by Julie Miller
“You already know that or you wouldn’t be here.”
Trent managed to keep the patient tone Max hadn’t been able to muster. “First of all, is everything all right, ma’am? It tends to put us on alert to see someone carrying a weapon. I assure you, Max was only trying to prevent an accident from happening.”
Her gaze darted up to his. “Is that true?”
Max shrugged. “I don’t like to get shot.”
“But that’s why you touched me? You thought I was going to...?” Her voice trailed away and her focus dropped to the middle of his chest. “Sarcasm, right?”
“Oh, yeah.” With a clear lack of appreciation for his cynical humor, her gaze bounced across the width of Max’s shoulders, up to the scruff on his chin, over to the large bay window and finally down to the brass badge clipped to his belt. Prim and proper Miss Rosemary March was hiding something, buying herself time to come up with the right thing to say. Why? Something had her spooked. Was it the badge? His very real, very loaded gun? Was it him? Six feet, two inches of growly first sergeant in need of a shave could be intimidating. Was it Trent? Max’s partner was even taller, still built like the defensive lineman he’d once been. And she had to be, what, all of five-five?
A chill pricked the back of his neck. That instant wariness, much like the split-second warnings he’d gotten over in the desert before all hell broke loose, put him on alert. Maybe he and Trent weren’t the reason she was carrying that gun. Thinking he ought to be worried about more than that empty weapon, Max rested his hand on his holster and looked beyond her into the foyer. “Is someone in the house with you?”
“No.” Too fast an answer.
When he reached for the door, she sidestepped to block his path. She put her hand up to stop him from opening the door. Max put on the brakes, but with his momentum he swayed toward her, breathing in a whiff of her flowery soap or shampoo. He heard her suck in her breath and felt her fingers push against him before she curled them into a fist and pulled back almost as soon as they made contact with his chest.
“Lady, I’m trying to help—”
“I said no.” Although the firm tone drew him up short, the warning was directed to the button on the wrinkled point of his collar.
And she was shivering. In this ninety-degree heat, he could see the fine tremors in the fist clutched to her chest.
Max huffed out a frustrated breath that she turned her face from. He scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw and wisely backed away before he muttered the curse on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t able to read this chick at all. She wasn’t wrinkled. She wasn’t old. And the only thing prunish about her was the snooty tone that attempted to put him in his place time and again. And, hell, he had to admire anyone who dared to stand up to him on a day like today.
First, she’d been an imposition on his time. Then she was a threat. Now he could smell the fear on her, but she refused to admit to it.
And how could he still feel the imprint of five fingers that had barely brushed against him?
He splayed his hands at his waist and demanded that she start making some sense. “Are you hiding something? Is that why you don’t want us inside?”
“No, I just don’t like having anyone...” She pressed her pink lips together in a thin line, stopping that explanation. “It’s a mess.”
The boxes and piles of papers stacked in the room indicated she was telling the truth. Still, there was something off about this woman—about this whole situation. “Nobody comes to the door with a gun because she’s embarrassed about her housekeeping. That thing is an accident waiting to happen.”
“I’ll explain it again.” Oh, right. In case the dumb cop couldn’t figure it out. “The gun was still out from last night. I’ve been going through my parents’ things for months now and found it in my father’s desk. I was putting it away before my ride comes to pick me up this morning. The doorbell rang while I was straightening up. I thought it was my attorney. I didn’t want to keep him waiting.” Despite the even, articulate tone, her soft gray eyes kept glancing up to him but wouldn’t lock on to his questioning gaze. Probably because he wasn’t letting her see it. She drifted a step closer to Trent. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come to the house. The officer took a report over the phone last night. I thought someone would come over then. But no one ever did so I assumed KCPD had dismissed my call.”
Huh? That comment short-circuited his fuming suspicions. Max traded a look with Trent before asking, “What report?”
“The one I called the police about last night.” Last night? He’d missed something here. Had she gone back to making spurious calls to 9-1-1? While Max was wondering if his communication skills had gone completely off the rails, Rosemary March’s body language changed. Her free hand went to the stand-up collar of her dress and she puffed up like a banty hen trying to assert herself in the barnyard pecking order. “Would you mind taking off your sunglasses, Detective Krolikowski? It’s rude not to let someone see your eyes when you’re having a conversation with them.”
“What?”
“Take off your glasses. I insist.”
“You insist?” Max bristled at her bossy tone. “Boy, you’ve got to have everything just so, don’t you.”
“I don’t think common courtesy is asking too much.”
“Max.” Trent nodded at him to do it.
Really? Max pulled off his glasses and hooked them on the back of his neck. She wanted the glasses off? How about this, honey? He folded his arms across his chest and glared down into her searching gray eyes until they suddenly shuttered. She must have had her fill of cynicism and impatience because she retreated until her back was pressed against the glass door.
He didn’t need to hear the breathy tone of her polite thank-you to recognize the sudden change in Miss Rosie’s demeanor or feel like a heel knowing he was the cause of it. What had he done? Most people got in his face or blew him off when he got in a mood like this. But Rosemary March was different. So what if this conversation wasn’t making any sense to him. He knew better than to let anybody’s odd behavior get under his skin. His presence here clearly agitated her. She breathed harder, faster, and Max topped off his jackassery by noticing her full, round breasts pushing against the gauzy white cotton of that dress.
That little seed of attraction he hadn’t expected to feel was clearly agitating him. “Ah, hell. Ma’am, I didn’t mean... I wish I could explain where my head is today, but it’s too long a story. Are you sure you’re okay?”
She nodded, but he’d feel a lot less like a scary bastard if she’d get some color in those pale cheeks or lecture him again. Putting his hand on her and crowding her probably hadn’t been the smartest moves. Something about the gun must have drummed up memories of Jimmy and put him on his worst behavior.
But that was a lousy excuse for a man sworn to protect and serve. This was about more than a soldier’s or a cop’s hardwired reaction to giving anybody a chance to get the drop on him or his men. And he could hardly explain his skepticism regarding her usefulness as a witness on this anniversary of Jimmy’s senseless death. He owed her some kind of apology for scaring her. For being a jerk. But the words weren’t coming. Not today.
When had words ever been his strong suit?
Thank God, he was part of a team and could rely on Trent’s handsome face and friendly smile to salvage this interview. Max cleared his throat and backed toward the front steps. “I’ll, uh, just do a quick walk around the place if that’s okay with you.”
Miss Rosemary gave him a jerky nod, her gaze breezing past his chin again. “I left the message in the cabinet on my patio out back.” Message? Trent glanced over his shoulder and traded a confused look, but Max wasn’t about to ask. “The dogs will bark, but they don’t bite.” And then her twilight gaze landed on his. A fine, coppery brow arched in what might be arrogance. O
r a warning. “At least, they haven’t bitten anyone yet.”
Nope. Didn’t have to hit him over the head more than once. He had no business trying to make nice with anybody today.
“I’ll look.” He nodded to Trent. “You talk.”
Max trotted down the steps and breathed a lungful of humid summer air into his tight chest while he made another cursory scan of the well-kept front yard. When he realized the lady of the house wasn’t answering any of Trent’s questions with him still in sight, he muttered a curse and followed the driveway around the side of the house.
Message in a cabinet? Was that code for something? Like Scram, Krolikowski? And that thing about the dogs not biting anyone yet—was that an attempt at humor to ease the friction between them, or her demure version of a threat?
He peeked through the window of the separate garage to see her sedan parked inside, along with a neatly arranged array of storage boxes and lawn equipment. She was right about the dogs barking. As soon as he came into view, a deep-voiced German shepherd with a cloudy eye and a yappy little bundle of curly tan hair charged the chain-link fence and let him know they knew he was there.
A fond memory of Jax, the big German shepherd who’d served with his unit, made him smile. Jax had died in that Sector Six firefight where the captain had been captured. The victim of a hidden bomb. A single bark had given them their only warning before the blast. Jimmy had taken the dog’s death as hard as the loss of his men. “Son of a...”
Really? Just like that, whatever positives he could summon today crashed and burned. Irritated with his inability to focus, Max fixed the friendliest look he could manage on his face and approached the fence.
“Hey, big girl. Do you sit? Sit. Good girl.” When the shepherd instantly obeyed his command, he figured the poodle was the one he had to win over. He squatted down and held his fist against the chain-link fence to let the excited little dog sniff his hand. They certainly hadn’t had a feisty little fuzz mop like this one with the unit. “Hey, there, killer.”
When the poodle finally stopped dancing around long enough to lick his knuckles, Max figured it was safe to open the gate and go inside. Apparently, Rosie March had spent a bit of her newly acquired wealth on more than security. Though this was by no means a mansion, the old house had plenty of room for one woman, and was well taken care of. New roof and shutters. Freshly painted siding and trim. The pool in the middle of her backyard was long and narrow, meant for swimming laps instead of sunbathing beside. Yet there was still plenty of green space for the dogs to roam. He shrugged and petted the pooches, who were leading as much as following him on his stroll around the yard. Nothing looked out of place here, but then his real purpose for volunteering to do recon was so the lady of the house would take the panic level down a few notches and talk to Trent.
And he could get his head together and remember he was a cop. He needed to do better. So far, the only thing he knew for sure about this investigation was that Rosie March smelled like summer and her hesitant touch stayed with him like a brand against his skin.
Max rubbed at the spot on his chest. So what did that mean? He was lonesome enough or horny enough to think he was attracted to Miss Prim & Proper just because she’d touched him? Or was that a stamp of guilt because his big, brusque attitude had frightened the woman when he should have been calming her?
“Idiot!” Max punched the palm of his hand.
The German shepherd barked at the harsh reprimand and darted several paces away. “Easy, girl.” He held out his hand and let the big dog cautiously sniff and make friends again. “I’m not mad at you. I’ll bet your mama never raises her voice like that, does she.” He cupped a palmful of warm fur and scratched around the dog’s ears. Who was he to call Rosie the Redhead crazy? He wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders himself today. “Don’t you be afraid of me, too.”
While the shepherd forgave his harsh tone and pushed her head into the stroke of his hand, the poodle rolled on her back in the grass, completely comfortable with his presence there. Max chuckled. “At least somebody around here likes me.”
And then he became aware of eyes on him. Not a shy gray gaze worried about what uncouth thing he’d say or do next. But spying eyes. Suspicious eyes.
With his senses on alert, Max knelt down between the two dogs and wrestled with them both, giving himself a chance to locate the source of the curious perusal. There. East fence, hiding behind a stand of sweet corn and tomato plants. Nosy neighbor at nine o’clock. With a clap of his hands, the dogs barked and took off running at the new game.
Max pushed to his feet and zeroed in on the dark-haired woman wearing a white bandanna and gardening gloves. “Morning, ma’am.”
Her eyes rounded as though startled to be discovered, and she tightened her grip on the spool of twine she’d been using to tie up the heavy-laden tomato plants. “Good morning. Are you the police?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tapped his badge on his belt. “Detective Krolikowski, KCPD. And you are...?”
“Arlene Dinkle. We’ve lived here going on thirty years now,” she announced. “There’s not going to be trouble with Rosemary again, is there?”
Again? The dogs returned and circled around his legs. Max sent them on their way again. “Trouble?”
Mrs. Dinkle parted the cornstalks that were as tall as she was and came to the fence. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “There was a man who used to stay with her sometimes. Don’t think the whole neighborhood didn’t notice. Things haven’t been right at this house for a long time.”
Maybe he could pick up some useful information on this recon mission, after all—and make up for the interview he’d botched out on the front porch. Max strolled to the fence to join her. “You mean Miss March’s fiancé? He stayed here?”
“A couple of times a week. When he was alive.” The older woman clucked her tongue behind her teeth. “Some folks think she killed him, you know. Between those rumors and her juvenile delinquent brother, she definitely brought down the quality of this neighborhood.”
That shy, spooked lady on the front porch brought down the neighborhood? That delicate, feminine facade could be the perfect cover for darker secrets. And if Bratcher had been here on a regular basis, she’d have had plenty of opportunity to slip him the poison that had killed him.
But he was having a hard time aligning the image of a calculated murderess with the skittish redhead who protected herself with an unloaded gun. She wasn’t that good of an actress, was she? “You know anything about that murder?”
“I should say not.” Unlike Rosemary March, Max could read this woman with his eyes closed. Arlene Dinkle liked to gossip. Although he found her holier-than-thou tone a little irritating, the cop in him was inclined to let her. Judging by the streaks of silver in her black hair, she’d been sticking her nose into other people’s business for a long time. “Now there’s all that publicity with that legal settlement or wherever her nine million dollars came from. Did you know there were reporters at her house two months ago? One of them even came to our home to find out what we knew about her.”
“And you told this reporter about Miss March entertaining her fiancé overnight, what, six, seven, years ago? Did you ever see any indication that Mr. Bratcher was violent with Rosie?”
“Rosie? Oh. You mean Rosemary. Yes, there was that one time she came to our house to use our phone—said her lawyer friend who was getting her all that money after her parents’ plane crash—oh, the Colonel and Meg were such good people—I don’t understand how their children could turn out so—”
“What did Rosie say about her lawyer friend?” Max cut her off before she rambled away on a useless tangent.
She snorted a laugh that scraped against his eardrums. “Rosemary said he’d trapped her inside the house until she agreed to sign some prenuptial agreement and marry him. Made no sense at al
l. They were already engaged. She pounded on our door in the middle of the night, woke Otis and me both out of a sound sleep. Blubbering about how we needed to call the police.” The dogs were circling again. Disapproval seeped into Arlene’s tone and she pulled back from the fence. “That’s when she got the big dog. Washed out of K-9 training. But I swear that dog would still take a bite out of you if you look at her crosswise. The little one digs in the topsoil of my garden, too. Reaches right under the fence. Rosemary ought to put up a privacy fence. She certainly can afford to do it.”
Really? Then how would you spy on her? Max kept his sarcasm to himself and followed up on the one key word that might actually prove useful in an investigation. “You said trapped. Was Rosie—Miss March—injured in any way that night? Did you believe her when she told you that her fiancé hurt her? Threatened her?”
“Oh, she had some blood on her blouse and she was cradling her arm. I thought maybe she’d been in a car accident or had fallen down the stairs. We let her use the phone right away, of course, and sat with her until the ambulance and police arrived. But we saw her fiancé drive away, so I wondered why she just wouldn’t use her own phone.”
“If Bratcher hurt her, she was probably afraid he’d come back. Getting out of the house would be a smart survival tactic.”
Arlene straightened, as though insulted that he would doubt her word against Rosie’s. “Richard Bratcher was an upstanding member of the community. Why on earth a handsome, charming man like that would ever have to resort to anything so—”
“Arlene.” Max caught a glimpse of movement at the sliding glass door on the Dinkles’ patio before another man’s voice interrupted the tale. “I’m sure the detective isn’t here to chat with you. You let him be.”
