A Grave Mistake

by Stella Cameron

  What were folks saying to make him come up with a question like that? “I’m not sure where my father is,” she told him. “I haven’t seen him for years.”

  “Your new dad,” Wally said, sitting on his heels to carefully face all the bills the same way. “This is a lot of money,” he said, his eyes round. He started counting, licking the tip of a grubby forefinger now and again.

  “I don’t like to ask you,” Cyrus said. “But would you get that money back to Edwards Place?”

  “No way,” Wally told Cyrus. “I told you, I saw that man push the money on you.”

  “I don’t need or want a stranger’s money.”

  Wally looked smug. He wiggled his nose and sniffed. “Is there anything says a stranger can’t give money to the church?” His smile grew wider, showing the space between his two front teeth. “I don’t think the Lord would be pleased with you discriminatin’ like that, not when the church needs new bingo boards and there ain’t—isn’t enough money.”

  A frosted beige Jaguar convertible slid to a stop, and a woman wearing large sunglasses and a pink baseball cap over curly red hair trailed her left arm and hand over the top of the driver’s door. Dazzling prisms shot from whatever jewelry she wore on her fingers.

  “Jilly?” Laura Preston said, amazement dripping from the single word. “What are you doing here with these people?”

  “For those of you who don’t know,” Jilly said, “this is Laura Preston, my mother’s daughter-in-law. Laura and Edith live together at Edwards Place.”

  Silence met the announcement. “Laura, please let Edith know I’ll be over to see her later. I’m not hurt at all.”

  “Where do you think you’re going with that?” Cyrus said, laughing at Wally, who remounted his bike with a determined expression. He took the money from the boy and walked toward the deputy.

  Wally shrugged. “I knew he would do that, but I had to give it a try. Wait till I tell Madge how Father turned down good money when there’s never enough to pay the bills at St. Cécil’s.”

  Guy made a grab for the rear of the bike, but Wally shot out of range, heading for Bonanza Alley and the rectory. “Don’t you go mixin’ it up,” Guy yelled. Madge Pollard worked for Cyrus. She kept the parish running and watched over Cyrus, although not like a mother hen. Jilly tried not to think about the complicated friendship Cyrus and Madge had, not often, anyway. Some people just didn’t have much luck when it came to falling in love, and Jilly guessed she and Madge had great men in their lives, only they were the wrong men.

  Without another word, Guy walked away. He approached the rucked-up Beetle and looked down through the broken passenger window, at the seat, Jilly assumed.

  He dragged open the door and stooped to pick something up from the floor.

  Lee said, “Guy’s a nice man but he’s too difficult to read. Too quiet. He’s real easy on the eyes, though.” She cleared her throat and turned a little pink. “You already noticed that, Jilly?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  On the way back he only broke his stride for a few moments when he passed them. He gave Jilly her cell phone and said, “I’m relieved you’re okay. Take care, y’hear. I’d better get back to it.” His down-turned mouth and narrowed eyes turned him into the stranger she’d seen before and she didn’t like him.

  Well, she’d taken all she intended to take from Mr. Gautreaux and she wasn’t taking any more.

  3

  “What d’you think you’re doin’, Jilly?”

  She had run to catch up with Guy and get into the passenger side of the Pontiac. Let him stew over her silence for once.

  He dropped down beside her, slammed his door shut and rested his head back. “You heard me. Why are you following me? You aren’t finished back there.”

  “You mean-mouthed, insensitive son of a bitch,” she told him. “Drive. I don’t want all those people watching us. Especially Laura. I might have known she’d hang around just to see if she could pick up something to worry Edith with.” She laced her fingers in her lap. There went another promise she’d made to herself—that she wouldn’t say anything negative about the people at Edwards House.

  “You better get out,” Guy said. He felt something he thought he had finally left behind, that mix of fury and arousal that ought to worry a woman. It worried him.

  Jilly turned sideways in her seat. “I told you to drive. I’ll get back soon enough—not that there’s much to do but make phone calls.”

  “They’re going to blow this into something. The two of us taking off in my car when I’m supposed to be goin’ to work and you’re supposed to be hangin’ around to deal with the formalities. I said goodbye in front of everyone.”

  “Nobody in this town has a reason to think we’re havin’ a lovers’ tiff, if that’s what you mean. It’s pretty clear we’re not lovers. But if you’re worried about your reputation, the sooner you go where they can’t see us, the better. Behind the old laundry is close enough, and it’s private.”

  He puffed up his cheeks, blew the air out and gunned the car. If she wanted him to drive, he’d drive. And she’d better not complain about the result. The tires shrieked forward, went into a spin on a patch of gravel, then lurched on and flew.

  “Slow down,” Jilly told him. “If you’re tryin’ to be cool in front of the gallery, you just blew it. There’s nothing like the sight of a man and woman arguin’ to make folks think they’re more than friends on the outs.”

  Guy gritted his teeth. His heart pounded. He had a monkey on his back and its name was guilt. If he couldn’t buck it off he was no good to anyone—surely not to this little woman with a big mouth but a gentle heart. “That’s the last order you give me. Got it?”

  “Got it,” she said, and laughed, she couldn’t help it. “If I thought you were as mean as you sound, you wouldn’t have to tell me to get out again. I’d do it now, moving or not.”

  “Just tell me what’s goin’ on.”

  “You’re the one who’s going to do the explainin’.”

  He swung the car hard left down an alley and Jilly landed against him. He ignored her pressure on his shoulder. When they straightened out again she buckled her seat belt fast. The abandoned laundry stood against the searing blue sky like an empty prison block, its windows boarded up. Guy drove the perimeter, through tall, crackling weeds and grass that flattened under the front of the vehicle and scratched against the windows.

  Into a neck-jarring, hidden rut, then out again—and he stopped with the bleached and brittle stalks reaching the roof and beyond.

  “There—I brought you where you wanted to go.” Darn it all, he was behaving like a spoiled kid whose date didn’t put out after the prom. Too bad. This was Jilly’s idea.

  “You make me so mad,” she said, and her voice broke pretty much as he’d feared it might.

  “I don’t want to. Just can’t seem to help myself.” He faced her, one knee pulled up and clasped in both hands. “You’re impetuous. You did the first thing that came into your head back there and walked off after me. And you know that wasn’t a good idea.”

  “Why? Because someone might think there’s something new going on between us?”

  He didn’t like what he was feeling. Or did he? If they didn’t go their separate ways, and soon, something was going to explode around here.

  “Why do I attract men who leave me convinced I’m not meant for love?”

  She could have said just about anything but that. He buried his head in his hands. “Am I supposed to answer that?”

  “Damn you, Guy.” She grabbed hold of his short sleeve and pulled on it. She pulled and pushed, gave a final shove and thrust open the door.

  Guy caught her by the arm, but anger could give even a fairly small woman a lot of strength. Jilly wrenched free and all but fell out. She marched around the back of the car and took off into the dead grass jungle, slapping herself a pathway as she went.

  “Damn it, Jilly,” Guy muttered, crossing his arms over the wheel. Sh
e hadn’t been thinking when she’d suggested he was attracted to her, but she was so right. She was wrong about the rest, about not being meant for love.

  He turned his head to watch her go—but she’d gone so far, so fast, all he had to follow was a line in the white brush that got a little wider, then waved together again in her wake.

  “You’ll break your fool neck,” he said, and burst out of the car on his side. He started walking fast, pushing straight ahead with his hands and forearms in front of him. He needed to run. One leap to look ahead and he saw he was right on course to catch up with her.

  Jilly choked on the dust and dry ends of grass gone to seed. They filled her nose and mouth and she coughed, then wiped the backs of her hands across her face.

  Get busy, get so busy you don’t have time to think about that ornery man. She didn’t have time for men in her life, anyway. She had a business to run and a house to keep up. And now she had to fix her car, if it could be fixed. That was an expense she hadn’t planned on and she didn’t want to think about buying another one.

  That Impala of Cyrus’s was a fixture in this town and he’d kept it alive—or friends had kept it alive years after it should have gone for scrap. The frame must be bent now. All her fault.

  This was getting her nowhere fast, this anger and rushing away toward nothing in particular. She turned and headed back, veering off toward the side of the building, figuring out how she’d get back to the café without having to see anyone on the way. She’d deal with reports later.

  Guy slammed into her so hard, he couldn’t stop them from falling. The best he could do was use his arms to stop her from taking his full weight. “Don’t you do anythin’ but cry anymore?” He snapped his fool mouth shut.

  “I’m not crying,” she told him, mortified, “the dust is getting in my eyes.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sorry I walked into you like that.” He made a move to climb off her but she shoved her hands up, between their chests, and pummeled his shoulders. And while she hit him, she struggled to get up.

  Neither of them went anywhere.

  “Hey!” He caught hold of her wrists. “What’s gotten into you? The way you are, I don’t even know you.”

  “Why? Because I’ve got warm blood runnin’ in my veins and when it gets heated up I do somethin’ about it? How would you understand a person like me when you’ve got ice water runnin’ through you?”

  His insides hummed. Looking into her eyes, he said, “Are you trying to goad me, cher? Are you lookin’ for me to take you by force right here under the sky, in this stickery stuff where anyone might happen along? Does that thought excite you?”

  She felt her cheeks throb. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  He clamped her between his thighs and there was no escape. “I don’t think I’m flattering myself at all. I think you need sex as much as I do. Difference is, I have control of myself and you don’t.”

  A kind of excitement closed her throat and scared her out of her mind. “Let me up.” Wriggling did her no good unless it was a good thing to feel hard evidence that he’d just lied about being in control.

  “Sure. Go right ahead. Get up.” But he wasn’t going to help her. Hell, no, not when he was in some kind of painful heaven with her right where she was.

  She went limp. “What was it all about back there in town—going to my car and rooting around for the cell phone so you could throw it at me? Then talking to me like I was the enemy?”

  “You’ll argue, but I caused you to have the accident. I upset you out at Homer’s because I behaved like a roughneck. Then I called you and you got more upset until you called me back. Crash. End of story. Except I didn’t throw the cell at you.”

  “You have it so wrong. I think my brakes went out. My foot went down and it felt soggy, then there was nothing.” She had the worst timing, but she wanted him badly. “Nothing to do with you.”

  He’d relaxed a little. “When’s the last time you had the Beetle checked?” He tugged out a handkerchief to wipe his face, pulled his shirt over his head and ran the cloth around his neck and over his chest. “When did—”

  “I don’t remember.” Jilly spread a hand on each of his thighs and he quit moving. All but for the flicker in his jaw—and strong signs of approval against the inside of her thigh.

  They watched each other’s faces.

  “Gimme a break, cher.”

  “Give you a break? But you’re the man who’s in control. The only one we have to worry about is me. I’m a loose cannon.” She raised onto her elbows and splayed a hand on his hot chest. She just happened to catch a flat nipple between two of her fingers—and squeeze.

  “Oh, my…” He shut his eyes tightly but it didn’t stop him from feeling what she was doing. He knew what he wanted to do. “That’s it. Up you get before someone comes lookin’ for us.”

  He took her by the shoulders and stood, a foot on either side of her knees, to haul her up.

  “I didn’t know you were so shy,” Jilly said. A small but important piece of her reserve hadn’t just stretched, or cracked—it had completely blown away. Without giving him time to figure out her intent, she grabbed him by the neck and pulled his face down to hers.

  In the breathless second before they kissed, she opened her eyes and saw that his were closed. Jilly moved her hands to the sides of his head and pushed her fingers into his hair.

  The kiss was about taking. She took him and he took her and Guy locked his knees. If she could see inside him now, she wouldn’t find ice-cold anything. He should stop this, stop her, but damn it, he’d already tried and she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  He held her on either side of her ribs, his thumbs just beneath her breasts, and she forced herself against him so hard the thin little sundress wasn’t enough to stop him from feeling her peaked nipples on his chest.

  Jilly’s mouth opened wide. It was like drinking him in. She wanted her bare breasts touching him, but even with a dress on, the contact sent hot, mad-making sensation into her nipples. Elsewhere she was wet and throbbing.

  He couldn’t think straight. But he couldn’t do this here, not to her and not to himself. Not the first time they made love. “Jilly, no!”

  She cupped him and squeezed. “Make me stop.”

  He held her shoulders and looked down at her, down the gaping front of the dress at her round breasts, and he paused, dragging in air. Sweat shone on her golden body. Naked, they would slide together.

  This was her moment. There wasn’t enough room inside his jeans to allow the zip to move easily, but she was strong. He made a pretty feeble attempt to dissuade her from pulling him free of the jeans and working over him.

  “Cher, no, not like this. Aw, hell, it feels so good. You feel so good.”

  “I want it this way.”

  “If we’re going to be together it ought to be where we can take our time.”

  She showed him she’d taken control and didn’t intend to give it up. He’d never been forced—he’d been missing a lot.

  “Help me,” he said, and bit down on the soft flesh at the side of her neck. They fell into the grass again. “Stop…don’t stop.”

  4

  Well, hell, he hadn’t expected Jilly to do what she did, to make love until he never wanted to stop, then rush away refusing to even talk to him.

  He had tried to hold her. She’d warned him off with a glare and outstretched palms. So he’d backed off and let her go, and got into his car to drive home. He couldn’t think of anywhere else he could go to find some peace.

  Guy swung into the overgrown lane leading to his house.

  Get rid of Nat. Figure out what just happened with Jilly—apart from the obvious—and decide how in hell you’re going to fix things.

  He should be making her go somewhere quiet and talk to him right now. The longer they waited, the harder it would be for either of them to make any sense.

  Unfortunately the lady had made it clear the next call was hers.

 
He wouldn’t wait very long.

  Nat’s Corvette looked out of place in front of Guy’s wood-sided shotgun house. True to type, the building sat lengthwise on the lot, the front of which should have been a gable end, with the entrance leading to a passageway against the left wall and a single window to the right. Inside, four rooms stacked one behind the other opened onto the passage, which ran the length of the house. If you had a mind to shoot from the front door to the back door it was no big deal. Just stand in line with the front door and hold that shotgun steady.

  Concrete pilings stood high enough that you could have put a second story under the only one the place had. He’d parked his car down by the gravel road, as was his custom. He preferred to walk quietly up the lane to the house in case someone he didn’t want to see was waiting for him.

  He dipped his hat farther over his eyes and ran up the steps to the gallery. A single bentwood rocker, weathered to silver-gray, rested where he could sit, prop his heels on the railing and look at the sky through a dogwood tree.

  “Is she all right?” Nat called from inside as soon as Guy touched the screen door. “I called the emergency number to see if she’d been taken somewhere but they said she hadn’t.”

  “You did what?” Guy yanked open the screen door and strode into what passed as his living room. “How many times do I have to—”

  “I gave a phony name. Get over here.”

  “Did you use my phone?”

  Stretched out on the couch—a queen-size tweed sofa bed—Nat reached for a can of beer he had set on the brown shag rug. He took his time over a long swallow before he said, “I’m sorry you think I’m a moron. Now, drop it. How’s Jilly?”

  He probably shouldn’t say fantastic. “She’s good. Bit shaken up but it was mostly a fender bender. A hummer of a fender bender, to be truthful.” He tossed his hat on the TV antenna. The TV sat on the floor and the room was otherwise unfurnished.

  A paper bag lay on its side near Nat with papers spilling out—and photographs, the kind Guy recognized as the artwork of NOPD.