My heart went out to her. “Was he always the jealous type?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know why I expected our marriage to be different from other people’s. Look around. Couples break up all the time. Take David Swanson. He idolized that wife of his. Nothing was ever too good for her. Whatever Marsha wanted, Marsha got.” She made a face. “The problem was, Marsha didn’t want David. She wanted Jeremy Fox. She didn’t care that the man was involved with her own sister-in-law. She went after him, and she got him. Or maybe he went after her. Whatever.” She shook her head. “I swear there are more broken hearts in this world than people who are happy.”
How right she is, I thought morosely. In fact I had never been happy in love either. “Tell me about David’s sister. What’s her name?”
“Leanne—she was Jeremy’s girlfriend for—oh—about a year. She fell head over heels in love with him, so much so that she invested her entire inheritance into Jeremy’s condo project. Of course, the minute he had his greedy hands on her money, he dropped her like a hot potato and moved on to the next woman—in this case David’s wife.”
“No wonder David can’t stand the man. How’s Leanne now?”
“I hope she’s all right. She took off right after it happened. Last I heard she was in New York.” She glanced at the dish rack. “Oh, will you look at that,” she said, surprised that the dishes were done. “It’s almost ten. I guess it’s time for me to get going.” She folded her dishcloth and planted a kiss on my cheek. “I’m sorry for dumping all over you this way.”
“Don’t be silly. What are friends for?”
She smiled and I detected a little shyness. “We are becoming friends, aren’t we? I’m glad.”
Chapter 10
The next morning, I decided on a little floral sundress that accented my curves—of which I had plenty. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I was happy with the results. I didn’t have Jenny’s lithe body, but some men preferred women with a little more meat on their bones.
I strapped on a pair of tan sandals with four-inch heels, which meant the top of my head would reach Matthew’s shoulder. I fluffed up my hair and went downstairs.
“You coming, Winnie?” Winston rose from his spot on my bed and lumbered down behind me.
I was at the stove, turning over bacon strips in the frying pan, when Matthew strolled in, wearing blue jeans and a pin-striped shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He hadn’t shaved and his dark stubble only made him look sexier.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he said, sweeping me into his arms and covering my lips with his.
Actually, Matthew did not say or do any of this—except in my suddenly rampant imagination. I gave my head a shake. Where had that fantasy come from? It was definitely time for coffee. What he actually said was, “Hey, kiddo, if you throw two more eggs in the pan for me, I’ll make you my famous barbecued ribs for dinner tomorrow night.” And he said it with the same teasing tone he’d been using since I was ten and he was twelve.
“Oh, well, for barbecued ribs, sure.” I cracked two more eggs and scrambled them with a bit of cream and some freshly chopped chives. Granted, I wasn’t much of a cook, but one thing I did do well was scrambled eggs. “But how about you make those ribs another day than tomorrow? That’s when I’m giving my first weaving class.”
“Fine by me. What can I do to help?”
I handed him the bread knife and indicated the loaf on the cutting board. “How about putting a couple of slices in the toaster?” I pointed to the coffeepot. “Coffee’s ready if you want some.”
“How did you sleep?” he asked, leaning lazily against the counter, looking sexy. “I hope I didn’t wake you up when I went out?”
“You went out?” I asked, not surprised. I’d heard him go down the stairs shortly after I climbed into bed.
“I was looking for Winston. Hey, Winston, where did you sleep last night?”
“He was in my room.” I dropped a pat of butter into the frying pan. “He’s been sleeping at the foot of my bed every night since I moved in.”
“I finally figured that was where he was, but not before I walked up and down the street for half an hour. I almost woke you up to help me look for him. I was worried to death.”
“I’m sorry. I should have—”
“Don’t worry. I’m surprised I didn’t guess right away. Winston always did like the pretty girls.” I had the unbidden and unpleasant image of Winnie curled up at the foot of all Matthew’s exes’ beds.
“And I thought you had feelings only for me,” I said reproachfully. Winston didn’t so much as flick an ear.
Matthew poured himself a cup and turned to Winston. “Hey, buddy, didn’t you hear me calling you?” Winnie opened one eye, snorted and closed it again. “Winston. Come,” he ordered sharply. But Winston played deaf. Matthew looked at me. “He’s always been obstinate, but never this bad.”
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t spoil him,” I said, slipping a small piece of bacon into the palm of my hand. “Winston,” I called, and he instantly jumped to his feet and scampered over, his nails clicking on the worn wooden floor. I scratched his head with one hand and sneaked him the treat with the other.
“What the hell?” For a moment I thought he’d caught on, but no. “Who is that dog and what have you done with mine?”
“I don’t understand why he won’t listen to you,” I said, smiling innocently. “He always comes when I call him. Don’t you, Winnie?” I knew it was childish on my part, but showing Matthew that his dog obeyed me more than he did him gave me a small measure of satisfaction. Winnie stared up at me, hoping for more bacon. I tore a small piece off another strip and made him sit for it. At least somebody around here was paying attention to me. Too bad that somebody was only a dog—and not a very pretty one at that.
“You know,” I said, “I was thinking about your suggestion. I think you’re right. I should make that offer.” What I didn’t tell him was that I had come to this decision after hours of tossing and turning.
“So?” He waited expectantly. “You’ll do it?”
I nodded. “I think I’d be crazy not to at least try. I’ve even thought of a way I can get all the furnishings I’ll need for next to nothing. David has been trying to talk Mrs. McLeay’s nephew into getting rid of all the furniture in the house. But he lives out of town and can’t be bothered to come down here and sort through all of it. So I got to thinking. Even if I don’t rent that place, I can still offer to buy the furniture. I’m pretty good with a paintbrush. I could paint it myself.” I smiled prettily. “Maybe you can help.”
“I told you I would.”
Encouraged, I said, “And whatever I don’t need for myself, I can use for store displays. What do you think?”
“I think it’s a great idea. I have to hand it to you. You sure think on your feet.” He glanced down. “By the way, nice shoes. But how the hell you can walk on those is beyond me. They’re like stilts.”
“They’re perfectly comfortable.” I scooped the crisp bacon strips onto a spatula and dropped them on a plate. Winnie, who hadn’t left my side since his first taste of bacon, suddenly lunged for the plate, almost knocking it out of my hands.
“Winston! Bad boy!” shouted Matthew. “Bad, bad boy.” Winston skulked away, glancing back at me with an expression screaming of being misunderstood. I set the plate in the center of the table, and soon we were sipping coffee, eating and chatting. I wasn’t sure why—maybe just for something to talk about—but I found myself telling him about David Swanson’s anger management conviction and the tense confrontation between him and Jeremy Fox last night.
“You’re kidding,” he said, looking more amused than shocked. “David’s a friend of mine. I’ve known him my whole life. We went to school and played football together. I know he has a temper, but I wouldn’t go so far as saying he has anger issues.”
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“I’m happy to hear that. He seems like such a nice man.”
He studied me, and then said, “I think you like him. You do, don’t you? I couldn’t help but notice that you got all dressed up for him last night.”
I was at a loss for words. Had I dressed up last night? I suppose I had—but certainly not because of David. “Sure, I—I like him.” I blushed as I realized how that must have sounded. Matthew probably thought he was right in assuming that David and I had a thing going on. “But he’s just a friend—”
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to explain.”
Winston chose that time to come sniffing for another handout, and the chance to explain was lost.
Matthew leaned back in his chair. “Nobody could accuse Jeremy Fox of being a saint. He is a sly one—a real snake. I wouldn’t trust him farther than I could throw him. He’s handsome and charming, and he’s a real smooth talker. He bought up a large parcel of land on the outskirts of town for some big condo project, and then brought in investors from all over the country, not to mention a good number of local suckers,” he said, and something in his tone sparked my curiosity.
“Please don’t tell me you invested with him too.”
He grimaced, looking embarrassed.
I leaned back in my chair. “You didn’t invest a lot, I hope.”
“No.” His expression made me suspect it had still been too much. “Still, I should have known better. He made his project sound like the best thing since sliced bread. Good thing I’m conservative when it comes to investing. A couple of months later, an environmental study reported that the land is dangerously contaminated. Getting our money back has been like trying to get water from a stone. According to him, he’s lost more than anybody on this project and he’s as good as bankrupt.” With a smirk, he added, “Some people claim that he knew all along that the land was contaminated, which is why he got it for such a low price. If that’s true, the whole project was nothing more than a swindle. Good thing that report came out when it did—otherwise a lot more people would have lost their money.”
“How did the report become public?”
He shrugged. “Somebody—nobody knows who—printed copies and mailed them to every investor. Whoever it was, that person saved a lot of people from losing even more.”
I was silent while I digested this. “How come Jeremy’s not in jail?”
“Believe me, Mike Davis would have arrested him in a second if he could. But unless we can prove that Jeremy intentionally swindled people, he can’t be prosecuted. Some of the investors are talking about a civil suit, but that could be expensive.” He looked pensive for a second before continuing. “The problem is, when a victim has already been bilked out of a small fortune, he isn’t exactly eager to spend any more of his hard-earned money on lawyers unless he’s damn sure to win. For all we know, Jeremy could be sitting on a ton of cash, but if it’s all hidden somewhere like in the Cayman Islands, the chances of finding it are slim to none.”
I let out a breath. “Where does he get the gall to go about his business as if he didn’t do anything wrong? If I were him, I wouldn’t dare show my face in public. I’d be worried someone would come after me.”
“Don’t underestimate his charm. Jeremy has always had the ability to talk himself out of trouble.”
“From the short encounter I had with him, I can’t say I found him very charming.”
“Then you, my dear, have better judgment than most other people.”
Hopefully this applies to my business acumen also, and I’m not making a huge mistake. But all I said was, “I like to think so.” I glanced at my watch. It was eight thirty. “So what are your plans for today? Are you going to work on your book?”
“Yes, but I have to stop by the police station and see Mike.” At my blank look, he said, “Mike Davis—Jenny’s ex. I better get going if I want to catch him before he starts his shift.” He patted Winston on the head. “You be a good boy while I’m gone.” He turned to me and I half expected him to pat me on the head too. “See you later,” he said.
After he left, it struck me how empty the house suddenly felt.
Chapter 11
The ringing of the phone pierced the silence. It was David Swanson.
“Hi, Della. I just got permission to get back into the building. If you have time right now, why don’t you meet me there?”
I spotted him standing by the entrance to the building. He waved and I waved back. “How are—” I stopped short, shocked. “What happened to you?” His right eye was swollen shut, and his upper lip was crimson and crisscrossed with stitches.
“It looks worse than it is.” He felt his lip carefully. “I was ambushed. Whoever the bastard was, he hit me from behind.” He put the key in the door and pushed it open. “Okay, ready to see the place?”
“Whoa, not so fast. Tell me what happened.”
He ushered me in, and I followed him up the stairs, being careful to avoid the nail he’d pointed out last night.
“There isn’t much to tell. It was dark. I’d just turned onto the walk in front of my house when I heard a rustling in the bushes. And before I could see what it was—wham!—somebody hit me over the head.”
I stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to look at him again. “Are you sure you’re all right? Those bruises look bad.”
“After I came to—”
“You mean you passed out?”
He nodded cautiously. “I must have, because the next thing I knew, it was daylight, and I was lying facedown on the sidewalk, feeling like I’d just been mistaken for a football.”
I was horrified. “Did you call the police?”
“What would be the point? They’d take down my statement and then forget about it. I went to the hospital and got stitched up. I’ll be like new in no time.” He tried to give me a smile, but it came out as a grimace. He slipped the apartment key into the lock, fiddling with it until it turned.
“Still, you should have reported it.” I followed him in, feeling slightly uncomfortable about being there—no doubt a remnant of the confrontation I had witnessed the night before. I shook off the unpleasant sensation.
In my rush to get out of the building the previous day I was left with little more than the impression of a smallish space. Now I took in the first room, a combination kitchen, dining, and sitting area. It held many of the same charming details as the other apartment: old-fashioned cupboards in the kitchen, leaded-glass windows in the living area and hardwood floors throughout.
“It’s nice, but not as nice as the other apartment.” I’d been right. It was much smaller—almost half the size.
“The bedroom is down the hall.” He indicated the area from which Jeremy and Marsha had appeared. For some reason, I dreaded going in the room. But I decided I was being silly, and so I marched over, the clickety-click of my heels echoing through the empty apartment.
“Do you know if the floors are sound insulated?” I asked over my shoulder.
“We can easily check that out later. After we finish in here, you can go downstairs and listen while I stomp around up here.”
I pushed the bedroom door open and had just stepped in when I was overcome by a sickly sweet metallic odor. My eyes darted around the dim room and came to rest on a bundle on the floor. Gradually my vision adjusted and—I screamed. There, in the middle of the empty room, was a man lying in a pool of blood.
Feeling faint, I crouched down, my hands reaching out to the solid floor for support.
David bounded over and brushed past me. He gasped, and stood frozen while I tried to regain my breath. He took a few hesitant steps into the room and bent over the body. “Shit,” he said, followed by a long list of other expletives. He crouched and picked up a limp hand, feeling for a pulse. A wave of nausea hit me.
“Is he dead?” I whispered hoars
ely.
“Dead as a doorknob,” he said, dropping the hand.
The room seemed to tilt, and I forced myself to breathe slowly, regularly. I dared another glance. There was something familiar, something—I squelched another rush of nausea and looked again. “Do you know who— Oh, my God!” I exclaimed, getting a look at the dead man’s face. “Is this who I think it is?”
“It’s Jeremy Fox,” he muttered, and when he looked up at me, his face was as pale as the dead man’s. He took a shaky breath and said, “I think he’s been murdered.”
I got to my feet and on unsteady legs stumbled to the bathroom, where I braced myself against the counter. My head was spinning and my heart was thudding hard and fast against my ribs. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force the image out of my mind. I turned on the tap, wet my hands and pressed them to my face.
When David joined me a second later, the room was still spinning.
“Are you okay?”
I wasn’t. But I nodded.
He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. “I’m calling to report a body.” He answered a stream of questions while I struggled to calm my racing heart. “An ambulance?” He looked at me questioningly. I stared back, and shrugged. “I’m sure he’s dead. There’s an awful lot of blood.”
He hung up and hurried to the door. I wasn’t sure which of us was in more of a hurry to get out. He held the door open and I scrambled down the stairs. I didn’t know how it happened, but one minute I was on my feet and the next I was rolling down, head over heels, thumping and bumping, until I came to a rib-crushing stop at the bottom.
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