LIVE Ammo (Sunshine State Mystery Series Book 2)

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  “I hope that smile is for me,” Marc said, leaning over and brushing his lips over hers.

  Allie reached up and pulled his head back down for a longer, deeper kiss. She squinted against the setting sun. “Hi, handsome.” Oh, and he was handsome, especially outlined as he was against the fiery sky. His platinum hair glowed in the waning light. He looked like a statue, with his angular shoulders and chiseled features.

  He sat in the chair Sheryl had vacated and pulled Allie’s feet into his lap. She hadn’t even realized they ached until he began massaging them. “What are you all dressed up for?” he asked, as his fingers worked their magic.

  It still amused Allie that everyone in Florida thought you were dressed up unless you were wearing shorts and a halter. “Funeral,” she groaned in pleasure as he rubbed her arches.

  “Anyone I know?”

  “The sheriff’s wife. She committed suicide last week.”

  To Marc’s credit, he didn’t make a snide remark. The sheriff hadn’t treated him well the last time they met. Allie opened her eyes. “What are you doing here? Did I know you were coming?”

  Marc smiled. “I didn’t even know I was coming. I had a meeting in Vero that ended early. I begged off the dinner.” He started on her calves. “I called your cell.”

  “It’s downstairs.”

  “I figured. Anyway, I decided to take my chances, and here you are.”

  Allie reached over and touched his face. “And here I am.”

  She gave herself over to the luxury of the massage for several minutes. Marc finished her calves and began to work on her thighs. She traced the outline of his lips with one finger. “Have you eaten?”

  She felt his hands tighten on her leg, and she laughed aloud. “I meant food. Dinner. You know, steak and potatoes?”

  “That’s not what I’m hungry for.”

  “That’s what I’m hungry for,” she said. “First.”

  “I have to go back in the morning,” he said as he resumed squeezing her calves.

  Allie looked over at him through half-closed eyes. “Then, we’ll just have to make the most of tonight, won’t we?”

  ***

  And they had, Allie thought, as she stretched out in bed the next morning. It always amazed her how little sleep she could get by on when Marc was in town.

  She heard the shower running in the bathroom, smelled the coffee in the kitchen, and she realized she had missed him. Not just because he made her coffee, although that certainly didn’t hurt, but not as much as he wanted her to. If Marc had his way, they would have been man and wife in April, but Allie wasn’t ready to commit to that. After her experience with Garrison, she didn’t know if she could ever commit to that again.

  “You will, though, when the time is right.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. You’re not ready. You still have a lot of life to explore.”

  “I couldn’t explore life if I was married to Marc?”

  “Not the way I mean. You have other paths to take. People to meet.”

  “I wanted to tell you I’m thinking of quitting the newspaper.”

  “You are?” Marc came out of the bathroom toweling his hair.

  Had she spoken aloud? She must have. Either that, or Marc had suddenly tuned in to her aunt’s wavelength. She remembered how he’d humored her when she tried to tell him about talking to her aunt. No, he wasn’t on that wavelength, and after his reaction, she hadn’t mentioned their ghostly conversations to anyone else. Not even Sheryl.

  “I haven’t completely made up my mind, but I’m thinking about it.”

  Marc sat down on the edge of the bed. He was wearing jeans and nothing else. Allie had to restrain herself from reaching over and pulling him across the bed.

  “Does that mean you’re thinking about relocating? Say, to Miami?”

  Allie rubbed his leg through the thick jeans fabric. “No, it doesn’t mean I’m thinking of relocating. Not to Miami or anywhere else.”

  He chuckled deep in his throat. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  Allie rolled over and sat up, pulling on her nightshirt. “I’d be hurt if you didn’t, but you know I’m not ready for anything like that.”

  Marc reached over and brushed her hair back from her face. “I know you’re not, honey, and I’m not going to rush you. I’ve told you I’m a very patient man.”

  That he was, Allie thought, as she watched him finish dressing. For months, he’d been making these weekend visits to Cape Canaveral. Not once had he pressured her to give in and marry him. Suggested, yes, but not pushed. After living with her overbearing mother and brother and then her even more overbearing husband, the lack of pressure was a gift worth more than diamonds.

  Allie crawled out of bed. She pulled on shorts and a tank top so she could walk Marc to his car. She could nap later if she chose. If she quit the newspaper, she could nap every day if she chose. The thought held a certain appeal.

  “I’ll try to get back next weekend,” he said as he opened the front door. “I can’t promise, though.”

  As she opened her mouth to speak, the sheriff drove up in front of her house. Allie was so surprised that her mouth stayed open. Cord climbed out of his car. He hesitated when he saw Marc, but then he shut the car door and walked toward them. Allie closed her mouth. She looked up at Marc, then back at the sheriff.

  “Morning, Allie,” Cord said when he reached them. He held out his hand to Marc. “Marcus Frederick, isn’t it? I don’t think I got a chance to thank you for your help earlier this year.”

  Marc shook his hand. “No thanks are necessary. I’m just glad it’s all over.”

  For an awkward moment, they all stood on Allie’s front porch. Finally, Marc said, “I’ll call you.” He kissed Allie quickly on the forehead, and he was gone.

  Allie looked at the sheriff. Without his uniform, he looked more human, less intimidating. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a short-sleeved polo shirt. Had his wife picked them out for him? She suddenly remembered her manners. “Please, come in,” she said, stepping into the house. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “I’d like that, if it’s no trouble.” His voice was low, gravelly. There was only a trace of the South in it, just enough to soften the vowels.

  “No trouble at all. Do you take it black?” It fascinated her the way his eyes took in everything at a glance. They all did that. Joe. Sheryl. Maybe from years of having to size up situations instantly. She would bet he could recite the location of everything in the room with his eyes closed, which was amazing. If he’d never been in the room before. If her aunt hadn’t lied about their relationship.

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “Shut up.”

  Cord’s gaze rested on her aunt’s picture on the bookcase. When he realized that Allie was watching him, he said, “She was quite a reader.”

  “Yes, she was,” Allie said with a smile. “Sit down, please. I’ll just be a minute.”

  When she came back with their coffee, he was sitting on the couch, but his eyes kept straying back to the framed photo. “It doesn’t seem right that she’s gone,” he said, accepting the mug she handed him.

  “You’re right.” Allie sat down on the other end of the couch. “I keep expecting to see her walk out of the bedroom.” Cord’s eyes immediately went to the hall that led to the bedrooms—almost as if he’d been in there before.

  “Allie!”

  “Shut. Up!”

  Cord watched her now, much as she’d watched him before. “I talk to her sometimes,” he said. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s like we have these conversations. In my head, you know.”

  “Busy woman, aren’t you? Whom else do you talk to?”

  “Allie…”

  He cleared his throat. “Anyway.” He seemed to change gears mentally. “I saw you at the funeral yesterday. I wanted to thank you for coming.”

  What should she say? It was my pleasure? She opted for silence.

  “This
situation with Rand—he’s my son,” he added, looking over at her. She nodded. “All this supposition is hard on the department, and there was that newspaper story.” He shook his head.

  Was that why he was here? To ask her to suppress the news? Surely, he knew she didn’t have that kind of power.

  “I don’t know what Rand was thinking, talking to Alf Reed. The man’s a piranha, but the boy’s convinced I killed his mother.”

  “Why?” Allie asked before she could stop herself. She wasn’t sure why Cord Arbutten was sitting in her living room, but the opportunity to get information was too good to pass up. Oh, God, was she thinking like a reporter?

  Cord put his coffee down on the table. “I suspect his mother filled his head with a whole lot of nonsense. That’s all I can figure. I don’t think either of them ever forgave me for sending him away to school.”

  “Why did you?”

  He sat back on the couch, resting his arm along the back as if he’d done it many times before.

  “Allison Grainger!”

  “The boy was headed down the wrong path. His mother,” he shot her a glance, “well, she wasn’t one for discipline, and she didn’t much like it when I punished him, either. He got into a bit of trouble, and his mother tried to hush it up. She thought I should, too, but I could see the situation was getting out of hand. Seemed to me like it was a case of pay now or pay later, and I knew the price would be higher if he had to pay later. A whole lot higher.” He picked up his coffee and took a sip. Allie saw his eyes stray back to the photograph.

  “He was what? Twelve?” she asked. “It seems like a long time to hold a grudge.”

  Cord looked back at her. “I think his mother might have helped keep that resentment alive.” He grimaced. “I guess I wasn’t much of a father. Rand and I, well, we never connected. I spent way too many hours at work back then. When I was home…” His voice trailed off.

  Allie could hear kids playing outside. A car door slammed. She heard the click of the air conditioner cutting on, the whir of the fan. She looked over at her aunt’s picture. Why is he here?

  “I guess we all tend to spend our time doing what we’re good at,” he said, bringing her back. “I was good at police work. Damn good at it.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t good at being a husband, and it seemed like I was even worse at being a father. Rand always seemed afraid of me, like I was a stranger in the house. After a while, I began to feel like one.” He finished his coffee and put the empty cup back on the table. “But those are all excuses,” he said abruptly. “Fact was, I let the boy grow away from me, and now, he thinks I killed his mother. That says a lot more about me as a father than it does about him as a son. I wasn’t an easy man to love.”

  “I know someone who would disagree with you there,” Allie said softly.

  Cord’s eyes went back to the picture.

  “Would you like to have it?” she asked.

  He looked at her without comprehension.

  “The picture. Would you like to have it? I have others.”

  He stared at the framed photo for a long moment, and then got to his feet. “I don’t deserve it.”

  ***

  When he was gone, Allie took their coffee cups to the kitchen. She still didn’t know why he’d come, and her aunt wasn’t talking—for once. It wasn’t because of the newspaper article. Cord Arbutten was the one in the county with the power, not her. Was it to plead his son’s case? Was he really that selfless that he would try to keep people from hating his son because he accused Cord of murder?

  Allie walked back in the living room and picked up her aunt’s picture, taking it back with her to the couch. “You could tell me, you know. You probably know him better than anyone else does. What does he want?”

  Her aunt remained stubbornly silent, but Allie answered her own question. Cord Arbutten wanted his son back, and for some misguided reason, he thought Allie could help. But what could she do? Rand Arbutten hated her aunt. He believed Lou had broken up his parents’ marriage, and he blamed Allie by association. He would never listen to her.

  “He’s at the house,” the sheriff had told her as he was leaving. “Thought it would give him somewhere to stay, and I was planning to move, anyway. I have a little place in Cocoa.”

  Did Cord want her to talk to Rand? What did he think that would accomplish? Allie sighed and put the photo frame down where the sheriff’s cup had been just moments before. She could try. Even if she couldn’t give Cord back his son, maybe she could find out why Rand Arbutten was so certain that his father killed his mother. After all, what could it hurt?

  Her aunt finally came to her after the lights were out and Allie was drifting off to sleep that night.

  “You never told me to shut up when I was alive.”

  Allie smiled and turned on her other side.

  Chapter 8

  The address was easy to find—she looked it up in the phonebook—the house was a little more difficult. Even though she’d been there before, it had been mass confusion and she had little recollection. She didn’t want to wander all over Merritt Island searching for some obscure street she’d never heard of. Fortunately, she’d had DSL installed in the living room at the same time she put cable in the house. Now, she had the Internet, a cordless phone, and caller ID. What could possibly be next?

  She booted her laptop for the first time since she’d arrived. She had used MapQuest many times back when she was working for the AJC, so she went to that site. She typed in her address and then Cord Arbutten’s. Seconds later, a map and driving directions appeared on her screen. Then, she realized what would be next—a printer.

  Laboriously, she hand copied the directions onto a piece of paper and added a map no one could follow. Then, she showered and changed into capris and a blouse. She pulled her hair back in a barrette and touched her lips with lipstick. Moments later, she was out of the house.

  The driving directions took her across the 528 causeway. Allie determinedly kept her eyes forward as she started across the bridge. At the last instant, they were drawn irresistibly to the guardrail through which Joe had plunged. His death had been ruled an accident. Enough painkillers were in his system to render an ordinary man comatose. The official line was that he was confused by all the medication he was taking when he went AWOL from the hospital and headed for his parents’ house in Cocoa to check on them. Everyone knew he was devoted to his parents. Everyone knew their welfare was his primary concern. Only Allie and Sheryl knew what that really meant.

  She felt relief as she came down off the bridge. This time, she didn’t miss her exit. She followed a series of twisting turns that made her feel as if she were going around in circles. Maybe she was, in more ways than one. Finally, she saw the street on her right, and she turned.

  The last time she’d been here, she’d noticed little other than all the emergency vehicles. Now, she saw that neighborhood was more upscale than hers was. The homes were larger; the yards green with actual grass. A small lake on her left looked as if it fed into a canal that crisscrossed Merritt Island. Another right turn put her on his street. His was the fifth house on the left—a long, low-slung ranch. Beautifully maintained.

  Allie parked at the curb. It seemed presumptuous to park in the driveway, but wasn’t this whole visit presumptuous? What in the world was she doing here? The man hated her, for Pete’s sake. Did she really think he’d talk to her? In for a penny, she told herself, as she climbed out of the car and started up the walk.

  The sun already blazed down, but the air smelled green, like the grass had been recently mowed. Cord? Rand? A yard service? Brightly colored flowers lined the walk and spilled out of ceramic urns on either side of the front door. Now that the sheriff had moved out, who would take care of them now?

  She pushed the doorbell button and heard a chime sound inside. Nothing. Good. Maybe he’d already left. It was a stupid idea coming here, anyway. What had she hoped to accomplish?

  As she turned to go, the door opened behind her.
Rand Arbutten stood framed in the opening, and he didn’t look happy. Allie fought the urge to run down the sidewalk to her car. After all, what could he do to her? She shuddered. “I wondered if I could talk to you?”

  “About what?”

  Allie searched her mind for an answer. There wasn’t one. “May I come in for a minute?”

  She saw the refusal form in his mind and push its way toward his lips. At the last moment, he shrugged. Leaving the door open, he turned and walked away. Not very gracious, but he hadn’t slammed the door in her face. That was enough of an invitation, right? Allie closed the door and followed him down the hall.

  The living room was large and airy, if a little formal for Allie’s taste. Off to her left was the kitchen. Granite countertops, black appliances. This was where his mother died. Allie’s stomach clenched. All signs of violence were gone. It was tidy to the point of not being lived in. Was Rand that good a housekeeper? Had a cleaning service come in after the suicide? She remembered scrubbing Joe’s blood off her wall after he was shot. Scrub, scrub, scrub, vomit. Scrub, scrub, scrub, vomit. It was a memory she’d never entirely erase.

  Through the glass sliding doors off the living room, she saw a large patio surrounding an oval swimming pool. Beyond that, the canal she’d seen when she turned in. Nice house. What would happen to it now?

  He led her into the den. So, this was where he was living. There was a sofa against the far wall. A pillow rested at one end; a blanket had been kicked down to the other. A makeshift bed. Newspapers littered the floor. A few empty beer bottles sat on the coffee table. Breakfast?

  He was watching her. “Seen enough, or would you like to check out the bloodstains in the kitchen?”