by Alice Sharpe
Silly as it might seem to non–cat lovers, Sinbad had been her lifeline while Alex was gone. He was someone to come home to, someone who needed her and never complained if she moped about all day in a robe. He ate pretty much anything she fed him, liked to sit for long periods in her lap—back when she had one—and punctuated her remarks with snappy sounds so it seemed he was really listening.
She moved from randomly surfing the Internet to checking her e-mail. She had one message and it was from her friend and co-worker, Ron Boxer. He’d sent it early that morning and a business question was followed by a personal one—did she want to meet him downtown for lunch? Hands poised over the keyboard to explain why she couldn’t, she paused.
Why couldn’t she? Getting away from everything suddenly sounded like a fantastic idea. She typed a positive response and suggested Ron invite his sister, Emily, to join them. Talking to friends would be good therapy.
An hour later she was still at the computer, finishing the outline for a marketing blitz for the mall. Hiller Properties was a vast and complicated conglomerate, woven together by her uncle and his lawyers. Since her uncle’s death, his properties had been tied up, but she was still the one in charge and would be even more invested and involved once the dust settled.
However, after the upcoming office Christmas party, which she felt duty-bound to host, she was off on maternity leave for an indefinite time. Lately, she’d felt herself entertaining ideas of bailing out. To counteract these treasonous thoughts, she’d been working harder than ever.
Of course, there was always the possibility that once the sheriff started digging, someone else would come forward with the news that they’d seen her visiting her uncle late that night. Maybe someone else had seen her car or maybe the maid heard her voice and never mentioned it because what was the point, Alex was guilty? Maybe, despite Alex’s best intentions, she’d still wind up in jail!
“Find anything?”
She whirled around in her office chair as Sinbad bounded across the room and landed on the desktop. Papers and pencils went flying as the big cat settled on top of a stack of books and immediately began washing his face with a silky brown paw.
Alex stood in the doorway. He’d put on gray sweats; she almost expected to hear him say he was on the way to the gym. In the background, she heard the tumbling growl of the drier.
“You startled me!”
“Find anything interesting on the computer?”
“I’m not sure where to look. I can’t find the Murderers Anonymous site.”
Smiling, he said, “I have a few ideas we’ll talk about later. Meanwhile, you made a nursery out of my old den.”
It was a three bedroom house and she’d chosen the bedroom across the hall for the nursery because of the light. “Yes.”
Looking guarded, he said, “If you really won’t let me share our bed, then I’d like to throw the sleeping bag in that room.”
She gestured at the wall. “But the futon—”
“I don’t want to sleep in here. I’ll take the futon mattress across the hall and move the crib.”
“But this is all set up and ready to go,” she protested. She didn’t want him changing things. She’d created a nest across the hall and she wanted it to stay the way she’d made it. Why she felt so strongly about it was unclear to her. “It doesn’t make sense to drag things around,” she mumbled.
“I can’t sleep in this room,” he said, advancing. He stopped when he was right in front of her, forcing her to look up at him.
“Why?”
He seemed to consider her question as though trying to decide how honest to be. With his free hand, he fondled her hair, one of his fingers drifting down her cheek, across her chin. Every place he touched tingled with awareness. His voice very soft, he said, “Because I can hear you in our old bedroom. I can hear you move. I swear I can hear you breathe. I can picture you in bed and it drives me wild.”
It was more of an answer than she had expected, but that shouldn’t have surprised her. Alex was not only an arousing man to look at with his smoldering blue eyes, strong athletic body and dark good looks, he also exuded sexual energy, always had, and as long as she’d known him, that focus had been directed at her.
She saw desire on his face now, she felt it emanating from his body, and pregnant or not, it made her ache for his touch, reawakening parts of her that had been dormant for months.
“Whatever you want,” she said.
“That way you can work when you want to.”
“Good thinking.”
“Also, until we have an idea of who really killed your uncle, we need to be cautious. The murderer might very well be someone we know.”
Liz felt a tremor move through her body. “I can’t believe it’s anyone we know,” she insisted.
He ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll go out to lunch and get a head start on a plan but first I want to stop by the firehouse and return Dave’s brother’s clothes plus check out the mood there.”
“It sounds like a good idea, but I can’t go with you.”
Alex narrowed his eyes for an instant. “Why not?”
“I already have lunch plans,” she said, uncertain why she felt so awkward. She straightened the papers the cat had disturbed. “I made them a long time ago,” she lied and mentally slapped herself for doing so. “Anyway—”
“Plans with whom?” Alex asked, backing away a little.
“Business plans,” she mumbled.
“Can’t you change them?”
“No.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Stop pushing me, Alex.”
He glowered at her for a second, then said, “Be careful what you say to people.”
“What does that mean?”
“All I’m saying is that you and I need to sit down and make plans. We need to figure out who had motive and opportunity. Until we do, let’s not divulge more than the fact that I’m going to have a new trial.”
“You don’t even want me to mention that you’re innocent?”
His blue eyes looked intense as he said, “Absolutely not. I know it will be hard for you. People are going to be shocked that you allowed me back in your house.”
“You can’t blame them.”
“It has to be this way. We can’t take the chance that Kapp might decide to look elsewhere for the murderer until I can steer him in the right direction. I don’t want him considering you.”
“You’ve got to get over protecting me, Alex. I’m a big girl.”
“Just be careful,” he said, and added, “I’m going to take a shower.”
As he left the room, she switched off the computer and went into her room to change clothes, Sinbad on her heels. She didn’t want to be in the house while Alex showered. Some of their most intimate moments had started in that shower. Just picturing him standing in it, naked, steam rising around him, his skin glistening wet and slippery to the touch made her feel faint. She felt the overwhelming need to escape the house and Alex and all her old feelings.
RON BOXER had joined the mall staff as the leasing agent eighteen months before. An easy man to like, he’d been friends with both Alex and Liz. After Alex’s troubles began and Liz felt so alone, Ron had introduced Liz to his sister, Emily, who had just moved to town following a messy divorce. Emily bought the duplex next to Ron’s. Over the months, Ron and Emily had become the big sister and brother Liz had never had.
Ron had already arrived at the narrow Italian restaurant and waved Liz to their favorite table in back. Liz was pleased to see Emily sitting beside him.
Ron was a little shorter than Alex, with hazel eyes and fine brown hair that flopped over his forehead. A fitness nut, he biked to work every morning when the weather permitted. He was good-looking in an all-American way; the female half of the office staff had a crush on him. His sister was in many ways a smaller version of Ron with the same fawn-brown hair and attractive face. She had used her divorce settlement to open a specialty yarn shop
in the mall a couple of months ago. Liz knew Ron was in his early thirties and that Emily was a couple of years older.
“We ordered for you,” Ron said as he held a chair for Liz. “Iced tea, spinach pie, extra sauce, right?”
“I’m getting too predictable,” Liz said, longing for a bowl of minestrone soup instead.
Emily leaned forward. “How is Sinbad?”
“Oh, he’s fine. You haven’t been over in a few days, you’ll have to come pay him a visit,” Liz said, and then fell silent. How could she invite friends over with things the way they were? She suddenly realized that when she’d agreed to keep Alex’s innocence a secret, she hadn’t fully appreciated how difficult it would be.
“Are you feeling okay?” Ron asked as the waitress delivered their drinks.
“You do look a little weary,” Emily added.
“I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all. I’m fine.”
“You should have come over,” Emily said with a laugh. “Ron and I were up to all hours moving my furniture around. He seems to think I’m going to win the lottery because he’s telling me I should buy myself all new stuff.”
Ron smiled. “You need more shelves for all you doodads. Anyway, I just think she should get rid of the castoffs. Most of them came from her marriage.”
“Ron is the one stuck in the past,” Emily protested. “All he has are the few things Mother left us. There’s not much since most went to pay off her last medical bills.”
“What’s left is sentimental,” Ron said. “You must feel that way, too, Liz, about all your uncle’s stuff. He had some amazing antiques, didn’t he?”
Liz nodded.
“I was just there the one time, but I couldn’t believe the quality…and the quantity.”
“Uncle Devon was quite a collector,” Liz said, her mind only half on their conversation.
“Have you thought about how you’re going to dispose of everything after the estate is settled?”
Liz shrugged. “Not really.” The fact was that Liz had no clear idea of what to do with her uncle’s house or its contents. Sometimes she thought of moving back—it was, after all, the home she’d grown up in—and at other times she never wanted to see the place again. For the moment, the vacant house was under the care of the housekeeper.
“Maybe someday you’ll remarry,” Emily said. “Your new husband might have the education and taste to appreciate things like antiques.”
Liz was still only half listening. She wished the town newspaper came out in the morning instead of the evening so they’d already know about Alex’s hung jury. In the end, it seemed best to just get it over with. Taking a shallow breath, she said, “Alex is home.”
Her declaration was met with silence.
Ron finally said, “Alex? As in your husband, Alex?”
“How in the world did he get out of jail? He’s a murderer!” Emily added.
Liz bit her lip as she took a sip of iced tea. “It’s a little complicated,” she said, suddenly wishing she’d said no to lunch. She’d had no idea how emotional she’d feel sitting next to her two friends and how hard it would be to say so little.
The waitress reappeared with a giant round platter and all conversation ceased as she set out the food. Liz stared at her wedge of spinach pie. The smell of the rich red sauce made her queasy and she longed to leave the restaurant and go outside, go home. To Alex…
When the waitress left, Ron spoke in a deep whisper. “Are you saying he was found innocent?”
“Well—”
“I can’t believe it,” Emily muttered. “What kind of idiots were on that jury? Everyone knows he’s guilty.”
Ron hunched forward. “Did they decide he didn’t do it? If he didn’t, who did? This is great news, isn’t it?”
These questions, assuming the best of Alex, brought a smile to Liz’s lips. “Yes, of course, except it’s not that easy. Everything is up in the air. It was a hung jury.”
“You must be scared to death he’ll come after you,” Emily said, her huge eyes filled with alarm.
“Oh, no. Of course not. Listen—”
“But he’s a killer!” Emily said. “You need a restraining order to keep him away!”
Ron put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Emily, let Liz explain.”
From over Liz’s shoulder came a calm voice. “Maybe I can help.”
With a thrill of recognition, Liz looked up to find Alex standing behind her. The thrill quickly degenerated to irritation. Frowning, she said, “Did you follow me here?”
He met her frown with a smile. “I made an educated guess. I know how you feel about Tony-O’s spinach pie.”
“But I told you this meeting was business. I told you—”
Ron cut in. “Oh, come on, Liz. Maybe the man is hungry. Sit down, Alex, it’s good to see you again.” Gesturing to his left, he added, “Let me introduce you to my sister, Emily Watts. I think she moved to town after…well, you know.”
Alex nodded in Emily’s direction as he took off his own jacket, a soft brown leather one that Liz had bought him for his birthday in January. She loved the way it looked on him, loved the feel of it against her cheek when he held her. She had the sudden and overwhelming desire for him to do just that, to hold her, to take her away.
He pulled out the fourth chair. “That looks good,” he said, looking at Liz’s spinach pie.
She pushed the plate toward him.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“Not really.”
Alex took a bite and smiled. “Delicious.”
“It must beat jail food,” Emily sputtered.
The table grew very still.
“You have to excuse my sister,” Ron said. “She tends to be a little cautious where Liz in concerned. Alex, it’s good to see you. I trust there’s an explanation. I have to admit I’m dying to hear it.”
“I have to warn you,” Emily sputtered, “I won’t stand by and watch a confessed murderer harass Liz. She’s in no condition—”
“She’s pregnant with my child,” Alex said, his eyes blazing, his voice no longer teasing. “She’s my wife. I know what condition she’s in.”
Ron glanced at his sister. “Calm down. Give the man a chance.”
Liz was secretly thrilled to hear Alex leap to his own defense. As someone who had spent far too many years swallowing her emotions in deference to her uncle’s tyranny, she’d always admired the way Alex stood up for himself. He was a man of action. Giving up control and taking the blame for a murder he hadn’t committed must be galling.
“Things aren’t always as they seem, Emily,” Liz said gently. She looked back at Alex and added, “But they’re my friends, Alex. I trust them. Please, swear them to secrecy and tell them what’s going on.”
She could almost see the wheels turn in Alex’s handsome head. “If it means that much to you,” he finally said.
“It means that much,” she told him, and then excused herself. She knew if she stayed at the table, she’d be inclined to blurt out every detail, and this was Alex’s situation to control. She unhooked her coat from the rack on the way out, nodding at people she knew, but desperate for an infusion of fresh air.
Pulling her coat close around her, she stood beneath the gaily striped green-and-white awning and took deep gulps of air suffused with the pungent smells of the sea. Her frayed nerves and restless stomach slowly began to relax.
This old part of the city hadn’t been affected much by her uncle’s mall. Gift stores, restaurants and galleries still thrived when the tourists came to town during the summer and now, for the holidays, twinkling lights and garlands of fake greenery gave every storefront a jaunty air. A few blocks east, however, the shopping mall had exacted a huge toll. All these years later, there were still empty buildings. It was hard for a Ma and Pa bicycle shop to compete with any of the huge chain stores.
She sighed deeply. She’d give Alex a few moments to tell Ron and Emily as much as he thought wise, then return.
<
br /> Looking up the street toward the new library, she instantly spotted the sheriff’s car parked half a block up on the other side. She searched the opposite sidewalk. There he was, Sheriff Roger Kapp, standing not a hundred feet away from her, talking to one of his deputies.
Liz felt the instant urge to retreat. Should she go back inside the restaurant? Would Kapp see her if she moved and then would he follow? Did it matter? Alex wasn’t an escaped felon. But the thought of a scene in front of Emily and Ron wasn’t pleasant. Indecision caught her like a mouse under Sinbad’s paw. Naturally, because she didn’t want him to, the sheriff looked up and locked gazes with her.
She tried a smile and a nonchalant wave.
He pointed at her.
There was nothing to do but stand there and wait while he sprinted across the street.
The sheriff was a powerfully built middle-aged man with sandy hair just beginning to gray at the temples and a drill sergeant gaze Liz felt sure intimidated the innocent as well as the guilty. He wore his uniform like a second skin. In deference to the drizzly chill, he also wore a padded jacket.
Over the years, he’d been a frequent visitor at her uncle’s Victorian estate. It was well known that Devon Hiller’s campaign support had helped win Roger Kapp the last sheriff’s election a few years back. She wondered how Kapp would fare in the upcoming election without her uncle’s backing.
Kapp stopped a few feet away, his gaze traveling her figure. In her white maternity sweater and slacks, wearing the heavy black coat, she felt like a beached Orca whale under his careful scrutiny.
“Elizabeth,” he said, tipping his hat.
“Sheriff.”
“Looks like it’s about time for that baby to pop.”
She said, “A few more weeks.”
“How’s everything going for you?”
“Pretty good,” she said, wondering if his question was more complicated than it sounded.
“You know, I was noticing the last time I was at your place that you don’t have a decent lock on your front door. I know you have that squawking Siamese cat to warn you when strangers come around, but that cat isn’t a Rottweiler, he can’t really protect you.”