by Patti Larsen
Crew knocked firmly on Mateo’s door. When I say firmly, I mean hard enough to make the lock rattle. Yup, he was definitely in a state and I chose to err on the side of staying out of the way as the entry swung open and a partially undressed and rather mussed Mateo answered.
The designer looked flushed, rather sleepy, and I realized with a growing blush a redhead like me would never be able to hide in a million years he had good reason for his open shirt, his tousled hair, his half-lidded eyes. And his reason was slipping on her dress a bit too quickly for it to be a personal choice and not fed by guilt. The fact it was Kami Derham who’d been caught in this indelicate position did nothing to alter my opinion of her, though. Sure, she’d gossiped about him sleeping with Faith, but apparently she didn’t have any qualms about chasing the dead woman’s interests. He was handsome, and from the slow, sexy smile he fixed on me as he looked past Crew without a hint of self-consciousness, charming enough to get what he wanted from most women to boot.
Present happily girlfriended company excepted. Ahem.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff Turner?” Mateo’s deep voice was a nice match for Crew’s, though without the gravelly growl I was used to. His had more of a velvety softness to it, and the thread of a Spanish accent that made him sound all the more exotic.
“I need to speak with you about your business dealings with Faith Leeman.” Crew gestured toward the interior of the room, his own voice flat and unapologetic. “May I come in?”
“Please.” Mateo stepped aside and I followed Crew, trying not to feel insulted he’d used the singular pronoun while reminding myself to be grateful he was letting me tag along in the first place. The handsome designer’s dark eyes tracked me as I passed and I felt myself blushing all over again.
“Matty,” Kami said, adjusting her dress, beautiful face tightening into a rather unattractive scowl, “what is this about?” She showed zero indication she knew me, that she’d spent snack time in my kitchen or that she’d spilled seemingly spiteful information about the dead model and him, too.
He shrugged, joining us, reaching out to run his fingertips down her cheek to the point of her chin. “Faith and I were working things out,” he said, like it was no big deal.
It obviously was to Kami whose eyes flared wide, her mouth dropping open. Wait, hadn’t she said he and Faith were an item? Clearly she’d been trying to deflect, then. Did that put her higher on the suspect list? I didn’t get to question her about it. She called him a rather unflattering name I wouldn’t repeat in polite company before slamming out of the room, but giving me the impetus to elevate her on my own list of sorts. If she had a love triangle issue with Mateo and Faith, that could have been motive, after all. Love made people do weird things. I should know.
“You and Miss Leeman had a relationship?” Crew seemed to be relaxing again somewhat. At least, I took it that way when he pulled out his notebook and started writing, pausing as he waited for Mateo to answer.
The designer shrugged again, sinking to the bed and leaning back on both hands, bare chest nicely muscular, fully exposed as he winked at me from that suggestive pose. “If you can call it that,” he said, far more casually than he should have. “I’ve slept with most of the girls, to be honest. Can you call that a relationship?”
Crew’s whole body tensed. “A business relationship,” he said, flat and harsh.
Mateo laughed. “Ah, that,” he said. “Again, we were working things out.”
I somehow doubted this casually sexual man could muster the kind of anger needed to hang someone, but then again, who knew what hid behind those dark eyes, that languid smile? And he was clearly in great shape, muscular chest flexing. “What did she have on you, Mateo?”
He flinched ever so slightly before laughing again, only this time his eyes weren’t so soft. “Oh, her list, you mean?”
List? “You know what I mean.” At least one of us did, and I was only now kicking myself it was important and I’d dropped the ball entirely. Kami mentioned a list, right? That Faith used it as leverage against others. Had I forgotten to tell Crew? Apparently. He glanced at me with a tight jaw and a question in his eyes that told me I’d failed to mention information I had he didn’t. And, crap.
Mateo stood, buttoning his shirt, suddenly all business. “It’s true, she kept a list of secrets she used as leverage against those she wanted things from. But she had little against me, mostly trysts I’d had with married women.” He actually yawned. “Boring, and ineffective.”
“Where is it now?” Again I thought a list like that would be excellent motive for murder, depending what was on it and who considered their secrets worth killing for.
He tucked in his shirt like we didn’t even exist, reaching for a dress jacket he slipped on, checking his reflection in the mirror. “I have no idea. But, if you find it, let me know?” He laughed one more time before focusing on Crew. “I’d love a peek for my own purposes.” That wink, seriously.
“Where were you at 6:30PM yesterday?” Crew sounded like he could care less. Had he written off Mateo as a suspect? Not like him. Then again, maybe his attitude was an attempt to get under the man’s skin. And when the designer reacted with a frown of his own, I understood my boyfriend’s brilliance and felt a surge of pride at his cleverness.
Ego tweaked by someone treating him as if he didn’t matter, Mateo bristled. “I was with one of the help, a maid, I think. And no, I don’t know her name. But she should be on video with me near the kitchen.” He grinned, leered, really, and I found myself asking when and why I’d even remotely considered him attractive. Just ew. “We had some fun in the storage closet.”
Creep.
We left the lodge, heading for downtown, me fuming over the vile nature of men and Crew silent as he fought his own inner struggle. When we passed the town sign, I sighed and realized it wasn’t Mateo who’d made me irritable. I owned up to the underlying worry that plagued me and, in a moment of inspired action, blurted everything I knew about Siobhan Doyle into the silent cab of my boyfriend’s truck.
He didn’t speak, didn’t react much, either, to his credit. Just listened as I unloaded and cried a little and told him what I knew. Not much, though my worries about Dad were paramount and pretty clear as Crew pulled up in front of Petunia’s and parked, engine still running, while I told him what Dr. Aberstock said to me only a little while ago, filling in the rest of what I’d discovered in this achingly unusual mystery.
Crew turned to me, face still and expressionless and I instantly feared he was furious with me. I’d kept this from him when I should have told him everything. But, instead of being angry, he reached out and pulled me against him until I was tucked into his arms, my favorite place to be these days, the warm air from the truck’s heater on both of us, my heart beating in time with the man I loved so very much.
“Do you want me to look into it for you?” He was asking. Wow. Since when did he ask?
“No, please.” I snuffled and wiped at my nose with the back of my hand, accepting yet another tissue from him. Sheesh, I had to stop the waterworks or he’d need a new box before too long. I picked at the corner of the sheet as I exhaled the worry I’d been harboring into the quiet air of the cab, feeling better already just for having shared. I blinked and smiled up at him, the tears in my lashes making him waver in front of me, though it was impossible to miss the love in those blue eyes. “I’ve come this far. And now I have somewhere new to look. It’s an old mystery, Crew. I promise, when I find out more, I’ll tell you.”
He nodded, kissed me. “Thanks for telling me,” he said. “It means a lot to me, that you trust me enough.” Crew looked away, cleared his throat, swallowed a couple of times. Wow, was he getting choked up? I hugged him hard and felt his arms tighten in response. “Do you think your dad did something illegal?”
“Not according to the doc,” I said, clinging to that fact. I trusted Dr. Aberstock. If he said Dad wasn’t at fault, whatever happened, he wasn’t. But since Dad blamed
himself, he was clearly involved in what did go down.
“That’s enough for me.” Crew let me go, sighed, kissed me again. “You need anything, let me know?” Was that a request? Sounded like one. “Thanks for coming with me. I needed you there today.” He paused. “Jill.” Like her name was explanation enough.
It kind of was. “Did you want to talk about what happened?”
His turn to shake his head, though he smiled faintly instead of crying like I did. “We both said things we didn’t mean and now it’s too late to take them back. The details of them don’t matter, Fee. It was the intent behind them that cause the hurt.” Crew stretched a bit, both big hands settling on the steering wheel as he let me go. “I’ll deal with it. I just hate to see Jill go like this, when it’s not about her, really.”
No, it was about Robert and Rose, right? I grit my teeth and scowled through the windshield, wishing Rosebert were out there right now, standing in front of the bumper of Crew’s truck. Honestly, I would have hit the gas and not felt a second of regret.
Okay, maybe a second. Body work was expensive, yo. Snort.
I leaned in and took my own turn kissing him, which evolved into a bit more intensity than I had planned, until I was breathless and feeling much, much better about the whole day. From the sparkle in Crew’s eyes, I’d been as helpful to him as he was to me.
I waved as he drove off, dumping my coat at the sidebar as I checked the guest listings and found everything in order. It was long enough after lunch things should have been quiet for the remainder of the afternoon and I had some research to do. So, with my heart again in my throat and growing tension keeping my attention, I slipped down to my apartment to fetch my laptop, stumbling at the bottom of the stairs in the dim quiet, pausing to flick on the light.
And letting out a screech of terror at the sight of Mila sitting on my couch, patting my pug, smiling at me.
***
Chapter Twenty Five
My first impulse was to call Crew. Why the hell hadn’t I asked him to arrest her in the first place? I’d taken a soft stance on the crazy woman who lurked in the silence in my private space like a spider waiting to pounce, hugging my pug who seemed at ease and happy despite the fear racing through my veins.
I think Mila must have realized she’d made a huge misstep, likely the first time in her life she actually figured out she was missing the regular social graces that kept most folks from breaking into other people’s houses with the intent of scaring the living crapola out of them. She surged to her feet, both hands outstretched, a tight and worried smile on her face while I clasped at my throat with one hand, the other hunting in my pocket for my phone.
“Fee, it’s okay, please, you don’t have to worry.” She sounded so soothing, like I was a stray dog she needed to calm before she could throw a rope around my neck and drag me off to who knew where to do who knew what to me. “It’s fine, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her tone was working, my pounding heart slowing down and I chalked my reaction up to the day I’d had, thanks, finally letting go of the paralyzing fright that gripped me in favor of a surge of anger.
“You shouldn’t be down here.” I turned and jabbed a finger at the stairs, shaking all over again and tired of it. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mila, and I don’t just mean my apartment. You have to go, now. Or I’m calling the sheriff and having you removed.”
As her big eyes flooded with tears, her sunken cheeks hollowing as her mouth opened and she released a wail of despair, I finally admitted to myself what I’d suspected all along, what I didn’t want to believe. That Mila had transferred her dedicated obsession for Willow Pink not to Grace, but to me.
Oh, crap.
“I love you,” she whispered, sobbed, falling to her knees at my feet, grasping my free hand and pressing it to her cheek. “Please, Fee, I just want to help. I’ll do anything for you.” She met my eyes again, her tears gone, feverish expression almost worse than finding her down here, waiting and smiling and petting Petunia in the silence. “Anything.”
So, any sane person would have immediately called for said sheriff boyfriend, right? And had the crazy girl evicted from the premises, likely in handcuffs and with a one-way ticket booked back to the mental hospital where she’d spent her previous many months. Yup, any sane person.
Me? Was it wrong when Mila’s mouth opened and she said the word anything my mind stuttered and for an instant—okay, for longer than an instant, I fess up—I wondered if I could use her obsession to my advantage.
Oh, Fee. Fee, Fee, Fee.
“Mila.” I helped her to her feet, squeezing her hands, doing my best to hide the fact she was seriously freaking me out while hating myself for even considering mentioning to her what I was about to mention to her because I was a horrible, horrible person.
“Yes, Fiona?” She blinked at me, wavered in front of me, clinging to me, to my every word.
“There is something you can do for me.” I was going to hell. H-E-double hockey sticks. And no one was going to be able to save me.
Mila shivered and beamed like a beaten puppy finally receiving the praise she so desperately longed for. “Anything.” She stressed that again, madness behind her eyes and I swallowed before signing my one way trip to the eternal fires.
“There’s this list…” And, with remorse but the determination of the condemned, I told her about Faith’s blackmail details.
Mila nodded immediately, squeezing my fingers so tightly I knew they’d tingle from the return of circulation. “Smart,” she said, voice oddly lucid and utterly sane though her face held nothing of the sort. “I’d do the same, in her position. I’ll find it for you, Fee. If it’s the last thing I do.”
She didn’t wait for me to try to stop her—yes, I knew I should try to stop her—but bounded up the steps and through my door. Her footsteps crossed the foyer, the front door bell ringing as she left, and I exhaled shakily while my pug sat on my foot and yawned with a meowing sound that made me wince.
“She won’t find it,” I said, while Petunia watched me with those big, empty brown eyes devoid of anything judging or unhappy. “I just gave her something to do until this is over and Crew can arrest her.” Yeah, nice try, Fee. Thing was, that list was likely the best evidence we had to catch Faith’s murderer. And if the murderer had it in their possession, the likelihood we’d find it was pretty slim.
But someone like Mila? Yup, going to hell. Sigh.
I returned upstairs, wanting the company of someone, anyone, after the encounter with the crazy lady and hoping to track down Mom or Daisy and cling to them for a minute. Noise in the kitchen drew me inside, and, expecting to pour my worries out on my mother, I slumped unhappily through, struggling with the demon of setting Mila Martin loose with a job to do and no real parameters to keep her in check.
I was startled to find, not my mother after all, but Noel Lewder hovering in the kitchen. She stood in front of the open fridge door, staring into it, the light making her gaunt face appear goblinesque. After a second of surprise, I joined her, embracing this chance to talk, to do some snooping, hoping it would ease the guilt I struggled with over sending a clearly troubled woman out to do something likely illegal.
Noel noticed me almost immediately, shutting the door with a thud, guilt written on her own face as if looking for food was the ultimate in shame. “Sorry,” she said, rubbing both upper arms with her hands, clearly unhappy. “I missed lunch.”
She looked like she skipped enough meals. Compassion won, like it usually did, and a moment later I was fishing leftovers out of the fridge, offering her options. She settled on the remains of a salad, clearly a vegetarian as she flinched away from every offering of meat I shared, though she devoured a small ball of goat cheese in two bites.
“I didn’t mean to be rude earlier.” Noel swallowed around her chewing, eyes down. “I’m just frustrated. My career was ruined and no one seems to care.” She blinked, big eyes full of tears. That
was the second huge gaze aimed at me in the last little bit, not to mention my own crying feeding my empathy. I nodded and nibbled a cookie I’d liberated from the tin on the top shelf, loving the cold of the chocolate chips, reminding me of sneaking treats from Mom’s carefully preserved caches when I was a little girl.
“I get it, Noel,” I said. “I really do. You chose a tough career. I don’t envy you at all, being in the limelight like that. It has to take its toll.”
She shrugged those narrow shoulders, her collarbone standing out in sharp detail under her skin, so thin the bony ridges of her breastbone caught shadows. I wanted to feed her something more substantial than salad and a bit of cheese but she seemed content with the offering, turning down a cookie when I held out the still-open tin. Might have helped myself to a couple more just in reaction to her emaciation. Might have.
“I love modeling,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I love everything about it. It’s not fair I’ve had to give up my life because of someone else’s decisions.”
“Did you know about Faith’s list?” I didn’t mean to just jump in like that, but it was on my mind for obvious reasons while I pondered in vague panicked horror what I’d done, sending Mila out there looking for it like I had. What was wrong with me? I had to tell Crew what I’d done.
Noel, meanwhile, was nodding. “We all did.” She sounded bitter enough about that to catch my attention and distract me from my need to call my boyfriend and confess I’d set loose a wild woman on our shared case. Eep.
“Do you have one of your own?” Would make sense, right?
But Noel shook her head, sighed over her salad she now just picked at with her fork before setting that aside and rubbing her hands over the thighs of her jeans. “I never played that game,” she said, sounding like she regretted it now. “I thought about it. Most of the girls keep their own lists, you know. For protection, mostly small stuff. But I just couldn’t bring myself to be that person.” Did she think that led her here, to this fate? From her angrily twisted lips, yes.
