Wicked Women Whodunit

by Davidson, MaryJanice

  “If you’re going off in search of him, I’m coming, Will, so don’t even try to argue,” she said, scampering out of reach of his hands and climbing on the back of the snowmobile again. Besides, she couldn’t bear the idea of letting him out of her sight even for a minute. The last time he’d disappeared, she’d tripped over a dead body, and she was afraid if she let him go, she’d be hearing about his corpse next.

  Her rear end protested another ride on the snowmobile, but Will didn’t argue, which made her momentarily suspicious. But she knew she had him when he climbed on, too, and twisted around to grab her head and pull her mouth to his for a long, lingering kiss.

  That’s right, she was powerful. Competent. Confident. God, it felt good. And they were going to figure this out together, because Will believed in her, too.

  She adjusted herself on the seat when he pulled away, wrapping her arms around him in preparation. Then she tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Now, where are we going again?”

  Her face buried in the back of Will’s coat, her teeth chattering hard enough to break, Lanie gave a sigh of relief when Will steered the snowmobile behind the white mound of what was probably a hedge and cut the engine.

  Next time she decided on a weekend away, she was definitely going to Florida.

  “The office is just down the street,” Will murmured, climbing down and helping her off. They were on the edge of Churchville’s tiny business district, and he nodded toward the silent block of converted houses, all boasting what looked like shingles on the lawns, most likely announcing salons, realtors, and law offices. “But I didn’t want to pull up right in front. I’m thinking stealth is probably a good idea until we know where Petey is.”

  “So we’re not looking for him?” Lanie asked, relieved.

  He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No, because I don’t actually have a death wish. Even a drunk idiot with a gun is more trouble than I want tonight. We’re looking for flashlights, extra batteries, and a can of gas for the snowmobile.”

  “I don’t see why we don’t call the police right now and tell them what we know,” she grumbled. It was cold, she was tired, and more than that, she was hungry. For food, for a decent cup of tea, and ultimately, for a few minutes alone with Will in a warm, well-lit room. Wait, not minutes—hours. Preferably the whole night.

  They’d sleuthed. They’d figured it out. Okay, some of their finds had been lucky coincidences, but for beginners she thought they’d done pretty well overall. They deserved heat, sustenance, and the chance to celebrate with something other than yet another ride on the Snowmobile From Hell.

  “We will call them. Inside, where it’s probably a little bit less cold than it is out here,” Will said as they trudged through the snow. “Although, you know, I wouldn’t say no to a little face-to-face time with Petey before he’s in protective custody, if you want the truth. Just enough for a word or two.”

  “A word?” She snorted. “I have to say, the alpha male thing is going to lose its appeal if you get arrested for battery. Especially if your face gets messed up.”

  “And they say men are the shallow sex.” He fumbled for his key and finally slid it into the lock. “Next time, I just might have to tie you to the bed and do this investigating stuff on my own. But, you know, I could make that very much worth your while.”

  Damn him. The pleasurable little thrill that rippled through her belly and between her legs was a tangible reminder of exactly how well he could deliver that promise.

  “The bed would have blankets on it, right?” She tilted her head up at him, wondering if he could feel the hot flush on her cheeks. “Lots of them?”

  “Whatever you want.” He kissed her before he opened the door, and then guided her into the office, muttering that he had a flashlight somewhere in the front desk.

  She heard drawers opening and more muffled muttering as she squinted into the darkness, trying to get a feel for the place. This was where Will worked, and since she hadn’t been to his house yet, it was the first place she’d seen that might provide a few more clues to who he was. Not that Will was secretive, but she was a medicine cabinet peeker from way back, and the things found on people’s desks and bookshelves, even on their kitchen counters, were sometimes a surprising window into their personalities.

  Oh, stop sleuthing, she told herself, but she edged forward anyway, hands out, wondering where the door on the wall to her right led.

  “Is this your office?” she asked him, and just as she twisted the knob and pushed, she heard Will’s fiercely whispered, “Lanie, no! The door is—”

  And then the door fell into the next room with a resounding thud, onto something that definitely wasn’t the floor.

  “Broken,” Will finished bleakly.

  She backed away, mortified, but realized something—or, more accurately, someone—was groaning beneath the heavy plank.

  “Jesus, get back,” Will shouted, rushing toward her, the flashlight’s thin yellow beam bobbing against the wall.

  Well, this time she wasn’t going to argue. She scrambled out of the way as he lunged at the fallen door, shoving it hard over the obstacle beneath it and revealing a man.

  A scrawny, moaning, leather-jacketed man sprawled on the floor, clutching his forehead with one hand and a gun with the other. The pistol shook as he pointed it, and Lanie’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest.

  Will said his name even as it came to her: “Petey.”

  Ten

  Spitting blood out of his mouth and grunting as something in his knee popped loud enough for Lanie to hear it, Petey scrambled to his feet. “Will! I’ve been looking for you, man!”

  Oh, my God. To finish the job, Lanie thought, squeezing her hands into fists. What the hell were they going to do now? Her tongue seemed to be frozen, but in her head, she was screaming. Will, move! Duck! Something!

  “I’ve, uh, been looking for you, too,” Will said evenly, still crouched by the fallen door, “all day.”

  He was stalling, which was good, but Lanie wanted him stalling somewhere out of range of the gun. Like Mexico.

  “You found him, huh?” Petey said, backing up into the desk, its metal front reverberating. If he’d been drunk last night, he’d obviously kept drinking. “Your dad, I mean. Bastard.”

  Bastard? What did he mean by that?

  Will stood up slowly, moving directly between her and Petey. “My friend Lanie here found him,” he said. “And I think you should let her leave. Right now. She’s not going to say anything to—”

  “Hey, I don’t wanna hurt anybody,” Petey argued, waving the gun as he gestured, slurring his words into one long, barely intelligible sound. “I’m sorry, miss, you had to see that and all.”

  Did he mean the body? Lanie wondered, her hands beginning to unclench. What on earth was he talking about?

  Will seemed just as confused, but he was edging closer to Petey now, inch by inch. He didn’t seem to notice and, in fact, put the gun down on the desk with a sudden clatter so he could dig in his pocket for a cigarette.

  “He wanted me to do it, you know,” he told Will, sliding onto the desk, his heavy boots banging against the metal. “Kill you. Can you believe that?”

  I knew it! Lanie wanted to crow, but she kept quiet as Will took another step closer to the desk and grabbed the gun while Petey lit a Marlboro. He hadn’t mistaken Mike for Will. Whether he’d ever intended to kill Will was another question, but somewhere along the line, he’d decided to shoot Mike DeMaio instead.

  “Why?” Will backed up, handing the gun to Lanie, handle first. Her hand shook as she took it, wondering if it was still loaded. “Put it on the front desk,” he whispered.

  Petey was smoking, and leaning back on the desk swinging his feet; he looked as casual as an office drop-in, just come for a quick hello and a cup of coffee.

  “Why’d he want you dead?” he asked from behind a thick blue cloud of smoke. When Will nodded, he went on. “Money, I guess. I said you were doin
g okay when he asked me, and he figured maybe he could get into your bank account on the Internet or something. Use your place for a while.”

  Lanie took a step toward Will as his face hardened in fury. Money—God. It probably would have been easier to hear that it was revenge or jealousy or some other gut-level emotion, but for whatever Will had in his savings account? Mike DeMaio had been either completely desperate or lacking even the simplest moral compass, or both.

  “And he asked you to do it.” It wasn’t a question, and Petey frowned.

  “Yeah, he asked me, and you should be glad, man!” He knocked the ash from his cigarette onto the floor before taking another long drag. “ ’Cause I played along, you know? I told him I’d do it, that I knew you, I knew where you hung out, and I still talked to guys on your crew ...” He nodded, thinking back, a small, unbelievably creepy smile quirking his lips, and Lanie shuddered.

  “And why would that make me glad?” Will asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “ ’Cause I was never gonna do it, man!” Petey dropped the butt and ground it out with his boot, grinning like a lunatic. “I’d never do that to you, Will! Not after everything you’ve done for me all these years, you know?”

  “Oh, right! Like ... firing you. Telling you you’re a fuck-up and an incompetent. That kind of thing, huh?”

  “Don’t make him mad,” Lanie whispered, grabbing Will’s elbow. “It’s over.”

  “We have the gun,” Will muttered back, “and you could probably take him in a fair fight. I want to hear this.”

  She swallowed, knowing what was coming, and Petey didn’t disappoint her.

  “I just thought ...” He shrugged, all wounded innocence. “I just thought you’d be proud of me, you know? For putting it over on him, for going along with it so he didn’t run off looking for somebody else to do the job.”

  “You thought I’d reward you.” Will snorted, and for the first time Petey looked mad.

  “I thought you might, you know, appreciate my loyalty,” Petey said, obviously trying hard to enunciate each word with something like dignity. Unfortunately, “appreciate” came out like “preejate.”

  “You killed his father,” Lanie said in a rush, unable to stop the words. “You killed his father. Dead. Murdered. That’s not like running out for another six-pack or picking up the dry cleaning. It’s—”

  “Who the hell are you to say?” Petey shouted, climbing off the desk and taking a step toward her. Will stopped him with one fist, swinging out of nowhere and landing below Petey’s right eye with a sickening crunch.

  “Don’t touch her,” he growled, stepping back as Petey staggered to his knees, holding his cheek. “And don’t do me any more favors.”

  Eleven

  “What was this for?” Will asked, holding up the box of Miss Clairol. He was sprawled naked on his bed, pawing through Lanie’s suitcase. Her midnight blue panties with the floral embroidery had elicited a very impressed “mmmm.”

  Lanie snatched the box and stuffed it into her tote bag, fighting a blush. “I was thinking of going blonder. Somehow, I never got around to it.”

  He grinned and made a grab for her, which she did nothing to resist. Settling her on top of him, he ground his hips into hers purposefully, and she let his borrowed robe fall open to feel his solid thighs against hers.

  It looked like she wasn’t going to have time for hair coloring this afternoon, either.

  They’d waited for the police to come last night, with Petey bound in electrical tape on the desk chair, and had made as many excuses for their impromptu investigation as possible. None of which Jackson Holby had bothered to argue. At least not with any real steam. He’d lazed at the station house while his detectives were out doing the hard work, albeit not too effectively, and Will had solved his father’s murder. Even Lanie could tell Holby was secretly pleased more hadn’t been required of him.

  Then they’d gone back to Will’s. Despite everything they’d been through together, Lanie had been convinced staying there for the rest of the weekend would be awkward. With Petey arrested and nothing to do but grieve, or rage, she was sure Will would finally break. Lose it, just a little bit. And no one wanted an audience for that.

  But he hadn’t. He’d been quiet after he got back from the Seavers’, and she’d offered him the hot tea and toast she’d made. When they climbed into bed, he’d simply held her for a long time, fitting his long, firm body against hers, and stroking her hair like a talisman without speaking until she was nearly asleep.

  And then he’d started talking, in a low, rambling murmur, about his childhood. The memories were a little disjointed, and without context Lanie had a hard time following some of it, but the point wasn’t for her to understand what Will was relating about growing up with Mike as his absentee dad, and his mom doing the best she could on her own, but simply to listen.

  So she did. And when his hand wandered away from her hair and down her body, caressing her breasts and smoothing over her belly, she’d turned over and opened herself up to him, heart, mouth, and sex.

  She was fairly sure he cried at one point, the rusty, hard-earned tears that were the only kind most men seemed able to shed, and in the end he’d driven into her with such intensity that she knew she’d left half-moon marks on his shoulders where her fingernails had bitten into the skin. And when he came, he’d roared, thrusting over and over until he’d emptied himself of everything he had, collapsing into a deep sleep minutes later, with his arm still circled around her.

  And that was it, Lanie thought, rubbing her cheek against his collarbone now. They’d slept until noon, but when they got up he’d been fine, teasing her with kisses and dragging her into a steaming shower while she was still half asleep.

  He’d woken her up the rest of the way very effectively while they were in there.

  And that was part of the mystery of Will DeMaio, she realized. Not that he wasn’t grieving for his father, or letting loose any of his justified rage that the man had been willing to kill him for little more than a few bucks and a place to stay for a while, because he was. He was doing it in his own way, in his own time. What stuck in her throat was the idea that she might not be around at the end of the process. That she might never have the chance to put together all the pieces of the puzzle.

  “Jackson said the highways are fine now,” he said, setting her away from him. “If you have to leave tonight, that is.”

  Her heart sang, a cheery little pop tune. He didn’t look happy about the idea at all.

  “I was thinking I might take an extra day,” she said slowly. Don’t screw this up now, that hateful voice in her head whispered. Don’t push your luck. “If, well ... if you wouldn’t mind me staying, that is.”

  “Your investigative skills go right down the toilet when you’ve had one too many orgasms, don’t they?” His eyes were that warm Caribbean blue again. Screw Florida on her next vacation—that was where she wanted to go, the Island of Will.

  “Well, I don’t want to ... you know, wear out my welcome. Push my luck.” God, she sounded pathetic. What happened to powerful, confident Lanie Burke? Mentally, she kicked herself. Of course, that Lanie hadn’t been faced with a good-bye in a few hours’ time.

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with luck, Lanie,” Will said, taking her hand in his. When she looked up at him, their eyes locked, and she felt her heart turn over, just once, a hopeful, joyful little hop.

  “It’s not about luck or karma or fate,” he went on. He was serious now, and even so, she couldn’t help admiring the beautiful line of his jaw as he spoke, the full, lovingly shaped mouth. “It’s about what you do, what choices you make. There’s no such thing as bad luck.”

  “So you’re saying the wedding buffet disaster was my fault, then?” She arched an eyebrow at him, but she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.

  He paused, looking at the ceiling as if he was going to find the answer conveniently written there. “I’m saying ... that maybe all the
choices you made led you here. To this particular weekend, to that particular bar.”

  “So you’re saying ... meeting you was fate.” She crossed her arms over her chest, watching in delight as he realized she’d cornered him. “In fact, I think what you’re saying is you are my fate. Is that right?”

  “I think what I’m saying is you’re my fate.” He smirked, proud of himself, and then added, “And I’m your good luck charm. Or something.”

  “I don’t think you have any idea what you’re talking about anymore.” She laughed, and leaned forward to whisper, “But I like the idea that it’s your good luck I’m going to stay another day. And it’s your good luck that I may invite you to stay with me in the city. I’m fairly certain we won’t have to solve any murders, either. New York’s crime rate has gone way down.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Lanie Burke.” He grinned and lunged at her, rolling on top of her with a long, hot kiss. “I have a feeling I’m going to need a long, long time to figure you out.”

  “Years, I bet,” she murmured, groaning when his fingers found her nipple and tweaked it playfully.

  “Well, you’re in luck,” he answered, and she melted when she saw that adorable twinkle in his eye. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m free.”

  Dear Reader:

  The one thing I love more than a delicious romance is a great mystery. Even my childhood copies of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights were shelved right alongside my Nancy Drews. So when I was given the chance to combine the two genres, I jumped at it (figuratively, of course). Mixing in some humor made the whole process even more fun, and after some brainstorming about hot sex, dead bodies (not together, naturally), and laugh-out-loud situations, “Single White Dead Guy” was born.

  I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. And look for my new Brava romance / mystery, Murder in the Hamptons, available now!