My Special Angel

by Marcia Evanick

  Reece’s voice sounded like someone was strangling him. “Tennie!”

  She raised one eyebrow. “You still haven’t explained what you were doing spying on me.”

  Exasperated, he ran a hand through his hair. “I checked the connecting door to see if it was locked. It wasn’t.”

  “So why didn’t you lock it?”

  “I tried, but the lock must be broken. I knocked, and when no one answered I opened the door. Not knowing what an immaculate housekeeper you are, I naturally thought the room had been ransacked. Before I could make up my mind what to do I heard your key in the door and turned out my lights to see if the thugs were coming back.”

  Tennie stood up and walked over to the wall unit containing the thermostat. She put it on high. “You must have made one hell of a Boy Scout, Reece.”

  Reece gazed at her luscious bottom and tried desperately not to think of French-cut undies. He failed miserably. “I’ll call down to the front desk and have them send someone up to fix the lock.”

  “It’s after midnight.” She rubbed her hands together. “It can wait until morning.” Having an unlocked door as the only barrier between Reece and herself didn’t upset her. She knew more about Reece and his mother than probably Uncle Utah did. When Uncle Utah announced he met and married Celeste Carpenter, Tennie had pulled in a couple of favors and had a complete dossier on both Celeste and Reece on her desk within days. The reading had been as interesting as traffic signs on a one-way street. Both Reece and his mother could have qualified as Supreme Court justices. Not one ounce of dirt, mud, or scandal could be found anywhere.

  Reece watched her hands generate warmth and thought about her frozen bottom. He jammed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “Did you happen to hear any of the autopsy report?” He knew for a fact she hadn’t been paying attention when the report was given. He had heard bits and pieces, but he, too, had been distracted.

  “I’ll have a copy of the actual report in my hands before breakfast.”

  “How?”

  “Jake the Fake.” She pulled out the remaining clothes in the enormous suitcase and tossed them on top of the bureau. With a triumphant smile she snatched up a lumpy gray sweat suit and headed for the bathroom.

  “Who’s Jake the Fake?”

  “The young cop with the overactive hormones.” She paused at the bathroom door. “If you want to continue discussing what I found out tonight, you will have to wait until I put on something warm.” She just about closed the door, leaving an inch of space to talk through. “Gee, if I would have known it was going to be this cold, I would have packed my long johns.”

  Reece glared at the closed door. “What do you mean by overactive hormones?”

  Tennie chuckled. “You sound like a protective big brother.”

  “I’m not your brother, Montana is. By the way where is he? I haven’t seen him yet.”

  “I’m not sure if he’s going to make it this year. Sue Ellen just delivered another baby boy three weeks ago. I guess it will all depend on how she and little Galveston are doing.”

  Reece tried to disregard the enticing rustle of silk behind the closed door. “Why’s Montana breaking the Montgomery tradition of naming kids after states? Aren’t all his boys named after cities in Texas?”

  “Yep.” Tennie’s voice was muffled for a moment. Reece envisioned the sweatshirt being yanked over her head. “There’s Austin, Dallas, Houston, and now little Galveston. Montana and Sue Ellen wanted to start their own tradition, and besides all the good states were taken. Montana always swore no child of his would go through life with the name of New Hampshire.”

  Reece chuckled. “He has a point there.” He waited for the sound of running water to stop before asking, “Are you going to name your kids after states?”

  Tennie opened up the door and tossed the silky dress over the back of a chair. “Haven’t even thought about it.” She was wearing a stretched-out, faded, entirely comfortable, warm gray sweat suit. She had scrubbed the makeup off her face and brushed out the fancy hairstyle that had taken her forty minutes to perfect. She felt more in control. More like her true self again.

  “You never thought about what you would name your kids?”

  “Nope, I haven’t even thought about having them.” She sorted through a pile of lingerie and pulled out a pair of thick teal-colored socks. She sat in the chair and put them on.

  “Why not?” It had been his experience that any woman approaching thirty was at least asking herself about settling down and starting a family.

  “First off I’d make a lousy single parent. My cats would starve to death if they didn’t remind me to feed them once a day. Second—”

  “I didn’t know you had cats.”

  “Dick and Peter have me, I don’t have them.”

  “Dick and Peter?” Reece couldn’t prevent the lewd grin that spread across his face.

  “Dick Tracy and Peter Gunn are their full names, so get your mind out of the gutter.”

  He tried to force the grin into a pleasant smile. “What’s your second reason?”

  “Mr. Right would have to be downright insane to marry me. There’s one thing I do worse than keeping house.”

  Reece glanced around the room in horror. She was worse at something else? “What’s that?”

  “Cooking. If it doesn’t come in its own cardboard box with microwave instructions printed on the back, it doesn’t get bought.”

  He shuddered at the thought of eating dinner out of a cardboard box. “You may have a point there.”

  Tennie wiggled her toes. The feeling was coming back into them. “I don’t think tracking down stolen jewelry, coming up with a motive for using some guy’s head for target practice, or following a sleazeball of a husband while he cheats on his wife are the kind of qualities most men look for in a wife. Right?”

  “I guess not. Most men don’t consider knowing thirty-six untraceable poisons as a bonus in the marriage market.”

  Tennie grinned. She knew of at least thirty-eight. “Why haven’t you tied the big knot yet?” She didn’t like all the focus directed her way and besides that, she was curious. Reece was handsome, had a body that was built for pleasure, owned his own business, and was intelligent enough to guarantee there would be conversation over the breakfast table for the next fifty years. So why hadn’t he married and produced the grandkids that Celeste and Uncle Utah had been clamoring for?

  Reece looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I guess for the same reasons you haven’t.”

  Tennie arched one brow. “You’re a slob too?”

  “No.” He watched as that one brow shot higher. “What I mean is, I don’t mind picking up after myself and cooking can be a great tension reducer.” He started gently to push the scattered items spread out across the floor into a pile with the toe of his boot. “I was referring to the work we do. Most women find it exciting at first, but then the long hours, the trips out of town, and constant danger begin to wear the relation-ship pretty thin.”

  “Yeah, most murderers I’ve met don’t want to be caught. And being stood up for dinner because of some hot lead just doesn’t cut it too often.”

  Reece nodded. “Do tell. I once had a date jam the bouquet of roses I brought as an apology into her garbage disposal and then proceeded to hurl the thorny stems at my head.”

  Tennie grinned at the picture of him dodging flying stems. “That was rude of her.”

  “It was the third time in a row I stood her up. I guess understanding only goes so far.”

  “I guess so. It looks like we’re both destined to be single unless some crazy or saintly person comes along.” She pulled her legs up onto the chair and rested her chin on top of her knees. “You have my sincerest sympathy, Reece.”

  “Why?”

  “At least I have Montana and Sue Ellen producing all those darling grandchildren for my parents. It keeps the heat off my back. But you’re an only child.”

  “It’s funny but my mom never wor
ried about me being single until she met and married Utah. Now that she’s experiencing marital bliss she has been hinting to me about settling down and giving her a grandchild to spoil.”

  A devilish smile lit Tennie’s face. “I bet Utah hasn’t been that meek in his opinion.”

  A fiery flush swept Reece’s face. “When have you known Utah to be meek?”

  Tennie laughed. “Let me guess. He said something along these lines.” Her voice dropped to an amazing likeness of Utah’s deep drawl. “If my Celeste wants a grandchild, by hell, son, you should give her one. Go out and find yourself some sweet young thing and wed her and bed her, and not particularly in that order.” Tennie imitated Utah’s booming laughter. “I missed having a child of my own, but the thought of grandchildren running all over the house can bring a tear to this old man’s eye, son.”

  Reece applauded. “Remarkable, Tennie. Are you sure you weren’t there when that speech was given? You had it nearly perfect.”

  “Only nearly perfect?” She frowned. Uncle Utah had been one of her favorites to imitate since she was ten. “What did I miss?”

  “You missed the part where he offered to adopt me so the grandchild would bear the Montgomery name.”

  Tennie slowly shook her head and chuckled. “I should have seen that one coming.” She gazed at Reece. “I hope you told him to stuff it.”

  “Those weren’t my exact words.” Reece grinned. “But he got my message loud and clear.”

  “Good. If you don’t stand up to Uncle Utah, he’ll walk all over you.”

  “I noticed that trait in him—and the rest of the Montgomery clan.”

  Her delicately arched brow shot back up. “Really?”

  Reece’s grin couldn’t have gotten any larger. “Really.”

  Tennie huffed, but lowered her brow. The man was absolutely correct. Montgomerys tended to be a pushy lot. Piqued at his observation she sweetly asked, “So what did you find out about the murder?”

  Reece conceded defeat for the moment and allowed the grin to disappear. “Not much more than what Aunt Maine told me on the phone. A guy named Tailpipe met the underside of a pickup truck and lost. The locals are blaming your uncle Colorado because presumably he was fooling around with Tailpipe’s wife, Emma Sue.”

  “You don’t think it was a faulty hydraulic lift?”

  “Nope.” Reece stepped over the pile of junk on the floor and paced back to the window. “Your family wouldn’t have pulled this reunion with such a shoddy ending. The lift had to be tampered with.” His fingers played with the drapes as he stared off into the night. “The first place we need to go is the garage.”

  “Being the scene of the murder, it’s roped off to the general public.”

  Reece glanced over his shoulder and frowned. “Damn.”

  Tennie smiled sweetly. “We have permission to examine the site at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. I had to promise that we wouldn’t fiddle with the lift, though. A specialist from the manufacturer will be here tomorrow afternoon and will be issuing a report on his findings.”

  “Another actor?”

  “Of course. If there wasn’t a real murder, how could the lift fail?”

  “I really wish that one year your family would hold its reunion at the scene of a real murder so we wouldn’t have to figure out who were actors and who were real players.”

  “Don’t you think that would be depressing?” Tennie sadly shook her head. “How can we have a great time if someone really dies?”

  Reece thought about having the entire Montgomery family at the scene of a real murder and shuddered. The Montgomerys invented the word competitiveness. Now the reunions were sort of laid back with everyone having a good time, visiting, sightseeing, and polishing up on their detective skills. The only one besides himself who relished the win was Tennie. She was born and bred a Montgomery. It seemed to irk her no end to see a Carpenter solve the mystery. “You have a point there.” A frown pulled at his mouth. “How did we end up with permission to visit the scene?”

  “Jake the Fake.”

  “Ah, yes. Good old Jake the Fake.” The frown deepened. “Care to elaborate on how you know he’s a fake, and why he’s granting us permission to visit the scene of the crime?”

  “It didn’t take a genius to figure out he’s a fake. The man doesn’t know his penal code. Actors playing the more complicated roles are easier to detect. It’s the ones playing ordinary people feeding you a bunch of false clues that are harder to recognize.”

  “So how come he invited us to visit the garage?”

  “I hinted that I’d be in town around ten tomorrow morning.”

  “And?”

  “That I would love to see the inside of the garage.”

  “And?”

  Her smile slipped a notch. “Did I mention his overactive hormones?”

  Reece thrust a hand through his hair. “Does Jake the Fake know I’ll be with you?”

  “I seemed to have forgotten that piece of information.”

  “Great. You seduced a cop.”

  “He’s not a cop and I didn’t seduce him.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Asking nicely. He’s an actor paid to play a certain part. As far as I know he’s being paid to distract me.”

  Reece glanced at her in disbelief. She was curled up in the chair like a little girl all warm and cuddly in her oversize sweat suit. Her face was bare of any makeup and not one flash of jewelry distracted from her beauty. Her long golden hair was haphazardly pulled back and tied with a white silky ribbon. Hazel eyes gleamed with intelligence, mystery, and a touch of vulnerability. Tennessee was the most vibrant woman he had ever encountered. The thought of paying someone to woo her was preposterous. She didn’t realize her own appeal and that was what made her so dangerous. Any man who backed off because of the career she had chosen was a fool. Reece pulled his mind off such an alarming path. “What do you think he’ll do when I show up with you?”

  . . .

  Want more? Purchase Playing for Keeps and Marcia’s other ebooks at www.MarciaEvanick.com

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