by Beth Ciotta
She could hear him now. “If you had a cell phone you wouldn’t be stuck at home at the mercy of your landline.” Last night they’d gone a round about that. He’d stated several reasons why she needed one, sounding very much like her brother. She’d always considered cell phones a luxury. She still wasn’t sure it was a necessity, but she’d “yessed” Jack just so they could move on to something else, like kissing each other into a blissful coma.
Again, she glanced at the phone. She’d call Faye, since she owed her details about the date (not that Kylie would tell all), but it was Sunday. Faye was at church with Stan and the kids. Most everyone in Eden was at church. Since discovering Buddhism, Kylie had marched to her own spiritual drum.
She checked more e-mails, drank more tea.
The phone jangled. Kylie tripped in her haste, stubbing her toe. Ow. “Hello?”
“Have something you want to tell me, Kitten?”
Spenser.
Surprised and wary, Kylie sat on her futon, wondering how to answer. Was he talking about the store? The water tower? Or the fact that she’d slept with his best friend? “Where are you?”
“Still on Pitcairn, though I’m wondering if I should abandon the shoot and come home.”
“Why?”
“Mayor Wilson contacted me through the studio. Said you’re having a crisis, stirring up trouble. He’s worried you’re going to sabotage the Apple Festival.”
“What?” Furious, Kylie stood and paced. “That’s insane. Why would I… Oh. Because I promised to shake things up. Well, believe it or not, I can add a little zing to this town without sabotaging the blessed Apple Festival.”
“Zing, huh? Like painting the front of McGraw’s pink?”
“Not pink. Moroccan spice. Not that it matters. I’m not altering the storefront. The HPS cited some legal mumbo-jumbo and squashed my plan.”
“Except you told the HPS this wasn’t over.”
Kylie swallowed a squeal of outrage. “I can’t believe the mayor tracked you down on a remote island to tattle on me!”
“Neither can I. That’s why I called. Are you having a crisis, Kylie? If you need me, say the word. I’ll drop everything and come home.”
Her heart swelled, her eyes stung. Great. Now she was angry and weepy. “I appreciate that, Spenser,” she said in a calmer tone. “But I’m fine. Honest.” A few days earlier she’d been disappointed when he said he was extending his filming schedule. Now she cringed at the thought of him coming home. Spenser would have something to say about her hooking up with Jack. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. She needed more time, more freedom to explore this relationship without her brother’s interference. “I had the birthday blues, that’s all. I was bored. I wanted to make some changes.”
“So make changes. The HPS doesn’t control what we do with the interior of the store.”
She blinked. “Are you telling me to redecorate, because I already sort of did.”
“I know. Wilson told me. Am I going to hate it?”
“Probably,” she grumbled, wondering what other beans the mayor had spilled.
Spenser just laughed. “It’s always the quiet ones. Give ’em hell, Kitten. Just don’t scare away the tourists.”
“My intention, believe it or not, is to attract more business, not drive it away.”
“You always were the sensible one.”
It was the exact wrong thing to say. “I have to go, Spenser.” Jack could be trying to call, and she didn’t have call waiting. “Things to do. People to see.”
“A town to shake up. Got it,” he said with a smile in his voice. “Hey, how’s Jack doing as the new police chief?”
“Great,” she said, keeping it short and light. “You know Jack.”
“Excels at everything he does.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Kylie blurted, thinking about Jack’s magic touch. Face burning, she cleared her throat. “I really need to go, and this call has to be costing you a fortune.”
“Small price to know you’re okay.”
“I’m better than okay. I’m taking charge of my destiny.”
“Let me know if I can help.”
“I love you, Spenser.”
“Love you, too, Kitten.”
They disconnected, and Kylie stood in the center of her living room, feeling dumbstruck. She’d expected Spenser to blast her for renovating without discussing it with him first. Then again, it reaffirmed how little interest he had in McGraw’s Shoe Store—make that McGraw’s Shoe Shoppe.
The phone rang. This time when she lunged, she banged her knee. Ow. “Hello?”
“Hey, Kylie. It’s me.”
“Oh.” Rats. “Hi, Faye.
“You sound disappointed.”
“Sorry. I was just…Jack had to leave in a hurry to investigate something. I’ve been waiting for a call to let me know he’s okay.”
“I’m sure he’s fine. We’re talking about supercop Jack Reynolds. Listen, I only have a second. I snuck out of the sermon because the anticipation was killing me. How did it go last night?”
Kylie smiled and rubbed her bruised knee. “Since you only have a second, I’ll sum it up in one word. Amazing. Romantic. Exciting—”
“That’s three words and going strong,” Faye said. “I take it he slept over. Was it everything you hoped for?”
Kylie’s heart bloomed. “More than I dreamed.”
Faye sighed. “We so have to talk. I need details. Unfortunately, my day is jammed with family matters.”
Kylie envied that…except…what if those family matters were at the root of Faye’s unhappiness? “This thing with Stan, the issue you’re sorting out—”
“Still sorting. I’ve gotta get back inside, Kylie.”
“Okay.” Crud. “Call me when you can. Bye.” No sooner did she hang up than the phone rang again. She half expected Travis or her grandmother, or maybe Mayor Wilson. The obnoxious tattletale. “What?”
“That’s some greeting, Tiger.”
Jack! “Sorry, I thought you were…never mind. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“What about Jessica and Madeline?”
“Also fine.”
“Shy?” Maybe something awful had happened to the dog-that-was-now-his.
“Shy’s fine. There was an incident at Jessie’s house. I need to clear it up. Between that and last-minute preparations for the Apple Festival, I’m swamped.”
Kylie wanted to know specifics about the “incident,” but didn’t want to snoop. Besides, maybe Jack wasn’t free to talk just now. Surely he’d tell her when he could. “That’s okay. I’ll be busy at the store preparing for the festival.”
There was an awkward pause. “Listen, hon. I know we had plans for tonight, but I don’t feel good about leaving Jessie alone.”
She heard the honest regret in his voice as well as the concern for his sister. It cooled the initial disappointment and warmed her heart. “Why don’t you invite Jessica and Madeline to join us for dinner? After, maybe we could rent a movie from Mac’s Video Circus. Then we can play it by ear.”
“You’re a good woman, Kylie McGraw.”
“Don’t say that. Good girls finish last.”
“Not in my book.”
Kylie smiled. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Be careful on that bike.”
Self-conscious, she smoothed a hand down her denim-clad thigh, thinking about the bruise beneath. “Always.”
KYLIE SOAKED IN THE FRESH country air and brilliant sunshine as she cruised Route 50 on her Kawasaki sport bike. She was still miffed about the mayor’s call to her brother, but her anxiety had eased somewhat after speaking with Jack. He was okay. His family was okay—relatively speaking. Jessica Lynn was going through a rough time. Kylie couldn’t imagine being horribly betrayed by your husband. An affair was bad enough, but Frank Cortez had seduced a teenager. The “ick” factor was off the scale.
She thought about how Jessica had come to her rescue yes
terday, then apologized for an ancient slight. That alone was amazing, but the fact that she’d taken a job at Boone’s was a mindblower. Beauty queen turned beer schlepper. When Kylie had asked Jack about it, all he’d said was that Jessica wanted to earn her own way. You had to sympathize with her plight. Kylie promised herself she’d make an effort to befriend Jack’s sister. Having dinner together tonight would be a good start.
The tails of her red trench coat whipping behind her, Kylie smiled as her heart bloomed. Bonding with Jack’s family gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling and helped her to feel less insecure about their budding romance.
If only she could channel that optimism into the grand reopening of McGraw’s.
On a whim, just past Max’s place, Kylie cornered onto a narrow dirt road. Instead of her usual straight shot into town, she’d go the long way round, stopping first for a self-pep talk. She wasn’t on a set schedule today, and she wanted to walk into the store filled with confidence, not riddled with self-doubt. Whenever she communed with nature, she always got a positive charge. A stroll along the lake seemed the perfect solution.
She eased off the gas as she spied her destination. Across the way hailed Frances Slocum State Forest and Mississinewa Lake. She rolled across the deserted road and parked her bike near a strategic lookout intended for amateur birdwatchers. Rather than view the beauty from afar, she walked a path that led a short distance through the woods and straight to the lake’s edge.
Her silver helmet dangling from her right hand, Kylie breathed in the woodsy scents and serenity as she navigated the unmarked trail. Though she was surrounded by green, she was thinking caliente and starburst. “Travis struck gold with those chosen shades of paint,” she murmured to herself. Thinking positive, she imagined the vintage, funky decor of McGraw’s Shoe Shoppe.
Change is exciting. Change is good.
Her blissful musing was shattered at the sound of angry voices followed by a muffled pop. Cheeks burning, she froze in her tracks.
“Fuck! What are you, oobotz? How are we supposed to get money out of a dead guy?”
“He fuckin’ spit on my shoe!”
“You’ve been spit on before.”
“Do you know how much these oxfords cost me?”
“Do you know how many pairs of oxfords you coulda bought with your cut?”
“But they’re fuckin’ Guccis!”
“Unfuckingbelievable.”
Dead guy?
Spine tingling, Kylie’s instincts screamed for her to back away.
Leave. Leave!
Instead, she scanned the wooded area for two hostile men with East Coast accents. Surely she’d misheard or misunderstood.
Then it dawned on her.
This had to be a joke.
Two sportsmen affecting accents and pretending to be wiseguys. She wouldn’t be surprised given the popularity of Omertà. Since the DVD release, three-quarters of the people in Eden were working their way through six seasons of the gritty show, compliments of Mac’s Video Circus. These two idiots were rehashing a grisly scene.
Yeah. That sounded reasonable. Besides, who in the real world killed over a pair of shoes?
Morbid curiosity propelled Kylie into motion. Following the sounds of the voices, she crept closer, using tree trunks to shield her presence.
“Why did I let you talk me into this? When this gets back to the boss, we’re as dead as this fuckin’ finook.”
“Then we’ll have to make sure no one finds out. Stop bitching and give me a hand.”
“All because of a goddamned pair of shoes.”
Kylie froze when she spied her prey. Two broad-shouldered men, average height. Black leather jackets, dark trousers, dark hoods. As for the spat-upon-shoes—both men were wearing black oxfords. She couldn’t make out the Guccis. However, it was the third pair of shoes that made her heart stop. A silver buckle glinted in the sun. The unique soles rang a bell. Were those Ferragamos? She watched in numb horror as the two beefy goons stuffed a well-dressed body, a man with exquisite taste in shoes, into the trunk of a compact black sedan. “Oh, my, God.”
“What the…?” The first bruiser whipped around and spotted her as she stumbled back.
Not a black hood, she thought as panic set in. Black ski mask.
“I’ve got him. You get her,” said Bruiser number two. “And, dammit, make it clean!”
Survival instinct gave Kylie’s feet wings. She flew through the thicket, the thick rubber treads of her flower-power boots eating up the rough terrain. She heard Bruiser number one slipping on the dewy grass, heard him curse. Heart pounding, she weaved through the forest, an area she knew like the back of her hand, hoping to lose the killer before reaching her bike. Make it clean! What did that mean? No blood? So, maybe instead of shooting or stabbing her, he’d just strangle her and dump her in the lake?
Panic fueled her speed. Kylie used her arms to guard her face from low, spindly branches as she fought her way uphill. Still, she felt the occasional sting of a lash. Better scratched than dead.
She thought she was a goner when she tripped on an exposed root. She flew forward. Her glasses flew…somewhere else. Adrenaline packed a hearty punch. In a flash, Kylie was back on her feet and sprinting, although squinting. No time to search for her glasses. She was running for her flipping life!
When she heard a foul curse close on her heels, she turned and winged her helmet, clipping the mystery murderer in his fat masked head. The impact sent him tumbling back down the hill into a massive evergreen.
She booked it and cleared the forest, lungs bursting as she heeled her kickstand and revved the engine. The bike peeled rubber, gravel spitting beneath its tires as she raced toward the dirt road leading home. She’d traveled these roads so many times she could probably do so blindfolded. Good news, since she was now visually impaired.
Damn her and her frugal ways! If only she owned a cell phone. She needed to call the police. She needed Jack. Don’t go home, she could hear him saying. What if they follow?
She squinted in her rearview mirror, spotted a dark car turning onto the road. Was it them? From this distance, she couldn’t be sure. If it was, surely they saw the dust kicked up by her bike. Wave a flag, why don’t you, McGraw?
She leaned low and gunned the throttle and jumped her silver Ninja into a grassy pasture. She zipped toward a copse of trees. Three minutes later she came out on the backside of Max’s house. She steered her bike into the listing barn, hid it behind accumulated junk and ran toward his house. She didn’t bother to knock. Max never locked his doors. She burst inside, shouting his name. “I need to use your phone. Max! Max!”
She glanced at the clock hanging above the kitchen sink. Oh, no. About now he was enjoying a post-church breakfast with his cronies. It was a ritual. Same café. Same time.
Every. Stinking. Sunday.
Kylie nabbed a nearby phone, punched 911. Nothing. No ring. No dial tone. Dammit. Max had mentioned canceling his landline, cutting costs and relying solely on his cell. Apparently, he’d done just that. If only she’d followed his lead.
Kylie squashed the panic eating at her nerves and brain. “Think, Kylie, think.” She needed to get to a phone. Better yet, to Jack. Killers were on the loose in Eden. He had to catch them before they got away or, worse, before they found her. Because, cripes, she’d witnessed a murder. Not the actual murder, but close enough. She couldn’t risk driving her Ninja into town. They knew her bike, or if they didn’t, they’d put two and two together since Bruiser number one had her helmet.
That left one option. Senses buzzing with determination, she nabbed the coveted key hanging above the retired fire chief’s coffeemaker and sprinted out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SHY TROTTED INTO THE chief of police’s office ahead of Jack, circled three times, then curled on the doggy cushion Dorothy had placed near his desk in an effort to keep the mutt off the station house’s padded chairs.
Jack shoved the box of magazines and videos he�
�d collected from Jessie’s house to the back of the closet and locked the door. He didn’t want the department’s efficient office administrator tripping across the pornographic evidence during her organizing frenzy. If only he could’ve spared Jessica the unpleasant discovery.
It had taken Jack several minutes to convince his traumatized sister to trust his process. That included consulting with his second-in-command, who, he’d promised, would be discreet. Bottom line, though Jack was acquainted with many of Eden’s citizens, he’d been away and out of touch for years. Where details of daily life were concerned, Deputy Ziffel was better connected.
Meanwhile, Jack promised to handle aspects of his sister’s B and E on his own. Patrol cars were typically outfitted with basic crime-scene equipment. Jack’s SUV was no different. He had immediate access to a latent-print kit and a camera. He’d photographed the crime scene, lifted fingerprints, collected evidence, documented observations. He was certain he was dealing with an amateur. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was a cuckolded husband, but what was the man looking for? Evidence of the affair? Lewd photos? Homemade video? For that matter, maybe the suspect was one of the adulterous wives.
Though a small force, the EPD did have access to the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System (IAFIS), a computerized database accessing thousands of fingerprints. Between that and basic detective work, Jack felt confident he’d soon nail the culprit. This was nothing compared to what he’d dealt with in NYC. The difference was, this involved family. His family.
By the same token, while investigating the crime scene, Jack’s thoughts kept flashing on Kylie. He’d always thought of her as family, but now the stakes were even higher with friend and lover in the mix. Kylie who lived in the middle of fricking nowhere, in a trailer with no security lighting and basic locks on the doors that any half-witted criminal could break. Luckily, Jessie had been away when her home, or rather Frank’s office, had been ransacked. Except for last night, Kylie slept at home, alone, every night. She was a crime statistic waiting to happen. He’d have to do something about that.
