THE FUTURE WIDOW'S CLUB

by Rhonda Nelson

  He was trying to scare her, and to her discomfort, it was working. Still, she couldn't tell him about the FWC. She couldn't betray her fellow Future Widows. Furthermore, telling him about them wasn't going to help him, because it wouldn't do one damn thing for his investigation. Jolie lifted her chin, but refused to respond.

  Looking extremely put out, Jake heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. We'll do it the hard way. What time do you want to meet me at the apartment?"

  "Whenever works best for you," she said sweetly, willing to be partly accommodating.

  He grunted. "Six, then."

  "I'll see you there."

  Jake blew out another breath, rubbed his eyes, then to her vast relief finally flipped on the recorder. "Okay," he said. "Let's start at the beginning…"

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Arms crossed over his chest, Jake stood in Sadie's shop and peered out her storefront window across the square, watching Jolie tape a sign to the inside window of Marshall Inc., presumably one announcing Marshall's death. She wore a pair of khaki slacks and a form-fitting ribbed shirt that hugged her curves, the very ones he's spent too much time thinking about this morning while she'd been in his office, Jake thought, doing his damnedest to ignore the commingled flash of heat and affection that warmed both his heart and his groin.

  She'd pulled that thick, striking hair back into a sleek ponytail and secured it with a stylish patterned scarf. Gold hoops dangled in her ears and despite the fact that she'd had very little sleep, she looked curiously refreshed. Her lips were curled in the faintest hint of a smile and the tension she'd seemed to have carried around for the past couple of years had lessoned, making her, if possible, even more beautiful than she'd already been.

  Last night when Mike had called him, Jake had realized then what he was in for. He'd known that he'd have to talk to Jolie, be around her, particularly if the investigation played out the way he'd assumed. And for the most part, it had. He'd been simultaneously filled with anticipation and dread, with longing and regret. He'd braced himself, had literally felt every muscle clench in preparation, for what simply being in her presence would do to him.

  He couldn't be around her without going into sensory and emotional overload. Her smooth vanilla scent, that silky laugh, the sweet curve of her familiar face. Between those things and the ever-present hum of awareness—the sheer need to simply feel her body against his, the brush of her hair beneath his chin—he'd been in a state of weary but pleasant agony for the better part of twenty-four hours.

  This morning when she'd walked into this office, every cell in his body had reacted to her presence. He'd felt her in his blood, in his very bones. At first he'd avoided looking at her because he'd known the instant his eyes met hers, he'd lose his breath. An odd, not altogether pleasant feeling, that was for damned sure, Jake thought with a silent chuckle. Even knowing about the life insurance and pre-burial plan, even knowing that she'd gotten herself into a helluva mess and that she planned to hold out on him, hadn't lessened the impact.

  Nevertheless, focusing on the job ahead and keeping her delectable little ass out of jail had to take top priority.

  He'd spent the majority of the day at the house, going over the scene once more. He'd combed the house from end to end and had spent a lot of time walking the yard, making sure that he hadn't missed anything the night before. He was convinced that whoever had entered the house had done so by way of the front door. It would have taken too much time to heave the garage doors up and out of the way to go in via the carport, and the back gate had been padlocked.

  Which meant the killer had to have entered from the front and, given that, one could reasonably assume that someone had seen something, whether they knew it or not.

  To that end, Jake had spent a couple of hours canvassing the neighborhood. Unfortunately, while none of Marshall's neighbors were particularly concerned that he was dead—and more than one had seemed almost ghoulishly delighted—not a single one of them had noticed anything out of the ordinary.

  From her vantage point in the kitchen, Mrs. Dotson across the street had noticed Jolie leave, but had said that one of her children had decided to give their pet hamster swimming lessons in the commode and she'd been forced to abandon the dinner dishes. It was after dark when she'd returned to the sink and by then she said she'd been so tired that she wouldn't have noticed Freddy Krueger lurking in the bushes.

  Whoever had waltzed into that house hadn't looked out of place, had looked as if they belonged there, or at the very least had a legitimate excuse for being there. Taking that into consideration had left him with the unhappy task of checking out Jolie's close friends and family, namely Sadie and Fran. Did he think either one of them did it? Gut instinct told him no. But the sooner he ruled them out, the sooner he could move on with the investigation. Jolie was the epicenter—he had to work the circle closest to her, then fan out.

  He'd purposely arrived at The Spa a little early to get a read on Sadie. Sadie loved Jolie, he knew. They'd been play-pen playmates—their parents had been friends—and had ended up having a sisterly bond as a result of that long-time acquaintance.

  Sadie had been very emotional when she'd talked to him following the night Chris had hit her friend. She'd complained of Jolie's stubborn streak with exasperated affection—one he completely understood—and had called Chris a "mean-spirited snake." Jake had to agree with that assessment as well. It seemed wrong somehow to be questioning her for holding the same opinions he himself held, but her role as Jolie's most trusted friend entitled her to more knowledge of the situation than any other person, which gave her more of a motive to hate him than the rest of them.

  Nose burning from the scent of hair color and perm solution, Jake waited for her last client to leave before posing the question he'd been waiting to ask. "What's she hiding, Sadie?"

  Sadie, who'd been dropping coins into the cash register, stilled. "W-what do you mean?"

  Pathetic stall tactic, but he'd caught her off guard and her reaction just confirmed what he knew—Jolie might not have killed Chris, but she'd definitely been doing something they didn't want him to find out about. Given the nature of his most recent discoveries, it was probably something incriminating.

  He mentally swore.

  "I know about the pre-burial plan and the life insurance she took out last week," Jake told her, a fact Jolie had probably already shared with her, but he felt compelled to impart as well. "But there's more." He braced a hand against the desk. "I know she's innocent, Sadie, and I want to help her, but I don't want anything coming up and biting me on the ass on this. I need to know everything."

  She refused to look up. "I wish I could help you, Jake, but I can't. You know she didn't do it. That's all you need to know, right?"

  Jake shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. I've got Dean looking over my shoulder and the D.A. isn't going to be too far behind. Come on, Sadie," he cajoled. "I know she's your friend, but are you sure you're being the best one you can be to her? I don't think she appreciates the gravity of the situation."

  Sadie shut the drawer and looked up. Worry lined her forehead, but determination firmed her pert jaw. "I kept her mom in the loop, Jake. That was a risk, but I could justify it. I—I can't do anymore. I'm sorry. As for the gravity of the situation—" she shrugged helplessly "—you know how she is. Once she makes her mind up, that's it. There's no changing it."

  He'd gotten no more than he'd expected, he supposed. Still, it had been worth a shot. "So she came to your house last night?"

  "She did." Her brow folded into a thoughtful frown. "She got there around eight—the girls and I were cooking—and left about ten."

  "Were you home all night?"

  Sadie's lips quirked with a hint of droll humor and crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned a hip against the desk. "I wondered how long it would take you to get around to it."

  Jake shrugged, a sheepish grin tugging at his mouth. "I gotta ask, Sadie."

  "I talked with J
olie last night right before she left to go to Meredith's—she mentioned that Chris was in the shower, by the way—then I left and went to Mom's for dinner. Rob was pulling a double, so the girls and I were on our own. We were there for about an hour … home by seven." She smiled and her eyes twinkled. "Does that cover everything? Does my alibi pass muster, Detective?"

  "I'm sure it will once I've checked it out."

  She shot him a look, then snorted indelicately. "You're barking up the wrong tree, Jake. I might have been tempted to cut his dick off, but I'd have never had the nerve to shoot him."

  Jake winced. "She told you about that, eh?"

  Sadie nodded. "She did. Only fitting, if you ask me. He'd never been anything but a dick, anyway."

  Pretty much the consensus, Jake thought, unsurprised by the amusing observation. "What about you? Have you got any theories about who could have done it?"

  Sadie paused to consider the question and her gaze turned speculative. "I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "He had a lot of enemies, but when you factor in the whole cutting-his-dick-off part, I'm thinking that you're most likely looking for a woman." She cocked her head and slid him a droll glance. "Can't see a man having the stomach for it no matter how much he might have hated him."

  Jake had arrived at the same conclusion. Cutting off Marshall's dick had been the ultimate insult, the final salvo and the entire concept smacked of distinctly feminine revenge. He was most likely looking for a jilted lover, which meant that a trip to see Emily Dean would undoubtedly be on his agenda tomorrow. Now there was something to look forward to, Jake thought, as dread balled in his gut. If she was the one who'd murdered Marshall, she'd undoubtedly be entertaining similar thoughts about him and Mike for outing the affair which had ultimately ruined her marriage. A bulletproof vest and a cup probably wouldn't be out of order, he thought with a dark chuckle.

  Sadie finished tidying up and slung her purse over her shoulder. "Jolie's on her way," she said. "Wanna follow me outside so I can lock up? Rob's got evening shift tonight and—" she glanced at her watch "—if I leave right now, we might actually have time to eat dinner together before he has to leave."

  "Sure." Following her outside, he looked out across the square and tried to avoid staring at Jolie as she made her way closer to them … but it wasn't easy. With every step that put her nearer to him, he could feel her—feel his belly hollowing, then clenching, then hollowing again.

  The faint scent of petunias, pine mulch and fresh-cut grass wafted toward him on the late afternoon breeze and the sun played hide and seek with low, smeared clouds. Despite the fact that he'd lost his pretty bronze sheen, Jebediah stood proudly on his little patch of marble, seemingly enjoying the soft gurgle of the nearby fountain. On the other side of the square an elderly couple held hands, strolled unhurriedly to some unknown destination.

  Sadie jerked her thumb toward her car. "Hey, Jo, I'm heading out," she called out. "I want to catch dinner with Rob before he leaves for work."

  Jolie waved her on. "Go on," she told her. "I'll call you later."

  "You'll be at your mom's?"

  "Yeah."

  Sadie nodded, then slid into her car. She waggled her fingers at them as she drove away. Thirty seconds later, Jolie arrived in front of him. Several strands of dark red hair had pulled loose from her ponytail and whispered around her face. One in particular had swept across that lush mouth and clung distractingly. "You got here early," she remarked with a twinkling smile. "Checking out Sadie, were you?"

  Jake's gaze slid away from her, and he felt a grin tease his mouth. She was too damned smart for her own good. God, how he'd missed that. "Just asking questions."

  She headed toward the back of the building to the entrance to the apartment. "Well, Mom said whenever you get ready to ask some questions to be sure and call first. She'll put a blackberry cobbler in the oven."

  A bark of laughter erupted from the back of Jake's throat as he followed her up the steep stairs. Blackberry cobbler was his absolute favorite dessert and Jolie's mother made the best he'd ever eaten. "What?" he joked. "You think you have my whole strategy figured out?"

  She fished the key out of her purse, then threw him a look over her shoulder. "Not your whole strategy per se," she said drolly, "but we've read enough suspense novels to have a general idea of how things are going to go."

  Jake felt a sigh slip through his smiling lips. "I'm just doing my job."

  Jolie pushed open the door and made her way inside. Tall windows painted rectangular wedges of golden light on the worn hardwood floors. "I know. And if I haven't said it yet, I'm glad that it's you that's got this one."

  Something warm moved into his chest. "Yeah, well, you might not be glad if I can't figure out who did this." He grimaced. "So far I've hit nothing but dead ends."

  "But you're just getting started, right?"

  Jake wandered into the living room part of the giant studio, noting the small touches which told him Jolie had definitely spent a lot of time here. A bottle of nail polish, a paperback book and a hair clip sat on an end table, and he could detect the faintest hint of vanilla in the somewhat musty air.

  "I am," he told her. "Still, I'd like to have a little more evidence to work with. Other than a couple of smudges on the faucet, there's nothing." He shoved his hands in his pockets, shook his head. He told her about canvassing the yard, then speaking to the neighbors. "Naturally nobody saw anything."

  "Chris hadn't exactly ingratiated himself with the neighbors." Jolie pulled a brown accordion file from one of the kitchen drawers, walked over and handed it to him. "But maybe this will help."

  Jake accepted the folder, randomly flipped through it and felt his eyes widen. "The mayor's daughter?"

  "Yep."

  "Christ." What a friggin' nightmare. The sheriff's wife, the mayor's daughter. Was there any prominent citizen in Moon Valley that he hadn't screwed over?

  "I'd like to get in the house tomorrow and get my things. Is that going to be all right?"

  Still engrossed in the file, Jake nodded. "Yeah. We've gotten everything we're going to get out of there, I think, and everything else has been documented." He looked up. "You could actually move back in if you'd like."

  She chewed the corner of her mouth and shook her head. "Nope. I just want to get what little is mine and move on, not move back," she added significantly.

  "Technically it's all yours now."

  "I don't want it. Everything that belonged to Chris can be sold with the house."

  Jake nodded. Given what Marshall had put her through, he could easily see why she wouldn't want to live in the house anymore. Still, she should probably exercise a little discretion when it came to actually putting it on the market. He hesitated, then told her so. "I think that you should wait until this is resolved. Like I told you before, everything you do is going to be under intense scrutiny … and considering the fact that you took out an insurance policy last week and researched a pre-burial plan for him, you're being looked at pretty hard as it is."

  "I'll think about it," she said evasively.

  Jake felt his nostrils flare as he pulled in a slow breath. She obviously had absolutely no intention of following his advice. She had to be the most provokingly stubborn female he'd ever encountered in his life. "Think real hard, Jo."

  "I will," she said, the tone of her voice adding a not. "Did you need anything else tonight?" she asked. She dropped a glance at her watch. "Because if not, Mom's cooking. You're, uh… You're welcome to join us if you'd like," she said, awkwardly issuing the invitation. There was something distinctly vulnerable about the tentative way she tendered it. "There'll be plenty."

  Jake's first impulse was to accept, to latch on to any reason to be with her. And hell, as far as that went, he had a reason—Dean had told him to stick to her like glue. But somehow he didn't think enjoying dinner with her would qualify as true surveillance. After a moment, he shook his head. "Thanks, but I can't. I've got to feed the horses and, er … Marzipan
is due to foal any day now."

  Her expression brightened. "She is?"

  Jake nodded. Marzipan had been "her" horse. She'd gone with him to the sale when he'd bought the sweet-tempered almond-colored mare. She'd even named her. After they'd broken up, Jake had been tempted to sell the horse, not wanting any unnecessary reminders of Jolie around, but he'd never been able to summon the nerve. It had just felt wrong somehow. "It's her first," he said, "so I want to be there."

  And from the wistful expression on her face, she wanted to be there, too, Jake realized, feeling a tingly whoosh swoop through his midsection. The last damned thing he needed to do was even indirectly try to pick up where they left off, to spend more time with her than was absolutely necessary. Which made him the biggest fool in the world when he offered to call her when the foaling started. "If you'd like to be there, that is."

  A big smile slowly dawned across her lips and she nodded. A bizarre charge passed between them, one that heralded if not a new beginning, then at the very least a truce. "I'd love to be there," she said, her voice somewhat strangled. "Thanks."

  Jake nodded, unable to tear his gaze away from hers. Jesus, he'd missed her, still ached for her in places that he hadn't known could hurt. "Okay, then," he finally managed to say, and gestured toward the door. "We should probably get going."

  Jolie nodded, seeming to come to her senses as well, and followed him downstairs. She locked up, then after a brief but awkward goodbye, Jake made his way back to his car. He slid behind the wheel and swore. Repeatedly. "Idiot," he muttered.

  As if things weren't complicated enough.

  Hell, her friggin' husband wasn't even in the ground yet and all he could think about was how much he wanted to feel the sweet curve of her cheek beneath his palm, the taste of her lush mouth against his lips. It was crazy, insane even. Jake pictured Dean's thunderous expression, could just hear him—and you call this objective?—and felt a burst of wry laughter well up in his throat.

  He needed his head examined, Jake decided. He truly did. Just because Marshall was dead didn't mean they could just pick up where they'd left off. A lot of bitter water had flowed under the bridge—and he was responsible for most of it.