by Livia Quinn
There were a lot of odd and yet-to-be-explained events involving Tempe, but they didn’t add up to murder. So for now, she was off the hoo k. River and Phoebe Pomeroy were another story, but I’d wait until I had more evidence. There was also the matter of the official report on River. I had a responsibility to look into River’s disappearance.
Tempe
A big, pricey looking Harley sat in the intersection two blocks from Harmony. Its driver, dressed in shiny black leather, turned his dark-visored helmet toward me as I approached then looked away. After nine years of running the mail, my attention to oddities—was infallible. The motorcycle rider was not from around here. And it’s a cold night for a ride, I thought as my cell bleeped again.
It was Kat. She sounded strange. “Tempe, one of the reporters called and said there was a…look, don’t jump the gun yet, okay?”
Suddenly I couldn’t hear anything except blood rushing in my ears. “I’m listening,” I whispered.
“Some guy camping down in Amity found a dead body.”
The motorcycle rider flew clean out of my head. I coasted to a stop, my hands gripping my stomach. I leaned my forehead on the wheel as tears welled.
“I said, don’t jump the gun.” She waited then perhaps thinking I’d hung up, said, “Tempe, are you there?”
Knuckling moisture from my cheeks, I took a deep breath as Kat waited on the other end of the line. I let it out. “What else?”
“They don’t even know if it’s a male or female. A call was dispatched to the sheriff’s office since it happened outside the town of Amity.”
“That’s all they know?” I was starting to panic.
“That’s it, and none of the reporters can get anywhere near the scene because the S.O. has the roads blocked off.”
“I’m familiar with Sheriff Lang’s tactics.” He’d probably added to them after dealing with me at the golf course. “Thanks, Katerina. I’ll see what I can find out.”
So here I was again, sending a message to the one person I could always count on. I sent a text, and at seven-thirty I got a response, “Pepper, meet you later at BB’s.” When exactly had he started calling me by those pet names?
Sometimes sweet, always intense and sexy, I’d thought he was as into our relationship as I was. But I’d turned the corner—literally—one morning and there he’d been, bestowing all that sexiness on Ms.103 Sweet Briar Court.
I’d thought about that moment many times, in fact, every day I turned that corner and drove past that house. He hadn’t reacted like a man caught in the act of cheating. And Ms. Sweet Briar, damn, what was her name? Well, who cares? She’d started taking her mail in a drawer at the central office. She hadn’t seemed embarrassed either, or at all shamed that she’d been caught with the object of my affection. At the time, I’d been too hurt and shocked myself to see anything other than what it had looked like on the surface. Now, I wondered.
Dylan apologized, but didn’t ask me to give him another chance, leaving me with the appalling, embarrassing feeling that he’d wanted out but hadn’t had the guts to just tell me. He’d said he just wasn’t meant for a monogamous relationship.
That hurt because I’d allowed myself to think I might have a normal life, like everyone else, including romance. Looking back, I’d have to say my parent’s relationship prepared me for failure. I hadn’t been surprised by Dylan’s betrayal. It just seemed that romance wasn’t for me.
Women loved Dylan. Men hated him. Actually, that wasn’t true. His coworkers admired and respected him. His job as a PI called for strict discipline, integrity, and a certain detachment from personal relationships.
“Listen to me, making excuses for him.” I pulled into the parking lot at BB’s lounge and shut the truck off, sitting there for a second to compose myself. Tonight would only be the second time I’d been in Dylan’s presence since the breakup, two years ago. And if I hadn’t been desperate for news of River, we wouldn’t be here now. As always rain stirred my emotions, putting me in a mood.
I walked through the open door hearing the conversations at tables and the clink of glasses behind the bar. I ordered a tonic, then after thinking about the evening ahead, the meeting with Dylan, and the impending news from Amity, I ordered a shot of tequila, and downed it feeling the burn and the satisfactory warmth, and knowing I’d regret it.
I sensed Dylan’s potent aura before I heard the heels of his boots thunk against the hardwood floor, then his shadow fell across me. With a slight tilt of my head I saw black hair wet with rain combed away from his beautifully dangerous face, his lips a mere breath from mine, so close I could see each stubbled hair on his cheek; the eyes I knew to be a rich forest green, were obsidian, wild.
Blast those pesky pheromones! Instead of remembering why we’d split, my body was begging me to jump him, the memories of our limbs entwined in a hot morning caress making it nearly impossible to maintain a facade of irritation.
“Dylan.” I pushed the glass away.
His lips crooked up at the corner and he relaxed, flopping onto the nearest barstool. He looked me over, refrained from commenting on my messy appearance. “You look stressed. I was going to buy you a drink, but it looks like you’ve had one.” His brow arched at the sight of the shot glass.
I returned his perusal, raking over the black duster where moisture steamed off that big hard body. The only obvious break in color was the shiny gold badge on the black id wallet visible between the leather lapels. He was dark and dangerous, and once again I felt the sensual pull. I rubbed my forehead, willing those thoughts away.
“What did you want to talk to me about, Persephone?”
“That’s it! Just once, could you call me by my friggin’ name?” I pushed off the stool and turned on him, fisting clumps of my hair.
He sat back, looked at me closely. “Talk to me. What’s going on,” he said.
“I need a favor, Inspector.”
He slid off his stool, motioning the bartender away with a look. “I think you’ve had enough.”
I turned on him, “Who died and made you the keeper of me?” And then I remembered what I’d learned, and a sob escaped my throat. I turned away. Get a grip. I signaled the bartender to bring me a water, and felt Dylan’s hand squeeze my shoulder gently. I didn’t mean to let him, but it felt so…comforting.
“Bad day?” His voice was a calming purr. “Bad week,” he corrected. He could be so sweet. I hated that I remembered that about him, too. “I’m sorry I was late. I’ve been on a job in Baton Rouge.” He stroked a length of my hair behind my ear.
I could have easily allowed him to shoulder my troubles. Fix everything. No, that was tequila thinking. I didn’t need the betraying bastard to fix anything for me. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need you.”
I think he winced, but my vision was suspect.
“Come on, you need to call it a day.” He got up towering over me.
I slid off the stool, swaying just a smidgen. I was sure he didn’t notice, but then his hand settled on my hip steering me between the other stools and patrons into the fresh rain-washed night. I tripped on the uneven walkway of the porch and felt his hand on my elbow.
He said, “Tempe,” and turned me toward him. “Damn,” he muttered, looking off.
“Ah, so you do know my name,” I said.
“Look, I need to talk to you. Privately.”
I guess the dark night with only a few people coming and going from the parking lot wasn’t private enough. He led me around the side of the building. The comforting song of the rain frogs started up again as I propped myself against the outside wall. He placed both hands on either side of my head.
“This may not be the best time, but I need to say this.” His flippant manner was gone, replaced by frank sincerity. Whether he was deciding to continue or just weighing his words, I waited. He sounded different, almost humble. Huh.
“When I was on that job in Baton Rouge, I realized that I couldn’t let something happen before I go
t the chance to tell you…” he let out a deep breath. “…about what happened two years ago, I didn’t mean to hurt you. There were—are reasons why…”
I guess what he saw on my face he took for forgiveness, instead of shock. “Oh, hell.” His lips touched mine in a kiss reminiscent of those nights by the fire, touches drenched in desire, his body like hot steel…I groaned.
There was comfort in his kiss, and in the long overdue apology. The last few days had been a nightmare, with memories and revelations coming at me faster than I could assimilate them. Then my conversation with Aurora resurfaced. I flattened my hands on his chest. “Dylan, no.”
I heard boots hit the porch and pushed harder.
“Well, damn. Looks like I’ve come at a bad time.”
Chapter 29
Tempe
I froze, recognizing Jack Lang’s voice. Dylan simply lifted his head, but stayed where he was. Sheltering me from embarrassment, or using our embrace as some kind of territorial declaration?
I broke away from him and turned. Jack’s face was hidden in the shadows. “Here I was thinking you might be worried about your brother, and I find you on a date with Diablo.
Diablo? A date? I frowned. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
His lip curled up in a sarcastic smile. “Yeah, I can see you were real worried.”
“Please, just tell me that body—” I choked.
“It was a female victim,” he said, apparently realizing that I was on the verge of losing it. I sagged against Dylan, then, realized how that looked and shook him off. I bent over with my hands on my knees and heaved with relief.
“But I have other news you might find interesting.”
“What?” Dylan didn’t lose a beat.
I stood up. Jack looked at me. “I’m surprised you didn’t recognize the man at the clubhouse. Apparently he lives in Alliance.”
“So?”
“With your mother.”
My mouth gaped open.
“The clubhouse records listed your mother’s address as his permanent address, not the apartment.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never seen that man.”
“That’s not all, I found two people at the grocery store in Alliance who remember your mother from Sunday.” He paused, watching me, like I was going to run away or something. As if I could. There didn’t seem to be any end to this nightmare.
“She was with three men, in whose company she’s been seen every weekend. And on Sunday afternoon last, your mother and Mr. Meeker got into a heated discussion in the produce department during which she threw an umbrella and some melons at him.”
“I—” He was waiting for me to say something, but my senses had flipped to off like a circuit breaker.
“You don’t have anything to say, when I tell you your mother has three lovers, one of whom you found dead in the clubhouse the day after she had a fight with him?”
“Phoebe couldn’t have been involved with him; he was…uh… African American.” I struggled not to roll my eyes at the lame explanation. But what could I say? It wasn’t his race that was an issue, but his species. I scratched my head looking at the floor. “I know that sounds terribly un-PC…”
Jack looked off, looked at Dylan then back at me, his gaze inscrutable. “Don’t go anywhere. I have some questions for you in the morning, when you sober up. You might want to get some help for that drinking problem.”
That did it. “Don’t turn that black squadron commander look on me. What do you mean, sober up? I’m sober enough to tell you what I think of your investigating abilities, Sheriff.” That’s telling him, I thought as I spun around… and tripped. I would have fallen off the porch if Dylan hadn’t caught me around the waist and hauled me against him.
“Yeah,” said the sheriff. “I assume you won’t be driving home,” but he was looking at Dylan.
Dylan shook his head. “I’ll make sure she gets home.”
I sensed the testosterone in the air. They reminded me of two Rottweilers fighting over a poodle. But I was no poodle.
“I’ll make sure I get home. And you know where to find me at six-thirty in the morning if you have questions for me.” I jerked free of Dylan’s grip and gave all my concentration over to looking normal as I stomped carefully back into the bar.
I’d only had one drink. All I had to do was wait until it wore off. I thought about the sheriff’s report. Mother always had a man around. But three? It was time Phoebe and I had a serious talk.
You’d think someone would be at Phoebe’s at two o’clock in the morning, especially if she was supposed to have roommates, but the place was empty. I had decided to use menori to get in if I couldn’t find a key, but Mother was as unimaginative as ever in her choice of hiding places. As if no one would ever think to lift the rubber mat to check for a spare. It gives a whole new meaning to the word welcome.
The door opened into the kitchen. This was not the house River and I grew up in, so it conjured no sentimental feelings or memories. Phoebe rarely cooked so as expected, there were no aromas lingering in the air. I opened the refrigerator and peered inside. Empty. I walked through the hallway to the living room. “Anyone here? Mother?”
The living room was spotless, with the exception of a man’s cane leaning against the couch. I sent menori on a search of the rest of the rooms. No humans present. Now I was just curious about what clues I could find to Phoebe’s whereabouts or the identity of her “friends”.
The first bedroom held no personal items, and the double bed was simply covered in an old chenille bedspread. The next bedroom was the largest and obviously Phoebe’s. A few pieces of her clothing still hung in the closet. A mirrored tray held candles and a translucent gazing ball perched in the palm of a ceramic water sprite, as well as a beautiful hand blown bottle of liquid. When I looked closer, I could see a kaleidoscope of movement, storm clouds, swirling winds, the expanding plume of a haboob. I blinked. I’d never seen anything like it. It was…weather in a bottle. I studied it for a minute longer, fascinated. There was something familiar about the swirling concoction, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
This room was the only one in the house that looked occupied. Phoebe’s side of the bed was recognizable by a set of her earrings in a shallow dish. I finished a scan of the room, finding a set of men’s slippers on the other side of the bed. The spread had been pulled back, but my little aura reading talent was telling me this house felt abandoned, which was what I’d sensed from the minute I’d walked into the kitchen.
So if that was true, why was the key still under the mat? And most importantly, why would Phoebe have left the items on the dresser behind for anyone to find?
As an afterthought, I looked on the wall behind the door and was shocked to find a picture of Phoebe, River and me. River was showing his new front teeth, and I was crossing my eyes at him. I felt a clutch in my stomach, and dread. Finally, I put a name to the emotion—fear. I was afraid to remember. I’d pushed the memories back for so long. Had they become skewed in my head from hurt and anger? I took a deep breath.
Since my meeting with Aurora, I was making a conscious effort to fight the fear, to allow those memories to reform, and see the truth. Next to my mother an image materialized. I knew before it was fully formed, it was Daddy. The bronze skinned giant with his red gold hair and copper coin eyes, had one arm around my mother, the other around River and me. That day came back to me now.
I’d been a happy seven-year-old when the picture was snapped on one of our family picnics. My hair had still been red. Just red. On a humid spring afternoon our parents had taken us to Lightning Bayou, where they tried to outsmart each other in a stormy battle of elements.
At one point, Mother, holding River in her arms, rolled Daddy down a grassy slope, with a dust devil that soared into the clouds. He landed in the mucky swamp water, with a splash, his voice booming, “You weather witch, top this!”
River giggled hilariously as animal cracker shaped hails
tones bounced around us. Daddy winked at River, and cocked an eyebrow at mother, looking triumphant, thinking he’d won. Mother just smiled, took both of our hands in hers, and changed into an umbrella.
Daddy’s laughter thundered like the great hall of echoes. If the locals noticed, they probably just thought it was a pop-up thundershower.
My heart ached now thinking about the way he’d looked at Phoebe. Intense pride and love blazed from his eyes, and I’d followed his gaze to mother’s to find a crafty yet sweet smile, which had been all for him.
I’d forgotten how happy they were before Dutch died. Why had she withdrawn from us, as if we no longer mattered?
My father’s image faded until all I saw was background again. I rummaged through Phoebe’s closet for a tote bag, finding a plastic green sack, into which I loaded the mirrored tray and its contents. I found a scratch pad in the kitchen by the phone and wrote, Phoebe, or whoever is living here with my mother, please call me. I wrote my cell phone and signed it, Tempe. At least if she returned, she’d know I had the items from her bedroom.
I sank into the kitchen chair in the dark, overwhelmed by a feeling of loss. My brother was missing, and my mother wasn’t just incommunicado, she was gone as well. Was it voluntary, or was she a victim of whatever had happened to my brother?
Any other time the tap on the kitchen door would have made me jump, but I just didn’t have the energy. It eased open, and I heard the clump of heavy boots on the kitchen linoleum.
“What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
Jack
The room was dark, but the meager light from the window illuminated my quarry at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. “What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
I winced as my question came out more harshly than I’d intended. When I went back to BBs the bartender said Tempe had paced the floor of the bar drinking coffee for an hour, then asked for the truck keys McGuinness had tossed him. Without a word, she walked out the door and drove off.
