself she wasn’t on his payroll. Nor was she a lovesick twelve-year-old.

  “That’s very kind, very generous,” she said firmly. “But it wouldn’t be appropriate. I’ll replace the locks myself and—”

  “Forget about it, Mara.” Adam smiled. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  As he collected his daughter and walked away, Mara could almost hear Barbara Fairmont hissing The same way you took care of your wife?

  His dead wife, Christine, the mother that Rebecca kept drawing in midair as she fell.

  Ridiculous, thought Mara as she closed and locked the door. She might be annoyed at Adam for putting her in an uncomfortable position, but she didn’t for a moment buy that he’d disposed of his wife on the dark bluffs near his mansion. Sure, he might be a little intense at times, a little too used to having people jump to satisfy his orders, but the news articles she’d looked up gave no hint that his wife’s death had been anything more than a tragic accident. More important, any idiot could see he would never hurt his child by killing her mother. He would never murder anyone—not even a wife rumored to have been unfaithful.

  Besides, Barbara Fairmont was nothing but a vicious gossip, a woman who somehow attracted a clique of followers and used them to keep all lesser beings in line.

  Not surprisingly, her overweight, unhappy son was every bit as much of a bully. Mara had been quick to hold Cody accountable and was working hard to win him over, but his mother’s resistance was seriously undercutting the boy’s progress. No doubt Barbara was complaining to her good friend Jillian Rhodes, too, fueling the principal’s dislike for Mara.

  After dishing out a fragrant bowl of soup, Mara settled in to eat by candlelight. As she enjoyed the delicious warmth, she reminded herself firmly that she’d come here to escape gossip, not become the center of it at yet another school.

  So I’ll call Adam tomorrow, when we can talk like two adults, not parent and teacher. I’ll tell him no work crews, no presents and that I’m perfectly capable of handling a few small problems.

  That decided, she finished dinner and looked up the nonemergency number for the sheriff’s department, where she ended up routed to someone’s voice mail. “Huh,” she told Jasper after stammering through a brief message. “They really do roll up the sidewalks in this burg after sundown.”

  Maybe Red Bluff really was as safe as she’d been told when she had moved here. Still, before she turned in, she propped a chair beneath the sole door and slept fitfully, her cell phone by her side in the darkened house.

  “I’m not sure I’m hearing you right,” Mara’s landlord, Enrique Trejo, told Adam on the phone. An entrepreneur in his own right—his family operated the popular Roadrunner Café—he seemed confused by Adam’s offer. “What’s in this for you? Unless… Don’t tell me you’ve got a little something going with la maestra bonita?”

  It didn’t surprise Adam that he wasn’t the only man in town who’d noticed the pretty new schoolteacher. What really astonished him was his own interest, a capacity he would have sworn had been lost—burned away forever—after Christine’s death.

  Guilt razored his conscience. It had been only fifteen months, fifteen months since he’d jolted awake to an empty bed.

  “Mara’s an old friend, that’s all.” Adam slid off the edge of the desk where he’d been leaning and paced the confines of his spacious, mesquite-and-iron home office. Though the huge window overlooked the finest view in town, he paid no heed to the stars now emerging by the thousands, nor to the town’s lights shining from below. “Or, I should say, her big brother was a good friend back in high school. He’s serving overseas now, and he’s her only family, so I thought maybe I should—”

  “Keep an eye on her, amigo?”

  “Exactly,” Adam agreed, though he wasn’t sure he liked the way Enrique had said it. “Which is why I’m sending o
ver a work crew and an electrician Monday morning.”

  “And for this humanitarian effort, all I have to do is promise not to raise her rent this school year?”

  “Let’s make it the next two years,” Adam pressed.

  “For you, I say yes, because my wife likes the little maestra living in our backyard.”

  “Great. My guys’ll be over with that generator first thing tomorrow. Meanwhile—”

  “I’ll lock up like you asked and watch out for her,” Enrique promised, but in his voice Adam heard his conviction that no man would go to so much trouble for a woman whose bed he’d never shared or didn’t plan to.

  Adam wasn’t quite sure he bought it, either, but for the moment, he trained his total focus on keeping Mara safe.

  Chapter 3

  W hen Mara pulled in to the parking lot on Saturday afternoon, she frowned at the expensive cars clustered near the school’s entrance. Must be a PTO committee meeting for next Saturday’s carnival, she imagined, as she eyed Barbara Fairmont’s black BMW. They were probably holed up in the library, where they normally met.

  Though Mara was feeling much better, thanks to either the antibiotics or Mrs. Somers’ magic soup, she pulled around back in the hope of avoiding detection. She’d come to finish her lesson plans and didn’t want to get sidetracked.

  She especially didn’t want to walk into a conversation about her, since the queen bee was officiating. Mara shuddered, imagining how much worse things would be if word ever got out about her fiancé’s arrest.

  Ex-fiancé, she thought, surprised to find the memory was no longer quite as painful. Maybe after eight months it had finally sunk in how lucky she’d been to dodge the bullet of that marriage. Or maybe her new home had come to be more to her than an escape route, despite its challenges.

  Including Adam Jakes, whose persuasion had had her landlord insisting on the offered repairs. She’d tried to explain to Enrique why she couldn’t accept, but he’d said, “You don’t understand. He’s doing me the favor. Carlota’s been after me to fix up the casita for years, but we’re always so busy with the café. So please, señorita, for the sake of your safety and my marriage…”