Maybe she wasn’t lost. Just buried under a habitual sense of shame.
She raised her arms and sang, almost losing herself in praise, when she noticed someone else ahead of her doing the same. A man with curly dark hair, strong arms, dressed in khakis and a white polo, just a hint of a bright red and blue Celtic tattoo showing, all cleaned up and cultured.
Jeremy.
Shame ran to her cheeks when she realized by the time the sermon started, she’d practically memorized the back of Jeremy’s head, wondering how long he had before his hair thinned completely. And what his tattoo meant, and if he’d seen hers—how could he, and would she want him to, and wouldn’t that bring up a lot of questions that maybe she didn’t want to discuss—and if he’d surprise her with another pizza today, and most of all, if he still had that list of suspects on him.
She made such a fine Christian. She flipped her Bible open and tried to catch up.
“Where are we?” she mouthed to Maxine.
Maxine smiled and showed her the Bible. “Same one as last week. First Peter.”
She ran her finger down the passage. Oh yes, the bit about being chosen by God and changed by Him. The one that made her believe that she might even be able to help people. Do some good in Kellogg.
She wondered if it was safe to listen to the sermon.
The pastor was warming into his preaching. “I always liked Peter, the rough disciple, the one who always got it wrong. The guy who chopped off the soldier’s ear, who panicked and offered to make a tent for Jesus when he saw Him transfigured. I probably would have done the same thing. I relate to his fear when he told Jesus he’d never leave Him, then hours later denied he knew Him. Peter was so desperate for Jesus’ love, His attention. I wonder if it was hard to see it so easily fall upon John, to hear Jesus call him the Beloved One.”
No, not safe at all. The pastor’s words had the power to scour up old wounds. She swallowed the emotions away.
“Peter just had to accept who he was to Jesus. Not the beloved. But the rabble-rouser.”
PJ looked down at her Bible, wishing she could slink out of the pew.
“Yet to Peter, the troublemaker, Jesus gave the responsibility of feeding the sheep, taking care of the people of the church. While John saw visions of glory, Peter fought for the truth at home among his Jewish friends, neighbors, and relatives.”
PJ glanced up just in time to see the pastor come out from behind the pulpit. Was he looking at her?
“He might have denied Christ, but that day when Jesus offered him forgiveness, Peter finally heard the truth—that Jesus loved him despite his flaws. That God would do great things through him, if he was obedient. All Peter had to do was surrender. He gave everything completely to God—his future and his reputation and his dreams. And that’s when God took over and did amazing things in Peter’s life. And He’ll do that in your life.”
Surrender. She was never very good at that word. It felt mostly like defeat. Still, she gulped those words in and held them like her breath, hoping they would seep into her soul.
A half hour later, PJ cut through the crowd, dodging blockers like a fullback, zeroing in on Jeremy, who held a cup of coffee while reading the list of activities on the bulletin board. PJ had Davy by the paw; he was working on a lollipop Maxine had passed down the pew during the sermon.
“Are you stalking me?”
Jeremy seemed genuinely surprised to see her. “Why, should I be?”
There he went again, being mysterious. And maybe even impressive—who would have thought Jeremy Kane attended church?
He directed his gaze at Davy. “Hey there, pal. That looks good.”
“Grape.” Davy held up the dripping sucker. His hand was permanently glued to the stick.
“Yum.” Jeremy said, sounding halfway believable. “And to answer your question, PJ, no, I’m not stalking you. I saw the church on one of my deliveries and thought I’d check it out. I’m glad I ran into you. I went by your house yesterday.”
Really? While she was moping at the Mall of America?
“I was relieved to see the goat still lived.”
“Shh!” PJ shot her gaze to Davy, then gave Jeremy the hush-or-I’ll-have-to-hurt-you look.
“The secrets you keep.”
“I’m trying to save lives here.”
“Of course. Well, I checked out our list of suspects and wanted to report in.”
Perhaps she’d forgive him for making her feel like a burglar. Well, maybe not so soon. “So? What did you find out?”
“They all have airtight alibis. Your banker was at a meeting—confirmed. The three others—an accountant, a CEO, and a pharmacist—again, all confirmed alibis.”
“How did you—?”
“I have my ways.”
That was all, accompanied by a sharp tone. Clearly he had no intention of letting her in on his methods. She just hoped that none of them included something dark and sinister. “Well, you’re a regular PI, aren’t you?”
He still didn’t share; instead his eyes twinkled. “I don’t suppose you’d like to go on a picnic with me today, would you? It’d be a great day to swim.” He put a hand on Davy’s head. “We can bring Drippy here with us.”
Drippy. She would reluctantly admit that was sorta cute. “Actually, Davy is invited to the Hudsons’ for lunch and an afternoon of play.”
Jeremy’s smile was slow and sweet. “That’s perfect.”
Uh-oh. It was?
Her face must have commented, for he followed with “It can just be you and me.”
“You and me?”
He looked over his shoulder—a furtive look by her standards. “The crime-fighting duo.”
She wanted to smile, to laugh, but her recent failures felt too fresh, tasted too sour. She managed a wry expression. “Yeah. Maybe that’s not a good idea. I’m kind of tired of causing trouble.”
He considered her a long moment. “It’s way too late for that. Come out with me. We’ll keep our conversation limited to murder and mayhem.”
It was the way he cocked his head, raised his eyebrows at her, as if he meant it, as if it wasn’t at all horrible to be causing him a little trouble, that made her say yes. Either that or again her mouth had ventured out on its own, without a care to consequences.
PJ found Maxine standing next to Ethan, one hand on his shoulder as they talked to the pastor.
Maxine broke away from the conversation. “What a great sermon, huh?” She took hold of Davy’s nonsticky hand. “I love the idea of God doing something through me. Despite my flaws.”
Yes. Because more than anything, PJ longed for some sort of hope that at the end of all this, there would be a better, stronger PJ, a registered difference that showed from taking the road less traveled.
“Ready, Davy?”
PJ gave Davy a hug. “Have fun, little man. I’ll pick you up tonight.”
To her shock, Davy popped her a kiss.
“Thanks, Maxine. Don’t forget he’s allergic to peanuts, okay?” Hah! She remembered.
“We’ll be fine. Take your time.”
PJ searched briefly for Jeremy, then headed out to the parking lot. He leaned against her VW, ankles crossed, wearing a pair of black sunglasses, watching her. She couldn’t place his look, and the fact that he knew what car she drove niggled inside her.
Still, she couldn’t help but appreciate the way he stood out, the sun upon him like a halo. “I’m gathering that you want to take my car.”
“We can take the pizzamobile if you want.”
“Hop in.”
She rolled down the window and headed toward Connie’s so she could change. The grill from Sunsets tempted her as they drove by, and she cast a longing look at Hal’s Pizzeria, to Jeremy’s laughter.
“Let’s pick up some chicken from the deli,” he suggested.
They breezed into the Red Owl Grocery Store and loaded up on fried chicken, potato salad, crusty French bread, and Concord grapes, as well as bottled root beer. P
J picked up some ice while Jeremy loaded the lot into her trunk.
At the house, PJ located a picnic blanket in Connie’s garage, a cooler, and a basket. Nothing like outfitting her own date. While she changed into shorts, Jeremy packed the basket, cooling the root beers.
She couldn’t dismiss the feeling that he’d already moved into her life. Nor the chaser that said maybe she liked it.
They drove through Kellogg, out to the highway, and toward the new park.
Jeremy hung his elbow out the window, the wind running through his short dark hair. “Today’s sermon made me think of you.”
It did? “What part?”
“The alien part.”
“Oh, that’s nice, Jeremy. Are you trying to win friends and influence people?” Never mind that she’d always sort of thought of herself as an alien. She didn’t need Jeremy pointing it out.
“Calm down, Princess—”
“Ixnay on the Princess. Especially when I’m driving.”
“Fine. But I liked what the pastor said about sanctification working out in life what is already true inside us.”
“Which is?”
“That we’re not the same people we were. We’re completely new. But so many of us walk around with the same perspective as we did when we were lost. Wondering where we fit in. What a new creation looks like.”
PJ couldn’t look at him. Somehow, he’d climbed inside her soul and done some poking around. “But how does that remind you of me?”
“I think that’s the reason you keep changing jobs. You said you don’t know what skin you belong in, what identity you are. But maybe it’s a little bit of all of them. One second you’re Lawn Girl; the next you’re Goat Procurer; to me you’re Princess—” Seeing her glare, he quickly added, “Just as an example. To Drippy you’re Auntie PJ. But the thing is, only God knows who you really are and who you’re becoming in Him. Maybe you just need to live on the outside who you are on the inside.”
Her throat tightened. Jeremy spoke like a man acquainted with his own words. But more importantly, those were the words she’d been trying to say to herself for two weeks.
“And who are you really, Pizza Guy? Are you living on the outside who you are on the inside?” PJ attempted to keep her voice light, but it emerged pitiful and way too high.
Jeremy looked at her through those dark glasses and said nothing.
“What are you doing at my church anyway?”
“I told you,” he said softly. “I saw it on a delivery.” He peered out the passenger window, his gesture pregnant with what he wasn’t telling her.
“So, what do you do when you’re not delivering pizzas and solving murder mysteries?”
“Ride my motorcycle, fish, read a good book. Sometimes I go salsa dancing.”
She saw his grin out of the corner of her eye. “Funny.”
“Really. I’m very light on my feet.”
“They teach you that in the SEALs?”
“Nope.” Jeremy stretched out his legs and propped the seat back, reposing as they drove. She wished his eyes weren’t hidden.
“Did you grow up in Minneapolis?”
“Nope.”
“St. Paul?”
“Nope.”
PJ glared at him. He smiled, white teeth showing.
“How’d you get that tattoo?”
The smile vanished. Aha, a soft place.
He sighed. “It’s sort of an identity too.” He shifted his seat back up. “All done with the bright lights?”
“Hardly. We have so much left to cover.”
He turned toward her, his shoulder against the seat. “Let’s talk about you. Like, how long did you and Boone date?”
Now that was an interesting starting point. “Two years, with lots of flirting before that.”
“Is he the reason you left town?”
Hmm. “Not anymore.”
“And the reason you returned?”
His question turned her silent. Yes, she may have had Boone on the brain when she motored back into town. But in truth, perhaps she’d been searching for more than the what-could-have-beens. Maybe she’d longed for the what-could-bes—a taste of acceptance, of redemption.
But all that information at once might make her bleed out right here in the car. “I came back to right old wrongs. To rewrite the headlines.”
Jeremy’s posture changed, and he considered her for a long, inscrutable moment. “Are you sticking around?”
Wow, he had the precision of a sniper with his questions. Again, she didn’t know. Maybe she wanted to.
No, it was more than a maybe. With everything inside her, PJ wanted to dig a hole and plant roots, be a part of Davy’s life, and perhaps figure out just what her mother might really be saying. “I . . . don’t know. Maybe.”
“Don’t run away too fast. . . . You should know that I’m not quitting until I figure out what the P and J stand for.” Jeremy reached over and pushed a strand of her flying-about-her-face hair behind her ear.
She nearly shot past the entrance to the park and smashed the brakes hard as they turned. Jeremy rocketed forward into the dash, barely catching himself. She said nothing as she screeched to a halt before a speed bump.
“In a hurry?”
No, not at all, but her heart had inconveniently decided to stand up, pay attention, and compare Jeremy to Boone. She wasn’t sure how to interpret the results.
They drove around the lake to the public parking lot, and by the time she found a shady spot, she’d finally dislodged her heart from her throat. The sun drew a hazy circle in the sky, and the faint aroma of grilling burgers laced the air. Birds serenaded the day as the lake caressed the shoreline.
She tried to push the memories from her mind. Memories as recent as Friday night.
Jeremy said nothing as he got out of the car.
PJ took a deep, heated breath. Boone she could handle. She’d already left him once and survived, if poorly. And while he still had his dangerous allure, she understood it.
Jeremy, however, became more seductively mysterious with every meeting, and his edging toward her heart felt sweetly terrifying.
“What keeps bothering me,” Jeremy said as she opened the trunk hatch and handed him the basket, “is how the killer got into Hoffman’s house. It had to be someone Ernie knew.”
“Now that you’re done with a deep analysis of my life we’re suddenly going to talk mystery and mayhem?”
“It’s just been bugging me.”
She eyed him as he lugged out the picnic basket and set it on the ground. “If it wasn’t Jack, it had to be someone else he expected.”
Jeremy returned for the cooler, handling it with ease. “And another thing—we still don’t have a motive.”
“Oh yeah? How about the Nero coins?”
He wore the smile that said she had a large and overactive imagination. “I know I suggested that, but it’s probably something much simpler. Like betrayal or revenge. Most crimes are ones of passion, not calculation.”
She reached into her trunk and grabbed the blanket. It was then she noticed the gun. Nestled under the blanket, it lay there like a Frisbee or a softball or another addition to the picnic. She picked it up, her heart thumping. It looked similar to the gun she shot with Boone, the black one.
Had he put it in her car? Why?
She fit the gun into her hand just like Boone taught her, with the handle tight into the web of her palm. Curled her finger around the trigger. It had a hard pull, so that it wouldn’t go off by accident, but she heard Boone’s voice in her head, telling her to keep her finger off the trigger if she didn’t want to shoot. Yes, that made sense.
She glanced at Jeremy. He’d turned away from her and walked out onto the lawn, staring out across the lake, his hands on his hips. She could make out the Navy SEAL in his posture, tall and confident.
Maybe it was Jeremy’s gun.
Maybe . . . if he, unlike Boone, thought Hoffman’s killer still roamed the streets of Kellogg. “J
eremy!” she hollered, lifting the gun toward him. He turned at her voice. “Is this—?”
A shot cracked the air, splintered her words. She ducked, her hands over her head.
Jeremy fell, adding a cry of pain that parted her breath. He sprawled on his back, holding on to a gash in his arm.
She ran toward him, her head ducked a little like some sniper might take it off. “Jeremy!”
Blood pooled between his fingers, and his shocked expression wavered from the gun in her hands to her face and back again. “You shot me!”
She looked at the gun, felt its weight, and unhanded it into the grass.
Jeremy morphed right before her, back into the soldier she’d seen at the pro shop, dark and very, very dangerous. Even his eyes seemed to be on fire, scorching her as he climbed to his feet and strode toward her. She shrank back.
“Maybe I should be asking you, PJ Sugar, where you were the day Ernie Hoffman was murdered.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Boone, I swear, I didn’t shoot him.”
“Save it.” Boone didn’t look at her, shaking his head as he penned something on his clipboard. He’d been working on his car again, evidenced by a smudge of grease behind his ear, as if he’d scratched his neck, perplexed. Still, he’d donned a clean button-down shirt to apprehend public enemy number one.
Behind him, paramedics bandaged Jeremy’s arm as he perched on the open end of an ambulance. They’d attracted a crowd with the whirling lights and the sirens. A cluster of horrified mothers clutched their precious children, wide-eyed, leering at her as if she were a serial killer. Overhead, the beautiful day mocked her with its pristine, cloudless sky, gentle breezes, the lure of lunch in the air.
“C’mon, Boone, he’s not even hurt . . . much.”
“I’m telling you, PJ, for your own good, stop talking.” Boone’s tone bore something beyond anger, edging close to panic.
Okay, now he was scaring her. “I didn’t shoot him!”
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