Charleston with a Clever Cougar: A Dance with Danger Mystery #6

by Barton, Sara M.

  “Time’s up,” he announced, shoving his counter stool back quickly as he stood. “It’s been great knowing you, Cady. Have a nice life.” In six strides he was at the hall closet by the front door.

  “Doc, wait!” Panic filled my brain and I hurried after him. He was already pulling on his coat. “Doc, please!”

  “What?” he responded gruffly.

  “It’s not what you think,” I answered. How did I explain this?

  “Oh? I’m not the most hideous creature on the planet?”

  “I...I don’t want to lose you as a friend...if it doesn’t work out. You...you get me, Doc. The real me. Not the one I show to the world.” I started crying. Don’t ask me why. I’m not really sure. I’m not normally given to a display of tears. But at that very moment, there was a big ball of pain lodged in my throat, and all I could think of was that if I let him walk out the door without telling him why I hesitated, I would never see him again. And suddenly I knew I couldn’t bear that. “If...if we date and for some reason it doesn’t work out, it would...it would...break my heart.”

  For the first time in my life, I admitted my need for a man, my real need. Not for a partner in bed. Not for someone to waltz into my life with flowers and candy. For a man who was as imperfect as the day was long, who cut to the chase because it was the fastest way to get to where he was going. I was filled with doubts, about me, about Doc, about us, but I knew I couldn’t risk losing him.

  “Please, Doc.”

  He stood there, swamped by his oversized raincoat, those dark-framed glasses perched on his nose. Hardly the epitome of the swashbuckling hero. Hardly a Hollywood heartthrob. I had never wanted a man more.

  “So, you’re saying yes?” He just wasn’t going to let it go. He was going to make me say it, commit to it. As I struggled to answer, I knew that. All I had to do was say yes and he would be happy. But if I said yes, what would happen to me? His hand reached for the door in exasperation.

  “Yes!” It was out in a short burst of air, draining my lungs so quickly, I gulped for more oxygen as my knees went weak.

  “Well, now that we have that established, I’ll say good night, Cady. Pick you up tomorrow, bright and early.” Before I could say a word, he leaned over, kissed me hard on the mouth, and went out the door without another word, leaving me spent on the threshold, wet tears still on my cheeks.

  For the first time in several nights, I slept soundly. And when I awoke, my first thought was of Doc. I wondered what it would feel like to have his hands on me. To feel him touching every part of me. Would his lovemaking be as abrupt and rough as his conversations? Would it be a never-ending challenge? He certainly wasn’t the kind of guy to swamp me with gifts or sweep me off my feet with prose. Doc was too straightforward for that. But maybe that was exactly what I needed. I thought back to Stephen. He was the antithesis of Doc, full of flowing conversation about everything under the sun, on the constant prowl for the next great gourmet find, embracing the luxuries of life with real gusto, even when that meant bouncing from bed to bed. Doc was such a measured guy, who inserted himself so totally into the equation that there was no way to ignore his presence. He was what he was and he wasn’t going to apologize for it or beg for the opportunity. That’s what made him so appealing. It was his strength. Stephen couldn’t commit to anything other than himself if his life depended on it. Doc was all about his word as bond. Stephen was the yacht that set sail without a final destination in mind, letting tide and current steer the course. Doc was the rescuing lifeboat that cut through choppy storm waters and aimed for shore with a determination to overcome the odds. Stephen was the nonchalant bon vivant who wanted to experience life’s excitement, who put a lot of time and energy into the act of seduction. The who was less important than the what, the where, the when and the how. Doc was the healer, the shaman who saw through the mask of bravado and went right to the heart of the matter. He wanted what he wanted. It was all about people, but Doc’s standards were pretty high, as were his expectations. Two very different men. Stephen had been a pleasure trip, nothing more. I always knew we would eventually part. I even counted on it. When the party was over, both of us would move on. But Doc was a commitment. He wasn’t afraid to do battle. He wouldn’t try to charm me or win me over with sweet nothings uttered in my ear. He would push and poke and prod me on my way, but he would be there by my side on the entire journey, come hell or high water.

  I rolled over, tossing the covers off me as I sat up. My shoulder was still tender, but I was able to raise it higher, high enough that I might, after a hot shower, be able to wear my normal work apparel. I considered the choices in my closet, finally settling on a blue cotton scoop neck top and a pair of blue-and-white paisley stretch jeans. I had just made my bed and laid out my clothes when there was a heavy pounding on my front door. I headed downstairs.

  “Morning, sunshine.” It was Doc, overnight case in hand. He gave me a peck on the cheek and snaked past me up the stairs. “I’ll be in the shower.”

  With that, I was left in the lurch, so I got busy, making coffee and mixing up a batch of buttermilk pancakes. By the time he was down fifteen minutes later, clean-shaven and ready for work, breakfast was warming in the oven, juice was on the table, and I had read the front section of the newspaper.

  “Flapjacks -- my favorite.” Doc helped himself to four, buttered each one, and then doused them all in syrup. He grabbed the sports section and buried his nose in it. He barely noticed that I left the table five minutes later.

  The shower did help me relax. I could feel the ache melting away as I stood under the flowing water. My body was still black and blue here and there, but most of the bruises had begun to fade to purple. It was easier to shampoo my hair today.

  By quarter of eight, I was dressed. I threw my hair back into a ponytail, added a blue scrunchie, and put on my makeup before heading downstairs. Doc was on the phone.

  “Right. Right. Okay then. Sure.” He nodded several times, his expression intense. “Got it. Will do.”

  He had already done the washing up. The dishes were in the dishwasher. The griddle was clean and back on the range. The newspaper was stacked into a neat pile on the table. I finished the regional news while I waited.

  “You’re going to love this,” he told me as he hung up. “Mimi got a call from her hired hitman, telling her that the cops were onto him, so he couldn’t do the job. But he had a guy who could do it. His buddy, the guy he already had helping out at Cady’s Cakes.”

  “You?”

  “Explains what I’m doing at the shop, right?” he chuckled. “She’ll buy it because the guy told her he hired me to get information on Daisy’s movements, and since the assault took place in the parking lot, Mimi thinks this is now a done deal. She didn’t even balk at my fee of ten thousand dollars. The only hitch is that she wants it done tomorrow, right after her plane leaves, and she wants it to look like an accident, so no one will suspect her. I’m going to meet her at the train station in Clinton at 1:30.”

  “Doc, do you think you’ll be able to get a confession?” The thought of Mimi getting away with attempted murder was more than I could handle. If she was able to blow it all off, what would that do to Carole and the kids? How would Daisy feel, knowing her stepmother wanted her dead? Would she ever feel safe?

  I still couldn’t understand how Mimi, a mother of three, could even contemplate killing an innocent girl like Daisy. Doc had a theory about it.

  “For some reason, Mimi has it in her head that Daisy stands in her way of achieving a goal. She’s got to get rid of her. You said that Doug wants to change Dylan’s custody.”

  “I did.”

  “Mind if I just do a quick search?” Doc went over to my computer and woke it up with a swish of the mouse. “Mimi Walchuk. Ah, here she is. Miriam Bithous Walchuk.”

  I read over Doc’s shoulder as he scanned through the stories about her. She was clearly pressing forth with her effort to launch a political career. She was recently na
med as candidate for the State Board of Education. All she needed was the approval of the governor and the state senators and she would have a four-year term. Maryland Today, the regional magazine, did a feature piece on her at home and at work, touting her as an up-and-coming superstar. There were photos of her with the triplets and with Doug, but the reporter also slipped in the references to Carole and the kids, the messy divorce, and how Doug and Mimi had to move to get away from the stink of their affair. There were other articles on her charity work, donations made to charter school programs, and special educational events.

  “It looks like she’s throwing a lot of money at her future,” Doc decided. “You would have thought triplets would put a damper on their finances, but Mimi must make a chunk of money.”

  “Well, she’s a lawyer. But wait,” I said, reaching over Doc to point at the screen. “Click on that.”

  “What, this?” It was an article written four months ago, about how Mimi decided to quit her job as a corporate attorney to concentrate on her three babies, giving up the live-in nanny in favor of a couple of daily helpers.

  “If they’re paying for help with the triplets, that’s got to be taking a bite out of the budget. How much can Doug be making as an assistant superintendent?”

  We did a search of the salary for Doug’s position, listed in the Maryland educational budget. Not nearly enough to pay for daily assistance with the triplets as well as Doug’s share of child support.

  “And Daisy’s off to college shortly,” I pointed out.

  “Doug’s paying for three babies, all in diapers, and two kids from his first marriage. And his current wife quits her job and dumps the live-in nanny.” Doc rolled that one around in his head for awhile. “Know what I’m thinking?”

  “What?”

  “I’m thinking that Mimi’s been spreading the wealth around to all her pet projects and there’s not enough left in the pot to send Daisy to college.”

  “But there’s a college fund, Doc. That was part of the custody agreement. Doug and Carole would each contribute to it.”

  “That was before Mimi quit her job, right? Before she gave up that corporate salary. How much can she be bringing in as a town solicitor? She would have been better off staying at her job and keeping the nanny.”

  “But if she did that, Doc, she’d come off looking like a calculating politician, and people don’t like that much ambition in their educators.”

  “True. You said Doug wants to change the custody.”

  “Yes, he wants Dylan to live with him.”

  “Maybe he can’t afford all the child support payments.”

  Chapter Twelve --

  “When Carole made the agreement, she was in the middle of treatment, so she had no real steady income. She was too sick from the chemo. She’s only just now getting back on her feet.”

  “It’s amazing that Mimi didn’t take out a hit on Carole,” Doc decided. “But that wouldn’t really solve her money problems, would it? No way she could buy a decent life insurance policy on the ex-wife, even for the benefit of the kids.”

  “Maybe she bought one on Daisy,” I suggested.

  “No, that wouldn’t make any sense.”

  “What about Daisy’s college fund? It’s been untouchable up until now. If she dies, what happens to it?” Surely there was a lot of money in it, given that Doug and Carole had faithfully stocked it over the years. “And I know both sets of grandparents also have contributed to it.”

  “Four kids is a lot less expensive than four kids and a teenager heading off to college. If Mimi kills Daisy, she might not just assume she gets a break on the child support, but maybe she gets her hands on the money set aside for Daisy’s future.” Doc let go of the mouse.

  “That’s horrible.”

  “More than you know, Cady. This meeting’s going to be a lulu. We should get going.”

  The morning went smoothly after that. When we got to the shop, Doc and I got busy on the wedding cake. With less pain, I was able to do more of the actual work, but I left it to Doc to carry the batter-filled pans to the ovens. By noon, we had all of the cakes baked and ready to be frosted. Doc brought out the cake board, I dabbed a good size dollop of frosting on the surface, and he carefully centered the largest layer on top of it. Once it was covered in buttercream, we rolled out the fondant, slipped it on top of the cake. The smooth surface was ready for the next layer. When we got to the fourth layer, we stood back, to make sure it was all level and even.

  “A masterpiece,” Doc declared it.

  “It does look pretty good,” I agreed.

  By one, Doc was ready to head for the train station and I had my pastry bag in hand, ready to apply the lacy details to the cake.

  “I’ll be back,” he said, brushing past me as he squeezed my hand, the gesture hidden from Walter and Darlene.

  “Be careful,” I warned him.

  “Why does Doc have to be careful?” Darlene came around the corner with her bowl of melted white chocolate, ready to dip all of the almond shortbread wedding bells.

  “He’s got a meeting with a real tough customer.”

  “Oh. Doc looks like he can handle himself in a rumble,” Darlene decided. “He’s my kind of man.”

  “He is?” I must have looked incredulous, because Darlene burst out laughing.

  “You don’t think Doc is a catch? Cady, you really need to get out more.”

  “You might be right,” I smiled, thinking about our secret relationship. Once I had agreed to that date, it was like a weight had lifted off my shoulders. “Time to get busy on the Henslacker cake. Wish me luck.”

  I spent the next two and a half hours putting the painstaking details onto the cake. With a close-up of the lace on Tara’s wedding gown in hand, I mimicked the pattern all over the surface of the cake, dotting on the icing, until it looked as if the cake had been draped in lace.

  “Beautiful,” Darlene said on her way out of the kitchen before packing it in for the day. Walter gave his approval, too. Carole came in when there was a lull in customer traffic. She wanted to know the next steps.

  “I’d love for my Daisy to learn how to do that. I think she’d be really good at it, Cady.”

  “Well, she’s pretty good now at the calligraphy part of it. She’s going to put the names of the bride and groom on the cookies, and then she’ll packaged them in the special bags that the wedding guests will receive tomorrow.”

  “She’s very excited that you’re letting her help with that. She’s rather nervous about Mimi’s visit.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  “Not really.” Carole shook her head. “I just have a bad feeling about this whole thing. This past week has been a nightmare. First you, then Daisy. It feels like something terrible will happen.”

  “Now, now. You have to have some faith,” I told her. “Sometimes the good guys win.”

  “I hope so. I haven’t felt like a winner since Doug up and left me for that floozy!”

  “Mimi’s not a floozy,” I corrected her. “A floozy is just a woman out for fun, right? Mimi’s more of a predator. She takes what she wants regardless of who she hurts in the process. What kind of woman breaks up a marriage with two kids involved?”

  “What kind of idiot lets her?”

  “Right. Doug was an idiot.” I refilled my pastry bag with icing, changing the plain tip to a closed star, for some of the more elaborate markings on the cake that mimicked the Brussels lace flounce on the bottom of the dress.

  “Not Doug,” she said softly. I looked up at her on the other side of the stainless steel work table. Her eyes were sad, as filled with tears as they were with unspoken regrets. “I shouldn’t have let him walk away, Cady. I should have fought for him.”

  “Carole, you can’t think that way. You were undergoing cancer treatment. You were in real peril. You had enough on your plate.”

  “Still....” Her voice trailed off. Even after all this time, she still wanted the jerk back. It wasn’t enough th
at he deserted her in her time of need. She thought it was her fault he left.

  “Carol, you’re forgetting something.” Those big brown eyes rose up, framed by auburn curls just now growing back after months of a bald pate. “Am I?”

  “Doug was a big boy and he made a big boy choice. It was a bad choice and it meant he left his family. Now he has a new family. Three new kids to take care of, not to mention a wife.”

  “He was better off with us,” she insisted. “He should have stayed here.”

  “But he didn’t. Carole, there are some things you can change and some things that just are what they are. You can’t make Doug want you. You can’t make him appreciate you. If it’s not in him, it’s not in him.”

  “I keep dreaming about him, Cady. I keep thinking he’s miserable.”

  “And yet, he’s got his new life down in Maryland. You have to start thinking of you. If you spend the rest of your life hoping Doug will come to his senses, you’re missing the bigger picture. If, and I say if, he wants to come back to you, it’s not that simple. He’ll have to go through yet another expensive divorce, more child custody battles, job changes -- it’s much more complicated than just waking up one morning and deciding he wants to come back to you.”