For the Love of Jazz

by Shiloh Walker

  “Marlie—”

  “See you around, Tate,” she said, jerking the door closed.

  “That was rude, Marlie. The boy likes you,” Naomi said softly, still stroking the doll. Her misty green eyes were not as distant and dreamy as usual.

  But Marlie was lost, too lost in despair to even notice.

  She hadn’t just driven away while he was talking to her?

  Tate insisted that to himself three times before he finally forced himself to admit that the evidence was to the contrary. The dust from her leaving had already faded, he couldn’t see the rusty red tail of the car, and most importantly, Tate was standing there in an empty field full of cars, by himself. No Marlie.

  “I’ll be damned,” he muttered to himself, turning on his heel.

  “Sandy, where did that son of mine run off to?”

  Glancing up from her beer, Sandy smiled at Ella. “He went chasing after your future daughter-in-law; at least, that would be my guess.”

  Those lovely, blue eyes went wide and Ella asked, “Excuse me?”

  Lifting the bottle in a toast, Sandy sipped at it before saying, “He went tearing off after Marlie Jo. Unless I am seriously mistaken, he wasn’t going to come back unless it was with her.”

  “Marlie…Jo?” Ella repeated, somewhat numbly. “Tate went after Marlie Jo Muldoon?”

  “Yep.” Sandy shrugged. “I keep getting thrown over for delicate, petite things. I mentioned something about Marlie Jo wanting to move to Lexington or Frankfort and once Tate realized I meant she was seriously wanting to leave, he took off.”

  One slim hand rose to fiddle with the strand of pearls she wore at her neck as Ella slowly lowered herself to the empty folding chair next to Sandy. “I never realized he had those sort of feelings for Marlie. She’s so fragile.”

  Sandy chuckled and shook her head. “No, ma’am. Fragile, Marlie is not. Delicate, yes. Quiet, yes. But she’s not fragile.” After another laugh, she launched into a detailed account of the encounter between Miss Betsy and Marlie just two days earlier.

  “So, you think she has feelings for him as well,” Ella said after Sandy had finished.

  “Powerful feelings, unless I am mistaken. If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have mentioned today in front of her. She looked so sad, and it just now dawned on me why.”

  “But you care for Tate.”

  “Not like she does.” Turning her eyes away to study the crowd, Sandy said, “I’m looking to get married, Miss Ella. I’ll be honest about that. But I don’t want a husband who doesn’t love me. Now if I was in love with Tate, maybe it would be different and I’d want to fight for him. But as much as I care for him, as good a man as he is, I don’t want him that much.”

  “I just don’t understand it.” Ella laced her fingers over her still-flat belly, pressed her lips together in a frown before consciously making the effort to relax. After all, the years you spend frowning will eventually show on your face. Her face was free of lines, save for the small ones at the corners of her eyes. Ella liked to think they gave her face character.

  “Marlie is not at all what I imagined for Tate. She’s a sweet girl, but…”

  “She’s stronger than people think,” Sandy said with a shrug of her shoulders. “And apparently, she is what Tate wants.”

  “Aren’t you coming in?” Anne-Marie asked, lifting her face to his, studying him in the silvery moonlight.

  “Nope,” Jazz responded, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I’m not coming in until you make an honest man out of me.”

  A slim brow rose and Anne-Marie repeated, “An honest man? What an oxymoron.”

  Assuming an affronted glare, he asked, “Who are you calling a moron?”

  Anne-Marie smiled serenely at him and replied, “Any man who turns down the chance to spend the night having wild sex with his fiancée is a moron, in my opinion.”

  Hooking his hand over the back of her neck, Jazz dragged her forward, taking her mouth roughly, running his hands over her slim back. “The thing is, Doc,” he said when he pulled away to breathe, “I’m kinda afraid of your dad. If he knows I’m out here, he’s gonna come after me.”

  “Well, shoot.”

  With a wide grin, Jazz said, “That’s what I’m afraid of…shooting…”

  Snorting with laughter, system still humming from his touch, Anne shook her head. “Well, if a shotgun wedding will get you in my bed, I’ll hunt up the gun.” Reaching out for his hand, she tugged him closer. Pressing her lips to his neck, she repeated, “Come inside, Jazz.”

  “Annie,” he muttered, groaning when her tongue darted out to lap at his neck. “Girl, behave yourself.” Why in hell had he decided not to be with her again until after the wedding? He must have been out of his mind.

  “Why?” she asked huskily. “I’m so much more fun when I don’t.”

  Dragging her head back, Jazz attacked her mouth, diving deep, nipping and while his hands raced up and down her lithe little body. Then he pulled away and stepped back. Chest heaving, breaths ragged, he said, “Now maybe you’ll sleep as good as I’ve been lately.”

  Eyes wide and dazed, Anne-Marie wobbled a little, not completely understanding as he ushered her inside. He lowered his head and Anne reached for him eagerly, only to have him peck her on the cheek and whisper, “I love you.”

  The gentle click of the lock brought her out of her lust-induced daze and she stood staring at the door, eyes narrowed as the engine outside revved.

  Chapter Eleven

  A week after the summer carnival, Marlie had forgotten the odd exchange with Tate in the shadowed field outside the high school. So busy, it was somewhat unsettling to discover she hadn’t thought of him much at all in the past week. Only five or six times a day, maximum.

  As she opened the door to reveal an irritable, rumpled county sheriff, that odd, little encounter came rushing back to her mind.

  “What in the world…?”

  Brushing past a wide-eyed Marlie, Tate stomped into the tiny kitchen and turned to face her. “Have you found a place in Lexington?”

  “Lexington?” she repeated, her smooth brow furrowing. “No. I’m not moving to Lexington.”

  Tate’s eyes closed and the tension left his body.

  “I’m moving to Frankfort.”

  His eyes flew open and he stood ramrod straight. “Frankfort?” he repeated, studying her face.

  “Yes. I’m making an offer on a house tomorrow. I’ve already got a job lined up and—”

  “No.”

  Marlie’s eyes went cold. Slowly, carefully, she said, “Excuse me?”

  “No.” Tate advanced on her, cornering her against the door. “I’m sorry, Marlie. But there’s no way you can leave here.”

  “I fail to see why not,” she said, her voice quivering just slightly. Her eyes darted across his face and her thoughts stumbled to a stop at the look in his eyes. She’d seen a look like that before, a look full of heat and promise and need. One full of love. The looks she so envied between Jazz and Anne-Marie.

  Slowly, Tate traced the line of her face with his hand as he spoke in an offhand manner. “I always thought I had plenty of time. You weren’t going anywhere and you never went out with anybody.” Long fingers buried themselves in her hair, joined by his other hand as he lowered his head, brushed his mouth across hers gently.

  “Looks like I don’t have as much time as I thought.” Then, using his hold on her hair, Tate angled Marlie’s face up and covered her mouth. Sweet, he thought, nibbling at her mouth until her lips parted on a shuddering sigh. As he steeped himself in the taste of her, Tate eased her slim body up until she was pressed against him.

  “Kiss me back, Marlie,” he whispered, dragging his mouth to her ear. Reaching between them, he laid his hand on her chest, felt the rapid pounding of her heart under his hand. “Haven’t you ever wondered?”

  Oh, my. Her head falling back, all coherent thought gone, Marlie decided that she was dreaming. There was no way on earth that s
he was standing here, in this tiny kitchen, with Tate kissing her.

  When his mouth covered hers a second time, Marlie trembled. At first, she stood there passively, hands clenching tightly at her sides, but need and curiosity overtook her. Rising on her toes, she returned his kiss, shy and quick. Her tongue darted out to taste him before withdrawing. Pulling back, Marlie stared up at him. Those warm, brown eyes weren’t warm anymore. They were hot.

  Rising on her toes again, she pressed her mouth back to his, nibbling delicately at his lip before tentatively exploring within. His hands fisted in her hair as he pressed her back against the door, his large body leaning into hers.

  “Don’t go to Frankfort, Marlie,” Tate whispered, pulling away and staring into her eyes. Everything he’d always dreamed of seeing was there. The love he had felt for her almost his entire life was returned in hers, along with nerves and disbelief.

  Cupping her face with his hand, Tate rained butterfly kisses over her cheeks and eyes before homing in on her mouth for a sweet, innocent kiss. Moments later, Marlie turned her head aside. She had to know. She was dreaming and asking him would shatter the dream and she would wake up and go on with her life, without Tate, as always.

  “Why?”

  A slow smile spread across his face as he eased her back against him. “Because I’d hate living in Frankfort and so would you. This is your home. Our home.”

  Voice quavering, Marlie said, “Nobody said anything about you moving to Frankfort.”

  Her breath left her in a startled rush as Tate swung her up in his arms, carrying her to the table. Lowering himself into the rickety chair, Tate settled Marlie against him, telling her, “I wouldn’t have much choice in the matter, Marlie. I’ll go where you go.”

  Okay. I’ll wake up any minute now, Marlie thought.

  But she wasn’t dreaming. No dream could be this vivid. And even as much as she loved him, hungered for him, needed him, Marlie wouldn’t dare dream something like this. He was so far out of her reach; a fish flying was more likely.

  Tate lowered his head to hers and bussed her mouth with his as a tear welled up and spilled over. “I love you. I have for as long as I can remember. There’s only been you, Marlie.”

  Marlie smiled nervously at Ella as she poured her a glass of wine; it was a pretty, deep red color that caught the light. Raising it to her lips, she sipped tentatively, and then more boldly as a riot of flavors burst on her tongue. “Oh, my. This is wonderful, Mrs. McNeil.”

  “Ella,” she corrected, raising her own glass. Swirling, sipping, approving, she then lowered the wine glass back to the table. “After all, we’re going to be family.” She smiled at her son as he strolled through the door. “So hard to believe, you getting married.”

  Tate paused by her chair and brushed her smooth cheek with his mouth before going to Marlie and lowering himself to her side. “It’s not hard for me,” he said, raising Marlie’s hand to his lips. “I’ve been planning it from the first time I saw her, Mama.”

  “Since you were all of five years old, hmm? And Marlie was maybe three?” Ella asked, amused.

  Seriously, Tate said, “That sounds about right.” Nibbling at her knuckles, he added, “That’s why we’re having a short engagement. Been waiting too long as it is.”

  Marlie’s cheeks colored and she pulled her hand away, casting Ella a glance. Could this really be happening? she wondered, raising the wine once more. Over the rim of the glass, Tate’s eyes met hers, full of warmth and promises. Yes. It’s real.

  “Have you any idea what sort of wedding dress you would like?” Ella asked, a faraway smile on her face. “I always dreamed of helping plan a wedding.”

  “I’d be more than grateful for any help you can give me,” Marlie offered shyly. “I have no clue how to begin.”

  Settling back in his chair, Tate snagged Marlie’s wineglass and drank half of it while his mother and fiancée talked of silk and lace. After a few moments, Marlie’s face lost its stiffness and she became more animated. She was so beautiful. And his.

  Mine, he thought again, his fingers curling around the delicate stem of the glass.

  “Just think, this time next week, we’ll be at Jazz and Anne-Marie’s wedding,” Ella mused. “You’d think it was spring, with all these weddings going on.”

  “I saw her dress,” Marlie said. “She looked so beautiful. Pure white, lace and pearls.”

  Ella’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as Marlie described the dress. “I’ve seen something similar to that in Lexington.”

  Flushing, Marlie laughed and shook her head. “That’s not for me. I want something simple. Ivory, I think.”

  “Wise choice,” Ella decided after a moment. “Nothing too fussy. Understated elegance, that’s what we need for you. Perhaps we could go looking…?”

  “Oh, I’d love that. But Mama…” Marlie said quietly, a little worried.

  Ella smiled. “She’ll go, too. We’ll make a day of it. How about the weekend after next?”

  Tate’s thoughts drifted away as they spoke, his contentment fading as his mind focused on the case. Who had killed Larry Muldoon? Mind spinning, he offered occasional ‘hmms’ and ‘uh-huhs’ as he laid it out piece by piece in his mind.

  “…your hair?”

  His eyes flew up from the wineglass he had been studying without seeing it. Reaching out, he brushed his hand down Marlie’s silvery blonde locks. “I’d like it down,” he said quietly, twining a thick ribbon of hair around his finger. “You’ve got the most beautiful hair.”

  As her future daughter-in-law flushed and flirted shyly with Tate, Ella settled back in her seat with a smile on her face.

  Jazz stumbled up the steps, his arm thrown across Tate’s shoulders for balance. “How come there’s so many stairs?” he mumbled. “I coulda swore there were only three of them earlier.”

  “There’s only three now, cuz,” Tate replied, half-dragging Jazz’s body up those three stairs. “Damn it, Jazz. Lose some weight.”

  His drunken laugh ended abruptly as he banged his elbow on the doorjamb when Tate let go to dig out his keys. “Bastard,” he mumbled, nursing his stinging elbow and glaring at the shadow of his cousin.

  “Sue me,” Tate offered, jamming the key in the lock and turning it. “Now quiet down or you’ll wake up Mabel and Mariah.”

  “Not my fault ya’ll wanted to throw some hokey party,” Jazz said as he stumbled through the door. “Six more days, Tate. And she’s all mine.”

  Shooting his cousin an amused glance, Tate said, “Hell, she’s always been yours. She—”

  The drunken cloud faded from Jazz’s mind as he laid one hand on the banister. The silence echoed in his ears, unbelievably loud. Something was wrong…

  He looked up, his eyes focusing halfway up the staircase to a single bloody red swipe that marred the soft yellow paint. A thick silence filled the house and Jazz could swear he heard his own heart stop.

  Tate grew aware of it just as Jazz did, reaching inside his jacket for his gun. “Get out,” he said flatly. “Call dispatch.”

  “Hell I will,” Jazz said, shaking his head and scrubbing his hands over his face. “My home, Tate.” He tore off up the stairs at a run, Tate’s muttered curse and booted feet close behind.

  Throwing open the door, he lunged for Mariah’s bedside. “She’s fine,” Tate said low, gripping his arm from behind as Mariah’s soft, gentle snores filled the room. “Will you stay here?”

  “Where’s Mabel?” he asked quietly. “She would have met us at the door. I know her.”

  “Stay with Mariah. What if he’s still here?” Tate ordered, his voice full of authority as he reached for the phone. In a quiet voice, he issued orders before turning and studying Jazz. He still stood there, staring down at the sleeping body of his daughter.

  As they watched, her face puckered in a frown and she mumbled something before flopping over on her side, dislodging her little, ragdoll. Cherries went tumbling to the floor.

  The head of th
e doll was missing, replaced by a gaping hole that spilled white, cotton stuffing. Slowly, Jazz lowered himself to his knees and lifted the beheaded doll. “Find Mabel, Tate. Find her now.”

  Tate didn’t have to look far.

  Sturdy, old Mabel, her smooth, brown face was still and cold. Frozen in an expression of pure shock as she lay on her back in the bathroom just down the hall from Mariah’s room. By her outstretched hand was the missing doll head.

  Tate’s eyes fastened on the little piece of metal protruding from the doll’s head. Then his eyes locked on the nail gun lying by the door. Finally, he turned and focused on the macabre sight of Mabel Winslow laying in a sprawl in the middle of the floor, her eyes rolled up, as if trying to see the nail that shot into her skull.

  Blood and gore splattered the bathtub behind her from where she had fallen and hit the tub with her head.

  Pausing, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And then he backed out of the bathroom. “Jazz, I’d advise you to call Anne-Marie to come get Mariah.”

  The whole town was silent, nervous. People shot each other suspicious looks and glanced over their shoulders often.

  Instead of a wedding, the rainy Saturday had a funeral scheduled. Ayeisha Winslow dabbed at her streaming eyes with a handkerchief, staring at the headstone inscribed with her mama’s name. There was no body. The body couldn’t be released yet, but Ayeisha had gone ahead with the funeral without the body.

  The body.

  Oh, God. Mama.

  “You’ll find who killed my mama, Sheriff McNeil,” she said softly to the man standing next to her. He stood there, quiet and somber, his hat in his hands and his head bowed. When she spoke, he looked up from the headstone and nodded. “I will find him, Ayeisha. I promise.”

  Though the minister had spoken his final words some time back, people still crowded around the headstone, out of respect, shock, grief and curiosity. Mabel Winslow had been a fixture in this town, much like Betsy Crane.