by Erica Abbott
Jean hoped her sigh wasn’t audible over the speaker phone. “Yes,” she said calmly, “I understand the policy. I’m not asking you to release the information to the public. I told you I’m the deputy county attorney. I need Mr. Skelton’s address because he’s a witness on a pending lawsuit against the county. When did he retire?”
She could hear the clack of computer keys through the speaker. “That would be May 17 of this year.”
Two weeks after his deposition testimony, Jean calculated. “Thank you. I do still need his current contact information.”
“I’ll have to transfer you to Ms. Jenkins. Please hold.”
The human resources department head was more cooperative and a few moments later, Jean was calling Bill Skelton’s new home phone number in Florida. If Lambert was telling the truth about the grading operations, then the falsified time sheets must have been a pretext for his termination. And that meant Bill Skelton was lying. She wasn’t sure how much she could get from him over the phone, but she’d have a difficult time explaining to Del Franklin that she needed to make a sudden trip to Palm Beach. Maybe now that he was retired, Skelton might be willing to tell her something that would help.
The telephone was answered on the third ring. “Hola.”
“Buenas tardes,” Jean tried out her college Spanish. “I’m calling for Mr. Skelton.”
“Señor Skelton no está aquí,” the woman responded. House sitter? Housekeeper? Jean wondered. Between her basic Spanish and the woman’s somewhat better English, she managed to discover that Señor Skelton was on an extended vacation in Puerto Rico. No, she didn’t know when he’d be back. No, she didn’t have a phone number for him.
Jean hung up in frustration. Outside her window she could see gray afternoon clouds building, glowering at the buildings below. Lea had told her that autumn was the season of afternoon rains, occasionally heavy cloudbursts that washed down the dry arroyos.
She called Ms. Jenkins in human resources again and found out the amount of Mr. Skelton’s retirement checks. It was hard to believe that Skelton could afford an extended Caribbean vacation. Maybe he’d been saving up for it for a long time.
Or maybe, she thought cynically, someone had paid him off. Retire early and take a nice long vacation on us. Was it really worth all of this? she wondered. Payoffs and conspiracy and murder?
Who was behind this? Someone with power, with political pull. Almost unwillingly, she considered that it had to be an elected official. One of the board members? The treasurer, the county clerk? Or was it the sheriff?
It couldn’t be Lea, she told herself. Even if Lea had stooped to cheating on county grading, she would never condone murder. At the same time, Jean knew how compromised her judgment was—her attraction to Lea rendered her far from objective. The thought that Lou Hawkins was involved was almost as uncomfortable. If he turned out to be involved somehow and Lea didn’t know, telling her would be pretty terrible.
What was she going to do? She couldn’t continue to avoid Lea forever. She couldn’t think of a way to discover the truth behind the plot without Lea’s help. Or could she?
Maybe Todd had done more work than she knew. Perhaps his notes on the case would reveal something that would help her. He might even have a draft memo to her on his computer somewhere.
A glance at her own computer confirmed that she was about to be late for a meeting with Purchasing about changes in the county bidding process. She’d have to return to this later and hope in the meantime to think of something to tell Lea Hawkins.
* * *
Jean was cleaning up her desk. It was nearing six o’clock and the rain had just begun to splatter on the sealed glass windows of her office.
Someone appeared in her doorway and Jean jumped in surprise.
“Sorry,” Lea said quietly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay.” Jean sat down in her chair to recover herself. “I didn’t expect to see you, that’s all.”
Lea moved into the office but stayed carefully away from coming too close. “You didn’t return my calls.”
Jean noticed it was a statement of fact rather than an accusation or an obvious attempt to make her feel guilty. Still, she picked up some sadness from Lea’s eyes and she felt guilty anyway.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Jean said. “Things have been crazy.”
Lea gripped the back of the visitor’s chair but didn’t try to sit down. “Is it your mother?”
Jean felt another stab of guilt. “No, she’s doing as well as she can be.”
Lea was looking at her closely and Jean had a strong sense of what it must be like to be a suspect subjected to her interrogation. Jean cleared her throat and said again, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Lea said. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
Jean felt trapped between the truth and her emotions. It had been such a long time since she felt that she could trust her feelings to guide her. Life with Charlotte, all the dramatic scenes of euphoria and despair, had destroyed her faith in her own judgment about other people. It finally occurred to her that this was another of the reasons she’d been so reluctant to become involved with Lea—or anyone else—since Charlotte’s death. Somewhere she had lost her ability to trust herself to judge other people. She couldn’t see their true motives, couldn’t assess what they might be feeling or thinking. She couldn’t meet Lea’s gaze. It wouldn’t help her to decide whether or not to trust Lea, she decided.
Jean spread her hands. “It’s just work, a lot of stuff to do.”
Lea’s expression made it clear that she didn’t believe Jean, but all she said was, “Okay. It’s time for dinner and I think I owe you a meal. Or maybe you owe me one, I can’t remember.”
“Lea, I don’t think—”
“Jean,” Lea said more forcefully, “I think we need to have a talk and I missed lunch today. So unless you have other plans, I’d like it if you would come to dinner with me. All right?”
Jean was still torn. “Do you take no for an answer, Sheriff?”
Lea straightened. “Yes, I will take a no if that’s really your answer. You told me once you weren’t interested in a relationship with me and I will respect that. But I think you need a friend, Jean, and I’m offering my services, that’s all.”
Knowing how cynical she sounded, Jean said, “You really think you and I can be just friends?”
“Yes,” Lea answered and Jean couldn’t see any hint that Lea was being disingenuous. “Don’t you?”
No, Jean admitted to herself. I think about you all the time and I want you in my arms. Every minute I spend with you makes it worse. Before reading Lambert’s deposition she had been willing to take a chance on being with Lea, but now she couldn’t risk it. Yet again she was unable to walk away.
“I don’t know if we can be friends,” she admitted. “But I would like some dinner.”
Lea seemed to relax slightly and Jean realized how rigid her posture had been. “Okay, then. I know just the place.”
* * *
“I admit it,” Jean said as she unlocked the front door to her condo. “I’ve never eaten in a diner quite that good before.”
“I like eating in local places,” Lea said, coming in behind her. Jean noticed that Lea automatically glanced around every new room she entered. Searching for intruders? Or assessing the housekeeping skills of the occupant?
Jean chuckled to herself. Lea said dryly, “I could use a laugh. What’s up?”
Conversation at dinner had been a tightrope walk between superficial commentary on everything from Jean’s mother to Rita and Loren’s evolving relationship to the weather and all the things Jean wanted to talk about but couldn’t mention. Every instinct she still possessed told her Lea could be trusted, but did she believe in Lea? Did she believe in herself?
“I was thinking,” Jean responded, “that I lack a natural homemaker’s instinct. Even given my dereliction of housekeeping duties, would you li
ke some coffee?”
“I’d love some.” Lea sat at the counter while Jean dealt with the coffeemaker. “So you did enjoy the Blue Note?”
“I did,” Jean admitted, happy to be on a safe topic. “I’d just assumed from the name that it was a jazz club.”
Lea gave her a half smile. “Not much jazz in Tesóro, I’m afraid. The diner has been there as long as I can remember. Best french fries in town. My dad knows the owner pretty well.”
At the mention of Lou Hawkins, Jean flinched. Lea caught the look. Hastily, Jean said, “How is it that you can eat hamburgers and french fries—and quesadillas—and still not gain weight?”
Lea sipped at her coffee. “I did manage to pick up about five pounds sometime after I turned forty that I can’t seem to lose, but I’ve made my peace with it. As for the rest, I run and lift weights because in my opinion it’s part of my job to keep fit. I just have a weak spot for junk food.” After a moment, she added, “Now that I think of it, you’re probably used to much better meals than pulled pork enchiladas at the Blue Note. I mean, since you were living with a chef and all.”
Jean wasn’t used to talking about Charlotte in a casual way, the way normal people discussed their ex-girlfriends. It actually felt good, as if she could acknowledge the parts of her relationship that made sense. She answered, “Actually, by the time she got home from work, Char was usually too burned out to make meals. She taught me a few basics and I did a lot of the cooking at home. I make a nice frittata. Leftovers are great to chop up and put in the eggs. And toast is another of my specialties.”
Lea grinned, her first real smile of the evening. “Gourmet toast. You’ll have to make that for me sometime.”
Jean froze, the implication that she would be whipping up breakfast for Lea sometime unsettling her deeply. Lea said quickly, “I didn’t mean—Jean, I’m sorry. If this is too hard for you, maybe you were right about us being friends.”
Jean put her mug down on the tiled countertop, staring into the dark brown depths of the coffee. She desperately wanted a friend, but there was so much more that she wanted from Lea. Lea leaned across the counter and put her hand gently on Jean’s arm. When Jean looked up, Lea said quietly, “Tell me what’s wrong. Please.”
Jean wanted to deny it, but instead she said, “I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”
Lea studied her. “Is this something about Todd Moorman’s murder? Did Munson let you read the files?”
Jean sighed. “I read the files. I have some more work to do before I’m ready to talk to you about it. All right?”
Releasing her touch on Jean’s arm, Lea leaned back and said, “Yes. On one condition.”
“What condition?” Jean asked warily.
“You cannot put yourself in harm’s way,” Lea said firmly. “Whatever it is you’re working on, you’ve got to tell me—or Detective Munson—what you find. I don’t want you playing amateur detective on this. Whatever’s going on, somebody has killed two people over it. He or she or they are dangerous people. If you don’t want to talk to me, talk to Hal Munson. But don’t go off on your own. Okay?”
Jean wanted to resent her, but all she heard was the genuine concern in Lea’s voice. Was Lea playing her, trying to find out what she knew to protect herself and her family? Or did Lea really care about her?
Jean was tired of questions, exhausted from trying to figure out what she should believe. What she wanted right now was to be in Lea’s arms, and without thinking about it further, she went around the counter and stepped into Lea’s embrace.
Lea opened her arms and folded them around her. For a moment, Jean just reveled in the warmth that seemed to penetrate her from Lea’s embrace, but it wasn’t enough. She brought her head up and kissed Lea.
She might have expected a hesitation from Lea because God knew Jean had been sending her mixed messages. But Lea kissed her as if they had been lovers for years, with passion and warmth and sweet desire. Jean stood next to Lea, still seated on the stool, and felt more heat from Lea’s body than she’d ever experienced. Jean murmured, “I need you.”
Lea pulled her in tighter, holding Jean firmly against her, her hands caressing Jean’s back. They continued kissing until breathing became difficult for Jean.
“Lea, please,” Jean said into her mouth.
To her dismay, Lea released her, although Jean could sense her reluctance. “Jean, what do you want?”
I thought that was pretty clear, Jean thought. Clearly I’ve lost my touch. “I want you to stay with me tonight,” she answered, touching Lea’s mouth with her fingertips.
“Jean, look at me,” Lea urged. “I can’t.”
Jean felt faint shock. “Can’t?”
“All right. I won’t, not yet.”
“Lea, what are you talking about?”
“You know I want this,” Lea admitted. “I want you. But less than two weeks ago you were telling me why we couldn’t have a relationship and now you want for us to become lovers. No matter how much I want you, I’m not going to stay tonight and then listen to you tell me tomorrow or next week that you can’t make it work.”
Jean said in frustration, “I can’t give you guarantees.”
“I don’t need a guarantee, Jean. I need to know that you want to try to be together for more than a night. I won’t settle for less. And I don’t think you want to either.”
Jean stepped away from the distracting circle of Lea’s embrace. “I’m pretty sure you don’t really know what I want.”
Lea squeezed Jean’s hand once then released it. “Maybe not. But please think about what I’ve said. When you’re ready to talk about this again, we’ll talk. Okay?”
After Lea had gone, Jean dumped the rest of her coffee down the sink. Her frustration was aimed almost equally at Lea and herself. Lea had led her on and then rejected her, or so it seemed. Yet Jean understood how mixed her own emotions were. She’d been ready to go to bed with Lea without even being certain that Lea could be trusted.
Jean realized that her head was pounding. Not tonight dear, she thought ruefully, I have a headache. She took herself sadly to bed alone.
Chapter Twelve
On Wednesday morning, Jean’s day started with a call on her cell phone from Maryke. “Hey, you,” Jean said. “What’s up?”
“First things first,” Maryke responded. “How’s your mother?”
Jean gave her as much detail as she could of the news she was receiving daily about her mother’s rehabilitation. “Ron’s been great,” Jean finished. “I think he’s actually happy for the first time because she needs him.”
“And she’s not able to drink,” Maryke added cynically.
“There is that,” Jean conceded. “How’s your current boyfriend?”
“Things are going well. Of course, I have traded in the one I told you about last week for a newer model.”
“Of legal age, I trust.”
“I checked his driver’s license at the bedroom door. And since we’re on the topic of romance, how’s the local sheriff?”
Jean grimaced. “Well, we did go to dinner last night.”
“And?” Maryke asked suggestively. “Did we manage some lesbian loving?”
“No,” Jean admitted. “Just some making out.”
“Wait. You were making out with her and you didn’t make the main attraction? Jeez, I thought you ladies jumped into bed at the slightest provocation. It’s not like you can get knocked up or have to run out to the drugstore for a package of Trojans.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jean snapped at Maryke, her temper flaring hot. “Responsible lesbians practice safe sex and we do not ‘jump into bed at the slightest provocation.’”
“Okay, all right. Jesus, Jean, I’m sorry. I’ve never heard you go off on me like that.”
Jean rubbed her temples, hoping last night’s headache wasn’t about to make a return appearance. “Look, things are just a little jumbled up for me right now. Work, Mother and everything wit
h Lea is complicated.”
“Well, you already know my advice to you about the sheriff is to uncomplicate it. You have to give her a chance, Jean.”
“It’s not that simple. Look, did you call me just to harass me about my love life?”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a love life to me,” Maryke retorted. “But actually I called to give you some good news. Is your computer on, I assume?”
Maryke gave her a website and within moments Jean was watching the video she’d taken of her brother ranting outside their mother’s hospital room, with identifying information about his congregation affiliation predominately displayed. Maryke had enhanced the audio and done some video effects including closeups of Bobby’s florid face.
“Oh, my God!” Jean laughed into the phone. “Wait until someone in his church sees this.”
“I don’t have to wait,” Maryke chuckled. “I managed to locate a handy church directory complete with email addresses for Bobby’s congregation. At this very moment various members of his Sunday school class are enjoying this clip along with their morning coffee breaks. I can also imagine his pastor is getting a few calls about it as he’s preparing next week’s sermon. Hope he’s enjoying the extra publicity for his church.”
“You are a crazy woman, you know that? What if Bobby decides to sue for defamation?”
“Oh, pooh, stop going all lawyer on me. He’ll never sue, he’ll just want to run away like all bullies do when they’re confronted. And if he does sue, I’ll be very pleased to hire a publicist and make his life even more miserable.”
“You did all this for me?” Jean was touched, her earlier anger dissipated.
“Only partially. Mostly I did it because Bobby’s a twenty-four carat jerk and he deserved it. So enjoy and let me know if there’s any fallout. And take my advice, Jean. Give your sheriff a chance, will you?”
If only it were as simple as that, Jean thought as she punched off her phone.
A glance at her schedule reminded her that she had a deposition on a case involving an accident on a county road set for all of the next day. Whatever work she could do in Todd Moorman’s office would have to wait until Friday unless she could get it done today.