by Lyn Stone
“‘Never saw a purple cow. Never hope to see one. But I can tell you anyhow, I’d rather see than be one,’” he recited.
“‘Reflections of a Mythic Beast,’ Burgess wrote it,” she replied automatically.
He shook his head, laughed and tapped her nose playfully with his index finger. “Now how the hell did you know that?”
Robin shrugged. “Read it somewhere. Things stick. So what do purple cows have to do with getting to sleep?”
“Nothin’ at all, smarty-pants. I just wanted an excuse to say good-night again.”
She sighed, looked at the glass of milk she was holding and raised her gaze to his. “Good night, Mitch,” she whispered.
A silence fraught with that delicious tension grew. Finally he moved back a step. “Sleep tight.”
Robin slowly closed the door, leaned against it and shut her eyes, holding fast to her last glimpse of him in spite of knowing better. Her breath shuddered out.
She was going to have to fight this after all. And it was going to take a lot more energy than she needed to spend. She wished she could enlist his help, but that would mean she’d have to admit her foolishness. And tell him she recognized his.
Chapter 6
The day dawned cool, gray and held the promise of rain. “Mornin’. I’m a little short on groceries,” Mitch said when she appeared in the kitchen fully dressed, hair perfect, apparently ready to face the day. Except for her bare feet. “Tell you what. We’ll stop somewhere for breakfast, then swing by my parents’ house this morning. Susan has a computer, so we can check out the disk. She can loan you some shoes. Clothes, too.”
He handed her a cup of coffee. Black, as he figured she would like it.
“Susan?” she asked, sounding disgruntled. “Who is Susan?”
“My sister. She’s about your size.”
“I’m not wearing anyone else’s clothing and shoes and that’s all there is to it! I never have and do not intend to start now!”
“Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me you and your girlfriends didn’t used to swap clothes. Jeez, seems like there was always a house full of giggling wanna-be fashion plates around when I was growing up. Sue was the world’s worst for borrowing things. She does have a lot of clothes and shoes, even now, and would be happy to share.”
Robin merely looked at him as if he was making it all up. “No,” she said simply with a look that shut him up.
He considered her predicament while she drank her coffee. She was dressed in what she’d worn all day yesterday and the evening before. Her suit was a mass of wrinkles, but the rest of her looked like a million bucks. Not a hair out of place. “Okay. I guess we’ll have to buy you some.”
She looked almost as horrified by the idea of shopping with him. He wouldn’t want to disappoint her. He knew just the strip mall with a jam-up dollar store.
“Come on. Let’s shop!” Then he smiled. “Bet you never thought you’d hear a guy throwin’ around that kind of invitation, did you?”
With her nose in the air, she slung her purse strap over her shoulder, marched right past him and exited the apartment with all the polish of a runway model. Which made perfect sense, he reminded himself, as he followed her downstairs.
Even the color on her toenails matched her getup. No doubt about it, the girl had class to spare.
She also had a dead husband, and might even be involved up to her gorgeous neck in whatever had gotten Andrews killed. He didn’t think so, but he could be wrong. Beauty, class, murder and intrigue. A detective’s dream, that’s what she was. Mitch admitted he was fascinated with her and couldn’t help it. Not that he could afford to do anything about that, other than own up to it and make sure she didn’t find out.
When she reached the front door, she stopped so abruptly he almost stumbled against her. “What’s the matter?”
She peered through the etched glass sidelights that framed the door. “Do you think we’ll be followed?” Her voice was nearly a whisper.
“It’s possible, but I’ll know it if we are and I’ll deal with it,” he said with conviction. “I’m pretty sure now that whoever killed Andrews was looking for that disk and still is. However, your visitor yesterday gave up way too easily to have been one of those guys from the diner, though, don’t you think? It could have been a neighbor, a deliveryman, just about anybody.”
She let out a breath and her shoulders sagged a little. “I hope you’re right. But they could be out there now, waiting.”
“Would you rather stay here? I could call Susan, have her bring the computer over. We don’t have to go out.” Maybe that would be best, anyway. She looked sort of shaky.
Her shoulders straightened and she took one last look out the sidelight. “No, let’s do it. Let’s go.”
“Atta girl!” Mitch said, giving her a gentle pat on the back.
She immediately arched to escape his touch, then glanced over her shoulder with a wary expression. Well, he should have known better. She had let him hold her hand, brush the hair off her face and guide her through doorways with his hand at her back before. But that was when she had really been terrified and probably in shock. It didn’t count.
Obviously, Robin Andrews was not much of a toucher and liked her space uninvaded, thank you very much. Someone must have made her overly cautious and suspicious at some time in her life. Understandable. She said she’d once been a model like it was a dirty word. Now she chose to work in isolation, on a computer, designing Web pages.
He’d bet money she never even met her clients in person. Her choice of occupation told him something about her right there. She’d pretty much given up on the human race. The male half, anyway. Well, after her friend-slash-husband screwed around on her while they were married, what could you expect? Her mother didn’t sound all that terrific, either, kicking her out when she stopped making the money.
Robin badly needed to get her mind off her troubles for a while. Maybe he could give her a few more hours to rest and regroup before they got down to brass tacks.
He led the way out to his old Bronco and opened the door for her. At least she allowed him to do that. He slammed it shut and went around to the driver’s side and got in.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“A little.” She flashed him a tentative smile, almost like an apology. That touched him. Maybe she didn’t really like being the ice princess, but just couldn’t help being how she was.
“Judging by the way you ate last night, you’re a fruit and yogurt girl, I bet,” he said, wrinkling his nose.
She laughed timidly. “That would be good.”
“No,” he said with a laugh, “that wouldn’t be good. That would be healthy. Grits would be good.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“You never had grits? For real? Hey, unless you’re passing right on through Dixie without stopping, you have got to eat grits. It’s the law, and I am a cop!”
“All right, all right,” she said, giving in to the laugh she’d been suppressing. “I’ll try it. But I want something else to eat in case I don’t like it.”
“Them,” he instructed automatically as he backed out of the driveway. “Grits are plural. You try them.”
She cast him a doubtful look. “We don’t even speak the same language, do we?”
He tossed her a grin. “I’ll teach you. It’s almost as easy as Greek.”
They stopped at the little mall with the clothing and discount shoe store he’d been thinking about. Mitch had figured she’d be in and out of there in a flash, but he was wrong. She took so much time choosing her shoes, she might as well have been in Sak’s and paying a fortune for them.
He watched, antsy as any guy would be while waiting around in a women’s clothing store, as she selected several pullover shirts, three pairs of pants and a stack of what Grandma Dolly called unmentionables.
In Robin’s case, these last items were skimpy little scraps of lace that Grandma would have blushed to look at. Mental images of Robin w
earing what she was buying had him shifting uncomfortably as he stood waiting for her to pay.
She took it as impatience. “Sorry, I’d forgotten how much fun shopping is,” she admitted as she plunked down her Visa card. “I do most of my buying online these days.”
Well, that explained everything. Mitch experienced a little pang of pity for her. What in the world could make a woman give up shopping? The females in his family lived for it. Their daily Wal-Mart expeditions were a social experience.
Lord, this was worse than he’d thought.
He got no complaints when he took her to Brown’s Restaurant, a buffet place near his parents’ house.
The first thing she did was hit the ladies’ room and change her clothes. When she emerged wearing the inexpensive yellow pullover and long skinny jeans that looked as if she’d been poured in them, she still looked like a million bucks. Yep, Robin Andrews wore clothes well. Even discount stuff looked pricey when she put it on. He wished he could stop thinking about those little lacy numbers she’d picked out to go under the rest.
“Hey, look at you!” he said as she rejoined him at the table. “Feel better?”
Her smile was pure delight. “I do. But I’m starving!”
At the buffet she piled a plate high with fruit, cottage cheese and dry toast. So much for his idea that women like her ate light.
He watched as she wolfed down a sizable breakfast in half the time it took him to eat his.
Then she polished off her juice and a cup of black coffee. “I never eat this much,” she explained as if she’d done something wrong, “but I was so hungry.”
He smiled and motioned the waitress to refill their cups.
“I suppose it’s show time,” she said, and picked up her spoon. With a determined look on her face, she drove it directly toward his plate, scooped up a spoonful and stuffed it in her mouth.
Mitch watched with great interest as she chewed, her expression changing with every movement of her jaw. Finally she swallowed, took another sip of coffee and sighed with pleasure. “It…rather, they aren’t that bad, actually. Taste very like potatoes.”
Mitch deadpanned. “That’s because they are.”
No grits, no shopping in stores and not even any hash browns in her life? Did the poor girl live in a New York cave?
Robin had to admit she liked Mitch Winton. His Southern drawl wound around her senses and made her want to relax and forget the real reason she was stuck in Nashville. The accent had irritated her at first, but then she had been upset, not herself and scared of what he might do.
Also, the mixed signals he sent had confused her. Great concern for her comfort did not compute with obvious suspicion. Now, of course, she realized he was concerned out of a natural courtesy. And he’d explained why he had to consider her a suspect. Mitch was up-front about it all, she had to give him that.
His teasing her was just a thing he did naturally, without any thought at all, she suspected. It wasn’t even flirting. If he had planned to hit on her, he would have done it already.
Mitch was different from any man she had ever known, thank God. That alone was reason enough to like him.
“…so Susie spent a whole hour in the corner while Mama recovered from the frog in the lunch box. I was the angel of the family.”
“Why do I doubt that?” Robin asked, laughing at his family anecdote. “You put the frog there, didn’t you?”
“Me? Now that’s a sexist assumption if I ever heard one. Susie handled her own frogs. It was worms she couldn’t stand. But that’s a whole other story.”
She appreciated what he was doing, trying to get her to lighten up. It had worked, too. Robin hadn’t looked behind them for a car following or worried about anything else for a good five minutes or so. The cadence of his voice and the flash of humor in his eyes when he glanced over at her put her more at ease than she had been with a man since James left New York.
Mitch pulled the Bronco into the double driveway of a modest ranch-style house set on the corner of a street in what must have been one of the older suburbs of the city. Robin tensed.
“Here we go. You’re about to meet the infamous Winton crew. They’re loud but fairly harmless. Looks like they’re not all here, anyway.”
At the thought of meeting them, Robin’s composure took an immediate nosedive. She wasn’t good with people. On the phone she was okay, but in person she usually just faked a haughtiness that had served her well on the runway and at parties she’d had to attend years ago. It put off conversation and kept everyone at a distance. Not since her separation from James had she been forced to socialize with a group of people, and even then he hadn’t required much of that. At least he had understood that flaw of hers.
She figured she ought to explain. “Mitch, I should wait in the car. I’m not very good at—”
“Shy, huh? Don’t worry, they won’t let you be,” he said, smiling. “Just slap on a grin and nod. They’ll be your best friends. Trust me.”
That again. Robin sighed as she got out and followed Mitch to the door. Instead of knocking, he opened it and walked right in. Robin hung back, appalled by the act. She had never in her entire life violated anyone’s privacy by entering their home uninvited.
“Hey, where is everybody?” Mitch shouted as he barged right through the small foyer into a comfortably furnished living room. “I brought company!”
A short, gray-haired woman appeared wearing jeans and an orange sweatshirt with a University of Tennessee logo on the front. She held a rubber spatula in one hand. “Hey, baby,” she said, hugging Mitch and tiptoeing to kiss his cheek. “Daddy’s gone to the store. You just missed him. Y’all come on back to the kitchen. I’m right in the middle of a cake.” She smiled sweetly at Robin. “Hi, honey.”
“Mama, this is Robin Andrews. Robin, my mother, Patricia Winton.”
“Mrs. Winton,” Robin acknowledged, immediately attempting to compare the smiling stranger to her own mother. There were no comparisons. Not in looks, not in expression, not in congeniality. At a total loss, Robin said nothing further.
“Oh, call me Pat,” the woman said, waving the spatula in Robin’s direction as she led the way through the dining room. “All Mitch’s friends do.” She nodded toward the stools surrounding a large kitchen island. “Have a seat. I’ll be through here in a minute and make us some coffee.”
“I’ll do it,” Mitch offered, heading for the coffeemaker. “How’re the kids doing?”
“Fine. Mack made the football team. Finally.”
“Good for him. Lily’s grades up any?”
“Not so’s you’d notice,” she said with a grimace.
Kids? How many were in this family? Robin wondered. And whose kids were they?
His mother continued. “Paula needs a good talking to, Mitch. Boy crazy.” One eyebrow raised as her lips quirked to one side. She shared a knowing look with her son.
“Sic Susie on her. That’ll straighten her out.” He swiped a long finger along the edge of the bowl his mother was stirring as he passed by and licked the batter off his finger. “Mmm, pineapple pound cake. My favorite.”
Pat Winton laughed and shot Robin a sly look. “They’re all his favorites. He’s a cake freak. You cook?”
“Mama, don’t interrogate her. That’s my job,” he snapped with mock anger, then looked over his shoulder at Robin. “So, you cook?”
Robin gave a nervous little laugh, totally unused to this sort of byplay, though she did recognize it as such, and answered hesitantly. “Yes, but never cakes.”
“Then you don’t cook,” he declared. “I live for cake.”
“Ignore him,” his mother said as she poured the batter into a tube pan and bounced the thing three times on the counter. “Settles out the bubbles,” she explained when Robin startled at the racket.
“Well, well, who have we here?” said someone from the doorway.
Robin turned at the question and prepared to greet another unfamiliar face. This woman was almost
as tall as Robin and about twenty pounds heavier. She had a long brown braid hanging over one shoulder and a remarkable resemblance to Mitch. They might have been twins. Same coloring, same smile and apparently the same disposition.
“Hi, I’m Susan,” the newcomer said, confirming Robin’s guess. “You’re the girlfriend? Mitch, warn us, will you? I would have dressed up!” She glanced down at her scruffy jeans and faded T-shirt.
Robin felt her face heat with a blush. “But…but I’m not his—”
Mitch interrupted. “This is Robin Andrews, Sue.” He wasn’t smiling now. “We’re investigating the death of Robin’s husband night before last.”
Susan’s smile immediately faded to a frown of compassion. She made directly for Robin and enfolded her in a firm hug. “Oh, you poor thing! I am so sorry for your loss. I know that’s what the cops say all the time and it sounds so cold. But I mean it, I really do.”
Robin tried very hard not to jerk away. The woman was trying to comfort her and seemed so sincere. “It…it’s okay. Thanks. My husband and I were separated.” That sounded so uncaring Robin winced. “But we were still friends,” she added. “So thank you. I appreciate it.”
Mitch’s mother had come around the island and was laying a hand on her back, adding her pats to Susan’s and making a sound of sympathy.
“Robin found him,” Mitch said, as if to fuel the fire of their compassion.
“How awful for you!” Mrs. Winton exclaimed. “You sit right down here, honey,” she ordered, backing Robin onto one of the stools. “Mitch, you ought to have told me. What do you mean coming in here and cracking jokes about cakes after all she’s been through? You know better than that!”
“She’s fine now,” Mitch said, rescuing Robin from their clutches and putting himself between them and her. “Robin’s over the shock. She’s even going to help me find out who did it. Sue, we need to borrow your computer and look at a CD.”
“You insensitive clod! Men. I swear, they all need to be shot,” Susan declared with a huff of disgust.
Robin immediately forgave Susan’s unwitting faux pas. She obviously referred to the entire male gender and not poor James.