As we lingered over the last bites of chile relleno and chicken chimichanga, the restaurant door opened and my friend Ronni Ksiazak strolled in with Coop McCall. She and the fire chief had been dating for the past month or so and seemed to be settling into a steady relationship.
When Ronni spotted me, she led Coop to our table and said, “Hi, you guys! Looks like I’m not the only one hankering for an enchilada tonight.”
“Who can resist all that cheesy goodness.” I smiled at the lively B & B owner.
Coop and Jake hadn’t met, so while Ronni made the introductions and the men chatted, I studied Shadow Bend’s fire chief. He and Jake shared the same powerful physique, but instead of Jake’s sapphire blue eyes, Coop’s were a warm golden brown. He and Ronni seemed to make a good couple, but it was hard to tell if they were really into each other or just friends. I didn’t sense any chemistry, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
Glancing at Coop, I found him staring at me. His heated gaze made it clear that he was still interested in me, and I quickly looked away. Two men were more than enough for me to juggle.
Finally, Ronni and Coop said their good-byes, but as they walked away, Coop turned, and the sharp planes of his face made him look almost predatory. I kept forgetting that behind his slight Southern drawl was a man who had been a marine and who was a self-proclaimed adrenaline junky. Certainly not the type to give up easily.
Before I could shake the impression that Coop had been sizing up his competition, Jake’s cell pinged with an incoming text.
He glanced at his phone and frowned, then said, “The health aide says that Meg is having a meltdown.”
“I see.” Losing my appetite, I pushed my plate away and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”
As I started to move out of the booth, Jake got up from his side and slid in next to me.
He stroked his thumb along my inner wrist and said, “Do you want to know why I’m itching to talk to the aide?”
“Well, it’s the first time you’ve left Meg with a stranger,” I answered slowly. His touch stole my breath, and I fought to keep my voice steady. “I’m sure you’re worried about her.”
“Nope.” Jake continued to caress my arm. “It’s because before I left, I set up a little test to gauge Meg’s true mental state, and I want to know the results.”
“Oh.” I reached down and smoothed the faded Levi’s that lovingly molded the muscles of his thighs. “What kind of experiment?”
“I made sure Meg heard me tell the aide that I was going into Kansas City to have drinks with some guys I had worked with as a marshal.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure where this was leading. Did Jake think his ex-wife would want to see her old friends, too? “And?”
“And I added that I planned to be back by nine, since that was when your store closed.” Jake lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed my palm.
“Uh-huh.” Because I was distracted by the feeling of his lips, it took me a second to figure out his plan. “And Meg was fine until just now?”
“Exactly.” Jake narrowed his eyes. “The aide said she started screaming at precisely eight fifty-seven. Up until then she’d been quietly watching television with him and had been fine all evening.”
“So she’s been faking it all along?” I asked, trying to put all the pieces together.
“I don’t think so.” Jake shook his head. “I’d swear she truly was in a near catatonic state when I brought her down here from St. Louis. What I think happened was that when she started getting better, she kept it to herself.”
“To try to get you back?” I laced my fingers with his. “Which I totally understand.”
“Not because she loves me.” Jake winked. “My guess is that after her experience with the Doll Maker, she’s afraid to be alone.”
“But you never leave her on her own and she still appears to be scheming to keep us apart.” I wondered if Jake was just being modest.
“I reckon she’s worried that if you and I are together and you’re upset with her being here, and I think she’s better, I’ll ship her back to St. Louis, where she will be by herself,” Jake explained. “Remember, the reason I brought her here to begin with was because she really has no close friends or family.”
“Do you think if we both reassure her that she can stay as long as she wants, she’ll behave herself?” I asked.
I wasn’t thrilled with the idea. However, I was unable to ignore my sympathy for the poor woman. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be tortured by a serial killer, then afterward having no one in your life but an ex-husband to take care of you.
“Let me talk to Meg and make sure my theory is right. And I have to check with Tony.” Jake’s smile was rueful. “He’s never forgiven her for dumping me when it looked as if I wouldn’t be able to walk again. And he really wants her gone from the ranch.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed, knowing that I tended to rush in and take over.
As Jake paid the bill and drove me back to my car, I was silent. Something was trying to break free from my subconscious. I didn’t know if it had to do with Meg’s situation or the murder.
I could tell Jake was in a rush to get back to the ranch and confront Meg, because his good-bye kiss was hurried and his pickup tires squealed as he sped out of my parking lot. I had intended to go straight home, but as we pulled into the alley, I’d noticed that the lights were still on in the dime store.
I shook my head. It looked as if the sewing circle ladies had bamboozled Dad into letting them stay late. I had a strict out-the-door-by-nine policy, but the members of the club liked to linger.
Using my key, I let myself in the rear entrance and strolled into the crafting area. As I suspected, the ladies were still sipping coffee, munching on cookies, and chatting. Several of them were fluttering around my father as if he were the only boy at the prom who knew how to dance, and Dad was eating up the attention.
Zizi Todd, a young woman in her early twenties with carrot red hair, was patting my dad’s arm and laughing hysterically at something he had just said. Zizi was the spitting image of a grown-up Pippi Longstocking and people often underestimated her. She came off like a space cadet, but in fact, she was in graduate school studying to become a clinical social worker. And was at the top of her class.
I greeted Zizi, who had the grace to look guilty as she grabbed her bag and said, “Dev, we were just packing up to go.”
Winnie Todd, Zizi’s mother, threw her arms around my neck, nearly smothering me in her long, frizzy curls. While she hugged me, she murmured, “Dev, you have my deepest sympathy on the loss of your stepfather.”
Winnie may have been an aging hippie, but like most other native Shadow Benders, she’d taken Miss Ophelia’s etiquette classes and could trot out good manners with the best of them.
Extracting myself from her clutches, I inhaled and said, “Thank you. I didn’t really know Jett, but he seemed like a nice man.”
Having dispensed with the social niceties, Winnie gestured to my father and said, “Kern is a riot. He was telling us some of his prison adventures. Did you know that he taught math to the other inmates?”
“I didn’t.” I raised my eyebrows at my father. Anytime I brought up his incarceration, he changed the subject. I wondered why he suddenly was willing to share stories with relative strangers.
Winnie smiled fondly at my father. “I’m so impressed that although he was falsely imprisoned, he still was willing to come to the assistance of his fellow detainees.”
Winnie had inherited a sizable estate from her grandparents and used her wealth to help others. She thought of herself as Wonder Woman, fighting oppression at every turn, but mostly she did things that just made people wonder.
Both Winnie and Zizi cared deeply for their fellow human beings, and together they had cofounded the sew
ing circle. They dedicated the club to supporting the county’s homeless shelter and the local hospital’s free clinic. It was too bad that both these facilities were more than forty miles away from Shadow Bend and difficult for our poorer citizens to reach unless they had a car.
Currently the group consisted of twenty or so women ranging in age from sixteen to eighty-three. Each member paid for her own materials, and they all donated their finished products either to the shelter for their use or to the clinic’s resale shop.
As soon as they noticed me, most of the sewing circle members shot me guilty looks, then immediately said good-bye, gathered their things, and left. However, Winnie, Zizi, and Cyndi Barrows were made of sterner stuff and continued to dawdle.
Cyndi might be one of the wealthy country clubbers, but she had shown up for the first Blood, Sweat, and Shears meeting and had faithfully attended all the subsequent ones. In my observation, she seemed more comfortable with the local women than with her country club friends.
As she slowly packed up her materials, I said to her, “I understand that some of the newer people aren’t too thrilled that the library is reopening. Have you heard anything about that?”
Cyndi shook her head. “I don’t spend much time at the club anymore.”
“Why?” Winnie joined our conversation, her unconventional features rearranging themselves into an inquisitive smile. “Did something happen?”
“Well, sort of. Nothing big or dramatic.” Cyndi’s voice sank to a whisper. “It’s just that . . . actually . . . my new boyfriend doesn’t like the group that hangs out there. He says they’re shallow.”
“New boyfriend?” Zizi frowned. “I thought you were engaged to Frazer Wren.”
“I was, but . . .” Cyndi blushed and continued. “Five years is just too long, so I gave him an ultimatum, and he broke up with me. Frazer had a fifteen-year mortgage, a five-year car loan, and a lifetime country club membership, but he told me he was afraid of commitment.”
“What an ass!” Zizi touched her arm. “I’m glad you found someone better.” Turning to me, she demanded, “What’s this crap about people not wanting the library to open? What kind of idiots are they?”
I noticed Winnie had drifted over to where my father was cleaning up. As I explained to Zizi what I’d overheard, I watched them laughing and joking around. There was something about Dad that attracted the opposite sex the same way Starbucks drew caffeine addicts.
“What a bunch of bullshit!” Zizi’s angry expression changed her usual sweet face to a much scarier countenance. “How can people not understand the value of accessible books and knowledge?”
“In my experience, most folks have trouble seeing beyond what’s best for them versus what’s best for everyone,” I said mildly.
I stuck my hands in my pockets. Zizi was still an innocent, but the cynic in me suspected that a few years in her chosen profession would wear some of the naïveté off of her. The thought made me sad.
Cyndi had lost interest in the conversation, and as she headed toward the exit, she waved good-bye.
Zizi watched the other woman walk away, and with a rueful smile, said, “Cyndi’s a sweetie. She’s not the quickest horse on the track, but her heart is in the right place.” Zizi frowned. “I hope her new boyfriend is a good guy. Did she say who he was?”
“Nope.” I joined my father and Winnie by the register, and Zizi followed me.
I was about to shoo the women out of the store when I thought of something and asked, “Hey, do either of you know who around here is an expert in Shadow Bend’s Civil War involvement?” I qualified, “Not just their family’s, but the whole area’s history.”
“Why?” Winnie’s gaze sharpened, and she hitched her patchwork backpack higher on her shoulders. “Is that what your stepfather was researching? Are you and the gang investigating his murder?”
Winnie had it in her head that Poppy, Boone, Noah, Jake, and I were some sort of Scooby-Doo gang. I was pretty sure Poppy was Daphne and Boone was Fred, which left Velma for me. But I wasn’t sure if Noah was Shaggy and Jake was Scooby or vice versa.
“Uh. I’m not sure what Jett was looking into.” Crap! I should have thought of an excuse before I asked. “Someone just made a remark about the war that sounded interesting, so I wanted to know more.”
Yes. I lied. But the fewer people who knew about the Civil War connection the better.
“Wait a minute.” Winnie scrunched up her face, evidently replaying what she’d heard the past few days. Then she gave me a triumphant look. “You’re asking about the Civil War because of the aliens, right?”
“Possibly.” I pasted a mysterious expression on my face. “But I can’t say.”
It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. What in the world would ET have to do with a war that occurred a hundred and fifty years ago? Only Winnie could make that kind of leap of logic. Did she think that Robert E. Lee had been an extraterrestrial?
“I understand.” Winnie nodded. “Anyway. Miss Ophelia is the town authority. Hell! She’s so old she might have been there when it started.”
“Very funny.” I chuckled, adding a visit to the etiquette expert to my to-do list. “Thanks for the info.” Taking Winnie and Zizi by the arms, I steered them toward the front, opened the door, and gently urged them over the threshold. “See you next week.”
Locking up behind them, I turned to Dad, who was carrying the cash drawer around as he shut off the lights, and said, “The sewing ladies are supposed to be out of here by nine.”
“They were having a good time.” He headed toward the storage room. “I figured since I didn’t mind hanging around, I’d let them spend their money.”
“I don’t want to set a precedent.” I could just hear them saying “your father let us stay” the next time I tried to get them to leave on time. “But thanks for working the extra hours.”
“Did you see your mother?” He deposited the drawer inside the safe.
“We stopped by around six. Didn’t you see my text?” He shook his head, and I opened the back door, waiting for my father to walk through. “She was fine. Chief Kincaid reinterviewed her, but she said she stuck to her story. She was waiting for take-out delivery when we left her.” I paused, then asked in as casual a tone as I could manage, “Do you know if she’s been seeing any friends while she’s been in town?”
“Why?” Dad stopped and stared at me. “What makes you ask that?”
“It just seemed as if she might have been expecting someone other than the delivery guy.” I pressed the fob on my key ring, unlocking the door to my BMW. “She was really anxious to get rid of us.”
“That’s odd.” Dad’s Grand Cherokee was parked next to my car. He leaned against the rear bumper. “Why wouldn’t she want you there when whoever she was waiting for arrived?” When I didn’t answer, he wrinkled his brow, thinking it over, then sighed and said flatly, “You think she was expecting a man.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged, hating to see the hurt in his eyes but unable to hide my disapproval. “Judging from her appearance . . .”
“Yvette is different from you, Dev,” Dad said, his shoulders slumped. “She needs constant attention and excitement.”
“Whatever.” I decided it was time to change the subject . . . slightly. “Speaking of my mother, has she said anything to you about Jett’s finances?”
“Only that he was wealthy.” Dad tapped his chin. “Something about old oil money.”
“Interesting.” I moved to lean next to him. “Nadine was sure Jett was nouveau riche.”
“Nadine thinks the Kennedys’ fortune is new, too,” Dad joked.
“Did Mom tell you what Jett was researching?” I needed to check Yvette’s story.
“Does this have to do with what you were asking Winnie?” Dad asked.
“Jett was poking around the town’s Civil War history,
” I admitted. “Nadine seemed to think he was going to reveal something shady about someone’s family. The current theory is that someone might have killed him to protect their ancestor’s good name.”
“Then you might want to talk to Boone,” Dad suggested slowly. “That boy has always been mighty proud that his great-great-great-great-grandfather gave up his own life to save the town from the Yankees. But I recall, back when his mother was up for membership in the Confederate Daughters of Missouri, there were some questions raised about her family’s part in the war.”
“What happened?” I asked. Mrs. St. Onge had been a member in good standing for as long as I could remember.
“I think a rather large contribution was made to the Lee Mansion fund and the talk miraculously disappeared. But I remember when you and Boone were in high school, he damn near came to blows with some kid who made a remark about Major Boone’s ‘supposed’ heroism in during the Civil War.” Dad put his arm around me. “I know how close you and Boone are, so you’d better think about it carefully before you stir up that hornet’s nest.”
“It can’t be Boone.” I laid my head on my dad’s chest. “He’d never murder anyone. I’ve seen him relocate spiders rather than kill them.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.” Dad gave my shoulder a squeeze. “For all our sakes.”
CHAPTER 16
When Jake had dropped me off at the store, I’d been ready for an early night, but after Dad’s bombshell about Boone, I was too wired to sleep. I needed to talk things over with someone. Jake was busy, and although I’d received a text from Noah saying that he was home and he’d pick me up for our lunch date at twelve thirty tomorrow, his adversarial relationship with Boone made him a poor choice. He’d try to be fair, but I didn’t want to give him more ammunition in their ongoing rivalry.
Which was how I found myself driving down the dark country road that led to Gossip Central. I could share my concerns about Boone with Poppy without having to worry the information would somehow be used against him.
Between a Book and a Hard Place Page 14
