“How about the Nowhere Bar in fifteen minutes?”
I hope this isn’t a sign our relationship is going nowhere. “Okay, see you there.”
I’m disappointed we’re meeting in such a public place, though I’m delighted to be meeting him at all for something that isn’t work related. But the suddenness of the call throws me into a frenzy because I’m far from date ready. I don’t have enough time to wash my hair because it takes me fifteen minutes just to blow dry and style it. So I pin it up and hop in the shower, washing everything from the neck down. I hesitate when I look at my legs. I haven’t shaved in nearly a week; when the weather gets colder and long pants become a daily fixture, I tend to get lazy. Now I’m regretting it. What if I get lucky tonight? What if Hurley and I end up somewhere in bed together? Can I risk grossing him out with hairy legs?
I decide I can’t and shave them in record time, leaving myself with two good-sized nicks that refuse to quit oozing blood. I get out of the shower and dab some toilet paper on them, praying that scabs are less of a turn-off than winter fur.
I do a quick fix to my hair and make-up, and then change my outfit five times in an effort to find a pair of pants that don’t make my ass look bigger than the fender on a Buick. Rubbish thinks I’m playing with him and each time I remove a pair of pants and toss them aside, he pounces on them, biting and clawing like it’s a life-and-death struggle.
I settle on a pair of pants I find the least offensive—black and made out of a very forgiving stretchy knit fabric—and smooth my blouse down over them. I grab my coat, purse and car keys, and head out with one minute to spare.
I find Hurley sitting at a table in a back corner. He waves to me when I enter and I meander my way through the crowd of people standing around the bar. When I get to the table, he stands and pulls out a chair for me. I catch a faint whiff of some exotic scent emanating from him and my hormones kick up a notch.
“Thanks for the invite,” I say.
He settles back into his own chair and motions at a barmaid. “Wait until you hear what I have to tell you before you thank me,” he warns, his expression taut.
He takes a swig of his Samuel Adams as the barmaid arrives to take my order. I settle on a Miller Lite on tap and the second the barmaid turns away I lean toward Hurley.
“What is it?” I ask.
“We found Erik Tolliver’s gun.”
He just drops it out there, like a bomb, with no further explanation. Judging from his earlier warning, I’m guessing that the circumstances surrounding this find won’t bode well for Erik.
“Where?”
“It was tucked in between some sheets in a linen cabinet in the radiology department at the hospital. One of the techs found it this evening when she was rotating the linens.”
“Fingerprints?” I ask.
Hurley shakes his head. “It was wiped clean. But that reminds me. We got the fingerprint evidence back from Madison and several of the prints we collected in the house belonged to Erik.”
“Of course they did. He lived there for a long time so I’d expect to find some of his prints. Were any of them found in blood, or in the mess in the kitchen?”
“No,” Hurley admits.
The barmaid brings my beer and I take a swig to avoid looking at Hurley, knowing my disappointment is probably showing on my face. “Have you done any ballistics yet?” I ask, grasping at straws.
“No, but given where we found it . . .” He lets the thought hang there, knowing I’m smart enough to come to the obvious conclusion. Then he further depresses me by adding, “I did some follow-up this evening on those women whose names you gave me and their alibis check out. So if you’re right about Erik, we have no suspects at all. I think it’s time to admit defeat.”
“I’ll wait for the ballistics report.”
Hurley smiles. “You are a stubborn woman, Winston.”
“It’s not stubbornness, Hurley, it’s my gut. I consider myself a pretty good judge of character and I truly don’t think Erik Tolliver could have done this.”
“Despite all the evidence?”
“It’s circumstantial, just like it was with David.”
An awkward silence stretches between us. When Karen Owenby was murdered, the primary suspect, at least in Hurley’s eyes, was my husband, David. But despite my anger and disappointment with David over his affair, I couldn’t make myself believe he was a killer, despite some pretty damning evidence. Hurley and I butted heads then much as we are now. That time, I prevailed, but I have to confess that this time I’m a little less sure. I know Erik fairly well, but not nearly as well as I know David. And despite what I just said to Hurley about my gut, I’m clearly not as astute as I might think, given that David managed to carry on an affair for a long while without my knowledge.
Hoping to lighten the mood and keep my hasty leg shaving from being a total waste of time, I challenge Hurley to a game of darts. But my heart isn’t in it tonight and he beats me handily. With my beer now gone, I tell Hurley I’m going to call it a night.
“Okay,” he says, draining the last of his second beer. “I’ll walk you out.”
He gathers both of our coats from our table and holds mine for me while I put it on. As he settles the coat around me, his hands gently grip my shoulders and linger there for a second longer than necessary. I stand frozen to the spot, afraid to move and afraid not to move, until his hands finally drop away. My face feels like it’s about one foot away from a blast furnace so I keep my eyes focused ahead, worried that if I look at Hurley the raw emotions I feel will be apparent from the color in my cheeks.
The cool night air seems to help some but I still avoid looking at Hurley until I get to my car. As he looks at the vehicle, a smile crosses his face. “How’s it driving?” he asks.
“So far, so good. The engine seems to run well and the seating is pretty comfy. The lingering aroma of formaldehyde is a bit of a bummer but my niece now thinks I’m a truly rocking aunt and wants to know if I’ll give her and her friends a ride in it with them lying down in the back.”
Hurley chuckles. “So are you going to buy it?”
“I don’t have much choice. It’s the only thing I can afford right now.” I pause and look up into Hurley’s baby blues. There’s a twinkle there, but I also see a hint of something else, something hot and smoldering that makes me squirm in a deliciously uncomfortable way. Something impulsive comes over me and before I can think about it, I lean up and kiss him on the cheek. His skin is warm and spicy smelling, and the bristles from his five-o’clock shadow make my lips thrum.
“Thanks for helping me find it,” I stammer as I step back.
When I look at his face I see that his smile is gone. Embarrassed by my boldness, I start to apologize but all I can do is stammer.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean . . . I didn’t want to . . . I just . . .”
Any further attempts to explain myself are cut off when Hurley takes my shoulders and pulls me close. Our faces are only inches apart and since I haven’t bothered to zip up my coat, I can feel his chest against my breasts. I’m close enough to be in touch with several of his other anatomical parts, too, and I’m pretty sure that’s not a nightstick I’m feeling. My nipples harden into exquisite little bumps and I have to fight an urge to grind my pelvis against him.
“No apology necessary,” he says, his voice thick and husky. “I rather liked it.” His face lowers and our lips touch in a gentle spark that quickly explodes into a raging fire. He pulls me into him and my entire body comes exquisitely alive with wondrous sensations everywhere it’s touching his. When his tongue probes its way between my lips, I part them willingly, ready to share every inch of myself. My hormones start flaring like sunspots, and just as I’m about to bodily toss my stud into the back of the hearse and do my best imitation of a kinky cowgirl, I hear a familiar male voice behind me.
“Well, well, isn’t this interesting?”
Hurley pulls away from me and it’s all I can do not to grab
him back, wrap my legs around his waist, and rein his lips back into submission. But my ardor dies a quick death when I see the source of the voice: Luke Nelson.
Hurley looks embarrassed; his face is beet red and the front of his jeans make it obvious he was enjoying what we were doing. As was I, and I’m pretty pissed off at Nelson for interrupting.
“So are you two always a team?” Nelson asks, smiling at the two of us. “It makes sense, of course, given your jobs and all. I’m sure you share a lot of interests in common.” He pauses and adopts an exaggerated expression of worry. “Though I’m thinking it might make for some conflict-of-interest issues, eh?”
Hurley’s eyes narrow, as does the tent in his pants. “What do you mean?” he asks. “What conflict of interest?”
Nelson shrugs, his smile back in place. “Well, it seems that your respective investigations would require a certain level of objectivity,” he says. “You two didn’t look very objective just now.”
Hurley’s eyes narrow down to a dangerous glint. He says nothing but the look he’s giving Nelson communicates volumes. I imagine the average person would feel rather intimidated—I do, and he’s not even looking at me. But Nelson is no average person.
He stares Hurley down for several seconds and then shrugs again. “You two have a nice night,” he says, and then he turns and heads into the bar.
Hurley’s eyes shoot darts into Nelson’s back. “I think I understand now why you don’t like him,” he mutters. “He’s a smug bastard.”
“That he is,” I concur, wishing Hurley would shift his attention from Nelson back to me. Some of those delicious tingly feelings he triggered in me are still circulating. But Nelson has successfully killed the mood.
As soon as Nelson disappears into the building, Hurley finally turns to look at me. “It makes me want to try to get a search warrant for his office, just to teach him a lesson. But there’s no cause.”
I frown, realizing that what he says is right but not liking it.
“You okay to get home on your own?” he says.
My hopes sink faster than William did after seeing Ethan’s cockroach. I nod reluctantly, angrier than ever with Nelson. I desperately want to make him pay.
“Drive carefully,” Hurley says. He stands there looking at me and I realize he’s waiting for me to get into my car. I turn and open the door, wishing I could come up with some way to make the evening last a little longer. But the moment is gone, utterly and sadly irretrievable.
As soon as I settle in on the front seat, Hurley says, “See you soon,” and then he’s gone.
I stick my key in the ignition and turn it. The engine starts up without a hitch, purring contentedly. And as I back the hearse out of the parking lot, I find myself wishing Luke Nelson was riding in the back the way most of the prior passengers did.
Chapter 34
My night is filled with dreams about Hurley, some of them erotic, most of them just warm and cuddly. It’s one of the latter that’s interrupted when my alarm goes off. I groan as I roll over and hit the snooze button, praying that I can fall back to sleep and pick the dream up where it left off, but it’s not to be. Nine minutes later the alarm goes off again, and after slapping it irritably, I drag my butt out of bed.
After taking care of my morning ablutions, I head over to Izzy’s house and knock on the back door. Dom answers moments later.
“Good morning!” he says cheerfully. “You’re just in time for breakfast. I made blueberry pancakes.”
Dom’s blueberry pancakes are orgasmic and I figure they might be just the medicine I need to quit mourning my lack of Hurley. I follow Dom into the kitchen—a bright, cheery room with east-facing windows that take full advantage of the morning sun—and find Izzy seated at the table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper.
“Good morning,” I say, slipping into my usual chair. The smell of the pancakes has me practically drooling.
Izzy sets his paper aside and stares at me.
“What?” I say, knowing he’s seeing something but not sure what it is.
“You have something to tell me?”
I shrug. “I don’t think so.”
He stares a little longer, his eyes narrowing into slits. Curious, Dom turns from the stove and starts staring at me too. “I think you’re right, Izzy. Something is different.”
I look back and forth between the two of them, my expression rife with skepticism. “You guys are nuts,” I say dismissively.
“No, no, I can see it,” Dom says. He turns back to the stove, scoops a stack of pancakes onto a plate, and then walks over to me. “Spill it or I won’t let you have any,” he says, waving the plate under my nose.
Thumbscrews and Chinese water tortures have nothing over the aroma of warm, juicy blueberries stuffed into fat, fluffy pancakes. I cave in a half second flat.
“Okay, Hurley and I met at the Nowhere for drinks last night and afterward we made out in the parking lot.”
Dom scoops three pancakes off the top of the stack and plops them on my plate. The next two go to Izzy. Dom takes the last one for himself and settles in beside me. “Do tell,” he says. “Was this a date?”
I cut a pat of butter from the stick on the table and start painting my pancakes with it. “Not really,” I say. “Turns out he wanted to tell me they’d found Erik’s gun.”
Izzy asks, “Where?”
“It was under some sheets in a linen closet in the radiology department at the hospital.”
Izzy grimaces and gives me a sympathetic look.
“I know, I know,” I say with a sigh. “It doesn’t look good for Erik. But until the ballistics report comes in, I’m not convinced.”
“All right, enough,” Dom interjects. “Quit talking shop and let’s get back to the making out part.”
Now that my pancakes are thoroughly coated in melted butter, I grab the warm syrup Dom has on the table and bathe my stack with it. “We had a couple of beers and played some darts,” I tell them. “Then, when we left, he walked me to my car.”
“Wait, you have a car?” Izzy says. “Did you actually buy something?”
“Not officially, but I’m thinking I will. Bobby Keegan is letting me test drive it for a day or two to help me decide.”
“Is it something reliable?” Izzy asks. Dom gives him an exasperated look. I know Dom could care less about the car; he wants the smooch scoop.
“It seems to be,” I tell Izzy. “But it has . . . other issues.”
Izzy frowns and I take advantage of the moment to have my first bite of pancake. As I chew, the flavors of maple, pancake, and blueberries start a small orgy in my mouth.
“Get to the kissing stuff,” Dom says, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Was it good? Did he use tongue? Did you share any, um, friction?” The expression on his face is devilishly delighted.
I smile enigmatically and wiggle my eyebrows at him. “You could say there was some friction, but we were interrupted before things could get too heated.”
“Interrupted how?” Dom asks.
“That shrink, Luke Nelson, was there. He looked pretty smug at finding the two of us in a clutch and made some innuendos about how our pairing up might be a conflict of interest.”
Izzy frowns at that. “That’s ludicrous. Besides, what difference would it make to him? Didn’t Hurley say Nelson had been cleared with regard to Shannon’s death? As I recall, his alibi was pretty solid.”
“It is,” I admit. “But there’s something about that guy that bothers me. I can’t put my finger on it but I get the distinct feeling he’s hiding something.”
“Well, he is. Or was,” Izzy says. “He had all those women he was stringing along.”
I nod thoughtfully, enjoying a few more bites of breakfast heaven before I speak again. “I’d like to talk to one of the patients Nelson saw the day of Shannon’s death, Carla Andrusson. She’s my dentist’s wife and I’ve socialized with her a few times in years past when David and I attended some parties.
I plan on going into the office first thing this morning, but do you think it would be okay if I took a little time away later today to do that?”
Izzy shrugs. “If there aren’t any autopsies pending, I don’t see why not. But what do you hope to accomplish? Hasn’t Hurley already verified all the appointments?”
“He did. But I just can’t let go of this nagging feeling I have that something is off. Maybe it’s just my dislike of the guy, but I want to look into it.”
Izzy stares at me with a worried expression and shakes his head. I know he wants to say something but I refuse to take his bait. We both go back to eating and the room is utterly silent for a few minutes other than the noise of forks scraping against plates. As I stab the last bite of my pancakes and let them melt in my mouth, I have to resist the urge to run my fingers around my plate so I can snag the remaining few crumbs. “Dom,” I say, once I have swallowed and dropped my fork onto the empty plate with a clatter, “that was heavenly.”
Dom beams and his lily-white skin blushes an adoring shade of pink. “Thanks.” He hops up and starts clearing the table, carrying the dishes to the sink. As soon as he starts loading the dishwasher, Izzy leans toward me and says, “Be careful, Mattie.”
“Of what?”
“Losing your objectivity. I know you haven’t taken a liking to this Nelson guy but don’t let a first impression override your common sense. It could get you into trouble. And the same thing goes for Erik.”
“What do you mean?”
“The evidence against him is pretty strong. I think you need to start entertaining the idea that you might be wrong about him.”
I shake my head vehemently. “I don’t believe Erik did this.”
“No, you don’t want to believe Erik did this. But if you’re honest with yourself I think you’ll realize that it’s not only possible, but probable that he did. He had motive, opportunity, and the weapon.”
“We don’t know if that gun was the murder weapon yet,” I say irritably, hearing how feeble it sounds even to me. “Can we at least wait for the ballistics report before we convict him?”
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