by Ann Charles
If this was another one of his sexual harassment jokes, he needed to work on his delivery. “I don’t get it.”
He leaned down into my face. “Your Bronco is on fire in the parking lot. Call 911, now!”
Chapter Eighteen
My Bronco’s violent death burned my eyes. Literally.
Ravenous flames overtook the old beast, crackling and popping as they shot out of the shattered windows and swarmed across the hood and roof, eating everything within reach. Dark smoke billowed, luring an audience of leather-clad mourners.
My eyes watered from smoke and heat and a few pity-party tears. I covered my mouth with my hand, hiding ragged breaths that hurt with each draw and tasted bitter in my throat. The smell of flame-broiled rubber and paint and everything in between nearly gagged me.
Somebody pulled me out of the way when the firemen arrived. Someone else handed me a white handkerchief, which I clutched as if my life depended on it. I couldn’t look away as bright electrical flashes sparked and sizzled inside the remains of the cab.
Within minutes, it was all over, my Bronco nothing but a dripping, blackened mangle of metal and melted plastic. With faded memories of car seats and spilled Cheerios heavy in my thoughts, I zombie-walked toward it only to be stopped by a fireman covered from head to toe in protective gear.
“Stay back, ma’am.” His mask filtered his voice. “It’s still too hot.”
I blinked up at him. “My son’s library books are in there.”
He looked over my shoulder. “Captain!” he shouted. “A little help here.”
“I got her,” said a familiar voice, shaking me out of my daze. Detective Cooper grabbed me by the elbow and towed me under the shade of the pine trees lining the edge of the lot. “Sit,” he ordered, and pointed at a stump.
“This skirt is silk.” When he continued to frown at me, I added, “I don’t want to get it dirty.”
“Jesus, woman.” He grabbed the twisted handkerchief from my hands and spread it on the stump. “There. Sit.”
I obeyed, staring at the charbroiled hulk again.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I answered without looking at him. A decade ago, I’d traded in my Mustang to buy the Bronco when I’d found out I was pregnant with twins, knowing I’d need a bigger vehicle.
“You sure?”
“Uh, huh.”
“Violet, look at me,” Cooper said, squatting next to me.
I shot him a glance, but kept most of my focus on the firemen spraying down the dash.
“Violet.”
One of the firemen pried open the hood with a crowbar. “Hmmm?”
A hard pinch on the back of my arm made me screech. “Ouch!” I whirled on Cooper. “What did you do that for?”
“To get your attention.”
I rubbed the back of my arm where the pain still twanged. “Did Harvey teach you that trick?”
Cooper grinned, a sight so rare I stared out of astonishment. “That, and a few more gems.” His gray eyes searched my face for a couple of breaths. “Are you going to be okay?”
I nodded. “I’ll probably bruise, though.”
“I’m talking about your Bronco, not the pinch.”
“So am I.”
“Right.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Come on.”
I squinted at his open palm. “Where are we going?”
“To the station.”
“Am I under arrest?”
His grin widened. “Maybe.”
“For what?”
“Withholding information.”
“You can arrest me for that?”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s not the response I expected.”
Oops. I pinched my lips tight and curled them inside my mouth.
“What information are you withholding, Miss Parker?”
I looked anywhere but at those piercing gray eyes. “Ahh, nothing—I mean, none.”
“Has anyone ever told you that your nose twitches when you lie?”
I held my hand to my guilty appendage. “Do I really have to go with you?”
“Now that I know your ‘tell,’ you definitely do.”
My eyes met his above my hand. “For how long?”
His lips twitched at the corners. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“How much you know.” He grabbed my wrist and tugged me to my feet. “Come with me.”
It was a command, one I could tell he was used to people obeying, so I followed on his heels. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re as stubborn as your uncle?”
“Yep. My mother. Every damned day.”
As we passed the fire truck, its lengths of hose being rolled up, someone called out, “Hey, Detective!”
Cooper paused as a salt-and-pepper-haired Sam Elliot lookalike—moustache and all—dressed in yellow firemen’s pants and a dark blue T-shirt waltzed up to us. “What do you need, Reid?” Cooper asked.
I had a notion that I’d seen Reid and his blue-blue eyes somewhere before, besides looking magnified and handsome on the silver screen, but I couldn’t remember where.
“What time’s the game tonight?” Reid asked Cooper, smiling down at me, coaxing a return smile from my own lips.
“Eight, at my place. And if you’re late again, you’ll be thrown in county lockup. The Sheriff is in town tonight.”
Game night at Cooper’s? Maybe that was why he put me off on prettying it up for potential buyers until next week.
“Yeah, yeah. The Sheriff doesn’t scare me. He’s a lousy shuffler and can’t bluff worth a damn.” He waved Cooper off, still charming me with his friendly eyes. “So, Miss Parker, we meet again.”
Dang it, where had I seen this guy before? And how did he know my name?
He lifted one dark eyebrow. “What is this, your second fire within a month?”
There it was. I’d seen him at Wolfgang’s house. While the paramedics were working on me, he’d asked me about how the fire started. “Yes, but I didn’t start this one.”
He laughed. It was that deep-timbre-filled kind of laugh that made heads turn. “I’ll be sure to note that in my report. Your insurance agent will be curious.”
“Right. Insurance.” Not that his report would do me any good. I had only liability insurance on the Bronco. Financially, I’d just gone from “dire straits” to “beyond fucked.”
“How’s your aunt doing?”
Aunt Zoe? A bell dinged in my brain. Of course! Aunt Zoe and Reid. The cupid in me flapped her wings like a hummingbird. He was perfect for her. No wedding ring on his finger, not even a tan line. “She’s great. Still single.”
Both dark eyebrows raised. “I thought she was seeing some doctor down by Hill City.”
“A veterinarian, and that’s been over for a couple of years.” Well, months, really, but who was counting? Time flowed like a river and all that jazz. “You should give her a call.”
“Maybe.” He rubbed his hands together, glancing away. “We’ll see.”
“You girls done talking about your nail polish?” Cooper asked, the laughter in his voice taking the sting out of his insult. “Because I have some questions for Violet.”
“You’ll have to excuse Coop,” Reid told me. “He was raised by a pack of muskrats.”
“I noticed the big, sharp teeth.”
“Cute, ladies. Now let’s go.” Cooper tugged on my elbow. “We have some talking to do.”
I waved goodbye and kept pace with Cooper, the silence growing heavier with each step as my anxiety climbed at being hauled in for questioning. “He’s kind of dreamy,” I said, to fill the quiet. Dreamy? What was it about Cooper that turned me into a walking, talking bimbo?
“What are you? Fourteen with pigtails?”
“More like twenty-nine,” plus a few-odd years.
“Don’t make me book you for lying.” He paused next to his unmarked police car as he unlocked the door. “Reid’s too old for you.”
I wasn’
t thinking about me. I had my hands full with Doc.
“Besides, he’s the captain of the fire department.”
Oh, really? I tucked away that information. “Why does that make a difference?”
“It’s an elite position. He doesn’t need to risk losing it over a high-maintenance woman with a ghost-loving reputation.” He held open the door, ushering me into his car.
I crossed my arms. “I’m not high maintenance.”
“You’ve been in town how long now? Almost six months?”
Somebody had been doing his homework. “Maybe.”
“Six months and all the guys at the station already know your name. Trust me, that’s high maintenance.” He pointed at the front seat. “Come on, I’ll buy you a soda pop.”
“Your generosity makes my knees buckle.”
“Great. That will make it easier for you to sit. Now get in.”
Two blocks later, he pulled into the back lot of the police station.
“We could have walked,” I said, scrambling out.
“Yeah, but then my car would be parked two blocks away.”
He led me into the station and past a check-in desk and waiting chairs. The big gray-haired cop behind the desk looked from me to Cooper and then chuckled. “It’s about time you brought that troublemaker in,” he said with a wink.
We passed desks cluttered with computers and dirty coffee mugs. Across the room, two policemen—one a bit soft in the middle, the other tall and string-bean skinny—lounged against the counter in a mini-kitchen, each holding a paper cup. They watched us cruise by, returning Cooper’s nod and raising their cups to me. “Miss Parker,” they greeted me in turn.
Oh, God! They did all know me. My cheeks burned.
Cooper’s office was in the back of the building, at the end of a long linoleum hall that acted as an echo chamber for the clap of my sandal heels. In his office, I dropped into the chair he indicated and noticed the sparseness of his desk. His walls were even sparser. “What? No pictures of your sweetheart and her prized Pomeranian, Fifi?”
“I like your spunk,” Cooper said with a deadpan expression as he situated himself behind his desk. “I see why Uncle Willis keeps you around. That and your knees.”
I glanced down at the objects of discussion. “What about my knees?”
“Uncle Willis has a thing for knobby knees.”
“Harvey has a thing for anything in a skirt most days, and my knees are not knobby.”
“If you say so. I’m more interested in your head, and I’m not talking about your crazy hair.”
Crazy hair? I patted my loose curls. I hadn’t battened them down this morning, since seducing Doc had been the first item on my docket. God, was that just this morning? The whole weight of losing my Bronco and what that meant fell into my lap again, sobering me, provoking an ache in my chest. My ability to banter fizzled.
“Listen, Coop,” I crossed my arms and knobby knees and glared at the detective. “My Bronco just burned to the ground, so I’m a little distracted by the sudden financial mess I’m in, not to mention what this means to the safety of my family.” That thought alone chilled me. “Just because my roots really are blonde doesn’t mean my I.Q. is subpar, so stop treating me like I’m some ditz and tell me why you dragged me in here.”
“Fair enough.” He steepled his fingers and stared at me over the top of them. “Tell me what you know about Wanda Carhart.”
Wanda? I frowned, surprised. I’d thought he was going to ask about my Bronco’s unfortunate demise. I ground mental gears and focused on Wanda, but all that came to mind was her kookiness about those damned missing ice trays. “She’s very timid.”
“I’ve noticed.” His gray eyes didn’t blink. “Why do you think she wants to sell the house?”
“I don’t know that she does. Millie has been more interested in the details of the sale.” Millie and Lila, that was. “Wanda just signs the documents.”
“You mentioned before that Millie seemed anxious to get out of town. Has she said where she intends to go?”
“No, but we’re not exactly pals.”
“What do you know about Lila Beaumont?”
It took me several seconds to filter through all the derogatory comments that popped into my mind. “She’s wily,” I said, my lip curling of its own accord.
“Not a fan, huh?”
“She and I haven’t hit it off yet.” I wasn’t holding my breath, either. I’d sooner just suffocate her instead.
“Any particular reason?”
“Not really. Just a mutual loathe-at-first-sight type of thing.” I thought about my brief history with Lila, then added, “I think she sees me as a threat.”
Cooper’s brow wrinkled. “In what way?”
“Maybe to her relationship with Millie, somehow.”
“Relationship? Are you referring to her being engaged to Millie’s brother?”
Had Harvey not told Cooper about the kiss? “I’m referring to the relationship going on between Millie and Lila.”
His head cocked slightly. “Between them? You mean something is going on behind closed doors?”
They were outside under the big blue sky when I saw them, but, “Yes.”
“You’re sure about this?” His eyes narrowed.
“Positive.”
“Interesting.” He leaned back in his chair. “That would explain a couple of things.”
It was my turn to ask a question or two. “Why are you asking me about the Carharts? Is this about the murder?”
“I’m not at liberty to talk about it.”
“But I thought you said the case was closed.”
“I might have said that, but it’s not, officially. Yet.”
I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Do you think someone else killed Junior’s dad?”
Cooper stared at me as the clock on the wall ticked, his expression about as transparent as a bowling ball. “I’m not at liberty to talk about it.”
“What are you at liberty to tell me?”
“That you should be a little more careful when you’re out and about.” He frowned. “And at home.”
“Thanks. That’s so reassuring and helpful.”
“It’s not my job to make you feel all warm and fuzzy.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me about your Bronco. Uncle Willis mentioned you were having some troubles with vandalism.”
I figured that Harvey had already given Cooper the details, so I kept it short and sweet. “Someone carved ‘SLUT’ into the driver’s-side door, and then they knifed two of my tires.” Which reminded me that I now owed Harvey a couple of tires. Shit.
“I’m going to need you to write an official statement.”
“Fine.”
“Do you have any idea who might be harboring ill will toward you?”
“Enough to play with matches next to my Bronco? No,” I lied. Until I had some more proof the vandal was the mistress of my newest buying client, I didn’t want to go pointing fingers. A pyromaniac accusation might cause a crimp in the sale of the house.
“We don’t know for certain that this is an arson case.”
“How else do you explain my Bronco being torched?”
“It was an old vehicle. There could have been some electrical malfunction.”
“Come on, you and I both know that’s not the case. Somebody is messing with me.” I was pretty positive I knew who, but the “why” part still had me stumped.
“I won’t know anything for certain until I hear more from Reid.”
“Fine.” I stood, unwilling to be grilled any more today. I had a charred vehicle to lay to rest, a couple of frustrating phone calls to make, and an offer to deliver to a client—somehow, even if I had to hitchhike there. “Are we done here?”
“For now. I’ll be in touch,” he said to my back.
“I’ll be waiting with bated breath.”
His laughter followed me down the hall. At the front desk, Doc leaned against the tall counter, talking to
the desk officer. He stood up straight as I approached, his gaze searching. “You okay?”
I kept walking and headed for the entrance. “I’ve been better.”
He beat me to the glass doors, holding one open for me, and then followed me out into the warm, late-morning sunshine. “I need to talk to you, Violet.”
I didn’t much feel like chatting. Drinking, maybe. Curling up into a ball under my covers, definitely. “Can it wait?”
“No.”
“I have to take care of my Bronco.”
“The tow truck driver already did that for you.” He grasped my shoulders and steered me toward his car. “Trust me, this is important.”
I trusted him under one condition. He honored it by stopping in front of Calamity Jane’s long enough for me to run inside and grab my purse and the official offer I’d typed up for Douglas. I told Mona I’d fill her in on everything later, then joined Doc again in the front seat of his Camaro, wondering where we were going.
Several blocks later, he pulled into the library and cut the engine. There was my answer.
“Come on.” He held my door open for me. I trailed him up the stairs, through the front doors, and across the wood floor toward the South Dakota room. The usual smell of varnish and musty books was mixed with a hint of lemon today. Someone must have found the furniture polish.
Doc’s greeting to the library matriarch earned him a starched smile in return. She seemed to be warming up to him. Maybe I should have him inform her that Layne wouldn’t be returning those burned books anytime soon; maybe she’d forget about fining me.
He waited for me to cross the threshold and then closed the door behind me.
“Doc,” I turned toward him and crossed my arms over my chest, “I really don’t have time for—”
He grabbed me by the upper arms, whisked me around, and pressed me up against the wall next to the door.
“—this,” I finished, much less stiffly.
His mouth came down on mine, hard, almost painful. I opened my lips under his ambush only to have him tear away from me and step back. His fingers tore through his hair. “You scared the hell out of me, Violet.”
“I did?”
“I saw what was left of your Bronco, but I didn’t see you.” His gaze bore into mine. “Why didn’t you go to the police?”