CAPTURING CLEO

by Linda Winstead Jones

He flashed his badge and her smile died. “I’m looking for information on deliveries made to Cleo’s, a nightclub downtown.”

  “How come?” she asked.

  “It’s confidential,” Luther said. “Can you help me out?”

  “Maybe. When were the deliveries made?”

  “There were several deliveries made over the past four months, all red roses. I don’t have the exact dates, but if that’s what you need, I could probably get them.”

  The young girl bit her bottom lip in obvious consternation and flipped her pale blond hair with practiced precision. “The owner’s not here, so I don’t really know what to do. Don’t you need a search warrant or something?”

  Luther smiled, trying to borrow some of Mikey’s charm. “I don’t know, do I?”

  The girl returned his smile and went to the computer. “Nah, I trust you. You have an honest face.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  It took her a while, but she finally found three of the deliveries on the computer. Not that what she found was a lot of help. Payment was always made in cash. A different clerk had taken the order every time, which was inconvenient and possibly well-planned on the purchaser’s part. Since this was one of the busiest florists in town, and there were several part-time employees, all the guy had to do was walk around the mall until he saw a fresh face.

  “I don’t suppose you took any of these orders,” Luther asked, discouraged.

  “Nope. Sorry.”

  He threw his card onto the counter. “If anyone remembers anything about these orders, or if anyone else comes in to place an order for a delivery to Cleo’s, call me.”

  “Sure.” The clerk leaned against the counter. “Don’t you want to order something for Valentine’s Day while you’re here?”

  Luther held back a groan. “I don’t do Valentine’s Day,” he grumbled. Hearts and flowers, teddy bears and candy. Hopes were up, reality went out the window, and some poor schmuck somewhere was going to be very disappointed. “I don’t believe in Valentine’s Day.”

  “That’s kinda sad,” the girl said. “You should try it. I love Valentine’s Day.”

  Another customer came in, and Luther took the opportunity to escape.

  Chapter Six

  Cleo stood near the end of the bar, watching the crowd. Luther was beside her, doing the same. They talked, he drank coffee, and every now and then he’d do something that could only be construed as possessive. He’d drape his arm around her, touch her neck, lean in closer than was proper and lay his eyes on her in a way that was undeniably sexual. He was good at this. There were moments when she thought every touch, every inviting look, was real.

  “Your partner is really getting into his work,” she said softly, casting a quick glance at Michael. The kid was flirting with Lizzy, who was spending her break at the corner table where Luther’s partner sat. Lizzy was his excuse for coming in here every night, and the poor girl was eating it up.

  “Mikey can be very dedicated,” Luther said.

  Cleo kept her eyes on the kid. “He’s cute,” she observed casually. “Looks kinda like Jon Bon Jovi, except your partner obviously owns a comb.”

  Luther dropped his head and pinned those dark eyes on her. “Cute?”

  “Jealous, honey?” she teased, giving him a wide smile.

  One eye narrowed. “Homicide detectives are not supposed to be cute.”

  She leaned just a tad closer. “What are they supposed to be?” she asked.

  “Dedicated. Tough. Determined.”

  He was all those, and more. “Sounds like the qualities one looks for in a hound dog, Malone.”

  “I am also learning that a homicide detective needs an infinite amount of patience.”

  “Am I testing you?”

  Something deep in his eyes reacted to that question. “Most definitely.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Cleo saw the door swing open. Thea strode in, composed, annoyed, nose in the air. Literally and figuratively. She made her way toward Cleo, weaving past tables carefully so she didn’t touch anything. The woman had been born with a bug up her butt.

  “Visitation was tonight,” Thea said as she passed the last of the tables and approached Cleo. “I expected to see you there.”

  Cleo shook her head. Visitation was for family. Friends. “I’ll be at the funeral tomorrow.”

  Thea sighed, in a way so much like that of their mother. Could one inherit a sigh?

  “At least Palmer and I were there to represent the family.”

  “Thank you.” Cleo glanced toward the door. “Where is Palmer?”

  “Yeah,” Luther said. “Where is Palmer?”

  He was putting up a marvelous front of being territorial. Palmer was probably sitting in the car, terrified to face Luther again. For that, she could thank him.

  “Palmer didn’t feel well, so he went back to the hotel. I just wanted to come by and make sure—” her expression softened, just a little “—that you’re all right.”

  Cleo rested a hand on her sister’s arm. She and Thea were as different as night and day, and no one got on her nerves the way Thea did. But no matter what happened, she knew her sister would be there for her if she needed help. And if Thea ever admitted that she might need help, Cleo would be the first one to her side. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

  Eric was already giving her the eye from stage. He hated to be late getting started, and he didn’t like Luther. Poor Eric. She’d told him so many times that she wasn’t interested in dating, and here she was hanging all over Luther. She considered telling him it was all for show, but in truth she hoped maybe her relationship with Luther would give Eric a push toward a more suitable woman.

  “Stick around,” Cleo said, smiling at Thea. “My set starts in a few minutes.”

  Thea shook her head, then moved down the bar just a little bit to order a drink from Edgar. A Vodka Collins. “I’ll just drink this and then head to the hotel. I’m quite tired.”

  Cleo glanced at her sister, then at Eric, and then down the bar to Edgar. So many people who loved her, each in his or her own way. People who would protect her. She grabbed Luther’s wrist and pulled him a couple of feet toward the end of the bar, where she could be sure no one would overhear. She’d put this off for too long.

  She lifted her head, aiming her lips for his ear, and he dutifully leaned down.

  “I have something to tell you,” she whispered, gripping his wrist too tightly.

  When she hesitated, he urged her on. “Go on. Can’t be that bad.”

  She swallowed. He had no idea. “The night Jack was killed,” she said in a breathy voice. “I wasn’t here with Edgar and Eric. Don’t be mad,” she added quickly. “They were only trying to protect me. They meant well. I just… I didn’t want to lie to you anymore.”

  His hand rested at the back of her head, holding her close. His mouth moved to her ear. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “But I’ve known all along.”

  Luther hated funerals. Crying women made him feel helpless, and that was a feeling he did not like. Not at all. Randi, Jack’s latest and last girlfriend, sobbed openly, occasionally wailing as she threw herself over the closed casket. There were a number of weepy women in the small crowd, and even Thea dabbed at her eyes occasionally with a lacy handkerchief.

  Cleo didn’t cry. She hadn’t worn red and she didn’t dance, but she wasn’t pretending to mourn the man who’d hurt her.

  Luther admired her honesty.

  She wasn’t always honest, though. A couple of days ago, when she’d given him that sassy, Can’t dance and can’t kiss, she’d been lying. He knew, not because he was an expert with women, but because he’d seen the light in her eyes when he’d pulled away from that kiss. She hadn’t looked so tough, for a moment. She hadn’t looked at all invincible.

  Besides, the kiss had blown him away. That could absolutely, positively not be one-sided.

  And last night, she’d confessed that her alibi had been false. He’d known from t
hat first night. When Edgar and Eric had given Cleo an alibi, the expression on her face had given them all away. No, she wasn’t a very good liar.

  He knew Cleo hadn’t killed her ex, but the false alibi had bumped Eric and Edgar up on his suspect list. Had they lied to protect Cleo, as she thought, or to protect themselves? As soon as Luther had more information on the two, he was going to have a nice, long talk with them, one at a time. Until then, he’d let them get comfortable. When the time came, he didn’t want them on their guard.

  He’d followed Cleo home after her last set, Wednesday night and last night, too. He’d walked her to the door, as any decent suitor would. But he hadn’t gone in and he hadn’t kissed her again. It would be too dangerous.

  Now, they stood at the back of the largest room in the funeral home, watching the crowd, waiting for something to happen.

  “Randi with an i is going to faint before this is all over,” Cleo whispered.

  “Wanna bet?”

  “Five bucks.”

  He placed an arm around her, a move that might appear to be consoling to anyone watching. “You’re on. See anyone here who looks familiar?”

  She glanced around the room. “A bunch of Jack’s old girlfriends. A guy from Nashville he did business with on occasion. Oh,” she said, lifting her hand to point furtively to a man who was making his way to the coffin with a confident swagger. “That’s Corey Flinger. Jack cheated him out of more money than he did me. I’ll bet another five dollars that he’s here just to make sure Jack is really dead.”

  Luther made a mental note to check out the leather-jacketed Flinger. The man’s thick dark hair was flawlessly styled and looked like it had been sprayed to death. His jeans were too tight and the toes of his black cowboy boots too pointy. “Is he a musician?”

  “Yeah. Corey’s kind of an unbalanced, low-rent Roy Orbison.”

  “Unbalanced?”

  “Given to temper tantrums, on stage and off,” she revealed.

  Definitely a suspect, then, but why would he go to the trouble to point the finger at Cleo? Why the damn grapefruit? Corey surprised them all when he sat down next to a sobbing Randi and put his arm around her shaking shoulders.

  When the time came for everyone to take their places, Luther and Cleo sat in the back row. She wanted to be inconspicuous, and he wanted to be able to see everyone else. To his surprise, Thea and Palmer scooted into the same aisle, and Thea sat beside her sister.

  “You should have worn black,” Thea whispered, checking out the stylish blue-green dress Cleo wore.

  “I should’ve worn red,” Cleo shot back. “And I would have, but I lost my best pair of red shoes.”

  “Behave,” Thea said, before the service began.

  The service was short, the minister who gave the sermon blessedly to the point. Life is precious. We should not judge others. Luther noted that there were no kind words about Jack’s days on this earth. Maybe there weren’t any to be said.

  Near the end of the service, Randi stood up, cried out, and fainted into Corey Flinger’s arms. Immediately, Cleo’s hand shot out, palm up.

  “Pay up,” she whispered.

  “Later.”

  Cleo dropped her hand into her lap and left it there. Once, when she thought no one was looking, her pale, slender fingers closed into a tight fist, then gradually loosened. Her face was stony and told nothing of what was going on in her mind.

  As soon as the service was over, Cleo jumped to her feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Luther took her arm and led her out of the room where people talked and lingered. Thea and Palmer were right behind them.

  “Are you all right?” Thea asked, as they stepped from the funeral parlor into the parking lot, where a blast of cool air slapped them.

  Cleo didn’t slow down as she headed for his car. “I’m fine,” she said, without looking back. “I mean, it was Jack.” Her voice only cracked a little.

  “I knew you’d be upset,” Thea said, rushing past Luther to walk beside her sister. “That’s why I came.”

  “You came because it was the right thing to do,” Cleo said.

  “I came because I love you.”

  Both women stopped behind Luther’s car, turning to stand face-to-face. Cleo had to tilt her head back and look up. “Thank you,” she said, reaching out for a sisterly hug.

  Luther watched, confused, as Thea and Cleo embraced one another tightly.

  “I can stay awhile longer,” Thea offered as she rested her head on Cleo’s shoulder. “If you need me, I will.”

  “I have to get back—” Palmer began.

  “Shut up, Palmer,” Thea said. He did.

  “I’ll be all right,” Cleo said as she backed away and dropped her arms. “It’s not like I loved him anymore.”

  But she had once, hadn’t she? Somehow he’d forgotten that, and had remembered only that Cleo’s ex was a thorn in her side.

  “Are you sure?” Thea asked.

  Cleo nodded, they hugged again, and Thea headed for her own car, Palmer in tow.

  Luther opened Cleo’s door, saw her situated, and then walked around the car to the driver’s side. He dropped into his seat and turned to look at her. “Okay, I’m confused.”

  “About what?”

  Too many things to list, at the moment. Best to settle for just the one confusion. “Thea. I thought you two hated each other.”

  “No,” Cleo said, with a sad smile. “We’re different as any two women could be, we get on one another’s nerves like no one else can, and we don’t agree on anything. But she’s my sister. I love her.”

  “What about Palmer?”

  “He’s one of the many things we disagree about.” She offered her palm. “Where’s my five bucks?”

  “Stop trying to change the subject.”

  “I thought we were here to find the man who killed Jack, not investigate my dysfunctional family.”

  She was right. “Did you see anyone who didn’t belong?”

  Cleo shook her head before turning to look away from him, as the other mourners left the funeral home. “I really did hate Jack.”

  “I know.”

  “But there at the end of the service, I suddenly remembered what he was like when I fell in love with him. I remembered how it feels to love someone so completely that they become your whole life.” She turned her head slowly to look at him again. “The man I loved died a long time ago, but I just buried him today. Does that make sense?”

  “Sure it does,” he said, trying to understand.

  “Have you ever loved anyone that way?”

  He shook his head.

  “Don’t,” she warned. “It steals a part of your soul.”

  Friday nights were always her busiest. Already the place was packed. Edgar usually brought in an extra waitress for the weekend, and both girls were busy now, hustling through the tightly packed tables, delivering drinks and sandwiches and making chitchat with the customers. Lizzy, with her long brown ponytail and bright smile, and Paula with her short blond bob and laugh that carried across the room.

  Cleo scanned the faces in the crowd. Was one of them a murderer? Was one of them her secret admirer?

  Michael had come in, a while back. He pretended not to know her, but had struck up yet another conversation with Lizzy. She hadn’t been teasing when she’d told Luther his partner was cute. The kid had a pretty face and a great smile, and Lizzy was obviously a little bit taken. What would Lizzy do when she found out that Mikey was a cop on an assignment? That his flirting with her was part of the job?

  Maybe she should warn the poor girl. Luther was trifling with her, the same way Russell trifled with Lizzy, but at least Cleo knew why.

  Luther walked into the club, shaking off the cold as the door closed behind him, glancing around the room with eyes that didn’t miss much. When those eyes landed on her, he smiled and started toward the bar with that long-legged, lazy walk of his. A few women turned to watch, but he didn’t notice. The guy probably
didn’t even know he was a heartbreaker.

  He didn’t waste time with a traditional greeting, but raked his eyes over her quickly. “The red dress.”

  “The very same.”

  He stood close. “Are you okay? You could always take tonight off.”

  She shook her head, not bothering to try to explain that she needed to sing tonight more than ever. “I’m fine.”

  She backed away and caught Edgar’s attention with a wave of her hand. He came quickly. “There’s a package under the bar,” she said, eyes on Luther.

  Edgar came up with the neatly wrapped gold foil package. “This one?”

  “That’s it.” She took the small, oblong package and offered it to Luther.

  “What’s this?” he asked without touching the box.

  “It’s a gift. Strictly for show,” she added with a smile. He took the package as if it were a snake.

  “It’s not a bomb,” she said. “Open it.”

  He did, taking his time, unwrapping the package methodically, and then lifting the lid. “A tie,” he said as he lifted his gift from the box. “A red one.”

  “If you’re going to hang out with me, Malone, you’re going to have to snaz up your wardrobe.” She pointed at the blue-and-gray-striped tie he wore. “That’s just awful.”

  He held the new tie in one hand and lifted the tail end of the one he wore. “I paid four dollars for this tie.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “It was on sale.”

  “This one,” Cleo said, running her fingers over the new tie, “is silk.”

  “It’s red.”

  “Do you have something against red?” She reached out and began to unknot the tie he wore, her fingers easily working the neat knot.

  “Not when you wear it,” he grumbled.

  “Every man needs a power tie.”

  “I’m a cop, not a lawyer. I don’t need a power tie.”

  She slipped the unknotted tie from around his neck, sliding it slowly from beneath his starched collar and then dropping it onto the bar. He didn’t protest when she took the new tie from him and draped it around his neck, then began to work it into place. Her fingers touched his neck, brushed against his shirt and the firm, warm skin beneath.