Sophia had been too stunned--if she wasn’t completely off her rocker, he’d essentially asked her for a date--and had merely toyed nervously with her hair and nodded. So far the invitation hadn’t come through, but she’d purposely stayed indoors the past couple of mornings because she loathed the idea of looking eager, or God forbid, needy.
Furthermore, though she hadn’t determined precisely how just yet, Sophia wanted to make sure that all of Edward’s...parts were in working order. She didn’t want to get too attached to him--or the idea of having sex with him--if he wasn’t going to be able to seal the deal. She hated to be callous or unfeeling, but she wasn’t buying a pig in a poke here. Time was running out. If she was ever going to have an honest to goodness bonafide orgasm again, she had to act quickly. And if you asked her poor neglected--intensely rejuvenated--hormones, the sooner the better.
Bitsy fished a couple of coupons from her purse and laid them on the table. One was for fifty-cents off a roll of paper towels, the other for a Lean Cuisine.
Sophia heaved an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, Bitsy, can’t you just put down some change? Cora’s thin as a rail! What does she want with a low-calorie meal?”
Bitsy’s eyes rounded. “Oh, you’re right. Here,” she said. She replaced it with a quarter off a half-gallon of ice cream. “She could use that a whole lot more, eh?”
Sophia looked to Meredith. “Can’t you do something about her?”
“I was instrumental in talking her out of the motorcycle. You’ll have to tackle the coupon issue.”
Bitsy gasped as though she just remembering something important. Eyes gleaming behind her purple glasses, she pilfered around in her purse until she’d found a mangled newspaper clipping. “You only think you’ve talked me out of the motorcycle,” she said, sliding the paper to Meredith. “The idea getting a motorcycle license was the deciding factor against making that purchase. But this,” she said, her voice ringing with satisfied excitement. “This is what I’m getting. It’s on order. Acid green with purple racing stripes.” She practically wriggled in her seat. “Isn’t it wonderful? We should all have one. Then we could ride together. Get matching helmets and jackets. We could be the Bless Her Heart Hellions or something.”
Meredith frowned, adjusted her reading glasses, then her mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious,” she said faintly. With a disgusted huff, she handed the paper to Sophia.
“A pocket rocket?” Sophia asked her, inspecting the ad. “Isn’t this a kid’s toy?”
“Technically, yes,” Bitsy admitted, not the least bit embarrassed or chagrined. “But it doesn’t require a license, it’s gas and electric, will go up to thirty-five miles an hour, and it’ll hold up to two-hundred-and-fifty pounds.”
Sophia quirked a pointed brow.
Bitsy scowled at the quiet recrimination. “I’m dieting,” she said, irritated.
“Bitsy, be that as it may, I don’t think this is a good idea. You could get hurt.”
She shrugged, unconcerned. “If it’s safe for kids, then it’s safe for me.” She bobbed her head determinedly. “I want it. I’m gonna have it.”
“Do as you please,” Meredith said stiffly, “but don’t say we didn’t warn you.” She removed her napkin from her lap, wadded it up and tossed it on the table. “You’re blind as a bat. You don’t have any business trying to ride something like that. You’ll end up getting yourself killed.”
Bitsy grinned, put her palm up. “Talk to the hand ‘cause the head’s not listening.”
Meredith harrumphed. “You’ll be listening when your kids try to have you committed.”
“Nah,” Bitsy said, blithely unconcerned. “They’re too afraid I’ll leave my money to my cat and my coupons to them.”
Sophia’s lips twitched. Knowing Bitsy, her kids had better realize that very scenario wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility.
“But I do appreciate your concern, Meri,” Bitsy told her, leaning over to give her an air kiss. “It’s nice to be loved. Now what say we do a little shopping, eh?” Her smile turned a wee bit sly. “We’ll need a new outfit for the funeral, won’t we?”
Oh, she hadn’t even thought of that, Sophia realized with a pleased start. Per tradition every member of the FWC attended the funeral in support and appreciation of the newly widowed. To the casual observer, they merely looked like concerned friends, paying their last respects, but in truth the event officially kicked off their celebration. Sophia smiled.
And if there was one thing the FWC knew how to do it was party.
CHAPTER 21
Jolie fingered the single long-stemmed rose loosely held between her gloved fingers and waited for Reverend Hollis to finish the final prayer said over Chris’s casket. The warm afternoon sun beat down on her back and a slight breeze ruffled her veiled hat.
Flanked by her mom and Sadie--both of them wearing somber but relieved expressions--and the entire FWC at her back, Jolie finally felt the beginnings of true closure wrap around her senses, felt it clawing away at two years of misery and regret, and by the time Hollis muttered the final amen, she had to suppress a triumphant whoop of joy.
It was over.
Or as over as it was going to be until Chris’s murderer was found, but at least this was an official beginning to the rest of her life.
“And that’s it,” Sadie whispered quietly as she turned and wrapped Jolie in a warm hug. “You made it.”
Sadie had no more than let her go when her mother gathered her up. “It’s over, hon,” her mom breathed. She could feel her soothing relief washing over both of them, could feel her mom trembling with it.
Jolie smiled, but didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She was too overcome. The past several days had been a flurry of activity for her. She’d closed the business, satisfied the investors--most especially her mom and the profound sense of comfort that doing that brought her had made it worth every miserable moment of the past two years. Just knowing that she’d made things right, that she’d have made her father proud, just knowing that her mother wouldn’t have to worry anymore, scrimp or scrape to get by, had lifted a tremendous weight off her shoulders.
In addition to all of that, she’d cleaned out her things from the house she’d shared with Chris and, despite Jake’s dire warnings about being hasty, she’d listed it with a realtor, the same one who’d negotiated the deal for her for the house on Lelia Street.
Her mom had told her that she was welcome to stay at home with her, of course, and, while Jolie appreciated the offer, she wanted her own space, something that was hers and hers alone. She couldn’t wait to move in, set up her office and flex her neglected decorating muscle. Other than her bedroom, she’d never been able to arrange things to suit her own tastes. She liked rich colors and the combination of old and new, couldn’t wait to pick out paint samples and furniture.
Sophia, Bitsy and Meredith, all of them looking polished and gorgeous in varying spring shades reminiscent of Easter eggs moved toward her. “You look smashing, dear,” Sophia told her with an approving nod. “Like a true widow.”
Meredith leaned in. “Plan on staying a little longer this week. It’s customary in our little group to celebrate a new Official’s status.”
“That’s right,” Bitsy chimed in. She did a little hip-roll shimmy dance move. “We’re gonna party.”
Meredith frowned and looked to Sophia who whacked Bitsy on the upper arm. “Cut it out, fool,” she admonished. “We’re at a bloody funeral, for Pete’s sake,” she hissed, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention.
Bitsy blinked and straightened, properly chastised. “Oh, right. Sorry.”
Jolie barely smothered a chuckle. The trio moved aside and slowly the rest of the FWC members came by and, their faces arranged in purposely somber expressions which didn’t match the delight in their eyes, wished her a low-spoken congratulations. Several mentioned the upcoming party and like Bitsy, seemed to want to dance. Thankfully, they refrained because from the
corner of her eye--prompted by a not-so-gentle nudge from Sadie--Jolie caught sight of Jake. A tremble shook her belly, forcing a shuddering breath out of her lungs.
He wore his trademark khaki pants and a cuffed white oxford cloth shirt. His dark brown hair was tousled and a pair of trendy shades covered his eyes. The prerequisite cell phone was clipped at his waist and she could tell by the flat shape of that usually carnal mouth that he was supremely displeased.
In fact, pissed was probably more accurate.
Jolie drew in a careful breath as a combination of fluttery air and dread wrestled in her belly. He’d obviously made a new discovery, possibly more, she thought gravely, and hoped that it didn’t crush the bud of newfound neutral ground they seemed to have found.
Every time she thought about him offering to call her when Marzipan went to foal, a light hopeful feeling swelled in her chest and a tingle of tentative happiness sizzled through her blood.
Jolie knew better than to start entertaining the idea of a belated happily-ever-after with Jake. Even if he were willing, quite frankly she didn’t know if she’d be able to pony up the emotional investment to pull it off. She’d given everything she’d had to him and the one time she’d really needed him he’d wavered. Which is what had ultimately sent her down the path she’d just gotten off of.
Did she love Jake? Jolie swallowed tightly as the truth readily rose in her heart. Yes, she did. Always had, always would. She ached for him, yearned for him, longed for that sense of closeness and familiarity--being his friend, and oh, God, being his lover--wanted that back more than anything. But could they go back? Could she go back? Jolie let go a breath. She didn’t know.
Granted she knew Jake was sorry, knew that he regretted letting her go, then not having the nerve to try and reclaim her after she’d come back with Chris. He could have, too, Jolie thought. She’d been hurt and angry and miserable, but if he’d asked--just asked--she would have culled Chris in a heartbeat to have him back. He had to know it, Jolie thought, had surely known it then...and yet he hadn’t so much as lifted a finger when he could have merely crooked it and she’d have come running.
Pride was a funny thing, though, she knew, because it was pride that had propelled her to bring Chris home in the first place. God, she’d been so stupid. It was amazing what two years of sheer hell could do to make one see things clearly.
Jake strolled toward her, stopped, then lazily looked her up and down. She felt that keen caressing gaze move up her legs, over her hips, linger over her breasts, then finally find her face.
“Nice dress,” he said. “Bought that last week, didn’t you?”
It had been in her closet, with the receipt stapled to the bag. He knew exactly when she’d bought it, and now he knew what she’d bought it for. Her breakfast rolled. “I did,” she returned, albeit shakily.
Jake swore and looked away. “I need to talk to you when you have a moment.”
Jolie shrugged, twirled her rose and refused to be intimidated. Dammit, she’d told him she was moving on. What exactly had he expected? “Now’s good,” she said, pretending to be unconcerned. “Mom will want to go on. Can you give me a ride home?”
“To which one?” Jake asked tightly. “The one I encouraged you not to sell--which you’ve put on the market anyway--or the one you just bought?”
Ah, so that was it. “Neither at the moment, unless you’re interested in seeing my new house,” she said. “It’s on Lelia Street. Right off the--“
“I know where it’s at,” Jake interrupted, his voice throbbing with pent-up anger. He told her mother that he’d see her home--in a considerably warmer tone than what he was using with her--then slid his hand around her upper arm and propelled her toward his car.
It was the first time in more than two years that he’d touched her and despite the fact that it wasn’t the gentle caress she’d dreamed of and longed for, her body responded all the same. Her breath hitched in her throat, her mouth lost its moisture and a pulsing ache commenced in her nipples and between her thighs.
He opened the truck door for her, rounded the hood, then joined her inside. He waited for her to finish buckling her seat belt, then started the engine and bolted out of the cemetery.
“I came into work this morning and was immediately called into Dean’s office. His sister works at the bank and she mentioned to him over the weekend that you’d cleaned out Marshall’s accounts.”
Jolie swallowed. “That’s right.”
His nostrils flared. “The night he died.”
“It was after midnight, so technically it was the next day,” Jolie clarified despite his thunderous expression.
“She also mentioned that you’ve closed all the business accounts.” He let go a disgusted breath. “I saw you putting a sign up in the window last week. I just assumed that you’d put up a notice about Chris’s death.” He chuckled darkly. “I assumed wrong. You didn’t put up a death notice--you put up a damned out-of-business sign!” He wheeled around the square, waited for a stream of pedestrians to make it across to the corner. “What the hell were you thinking? Do you have any idea how guilty you’re making yourself look? Do you even care?” He glanced over at her, moodily inspected her outfit once more and seemed to get even angrier. “So help me God, if you’ve got on that black corset underneath that, I’m gonna have a friggin’ stroke.”
Jolie felt a flash of feminine pleasure hit the tops of her thighs and her lips rolled into a droll smile. “You went through my underwear drawer? Take your detective work seriously, don’t you, Jake?”
Jake edged the car up to the curb in front of her new house, shifted into park, then cast her another glance and let go a seemingly tortured sigh. “Are you wearing it?”
She smiled. “It matches.”
His gaze dropped to her breasts again and he swallowed. From the looks of things it was taking every ounce of patience he possessed to get through this encounter.
Strangely enough, she was finding it funny, a fact she knew she’d better keep to herself.
“Let me paint a picture for you,” Jake said. “We’ve got a dead husband with a wife who A.) has a credible yet curious alibi for the time of the murder. B.) researched pre-burial plans a week before his death. C.) took out one-hundred grand in additional life insurance the week before he died.
His expression blacked accordingly with his tone of voice as he continued to tick her offenses off.
D.) bought the outfit she planned to wear to his funeral the week before he died. E.) cleaned out his accounts before the body had even been moved from the scene. F.) closed his business before the M.E. even finished the autopsy. G.) put the house up for sale and H.) bought another one.” Jake plucked his glasses off and slung them up on the dash. “If you were the detective on this case--or just any regular old citizen, for that matter,” he added sarcastically, “what would infer from this woman’s actions?”
Yes, well, when you put it like that, she would admit that she looked a little guilty, Jolie decided. Nevertheless, she wasn’t guilty and regardless of how bizarre her alibi looked, the fact remained that she had one. Furthermore, she was innocent.
“I’d infer that this wife was married to a miserable SOB who delighted in making her wretched, who stole money from her mother and other hard-working citizens. I’d infer that the bastard had absolutely no redeeming qualities and that the wife--who’d had her life on hold for the past twenty-four months--was ready to move on as swiftly as possible, to wash the stench of her nasty, sorry-assed husband’s life out of her own and endeavor to create a new one as soon as possible.” Her veil quivered as she bobbed her head. “If I knew her,” she said pointedly, “that’s what I’d infer.” She paused, punctuating the thought, then let herself out of the truck and, head held high and stilettos clicking, made her way up the sidewalk.
Gratifyingly, she felt his gaze on her ass as she made her way to the door...and she liked what she could infer from that.
* * *
Jake slamm
ed his palm against the steering wheel, then snagged the keys and met Jolie on the porch. He did know her and, dammit, he did understand. He just wished that she could use a little bit of discretion. He’d walked into that meeting with Dean this morning and, for all intents and purposes, might as well have had his pants down.
Not only had Dean informed him--the damned detective, by the way--that Jolie had cleaned out the accounts, but he’d also known that she’d closed the business, put the house up for sale and bought a new one. Things weren’t looking good, Dean had said. Did he want to let this one go?
Not no, but hell no.
In light of everything that had been uncovered--and, dammit, he knew there was more--he couldn’t afford to let it go. Guilty or not, she’d go to jail. There was too much circumstantial evidence floating around to prevent otherwise. It wouldn’t matter that she had an alibi and the thick-headed, stubborn--Jake’s gaze drifted over the backs of her legs--her fishnet hose, specifically--up over her gorgeous rump and slim back, and felt another blast of heat detonate in his loins. He blinked. Ah, hell...what had he been thinking?
Oh, yeah.
“Jolie, I didn’t say that I didn’t understand it,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “I’m just asking you to at least consider how it looks.”
She inserted a key into the lock and, smiling, let herself inside. “That’s just it. I don’t care how it looks.”
And therein lay the rub, he thought, exhaling a weary sigh. She’d made up her mind and that was that. Jake followed her into the living room, noted the worn heart-of-pine floors and custom built-ins. The spacious room had lots of nice molding, plenty of architectural detail. He caught her gaze, nodded. “It’s nice.”
The Future Widows' Club Page 15