by Lakes, Lynde
A hint of a smile played at her lips. “You have a bird story?”
“Sure. You’ll love it. But first, yours.”
Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Charlie bought a dozen of them to cheer me up after my husband died.”
Her words spurred so many questions Bard didn’t know which one to ask first. “Then you knew Charlie before?” How she got into raising birds lost importance. Was Charlie a friend, a lover?
“We go back a long way.” She looked down at her fingers clutched in her lap. “Did you find out who to call about his burial?”
Bard sighed in relief that she’d forgotten about his bird story. It would’ve bombed. He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “This is the man to contact, Dr. Zoe. Since it’s a homicide case, there’ll be some delay. You’ll need some kind of documentation to prove your right to claim the body.”
She stiffened. “Prove my right? Documentation?”
“Take it easy. Detective Morrison said that’s just a formality in this case.”
“He did?” Her voice rose in surprise.
“Yeah. When the coroner is through with his examination of the body, he’ll release the body to the mortuary you choose. Dr. Zoe will explain everything.”
Cory had asked Dr. Zoe to give the autopsy top priority. Considering the way the detective felt about Paula, his cooperation came as a surprise to Bard, too.
“Are you related to Charlie?” She was an orphan, so it wasn’t likely, but maybe she’d found a relative after she’d grown up. Bard hoped so; proving her right to claim the body would be easier if they had that connection. He refused to analyze his personal reason for hoping they were relatives.
Suddenly, Paula uttered a small sob-like sound and turned away. Her shoulders trembled as she stared out the window. “I can’t talk about Charlie right now,” she said, with a quiver in her voice.
Then it hit Bard. They were passing the wash where some evil person had murdered Charlie. Bard felt heat crawl up his neck. His poor timing tore through him like a hot bullet. “Paula, I’m sorry.”
Her shoulders trembled harder. Paula’s tough armor had slipped and it was his fault. A grim sense of oppression closed on his chest.
He tightened his jaw and forced himself to concentrate on driving. He’d only gone about three miles when an image in the rear view mirror grabbed his attention. A black pickup truck followed at a distance. Bard slowed; the truck slowed. He speeded. It speeded. As they entered the freeway, the truck disappeared behind a big diesel rig. “That black truck at your house yesterday…do you know the owner?”
Paula cleared her throat. “Deeter? Not well. But he seems to be a good guy. He used his truck to move several of my neighbors and didn’t charge them a cent.”
“Does he live in the area?”
“He’s a newcomer. Rooms with bikers in the rental units on Dell Avenue.”
Deeter’s choice of buddies didn’t raise Bard’s opinion of him. “How long has he been in town?”
“He’s local. Moved from Muscoy. If you have any other questions, you’ll have to ask him. Like I said, I barely know him.” She turned away and stared out the window again.
Her physical withdrawal and the finality in her tone closed the subject. He’d go along with that, for now. But did she always kiss guys on the cheek that she barely knew?
They passed the Yucaipa Boulevard off ramp then left the freeway at County Line Road. Bard kept checking his rearview mirror. Several cars followed, including a police car. He didn’t see the black truck.
Bard moistened his dry throat. “I got the feeling…that is…. Do you and Detective Morrison know each other from before?”
She turned abruptly and faced him. Her sudden movement and the fire in her eyes sent a jolt through him. “If you must know, he was one of the detectives who investigated my husband’s death.”
“Wasn’t that a conflict of interest?”
“What makes you think he’d care? Guys like Cory play the scratch my back politics and sometimes get away with murder.”
“Are you accusing him?”
“If I had proof I would.”
“How did your husband die?”
“You ask a lot of questions that have nothing to do with my move, Mr. Nichols.”
“I have a curious nature.”
“That isn’t always healthy.”
Bard’s stomach knotted. Was that a veiled threat?
“Stop!” she shouted.
He almost leapt out of his skin. “What?”
“You missed the turn.”
He exhaled, trying to bring his heartbeat back to normal. He made a U-turn, suspecting she’d startled him on purpose.
She pointed to the left. “Turn here on Carriage Hill Lane. The property is at the end of the road.”
A sprawling ranch-style country home with a bay window and a huge oak tree in the front yard extended the width of the cul-de-sac. Bard parked behind the yellow Cadillac with a Prestige Realty sign on its door.
A perky blonde realtor with a pixie hairstyle met them at the entrance and showed them through freshly painted, spacious rooms. Their feet sank into thick, luxurious carpeting.
The agent pointed to a massive stone fireplace in the living room. “This will keep you warm on those chilly nights Yucaipa’s so famous for,” she said with a southern twang in her voice.
Bard watched Paula’s face as they roamed from room to room. The gleam in her eyes told him she liked the place. And why not? It was perfect. Most important, it was zoned so she could keep her birds.
Paula shook hands with the realtor and told her she’d think about the property.
When they returned to the car, Bard asked, “Why didn’t you make an offer?”
“I’m not sure I can afford it.”
“I’ll run some calculations. It’ll be close, but I think when I add in your benefits, the total will cover everything including incidentals.”
As part of his job, Bard had looked at other small ranches for her, but none had fit her like this one. She might doubt that, knowing his eagerness to get her moved.
“I’m hungry,” he said. “Let’s stop for lunch.” He wanted to give her time to think about the place, and maybe, if he was lucky, to show her figures to persuade her to make an offer. He laughed inwardly. Who did he think he was kidding? Business wasn’t his only interest. If they got better acquainted, perhaps, with a little prodding, the mysterious Paula Lord would spill her secrets.
She stared at him with mischief in her eyes. “Only if you tell me your bird story.”
He thought…hoped…she’d forgotten that. Telling the story might dent his already banged up image. But he was the one who’d told her about it in the first place. “It’s a deal,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t regret it.
Bard headed for Yucaipa’s business district. “I was just thirteen,” he said, “and this baby hummingbird, no bigger than a bullet, fell from its nest onto the hot summer concrete, peeping in terror.”
Bard wished he could see Paula’s face, but the traffic got heavy and he didn’t dare take his attention from the road.
“I was afraid if I touched the little guy his mama wouldn’t let him back into the nest. I wrapped it gently in my T-shirt and climbed the old oak. As I returned it to the nest, the mother buzzed me, and I lost my balance and fell. I sprawled there on the blistering concrete, where the tiny bird had fallen only moments before, nursing my bruised pride. Then something surprising happened. The mama bird lit on my shoulder and gentlypecked my check.”
Paula shook her head. “Geez, Bard. You expect me to believe the bird kissed you for saving her baby?”
He grinned. “I’d hoped.”
“How much of it is true, if any?”
“Everything up to the mama landing on my shoulder.”
Paula laughed; it was music to his ears. She may not like it, but she was warming to him.
He pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot and slid into the
last space. Paula didn’t wait for him to open the door for her. Before he could make it around the car, she joined him but kept her distance as they walked. He tightened his grip on his briefcase, feeling off balance and longing to take her arm. Maybe he was wrong about her warming up to him.
Chapter Six
Mom’s Restaurant bustled with an early lunch crowd. There was a high chair in the corner and plastic flowers on the tables. The waitress led them to a window booth facing Yucaipa Boulevard.
At the booth next to theirs, a young mother and three boys of about five, seven, and ten laughed at something the father had said, laughing to the point of tears. The father ruffled the golden hair of the youngest boy, and they all burst into more laughter.
Bard noticed the wistful expression on Paula’s face as she glanced at the family. Being and orphan must be lonely. Bard knew he sure would miss his big, noisy family.
A buxom waitress in a stiffly starched yellow uniform handed Bard and Paula menus. Paula put hers aside and stared out the window. She spent a lot of time looking out windows. Was she watching for someone?
“What would you like?” Bard asked.
“Whatever you’re having,” she said, seemingly fascinated by the stream of traffic.
“We’ll have the special,” he told the waitress. “Vegetable soup and bacon burgers on sourdough bread. And two large iced teas.”
The waitress gave a curt nod and left.
“Okay,” Paula said, facing him. “What’s the deal? Will I get enough money for my property to buy that place?”
Sunlight reflected off her hair, blending strands of deep copper into the frizzy curls of carroty red. She looked downright angelic. Cory’s warning echoed in Bard’s head: She’s the kind of woman men instinctively want to protect. That’s her attraction and what makes her dangerous.
Bard tightened his jaw. “Let’s run a few figures.” The waitress brought large bowls of steaming vegetable soup. He scooted his bowl to the side to cool then opened his briefcase and took out a tablet and a calculator. He nimbly touched the keys and scribbled figures on yellow lined paper. “With the fair market price you get for your property and the extra relocation money you’ll receive over the appraised value, you should be able to get into that place with enough surplus to cover closing costs and incidentals.”
Paula stared at him, her gaze probing his until he lowered his attention. Sunlight glinted on something on her blouse. It was an antique-looking silver pin. He squinted to make out the design. It was a fluttering hummingbird drinking nectar from a flower. Of course, what else would she wear over her heart but a bird?
He glanced up. She was still watching him. He stretched his neck a bit to loosen a collar that had suddenly become too snug. He smiled. “Don’t worry. You can afford the place.” He handed her the figures. A tingly warmth went through him when their fingers touched.
Her face flushed. “May I keep this?”
He nodded. “There’ll be money to build new aviaries of course.”
Paula studied the figures then tucked the yellow paper into her purse. “Are you always like this? So….”
“Helpful?” he offered.
“Pushy is more like it.”
He laughed. Now was as good a time as any to bring up the topic of families and see where it would lead. “With five brothers and two sisters I learned to be somewhat aggressive.”
“Oldest?” Paula asked.
He leaned back out of the way when the waitress brought the burgers. “Middle.”
She laughed. “Now I understand you. They say middle siblings have to try harder.”
Bard wished he could freeze her in that moment. She’d laughed at his bird story; this was the first time he’d seen her laugh so freely. He wanted to keep her smiling, but he had to ask Paula about her childhood. “I’d guess you were an only child.” He dumped some ketchup on the side of his plate and dipped a French fry in it, watching her, waiting to see if she’d tell the truth.
Her smile faded. Her scowl resulted in a tiny wrinkle at the bridge of her nose. The silence between them lengthened. Bard held his breath, fearing she wasn’t going to answer.
“Look, Nichols. I don’t spill my guts to anyone. Especially not to you, a man who wants to run me out of my home.”
Whoa, her feathers ruffled easily. Stay cool. “Hmmm. Here I thought we were getting along so well. Besides, telling your position in the family tree isn’t spilling your guts.”
Conflict flickered in Paula’s eyes. “Not everyone has a family tree.”
“Meaning?” He fought his guilt for baiting her.
“I’m an orphan but a lucky one.” Her steady look forestalled any sympathy.
He exhaled, relieved that she’d told the truth. “Lucky and orphan seem to be contradictory terms.”
She pushed some coleslaw around her plate with a fork. “I emerged unscathed. That’s enough luck for me.”
“What happened to your parents?” Bard hated to stir up painful memories, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying to strip away the veils hiding who this woman really was.
After moments that seemed like an eternity, her shoulders lowered and she said, “My mother died in childbirth. They claimed she had no ID on her. All they knew was that she was about fifteen, probably unwed.”
Paula was silent for painful seconds, and Bard felt the weight of everything she’d omitted from her story. Was she dumped with strangers at birth? Had she known love with them? She’d shared more than he’d expected and, like a drowning man, he latched onto the shaky bond forming between them. She’d balked at first. What had changed? She was opening up as if a dam had burst. She wouldn’t be telling him this if she wasn’t beginning to trust him. Or maybe he was reading what he wanted into this. “Who raised you?”
“A series of foster parents.” She touched the jagged scar in her eyebrow with a slightly trembling hand.
Had she gotten the wound while in one of the homes? He swallowed. “Where does Charlie Borden come in?” Bard was taking a chance asking this question after her earlier refusal to talk about the guy.
Her eyes darkened. The air vibrated with tension. Bard could barely breathe, fearing she might clam up.
“Charlie was everything to me.”
“Everything?”
“Everything that counts. We met in a group foster home when I was ten and he was twelve. He became my chum, brother, protector.”
Bard latched onto the word brother, and a puzzling relief flowed through him. He relaxed against the back of the booth with renewed faith in his first instincts. Cory had to be wrong about her killing Charlie. She adored him. Maybe Cory was wrong about her killing anyone.
“He sounds like someone I would’ve liked to have known.”
She almost smiled, and then she shook her head, her expression puzzled. “I don’t know why, but I suddenly have this need to talk about him, as if talking will bring him back to life.”
Bard wanted to grip her hand, give her comfort, but touching her might scare her off. He forced himself to wait for her to go on.
Finally, she said, “Charlie was handsome, very strong, mentally and physically and nearly always full of fun. He tried to make a game out of everything, even when it came to thinking up a last name for us.”
Bard swallowed. “You didn’t know your last name?”
“Neither of us did. Anyway, we went through every name we’d ever heard, laughing like idiots at the funny ones.” She grinned at the memory. “A Borden’s milk truck making a delivery to the house across the street from our foster home gave us a name we both liked. Charlie pricked the tips of our fingers with his pocket knife, and in a blood-exchanging ceremony we christened ourselves Charlie David and Paula Annie Borden, brother and sister.”
“Annie? Like Little Orphan Annie?”
“Yes, and don’t you dare laugh. It was the name they gave me in the foster home. Guess it was because of my red hair.”
“Where did the name Paula come from?�
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“Charlie gave it to me. He thought maybe it was his mother’s name. He wasn’t sure, but it was the name that echoed in his brain. He said I needed the extra name because all proper ladies had three. Besides, he said I looked like a Paula.”
“He was right. Paula suits you. He sounds like a good guy.”
She tilted her head to the side. “He’d like you. Surprisingly, you have heart, Mr. Nichols.”
“Surprisingly? That hurts. Do you always say what you’re thinking?” His gaze fixed on her mouth. Was it as kissable as it looked?
Her cheeks flushed. “I don’t usually talk much, especially not about myself. You caught me at a time when I need a friend.”
“I’m here, just call.”
Paula stiffened as though he’d insulted her. “I gotta tell you,” she said, “those words make me suspicious.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say I’ve heard them before, and I didn’t like the outcome.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say about that.” His safest course was to change the subject. “I saw in your file that you’re widowed. Was your husband an aviculturist, too?” He knew he wasn’t, but he wanted to try to get more details about the cop and their marriage.
She snickered. “Hardly.”
“I thought maybe since you lived on land zoned for birds and—”
“No, nothing like that. Dan and I inherited the place, the furniture, and my parrot from my husband’s only close relative, Grandma Emma.”
Paula bit down on the corner of her lip. Her voice had gone soft and reverant when she said the woman’s name.
“Sounds like you were fond of her,” Bard said, hoping he wasn’t prying too much.
“Very. Emma was the grandmother I never had, the gentle lady who taught me knitting and a love for birds.”
A silence settle between them and she stared out the window again. If she were distracted enough, he might get away with a few more personal questions. “So, how did you happen to move in with her? Did she need help with the birds?”
“No. Dan was was a policeman. He was forced to retire from the department when some lowlife shot him in the leg. Things got tough and while he went to physical therapy and retrained, we moved in with Emma. It was supposed to be temporary, but two months later she died.”
