by Beth Ciotta
“Because, Miss McGraw,” the man said, “no witness who followed the rules of the program has ever been killed.”
Someone’s phone rang—Jack’s—saving Skully from Kylie’s sharp tongue. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this anxious, this frustrated.
Oh, yeah.
Her birthday.
To think she’d bemoaned her boring life. If she hadn’t shaken things up, if she hadn’t strode into the hardware store intent on renovating McGraw’s, she never would have disrupted Travis’s routine.
You inspired me.
Kylie swayed. Had she unwittingly stirred the hornets’ nest? Had she inspired Travis to break the program’s number one rule in order to arrange for a false passport?
“Are you all right?” Skully asked her.
She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure.
Jack snapped his phone shut. “They found a body.”
That clinched it. She was not all right. Although he’d said a body, not the body.
“ID?” asked Skully.
“Unclear,” Jack answered without looking at Kylie. “Let’s roll.”
That command prodded Shy from beneath the desk. The dog trotted out when Jack opened the office door.
Skully started to leave, then glanced at his watch. “Your sister’s hearing,” he reminded Jack.
“Shit.”
“I’ll go.” Kylie nabbed her purse from her desk and shimmied past Jack. Jessica needed someone and Kylie was more than willing to be that person. It was better than hanging around here wondering about the identity of the dead guy. Wondering if Jack was ever going to forgive her for keeping secrets, and wondering if she could get past the cynical, cold side of him. He must’ve developed that tough edge in New York City. A survival skill. She got that. Big city, big crime, big emotional and physical stakes. But this was Eden.
A small, quiet town, she thought. Until you shook things up.
Kylie locked the door behind them, noted the mounting activity on the street. “Folks are gearing up for tonight’s festivities. The car and truck show always pulls in a big crowd. The carnival rides will be in full swing. Not that there’s ever been any major trouble, but the EPD has always been visible, especially on opening day.” She gestured to Andy, still sitting in the squad car across the street. “You can probably release Officer Anderson from his watchdog duties,” she said to Jack. “Seeing that you’re tied up—”
“I put Deputy Ziffel in charge of patrolling the festival. He’s got Hooper and Mrs. Vine on board. They can handle it. Anderson stays with you. He’ll escort you to the courthouse. I’ll instruct him to be discreet, but he stays.” Jack glanced at the store, at Kylie. “What about your grand opening?”
She shrugged. “It’ll wait. Friends and family before business.”
“You mean before you. Always putting others’ needs ahead of your own,” Jack said. “I used to admire that quality.”
Kylie’s stomach constricted. “And now?”
“I’m worried it’ll be your downfall.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“IT’S LOCKED.”
“That would account for the sign that reads Closed.” Carmine shot Dixie an annoyed look as she continued to jiggle the doorknob, then quickly bit back a curse. He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at life. It kept kicking him in the coglioni. All he wanted was some kind of closure. A discussion with Kylie McGraw. A look at the work his brother had done on her store. He couldn’t even peek inside because the fucking window was draped with fucking black canvas. What the hell?
Dixie knocked, but no one answered. “She must be in the back or something. Turk said she’s been here all morning, right?”
“Last I spoke to him.” Carmine’s cell reception was spotty at best. Being out of immediate touch with his boys made him antsy. He peered up and down the two-lane street. What if the Gambellis were watching the store? Watching him? He patted the revolver holstered underneath his lightweight jacket. Acquiring the gun at a local sporting goods store had been laughingly simple. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s mosey, as they say in these parts, around to the back entrance.”
Dixie strode beside him in a pair of her sparkly Bada-Bling! sneakers. She’d also changed into skinny jeans and a dark blue blazer. Although tight on her curvaceous figure, at least they didn’t scream puttana. “I’m thinking the alley is for deliveries only, Chickie.”
He pointed to the box in her arms, a gift box containing a pair of shoes she’d made specifically for Kylie. “You’re makin’ a delivery, aren’t you?”
She giggled. “Oh, yeah.”
Not for the first time Carmine marveled at the hick town, wondering how Tommy had managed all these years. His little brother had expensive taste in clothing and cars. In Philly, he’d kept a fancy home. In Eden, he’d lived in a run-down farmhouse, driven a beat-up truck, worked in a hardware store and dressed in flannel and jeans. Buddah had given Carmine a full report after they’d searched Tommy, or rather, Travis’s home. “Unfuckingbelievable,” he muttered as he and Dixie turned down the pristine alley of a historical block.
A minute later they were knocking on the back door of McGraw’s Shoe Shoppe.
No answer.
“Fuck!”
“Honestly, Chickie,” Dixie complained. “You told me to tone it down. Said we needed to blend. I don’t think they say that word around here. Not in front of ladies, anyway.”
Carmine swallowed a rude observation and massaged his chest.
“You feelin’ okay, honey?”
He shot her a look, then turned at the sound of tires crunching on gravel. He had a story. Husband of the woman who’d created special shoes for McGraw’s. Here to surprise Kylie. Yada, yada. Only he didn’t need a story. The dark car rolled up and Mario rolled down the window.
“Where’s Buddah?” Carmine asked.
“Keeping tabs on the McGraw broad. She’s at the courthouse. He went in. I stayed in the car. Saw you drive by. Knew you’d have a wait, so I slipped into that bakery place and grabbed you some coffee.” He passed Carmine a steaming cardboard cup. “Figured you could use some caffeine.”
“Didn’t the doctor tell you to lay off that stuff?” Dixie asked.
“A cup of coffee isn’t going to kill him,” said Mario. “Stop being a nag.”
A habitual coffee drinker, Carmine drank deeply, grateful for the jolt. He grimaced at the sickenly sweet taste.
“I loaded it with sugar, Chickie. Trust me. It’s the only way to drink the beans they brew out here.”
“What about me?” Dixie pouted.
Mario passed her a bottle of diet cola.
“Aw,” she cooed. “You remembered. Thanks, Turk.”
“Sure.”
Carmine drank coffee and eyed both ends of the alley. No action coming their way. Everyone was busy window-shopping or setting up food booths and carnival games. A frickin’ Apple Festival. Who the hell celebrated apples? Dixie was eager to try the apple chips their B and B host had bragged about and to attend the car and truck show later today. Carmine was eager for answers. Now. He eyed the store. “How long you think Kylie’s going to be away?”
“No idea,” said Mario. “You wanna wait inside, Chickie?”
He was anxious to see his brother’s handiwork. He still couldn’t believe he was dead, but if he was, at least the renovations would be a reflection of him. “Yeah,” Carmine said, knowing his nephew could crack the lock. “I want in.”
When Kylie returned, he’d say the door was unlocked and they took it as an invitation. Then Dixie would distract her with shoe talk, ask her about her scare in the woods. He wanted details, and then somehow, some way he’d swing the discussion around to the guy who’d renovated the store.
“Gee, Turk, I’ve never seen you so dressed down. You almost look like one of the locals.”
“Don’t insult me.”
Carmine fought a bout of anxiety when Mario popped the lock and creaked open the back door. He k
ept envisioning his brother hard at work, coordinating colors and fabrics, arranging furniture, painting, draping—doing all the things he’d loved to do as a kid.
The three of them weaved their way through a cramped storage room, then into the main salon or whatever the hell you called it.
Dixie squealed when she saw the window display dedicated to Bada-Bling! Carmine drank coffee and admired his brother’s work. His chest tightened as he took in the impressive sight. The colorful walls and polished floors. The antique cashier counter.
He could feel Tommy.
His throat grew tight and dry.
More coffee.
His heart tha-dumped.
Suddenly he was no longer in McGraw’s. He was in his childhood home. Hundreds of memories flashed through his mind. Memories of two brothers. Happy memories that clouded, then clashed with painful visions.
His arm tingled, his chest hurt.
His mamma yelled, “Make it right!”
Carmine’s knees buckled. He didn’t remember falling, but he heard Dixie scream, felt her rolling him onto his back. He blinked up, saw his nephew backing away.
“You stay here,” Mario told Dixie. “I’ll get an ambulance.” Then he was gone.
Carmine saw Dixie crying. He couldn’t hear her sobs, just the loud, slow, sparse beat of his own defective heart. “Get…help,” he croaked.
Her mouth moved. He read those luscious lips. “Turk—”
“No. You. Get…help.” He didn’t trust his nephew. Dixie, the bighearted bimbo, he trusted.
Sobbing, she scampered away.
Heart thudding slower…and slower, Carmine stared up and through the ceiling. He saw the stars, heaven. And just before the world went black, he swore he saw Tommy.
“Sorry,” Carmine mouthed.
His brother gave him hell but all Carmine could think was, closure.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE HE didn’t show up.”
Kylie gripped Jessica’s elbow as they exited the courtroom. The woman was in a daze. The judge had given Frank more than ample time to arrive. He had other cases to hear. The divorce was uncontested and only one party needed to sign the papers for the divorce to be legal and final, so…
Minutes later, Jessica Lynn was a single woman.
Kylie had been shocked and frankly a little saddened by how easy it was to end a marriage. Although, in Jessica’s case… “Maybe it’s for the best,” she said as she led the woman into the bustling hall. “I mean, did you really want to see that cheating bastard?”
Jessica looked away. “You don’t know the worst of it.”
“Something worse than engaging in multiple affairs?” Kylie whispered.
“I can’t talk about it. And you’re right. I didn’t really want to see him, but I did want, I was hoping for…”
“Closure?”
“Yes.” Jessica sank onto a wooden bench. “I need to catch my breath.”
Kylie sat next to her. “I have to say it was weird and uncomfortable, but it’s done. You’re divorced. Free to pursue a new and exciting life with Madeline.”
“We won’t be staying with Jack forever,” she said with a quick glance at Kylie. “Just for a while.”
“Don’t hurry on my behalf. It’s not like I’ll be moving in anytime soon.”
“No?”
“We had a fight. Sort of. I don’t know Jack like I thought I did.”
“I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t know about Jack and vice versa, Kylie. He’s been away a long time and you two hooked up, what, a week ago?”
Kylie tapped the toes of her blingy sneakers against the marble tile. “When you put it like that…”
“Jack’s worth fighting for.”
“Frank wasn’t,” Kylie said, hoping to ease Jessie’s mind.
The woman bolstered her bony shoulders. “If I never see that sick, cheating bastard again, it’ll be too soon.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Jessica quirked a faint smile. “Thanks for being here, Kylie.”
“It’s the least I could do for a new friend.”
The woman’s pale cheeks flushed red. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll work with me at the store or at least give it a whirl.”
Jessica blew out a breath, nodded. “I’ll give it a whirl.”
Kylie was trying to decide whether to hug the woman or shake her hand when she heard her purse ring. Well, not her purse, but her new cell phone. Had to be Jack. Kylie motioned to Jessica to give her a second, then she walked a short distance for some privacy. “Hi, I—”
“Don’t speak. Listen.”
The hairs on Kylie’s arms stood on end, her heart raced. She didn’t recognize the voice, but she sensed urgency. Danger.
“I’m with a friend of yours. An old guy. Max? Fucking pain in the ass. It’ll be a pleasure to pop this cafone and that’s exactly what I’ll do if you aren’t here within forty-five minutes.”
Kylie tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. The goons. They were still in Eden and they had Max. How? Why? “Where?” she whispered.
“His place. And Kylie,” the mysterious voice added, “come alone. If we see anyone, any of your cop friends, the old guy gets it.”
It sounded like dialogue from a B movie. Still… “Why should I—”
“Call anyone and we’ll know. We’re listening…and watching.”
“I don’t—”
“Get the skinny bitch to loan you her car.”
They knew she didn’t have her bike, that her car was in the shop. They knew she was with Jessica. Kylie tried to search the hall without moving her head. Were there more than two of them? Was one of them here? Or outside with binoculars? How would they know if she phoned Jack? Or alerted Andy?
“Forty-four minutes,” the ominous voice said. “Tick. Tock.”
He disconnected and Kylie flew into action. “Come to the bathroom with me,” she said to Jessica just as Officer Anderson rounded the corner with a cup of coffee. Forcing a smile, she whisked the woman down the hall. “Gotta go,” she said to Andy, squeezing her legs together for effect as she steered her companion into the ladies’ room.
Andy rolled his eyes, blushed. He was probably thinking about her in the stall—bottom half naked.
The main door shut and Jessica whirled. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to borrow your car. It’s an emergency.”
The woman dug in her purse and handed Kylie her keys.
“Thank you.” Kylie willed her trembling hands and galloping heart steady. “I also need you to distract Andy. Jack told him to stick to me like glue.”
“What’s going on, Kylie?”
“Please, just—”
“Okay. No problem,” Jessica said. “I’ll distract Andy.”
“Give me a ten-minute start, then tell Andy to call Jack. They’re going to pop Max if I don’t show. Tell him I had no choice, to hurry, but to be discreet.”
Jessica wet her lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Jack will. Tell him Max’s house.” She nudged Jessica toward the door. “Now, go do your thing with Andy.”
“Anything for a friend,” Jessica said as she took a breath and eased out the door. “Be careful, Kylie.”
“Always.” The minute the door shut, Kylie sprinted for the window, grateful they were on the first floor and that she was wearing sneakers. She squeezed through the open pane and race-walked for the parking lot. She hoped Jessica’s fancy SUV was fast. She was down to forty-one minutes and she couldn’t speed until she got out of town.
“Hang on, Max. And whatever you do, don’t spit on his shoes.” She hopped into her borrowed wheels and revved the engine. She knew it was crazy, walking into the hornets’ nest, but those goons wouldn’t be in Eden if she hadn’t stirred things up. No way was she going to let Max Grogan pay for her restless, reckless actions. On the other hand, she knew she was no match for a couple of gun-toting wiseguys. Hence ignori
ng their warning and alerting Jack. He’d know what to do. He was used to dealing with mobsters. She just needed to keep her and Max alive until he got there. She could do that. Get them talking, keep them talking. Shoes. One of them had a thing for shoes. She could talk about shoes until the cows came home.
Travis popped into her head. He’d had a way with words, a gift for distracting her from her worries. For the first time since she’d learned about his mob ties, Kylie reflected on what he really used to do. She thought about the episode she’d watched of Omertà, remembered how she’d told Jack she couldn’t stomach the violence and how he noted that it didn’t compare to the real thing.
For the first time and to her dismay, Kylie had unkind thoughts about Travis Martin.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
THEY FISHED THE CAR OUT of the lake. A rental car. They pried the guy out of the trunk. It wasn’t pretty. But Jack had seen worse. Still, he couldn’t feign calm when they uncovered the bloated corpse for inspection. “Jesus.”
“You know him,” Skully said.
Bullet to the head. Expensive suit. “Show me his shoes.”
The medical examiner complied.
Italian loafers with a silver buckle. “Exactly as Kylie described him, from the knees down.”
“Dresses and looks a little like Tommy Mancini before the reconstructive surgery.” Skully waved away a pesky fly. “Dark hair, swarthy complexion. The nose is right. Crooked.”
“I did that.” He’d thought about doing worse. Someone else had actually followed through. “My brother-in-law,” said Jack.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
Skully took a long look. “Sure? He looks pretty bad.”
“Positive.”
“What the hell, Jack?”
“Give me a minute.” He rose and turned away. “Shit.” Jack absorbed the clusterfuck while Skully traded words with the county sheriff and M.E. He worked the sordid puzzle, flexing muscles he hadn’t used since he’d left the NYPD. He hated that it felt good. Something he’d think about later. He had a lot to think about later.
Was he willing to risk his heart to a woman who’d crushed him with one relatively benign secret? To a woman who saw gray in a black-and-white situation?
