“Me neither,” Luther said, his eyes remaining on the grainy copy of the old prom picture. “What’s wrong with us, that we never even considered the possibility that Cleo hiring a PI might be completely innocent?” More than innocent, she’d gone out of her way to give him the most precious, heartfelt gift he’d ever received. And how had he thanked her? By accusing her of being involved in two murders.
“We’re so completely screwed up,” Boone said. “I still think it was perfectly logical to assume that Cleo hiring a PI had something to do with the murders. Let’s face it, Malone, we see that kind of thing every day. It’s just natural to assume—”
“That’s crap,” Luther said. He glanced up to meet a surprised Boone’s eyes. “Cleo told me that, once.” They’d been in bed at the time, naked and warm and together. “She said blaming my cynicism on the job was just an excuse to keep everyone else distant, that there’s more honesty in the world than there is deception.”
“I don’t see it, how about you?”
“I didn’t at the time. Now...” He shrugged. “Not that it makes any difference. You should’ve seen the expression on Cleo’s face when she realized what I was thinking, what I was accusing her of. She’ll never forgive me.”
“Sure she will,” Boone said, a note of false encouragement in his voice.
Luther shook his head. “I blew it.”
One woman, one chance for something special and lasting—and he’d thrown it all away because he couldn’t trust.
Cleo sat on a stool and leaned against the bar, staring into a half-empty glass of orange juice. “Love stinks,” she said succinctly.
“I know, sweetheart,” Edgar said as he wiped down one of the glasses he had lined up against the mirror behind the bar.
“I really loved him,” she said. “How stupid is that? I should know better by now. Dammit, I knew he was trouble the first time I laid eyes on him.”
“Me, too,” Edgar said. “Cop or no cop, if he comes in here again, I’ll toss his ass out on the street.”
Cleo shook her head. “You can’t do that. He’s still investigating the murders.”
How was she supposed to get up on stage and sing love songs tonight? How was she supposed to sit in front of all these people and smile and not fly apart? “Maybe I’ll close the place,” she said.
“What?”
“Sell it if I can, shut it down if I can’t.”
Edgar placed two beefy hands on the bar. “You can’t do that.”
“I’ll go back to Montgomery and sell cars in one of Palmer’s lots or take up interior decorating and join the Junior League. All the things my mother always wanted me to do.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Edgar said. “It would be a crime for someone with a voice like yours to quit singing.”
“I’ll sing in the shower,” she said. “Singing in public never got me anything but hurt, Edgar. First Jack and now Luther. My mother would say that none of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t insisted on making a ‘spectacle’ of myself.”
“Don’t think that way,” Edgar said. “If you stop singing, then the bastards like Malone win. Don’t let him run you out of town and off the stage. You belong there. You have a rare gift, and you make people’s lives better just by getting up there and opening your heart.”
“I don’t have any heart left,” she confessed.
“Sure you do.” He laid a large hand over hers. “You’re no sniveling, heart-on-her-sleeve, whining female, but that doesn’t mean the bastards can’t hurt you. You deserve better than that jerk Malone. One day the right man will come along, you just wait and see.”
“Thank you, I think,” she said, sniffling just a little. “But I still say love stinks.”
He sat in the back of the room, hiding in shadows, and scoped out the crowd. Cleo was, Edgar said, in her office, and would not come out until it was time to begin. He’d intercept her on the way to the stage, they’d have a few heated words, and then she’d make her way to the stage to seduce the crowd with her voice.
And what a crowd it was. Many of the regulars he recognized, but there were new faces, too. Older couples out for Valentine’s Day, awaiting a journey to music from time’s past, a journey Cleo would take them on. There were new younger couples in the crowd, too, celebrating with a drink and a dance and shared moony-eyed glances.
He’d always hated Valentine’s Day.
Randi and her new friend, Corey, sat at the back of the room, just a few tables away. They seemed chummy but not necessarily romantic. He knew that Flinger had comforted the poor girl after Jack’s funeral, but was that all they had? Why were they here, of all places? Randi didn’t like Cleo any more than Cleo liked Randi with an i.
The door behind him opened, and a lone man wearing a hat low on his head slipped in and claimed one of the few remaining tables. Like Luther, this man choose a table that was lost in shadows. Every nerve in Luther’s body went on alert.
Something about the man was familiar. The way he held his head, the width of his shoulders and the way he sat. As Luther watched, the man removed the hat from his head. Palmer.
Luther stood and walked past tables where loving couples celebrated this most disgusting of all holidays, and took the chair across from Palmer.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Luther demanded.
Palmer was taken aback. “I have every right to be here.”
“Just passing through?”
Palmer sighed. “I’m in town to speak to a man who’s thinking about buying a fleet of cars. I thought while I was here I might as well come by and hear Cleo sing.”
“Do you come to Huntsville on business often?”
“Occasionally.”
How easy would it have been for Palmer to change his appearance just a little, the way he had with the hat, and slip in on a busy Friday night? Cleo said he was handsy. Did his interest in her go beyond that?
“I don’t like the way you look at her.”
“Come off it, Detective,” Palmer responded testily. “She’s a great singer, she’s my sister-in-law, and I have every right to stop by her club when I’m in town.”
Luther leaned over the table and lowered his voice. He was more than suspicious. He was furious. “Look at her wrong, and I’ll kick your ass. Touch her, and I’ll kill you.”
Palmer’s eyes went wide. “I should report you to your superiors.”
“Have at it,” Luther said, rising to return to his own table. What he’d just done might not be smart, but if Palmer was the man who’d been knocking off Cleo’s tormentors, a little push wouldn’t hurt.
Sounded good, but that wasn’t the reason. When this was over he might never see Cleo again. If he could spare her another uncomfortable moment with her grabby brother-in-law, well, he had to do it, didn’t he? She deserved better than that. She deserved better than a cop who saw deception everywhere he looked, too.
All eyes turned when Cleo entered the room. Dressed in red, her hair perfectly styled and hanging in midnight curls down her back, red spike heels clicking on the floor, she was a vision. Show time. Luther met her, cutting off her path to the stage. No one could hear what he said, but the look on her face was enough to tell anyone that she was unhappy. Angry. Ah, if looks could kill.
“Listen to me,” he said softly.
“Get out of my way, Malone.”
“I don’t know any other way to say I’m sorry.”
She looked up, her amber eyes clear and bright. “I don’t want an apology. I don’t want you to grovel and beg and swear it’ll never happen again. I just want you out of my way.” She brushed past him, heading for the stage.
Without thinking, Luther reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
Cleo turned slowly and stared down at his hand on her arm. “Let me go.”
He did, and she turned her back on him to continue to the stage. The self-absorbed lovebirds in the audience might not have noticed what just happened, but anyone who watched Cleo
carefully certainly knew something was very wrong.
She didn’t sit tonight, but moved her stool aside to pace restlessly on the stage. Eric was waiting for her, and he went into an intro Luther immediately recognized: ‘Come Morning.’
On hearing the notes, Cleo spun around and waved a hand to cut him off. She whispered something insistent, and the kid shrugged and began again.
The number that took the place of the romantic song she’d written was not the kind of song people might expect to hear on Valentine’s Day. ‘Forever Blue’ wasn’t only newer than the numbers she usually sang, it was heartrending. She sang well, but almost absently. Lost in a world of her own making, torturing herself.
Luther made his way to his table at the back of the room. Plenty of people glanced up as he passed, whispered when they thought he was too far away to hear. Yeah, most of them had noticed something was up.
Cleo finished her song and was rewarded with a round of confused applause.
“Sorry, guys,” she said with a half smile. “I guess that’s not what you came here to hear, not today.” She walked across the stage, looking at everyone. “Valentine’s Day. People either love or hate it, you know? It’s a great day if you have a sufficiently adoring significant other, a lousy day if you don’t.
“There have been one or two years when I loved Valentine’s Day,” she said. “Usually I’m one of those who hates it. I mean, who are we trying to kid? Hearts and flowers. Sappy cards. Heart-shaped meat loaf.”
Someone laughed, but it was a kind of nervous laughter. “Heart-shaped meat loaf. That’s what I was going to make for a late romantic dinner tonight, and trust me, for someone who doesn’t cook it was going to be a real sacrifice. Fortunately for me, my latest significant other turned out to be a jerk like every other man I’ve ever had the misfortune to fall for. I think I’ll settle for a peanut butter sandwich when I get home.”
The same idiot twittered, and his girlfriend gave him the elbow.
At Cleo’s signal, Eric began again. Cleo closed her eyes and began to sing ‘Chances Are,’ the kind of song one might expect on Valentine’s Day. She didn’t get far before her voice cracked. In the stage lights, Luther saw a single tear run down her face.
She stopped, Eric’s notes trailed away, and Cleo opened her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t...”
The room was deathly silent, and one young girl sniffled as if her own heart was broken. “Eric will play for y’all for a while. Best piano player in Huntsville,” she said, with a crooked smile that did not go well with the tears in her eyes. She started to leave the stage, but stopped before she reached the steps.
“I guess I should try to leave on a happy note,” she said, as if it had just occurred to her. “What’s the difference between a dead snake in the road and a dead cop in the road?”
There was a moment of complete silence.
“There are skid marks in front of the snake.”
Chapter Sixteen
Cleo sat on the floor with Rambo’s head in her lap. Stroking the warm fur did make her feel better, a bit. She had a gut-deep feeling that she’d never be completely better again. How foolish, to give a man that kind of power!
“I’m thinking of moving back to Montgomery,” she said, never taking her eyes from Rambo’s fur. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Syd sit up straight on the couch.
“What?”
“Things have never worked out here, not completely. The club does okay. It keeps me in peanut butter and dog food, and I make enough to pay my bills on time, but that’s about it. Once the money from ‘Come Morning’ starts rolling in...” She shrugged. “I just don’t need the aggravation.”
“Aggravation? Hello? Remember your mother, and Thea, and that creep Palmer?”
Cleo lifted her head and smiled at Syd. “Palmer was there tonight. He came back to the office after the show, apparently to make sure I was okay before he headed to his hotel.”
“Did he get fresh?”
Cleo shook her head. “No. He kept his distance.” Thank God. The mood she’d been in tonight, she might have actually done murder if Palmer had been his usual, pawing self. Once Palmer had gone, she’d exited by way of the back door, leaving Luther and Boone and Michael sitting in the front room, while she slipped into the alley behind the club and made her way to a pay phone where she called herself a cab. For all she knew, her three protectors were still sitting in the club, sipping a variety of nonalcoholic beverages and waiting for her to emerge. The thought actually brought a wry smile to her face.
“You wouldn’t leave me here all alone would you?” Syd whined. “If you move back to Montgomery, who will I talk to late at night? Who will I have dinner with and commiserate about men with? No one else will ever understand the Barney Fife-Bruce Willis scale of masculinity.”
Cleo snorted. “Do you have a stupidity scale? How about an insensitive Neanderthal scale?”
“I’ll work on it,” Syd said. “Are you really thinking about leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, don’t make any decisions now, when you’re upset.”
“I am not upset,” Cleo said firmly. “I’m...” Confused. Heartbroken. Angry.
She didn’t have to finish her sentence. Someone—she had no doubt as to who—began to bang on her door so hard the house seemed to shake.
“Cleo!” Luther shouted. “Open this damn door!”
“Go away, Malone,” she shouted back.
“I—will—not!” He continued to pound on her door.
She rose with a groan and headed for the door, Rambo at her heels. She threw open the door and stared up at a very angry homicide detective.
“You didn’t use the peephole,” he seethed.
“How do you know?” she snapped.
He simply stared.
“I knew it was you,” she explained. “How could I not, with that big mouth of yours shouting my name? You probably woke the entire neighborhood.”
“Someone could have been standing behind me with a gun, making me call you to the door.”
She snorted, and did not step aside to invite him in.
“You left,” he said, stating the obvious.
“Bravo, Detective,” she answered. “And you were clever enough to find me. Give yourself a gold star.” She gave the door a shove, intending to close it in Luther’s face, but he stopped it with a quick, strong hand.
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
“I made a mistake.”
“Yes, you did.” She turned and walked away from him, so he wouldn’t see the tears that stung her eyes.
Luther didn’t go away, damn him. He followed her inside, soundly closing the door behind him. Rambo, the traitor, was happy to see her pal Luther. When she presented her head, Luther dutifully scratched and said hello.
“I have to go,” Syd said, rising quickly from the couch.
“No, you don’t,” Cleo said. “Malone’s not staying. He was just on his way out.”
“Not until I get some answers,” he said.
Cleo spun on him, her tears dried. “I don’t owe you any answers.”
Syd, the coward, said good-night and all but ran to the front door. Cleo took a deep breath. She didn’t want to face him; she didn’t want to be alone with him, ever again.
“Fine,” she said. “Ask your damn questions.”
“Why did you slip out of the club without telling anyone?”
“I wanted to be alone.”
“Dammit, Cleo, it’s not safe for you to run around town on your own.”
“I haven’t really been threatened, have I? You’re the one who should be worried. I’d be very careful crossing the street, if I were you.” Her voice was sufficiently cold, but inside… deep inside she shivered.
“Palmer went back to your office and spoke to you tonight.” A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“He didn’t try anything,” she said. “He was a perfect gentleman.”
“I know. Russell followed him and watched through the open door while y’all talked. He said Palmer never came near you.”
“Then, what do you want to know?”
“What did he say?”
Cleo shrugged. “He just wanted to make sure that I was okay.”
“Did you buy it?”
Strangely enough, she did. She answered with a nod.
“About this afternoon—” Luther began.
“I don’t want to talk about this afternoon,” she said sharply. “I should be glad I found out what you’re like before this thing with us went any further.”
“I lost it,” he confessed. “Boone told me you’d hired a PI to check on me...”
“And you automatically assumed the worst,” she finished. “What a horrible way to go through life,” she said. “I thought I was cynical, but compared to you I’m a regular Pollyanna.”
He took a step toward her and she stepped back, maintaining the distance between them. “What do you want me to say? I said I’m sorry, I tried to take it back.”
She laughed harshly. “You think you can take something like that back?”
He didn’t try again to approach her, but stood there staring at her strangely. “So that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You can’t forgive me.”
She shook her head. “You know, the terrible thing is, I probably could forgive you, in time. But I don’t think I could ever forget. This afternoon would always be between us.” She shook her head. “I need more from the man I share my bed with. I need trust and friendship, and love. All that and more. I don’t think you have it to give.”
Luther didn’t argue with her. How could he? He knew, better than she did, that he’d never change. He’d always expect the worst, he would always be suspicious and cynical, and if they stayed together she would forever wonder when the next blowup was coming.
“I never thanked you,” he said softly.
“For what?”
“For the pictures and the names.”
This was a safer subject at least. “Are you going to go see your grandmother?”
CAPTURING CLEO Page 18
