by Gina LaManna
“Hello, sweetie.” I leaned forward, pecked Bella on the cheek. “And hello, to you, too.”
“Why’d you involve Carlos?” Anthony asked. “You should’ve come to me if you needed help. Carlos isn’t young anymore.”
“Carlos isn’t dead!” I snapped. “I appreciate that everyone cares about his health, but nobody is listening to me. I didn’t involve him in the case. Why do you think I did, anyway?”
“Your grandmother called me.”
I lifted Bella out of Anthony’s arms. “I didn’t say a word to Carlos. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t have helped me even if I had asked.”
“That’s not true. He’d do anything for you.”
I stilled. “What makes you say that?”
“It’s the truth.” Anthony’s eyes came to rest on me. “We all would. We love you; we’re just looking out for you.”
“That’s a nice sentiment, but I ran into Carlos in the house—”
“Was it, by chance, when you were stealing those potatoes?”
“It’s not stealing.”
“It’s certainly not borrowing.”
I sighed and set the potatoes on the counter. Bella tried to dive out of my hands as she whacked at the lid. I pushed it further away and eased into a chair as Anthony came to stand next to me.
“I walked into the kitchen and was talking to Nora. Carlos came in and was surprised—and not very happy—to see me. He turned around and stomped right back out.”
Anthony frowned. “You’re sure you didn’t say anything to him?”
“I’ve barely seen the guy in weeks. You know Carlos; he’s not the chatty type.”
Anthony raised a hand to scratch at his chin. “Interesting.”
“You believe me?”
He plunked a kiss on the top of my head. “Of course I believe you. I’m sorry. Even if you didn’t ask Carlos to help, he’s up to something. And it involves you whether you like it or not.”
“Great,” I said. “I take one murder case, and suddenly, everyone in the state has it out for me.”
“He doesn’t have it out for you,” Anthony said. “But I’m not sure exactly what it is he’s up to.”
“He hasn’t told you about it? He tells you about everything.”
“Almost everything,” Anthony corrected. “He has his secrets. We all do.”
I glanced at Anthony and decided not to ask about his secrets. “I’m just going to let him do his thing since it’s none of my business. I’ve got enough to worry about without investigating my own family. And at the top of the list is to give this little girl a bath!”
“Speaking of enough to worry about,” Anthony said. “I was hoping to talk to you about some worries I have about your job.”
“Great,” I said. “Because I need to talk to you about that too. After the bath.”
Anthony and I began our tag-team routine that involved a series of wrestling acrobatics to get Bella undressed, a wide range of animal noises to keep her smiling, and a slew of big, bouncy bubbles to mesmerize our little mermaid. By the time I laid her down to sleep, she was contentedly slurping her pacifier, her gorgeous eyelashes flicked down over rosy cheeks.
“She’s amazing,” I whispered. “How is she so beautiful?”
Anthony was looking at me. “I think the answer to that is obvious.”
Then Anthony kissed me. I kissed him back. We got to kissing more and more, backing slowly out of the room. We crashed onto the couch together, and I completely forgot that we had planned to talk.
Until there was a knock on the door, and I yanked a blanket up over my chest.
Anthony crooked a dark eyebrow at me, his hair sticking up in random places that made him look equal parts adorable and sexy. “I take it you know who that is?”
“Remember when I said we had to talk later?” I muttered. “This is later. And, actually, I’ve gotta go.”
“Go?”
I rolled off the couch. My attempt to vacate the premises, however, was unsuccessful. Anthony reached for me, grabbed me by the undies, and yanked me back.
“That’s interesting,” I said. “You’re really strong.”
Curled up, warm against Anthony’s chest, I didn’t really feel like going anywhere at all. But the knock on the door grew more and more persistent, and I knew if I didn’t open it, then Meg would find a way to barge in, and the chances were above eighty percent that Anthony might shoot her this time.
“Long story short, I have a stakeout date tonight,” I said quickly against Anthony’s neck. “Me and Meg are going to sit outside of Peg’s house—”
“Peg Davis? Owner of The Sugarloaf?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Evidence,” I said. Then, when that didn’t seem to be a good enough answer, I sighed. “I got a tip that Peg’s husband used to date Maureen, one of the judges. Another long story short, it looks like Peg might have had some motivation to murder Amelia.”
“A tip?” Anthony didn’t look pleased. “From who?”
“Someone who prefers to remain anonymous.”
He looked even less pleased than before. “That sounds legitimate.”
“Anthony, come on,” I said. “We have to pursue every lead.”
“Who would have gone through all of the effort to get you a tip? Someone looking to walk you right into a trap.”
“Or a good Samaritan.”
Anthony was past displeased and onto unhappy. “I don’t buy it, and I don’t think you do, either.”
“Maybe it is a trap,” I agreed. “But I’m not walking into it unarmed.”
“Sugar, you haven’t carried a weapon stronger than a squirt gun in years.”
“Not entirely true. Sometimes I carry pepper spray. Plus, I’ve been bulking up.” I flexed my abysmal biceps at Anthony. “All that carrying of Bella is turning me into The Hulk.”
“I can see that.” Anthony wrapped his entire fist around my bicep. “Look out, world.”
I sighed. The pounding on the door had increased and then went suddenly silent. “You know if I don’t go out there, she’s just going to climb through a window or something.”
“That’s trespassing.” Anthony’s fingers twitched.
“Please, just this once,” I said. “I think we’re getting close. I don’t know if you heard, but Britta Facelli was hospitalized today. Hunter called to tell us.”
“Are you sure?”
I did a double take. “What do you mean, am I sure?”
“Someone’s going through a lot of effort to not get caught. You’re not dealing with a stupid killer; otherwise, you probably would have caught them already.”
“Gee whiz. You’re coming through in spades with the confidence.”
“How do you know Britta didn’t send you the tip? How do you know Hunter wasn’t lying when he called you? Maybe they’re working together, faking a hospitalization so one of them has an alibi. You walk right into a trap, Hunter takes care of you, and then rushes to the bedside of his lover so they both have alibis.”
I shivered. “That would be very cold and calculated.”
Anthony’s hands came up to my shoulders. “That’s who you’re dealing with. A cold, calculated murderer. I don’t think this is a good idea, you going out tonight.”
“I know,” I said. “And I’m sorry. But I would really like to follow through on this case. With your permission.”
Anthony rolled back and stared up at the ceiling. “You don’t need my permission. You know that.”
“I’m asking for your blessing.”
“I can’t give you that.” Anthony ran a hand down the side of my face. “But you have my respect. I love you. I love every stubborn, ridiculous, incredibly loyal inch of you.”
Anthony kissed me. I kissed him back. We were about to go down the kissing road all over again when the window to the living room was hoisted open from the outside.
“Dang!” Meg called through. “You’ve got some intense security,
there, little missy.”
Anthony and I froze. I popped my head up and brought the throw blanket to my chin. Anthony tried to disappear between the cushions
Meg waved, smiled. “Don’t be mad, but I might’ve broken your security jingle-jangle thingamajig there. But it was with the best of intentions. What if you’d been dead in there?”
Anthony muttered something about someone being dead, but I ignored him.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m going to need a minute.”
Meg winked. “Get dressed, chickadee. We’ve got a killer to find, and you’re gonna freeze your tuckus off dressed like that. At least put on a bra.”
“Meg!”
“Right. I’ll be waiting out front.” Meg waved. “Send my regards to Anthony.”
I kissed Anthony’s forehead. “Please don’t do anything rash.”
Anthony’s eyes were closed. “Just be safe tonight, please.”
“I will,” I said. “And right now, I’ve got a waffle with my name on it.”
“A waffle?”
“Forget it. Not important.”
“Call me when you hear anything,” Anthony said. “If I don’t hear from you once an hour, I will find you and drag you home.”
“Tempting,” I said. “Very tempting.”
“Don’t test me.”
“Of course not,” I said. “We’re just going to sit outside and watch the house. That’s it.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Anthony said. “It never ends well.”
Chapter 28
Contrary to Anthony’s pessimistic outlook on the evening’s agenda, I had a good feeling about the stakeout. As good of a feeling as one could get considering the circumstances.
I pulled myself into a pair of joggers, a tank top, and a zip-up sweater. All black. My requirements for a stakeout were pretty simple: comfortable clothes, a cup of coffee, a backpack full of snacks. The latter in this case was pretty light, considering our newly adorned vehicle came with a waffle maker.
I stepped outside and shrugged deeper into my sweater. The air was chilly, the moon was high and bright, and Clay’s baby—a gigantic white van that looked like it belonged on a wanted list somewhere—gleamed in our front yard.
Meg was standing outside of the car, and she wasn’t alone.
“I see you brought company?” I said. “Good evening, Clay.”
“I’m not letting the two of you out of my sight,” Clay said in greeting.
“You let us out of your sight all the time,” I said. “We’ve been out of your sight all day.”
“Not with my baby. I don’t let anyone out of sight with her.”
“You really have to stop calling your van that now that you have a wife.”
“I don’t mind,” Meg said. “She was in Clay’s life before me. I’m like her stepmother—but a nice one. I don’t have a wicked bone in my body. Well, maybe one. Like, I’ve got a little wicked in me. Maybe my pinky toe.” Meg considered. “Maybe my big toes. I’ve got a little more wicked than a teensy tiny pinky.”
“Should we do this?” I reached for the door handle. “I feel like we’re onto something. Let’s get over to Peg’s house before we miss anything.”
Clay slapped my hand away. “Don’t touch that.”
“The door handle?”
“It’ll fall off if you use too much force,” he said.
“Oh, duh,” I said. “That’s logical. Plus, I’m super strong. The Hulk.”
Clay didn’t seem to think I was funny. Raising a teensy remote, he plunked a button, and the door slid back of its own accord. The sound of metal grating on metal accompanied the motion, and I raised my hands to protect my ears from the screech.
“Working on that,” Clay muttered. “Fine tuning a few things.”
“I see that,” I said. “Please tell me you’re not fine tuning the waffle maker, still. I can’t handle another round of poisoning just yet.”
“Waffle maker?”
“Meg said you have a waffle maker,” I said. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”
“I have a falafel maker,” Clay said. “Is that what she meant?”
“Waffle falafel,” Meg said. “Same thing.”
I turned around, stomped back inside the house, and refilled my backpack with appropriate snacks. I saw Anthony in the kitchen and ignored his smirk.
“Hungry?” he wondered.
“It’s a falafel maker!” I cried. “How do you mistake waffle and falafel?”
“Have a good night, sugar.”
Once back outside, Meg, Clay, and I situated ourselves in the van. Clay took the driver’s seat, Meg the one next to him, and I got stuck in the back staring at the falafel maker. The faint scent of fried food clung to the air. I pulled out a Snickers bar and defiantly chomped on it as we made our way toward the river that split Minnesota and Wisconsin.
Peg and Wyatt lived on a fourteen acre farm a handful of minutes from The Sugarloaf—somewhere in the rural sprawl near Afton. Unfortunately for us, this meant that a stakeout would prove quite tricky. When I voiced my concerns, however, Clay didn’t seem at all perturbed.
“My baby is built for this,” Clay said. “She has a camouflage mode.”
“To match Meg’s vest?” I wondered.
“What vest?” Clay asked.
“Men.” Meg smiled and shook her head as if Clay’s obliviousness were super cute. “They don’t notice anything.”
The entrance to Peg and Wyatt’s residence was a dirt road framed by tall, skinny pines. As the woods spread out in either direction, the trees got taller, darker, fatter. It felt more remote than I’d expected for a place that was only a stone’s throw from the cities.
Clay drove past the driveway once, then a second time, then a third time.
“I’m scouting it out,” he clarified. “Finding the perfect spot to hunker down.”
It took about seven passes before Clay pulled over a hundred feet or so from the driveway entrance. He tucked his van between two wide trees with a little nudging to the surrounding branches. He hit a few buttons on his remote. Cursed a few times. Finally, he got out of the car and began stomping around, yanking fallen branches from the ground and tossing them onto the hood of the car.
I climbed out and approached him delicately from behind. “So, this is camouflage mode, then?”
“What do you think?” Clay pulled a small tree from the ground and tossed it across his windshield. “No. It’s not. But apparently camouflage mode is broken, so I have to do things the old-fashioned way.”
“You could just drape Meg’s vest over the van.”
“What vest?” Clay asked.
“The one she’s wearing,” I said, but Clay wasn’t listening. “Never mind. Say, there’s a little clearing up ahead. Why don’t you pull in there, and we can take turns sitting closer to the road and watching for traffic.”
Clay bit his lip. He looked annoyed.
“I’ll take the first shift,” I said. “You and Meg can hang.”
“Fine,” he agreed. “But every other shift is yours. Me, you. Meg, you. Get the idea? This is your case.”
“Got it.”
With that agreement under way, I took the first shift and desperately regretted not having brought a heavier jacket. I jumped in place, did squats and lunges through the woods, and decided that I might actually look like The Hulk by the end of the night if this workout routine continued.
An hour came and went, and I knocked on the van door. “Meg, you’re up.”
“Great,” she said. “Want a falafel?”
I switched places with Meg. Clay sat next to me, fiddling with something on the dashboard. I really didn’t want falafel, seeing as it had taken the place of my imaginary but beloved waffle maker, but it smelled pretty good. It probably wouldn’t kill me to try it.
“Clay, can you hand me—” I grunted and reached toward the back. “Oh, never mind. I’ll do it myself.”
As I tried to reach into the backseat, I miss
ed my target and tipped over, my head dipping toward the floor of the van. It gave me a perfect view beneath the seats—not that I had any desire to see what sorts of strange and wonderous things Clay might stash there.
However, before I could hoist myself up, I spotted something familiar. Too familiar. My heart sank.
“Clay.” I snatched the item from beneath the seat and pulled it with me as I wriggled back to the front seat. “What’s this?”
Clay, still oblivious to everything happening around him, was muttering toward his dashboard.
“Clay!”
“What?” He pressed one palm against his ear, as if I was being the ridiculous one. “You don’t have to shout.”
“Then let’s talk.” I held up an umbrella. “What’s this? And why do you have it in your van?”
“I can explain...”
I waited. We waited. Neither of us spoke for a long, long time.
“Start talking,” I said. “Were you—are you—stalking Filip?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“How many pink, leopard-print umbrellas are out there?”
“Probably more than one.”
“I agree, but I doubt there are that many that are stalking Filip. Don’t waste my time, Clay. You’d better spill.”
“I wouldn’t call it stalking.”
“What would you call it?”
“I would call it taking a friendly interest in the man,” Clay said. “Let’s just say we both have—or had—a mutual interest in Meg, and I thought it would be good if...”
“If what? You scared the living daylights out of him?”
“I wasn’t trying to scare him,” he said. “I mean, maybe a little. I just wanted to understand him.”
“Why?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Clay said. “I’m sure Meg told you all about him.”
“Filip?” I shrugged. “She said they met when she took a trip abroad. They’re friends. That’s all she said.”
“He’s obviously not over her,” Clay said. “He followed her here to judge the bake-off. He still wants to be with her.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I said. “I think he was invited to participate by a judge’s panel and agreed.”
