The Future Widows' Club

by Rhonda Russell

  This way it was over. She’d buried him today and she could finally move on, an action she intended to embrace beginning right now. Jolie felt a slow grin move across her lips.

  After all, if Jake kept her out of jail, she’d have a house to decorate.

  CHAPTER 23

  Her insides quivering with pent-up anxiety, Sophia patted her hair and smoothed away a non-existent wrinkle from her trendy linen pantsuit as she made her way up Edward’s carefully manicured walk. Bulbs, vines and delicate flowers and shrubs bloomed in perfect harmony around his garden and every blade of grass had been tended with razor-perfection.

  A closer look at his flower beds showed not a single weed and from the looks of things, he’d made his own mulch because, unlike some of the cheaper bagged varieties, every piece was uniform in shape and size, giving each cultivated inch a more polished quality.

  Sophia pursed her lips and reluctantly acknowledged the bit of grudging admiration trying to worm its way into her jealous heart. And he didn’t just plant the no-brainers--pinks, petunias and inpatients--he’d chosen finicky plants which required a great deal of time and maintenance, ones that had to be nursed and coaxed.

  Edward opened the front door and a welcoming smile spread across his lips and infected those Paul Newman blues. “Ah,” he sighed. “I thought I saw a new flower out here. You look lovely, Sophia.”

  Again she found herself resisting the ridiculous urge to preen. She was in her early sixties. She had stretch marks, varicose veins, wrinkles and cellulite. At best she’d held up good, but she knew she was far from lovely. Nevertheless, she smiled and said thank you, and did her best to hold her ground and not bolt like the frightened coward she suddenly felt like. “I was just admiring your garden, Edward, and I must confess I have to take back every uncharitable thing I’ve ever said about your being undeserving of the Presidency of the Garden Club.” She cast an approving eye around his lawn. “You’ve done a wonderful job here and from now on when you offer advice, I daresay I’ll be listening a little more closely.”

  Those blue eyes twinkled with mischief and he gave his jaw a thoughtful stroke. “No longer an ‘insufferable know-it-all with an exalted opinion of my wit’ then?”

  Sophia flushed, but lifted her chin. “That’s right. It would appear that you do know it all and I stand corrected.”

  “Well, I’d like it better if you’d stand in the house. Come on in,” he told her, opening the door. “My biscuits are going to burn.”

  “That would be a tragedy,” she replied drolly.

  He looked back at her over his shoulder and a smile that affected only one side of his mouth shaped his lips. “Tragedy is a bit dramatic, but it would definitely be unfortunate being as that’s what I’d promised you for breakfast.” His gaze caught and held hers. “Disappointing you would be the tragedy.”

  His low voice resonated with a combination of innuendo and sincerity and once again her body experienced another slow simmering burn. Sophia knew she had absolutely no business checking into Edward’s private affairs, but that hadn’t kept her from contacting a good friend who worked in the local doctor’s office. She’d asked her to check Edward’s charts and, while Sophia had waited with bated breath, she’d ultimately come back to the line with a good report. Everything seemed to be in good working order and he’d never been prescribed any sexual enhancement aids.

  She’d hung up the phone, let go a small shuddering breath, then raided her refrigerator until she’d soothed the nerves she’d wrecked by making the call in the first place.

  Edward’s kitchen was large and spacious with high ceilings, glass-fronted cabinets and antique reproduction appliances. A long trestle table served double duty as a work island and dozens of worn, gleaming pots and pans hung from an old door that had been fashioned with big hooks for easy storage.

  The scent of buttery biscuits filled the room and the table had been loaded down with all of her favorite foods, the very ones she’d made for herself the morning he’d shown up and joined her for breakfast.

  He saw her looking at the table and a flash of red color hit his cheeks. “I, uh... I just wanted to make sure that I had everything here that you liked.”

  Touched, Sophia struggled to find her voice. “Thanks, Edward. My mouth thanks you, but my hips are pissed.”

  He chuckled, the sound warm and intimate in the fragrant kitchen. “There’s nothing wrong with your hips. They’re perfect.” He turned around and tended to a pan of scrambled eggs on the stove. “I should know. I’ve been admiring them for months.”

  Sophia blinked. “For months?”

  He shot her another look over his shoulder. “I’ve been coming by your house for months, which is blocks out of the way from my own. What did you think I was doing?”

  “Walking for your health.”

  He harrumphed. “If I wanted to walk for my health, then I damned sure wouldn’t be strolling past your house. Seeing your rump sticking out of a flower bed does things to my old heart that could be downright dangerous at my age.”

  “Do you have a heart condition?” she asked, grateful for the sentiment but suddenly wary of possible...problems.

  “Not in the literal sense, no,” he told her, a telling sentiment hidden from her immediate understanding in the comment. “I’m healthy as a horse.”

  Sophia let go a relieved sigh. “That’s good.”

  “Thank you. I wasn’t aware that you were concerned.” He turned around once more, emptied the pan onto an awaiting plate. “At least, I hadn’t been until Janice Lowery told me that you’d asked about my general health. She’s a friend of mine as well.”

  Sophia’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and every ounce of blood she possessed raced to her face. Her heart tripped and emptying her stomach became a genuine fear. She’d kill her, Sophia decided. The minute she left here, she fully intended to run Janice to ground and rip every salt-and-pepper hair out of her head.

  He poked his tongue in his cheek and grinned. “Did I pass muster?”

  “You did,” Sophia told him tightly. “Right up until this moment.” She snatched her purse from the counter and hurried from the room. God, she was so embarrassed. Wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and die.

  “Sophia wait!” Edward called, hurrying after her. “Please wait. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just-- Ah, hell, I was flattered and I--”

  Sophia felt mortified tears burn the backs of her eyes and, muttering a string of dire curses, darted through the dining room. She’d almost reached the door when Edward caught up with her. He snagged her arm and turned her around.

  “Sophia, please,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just you’ve given me hell all spring and I--“ His voice turned into a tortured growl. “You make me crazy. Half the time I can’t make up my mind if I want to kiss you or throttle you. You’re prickly, but sweet, and you’re unlike any woman I’ve ever known...and I’ve wanted you for...forever.”

  Startled by the confession, Sophia glanced up. Edward tenderly cupped her cheek and before she could form a protest--or even prepare herself for that matter--his gaze dropped to her lips, and his mouth followed suit and she suddenly found herself being kissed. Her knees all but buckled and the tears that had been borne of mortification suddenly turned to tears of joy. She tore her mouth away from his. “Your biscuits will burn,” she warned breathlessly.

  He kissed her lids, then her nose, then the corner of her mouth. “To hell with the biscuits.”

  Sophia sagged against him, smiled against his lips and with a slow, desperate groan of surrender, she wrapped her arms around his neck and she simply gave herself up to the exquisite perfection of the moment.

  After all these years of being alone--and being with the wrong man--she’d earned it.

  CHAPTER 24

  Jake shifted tiredly in his seat, continued to watch Jolie roll a soft buttery yellow paint onto her living room walls. The smooth tunes of
Norah Jones wafted out her open windows weaving around his senses.

  Wearing a pair of frayed denim cut-offs and a white tank top, her hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, she looked like a poster girl for home improvement. Watching her stretch and reach, seeing her belly button play peek-a-boo every time she moved had turned into a sadistic form of torture for him.

  Hell, he should just go home, Jake thought, wearily rubbing a hand over his face. He’d left work this afternoon, had dropped by the barn long enough to feed and determine that tonight probably wasn’t going to be the night for Marzipan, then remembering Dean’s latest edict to “watch her every move,” he’d driven back and parked across the street from her house.

  She knew he was there, of course. She’d looked out the window, seen him sitting there, then when she figured out that he’d put her under surveillance, she’d smiled and twinkled her fingers at him.

  Smart-ass, Jake thought, feeling a faint grin tug at his lips. The best he could tell, other than working on her house and doing away with all the extra office furniture and equipment she didn’t need from Marshall, Inc. she’d done exactly what she’d told him she planned to do--move on. If it wasn’t for the lingering fear that haunted those pale green eyes, he’d buy into her whole unconcerned façade, but he knew better. She might be moving on...but that hadn’t kept her from having a healthy fear of going to jail.

  He’d checked back with the insurance companies who’d insured Chris and so far she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to meet with them and satisfy her claim. He’d followed her around town the past couple of days, had watched her load her car down with various domestic goods. He’d tailed her to Moore’s Furniture on the square, had pulled his truck up in front of the huge glass-paned windows and watched her select her furniture. At one point she’d held up a couple of pillows, pointed at each in turn and quirked a brow, soliciting his opinion.

  Typical Jolie, Jake thought. She wasn’t going to let him know that she was the least bit worried about who’d killed Chris or being pinned with his murder. Pretending to be confident in her innocence, she was moving blithely along seemingly without a care in the world, completely oblivious to the fact that her sweet little ass was on the line and that becoming someone’s bitch in prison could too easily become a reality if this case didn’t break soon.

  As he’d predicted, the D.A. had sought him out, had wanted to know all of the particulars on the case. Jake had filled him in, had made certain that he realized Jolie’s alibi was tight, despite the fact that everything else had been shaky, but true to form, he’d been skeptical. “If it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, it’s a damned duck,” he’d argued. Jake had held his ground, had presented a host of other suspects--each of which he’d culled as well, though he’d neglected to share that--and hoped that something significant happened soon. If it didn’t, he didn’t know what would happen.

  The case was getting cold, and frankly, no one seemed particularly interested in seeing Marshall’s killer brought to justice, himself included. Nevertheless, a crime had been committed and he was bound by the law to do everything in his power to see that the person responsible was punished to the fullest extent of that law.

  Rather than risk Jolie’s wrath, he’d covertly scoped out Fran and ruled her out as a suspect. She’d been at the Methodist Church Bazaar the night of the murder and dozens of people had confirmed her whereabouts. Dean had vouched for Emily, and the mayor’s daughter had been off with Tad Ralston, the county agent who’d been trying to solve the mayor’s skunk problems. To no avail, Jake thought, grimacing as he remembered the stench. His eyes had watered while he’d waited at the door. Jesus, he didn’t know how they stood it. It was awful.

  As for working the money angle, Jolie had done such a good job of covering up for most of Chris’s antics that the majority of the investors hadn’t realized until she’d paid them back in full that Chris had been screwing them. That had derailed that potential train of thought.

  Aside from a single green thread and a few fibers which, were consistent with the other hand towel, which had been left in the bathroom, Marshall’s dick had been a dead end as well. He and Mike had canvassed the square, had talked to practically every resident in Bless Her Heart and none of them had seen a thing.

  Either the person he was looking for was damned good, or Bless Her Heart residents were the most unobservant people on the planet. In fact, most people had been more interested in knowing what sort of adhesive had been used to glue the dick to the friggin’ statue. Had to have been good glue, Otis Harper had remarked thoughtfully. He’d like to have some of--

  Jake started as a knock sounded at his driver’s side window. He looked up to see Jolie’s smiling paint-smeared face and swore. Feeling his cheeks flame with embarrassment, he lowered the window.

  “You might want to take another course on stealth tactics, Detective,” she remarked, her voice laden with droll humor.

  “I was thinking.”

  “I noticed. It looked painful.”

  “It is painful,” Jake told her, shifting uncomfortably. “My ass is numb.”

  Jolie held up a wet paintbrush and cocked her head. “I have a cure. If you’re going to have to watch me, the least you could do is help.”

  Jake smiled at her, shook his head. “Not dressed for it. I could ruin my shirt.” As if that would be such a loss. Like he didn’t have a dozen more white shirts. What the hell. It kept laundry simple.

  To his slack-jawed astonishment, Jolie reached through the window and painted his sleeve. “Oh, darn,” she deadpanned, eyes wide in mock innocence. “There goes that excuse.”

  A stunned chuckle bubbled up his throat. “You’re evil, you know that?”

  “I prefer resourceful.” Eyes twinkling with devilish humor, she jerked her head toward the house. “Come in and help me, you big jerk,” she admonished. “You’ve been sitting out here watching me for hours. What sort of man are you, anyway?”

  Jake followed her, let his gaze drop to her rump and felt an arrow of heat land in his groin. “The kind who hates to paint.”

  “Oh, you won’t feel that way once you’re high from the fumes.”

  Jake sighed. “So long as there’s something to look forward to.”

  “You mean the pleasure of my company isn’t enough?” she teased.

  Just watching her had been enough, Jake thought, accepting a roller from her. “I’m still mad at you.”

  He heard a long protracted sigh. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry that I’m mad or sorry that you’re hiding something from me?”

  “Both.”

  Jake methodically rolled paint onto the wall, admired the color. “You could remedy that easily enough by telling me what I need to know.”

  “That’s just it,” she said, a hint of frustration entering that cool, lyrical voice. “You don’t need to know. It won’t help you, won’t do anything for the investigation...but it could hurt a lot of innocent people and I--“ She stopped short, dashed a stray strand of hair off her cheek. “I can’t be responsible for that.”

  “Just because you don’t think that it’s relevant to the investigation doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t.”

  “Believe me, Jake. It’s not.”

  He paused and shot her a look, traced the familiar slope of her cheek, the delicate arch of her brow and felt a landslide of emotion and heat sweep through him. “If you hadn’t hidden everything else, Jo, I might could.”

  She looked away, silently acknowledging the truth of that statement and growled low in her throat. “I know that I should have told you about the accounts and whatnot, but I just didn’t want to deal with the unpleasantness of it all.”

  His lips curled. “Translation: you didn’t want to hear a lecture.”

  She turned around, darted a look at him and the corner of her mouth tucked into a grin. “That’s probably an accurate assessment. But I was just tired of it, dammit. I told you from the get-go that I planned to move on, that I w
asn’t wasting another minute of my life. Is that so hard to understand?”

  “I do understand,” Jake told her. “I just wish you’d confided in me.”

  “We all make mistakes,” she said, subtlety reminding him of his. She gestured toward a ladder. “Would you mind helping me move this?”

  Jake nodded, grabbed one end and helped her position it where she wanted. For a while they worked without the noise of conversation, merely listened to Norah’s smooth voice sing Come Away With Me and other poignant ballads which undoubtedly made them both think about what they’d lost, what they’d missed. Jolie worked on cutting in the trim, occasionally asking for his assistance with the ladder.

  When she’d finally finished the last corner, she paused and inspected her handiwork. “You think it’s going to need a second coat?”

  Without a doubt, Jake thought. He shook his head. “No.”

  She grinned and he felt that smile land in his heart, then settle behind his zipper. God, she was gorgeous. Simply breathtaking.

  “Yes, it does,” she said with wry exasperation. “But I’m willing to feed you first. How about I call and order a pizza?”

  He wasn’t hungry, but any reason to avoid painting appealed to him, so he nodded. “Pizza sounds good.”

  Her shrewd gaze narrowed and her smile widened. “You’re not even hungry are you?”

  “Oh, yes I am. I’m starving.” He eagerly set his paint roller aside, affected a frown. “In fact, I’m faint from hunger. I don’t think I can work anymore until I’ve had something to eat.”