Copper Lake Confidential

by Marilyn Pappano

  Macy definitely approved of her life at the moment. Clary in her arms, Stephen at her side, Brent and Anne only a shout away. If her parents were there, the moment would be perfect.

  “How often do you see your parents?” she asked.

  If Stephen wondered where the question had come from, it didn’t show. “Mom comes to Copper Lake three or four times a year, and Marnie and I go to Alabama for Mother’s Day, her birthday, Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

  “What about your father?”

  “We see each other in June—his birthday, Father’s Day, my birthday—then we shoot for a visit in the fall. We rely on the phone more than Mom and I do.” He shifted, a whisper of sound, a creak, a pop, and propped both feet on the coffee table. Basketball player-sized feet, big enough to dwarf hers when she rested them beside his. “You see your parents a lot.”

  She laughed. “I’ve lived with them for the better part of the last eighteen months. When my dad gave me away at the wedding, he thought I’d stay away. The joke was on him.” And on her. When Mark had promised to love and honor her, she hadn’t known he would be killing people in his spare time.

  A shudder ran through her, and she clutched Clary a little tighter, enough to make the girl stir.

  Deliberately she changed the subject. “Do you have to work tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, until one.”

  “Brent mentioned going to out to dinner to that great little barbecue place near the interstate.” She hesitated, because she had claimed an awful lot of his time off this week, then took a breath and went on. “Would you like to join us?”

  “Yeah. But I can’t.” He combed his fingers through his hair then pushed his glasses up before facing her in the dim light. “I have...an obligation tomorrow night.”

  Something in her stomach looped and tightened. “That sounds serious.” Another hesitation. “It’s okay if you have a date. I mean, I’ve only known you a few days, and you don’t owe me an explanation. It’s really none of my—”

  Reaching over, he laid his fingers across her mouth. “It’s not a date. The police chief is retiring, and they’re having a big party at River’s Edge, and Marnie asked if I’d take one of the female cops she works with. Believe me, I wouldn’t have said yes for anyone but Marnie because this detective scares me spitless. She makes my ex look spineless, and Sloan wasn’t intimated by anything.”

  But Macy was. She was vulnerable, unsure of herself. Was that a point for or against her in Stephen’s estimation? Did he enjoy being able to take care of a woman for a change, or was she too needy for his tastes? Would the novelty wear off soon?

  “River’s Edge is beautiful.” The antebellum mansion sat in downtown Copper Lake, a gleaming Greek Revival of a house overlooking the square and the river. Though built about the same time as Fair Winds, it was a far more inviting place where people had lived, loved and laughed—where they still did now that it was used for weddings, parties and other events. “You’ll have a good time.”

  “Right,” he said morosely. “I have to wear a suit. And a tie.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed you owned long pants or a shirt with buttons, much less a tie.”

  That made him grin. “I prefer an uncomplicated wardrobe.”

  “I’ve noticed.” She thought of the dozen custom-tailored suits in Mark’s closet, the tuxes, the dress shirts hung in rows that cost enough per shirt to feed a family of four for a week. And his hand-painted silk ties, the Italian leather shoes... “‘Uncomplicated’ is nice.”

  Nice. It was a greatly underrated word. She could be deliriously happy with nice for the rest of her life.

  “And maybe you could tuck a muzzle into your pocket for Detective Scary Pants,” she added.

  “Not a bad idea.” Slowly he straightened. “I’ll be brave. I’ve treated a lot of angry animals over the years. I’ve had my hand—hell, my whole arm—in places those animals didn’t want it, and I’ve survived. Maybe I can survive Kiki Isaacs.”

  The name was familiar to Macy. Naturally, the Howards hadn’t socialized with mere police officers, but she’d read the newspaper regularly, and she’d seen the woman’s name and photograph a few times. Her vague recollection was curly hair and round face. No horns, no fangs, no six-inch claws.

  “If I do survive and it’s not too late, can I stop by when it’s over?”

  Warmth curled through her and she smiled. “I’d like that.”

  He stood, causing Scooter to slowly rise, too, then gestured. “Do you need help getting her upstairs?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t think I’m going to let go of her tonight.” Though she had to shift Clary to take his hand since getting out of the deep cushion without help wasn’t likely. He opened the kitchen door, then closed and locked it behind them and switched off the lights she pointed out as they made their way to the front door.

  There he brushed Clary’s hair gently back from her face. “She’s beautiful. Though how could she not be, with you for a mother? You sure you don’t need help?”

  “Sure.”

  He fastened the leash to Scooter’s collar, then bent to kiss her. It wasn’t the kind of kiss they’d shared last night that had made her remember things in her very cells that she’d never felt before, not with Clary’s limp body between them, but maybe an even better kind of kiss.

  A normal one. A routine one that was quickly becoming one of the best parts of her life.

  “Good night,” he murmured, then opened the door and followed the newly energetic Scooter out.

  “G’night,” Clary murmured unexpectedly before snuggling deeper against Macy.

  Macy locked up and armed the alarm, balanced her daughter precariously while snagging the strap of the pink-and-purple backpack Anne had left hanging on the newel post, then headed up the stairs. She intended to have a good night. Her baby in her arms, Brent and Anne out back and sweet dreams of Stephen.

  When she reached the landing, she ignored Clary’s room to the left and carried her into the master bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. She’d still been sleeping in a crib when she’d left a year and a half ago, a situation that certainly wouldn’t please her now. Only babies slept in cribs, and she was no baby. She was a big girl.

  The backpack that carried her clothes was as big as she was, Macy noticed with a smile as she dumped it on the bed. Anne had covered every possibility: shorts, T-shirts, jeans, skirts, a dress and appropriate shoes, plus pajamas, swimsuits and hats. Macy stacked the clothes on a nearby chair, stripped her daughter and easily maneuvered her limp body into a pink nightgown with a picture of a smiling cat on the front.

  After settling her baby, smelling distinctly of sweat and dog, on Mark’s side of the bed, she propped pillows along the edge as a barrier, tucked the covers around her, then carried her dirty clothes into the dressing room. They went into the laundry hamper along with Macy’s own clothes, and she changed into her own pajamas.

  Pleasantly tired, face washed, teeth brushed, Macy returned to the bedroom and stopped so suddenly she stubbed her toe. She hadn’t heard anything out of place, didn’t see anything, but the hairs on her nape were rising as goose bumps popped up along her arms. She held her breath and listened but heard nothing. She breathed deeply to fill her starving lungs, and the difference registered so quickly that she choked on the air.

  Mark’s cologne was drifting faintly on the air.

  It was nothing unusual, she told herself. He’d lived in this room with that cologne for six years. It had probably permeated into the very structure of his dressing room, where he’d sprayed it at least twice a day. Tiny particles had drifted onto the carpet, absorbed into the walls and the furniture. And, look, the curtains were swaying slightly. The central air had come on, and the outrush of air was spreading the scent.

  Shoulders relaxing, she crossed the room to the door. She might have an open-door policy during the day, but at night she wanted the security of closed doors, especially with Clary here. She didn’t want her littl
e girl wandering around a strange house at night.

  Her gaze skimmed across the box just outside the door that held bits of trash: crumpled paper, packing tape that had stuck to itself, other detritus. The box she’d thrown Mark’s cologne into just that morning.

  There was no sign of it. She rifled through the contents, thinking the heavy glass must have sunk to the bottom, but no, it wasn’t there.

  Arms hugged to her middle, Macy backed into the bedroom. Maybe Stephen, Brent or Anne had seen it there and thought it was in the trash by mistake. Maybe one of them had set it aside to ask her about and had forgotten. Maybe...

  She closed the door, locked it, then dragged a heavy chair in front of it. Hands clenched to keep them from trembling too much, she went to Mark’s dressing room, slowly turned the knob, even more slowly turned on the light and stepped inside.

  The elegant black bottle sat on the dressing table.

  Oh, God.

  Chapter 8

  Saturday was the longest day of Stephen’s life, or so it seemed. Time, thankfully, had taken the edges off some of the other longest days. Everything seemed easier in retrospect.

  But he wasn’t interested in retrospect. He just wanted this evening—at least, this part of it—to be over so he could say good-night to Kiki, go home, change clothes and see Macy. Kiki wouldn’t even mind if she knew what was going through his head. So far, she’d spent the entire time doing some sort of weird stalking dance around Ty Gadney, one of her fellow detectives. From what Stephen could tell, she and Gadney had dated for a while, breaking up, getting back together and breaking up again. Apparently, the last breakup had been final, at least in Gadney’s mind. Not so in Kiki’s.

  Stephen was pretty sure her mind was a very strange place.

  They’d been at the party thirty minutes without so much as a glimpse of Marnie and her date. Had his sister lied about coming to the party to get him to bring Kiki? Had she been stood up, or had there never been a date in the first place? And who in Copper Lake could Marnie possibly consider—

  “There’s your sister.” Kiki gestured with her wineglass, nearly sloshing the liquid over the rim, and gave a high wave with her free scarlet-tipped fingers. “Robinson! Over here!”

  Stephen turned to see Marnie just inside the double doors. He blinked, did a double-take. She wore a dress. When had he last seen her in a dress? High school graduation? Bigger surprise: it was red. She was about as color-friendly as he was. If his closet was white, khaki and black, hers was brown, black and gray. Even bigger surprise: her shoes weren’t the score-one-for-comfort-zero-for-style clunkers he’d thought was all she owned but sandals. They were high heels. With thin straps. And also red.

  And the biggest surprise of all: he recognized the man holding her hand. The great-grandson or -nephew of the elderly sisters who lived down the road from him. The long-haul trucker. How the hell had they even met? Marnie knew only police officers, lawyers and the occasional medical personnel who got involved in cases. Outside of that bunch, she didn’t know anyone alive and breathing besides Stephen.

  “You clean up well, Robinson,” Kiki said when Marnie and her date joined them. She thrust out her hand to the man. “I’m Katherine Isaacs.”

  “John Gutierrez.” He shook hands with her, then turned to Stephen. “I’ve seen you down the road. My aunts talk about you a lot.”

  Stephen was still having trouble comprehending that Marnie was dating a truck driver. He really wasn’t a snob. She’d just never shown any interest in a man who didn’t have a string of letters after his name.

  Marnie narrowed her gaze at him, and Kiki slapped him on the arm. “Jeez, say hello to the guy, Noble.”

  Great. Kiki, queen of the bold, brash and insensitive, had to correct his behavior. That was just wrong.

  “Sorry. I’m Stephen.” He shook hands then shoved both of his in his pants pockets. “I like that color, Marnie.”

  Her gaze flickered to the trucker. “John suggested it. It’s...” She ran her fingers over a bit of fabric. “Red.”

  Stephen grinned. He knew what she’d wanted to say: around 640 nanometers. She had always preferred to identify colors by their wavelength or spectrum. “It looks good on you.”

  She glanced down at herself. “Yes, it does.”

  “Hey, Noble, I’ll be back.” Kiki moved into the crowd with no stealth or, as far as that went, grace. She’d spotted Ty Gadney alone for a moment, and he was in her sights.

  “Does she call everyone by their last name?” John asked.

  “Only those not in her social circle.” Marnie immediately lost interest in her friend-of-a-friend. “I understand you’re spending time with Mark Howard’s widow.”

  Stephen blinked. “And how did you hear that?”

  “Never discount the effectiveness of gossip.”

  “I work with real live people and I haven’t heard any gossip.”

  Marnie shrugged. “The people you work with like you. They’re not going to gossip where you can hear.”

  With little-brother sympathy, he wondered if the people she worked with didn’t like her. More likely, they didn’t know what to make of her.

  “Mark Howard.” John frowned. “Isn’t he the guy—”

  “I’d like a drink, John. Bottled water.”

  Marnie never meant to be rude. She just saw no point in continuing with a conversation that had lost interest for her. Apparently, John knew her well enough to understand that because he grinned as if the interruption didn’t faze him. “With the cap still sealed. You want anything, Stephen?”

  “No, thanks.”

  They both watched until John disappeared into the crowd, then Stephen turned his gaze on Marnie and waited until she looked at him. He could ask what John had been about to say but figured he already knew: Isn’t he the guy who shot himself at the fancy plantation house? And though there were details Stephen didn’t know, he’d resisted Google and asking Marnie so far. He could wait for Macy to tell him herself.

  “So...how long have you been seeing this guy?”

  Marnie’s cheeks turned pink. “I assume by ‘seeing,’ you mean dating. This is actually our first date, though he spends most of his nights in town at my house.”

  It was an evening for surprised blinks. He would probably need eyedrops before it was over. “He’s a truck driver.”

  She didn’t take that the wrong way. He’d known she wouldn’t. “With degrees from Yale, Stanford and Princeton.”

  “Wow. And most guys just take the commercial truck driver’s course.”

  “He wasn’t happy with the confining nature of his life. He likes being on the road.”

  “And he likes you.”

  Her smile was faint and stilted. Thirty-seven years of practice had never succeeded at making it look natural. “What’s not to like? I’m intelligent and conversant on numerous subjects. I hold an interesting position in the lab. And I look good in red.”

  “You do.” He gazed across the room and spotted Kiki cozy in a corner with Ty. “It’s not fair, you know. You’re here with someone you like and he likes you back, and I’ve got Detective Scary Pants.”

  Macy’s nickname for Kiki actually made Marnie laugh. “I dare you to call her that when she’s within striking range. She considers Kiki a bad enough burden to bear.”

  “I don’t accept life-threatening dares.” Stephen nodded to a couple of Calloways and their wives who said hello on their way by, saw his boss, Yancy, across the room and Zia with one of her brothers and Sophy Marchand strolling through open doors onto the veranda. “I have been spending a lot of time with Macy Howard,” he said without thinking.

  “How is she?”

  “She’s a little uneasy being back here.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?”

  An interesting comment from a woman who dealt with death and violence on a regular basis, one who found it difficult to relate to people on an emotional level. Again he resisted asking her to spill everything she knew about Mac
y and Mark.

  “Gossip says she’s donating Fair Winds to be a museum and leaving town. Where is she going?”

  That confirmed the identity of at least one of the gossips, not that he’d needed confirmation. If there was a story to be told, it was a sure bet Louise Wetherby would be telling it. Even if it wasn’t true. Maybe especially if it wasn’t true. “She hasn’t decided yet. And that applies to donating the home, too.”

  “I feel sorry for her,” Marnie said, though the matching emotion was absent from her voice. “It wasn’t her fault her husband was the way he was, but people still included her in the talk. ‘She must have known, she must have suspected.’” She scoffed. “As if living with someone means you know what’s going on in his head.”

  Stephen’s jaw clenched. It was getting harder not to ask. Hell, River’s Edge was filled with cops, lawyers and city officials. Probably every single person in the room knew way more about Macy’s life than he did.

  But he was the only one who’d kissed her. Who knew how she tasted. How she felt. He was sure of that in his soul.

  John returned with two bottles of water, one wrapped in a paper napkin for Marnie. He was good-looking, about forty, with glints of silver in his brown hair. He wore his suit better than Stephen did, and the calluses on his hands, as well. A long-haul trucker with degrees from three of the top universities in the country and obvious affection for Marnie. Stephen didn’t need to know anything else to like the man.

  “Are you gone most of the time?” Stephen asked. “I was just thinking the other day that I hardly ever see you.”

  “I’m here three or four days each month, but I spend most of that time with Marnie.”

  “I had no clue.”

  “We aren’t exactly hiding it. We have limited time. We prefer not to share it with anyone else.”

  Marnie spoke up. “Just as you would rather be spending your evening alone with Macy than here with all these people.” She gestured around, then her faint smile returned. “Here comes Detective Scary Pants.” She finished with a soft snort of amusement.