by Angela Henry
“What?” I asked. Had I been making noises? I’d been known to make little mmming noises when chowing down on particularly good food. Carl used to tease me about it.
“Nothing. I just enjoy watching you eat. I’ve never seen a woman enjoy food so much. Makes for a nice change. Most women I know are on some kind of diet.”
“Life’s too short to be on a diet,” I said, scooping the last bite of cobbler and ice cream into my mouth.
“I don’t usually eat red meat, but that was a damned good steak.” Mason was a health food nut; had he been the one to cook that night we’d have probably dined on dry baked chicken breast and a tired salad. But he’d devoured his food with gusto so there was hope for him yet.
“Glad you liked it.” I sat the empty bowl down on the coffee table and grinned at him. He burst out laughing. “Now, what?”
“This,” he said and moved over next to me. One arm slid along the back of the couch until it encircled my shoulder. For one paralyzing moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. Then his other hand reached out with a napkin and wiped at my nose, cheek and chin. I hadn’t realized I’d gotten ice cream all over my face like a messy toddler.
I turned my face so he could get all the ice cream and when I turned back, his face was less than an inch from mine. I was engulfed in his clean soap scent. His soft brown eyes held a hint of amusement behind his glasses and—dare I say it—shy eagerness. There was nothing predatory in those eyes. So, when he leaned in to press his lips against mine, I couldn’t explain the panic that suddenly gripped me. I turned, and his kiss landed on my neck, sending a jolt of sensation thrumming down my spine. Instead of pulling away, he continued to nuzzle my neck as heat flooded my body.
This was insane. Should we be doing this? I pressed my hands against his rock- hard chest with every intention of pushing him away. Instead, I practically tore the glasses off his face and pulled him on top of me, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He stood up effortlessly, with me clinging to him like a barnacle and headed toward the bedroom, stopping in the hallway along the way to press me against the wall where we stayed for several long minutes just kissing and groping like teenagers. My roaming hands slid down the front of his pants and my lips found his neck, kissing and softly nibbling, continuing upwards to his ear. He moaned and cupped and squeezed my ass, trapping my hand between our bodies and grinding it harder against his erection. The sounds of moist, frantic kisses, moaning, and heavy breathing filled the air.
We were mere inches away from the bedroom door when the doorbell rang. I realized vaguely that it had been ringing for a while, but it seemed so far off in the distance it could have been coming from the next-door neighbor’s TV and didn’t immediately register.
“Wait,” I said, breathlessly pushing him away when it became clear his visitor wasn’t going away. “Aren’t you going to get that?”
“No,” he kissed me hard, sucking on my tongue and lower lip until I was breathless. The ringing of the doorbell persisted.
“It could be important,” I said. And no sooner had I said that than the ringing stopped, followed by pounding and a loud voice.
“Mason! Open up! I know you’re in there!” shouted the familiar voice of Detective Jess Lawrence.
“Shit,” he exclaimed. I quickly unlocked my legs from around his waist and he gently lowered me to the ground. We stood panting and staring at each other, eyes half lidded with passion, and I was suddenly aware of how I must look with my hair messier than usual, kiss swollen lips, and disarranged clothing. Mason untucked his shirt, which was half untucked already, from his pants to cover the bulge in his crotch before retrieving his glasses from the living room floor and answering the door.
“What the hell, Mason? Were you in the shower?” She pushed past him into the apartment and stopped when she saw me, eyes widening then narrowing, looking from Mason to me, taking in his untucked shirt, my embarrassment, and deducing why it had taken him so long to answer the door.
Mason walked past her into the living room and sat down on the couch. She followed, but not before tossing me a venomous look and confirming beyond a doubt that she had definite thing for her boss.
“Where’s the fire, Detective Lawrence?” Mason asked.
“Here, apparently” she mumbled angrily under her breath. But Mason hadn’t heard her. It was then that I finally noticed she was carrying a six-pack of beer. This wasn’t about work. This was a social visit.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She pulled out a manila envelope from inside her coat and waved it at him. Mason held out his hand and she handed it to him. He pulled out a slip of paper and held it up for me to see. It was a degree certificate awarding Jessica Lynn Lawrence a Bachelor of Arts degree in Criminal Justice.
“I’m sorry. I completely forgot! Congratulations, Jess.” I sensed if he still didn’t have a stiffy he’d have gotten up and given her a hug. She must have thought so too as her arms had started to raise. But Mason abruptly got up, took the six-pack from her and headed into the kitchen. I heard him pulling glasses out of the cabinet.
“Congratulations, Detective Lawrence,” I told her.
“Thanks,” she replied, dismissively and headed into the kitchen. She started to tell him a funny story from work and I realized she was purposefully shutting me out. I turned to go.
“Kendra, you want a beer?” Mason called after me.
“No thanks. I’ve got some essays to grade, then I’m going to turn in.”
“You sure? It’s only nine o’clock.”
“Positive.” I hadn’t even gotten to the bedroom before I heard laughter coming from the living room.
I should have listened to my gut and run a mile as soon as Detective Hottie kissed me. Just like that felonious bastard before him, I was suddenly so relieved I hadn’t gone through with it, even though I knew I wouldn’t have stopped him. And then what? Would we start dating? I was definitely attracted to Mason. But beyond that, did I even like this man? But one thing made itself abundantly clear when I got up in the morning and headed bleary-eyed into the bathroom. Mason and Jess were both gone. But the purple toothbrush was wet, meaning Jess had spent the night. I now knew it was her toothbrush.
I got called into Dorothy’s office as soon as I got to work. I assumed it was to do with me applying for her job. I was wrong.
“We’re being audited,” she said without bothering to greet me and before I could even sit down.
“Seriously? I thought that never happened.”
“And why would you think that?” Dorothy asked, giving me a look that was a cross between bewildered and annoyed. Uh, oh. Why did I have the feeling I’d messed up?
“At that board meeting I subbed for you at, I was told they threatened programs with audits all the time but never follow through.”
“You mean you knew about this?” Her voice went up four maybe five octaves and I realized that with everything else I’d been dealing with; I’d totally forgotten to tell Dorothy about what happened at the meeting.
“Yes, I did. I’m sorry I didn’t get around to telling you. But I was assured it was no big deal”
“Do you know how many times this program has been audited since I’ve been the director?” she asked, face slightly flushed. I merely shrugged. “Zero. And now, four months before I’m due to retire, the program is being audited. So much for my perfect record.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have fudged our graduation numbers.” No way in hell I was taking the heat for this.
“And just how did our graduation numbers even get brought up? You were just supposed to go and let them know a representative from the adult literacy program was present and had nothing new to report. What in the world did you tell them?”
“The truth, which is apparently something you haven’t been doing. Why do they think our numbers are so high?” Dorothy looked away and wouldn’t meet my gaze. She at least had the good grace to look embarrassed.<
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“I only over-reported a few times. The state has gone to a new model where a large portion of our funding is based on how many students we graduate. We needed the money and enrollment was down,” she said in a long breathless rush. I’d never seen my usually so unflappable boss looking so flappable.
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“The worst case scenario would be us having to pay back the excess money we received.”
“And just how much money are we talking?” I asked, starting to feel lightheaded.
“About $40,000 that we don’t have, meaning…” her voice trailed off and she gave me a strained look.
“Meaning what, Dorothy?”
“Either your or Rhonda’s position would most likely be eliminated in order to keep the program running for the next two years.”
“You have got to be kidding me! Can’t you tell them it was a mistake and you miscalculated?” I didn’t mean to shout but this was beyond messed up. How could I have gone from a potential raise and promotion to possibly losing my position in less than a week?
“There is one other option,” she began tentatively. “I could retire and you could take over as director and Rhonda could teach both math and English.”
“That wouldn’t work. Rhonda’s not even certified to teach English. That could get us in even more trouble. Is there really no other option?”
“Not that I can think of, Kendra.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat and I wondered what in the world Joyce Kirkland had been thinking when she told me the board rarely audited programs. But, then again, she’d said rarely and not never. Still, there had to be a way to either stop or stall the audit.
“When is the audit?”
“The auditors will be here next Friday,” she said. Great. That meant there was still time to find a way around this.
I made a point of being extremely busy the rest of the morning, because being busy meant I didn’t have to think about all the things threatening to drag me under. In the space of a week I’d managed to get involved in yet another murder investigation, was being stalked by a man I met online who turned out to be career criminal, almost slept with said criminal, then went to the extreme opposite end of the spectrum and almost slept with a cop. And in the midst of all of that, I’d had my brake line cut, my rental car vandalized, Mama’s house trashed, and almost caught a bullet. That reminded me that Lewis had been adamant about not working with the hot-shot lawyer his buddy Joyce Kirkland had hired for him.
He wanted Sharon Newcastle back and had wanted me to contact her for him. It had completely slipped my mind. I needed to get in touch with her. But I called her twice and each time it went straight to voicemail. A visit to the courthouse was in order. And lucky for me, when I headed out to my car at lunchtime, Bridges and Sims were gone.
“You looking for them cops that’s been following you around?” asked Rosetta, who was sitting on the steps smoking. All the woman did was smoke. Everything in the school was clean, but no one ever actually saw Rosetta doing any work.
“You see where they went?” I asked, wondering if they’d gone on a doughnut run and hoping they’d get an extra chocolate cream-filled for me.
“Nope. Just saw them toss one of those flashing light thingy’s on the hood of their car and go tearing outta the lot like the devil was after ’em. Looks like your unsupervised.” She grinned at me with big brownish teeth.
“Sure looks that way,” I said, then remembered I didn’t have my car. My bodyguards had dropped me off.
“You can borrow my car long as you’re back here when I get off at four.” She handed me the keys and I thanked her and hurried off to the employee lot at the back of the building. I’d been so thrilled to finally be rid of my babysitters that I’d completely forgotten that Rosetta drove a hooptie, a rust bucket, lime green Dodge Charger from the 80’s with a faded purple stripe down the hood.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” I grumbled as I unlocked the door and slid behind the steering wheel. The inside of the car smelled like an ashtray and I had to roll down the driver side window just to be able to breath. But it was only twenty degrees outside and by the time I got to the courthouse, my face was numb with cold and my nose hairs were frozen.
The door to Sharon Newcastle’s office was closed and locked when I arrived. No light shone underneath the door. I wrote her a note to get back to me ASAP and slid it under her door, then joined a group of three women waiting for the elevator.
“Who found her?” A lady with short brown hair asked her two companions.
“I think they said her dad did. She was supposed to meet him for dinner and when she didn’t show, he went by to check on her.”
“I heard if he’d gotten there any later, it would have been too late,” added an older white-haired woman.
“I knew she’d been struggling since she called off her engagement, but I had no idea she was so depressed. I should have known something was wrong,” said a bespectacled third woman in a shaky voice that gave way to tears. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Her companions gathered around to comfort her.
“There was no way any of us would have known what Sharon was planning, Becca. It’s not your fault,” said the dark-haired lady, patting Becca’s back. Sharon? Surely they weren’t talking about Sharon Newcastle, were they?
“Excuse me.” All three women turned to look at me. “I’m looking for Sharon Newcastle. Would any of you know where I could find her?”
At the mention of Sharon’s name, the woman named Becca, who’d taken off her glass and had been wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, burst into a fresh flood of tears and ran off toward the bathroom. The dark-haired woman went after her, leaving me with the older woman.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Oh, no, not at all. We’ve just had some bad—” she began before catching herself. “I’m sorry. Are you a friend of Sharon’s?”
“No. But I’ve been consulting with her on one of her cases and really need to talk to her. Is she okay?”
“I’m afraid she’s in the hospital.”
“Hospital? Is she sick?”
“Well,” she said, hesitantly. I could tell she didn’t really want to tell me what was going on. But it wasn’t like I wouldn’t find out on my own. “There was an accident with some pills. But I hear she’s going to be fine,” she added when she saw the shocked look on my face.
“An accident? Do you mean she tried to kill herself?”
“I probably shouldn’t say any more. Sorry.” She headed into the bathroom to join her two friends.
I was stunned and pretty sure that the accident that was being referred to was a suicide attempt, or why else would Becca be so upset? I got onto the elevator and dialed Willow Memorial, but then hung up when they answered. I was fairly certain her father, Judge Charles Newcastle, wouldn’t want any news of a suicide attempt by his daughter to find its way into the newspapers. He’d probably instructed the hospital not to give out any information about her. And I really couldn’t blame him. This must be a difficult time for both Sharon’s father and her ex-fiancé. They needed their privacy.
But now there was no question that Lewis was going to need another lawyer. And I needed to see him again anyway. But first I had to stop by Kingford College to pay a certain professor a little visit. Except Dr. Kirkland had cancelled all her classes that day to attend to a personal matter. At least that’s what the administrative assistant in the English department told me when I got there. Feeling more than slightly annoyed, as well as anxious to get some answers, I was headed out of the office and ran straight into a man on his way through the door, knocking the load of books he was carrying under one arm onto the floor. He let out a curse under his breath and I rushed to help him.
“I am so sorry, sir.” I bent to help him pick up the books.
“Ah, we meet again, young lady,” said the man, who turned out to be Joyce’s husband, Dr. Paul Kirkland.
“My ap
ologies, Dr. Kirkland. I was in a hurry and not paying attention to where I was going.”
“As was I. Uh…I’m sorry but I’m bad with names.” We both stood and I handed him three of the books I’d retrieved from the floor. I noticed the hand that had been heavily bandaged last week now only sported a few strategically placed Band-Aids.
“It’s Kendra. Kendra Clayton. We met in your wife’s office last week.”
“Yes, that’s it. So, what brings you back?” The administrative assistant handed him a stack of messages as he walked past. He mouthed a thank you. I followed him to his office down the hall from the front counter. I’d forgotten that he was the chair of the English department.
“I was actually looking for your wife again. I was told she cancelled her classes for the day.” Paul Kirkland’s head whipped around in surprise, his eyes narrowing.
“That’s right. She had some appointments she needed to take care of.” He sounded casual enough. But I could tell he’d had no idea that his wife had cancelled her classes.
He held the door to his office open for me and I walked ahead of him into a spacious office with a large window overlooking the college green. Every available inch of wall space was covered with bookshelves loaded down with books. He sat the books down on the corner of a large, scarred mahogany desk with clawed feet that had probably been a dining room table in a former life. He also moved a pile of books from one of two dark grey upholstered chairs in front of the desk and told me to have a seat. Once settled in his leather wingback behind his desk, he leaned back with his hands folded behind his head. He regarded me with half-lidded eyes.
“I’m sorry my wife isn’t available, Kendra. Can I call you Kendra?” He gave me a dazzling smile and then suddenly leaned forward like my answer was going to make his whole day. Oh boy. I wasn’t wrong in my assessment when I’d met him—Dr. Paul Kirkland was a big old flirt. And I had to wonder how much of this was him being pissed because his wife had gone off somewhere for the day and not told him?
“Sure.” If I can call you Paul, I’d wanted to say but kept my mouth shut. I needed to stay in this man’s good graces, and I knew from experience that many people with a PhD got bent out of shape when someone didn’t address them as doctor.