Chalk Lines & Lipstick: a Maren Colepepper cozy mystery (Maren Colepepper Mysteries Book 1)

by Ophelia London

  The instant I slipped my hand inside his, he tugged it, wrapped an arm around me and pulled me to his chest. There was no time to weigh the pros and cons of kissing him, because he didn't give me a chance.

  Caught in his lip-lock, he spun us so my back hit the trailer. I hadn't realized I'd been so frigid and stiff before, but when I grabbed his sides, and his breath warmed my face, I wanted nothing but to melt into his chest.

  His hands weren't touching me but were braced against the trailer on either side of my head, his tall, broad body completely blocking out the sun, blocking everything around me. His jacket opened, so I slid my arms inside, feeling his hard muscles flex, responding to my touch.

  Before we'd gotten very far, he pulled his mouth away. I rose onto my toes, not finished with him, barely getting started. As if suddenly realizing with horror that we were no longer kissing, Patrick used his knee and hip to press me firmer against the trailer, kissing me with rekindled zeal until I lost my breath, lost my ability to think. I could only cling to him, barely able to kiss back. Mostly I was the recipient of his hot, eager mouth.

  Holy good gravy, the man could kiss the habit off a nun.

  What felt like a million hours later, I saw daylight. "Sorry." His voice was a whisper as his mouth hovered over mine. "Someone was coming. I figured he'd pass by if he saw us doing…" He nodded toward me, but other than that, neither of our bodies stirred, still flattened together in a solid line. "He's gone now. It's cool." A second later, he stepped back.

  "Oh." I tried to steady my heavy and loud, very uneven breathing and hoped the crushing disappointment didn't show on my face. "T-that was fast thinking." I made a play of peeking over his shoulder, all sleuth-like. "Is the coast clear now, or should we play it safe and keep on—"

  "It's clear. Once we're inside, no one will think twice." He backed away and disappeared to the other side of the trailer.

  "Seriously?" I hissed under my breath, then lifted my chin and closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to calm my racing heart and raging-ass hormones. Stupid distracting handsome kissing man.

  "Maren, we're burning daylight."

  I smoothed my hair and took one more deep breath.

  When I joined him on the other side of the trailers, we were in a different world. People bustled around, a woman ran by carrying sparkly costumes, a man walked two huge animals that might've been dogs, three short guys dressed in matching tuxedos.

  "This is weird," I whispered.

  Patrick scooped up my hand as we strolled. "Try to blend in."

  "How? Grow a beard? Contort myself into a pretzel?"

  His gazed dipped to me as he smiled his crocked smile. "If you can do that, I'm marrying you right now."

  I yanked his arm. "Shut it."

  He squeezed my hand and chuckled. "Do you have any idea about this guy your sister's with, what he does here?"

  "Uh, yeah. He's an ac—" I coughed the rest of the answer into my fist.

  "What was that?"

  I choked around the full word but managed to get it out.

  "Acrobat?" Patrick slowed his pace to look at me. Then he lifted his chin and laughed outright. "This day cannot possibly get any better."

  "Just knock it off and let's find my sister. This place creeps me out."

  We stopped a couple of people to ask where the trailer for Sergio the acrobat was. I couldn't help snickering—it was like asking for Bozo the Clown. We were pointed in the direction of a trailer covered with colorful bumper stickers.

  "Want me to stay here?" Patrick asked, as we stood in front of the three narrow, metal steps that led to the door.

  "I'll go in first," I said, reaching up to knock. I knocked again. After the third time, it was apparent no one was there. "Now what?"

  Patrick cleared all three stairs with one step of his long legs, but instead of knocking, he turned the knob and pushed open the door. "Sergio?" he sing-songed while facing me, wearing an innocent little smile. "Anyone home?" When no one answered, he opened the door wide and stuck his head in. "Empty. But check it out." He held the door open to let me in.

  Light streamed in through the four square windows of the trailer. A small table and a bench were secured to the wall, an even smaller range and fridge, and a narrow bunk.

  "Familiar?" he asked, pointing to a black and white houndstooth coat.

  "It's Piper's."

  "Good. We know she was here."

  "Was?" I exclaimed, adrenaline tingling my palms.

  "Was, as in she's not here now but is coming back any minute." He put his hands on my shoulders and guided me backward to sit down on the bunk. "Do you want some water?"

  "I'm okay. Jeez, I'm freaking out like my mother."

  He slid his hands in his pockets, jingling his keys. Then he sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders and arms touched. The nearness of him, his solid frame, washed a wave of comfort over me. How did he do that?

  "Why don't you wait here while I go look around?" he said. "Just don't touch anything."

  "I'm not staying here alone. What if the acrobat shows up without Piper? Oh, no." I stood and shoved past him toward the door.

  He hooked an arm through mine, stopping my forward motion. "Okay, okay, we'll stick together, but don't go barging out the door without checking first." He touched my chin with his index finger then tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "We're going for inconspicuous, remember?"

  Even with my sister on the lamb, I was unable to stop the pit of my stomach from bubbling with hot lava, insanely aware of what his hand skimming down the side of my face did to me. His hand curled around my neck, smoothing back my hair, hazel eyes searching my expression, holding me still. And an empty bunk was right there.

  If he thought gazing all swoonily like that was going to derail me again, this time from searching for Piper, he was waaaaay off. I mean, I might kiss him for a while—otherwise it would be rude.

  But he didn't kiss me or even acknowledge the bunk. He slid his fingers down another strand of my hair then opened the door. How he was blessed with so much blasted self-control was beyond me. When I didn't follow him out, he stared up at me standing stock-still on the top step.

  "Coming?"

  I bit my lip and nodded my reply. As we walked, we talked it over and figured the most likely place to find an acrobat was at the big top, since it was the tallest tent and probably housed the swings or tightropes or whatever. The big top wasn't hard to spot. There was a short line to enter, as the show was about to begin.

  "What do you want to do?" he asked. "Go in and see if you spot him, or keep searching?"

  I peered through the entrance. "Inside, I guess. I don't know what the guy looks like, but at least we'll know where the acrobats are. Maybe Piper's inside, too." I scanned the audience, but my sister wasn't anywhere in sight.

  "She might be backstage with him," he suggested as we sat on the far end of the bleachers.

  "Maybe. I'll run around to the back, see if I can get in."

  "Let's wait here for now, okay?"

  The lights dimmed and a deep, booming voice came over the PA system, announcing the "greatest show on earth, etc., etc." A gray-haired man in a top hat stood center ring. I sat back and commenced to chew my thumbnail, the sick, worried feeling returning to my stomach when I wasn't keeping busy.

  "Tell me why you left New York," Patrick asked in a quiet voice, leaning down so I could hear over the noise and applause. "The whole story."

  "I got fired," I said, watching halfheartedly as top hat man tossed beach balls to a lady on a unicycle.

  "A lot of people get laid off. Why did you leave the city?"

  "Do a lot of people get fired and dumped by their boyfriends within twenty-four hours?" I asked. "And de-friended by their best friend the day before?" When Patrick didn't say anything, I glanced at him. "It's what we call 'rock bottom.' You'll know it when you hit it. And I hit it."

  "The other night you said you'd lost your job. I thought it was the economy."r />
  "Oh, no." I chuckled darkly. "I was fired, all right. No severance, no letter of recommendation. Security was called and everything. I'm sure I made the company newsletter. Probably YouTube."

  "Hell, Maren. What did you do to deserve that?"

  Before going on, I took a beat to study him, wondering what it was in his eyes and manners that made me feel so willing to share. He was easy to talk—like Piper and Mom…and Joey. And he seemed genuinely interested in what I did, how I felt, probably because he seldom talked about himself.

  He lifted an eyebrow, prompting me to continue.

  What I'd done to get fired wasn't my finest hour as a reporter—or maybe it was. Either way, it definitely wasn't classified CIA intel.

  "Well, long story short, I was assigned to write a PR piece on the CEO of The Book. He'd done anonymous philanthropy work in the Dominican Republic that I more or less brought into the spotlight. After the first story was a success, I thought there was more to be told about his charity work in Africa, so I kept delving. My boss told me to drop it and assigned me another story, but"—I paused to shrug—"I didn't. I called my contacts who worked on the Africa project at the non-profit, but no one would talk to me, which was odd because they'd been so open about the DR project. It confused me why they weren't now. I knew there was something there."

  "Was there?"

  I nodded. "One night, I stumbled across some emails not meant for my eyes…or for anyone else's eyes but my editor's."

  "Stumbled across?"

  "I kind of learned how to bypass the security of one of the servers."

  "You've yet to cease to amaze me," he said, nudging my shoulder.

  "I'm not proud of how I obtained the information, but it is what it is. Anyway, the emails had financial reports attached. I knew something wasn't kosher when I couldn't understand the math. I knew the numbers couldn't be right, because if they were…" I trailed off, staring straight ahead, worrying my chin. "Anyway, I made the mistake of taking what I found to my boss. After I refused to drop the story again, I was fired."

  "Isn't that unethical?" Patrick asked. "At the very least?"

  "Probably. But they impounded my laptop with all my notes. At this point, it's my word against his, and I can't afford a lawyer."

  "Maren, damn, that's really awful."

  "I'm over it," I said, feeling the almost-truth of it. "It's a cruel reminder that good guys don't always win. I wasn't even looking for what I found, but I couldn't turn my back on it—I didn't want to. He's embezzling from his own charity, Patrick. He's the one who should've been run out of town in disgrace, penniless and friendless, not me."

  "You weren't exactly friendless, I'm sure." He put an arm around my shoulders. "You said you ended things with a boyfriend around the same time?"

  "More like I was dumped two hours later," I corrected. "To be fair, Scott didn't know about me getting fired."

  "How did he not know if it happened before you broke up? You didn't tell him?"

  "He, uhh." I paused to play with the hem of my skirt. "It wasn't a face-to-face breakup. While I was at work getting the ax, he emptied his one dresser drawer and left a note on the back of a Chinese takeout menu."

  Patrick stared at me, his face like thunder. "He did what?"

  "Turns out he wasn't a very nice guy."

  "Sounds like a first-rate dick to me," he muttered, working his jaw. "And obviously a colossal idiot for not knowing what he had when he had you, not wanting to be with you every damn…" He broke off and raked a hand through his hair, looking so furious on my behalf, so tough and sexy it made my heartbeats go all skippy-trippy.

  "Thank you," I said with a smile.

  His gaze was fixed straight ahead, still working his jaw, muttering under his breath. He finally glanced at me from the corners of his eyes. "Which Chinese food menu?"

  "Hunan Fifth."

  "Figures. Bad service," he said with a glint in his eyes, "but good egg rolls."

  "Too much blank space on the paper menus, though."

  Patrick threw his head back and laughed, way too loudly if he wanted to remain inconspicuous. Since our first encounter at the mailboxes, his appreciation of my humor made me feel smart and funny, all kinds of warm and gushy.

  Scott hardly ever laughed at my jokes. Either he really was a first-rate dick, or he didn't get me. Or both.

  Patrick Loomis, though. He totally got me.

  "So," he continued, "what did you mean earlier when you said you were 'de-friended'?"

  I held my breath for a moment, my throat growing tight at the new subject. "My best friend, Joey. Tomorrow's her wedding day. I'm supposed to be her Maid of Honor."

  He shifted to face me straight on. "What happened?"

  "A guy, of course. When she started dating Alan, I knew it was a bad idea. Something rubbed me the wrong way. Jo and I talked about it once, really early on in their relationship, but she can be blindly optimistic, she has to figure things out for herself."

  Patrick nodded.

  "I assumed she'd break up with him eventually, but the next thing I knew, they were getting married in three months."

  "That's fast."

  "Tell me about it. I was shocked, but I love Joey and I'll support her in anything. I told myself, if Alan's who she wants, then I'll shut my mouth and stand beside her like best friends do. But one night, I was at a club with a group from work. Alan was there….and he…"

  "He wasn't alone," Patrick said, not making me finish the sentence.

  "Yeah," I confirmed, tasting bile in my mouth. "I didn't know what to do, but she's my best friend. She had a right to know her fiancé was cheating on her, right? I broke it to her the next day. She sat there the whole time with this hard look in her eyes. When I finished, she said she needed to be alone, and I figured she was going to storm over to Alan's and throw the engagement ring in his face. But instead, I got an email from her. She…didn't want to be friends anymore."

  "In an email?"

  I nodded, tears clogging the back of my throat. "She said she didn't believe me, and I was jealous. Like I'd ever be jealous of being with Alan. That wasn't the point though. I wasn't jealous. I was thinking of her, trying to save her from being hurt later." I swiped at the corner of my eye. "She hasn't spoken to me since. I tried calling, emailing, showing up at her apartment when I knew she was home, but nothing worked. I didn't have a job or a best friend, and despite the size, New York can be a very lonely place. I didn't want to turn into one of those sad cases who never leaves the house, has ten cats named 'Mr. Darcy,' and only orders takeout. So when this job at The Standard came up, I made the adult decision and took it."

  "You haven't heard from her since?"

  "Just once." I told him about a mistaken missed call from Joey and its follow-up text telling me she'd hit my number by mistake and to not call back—ever. I even pulled out my cell to show him the message. And then, from out of nowhere, I was crying.

  Patrick didn't speak, but his arm around me tightened as he eased my head onto his shoulder. I completely broke down, waterworks galore with audible sobs, like I hadn't allowed myself to do since everything fell apart last month.

  I heard tigers growl and the crowd cheer, but I kept crying, pushing my face deeper into Patrick's shoulder while his arm held me close.

  "Shhh," he murmured, pressing his lips to the top of my head. "It's okay." He ran his other hand up my arm and rested it against my cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears.

  "I miss her more than anything," I sniveled. "Every day I think of something funny I want to tell her. I called this morning to wish her good luck and all my love for the wedding, but I got voicemail." My chest shuddered, and I wrapped my arms around myself, unable to stop trembling. "I hope I didn't ruin her day. That's the last thing I want."

  Patrick removed his coat and draped it across my back. "You're a thoughtful, intuitive woman, Maren," he said softly. "I'm sure you did what you thought was best." He took my hand and led it through one sleeve o
f his coat, followed by my other hand—then he folded the front across my chest. "Warmer?" he asked, pulling me into the crook of his arm.

  "Yes, thanks." I leaned on him, taking in the calmness of his heartbeats. "Sorry about this."

  "Don't be." He kissed the side of my head, his breath wafting over me like morning mist off the ocean. "I'm sure it was hard for you to tell me. I appreciate your trust."

  "I want to trust you," I said, lifting my face to his, grateful I'd reverted to waterproof mascara since moving back to the damp North Coast.

  He touched my cheek and looked at me, zapping me with the overwhelming desire to wrap my arms around his middle where I knew it was warm and muscly and manly. But I didn't. I stuffed my clench fists in the pockets of his coat. "I want to trust you," I repeated. "Oh, here." I handed him his cell.

  He ran a finger over the face a few times then read something on the screen.

  "Everything alright?" I asked, noticing his sudden scowl.

  He was quiet at first then asked, "The CEO at The Book, the one you researched, what's his name?"

  "Gerald Ruell. Why?"

  He shook his head, staring toward center ring. "No reason."

  Just then, the announcer pointed our attention to the top of the tent, where a single spotlight held tight on a man dressed all in red, hanging from the flying trapeze.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The emcee confirmed it was Sergio.

  I crossed my legs and stared up. Honestly, he didn't look like Piper's type, but I couldn't see his face from this distance. He was a man, though, so that was Piper's type.

  "What do you want to do now?" Patrick asked. "Should we—"

  "Shhh!" I cut him off, mesmerized as Sergio dove from the top platform and onto a huge trampoline, twisted his body every which way as he flew through the air, up and down in time to techno music blaring through the loudspeakers.