Cold Memory

by Leslie A. Kelly

  Mostly he wanted to touch her—without anything between them. He wanted to invite her into his world, and into his home, without gloves on either of them. No barriers. For the first time ever, he felt he could do that, and that she would be okay with it.

  Gypsy was a person who wouldn’t tolerate secrets or lies, from herself or anyone else. The girl he’d once avoided at all costs had become the woman who might just be what he’d been waiting for his whole life.

  He was falling for Gypsy Rose Bell. Falling fast. Falling hard.

  And now, he needed to be her rock.

  She pulled away, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her fingers. Mick put an arm around her shoulders and led her to an uncomfortable-looking couch. Pulling her down onto it, he kept her close, not saying anything, knowing she would talk when and if she needed to.

  Eventually, she broke the silence. “He’s the reason I’m here.”

  “In Ocean Whispers, you mean?”

  “Yes. I wanted him to stay in one place, for his own health. I wanted him nearby, so we could have our own little family.”

  He heard more than she was saying. “Couldn’t you have that with your mom and stepfather if you moved back to Ohio?”

  She sighed. “My mom…I love her, but you know she was just never cut out for the family life. Right now she’s in a commune phase, and is trying to get my stepfather to join her in the wilds of Montana.”

  Oh. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t said anything about that, but then realized it made sense. Gypsy’s relationship with her wild, free-spirited mother had always been unusual. And it was DonaBella’s wild, free-spiritedness that had probably incited her daughter to seek something completely different.

  Like normalcy.

  Well, hell. Her life certainly hadn’t been normal lately, especially since he’d reentered it.

  “Esme’s happy with her career, and her other family, and her fiancée. She’s into fame and fortune these days. We still talk, and still love each other. In fact, she’s on her way here right now. I called her about Grandpa and she said she would be on the first plane. Unfortunately, that plane has to cross an ocean—she was in Spain when I called.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “Did you miss the part about the Montana commune?”

  “You couldn’t reach her?”

  “Maybe if I send a message by Pony Express.”

  He had always admired Gypsy’s mom, but right now he was more than a little disappointed in her. When you had family, especially an elderly father and two daughters who might need you, you didn’t just disappear and cut off communication. It was selfish.

  That was one word that did not, in any way, describe DonaBella’s daughter Gypsy.

  She might be a smart-ass, as well as tough, but he’d never seen her exhibit a selfish moment. Not one. She’d taken care of Esme and all the other kids when they were young, just as she was trying to take care of her carnival people and her town now. No, she wasn’t much like her mother.

  As for her father, he’d always assumed nobody knew who he was. Including DonaBella.

  Mick, though, now had his suspicions. They’d been aroused during the conversation with Frank in the office earlier. There’d been something about his expression when he’d talked about Barry Spencer. Something about the way the old man had looked at Gypsy, and muttered that he had his suspicions about…something.

  Like, perhaps, his old friend, and his daughter?

  Mick had never noticed it before, but Gypsy, who looked like her mother, could also be said to look a little like Barry. Oh, not his brutishness, certainly, but she had the same almost-black hair, much darker than DonaBella’s or Esme’s. She also shared those intense, dark-brown eyes, not at all like her mother’s green ones. She was tall and strong, not at all mannish, but had already towered over her mother when Gypsy was only thirteen years old.

  It made sense. It also made him think a lot less of Barry, the man he’d considered such a gentle giant when he was a kid.

  The gentle giant had been an abuser, a homophobe, and perhaps an adulterer and the seducer of his oldest friend’s teenage daughter. None of that, of course, made Barry deserve the kind of death he had endured, but it did make him a pretty rotten guy for most of his life.

  If it was true, he prayed that Gypsy never found out.

  She’d found Barry’s dead body, and knew how horrific his death had been. Those memories would be bad enough without her ever suspecting that it had been her father whose head had been boiled in oil.

  Sucking in a deep breath and then slowly blowing it out, she straightened in her seat, pulling away from him. “Okay, enough worry. I need a distraction. Tell me about what happened after I left. Did your friends come back?”

  He shook his head. “I called Julia and sent them back to Savannah. They’ll return the minute we need them.”

  “And poor Shep?”

  “Definitely murder. It looks like somebody put a rope around his neck and pushed him off.”

  “Not suicide?” She sounded almost hopeful.

  “Not a chance.” He didn’t tell her why he knew. That would come soon enough.

  “Why would he go up onto that platform to begin with?”

  “I’m not positive. It might have been that he was meeting someone.”

  She slowly shook her head. “I don’t buy it. If so, why would they choose to meet there?”

  “Privacy? Secrecy?”

  “There are plenty of private and secret places to meet at the carnival,” she said with an eye roll. “Just ask any teenager in Ocean Whispers.”

  “So maybe he was lured up there with the offer of something special?” Booze was high on Mick’s guess list. Or money.

  “Maybe. But as I recall, Shep was scared of heights. Remember when Esme slipped off the platform and almost fell? Shep stood there screaming for help, but he wouldn’t climb up to actually pull her back up. Esme could have died.”

  Mick had a faint memory of the incident. He wondered if Gypsy still resented it and if that’s why she never much cared for Shep, though it could also be because the carny had always been a bit shady.

  “Mick, I have to ask, since you were the first one on the scene, did you…”

  He had wondered when she was going to get to that. With the lives at stake, he had no problem admitting the truth, although some of it was probably going to be very hard for Gypsy to hear. Frankly, one thing he had discovered was hard for him to understand.

  “Yes. I only had a few minutes before the second ambulance arrived, and then the staties took over. But I did what I could.”

  She licked her lips, waiting.

  “He obviously wore gloves again.”

  Her whole body deflated, although no surprise appeared in her expression. They already knew this guy was smart enough to avoid leaving prints. Unfortunately, gloving to avoid those also meant he wasn’t leaving any remnants of thought for Mick to find, either.

  “You’re probably right about Shep and heights. He must have had a death grip on the railing going up, because I got him loud and clear.”

  She immediately understood the other ramifications of that. “Oh, wow, I guess that means you got every kid who’s gone up and down that thing, too.”

  “For the past forty-sixty years,” he admitted with a sigh.

  She gripped his gloved hand, understanding. “I’m so sorry. That’s not just a hornet’s nest, it’s a hornet’s nest on a hornet planet.”

  Yeah. It had been. He didn’t want to think about it, but if he never heard the word candy again, it would be too soon.

  “To quote Andrea…anyways, I can tell you most of Shep’s thoughts were about how badly he needed a drink, cash, and figuring out how to use the camera on his phone.”

  “He didn’t seem like the photographic type.”

  “I know.” It was strange. “There’s more. I also touched the rope. You’re not going to like what I learned.”

  “I suppose Shep…�
�

  “Oh, certainly. He tried to pull it off.” His brow furrowed. “He also recognized his killer.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Don’t get too excited. It happened before he grabbed the rope around his neck, so I didn’t see the guy, just caught the thought that Shep knew him. He didn’t know his name, though.”

  “Damn it.” She reached around and pulled some bobby pins out of her hair, pushing it out of the tight bun. It fell in thick waves, heavy and lustrous, and he remembered how it had felt twined around his bare fingers the other night. He wanted to smooth it for her, and to rub her temples, knowing she probably had a pounding headache.

  “What else?” she asked.

  “Well, I hate to admit it, but I missed something when the rescue workers got there and checked Shep’s body.”

  “What was it?”

  “When the paramedic opened Shep’s mouth, he saw an old-fashioned earring. He said it looked antique, with dark red stones, and the tip had been shoved into Shep’s gum, under his teeth.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “I didn’t see it, Gypsy, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t give yourself a hard time,” she said. “Let’s go back to the rope. Did the killer leave any impressions at all on it?”

  “Not exactly. I guess he was wearing gloves when he handled that, too.”

  He thought about how to word this next, very tricky part. It could change a lot about Gypsy’s view of the case…and everything else.

  “Gyp, there’s more. The rope came from a supply closet at the Ocean Whispers Police Department.”

  She jerked as if physically struck. He went on, giving her the rest of it.

  “It had been touched by maintenance workers, mechanics, an officer worker. And every cop on the force. Including you.”

  She shot to her feet, her mouth rounding, opening, closing. Her hand flew to her chest, as if her heart hurt. He knew she wasn’t imagining he was accusing her. No, she was going over and over the case, and coming to the same conclusion he’d already reached.

  The carny killer was very likely one of her own cops.

  “It can’t be, Mick.”

  “I know. But I think it is. It makes sense. Everything makes sense. A cop would know how to hide his presence from a crime scene, like his fingerprints and DNA.” He had to add one more thing that had occurred to him. “That button. The way Penny described it, do you remember?”

  “Large and black. With something stamped on it that made her think it was a checker.”

  “Exactly. Like a uniform coat. Army. Or…”

  “Police issue.”

  “Yes.”

  “No, this is crazy!” She began pacing, walking in a circle around the small room, her feet almost pounding holes into the linoleum floor.

  He dropped his elbows onto his knees and his forehead onto his palms. He had a headache, too.

  Letting her stew, Mick knew she’d come to the same realizations he’d already reached. Like the fact that she had a few officers who were in the right age group to be someone they both already suspected: Louisa Fletcher’s son. Ocean Whispers wasn’t exactly a hotbed of crime, and it seemed to be a place where older cops came for a cushy stretch before retirement. He had met or seen at least three who were in their forties or fifties.

  Plus, Gypsy had two cops named Bill working for her. That was another variation for William, aka Willie. It wasn’t a terribly unique name, and a clever murderer would probably have used a different one, but it was another bit of circumstantial evidence. Besides, nobody ever said all killers were brilliant.

  If the guy had changed his name, his money was on Carl Potter, who’d been on the scene of Jersey’s murder before anyone else. He could have picked up the button and pocketed it immediately after entering the bedroom; he was patrolling the carnival, he’d been the first cop to hear Penny’s scream. Easy.

  It all made a sick, dreadful sort of sense. But it killed him to see Gypsy reaching the same conclusion.

  “Wait, if the murderer held the rope at the station…”

  “From what I heard when I touched it, nobody was thinking about taking it to hang a guy off a carnival slide. Sorry.”

  “Mick, I just can’t believe…”

  “Chief Bell?”

  Mick jumped up and they both swung around to look at a doctor wearing surgical scrubs, who’d just entered the waiting room. He could tell by the look on her face that all thoughts of the murderer had fallen out of her mind, to be replaced by worry about her grandfather.

  He walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder, bracing her to hear what the doctor had to say.

  “Your grandfather suffered a major heart attack.”

  “And?” she whispered. “Did he survive?”

  “He’s alive. We did bypass surgery, and he came through it very well. He’ll have to stay in the cardiac intensive care unit for a while, but I think the chances are very good that he’ll make a full recovery.”

  She dropped her head back, closed her eyes and sighed in sheer relief. Mick moved closer, dropping his head forward into her shoulder, just as relieved. She reached up to slide her hand in his hair. He put his on the small of her back. They stood there like that for a moment, both overwhelmed with gratitude that Frank would be okay.

  Both sharing the moment…fitting together like they’d always been there.

  “Ahem.”

  Turning their attention back to the surgeon, who was now smiling, Gypsy said, “Thank you so much for coming to tell me. And for everything you did for my grandfather. Can I go in to see him?”

  “No, not for several hours. You really should go home, get some rest, and come back early in the morning. He won’t be able to see anyone until then.”

  She frowned in disappointment. He knew she’d wanted to see for herself that her grandfather was all right.

  “I just keep picturing him there, lying on the ground…”

  “If it helps, your grandfather did regain consciousness briefly before we performed the surgery. He was even talking.”

  “Oh, my God, what did he say?”

  “He was calling for someone…Donna Bell?”

  “DonaBella,” she murmured. “My grandmother. And my mother.”

  “Yes, her, and someone named Esmerelda. Is that you?”

  She shook her head. “No. My sister.”

  “Well, he must want to see her very badly. He was saying her name over and over until we put him under.”

  Gypsy didn’t react, but he could feel her body tense the tiniest bit. She would never say it—she just wasn’t the type to show any kind of envy—but she had to be wondering why her grandfather had asked for her mother, and her younger sister…yet hadn’t mentioned her. She’d moved here for him. She visited him just about every day. She was with him right before he’d fallen ill. And yet, she had been forgotten.

  He felt pain on her behalf, even if she would never acknowledge it. When the doctor nodded and left, he turned her around and pulled her into his arms, holding her closely.

  “He’s gonna be okay,” Gypsy murmured. “He really is?”

  “It sounds like it. You know Frank, he’s not going to let his ticka take him down.”

  She might have laughed as he imitated the old man.

  “Listen, let me take you home.”

  “No, I want to be here…”

  “You heard the doctor. You won’t be able to see Frank until tomorrow. You can come back at the crack of dawn and be first in line when they open the doors to the ICU.”

  She stepped away, pushing her hair back off her face. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I do know. You look exhausted. I’d bet you haven’t slept more than a few hours a night for the past couple of weeks. The rest of the ‘family’ will be out in that parking lot all night lending support—you know that.”

  Nodding, she conceded that point, at least.

  He lifted his hands and cupped her cheeks. “Gypsy, you know what we have to do tomorrow. You ne
ed to be ready.”

  Her big, luminous brown eyes looked into his, the joy of her grandfather’s likely recovery fading as all else returned, crashing on her like a detonated building falling down.

  “I have to figure out which one of my employees has killed three people in this town.”

  “No, Gyp,” he said, pulling her close. “We do.”

  Saying nothing else, he bent to her, brushing his mouth over hers. They hadn’t been intimate since she’d come to his place the night before. Christ, was that really only one night ago? It seemed like a year had gone by.

  She melted against him, twining her arms around his neck, her lips parting. They stood together, breathed together, held each other. Sharing the moment. Then she slid her tongue into his mouth, and he met it with his own.

  They turned their heads, lips opening wider, kiss deepening. It was hot and sexy, but also lazy and sensual. Kissing her was becoming something he couldn’t do without, and he wanted to memorize her taste, the softness of her tongue, the sharpness of her teeth, and the sweetness of her breath. It was uncomplicated—warm, hungry desire that needed fulfillment.

  When they drew apart, she looked up at him and whispered, “Take me home, Mick.”

  He sensed she meant more than driving her. She’d ridden in the ambulance, and would need a ride. But she was referring to so much more than that.

  “You’re sure?”

  “More sure than I am about anything else in my life right now.”

  He smiled. She smiled. Everything else fell away, at least for the moment. And it would stay away for a couple of hours, he had no doubt.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 11

  Gypsy had never invited Mick into her home before, yet that’s where they were going. She’d never invited him into her life, either, but here he was.

  Now she had all but verbally invited him into her bed.

  She considered those things as they pulled away from the hospital parking lot, which was, as he’d predicted, still full of people from the carnival. They weren’t going home for a while. They would eventually drift off, but for now the camaraderie was important as they absorbed all that had happened.