Killing Time

by Leslie Kelly

  Then, feeling better than he had all week, he began to whistle the tune along with her.

  ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Hester handed the last note over to the teenage boy who’d been helping her deliver them. She’d taken care to make sure the glue was nice and tight on the envelope so he couldn’t do any snooping. She’d dropped off the first few notes herself, then passed the task on to Brent to avoid suspicion.

  It was an equitable arrangement. He did her the occasional odd job, and she didn’t tell his parents—or the police—that she’d caught him cutting school and smoking marijuana behind the church last year.

  “You’re sure this is it? The last one?” Brent said.

  He looked around nervously as if someone might spot him at the back door of the rectory after dark. Probably afraid some of his hooligan friends might spot him and accuse him of fearing for his sinning soul.

  “Yes,” she said. “Take it to the same place you took the one on Wednesday.”

  He nodded, then squared his shoulders and looked her in the face. “And this is the end. The end of everything?”

  There was a challenging glint in the boy’s eye tonight. Hester had noticed it before, but now it was more prominent. A challenging boy could be an angry boy. And an angry boy could be one who told tattletales.

  This resource had just about dried up. Fortunately, since she’d soon be gone, that really didn’t matter.

  She pasted on a gentle look and patted his shoulder. “Of course, Brent. I think you’ve learned your lesson, haven’t you? That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, is help you learn your lesson. You needed to learn to mend your ways and now I’ve helped you do that.”

  His brow pulled down as he puzzled over that one. Probably wondering how being blackmailed—such an ugly word, that—to do chores for her would teach him not to do drugs. He didn’t understand yet. Someday, though, he’d remember and always remind himself of the value of knowing secrets.

  She’d probably created a little monster. Not that she really cared.

  Before he could question her further, Hester gave him a little push. “Go on now. Good night.” She shut the door before he even had time to respond.

  After she was alone in the house—Bob having gone off to the diner to visit with some of his friends—Hester sat at her bathroom vanity and stared at herself in the mirror. “Even you wouldn’t recognize me, Vicky,” she whispered, thinking of her long-dead friend, the party girl known as Victoria Lynn. “No one would recognize the former Esmerelda Devane now,” she added, seeing only glimpses of the wild girl she’d once been. The curve of her eyebrows was the same, and the color of her eyes.

  She’d been quite a looker once upon a time. She and Vicky had caused a stir wherever they’d went.

  But thirty years had taken its toll. Now she was no longer Hester Tomlinson, rebellious daughter of a preacher from Minnesota who’d run off as a teenager, wanting to live a little before she died. Nor was she Esmerelda Devane—who’d lived a lot. And she wasn’t Miss Hester, the loving, supportive sister who had no life but to serve her brother and his parishioners.

  When she left Derryville, she’d be Hester Devane. A wealthy widow. That was the perfect story, and she could play the part well.

  “This is meant to be,” she told her reflection. She deserved this success, and wouldn’t regret the gamble she had taken, the risk she’d put herself in.

  She thought about Victoria Lynn, a woman she hadn’t seen or thought of in nearly thirty years. A woman no one had seen in thirty years. And never would again.

  Victoria Lynn had disappeared into the night, like mist swirling away beneath a streetlight. She’d been a victim of the life she’d gotten caught up in. Now, Vicky’s death would at least in some way be avenged.

  Even if the vengeance was only through money.

  “Money will do,” she murmured. “Lots of it.”

  Lots of money would definitely do.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “WHERE ARE WE GOING?” Caroline asked as they took off in his car toward the highway. They’d spent only a half hour at his house to pack their overnight bags. They’d packed light, since they wouldn’t be able to spend more than tonight and a bit of tomorrow morning out of town. The show was shooting a big party scene the next evening and they’d have to be back for it.

  “Far away from here,” he replied.

  “Oh, goody.”

  Mick reached for her hand, twined his fingers in hers, and pulled them to his lips. He gave her a gentle kiss, then turned her hand over and kissed her palm also. Unable to resist the sweet flavor of her skin, he tasted her pulse point with his tongue, feeling the beating that sped up by the second under his touch.

  “You’d better keep your eyes on the road,” she reminded him softly, nodding out the window toward passing highway traffic. He gave a disappointed sigh but let go of her hand.

  “Where exactly are we going?”

  “I’ll tell you if you tell me something.”

  “Okay. But you tell first.”

  “Chicago,” Mick replied.

  “Oooh, yummy!” She sounded like a kid being told she was going to Disney World. Mick couldn’t claim any surprise. Caroline was a big-city woman now; he didn’t imagine places like Derryville held much charm for her.

  Shrugging off the moment’s unease about her excitement at leaving, he asked his question. “Okay, my turn. Who’s the killer?”

  She gave a deep, exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “Oh, sure you can,” he said, his tone cajoling. “I can keep a secret.”

  “A secret? You must be kidding. I don’t think there is such a thing in that hometown of yours.”

  “It isn’t mine,” he reminded her, again feeling that brief sense of unease. Every time she mentioned his hometown he was reminded that she’d be leaving soon. Much too soon.

  “It isn’t? I thought you said it was when you ordered me not to sleep with any other men in your town.”

  He shrugged and shook his head. “Oh, I just used the wrong words. I think the exact term I was going for was ‘no other men in the known universe.’”

  Pleased laughter spilled off her lips. So Caroline liked his brief moment of possessiveness. He wondered how much she’d appreciate knowing he wasn’t kidding, that he couldn’t stand the thought of her being with anyone else. Ever.

  You moron, you’re falling for her all over again.

  No, he wasn’t. Because, as hard as it was to admit, he’d never really gotten over her. Which was probably why he’d had a string of fun, casual relationships, but not one serious one since college. Which made this experimental attempt at one with Caroline a lot more important than he wanted her to realize.

  “Okay, you can ask me another question since I can’t tell you who the Derryville Demon is.”

  “Can you tell me who it isn’t? Just tell me for sure that it isn’t everyone on the set except the cast member over sixty who thinks every conversation should begin with the words ‘to be or not to be.’”

  She snickered. “Not telling.”

  “Come on. It’s the professor, isn’t it?”

  “Forget it, you can’t make me tell.”

  He shot her a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye. “I have ways of making you tell.”

  She nibbled her lip. “Not about this.”

  “If I weren’t behind the wheel of this car I could.”

  She instinctively scooted away, closer to the window. “Keep your no-good tickling self away from me, Mick Winchester.”

  “What about my no-good seducing self?”

  He saw her shiver in reaction. “Definitely not.”

  Knowing the way he’d once tickled and then seduced Caroline into making love in an empty classroom on campus, in broad daylight, he figured he had a fair shot at making her spill her guts now.

  If only his hands weren’t occupied—too busy driving for any tickling—and his mouth wasn’t so far a
way—much too far for the kind of kissing and licking and tasting he’d like to do to make her melt and promise him anything if only he’d give her some satisfaction.

  He cleared his throat, willing away the images. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me. Let’s just play twenty questions for it. Is the killer female?”

  “No.”

  “Was that a no to the female part? Or a no in general to the twenty questions part?”

  “No to twenty questions. I’m not telling,” she replied primly, folding her hands in her lap and looking straight ahead out the front window.

  He sighed heavily. “Oh, you win. But, I know I’m right. It is the professor, isn’t it?”

  “Not telling.”

  “He’s so full of himself. It’s him. Or else it’s Mona. You always have to watch out for those quiet, sneaky ones.”

  She stuck her fingers in her ears and began to hum. He immediately recognized the theme song from Married With Children. Geez, she must be desperate to have gone to that one since he knew Caroline had always liked the happy family shows, not the dysfunctional ones.

  “Okay, okay,” he said with a laugh, pulling one hand down. “No more questions about the killer.”

  “Good.”

  Knowing he still had his one question to ask, he thought about it for a few moments. There were so many things he wanted to know, so many conversations they hadn’t shared over all these years. There hadn’t been much talking since she’d been back. Their time together had been spent either bickering, or dancing around their physical relationship. Their wonderful, hot, sexy, crazy, physical relationship. He shifted in his seat.

  Some of the things he wanted to ask her, he couldn’t. Not yet. There was, however, one he had to have the answer to right now. “How do you like what you’re doing with your life?”

  She tilted her head, giving him a quizzical look. “That’s your question? How’s life?”

  He nodded. “Pretty much.”

  Caroline shrugged and leaned back in the leather passenger seat. She kicked off her shoes and lifted one bare, delicate foot to rest on the console, stretching out for the ride to the city. God, he was lusting after a woman’s bare foot. What did that say about him—and how he felt about her—that her bare foot made him want to get naked and make love to her here and now, right in the front seat of his car?

  “Good.”

  Yeah, it would be so good.

  “Mick?”

  Giving his head a quick shake, he took his mind off her delicately curved ankle and pretty, pink-tinted toenails. “Sorry.”

  “I said it’s good. Life’s good.”

  “One-word answer, that’s the best you can do?”

  “You gave a one-word answer—Chicago,” she shot back.

  “True. But the rest is a surprise.”

  “Well,” she said crossing her arms in front of her chest, “my answer’s not exactly a surprise. Life’s good. I like my job, I like my condo, even though it’s tiny. I have a few good friends who drag me out to clubs occasionally. I run on the beach but never after sundown. I even go on a date once in a blue moon.”

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Anything serious?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all. My job’s been my focus for a long time. It wasn’t easy breaking in without finishing school first. I finished up my Bachelor’s at night during my first couple of years at the studio. I worked as a secretary in the beginning. Got a break—covered the rear end of a studio exec when he’d lost an important treatment—and got a low-level job in production.”

  “So,” he said when she’d finished, “the rest is history?”

  “Right. Though, of course, I’m not where I want to be yet.”

  “I remember. In the studio. Top loony in the loony bin.” Flipping his turn signal to pass a slow-moving truck in front of them on the highway, he began to shake his head and chuckle. “Sorry, babe, I just can’t picture you having the nerve to spray paint somebody’s tree or squirt people with stinky water.”

  She tsked. “That was the director, remember?”

  “And you don’t want to direct,” he replied, remembering one of their earlier conversations.

  “Nope. So, how about you? You happy with the way your life has gone?”

  He heard a tiny, breathy hitch in her voice and wondered if the question—and his answer—were as important to her as hers had been to him. “It’s…okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  He shrugged, trying to remember why it was just okay when a month ago he would have said everything was great. Why the life he’d always wanted—the one he’d lived since Caroline had walked away—suddenly didn’t seem like one he was satisfied with.

  “I mean, I own a successful business.”

  “Real estate. It’s so you. Mr. Salesman. You could charm an old granny into buying a G-string.”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t want to see Hildy model it,” he immediately retorted. Then he continued. “But yes, I seem to do well in sales and marketing. It was real estate or used cars. And you know me and cars.”

  She snickered, as he’d intended her to, obviously remembering his bad track record with the succession of junker rides he’d had during college.

  “By the way,” he informed her, figuring she’d find out sooner or later, “you’re not the only college dropout who took some night courses.”

  Her mouth dropped open, then she smiled with pleasure. “Oh, Mick, you did finish school?”

  He nodded, as if it had been no big deal, though it was something he was very glad he’d done.

  “So, we two college dropouts did pretty well in spite of sabotaging ourselves.”

  “Sabotaging each other,” he muttered, before thinking better of it.

  Caroline’s smile faded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she murmured. Mick felt a thin wall of tension between them, when there had been none before. Caroline glanced out the window, suddenly focused on the passing scenery, not on their conversation.

  That had been a stupid thing to say—he’d known it as soon as it left his mouth. But it was true. They had sabotaged each other. He with his immaturity, she with her suspicions.

  He wasn’t entirely sure they’d changed that much. They still had to deal with her ambition, her need to be driven and successful, compared to his own lazy, laid-back life in Small Town, U.S.A. Her reaction to the women Mick saw casually on the street let her know that Caroline still didn’t entirely trust him. Perhaps she never would. All of that didn’t even take into account the geographical issue.

  Things appeared much the same as they had eight years ago. But this time, Mick was determined their story was going to have a very different ending.

  CAROLINE HAD HALF EXPECTED Mick to pull up in front of a pricey hotel in Chicago for their overnight date. She hadn’t been sure what to bring when he’d told her to pack a few things.

  She wondered what he’d think when he saw what she pulled out of her little overnight bag. She nearly shivered thinking of the white lace bra and panties with garter set. That and one or two very naughty things that she’d stuffed in her suitcase back in L.A. for some strange reason.

  Strange reason? Not likely. It had been the same reason she’d ditched her dusty diaphragm and started using the patch.

  Mick.

  Even weeks before she’d stopped hating him, she’d known they were much too explosive to stay apart for long. Now she just regretted the time they’d wasted. Two more weeks couldn’t possibly be enough to build the kind of memories she wanted to take with her when it was time to leave Mick.

  Oh, God, she hated to even think those words together. Leave and Mick.

  She knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t want her to. And she knew herself well enough to know she had to. Maybe they could swing something long distance for a while. But only for a while. Because, really, how long would it take for her to go completely mad, wondering how a man like Mick was occupying his time during their long periods apart?


  She shook off the thought. Mick had done nothing to deserve it—this time.

  “So, now that we’re almost to Chicago, are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  He glanced over and shook his head. “Not ’til we get there.”

  Giving him a deliberately pouty look, she said, “Pretty please? Is it shopping? You know how much I love shopping. And I saw some ads for some trendy place called the Red Doors that I’d love to check out.”

  “They sell fabulous lingerie.” Then he snapped his mouth closed, as if realizing he’d said something he shouldn’t.

  She laughed lightly, forcing the image of Mick buying lingerie for another woman out of her mind with a quick, internal sigh. “Look, we’ve been apart for eight years. It’s not as if I’ve expected you to be celibate.”

  “Good.”

  She glanced out the window. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve been.”

  He stiffened in his seat. “Oh, right, we’re back to that whole lot of lovers conversation, are we?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “As I recall,” he said cutting the car off the interstate and heading toward downtown Chicago, “we never did finish talking about it.”

  “Nope, we got, um…sidetracked.” There was almost a purr in her voice—she heard it herself.

  “You were definitely tracked. The wolf tracked you down,” he said with a self-satisfied grin.

  “Tracked. Huh. More like stalked.”

  He growled lightly. “He was overwhelmed by your charms and you couldn’t deny your womanly urges.”

  “Ugh. You should’ve quit while you were ahead.”

  They laughed together as he drove toward downtown, and all the while, Caro kept remembering the way they’d been before. Just like this. With laughter and teasing and great sex.

  She just hoped they weren’t heading down exactly the same path. The one that had led to years of heartbreak and loneliness. She’d do just about anything to change things this time.

  “We’re here,” he said, interrupting her unpleasant thoughts.