“Marriage is like a game of cards. You start out with two hearts and a diamond.” Gabriella giggled, and I wondered if she were just a touch crazy. “But to win the game, you really need a club and a spade.”
“Shut the hell up!” Gabriella’s attorney tried to put his hand across her mouth, and she pried it off.
“Instead of appreciating that your husband was trying to do something noble, you were worried that he wouldn’t have enough money left to buy you all the things you wanted,” Chief Kincaid said, quickly continuing his attack.
I was impressed. The chief was really skilled at this. Every word he uttered was like a razor shaving away another layer of Gabriella’s deceit.
“That’s not true!” Gabriella’s expression turned petulant. “Elliot is a do-gooder who has no concept of the value of money.” Her voice was sullen, and she pushed away her lawyer, who had resumed begging her to shut up. “I wasn’t born with a trust fund. I know what it’s like to be poor, and I wasn’t going to let that happen again. My husband is an idiot, and I wasn’t about to allow him to ruin us.”
I looked at Elliot. A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he stood frozen, staring at his wife.
“And you were willing to do anything to stop your husband from squandering his money?” Chief Kincaid gripped the table edge. “Even commit murder?”
“It was self-defense.” Gabriella grew more composed and her words held utter conviction. “I had no choice. I had to protect the money. Mac wanted me to run away with him, but I couldn’t do that. He’d never amount to anything. Then after we got the ransom, he refused to go without me.”
“So you killed him,” Chief Kincaid thundered.
“I had to.” Gabriella twitched her shoulders. “Mac just couldn’t understand that we were through. It was as if I wasn’t speaking English. He stood in the kitchen, staring at me and scratching his head.” She snickered. “At least it was a vacation for his balls.”
Gabriella’s attorney moaned.
“So you never intended to leave your husband?” Chief Kincaid asked.
“Of course not.” Gabriella frowned. “Since Elliot wouldn’t be able to touch his trust fund for another year, I’d have time to distract him from that stupid wildlife park. Meanwhile, I’d have the million safely tucked away for a rainy day.”
“Strike three,” the prosecutor crowed.
The chief gathered his papers and tapped them into a neat pile before inserting them into the folder, then stood up. “I hope you enjoy all the luxuries in prison. We have enough evidence to put you away for a long, long time.”
“What?” Gabriella blinked as if coming out of a trance. Suddenly, she seemed to realize how truly screwed she was and grabbed the chief’s hand. “How about a deal?”
“I can’t imagine what you have to trade, but that will be up to the prosecutor.” Chief Kincaid shook off Gabriella’s fingers, then opened the door to the interrogation room and said to the officer standing on the other side, “Lock her up. I’ve had enough of this superficial woman’s selfishness to last a lifetime.”
EPILOGUE
The past week had been surreal. I couldn’t believe it was already Saturday again. It seemed that everyone from Elliot Winston to the county prosecutor had wanted to talk to me. Some, like the attorney, I couldn’t avoid. Although to be fair, the woman had never handled a fake kidnapping turned murder before, and even with what Gabriella had said to Chief Kincaid, it wasn’t quite the confession that would ensure a slam dunk conviction.
The prosecutor had questioned me for several hours and told me that although I might have to testify in court, it was more likely that Gabriella would accept a plea. An offer of second-degree murder was on the table, which, unlike first degree, where the punishment was either death or life without parole, second degree meant only a ten-to-thirty-year sentence.
Evidently, Gabriella’s lawyer was trying to get the prosecutor to reduce the charge to voluntary manslaughter or murder in the heat of passion, which would cut his client’s time behind bars in half. However, the prosecutor was holding firm. But one way or another, Gabriella was going to prison.
In contrast to my interview with the prosecutor, my conversation with Elliot was brief, but confusing. I still wasn’t sure why he’d wanted to speak to me. There was nothing that I could tell him that he didn’t already know. And even less, that would make him feel any better. He’d lost both his wife and the wildlife park.
Yes. Once the ransom money was released from evidence, he might be able to get the park back on track. But I wasn’t sure his heart was in the project anymore. Elliot was a broken man who seemed lost in his cold gigantic house. I wondered if, after all that had happened, he’d even stick around Shadow Bend.
If my heart-to-heart with the prosecutor and Elliot hadn’t been strange enough, there was the meeting with Roberta Malone’s attorney. Riyad had informed me that Roberta had named me executor of her will and director of the charity she had established. Her house was to be turned into a shelter for women who had lost their homes due to divorce or widowhood. Roberta had left an enormous trust fund to supply the money to run Malone House and pay me a stipend for my time.
While I was still reeling from that little bombshell, the Banner had run an article on the role that Jake’s private investigation firm had in solving the kidnapping/murder. Thank goodness, as per my wishes, Jake and the chief had managed to leave out my part in cracking the case. And luckily, very few people knew just how much I had been involved in the process.
Boone had, of course, wanted to hear every detail, and when he and I met Poppy for a drink at Gossip Central so that I could tell them both at once, she had been strangely distant. My first inclination was to ignore the problem between us, but she and I had been friends for too long, so I’d insisted that we get together to talk. Just the two of us. I’d asked her to come to the dime store after it closed at four, and she was due any second.
While I waited for Poppy, I thought about Jake. We’d never gotten together with Gran and Tony to find out what Birdie was hiding. And I still hadn’t told him that I’d broken up with Noah, although I’m sure he suspected it when I told him that I would go away this weekend with him.
There just had never been a good time to tell him that I loved him. I wanted it to be a special moment. Somewhere nice with some privacy. An impossible combination to come by, since we both lived with our elderly relatives, and I didn’t want to tell him in the store or his office.
But Jake was picking me up at six, and we were heading to Kansas City. We were booked for two nights at the Ambassador Hotel, and no one expected us back until noon on Monday. This was it. I had new lingerie and had made Jake one of my erotic baskets. I would tell him I loved him and then . . .
My thoughts trailed off as Poppy pushed through the dime store’s entrance. I locked the door behind her, and we settled in our usual stools at the soda fountain. I poured us each a cup of coffee and nudged a plate of peanut butter brownies toward her. I figured this conversation would require more than plain chocolate.
Poppy avoided my gaze and said, “I’m not sure why you thought we needed to talk.”
“Yes. You do.” I narrowed my eyes. “Let’s get it out in the open and deal with it.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Poppy glanced at the brownies, then shuddered and pushed the plate away.
“Yes. You do,” I repeated, patting her hand. “We’ve been friends for nearly twenty-five years. You can’t shut me out just because there are things you don’t want to face.”
“Fine,” Poppy snapped. She poked my shoulder with her index finger and said, “How could you hurt Noah so badly? He’s such a kind, sweet man. He didn’t deserve how you treated him. Do you know he got so drunk after you left him at Gossip Central that I had to drive him home? What if he’d gotten into a car accident and been killed because of you?”
&
nbsp; She was right about Noah being a nice guy. But I hadn’t had a choice. In our situation, someone was bound to get hurt. Although I was sorry it was Noah, I’d never lied to him, and he knew the risks when we’d started dating. And I knew, no matter what, he’d never drive drunk, so that accusation was baseless.
Taking my friend’s hands, I said, “What I did or didn’t do to Noah isn’t the problem.” I grabbed her chin when she tried to turn away from me. “The real issue between us is that you’re in love with him.”
“I am not.” Poppy’s beautiful face paled and she blinked back tears. “He’s too good for someone like me. He needs someone clean and pure.”
“Just because you’ve sown some wild oats—” I paused when Poppy snorted, then I grinned and said, “Okay, a whole field of wild oats—doesn’t make you dirty or unworthy. Noah would never judge you on your past.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Poppy shrugged. “He’s too wrapped up in you to ever see me.”
“Give him a while. He’ll soon realize that although he loves me, he isn’t in love with me.” I scooted over and put my arm around her slender shoulders. “Once he’s had a chance to process things, you need to ask him out. Right now he thinks of you as a friend, but I bet it wouldn’t take much to change that to something more.”
“Wouldn’t it be weird?” Poppy asked, a tiny line between her brows. “Me dating your ex? I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”
“It will probably be uncomfortable at first,” I conceded. “But all I want is for all of us to be happy. If you and Noah become a couple, I think we can get past the initial awkwardness.”
Poppy and I talked for another hour, polishing off the plate of brownies and finishing the pot of coffee. When I walked her to the door, I was confident that our friendship could withstand the discomfort of her being with my ex-boyfriend. Thank goodness Noah and I had never slept together. Even as teens we’d never gone all the way.
As Poppy stepped over the threshold, I warned, “Make sure you don’t wait too long to ask Noah out. Half the unattached females under thirty-five were probably waiting for him to dump me and go on the market again. And Meg is working for him now, so she’ll see him every day.”
Poppy ran her hands over her tight-fitting black jeans and smiled. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”
Tossing her platinum curls, she waved and headed to her Hummer. I hoped she was right. Poppy was stunning, but I’d caught sight of Meg the other day, and she was pretty damn beautiful, too. If she were interested in Noah, Meg might give Poppy some competition.
* * *
When Jake picked me up, I noticed that he’d had running boards installed on his truck. I pointed to them and asked, “Are these for me?”
“They sure are, sugar.” Jake brushed a kiss across my lips. “I still plan on helping you in and out most of the time, because I love the feeling of your gorgeous ass in my hands, but this way you won’t feel so helpless.”
“Thank you so much.” I gave him a kiss, handed him the erotic gift basket, and climbed into the cab. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” Certainly, no had ever called my round bottom gorgeous before.
Jake and I kept the conversation light on our drive from Shadow Bend into the city, but as we checked into the hotel, we both grew quiet. And when he opened the door to our room and I walked into the elegant living room, I silently gawked at the staircase leading up to the loft bedroom. Jake had apparently booked us a suite.
Jake threw his Stetson on the chair and carried our overnight bags and the gift basket upstairs. Watching him, butterflies took flight in my stomach and my mind went blank. Should I unpack? Strip? Turn on the TV?
I was still standing frozen staring out the window when Jake returned. He drew me into his arms, rested his chin on the top of my head, and stroked my back. All the stress and tension oozed out of me, and I laid my cheek against his chest.
“Darlin’.” Jake’s rich voice swept over me. “We can do as much or as little as you’re comfortable with. Just because we’re in a hotel room doesn’t mean we have to have sex.” Using his thumb, he tilted my face up to his and grinned. “But that’s not saying that I’m not hoping we do.”
“Can we talk first?” I hated that my voice was so shaky, but this was a big moment in my life. I’d never told a man that I loved him before. “I need to say some things before we go any further.”
“How about some wine?” Jake let me go and walked to the wet bar. “I had them put that moscato you like on ice, and I could use a beer.”
“Great.”
We settled on the sofa with our drinks, and I shifted so that I could see his face while we talked. “I guess the first thing I need to tell you is that last Thursday night I told Noah that I wasn’t going to date him anymore.”
“Are you telling me the same thing?” Jake’s jaw tightened, and he thumped his beer bottle on the coffee table.
“No!” I put my glass next to his bottle and took both his hands in mine. “I’m telling you that I . . .” Drawing in a deep breath, I went for broke. “I love you.”
“I feel the same way about you.” Jake smiled widely. “I’ve loved you since our first kiss. Hell! Maybe since that day we met when you tripped and I got to hold you in my arms.”
“It seems as if I’ve spent my entire life searching for pieces that would make my world whole. Even when I found one, I had no idea how it was supposed to fit with the others.” I released his hands so that I could cup his cheeks. “Then you appeared and it took me a while, but I finally put the puzzle together. I saw how my life was supposed to be lived. It’s supposed to be lived in your arms.”
“That’s exactly where you should be.” Jake scooped me into his lap and whispered, “Because that’s the picture I see for my life, too.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, savoring his words and the warmth of his embrace. Jake pulled the elastic band from my hair and ran his fingers through the heavy mass of ringlets, massaging my scalp. I sighed in bliss as he arranged the curls around my shoulders.
I turned to kiss him, but Jake took my chin between his fingers before our lips met and said, “If we start this now, I won’t be able to stop with a kiss. Are you ready for that?”
“More than ready,” I murmured.
My last thought before Jake’s mouth claimed mine was that I was glad no one knew where we were. For once, we weren’t in the pickup truck. There wouldn’t be any cops flashing their bright lights at us and threatening to arrest us for indecent exposure. I could enjoy this moment without worrying about an interruption.
At that exact moment, Jake’s cell buzzed. He frowned, then shrugged and said, “That’s not Tony’s ringtone.” He shut the phone off without looking at the screen and went back to nibbling my throat.
When a few seconds later my cell rang, hearing that it wasn’t Dad or Gran’s ringtone, I followed Jake’s example and silenced it. This was our private time. And I planned to enjoy every second of it.
Still. Wasn’t it odd that someone was trying to reach both of us?
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Stepping back from the old kitchen table I used as a workbench, I contemplated my creations. Both evoked strong feelings. The one on my left called up memories of a simpler time, filled with sunlight and innocence, while the one on my right summoned thoughts of sensual darkness and guilty pleasures.
As I examined the nostalgia basket, the one for the Gerbers’ sixtieth anniversary, I smoothed the 1952 Saturday Evening Post, straightened the fifties music CD, and pinned an I LIKE IKE button to the sock monkey’s hat. Once I tucked in the sacks of peppermint sticks and licorice whips, a mesh bag of marbles, and a kazoo, I was ready to place my trademark—the one perfect book—in the center. Norman Rockwell’s Faith of America had bee
n the clear choice.
Happy with the Gerbers’ basket, I turned my attention to the one for the Cusslers, who were celebrating their first anniversary. I studied my handiwork. It needed something to be amazing. They had asked for heat and passion; so which would sizzle more, a crimson silk blindfold or a pair of black satin panties? Already nestled in the folds of an ebony lace shawl were a bottle of cinnamon massage oil, a box of chocolate-dipped strawberries, and a lushly illustrated copy of the Kama Sutra.
Closing my eyes, I visualized the couple receiving the gift. He was the golf pro at the local country club and she was a PE teacher. Both were extremely athletic. It was a shame a trapeze bar wouldn’t fit into the basket.
My deliberation was interrupted by the jingling of sleigh bells. Shoot! The front door was supposed to be locked. On Mondays, Devereaux’s Dime Store and Gift Baskets didn’t open until noon, by which time all the naughty bits and pieces would be safely tucked out of sight, and I would be working on a Birthday Bonanza toy box featuring a first edition of Lassie Come Home for dog lover Timmy Harper.
Not that I was ashamed of my erotic creations, but like the sour-looking middle-aged man who had just entered the store, there were a lot of people with whom I didn’t want to discuss my artistic vision. The way my luck had been running lately, this guy was probably the town’s new minister, or worse, a reporter who hadn’t gotten the message that I was old news.
When the man’s unblinking muddy brown eyes skimmed my worktable and his lips pressed together in a disapproving thin white line, I said hastily, “Sorry. We’re closed.”
He grunted, lumbering past the paperback bookrack, the three-stool soda fountain, and the glass candy case, straight toward me. He walked as if each step was drawn on the floor, and nothing short of an act of God would stop him. The fact that he hadn’t even glanced at the enticing display of fudge, truffles, and other mouthwatering confections was worrisome. What kind of person didn’t notice chocolate?
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