“I’m sorry, Taylor. Truly.”
“I’d sort of sworn off women . . . until I met you. I’m not interested in getting married again, but I am interested in you. Just have dinner with me. A meal. Food. Conversation. That’s it. Nothing fancy, not if you don’t want it.”
“I’m older than you.”
“I’m taller. Say yes.”
“I hate it when men do that.”
“That’s why we do it. Say yes and hate me over dinner tomorrow night.”
He lowered his head and kissed her again.
When she recovered, she gave him a defeated grin. “Yes, damn you. Yes.”
Chapter 19
Soldier glanced at his watch. He had just over an hour to finish up at the PHPD and get over to the hospital in time to pick up his brother by eleven o’clock.
Slapping the file folder closed, he reached for his laptop and logged off. From the other side of the desk, Sam Winslow said, “You look like a man who just solved a crime.”
Soldier smiled, giving Winslow a quick, “damned right” nod.
A few more hours and this would all be wrapped up. A few more hours, hopefully, and no more twenty-hour days to suck the energy right out of him. Since this case began, it had been one thing after another and barely any time to take a deep breath.
Getting to bed well after midnight several nights in a row sure didn’t help, but that was the way it worked sometimes when a crime was fresh.
Of course, he could have slept last night but had chosen instead to make love to Betsy for hours. And hours.
Betsy. This was almost over, and she was and would continue to be safe. Betsy. Christ, what that woman did to his insides. Was it possible to fall in love with someone in so short a time?
Did he love her? The mere thought should have sent him into panic, but it didn’t. She hadn’t quite said the words, but she’d come close. Even if she never said them, he could see it in her eyes. She was such a lousy poker player.
He looked at the file on the desk in front of him.
Turning to Winslow, Soldier pointed to the name on the file and said, “I’m heading over to her place now with a search warrant, but I want to put out an APB in case she’s already on the run.”
Winslow nodded. “You think she’s the woman Ms. Tremaine’s father saw?”
“Yep. I think she wanted Linda Mattson’s job, then when it went to Betsy instead, her plans were screwed and she blamed Betsy. I’m hoping a search of her place will turn up some evidence we can use to make an arrest.”
“So, what happened to the Mattson woman?”
Soldier stood, walked over to the window and gazed out over peaceable Port Henry. Almost peaceable, soon to be again.
“I had Seattle run a dental check on a Jane Doe found off I-90 about three months ago.” He faced Sam Winslow and crossed his arms over his chest. “I got the results this morning. It was Linda Mattson. No runaway marriage, no Minnesota. Skull was crushed.”
“Sounds just like the Spangler thing.”
Soldier shrugged. “Hey, if it worked once, it would work twice, right? Our killer swings a wicked tire iron, especially when the vic is somebody who trusts her and hasn’t got a clue as to what’s coming.”
As Winslow shrugged into his regulation forest green jacket, he said, “Do you really think she’s just going to be sitting in her apartment, watching TV or reading a magazine after having killed three people?”
“If she doesn’t suspect we’re on to her, she might,” Soldier replied. “But I think she’s gone into hiding. Nobody’s seen her since the day Finlay was murdered, so she’s found a little niche somewhere to hide until she’s ready to make another move. My goal now is to find her before she makes that move.”
Carla Denato stood across the street from her apartment building, watching her carefully planned life literally go up in smoke.
She’d packed everything she needed into her car, having ditched Kristee’s green sedan days ago. As she watched, black plumes began to curl out the open window as tiny flames flitted along the eaves.
Fire had gotten her out of a jam once before, and it would again.
Even so, she was pissed. Damn Ryan Finlay for forcing her to kill him before she was ready. But he’d caught her off guard last night, and now she had to move quickly.
Everything was falling to pieces, she thought, and it was all Betsy’s fault. And if she wasn’t extremely careful, she’d miss the opportunity to deal the death blow to her nemesis, and have to hightail it to Canada before she was damn good and ready.
The shriek of sirens broke her angry reverie, and she stepped behind some low-growing evergreens. Neighbors were beginning to assemble on the sidewalk, their coats or robes pulled tightly around them to ward off the autumn chill as they stood in awe of the apartment house fire. The fire she had set.
Fire had such power, just like she herself did. Flames and smoke were quiet as they crept up on the unsuspecting, doing their deadly work before anybody realized exactly how much trouble they were in.
A fire engine screamed onto the scene to ostensibly save the day, and was soon followed by two police cars and another fire truck. More people gathered on the street and sidewalks, all gaping, all enraptured by the blaze.
Well, would you look at that? Detective Hunky McKennitt emerged from the squad car to stare at the fire, fury plain to see on his handsome face.
He stood with his back to her, his hands on his excellently lean hips as he surveyed the situation. She watched as he spoke to the fire captain.
What a bonus! Soldier McKennitt was here at her apartment! She had to admit that under other circumstances, she would have gone for him in a big way, but once he’d met little Betsy-wetsy, he’d stopped looking around. Even Kristee hadn’t been able to snare his interest, and she had certainly tried.
McKennitt turned to scan the crowd. Right. She’d almost forgotten. The cops knew how much arsonists loved to watch a fire, so he figured he could spot her among the onlookers. Time to take off.
As she backed away, immersing herself in a thick stand of rhododendrons, Carla considered what to do next. She’d liked it in Port Henry and had hoped to stay on for a while. But thanks to Betsy, that little bubble had burst.
Betsy had taken everything she’d wanted, worked for, killed for.
The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Her fingers twitched in anticipation of getting her hands on Betsy and ripping her hair out, and then her heart.
Betsy Tremaine was as good as dead, but first she needed to suffer a little more. As she herself had suffered. She’d assumed the rumors and insinuations would ruin Betsy, but they hadn’t. Nobody had believed them! She’d even sent those stupid book reviews to McKennitt in the hope that he would write an angry letter to the Ledger, castigating Betsy, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d fallen for the little bitch! Was life too damn funny or what!
Carla pushed those thoughts out of her head and instead tried to focus on the days to come.
Dead leaves crunched beneath her feet as she scurried to her car, her steps lightening as she went.
Oh, goody, she thought. It’s time to take out another player.
When Soldier knocked on Betsy’s door, the last thing he expected was for her to fling herself into his arms. Not that he didn’t like it a whole hell of a lot.
“Save me,” she whispered against his ear as she slid her arms around his neck.
Soldier let himself enjoy the feel of her body pushed tightly against his. Wrapping his arms around her, he bent his head and kissed her on the cheek. She lifted her face, and he kissed her on the mouth. “Save you from what?” he said roughly.
She gestured in the direction of the living room. “Them,” she whispered. “They’re all in there. It’s horrible. Do you have your gun? Put me out of my misery, please?”
“I thought I told you not to let anybody in,” he admonished through a scowl.
“It’s just my mother and her Dick,” she said,
still wrapped in his arms. “They arrived just after you left. They’ve been here all day. With my father here, it’s been . . . tense. I’m ready to go nuts.”
“Here,” he said, handing her the bouquet clenched tightly in his fist. “Maybe these will help.”
Her eyes widened, and she inhaled deeply as her lips formed a delicate O. “Flowers? For me?” she breathed out.
Soldier had given women flowers before, but this was the first time in years he’d felt like blushing and digging his toe into the dirt like some lovestruck kid. “Yeah,” he said. “They’re just daisies. Nothing special.”
Her face said they were very special. In fact, she looked as though he had just given her the Hope diamond.
“Thank you,” she said, wrapping the huge bouquet in her arms. “They’re lovely. I’ll go put them in some water. I have just the vase for these.”
“Well,” he offered, feeling more composed, “you know, they’re just daisies, and a few little pink roses. And the woman put some of that white stuff in there, too.”
“Baby’s breath.”
“Yeah. Baby’s breath. My mom likes those, too.”
“They’re so lovely,” she said through the sweetest smile he had ever seen, “they totally make up for my rotten day. Thank you.”
Betsy placed her open palm on his chest, rose on her tiptoes and settled a soft kiss on his mouth. She might just as well have jabbed him with a cattle prod, because every nerve in his body zinged to life.
He cleared his throat. “Taylor’s in the car. I need to get some food in him, then he needs rest.”
“Dinner’s on the stove.”
“Thanks. After we eat, I need to fill you in on all that’s happened today. The next twenty-four hours are going to be eventful.”
“Well, that sounds pretty ominous.”
“I’ll tell you about it when we’re alone.”
A moment later Taylor hobbled up behind him and moved through the open door and into the foyer.
“Hi,” he said to Betsy.
“Oh, Taylor, how are you feeling? Is there anything I can get you?”
“Food and sleep ought to do the trick.”
Ignoring the trio of voices coming from the living room, Soldier closed and latched the front door, then followed Betsy and Taylor into the kitchen.
The savory fragrance of a home-cooked meal teased his senses and poked at his stomach. A man could get used to this really fast, he thought as he surveyed the goodies Betsy had prepared. Pot roast with carrots and potatoes, homemade biscuits, a freshly baked apple pie. For a man, that was about as close to heaven on earth as it got. Throw in some good sex, and there you had it.
For the first time, Soldier took a good look around the kitchen. It was cute. It was . . . Betsy. Lace curtains on the windows, herb pots on the sill, white wallpaper strewn with wildflowers. A cookie jar in the shape of a cow wearing a straw bonnet stood on the counter next to large, old-fashioned jars filled with flour and sugar.
He slid a look at Taylor, who had settled himself into a chair at the big table, only to find that Taylor was sending him a look in return. And Taylor’s message was coming across loud and clear.
Pretty nice, hm? So, what are you waiting for, you idiot?
As Betsy wiped her hands on the pretty, forties-style apron she wore, the cacophony that had been sequestered in the living room burst into the quiet of the kitchen.
Loretta was dressed in royal purple. The omnipresent Piddle rested securely in her arms. Chattering in French, she led the hapless Ree-shar, who followed obediently behind, nodding and gesturing.
Bringing up the rear, Douglas Tremaine shuffled in and sat at the table next to Taylor. Betsy introduced them and they shook hands, but Douglas’s sad gray eyes rarely left his ex-wife, except when he looked at Betsy and smiled.
Turning to the crowd, Betsy said, “I’m leaving the food on the stove. You may get a plate and help yourself. Except for Taylor. Taylor,” she ordered, “you stay put. I’ll serve you.”
“I’ll get a plate for Taylor,” Soldier said. “He’s my brother. I know how to feed him.” He stood and began heaping food onto one of the dishes stacked next to the stove.
Betsy came up beside him and said, “Let me know if you need anything else.”
He stared down into her eyes and lust hit him like a freight train. Behind him, Taylor, Douglas, Loretta, and Richard, not to mention Piddle, were all chattering away, unaware of the sexual tension strung tightly between himself and Betsy.
If he shot them all and shoved the plates and silverware off the table, he could take her right now on her barnyard print tablecloth, chickies and duckies be damned. Blood surged through him, stalling at his groin, sending him spinning into need.
In Loretta’s arms, Piddle suddenly began to yelp, or squeak, or whatever a Chihuahua did to make that irritating sound.
“Shh,” Loretta scolded. “Does Mommy’s Pids need to go outside?” Nothing the woman could say calmed the nasty little beast, who kept growling and barking viciously.
Soldier shot a look at Taylor, who made as if to stand. “Taylor, don’t move! Betsy,” he snapped, “get the lights.”
Turning to the light switch, she slammed her hand against the wall and the room went dark. Loretta squealed, Ree-shar gasped, Piddle yelped, and Douglas rose from the table.
“Wh-What can I do?” he said shakily. “T-Tell me what to do.”
“Stay just where you are. Everybody down,” Soldier ordered, and they all hit the floor. “Tayo, you’re not supposed to do anything, so don’t—”
But Taylor was halfway to his feet before Soldier could stop him. In the dim light of the kitchen, Soldier pulled his weapon and began moving cautiously toward the living room, while Taylor limped around to a side door that led to the garage. The house was shadowy and silent except for the popping of the small fire in the living room fireplace.
With his weapon pointing straight down, Soldier hurried to the front window, edged the drapes aside and peered out. The street lamps had come on, casting circles of light up and down the pavement. A movement far up the road caught his eye. Rushing to the door, he pulled the lock and ran down the walkway just as Taylor emerged from the back of the house.
In the distance, a car door slammed. An engine that had been idling roared violently to life. With a squeal of tires, it tore up the street and out of sight.
“Did you make the car?” huffed Taylor, who looked pale and near collapse even in the evening shadows.
“You idiot,” Soldier growled as he grabbed his brother’s arm and steered him toward the house. “Too dark to see. But it doesn’t matter. There’s already a warrant out for her arrest.”
A soft voice behind Soldier made him turn. “It’s Carla, isn’t it?” Betsy’s features were tense, her shoulders rigid. Her father stood next to her, tall and straight, with a feral gleam in his eye as he looked off up the road where the car disappeared around the corner.
Betsy shook her head. “I didn’t want to believe it, but I wondered,” she said as she followed her father’s gaze. “When I thought about it, things only made sense if it was Carla.”
Soldier nodded. “I’m sorry. I know she was your friend.”
“Apparently not.”
“Leave me!” Taylor interrupted. “Go after her!”
Soldier muttered something under his breath as he helped his brother into the house, settling him on the sofa. Pulling out his cell phone, he called Winslow.
The PHPD had the make and model of Carla Denato’s car on file, and unless she hid the vehicle out of sight within the next few minutes, a patrol car was sure to spot her and pick her up. With his brother bleeding again, it was the best Soldier could do for the moment despite Taylor’s protests.
Betsy had disappeared into the kitchen, to reemerge holding a cold compress and a clean towel. She placed the compress on Taylor’s sweating brow and used the thin linen cloth to help stop the bleeding from a cut on his shoulder that had opened d
uring the pursuit.
Her words to Taylor were soothing, calming, and it made Soldier almost wish it was he she was ministering to.
“Betsy?” Soldier said, and she raised her head to look at him.
“Yes?”
“Your father . . . he’s an all right guy. Now I know where your get your courage.”
She smiled at him, and it lit her face all the way up to her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, then took the stained cloth and vanished through the kitchen door.
Furious that the Denato woman had shown up, even more furious at his dumbass brother for pushing himself too far, Soldier turned to Taylor.
“God damn it, Taylor, I told you to stay put! They let you go from the hospital too soon. They should have kept you chained to the fucking bed—”
“Sounds kinky,” Taylor wheezed. “I think I like it.”
“Shut up.”
“Relax, big brother,” Taylor panted. “I just got a little light-headed, that’s all. I’ll be fine after I get some of that home cooking in me.”
As Taylor limped into the kitchen to finish eating, Soldier called the hospital and had Dr. Hunter paged. When she came on the line, he growled, “What kind of doctor are you anyway, releasing a man in his condition? Taylor was in no shape to—”
“What are you talking about?” she interrupted. “Tell me what happened.”
After he explained, she said curtly, “He was released to go home to bed rest, not to chase down murder suspects, Detective. I’ll stop by to see him on my way home. If it looks bad, I’ll have him readmitted. In the meantime, keep him quiet and make sure he gets plenty of fluids. And no more funny business!”
Fuming behind the steering wheel of her car, now safely hidden inside an old garage about a mile from Betsy’s house, Carla considered what to do next.
What the hell, had half of Port Henry moved in with Betsy? What was with all the people at her house? She’d gone there to kill Soldier, and what did she find? Not only Soldier and Betsy, but the brother, the mother, the father, that French guy, and that fucking little dog! She should have had Kristee kill the damn mutt instead of just shoving it in the deep freeze.
The Damsel in This Dress Page 24
