Trent turned off the TV and yanked the remote away from him. “Yeah.”
Rickie trudged up the stairs, grumbling under his breath.
Trent pulled me into his arms for a tantalizing, chocolate flavored kiss.
“You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?” I asked.
“I just don’t feel right staying here with the kid in the house.”
This was the man who refused to classify our relationship as more than friends or do more than kiss me until my long, drawn-out divorce from Rick-head was final. I wasn’t surprised.
“Fine.” I sighed. “We’ll have to make up for it next weekend.”
We walked out onto my front porch and did a little more kissing and cuddling. I wasn’t going to make it easy for him to leave.
The soft closing of a door at Paula’s house diverted my attention. I’d almost forgotten that Matthew had gone home with her and hadn’t returned. Trent has that effect on me, makes me forget everything going on in the rest of the world. It’s a nice feeling.
We were pretty much hidden on my porch by the dark and the trees, so I watched shamelessly.
The two of them stood on her porch, talking quietly, apparently comfortable with each other. Paula looked up at him and he looked down at her. They stood that way for a very long time. Good grief! Was I going to have to tell them when the time was right for a kiss?
He turned and walked off the porch and Paula went back inside.
“Damn!” I whispered.
“Hey, think of how long you and I knew each other before I got up the courage to kiss you.”
“That was different. Paula’s ex-husband is in prison. There’s no reason they can’t make out.”
I watched Matthew walk to the street and get into his car. His white sedan. Like the white sedan I’d seen going slowly down the street.
I was being paranoid. White sedans were not exactly unusual.
“That’s the car that parked up the street last night and the man watched that woman in white go to Fred’s house.”
I whirled around to see that Rickie had joined us.
I could tell by the smell that he had not taken a shower.
Chapter Ten
“How do you know that?” I demanded, not wanting to believe. “There are thousands of white cars in Kansas City.”
“Nah,” the kid said. “Not with that license plate.”
“You remember the license plate?” Trent asked.
Rickie stared as the car drove away down the street. “Yeah. Mama says you gotta pay attention to anything suspicious. That guy sitting there in his car in the middle of the night was suspicious.”
I was impressed he knew a three-syllable word like suspicious, but I was not convinced he was telling the truth.
“Tell me exactly what you saw.” Trent sounded like a cop. Sometimes that’s kind of hot. It wasn’t at the moment.
Rickie shrugged. “Just that car parked up the street and that woman running over to Fred’s house in her nightgown. I thought at first the guy in the car was watching me, but he left after Fred took the woman home.” He turned to go back into the house.
I grabbed his shoulder. “Did you see Matthew in that car? Could you see good enough to identify him?”
He frowned up at me. “It was dark and the streetlight’s broke.” He shrugged off my hand and went inside. Immediately the sound of the TV overpowered the soothing sounds of crickets and night birds.
Damn. I’d worked so hard to set up Paula and Matthew, and it had worked. She liked him. Zach liked him. But suddenly I wasn’t so sure I’d done the right thing. Had that been him driving around in the middle of the night, spying on Sophie? He had looked at her for a long time at the barbecue. Was he obsessed with Sophie? Was he stalking her? Maybe he’d even come into the restaurant and hit on Paula because he knew she was Sophie’s neighbor.
Maybe I was overreacting. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“You think the kid was telling the truth?” Trent asked, breaking into my train of self-flagellation.
“I don’t know. I have seen a white car driving slowly down the street in the middle of the night a couple of times.”
He turned me to face him. “That would be the white car you mentioned before Rickie rang the doorbell and interrupted us?”
“Yes, that would be the same white car.”
“So it’s been coming around for a while and you didn’t think maybe you should tell me about it?”
“If that car had a machine gun aimed out the passenger window or a leg hanging out of the trunk, I’d have told you. But a car driving down my street? No, I didn’t see any reason to tell you.”
Trent ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. It’s just that so many strange things have happened to you. I worry about you.”
I took the opportunity. “Given any more thought to teaching me to shoot and getting me a gun?”
He looked at me for a long moment as if he was actually thinking about my request. “No. Are you going to say something to Paula about what Rickie just told us?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s anything to tell.”
“Before you talk to her, I’ll check out Matthew and let you know what I find.”
I decided it would be best not to tell him Fred had already done that. Sometimes Fred’s activities made him a little nervous. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have a second opinion. “Thanks. How about taking care of my latest speeding ticket while you’re in the system?”
“No.”
Never hurts to ask.
We indulged in one final delicious kiss.
“Stay with me,” I whispered.
“I can’t. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He kissed me again. “Love you, babe.” He turned and walked away.
What? What?
Had he just casually tossed out the L word?
No, surely I hadn’t heard right.
He got in his car, waved and drove off.
I’d heard right.
Damn! He’d tossed it out there so casually, in a totally unintimidating manner. Maybe it had just slipped out and he didn’t realize it.
No, that wasn’t Trent. He realized what he’d said.
And now I had to make up my mind if I could say it back.
I swallowed and bit my lip.
If I ignored it, pretended it hadn’t happened, he’d probably never bring it up again. He’d tossed the ball into my court and it was entirely up to me what I was going to do with it. Damn! I hate responsibility.
Not that I doubted how I felt about Trent. I just didn’t want to think about it or analyze it or put it into words. I didn’t want to face my feelings.
I turned to go back inside. I’d think about it later.
When I opened the door, Henry darted up to join me. Rickie lounged on my sofa, his gaze intent on the TV screen.
“Up to bed,” I directed.
“I’m hungry. I want another cookie.”
“You cannot possibly be hungry after everything you ate, and you’re not getting another cookie. Up to bed now or…” I tried to think of something I could use to threaten him, something that would generate some action instead of a bored whatever. “I’ll turn Henry loose on you.”
Rickie glared at Henry. Henry lifted his tail and snarled.
“If I go to bed now, can I have a Coke for breakfast?”
“Yes.” Like I could stop him.
He dragged himself upstairs into the guest room. I thought about demanding he shower first, but I didn’t need another battle at that hour. I’d fumigate the room after he left.
I showered then peeked in to be sure he was actually in bed. He was.
“Good night, Aunt Lindsay.”
I shuddered at the obvious scam attempt but responded politely. “Good night.”
The last thing I did before going to bed was to call Fred and update him on the Matthew situation.
“Something’s going on,” he said. “Somebody’s afraid o
f what Sophie knows. It could be Matthew. He could be the one who made that ridiculous call, pretending to be Carolyn and threatening her.”
“That pretty much affirms that Carolyn was a real person, not just Sophie’s imaginary friend.”
“If we make that assumption, it could mean that Sophie actually witnessed her murder.”
“So why did her parents tell her she imagined the whole thing? Do you think one of them was the murderer?”
He was silent for a long, telling moment. “Right now I have more questions than answers. I’ll dig a little deeper and see what else I can find out about Matthew. At this point, he’s our only lead.”
With Trent and Fred both on Matthew’s trail, we should soon know what he ate for breakfast and what kind of toilet paper he used.
I stretched out on my comfortable, cool bed and blessed the inventor of air conditioning. Henry stretched out at the foot of that bed, but he never seemed to mind the heat. I suspected he only blessed the inventor of the can opener.
I thought briefly about Trent’s parting words then decided it wasn’t the right time to think about it. I had too much else on my mind. I’d think about it tomorrow.
I was just drifting off to sleep when Henry’s purr changed to a low growl. Damn. Sophie out for a stroll? A mysterious white car prowling around the neighborhood? I didn’t want to deal with either one. I was tired. I just wanted to sleep.
Instead of darting to the window to peek out, Henry leapt out of bed and went to my bedroom door where he stood on his hind legs and slapped at the knob.
I swung my feet out of bed, heart rate accelerating. “You want out? You need to go to the bathroom?” He’d never done that, but I was really hoping for a little irritable bowel syndrome instead of a warning that somebody was in my house. We’d been that route before, and he’d been right. It’s not a fun experience to discover uninvited guests in the middle of the night.
Henry growled and pawed the knob more determinedly.
My iron skillet was in the kitchen and I hadn’t convinced Trent to get me a gun. I had no weapon.
Well, that wasn’t totally true. I had a twenty-three pound ferocious cat.
I pushed him out of the way, opened the door and forced myself to step into the hallway.
There was someone in my house, but he wasn’t coming upstairs. He was at the front door trying to get out.
“Rickie!”
The boy’s thin shoulders flinched in his faded Batman pajamas. He turned and looked up. “I was hungry.”
“Really? And you thought there was food in the front yard? Or maybe you were planning to drive to the closest fast food place. Oh, wait, you don’t have a driver’s license or a car.”
He shrugged and started back upstairs. “I was bored,” he mumbled. “There’s not even a TV in that room.”
“That’s because you’re supposed to sleep in that room!”
Henry gave a disgusted snort and stalked back to our room.
Rickie trudged dejectedly back to his room. He crawled into bed with a long sigh, glared at me and pulled the sheet over his head.
“I’m locking the door. If you need to go to the bathroom, knock on the wall and I’ll let you out.”
I closed the door and stepped into the hallway. I couldn’t lock the door. I didn’t even have the key to it. I could only hope he’d buy into my bluff.
*~*~*
The next morning at breakfast (yes, I let Rickie have his Coke) I asked the kid when his mother was due back in town.
He looked down at the table top and shrugged. “I dunno.”
“She’s not coming back today, is she?”
Another shrug. “I dunno.”
I wasn’t surprised. I’d once been married to his father. I knew the odds of anything either of them said being true…about the same as the odds of winning the progressive jackpot on a slot machine. It happens. Just not on a regular basis.
“I’m meeting my mother for lunch today.”
He scraped the last bite of scrambled egg off his plate, ate it and shrugged again. “Whatever.”
“We need to decide where you’re going to stay while I’m gone.”
“I’ll stay here.”
I gave a very fleeting thought to that possibility. Lock him in the basement, chain him to the wall…but I didn’t have any chains. “You’re nine years old. You’re too young to stay by yourself.”
He rolled his eyes. “Mama lets me stay by myself all the time.”
“Well, I’m not your mother, and you’re not staying here by yourself. I could ask Paula to babysit you—”
He slammed his Coke can down on the table and glared at me. “I’m not a baby. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Okay, then you could go to Paula’s and stay with her for the couple of hours I’ll be gone.”
“Whatever.”
“Or you could go over to Fred’s house.”
He shuddered. “I don’t want to stay with him.”
“Fred’s place it is.”
“Oh, man!”
When I called Fred to tell him the plan, he was almost as thrilled as Rickie. “I’ll lock up the silver and get out my bullet-proof vest.”
It would be a character-building experience for both of them.
And if painful experiences built character, I’d be getting some character at lunch. I surveyed my wardrobe then chose the gray silk blouse and matching slacks my mother gave me for Christmas. Next I plugged in my flat iron to straighten my hair. I wanted to talk about Daniel Jamison, not my appearance, so I went all out.
When I came downstairs wearing the gray silk, makeup, straight hair and heels, Rickie had the volume on the TV turned up so high my mini blinds were shimmying.
“Heads up,” I shouted. “Turn off the television and let’s go.”
He sighed and hit the kill button. The sudden silence was abrupt and beautiful. He stood and stared at me then frowned. “You look nice.”
“Why, thank you, Rickie.”
“You look like you got money.”
Oh, so that’s what nice meant in Rickie’s world. I should have known.
I walked him over to Fred’s house and rang the doorbell. “There’s an extra Coke waiting for you if you behave yourself while I’m gone. Don’t break anything and don’t spill anything.”
“Big deal. You got plenty of Cokes.”
“I’ll make fresh cookies.”
Fred opened the door before Rickie could respond to that bribe. “Come in, Rickie, and have a seat on the sofa. I’ll be right with you.”
Rickie’s upper lip curled in a sneer, but he moved past Fred into the house without a protest.
Fred held a sheet of paper toward me. “I made a list of some things you need to ask your mother about Dr. Jamison.”
“Really? After all this time, you don’t think I can conduct an interview with my own mother?” I snatched the paper from him and glanced at the orderly printed list. “I believe I can handle this.”
“I’m not disputing your ability to handle this one alone, but I wish I could be there.”
“Trust me, you don’t.” I hadn’t given it much thought, but this would be my first time to put on a disguise and try to elicit information from somebody even though that somebody was my mother.
“Call if you get in trouble.”
“It’s my mother.”
“I realize that. Get back as soon as you can.” Fred looked over his shoulder. I followed his gaze. I couldn’t see Rickie, but I could see the sofa and he wasn’t sitting on it.
“Don’t kill him while I’m gone.” I turned to go then looked back. “But if you do, I’ll help you hide the body.”
Fred actually smiled.
I walked off his porch and across my yard, careful to avoid tripping in those heels. This was the first time I wasn’t looking forward to dragging information out of someone. But, what the heck, we were going to one of the best restaurants in Kansas City. The food would be good.
Hen
ry met me halfway across the yard and looked up inquiringly.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “He’s not gone for good. He’s only staying with Fred until I get home. But I’ll give you some catnip tonight so you can get through it.”
He flipped his tail into the air and stalked off.
*~*~*
My mother was waiting when I got to the restaurant. We exchanged air kisses.
“You look very nice,” she said. I didn’t think she meant it the same way Rickie had. Or maybe she did.
“So do you, Mom.” She did, in both definitions of the word. She wore a soft blue dress that accented her assets. I inherited my aerodynamic form from my mother, but she had so many modifications made, the resemblance was no longer apparent. Her chin length blond hair swung sleek and straight, and I knew for a fact it didn’t grow out of her head with either of those attributes.
The hostess seated us at a table by a window so we could look out onto the green lawn and small lake. I don’t serve atmosphere at my restaurant. It has no discernible flavor. Nevertheless, I found the view quite pleasant, and after a couple of sips of my wine, I started to relax.
While we ate our salads, Mother updated me on all the people I didn’t care about getting updates on. “Maribeth Carson came to the Fundraiser for Drought-Stricken Farmers wearing the very same red dress she wore to the Fundraiser for the Orphans in Africa. She might have got away with it if the dress had been black, but it was bright red. But that wasn’t the worst part. Mark Hardesty showed up with that tramp he dumped Roxanne for, and she’s pregnant. He has grandkids older than that child will be.” Blah, blah, blah, blah.
When our grilled tilapia entrees arrived, I decided it was time to launch into grilling my mother.
“I have a friend who’s thinking of getting some cosmetic work done. Do you know anything about Daniel Jamison?”
Mother paused, a bite of fish on her fork. She arched one perfect eyebrow and smiled. “Daniel is good, but there are others I’d recommend. Lindsay, you won’t regret this decision. You don’t need much. I think just a little around the eyes, and that chin you inherited from your father could use some tightening.”
I almost choked. I started to protest but decided if I let her assume I intended to do something, I might get more answers. “So he’s good, but not the best? He has a really nice office. Looks like he’s doing well.”
Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 04 - Chocolate Mousse Attack Page 9
