by Terry Odell
"It's what friends do," Maggie said. "Now, why don't you both sit and you can tell me what's been going on." Sarah heard the unspoken, because someone didn't want to talk on the way home.
Sarah shifted her eyes from one to the other. Better to do it once and get it over with. She accepted Randy's arm around her shoulders as they walked to the couch, but she tucked herself into a corner. She'd had enough people in her face already. He seemed to understand, because he planted a gentle kiss on her head and sat across from her in one of the easy chairs.
Maggie brought a teapot and three cups on a tray and set it on the coffee table. "It'll be ready in a few minutes." She went over to the cabinet where Sarah kept her liquor and brought both the brandy and the Jameson. She poured some brandy into two of the cups and winged her eyebrows at Randy.
"Irish, please."
She glugged a generous shot into the third cup. "There you go. You can start on that while the tea brews if you want. I've always liked the way a little good booze blends with chamomile."
Sarah deliberated for two seconds before picking up a cup. The brandy burned her throat and made her eyes water, but she looked forward to its effects.
Uncharacteristically, Randy left his cup on the tray. He normally drank his liquor straight, not mixed into herbal tea. He winced and rubbed his belly. Sarah uncurled herself and stomped to the kitchen and poured a tall glass of milk. As an afterthought, she found a box of vanilla wafers and carried them with her. She set the cookies on the table and handed Randy the glass.
They didn't speak, but the touch they exchanged when he took it from her said enough.
Randy downed half the milk, then set the glass on a coaster. "Whenever you're ready."
As if she'd ever be. But they weren't going away and the sooner she got through it, the sooner she could crawl into a hole for the night.
"They had a warrant," she began. "They were looking for any of Garrigue's pottery. They took my computer, my files and practically turned the place upside down. They had one for my apartment, too." She looked around, seeing everything in order. "Maybe they haven't been here yet."
"They were here, sweetie," Maggie said. "Mrs. Pentecost let them in."
"Did they take anything?" she asked.
"She said they took your computer," Maggie said. "She has the paperwork."
Sarah looked at the empty spot on her desk and wondered why she hadn't noticed. Was she that upset? Well, yes.
"But I straightened up," Maggie continued. "I couldn't have you coming home to a mess."
Sarah's throat closed. She poured tea into her mug atop the remaining brandy and forced a swallow. "Thank you, Maggie."
"Like I said, it's what friends do." Maggie looked at her patiently, but her curiosity was evident. She tipped a few of the cookies onto the tray and took one.
"They think I'm involved in a smuggling ring," Sarah said.
The cookie dropped from Maggie's fingers. "You? Smuggling? They have got to be kidding."
"I tried to explain that," Randy said. "Unfortunately, off-the-wall as it seems, there was enough evidence for them to check."
"I told everything to the lawyer," Sarah said. "He did whatever lawyers do and said I could come home."
"Why on earth did they think you were smuggling? And what did they think you smuggled? Drugs?" Maggie asked.
Sarah shook her head. "Diamonds. Hidden inside coffee mugs. Inside the pottery itself."
"Oh, my word," Maggie said. "Diamond smuggling. Like blood diamonds? There was that movie about them."
She was too numb to care what kind of diamonds they were. "I don't know, Maggie. I doubt it'll make much difference."
"What do you think, Randy?" Maggie said.
"Sarah's right. Not to condone blood diamonds, but the smuggling charges are going to be the ones to disprove. The feds or Interpol will follow up with where the diamonds originated. Right now, we have to figure out who's behind this. Get Sarah out of the loop so the cops can find the real crooks."
"You'll do that, won't you?" Maggie said. "Can we help?"
Sarah sat up a little straighter. Maggie was right. Crying in the shower wasn't going to solve anything. "Have you talked to Kovak and Mike Connor?" she asked. "I brought the mug we took from Saint Michael's to them. Nothing about the construction made sense, but smuggling something inside the mugs never occurred to me."
Randy picked up his milk and drained the glass. He shoved his hair off his forehead. "They're off the case."
"So, you're back on it?" Sarah asked, hope growing inside. Not that she didn't think Kovak was a good cop, but she knew Randy.
His fists clenched. His silence sent ripples down her spine.
"Randy?" she said. "You're not on the case? Who is?"
"Conflict of interest," he said, more to the floor than to her or Maggie. "County Sheriffs are taking over."
Like the deputies who'd come and questioned her. Torn her shop apart. Assumed she was guilty. Why? Because it would close the case for them? A quick solve instead of the truth?
The room swam. Her face grew hot, her hands cold. Maggie was saying something, but her voice was so far away.
Then a cup was at her lips and the fiery taste of whisky burned her tongue.
"Swallow, Sarah." Randy's voice. Reflexively, she obeyed. The hazel flecks in his eyes swam in her vision. She coughed, her eyes watering.
She managed to choke out an, "I'm all right."
He sat beside her, his big, warm hand holding both of her small ones. "Easy does it."
"I'm fine," she said.
"You're white," Maggie said. "And shaking. Have you eaten?"
"Maggie," Randy said gently. "Would you mind leaving us alone?"
Maggie crossed to the couch and stroked Sarah's hair. "Of course not. I'll let myself out," Maggie said. She retrieved her purse and went to the door. She turned, trapping both of them with a schoolteacher stare that would have dropped any student dead in his tracks. "I'm counting on you, Randy, to take care of things. And Sarah, I expect you to accept help from him and anyone else who has something to offer. This is no time to prove you can do everything by yourself."
"Yes, ma'am," she said meekly. She knew about running a business and managing a household but after two sessions with the cops, she knew better than to try this on her own.
"Call if you need anything," Maggie said. After she left, Randy locked the deadbolt.
The worry in his eyes when he came back to the couch frightened her more than dealing with the cops. "What's wrong? And if you say it's nothing, you are out of here."
"It's not nothing," he said. "I'm a suspect, too."
"You? That's more ridiculous than me."
"Right. So we're going to prove them wrong. There's one little hitch, though."
"What kind of hitch?"
"I'm on mandatory vacation. Any and all official police work is off-limits."
She heard the way he emphasized "official".
"That's not going to stop you, is it?"
Chapter Twenty-One
Randy leaned across the truck's cab and rested his hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Wake up, sleeping beauty." She'd insisted on showering before they left and her fresh scent had tantalized him all the way down from Pine Hills.
She jerked awake, a bewildered expression on her face. "Huh?" Her gaze fixed on him, then the truck. Recognition set in. "Oh. What time is it?"
"About midnight."
"I guess I dozed off."
He tousled her hair. "Yeah, for about three hours. We're at Grants Pass, which is as far as we're going tonight. I need to crash."
She yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Mm-kay."
He wondered if she was going to fall back to sleep, but she opened her door. He rounded the front of the truck and snaked his arm around her waist as they strolled to the quaint motel's lobby. Her body radiated warmth in the chill night air and he snugged her closer.
"How's your stomach?" she asked.
"Fine. Thanks for t
he soup." He'd eaten it more to ensure she ate something than because he'd been hungry, but it had extinguished the fire in his belly. The lobby doors were wood, not glass and they required that someone actually pull them open. Inside, the registration counter was empty, but he heard a television playing from what must have been the clerk's office. He cleared his throat, but no one appeared.
Sarah reached forward and dinged the old-fashioned metal push bell with a firm slap. She smiled up at him. "Nice to see something low-tech once in a while." She ambled over to a brochure rack and started leafing through a display of area attractions.
A sleepy-looking clerk, probably barely in his twenties, stumbled out scratching the sparse blond stubble on his jaw. "Welcome to Grants," he mumbled. "Checking in?"
"Yes," Randy said. "Room for two. We don't have a reservation."
"S'no prob." He reached into a folder and pushed a card across the countertop. "Top five lines, sign at the X. How ya' gonna pay?"
Randy slipped his credit card from his wallet and handed it to the kid, who shoved it through a reader. "Guess the important stuff is high-tech," he said to Sarah.
"How many keys?" the kid asked.
"One's fine," Randy said. "We'll be checking out in the morning."
"Got breakfast in the lobby six to nine." He handed Randy a metal door key on a red diamond-shaped plastic holder with 26 printed in black. "Round back on the left."
Randy took the key. "Thanks."
The kid shuffled back to his lair. Randy moved his truck to a slot in front of the room and pulled the two small suitcases from the backseat. After he'd told Sarah his plan, he'd gone home to pack and make arrangements for Wendy, his neighbor's daughter, to care for Starsky and Hutch. Poor cats probably thought he'd abandoned them, although Wendy undoubtedly lavished more attention on them than he did with his crazy schedule.
"You paid by credit card," Sarah said. "Used your own name. Won't they be able to track you down?"
He unlocked the motel room door and held it open for Sarah. She slid around him and flipped on the light. One queen bed covered with a plaid spread dominated the small room. He set the cases on the floor next to a small round table under the window. "I'm not hiding. I was ordered to take vacation time. Nobody said where I could or couldn't go." He took her in his arms. "Thanks for coming with me."
"Hey, I want to find out what's going on. More than you, probably. It might be your job, but it's my life." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not in trouble for leaving Pine Hills?"
He chuckled. "That 'don't leave town' makes for good television, but you're not under arrest. They have no authority to make you stay. And your lawyer can get in touch with you."
"It feels kind of funny, though. Leaving everything up to him."
"Trust me. Most of time, we get the information we need to make a case because a suspect won't keep his mouth shut when a lawyer tells him to."
She drew the drapes across the window. "I thought I was a Person of Interest, not a suspect."
"True enough. But saying the wrong thing can move you into the other category."
"What about that aiding and abetting thing?" There was a hint of levity in her tone, but he sensed she was concerned about his decision to pick up and go. He wished he could tell her everything, but he'd have to settle for putting her at ease with near-truths for now.
"Nope. That would be you poking around or trying to hide and me helping. All I did was invite you to join me on a little trip down the coast. See the redwoods, walk on the beach."
"I keep thinking this is a bad dream." She gave a deep sigh, one that grabbed him around the heart. Then she took her suitcase to the alcove that served as a closet, set it on the stand and opened it. "But it's not. This is reality and I'm dealing with it. Okay if I take first crack at the bathroom?"
"Be my guest." She disappeared with her zippered toiletry pouch. He surveyed the room. Not too bad, he thought. As a matter of fact, the whole room had a homey touch. Photographs of the local landscapes on the walls, along with some framed newspaper articles of events in the town's history instead of generic artwork. The expected coffee maker, but ceramic mugs with mountain scenes on them instead of foam cups. Not the cookie-cutter sterility of the chains. Past its prime perhaps, but clean.
He sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing to test the mattress. He shifted his weight back and forth. The headboard clunked against the wall. Ever the optimist, he got up and pulled the bed back a few inches. Wouldn't want to wake the neighbors.
Toeing off his shoes, he gave a quick check of his phone but neither the chief nor Kovak had left a message. Sarah emerged from the bathroom. "All yours," she said. He snapped the phone shut.
He stayed where he was, watching as she undressed. She stood in profile, not facing him, but not hiding, either. First her sneakers, which she placed neatly on the floor under the suitcase stand. Then her socks, one stuffed inside each shoe. Seemingly unaware of his presence, she unbuttoned her jeans, then lowered the zipper. That rasp of metal had to be one of the top ten most erotic sounds on the planet. He stiffened in his jeans and lowered his own zipper to ease the building pressure. Her jeans slid over her bottom, down her thighs and she stepped out of them, holding them by the waistband. She shook them out, folded them and draped them over one of the hangers.
Bikini panties. Nylon. Beige. They repeated the journey of her jeans, but ended up folded and tucked into her suitcase. She crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt and lifted it over her head. Okay, he wasn't tired anymore.
Her bra matched her panties. She folded her sweatshirt and stood on tiptoe to place it on the shelf above the closet bar, defining the muscles of her calves and lifting her breasts.
He yanked off his socks, kicked off his jeans and reached over his head to pull his shirt off. When he came out from under, she wore—an oversize cotton t-shirt? That was not what he'd envisioned. He blinked and looked again. Yep. Navy-blue cotton. Long-sleeved, down almost to her knees. Damn, she still looked as sexy as hell, especially with the way her headlights were on high beams.
She turned and smiled. "I said it's your turn."
"Yeah. On my way." He got up and followed his erection toward the bathroom.
"Randy?"
He stopped.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
Her eyes twinkled. He folded her into his arms and kissed her, hard and deep. Her mouth was cool against his tongue and she tasted like toothpaste.
She returned his kiss, then pulled away. "Well, that's not what I meant, but … not bad."
"What did you mean?" he asked.
She pointed at his suitcase. "Your toothbrush."
Later, they lay side by side, her head in the crook of his collarbone, her nightshirt and his briefs lost somewhere in the sheets.
"What are you doing?" Sarah asked. "And don't tell me you're on vacation."
"I am on vacation," he said. "And I thought we could use some quality time together." He stroked the rim of her ear. "How am I doing so far?"
"In that department, fine."
He felt her tense. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
Great. If there's one thing a woman didn't mean when she said "nothing" it was nothing.
"Let's get some sleep," she said. "I have a feeling it'll be another long day tomorrow." She turned her back to him, curling onto her side. He stared into the blackness. Every now and then, headlights from the highway shone through the gap in the curtains, casting shimmers across the far wall, then disappearing so everything was dark once again. Like the case. Clues would appear, but like the lights outside, they'd fade into nothingness, never permitting a clear picture.
* * * * *
In the lobby the next morning, Sarah helped herself to a second cup of coffee from the urn, then returned to a wing chair. Between sips, she inhaled the rich aroma and gazed out the window overlooking the motel courtyard. A light mist blurred the view of the hedge-lined footpath. Randy's cell phone had bl
asted her awake shortly after six and the adrenaline jolt had put an end to getting back to sleep. She'd showered, dressed and repacked, but he was still on the phone, so she left him to his cop stuff.
She'd fallen back into that comfortable companionship with him yesterday once she'd put the police questioning behind her. He'd been supportive, not demanding. But something was going on and he still wouldn't talk about it. Or couldn't. They both knew this wasn't a getaway vacation. She might even have something useful to add, if he'd let her in. They might make a decent team.
"Would you like some muffins, Miss? Fresh baked."
Sarah snapped out of her reverie and stared into the plump, cheerful face of a salt-and-pepper-haired woman extending a tray piled with assorted muffins with one hand, a stack of paper napkins with the other. She wore black knit slacks, a white blouse and a red and white checked apron. "Blueberry, apple, and bran," the woman said.
"They smell delicious," Sarah said. She helped herself to a blueberry one.
"Don't be shy, Miss. Take some for the road." Her eyes disappeared into crinkles when she smiled. There was enough resemblance to the kid who'd waited on them last night for Sarah to see this was a family business. She thought about That Special Something, the way she and David had considered it a part of their lives, not just a job.
"Thanks." She took an apple muffin and wrapped it in a napkin, setting it aside on the table beside her chair. The woman bustled off, offering her goods to the other couple in the room.
The front door opened, admitting a damp morning breeze. Randy followed, his long legs carrying him to her side. He brushed water droplets from his shirt. "Let's go," he said, his lips flattened into a grim line. "It's starting to rain. Truck's loaded."
"But you should eat something," she protested. "All you had for dinner last night was soup." She motioned toward the table where their hostess was setting the muffins next to the coffee urn. "The muffins are heavenly."
The woman turned. "You give me ten seconds and I'll have a bag for you," she said.
Randy's jaw clenched. "That won't be necessary. We have to be going."
