Wendy Delaney - Working Stiffs 01 - Trudy, Madly, Deeply

by Wendy Delaney

  I just wished that I could get Steve to trust mine where Virginia Straitham was concerned.

  “I was thinking about making chili for tomorrow,” Duke said, watching me as I covered the rest of my breakfast in plastic wrap.

  He made chili every day. I felt like I was missing something. “Okay.”

  “Unless you want something else for the party.”

  The party! I’d forgotten all about it. “No, chili’s terrific. Gram loves your chili.”

  That meant I needed to bake a cake tomorrow. And before that I needed to get paid, go shopping, and convince Steve that Virginia Straitham was a serial killer.

  Good thing I was wearing my power suit. I had a feeling I was going to need it. Probably another cookie or three and a mocha latte, too.

  At the moment I’d settle for a cup of Duke’s coffee, especially since it gave me an excuse to sit down with Steve.

  I took a deep breath, brushed the cookie crumbs from my lapels, and stepped around the corner. “Good morning,” I said to Steve.

  His gaze dropped to the suit, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You look pretty good, all things considered.”

  I pulled a coffee cup from the rack. If I hadn’t known that Duke would make me pay for breaking it against Steve’s thick skull, I would have been tempted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t imagine you got much sleep last night.”

  “Since you didn’t bother to stop by the hospital, I can’t imagine how you could presume to know how much sleep I got.”

  “I was just finishing my morning run when you pulled into your grandmother’s driveway.”

  Oh. Sometimes it was very unhandy to have him living across the street.

  While I grabbed the coffee carafe and filled my cup, he pushed his empty one toward me.

  “And Lucille mentioned your girl’s night out,” he said as I gave him a refill.

  I didn’t like his tone. “It wasn’t like we were having fun.”

  “You could have listened to me and gotten a little more sleep.”

  “I might have if you’d done a little more talking.”

  Irritating man.

  I came around the counter and took the seat next to him. “Peggy’s supposed to go home in a couple of hours,” I said, using his spoon to stir creamer into my coffee. “But that might not have been the case if we hadn’t been there.”

  Steve turned to face me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I saw Virginia Straitham on the elevator.”

  “When was this?”

  “A little before eleven.”

  “Huh,” Steve grunted, his mouth full with oatmeal.

  “If we hadn’t been there …”

  He swallowed. “Peggy would still be going home in a couple of hours.”

  “You didn’t see Virginia on the elevator. She wasn’t there in the middle of the night to deliver flowers.”

  “Maybe she was just looking for someone,” he said, working on his oatmeal.

  “Well, she found me, and clearly she wasn’t happy about it because I foiled her plans.”

  “Chow Mein, I know you have a hard time believing this, but not everything is as it appears.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “More like what you think you saw.”

  “Steve, she—”

  “If you needed to see a certain doctor in the middle of the night, where would you go?”

  “Well, if she had been looking for her husband, he wasn’t there. And why would he be there around eleven? Tina Norton doesn’t get off shift until midnight.”

  Steve reached for his wallet. “Then that would probably narrow down who Mrs. Straitham came to see.”

  “Shit.” I had just saved the other woman from an angry encounter with the wife.

  He patted me on the top of my head. “Have a nice day.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  After I got off work, I spent two hours with my mother force-marching me into every grocery store in town before I dropped her off at a four-star marina restaurant for her dinner date with Barry Ferris. With Gram at her Friday night mahjong game, that gave me the house to myself.

  Sleep beckoned, but since I knew I’d be counting murder victims of Virginia Straitham instead of sheep, I put away the groceries, changed into a tank top and my gauze skirt, and then called Donna to meet me at Eddie’s for a drink.

  “You should thank me,” she said, resting her head on my shoulder as I sat next to her at the bar an hour later. “I saved you from a complete and utter dud.”

  “Who? Justin?”

  Donna straightened and heaved a sigh. “Nice package but not much staying power if you know what I mean.”

  Eddie refilled my empty wine glass. “Some guys got it, some don’t.”

  She waved him off when he offered her a refill. “And those who got it usually don’t have to brag about it.”

  “Ouch!” Eddie winced. “Have you been talking to my wife again?”

  Donna smiled. “We do like to share some little secrets,”

  “Sweetheart, it’s not that little,” he said with an evil grin.

  When Eddie crossed the room to clear a table, Donna reached for her wallet. “I hate to drink and run but I told the girls at the salon that I’d meet them at the new club in Port Townsend by nine. Wanna come with and make a night of it?”

  “I made a night of it last night,” I said, fighting off a yawn. Once I got a couple of glasses of wine in me, all I wanted tonight was a date with the Sandman. “Have fun.”

  After saying goodbye to Eddie, Donna waved at me as she headed for the door.

  I waved back and a dark-haired body builder type with bowling ball-sized biceps smiled at me a split-second before his eyes shifted to my boobs.

  Averting my gaze, I sipped my wine. Despite the physical inventory the guy had just taken, I doubted Mr. Muscles would make a move on me. Donna was probably more his type.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked over Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers wailing through the overhead speakers.

  Then again, Donna wasn’t here.

  I held up my wineglass. “Got one, thanks.”

  He picked up his beer bottle and slid onto the seat next to me. “I’m Jimmy. What’s your name?”

  “Char.”

  “Like Charlene?”

  Close enough. “Sure.”

  He leaned an elbow against the bar. “Cute name for a cute girl.”

  Was this guy for real?

  There was definite male interest with the dilated pupils and the way he squared himself up to me, but a few beers could probably make Lucille look good to Jimmy.

  He raised his bottle to Eddie to signal for another one. “Are you sure I can’t buy you a drink?” Jimmy asked, smiling down at the girls under my lacey tank top.

  What the heck. Another glass of wine would guarantee that I’d fall asleep the second I made contact with my pillow. “Maybe just one.”

  “Sorry I’m late, honey,” Steve said, standing behind me, pressing his fingers into my upper arms.

  I stiffened as he kissed me on the cheek and tightened his embrace. He angled against the bar, looking past me at Jimmy. “Who’s your friend?”

  I sighed. “This is Jimmy. He was keeping me company. Pretty good company, too.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy,” Steve said. “I’ve got it from here.”

  “Sorry, man.” Jimmy scooped up his beer bottle and scurried away like a wolf who had no intention of challenging this pack’s alpha male.

  I wriggled out of Steve’s grasp. “That was completely uncalled for.”

  “Uh huh.” He threw a twenty on the counter. “Let’s go.”

  I scowled at him. “I’m not done with my drink and after spending most of the last twenty-four hours with my mother, not to mention all your lack of assistance, I need it.”

  “I told you everything I could.”

  “Well, you could have been a little more specific.�
�

  “You want specific?” He emptied my wineglass in two gulps, then clasped his hand around my flabby bicep. “Come on.”

  Eddie picked up my empty glass. “You kids aren’t having a fight in my bar, are you?”

  “We are if he doesn’t let go,” I said, glaring at Steve.

  He released my arm. “Happy?”

  “Delirious!” I grabbed my tote and stormed toward the door. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Me! What was that back there?” Steve asked, hot on my heels.

  I pushed the door open. “I could ask you the same thing!”

  “Y’all come back now,” Eddie called after us.

  A light breeze cooled my overheated cheeks as I stalked to the side lot where I’d parked the Jag. “Go away, Steve.”

  His oxfords crunched on the loose gravel behind me. “Don’t act like you’re mad.”

  I spun on my heel to face him. “This isn’t an act.”

  “You weren’t interested in Jimmy.”

  “I could have been!”

  “He wasn’t your type.”

  I stabbed an index finger at his chest. “You don’t get to decide who’s my type!”

  “If you want specifics then know that Jimmy only wanted one thing.”

  Like that was something that had escaped my notice.

  Running his thumb over the strap of my tank top, Steve’s gaze darkened.

  If he was trying to get me even more hot and bothered, he was doing a good job. “That guy had just sat down. You don’t know …”

  Steve’s eyes shifted lower, surveying my breasts. “Trust me, any guy who sees you in this wants to see what’s under the lace.”

  My mouth went dry. “You don’t get to say that to me.”

  “Char—”

  “You don’t get to show up and pull my hair at Trudy’s funeral when Heather is sitting right next to you, or offer me a ride in your truck when you’re acting like one big happy family, or tell me which men I can have a drink with.”

  His gaze softened like a block of chocolate over a flame. Since I was a sucker for chocolate fondue, I felt my resolve melting and that scared the hell out of me.

  “It’s crossing the line.” And I desperately needed him to stay on his side if I was going to have a prayer of staying on mine.

  “Are you done?” he asked.

  I sucked in a shaky breath. “No.”

  “Too bad.” He hooked his finger under the strap of my tank and pulled me close. His lips touched mine, feather-light, testing.

  My brain screamed at me. Mistake!

  He tried to deepen the kiss, but I pressed a palm to his chest to put some distance between us before I combusted. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Steve raked his fingers through his hair. “Char—”

  “You’re one of my best friends, and you’re screwing with my head when I haven’t had any sleep! I don’t want to sound whiny,” and I knew that’s exactly how I sounded, “but that’s really unfair.”

  He blew out a wine-scented breath. “Right. We should continue this conversation after you’ve had some sleep.”

  Huh? The talking part or the other stuff? I felt like I’d been caught up in a whirlwind and my brain couldn’t keep pace. All I knew was that chocolate fondue couldn’t be on my diet.

  He slipped his arm around my shoulder and led me to my car. “Let’s get you home.”

  He held the driver’s side door open for me as I slid behind the wheel. “I’ll follow you.”

  I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. “That’s really not necessary,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Thanks to you I barely touched that second drink, so you don’t have to see me home.”

  “Yeah, I sort of do. I live there.”

  * * *

  After tossing and turning half the night, I poured myself a glass of Chardonnay, put on my denim jacket over my nightshirt and went out the front door to sit on the porch swing. While I stared across the street at Steve’s house as a cool breeze fluttered over me, a dog barked in the distance. At least I wasn’t the only one awake in the neighborhood.

  I heard the front door open and looked back to see my mother, barefoot and wearing one of my hooded sweatshirts over her satin negligee.

  As if echoing my thoughts, the porch swing squealed in protest when she sat down next to me. “Can’t sleep?”

  I shook my head. “Too many things to think about.”

  She reached for my wineglass. “Me too.” She took a sip and handed the glass back to me—the second time tonight someone had cut into my alcohol consumption. “How’s Peggy?”

  “She went home, so she’s probably doing fine.” And sleeping contentedly, unlike the two of us.

  My mother nodded. “Our mission was accomplished then.”

  “Right.”

  Nothing was accomplished other than me discovering where Dr. Straitham’s alibi came from. The rest of the mission had been a complete waste of time, like most everything I’d done the past week.

  The porch swing squeaked as we swayed back and forth and shared the wine.

  “What did you do tonight?” she asked.

  “Nothing much.” Had a fight with Steve, then kissed and sort of made up. “How ‘bout you? How was dinner?”

  “Fine.” Hugging her legs to her chest, she huddled next to me for several silent seconds like Gram’s tabby cat, only without the flicking tail to torment me. “Barry wants to get married.”

  “What? You’ve known him for less than two weeks.”

  “Actually, we met when you were in high school.”

  “So you saw him once for five minutes! That doesn’t count.”

  Marietta sniffed. “Well, if you’re gonna split hairs, I also bumped into him at your graduation.”

  “Okay, ten minutes. Mother, this is crazy. You just got divorced.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t need to get involved with anyone right now.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s a nice guy and he’s screwing with you.” Just like Steve was screwing with me, making me second guess everything I thought I knew to be true.

  She heaved a sigh. “Yes, he is, and he’s good at it too.”

  Okay, maybe not screwing with her in exactly the same way.

  Marietta took the wineglass from my hand and drained it. “I think I’m going to need more of this stuff if I’m going to get any sleep tonight.”

  I pushed off the porch swing. “I’ll get the bottle.”

  * * *

  Six hours later, Gram walked into the kitchen with Steve while I stood at the counter, whipping the vanilla buttercream frosting for her birthday cake.

  Steve and I locked gazes, and he shot me an easy smile. Other than the fact that I felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, it was as if last night had never happened.

  “Help yourself to coffee, Stevie,” Gram said.

  “Thanks.” He handed her a sparkly, rainbow-striped gift bag. “Happy birthday, Eleanor.”

  Gram beamed. “Should I open it now, or wait until later?”

  “I’d open it now,” he said, giving my ponytail a tug on his way to the coffeepot.

  What the hell? Were we just buddies again?

  Gram squealed with delight at the Port Merritt Police Department cap and coffee mug he’d given her. While she smashed down her peach gelato curls with the cap, Steve grabbed a ceramic cup and filled it from the second pot of French roast I’d brewed that morning.

  “I feel like I need to eat a doughnut!” Gram announced, the apples of her cheeks glowing. “Then, maybe later, arrest somebody.”

  “If I were you, I’d start by rousting the vagrant you’ve got sleeping on the front porch,” Steve said, stirring some milk into his coffee.

  Gram blinked. “What vagrant?”

  “Mom’s out on the porch swing,” I said.

  “For pity’s sake!” Gram rushed to the front door. “What’s she doing out there?”
/>
  Last I looked she was snoring.

  Setting his coffee down, Steve leaned against the counter and dipped a finger into the bowl of frosting. “I didn’t have any time to do real shopping,” he said apologetically.

  I couldn’t look at him. “She’s happy.”

  He licked the buttercream from his finger. “Mmm, it’s good.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” I muttered, spreading frosting over the first layer of Gram’s cake. “I can do some things well.”

  “I never said you couldn’t.”

  “Right. You only insinuated.”

  “What’s your problem?”

  I glared at him. Aside from having a wine hangover, my former biology teacher as a potential daddy, and a murderer on the loose, I was looking at it. “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Sure.”

  He brushed my cheek with the pad of his thumb and I stiffened.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, my face aflame like he’d just flipped the on switch of my schoolgirl crush. Again.

  “Relax. It was just a little bit of flour.” The laugh lines etched at the corners of his eyes deepened as his gaze swept my face. Unfortunately, I didn’t have an ounce of makeup on.

  When Steve reached for his coffee cup, I turned my focus back to the birthday cake. “Have a seat,” I said, trying to exercise some self-control instead of staring at the lips that had kissed mine last night. “Unless you need to get going.” Which would really help in the self-control department.

  “I’m in no hurry. And I’d like to finish my coffee first.”

  If he cared about me at all, he needed to drink faster.

  The front door clicked shut. I hoped that meant I’d have the birthday girl back in the kitchen to divert Steve’s attention. Instead, seconds later, I heard the water running. No doubt that was Gram’s doing since we both knew it was Marietta’s cure for a hangover—a long hot bath, preferably with a bloody Mary.

  My body ached to disappear in a bath. The bloody Mary, not so much. Although after a couple of those I might not care about Steve seeing me without my makeup.

  Steve dipped his finger back into the frosting, and I lost my capacity to breathe as I watched him lick it off. Dammit.

  “Why are you over here so early?” Eating my buttercream, seeing me at my worst, and making me crazy.

  “I wanted to give your grandmother her present and see if you needed anything for later. More wine maybe?”