by Lila Dare
“Go. Take it. Have you had any dinner?”
“No.”
“I owe you a meal. How about if I go get you dinner from Angelini’s? I promise no arguments as an appetizer. I’ll pick up a bottle of wine, too. You look like you’ve had a long day.”
“I have.” I moved to the kitchen. “Here’s the front door key. You do not have permission to copy it.”
“Roger that. I’ll be right back. Lock up behind me.”
I went back to my bath, which was, I’ll admit, heavenly. The soak did me a lot of good. By the time the water turned cold, I heard the key turning in the lock. I climbed out, dried off, and put on a pair of soft stretchy pants and a tee. I debated about whether to grab a bra, but since this was my house and my rules, I decided I had the right to go for comfort. As a compromise, I put on an exercise bra. That made me decent but wasn’t as restrictive.
Marsh put two place settings on my coffee table. He’d located the wineglasses and was busily rummaging around in a drawer. “Bottle opener?”
I opened my junk drawer and withdrew the necessary item. Then, deciding that he did, indeed, owe me a meal, I sat down to watch. As far as I was concerned, he could darn well prep the food for both of us. Which he did even though he clearly was soaking wet.
Unlike Wynn, Marsh didn’t whine about it.
At last, he sat down, too, next to me. “Before we eat, I want to apologize. I see you got my roses.”
“You?” I took a bite of the salad. Surprisingly good. Marsh had tossed the leaves in the dressing that he whipped up with a bit of mustard and olive oil from my pantry.
“Yes. Didn’t you get the card?” He speared a piece of tomato.
I got up and showed it to him. I also grabbed a towel and handed it over. His attempts at drying his hair were clumsy but endearing. Finally I grabbed a comb and smoothed it into place.
“Drat. Who did you think it was from?”
“Marty. Or Hank. Remember? I threw him out of the salon today.”
“Believe me, I’m not likely to forget about your ex-husband’s visit. Officer Qualls confirmed what you told me.”
“Yes, she’s his little sidekick. The only time I feel dumber than Hank is when I remember that I married him.”
He raised his wineglass. “Here’s to honesty.”
I lifted mine and nearly choked. “Honesty?”
“Yes, I think it’s important to be honest about our mistakes. While we’re on the subject of relationships, I believe I still owe you both an apology and an explanation.”
The wine went down like silk. “Shoot. Mind if I keep eating while you grovel?”
He laughed. His chuckle was low, baritone and sexy. “No, go right ahead.”
For a minute he watched me attack my salad, and then he said, “I had no right to act so demanding. You, of course, have a right to work wherever you want.”
“It is, of course, a free country.” Sounded lame, but it fit.
A rueful grin told me he agreed. “You see, I overreacted, and it has to do with Polly.”
I put down my fork. Suddenly, I regretted letting him in. I didn’t want another dead-end relationship. True, this was only dinner, but I couldn’t deny my feelings for the man. Most of the guys in my life had been attractive, but none had lit the firestorm within me that Marsh did.
“Polly,” I repeated. “Your wife.”
“Yes.”
“You love her.”
“Yes. With all my heart.”
Well, Grace Ann, that’s that. Finish your meal and get him out of here.
“She’s been dead ten years now,” he said and he hid his face behind his wineglass.
“I-I-I’m so sorry!”
“So am I. We were high school sweethearts. I joined the military so we could get married and I could support her. Us.”
“Wh-what happened?”
“A creep I put in jail got out and shot her.”
I sank back and shivered. The venom in his voice surprised me. The expression on his face was one I’d never seen before: raw fury. It quickly disappeared, and in its place was a pain so deep I found myself wanting to hug him, to soothe him.
But I didn’t. I sat there.
He nodded and scooted a piece of lettuce around on his plate. “Right. My fault. I let down my guard. I didn’t protect her. No one told me the jerk had gotten out. I had warned her, of course, to be careful. When you’re involved with a lawman, you need to be, because, well, there can be repercussions.”
“Repercussions.”
“Right.” He took another drink of wine, set it down unsteadily, and it bumped his fork, which then hit the floor and clattered.
I jumped up to get him another, because I don’t believe in the ten-second rule. His fingers touched mine as I handed it over. “It wasn’t your fault. You know that.”
Marsh avoided my eyes and resumed eating his salad. “Who else can I blame? Certainly not her. I wish you could have met. She was wonderful. Polly never met a stranger. She was the sweetest, most open and friendly person I’ve ever known. When that scum showed up at our front door with a story that he’d had a flat, she let him in. It never occurred to her…”
He set down his fork and drank a lot of water.
“It must have been terrible.”
“It was. Worse than you can imagine.” He paused. “No sane human being can imagine that sort of violence.”
Neither of us spoke for a long time. I stared at my plate. He stared at his. Finally, he said, “Well, I’ve ruined another perfectly good meal from Angelini’s. Guess that’ll teach me.”
“Teach you what?”
“To mix business and personal. Can’t be done. Never works.”
“Are you saying you have feelings toward me?” I was tired of guessing games.
“Yes. I thought you knew that.” He turned and took my hand.
I didn’t dare look up. Instead I stared at his fingers cradling mine. I didn’t want to see his eyes. Suddenly, my mouth was dry and my heart pounded so hard I thought for sure he could hear it.
The room was so quiet, you could hear Sam’s feet as he hopped around his cage. I don’t know how long Marsh and I would have sat there, not speaking, but a little bell rang. Once, twice, three times.
The sound was new. I wondered what it was.
I rose from the sofa to follow the noise, head turned toward it, and it took me to Sam’s cage. There he was, happily chasing his tiny bell around the bottom of his cage. “Oh, look! He learned to make his bell ring! Isn’t he clever?”
Marsh put down his napkin, got up, and joined me staring at the little blue bird. “He sure did.”
We stood there, elbow to elbow, like two proud parents.
And then he took me into his arms and kissed me.
Chapter Forty-six
I DIDN’T BELIEVE IN SEX ON A FIRST DATE. OR second. Or third.
But I was ready to put my qualms aside the minute Marsh’s lips traveled down my throat and his hand slipped under my sports bra.
Fortunately, the man has an iron will. “We need to stop. Right now,” he said in a husky voice.
“I don’t want to.”
“Neither do I, but this isn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?” I asked. I had a list, but I wanted to hear his.
“First of all, there’s an investigation ongoing, and I could compromise it by having sex with you.”
That wasn’t on my list. I had thought about getting hurt, getting involved, but not about that stupid investigation.
“Right,” I said and I pushed him away. “Do you still think I could have killed Lisa Butterworth? If so, you’ve got a lot of nerve coming here and having dinner with me.”
He wouldn’t let me go. “Oh, I do?” And he kissed me again.
“I know you didn’t kill Lisa Butterworth. In fact, I want to show you this.” From his coat pocket, he pulled a grainy photo and handed it over. “The security camera took this. Lisa is already inside the shop. This
person came to the door and was let in.”
All I could see was a figure in a hoodie. I told him so. “Heck, I can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman.”
“That’s the problem. The quality is so poor, I don’t know why they bothered. A cheap system. Not worth the electricity it runs on.”
“Can’t you fix it? Like on CSI?”
“I wish. That stupid TV show has raised all sorts of unrealistic expectations. There’s no way we can enhance that photo and make it clearer.”
“How about the FBI? They can do stuff like that.”
“Right. But they have bigger concerns than one murder in small-town Georgia. Come on, let’s eat dinner.” He took my hand and walked me back to my sofa before sitting down himself.
“If you can’t tell who that is, how come you know it isn’t me?” I said as I finished my salad and helped myself to the pasta with vodka sauce. Next I took a bite of the green beans topped with sliced almonds.
“The manager at Walk-Inn Foods described what you were wearing. No hoodie. Besides, what are you? Five-six? This person is at least five-nine. That much we can tell.”
Unfortunately, that didn’t narrow down my suspect list much. Wynn, Eve, and the contractor were all at least three inches taller than I. As was Carol Brockman. As for Suzee Gaylord, I didn’t know. But Vinny Torelli definitely was at least five-nine.
I told him what I’d heard about Carol Brockman. “Eve lied to me by omission. She made it sound like Carol was suspicious, but possibly without cause.”
He nodded. “I can’t quite get a read on her.”
“I think she’s been overly sheltered, but she’s been exposed to business at such a high level that she sends off confusing signals.”
There were crinkles around his eyes as he responded. “I think you’ve nailed it. Most of the time, she seems very sure of herself. Very much in control. Then she seems to sort of tilt.” And he turned his hand to one side to illustrate. “Like a poker player who’s out of control.”
“Remember, too, she’s pregnant. As was Lisa.”
“How did you know that?”
I smirked. “I have my sources.”
“A leak in the SEPD?”
“Lisa posted news on a LISTSERV for beauty professionals.”
“Incredible. People don’t seem to realize or care how much information they give away.”
“Is it possible she had a boyfriend here in town? Or somewhere else? Could he have visited her at the shop? Gotten angry and smacked her while she was on the ladder?”
He set down his fork and stared at me. “Unbelievable. You even know about the ladder?”
“Step stool,” I corrected myself.
“Step stool.”
I told him about the contractor. “But I’m not sure that he’s a real suspect.”
“He could be liable for wrongful death under the circumstances.”
“Even though she signed a piece of paper authorizing the change?”
Marsh nodded. “That’s probably not worth much. Especially if a jury gets ahold of it. When you have a big business like Snippets, people line up to sue you. At the very least, Lisa Butterworth’s family might bring a wrongful death suit against the contractor and put him out of business.”
That reminded me of Eve’s conversation with Wynn, and his visit here. “Wynn told Eve he went back to the salon to pay off Paula Benson. She’s a masseuse. When Eve was showing me around the salon yesterday, Wynn came staggering out of a room with Paula in hot pursuit. It was gross.”
Marsh gave a low whistle. “Man, that guy loves to live on the edge. Do you really think he is a sex addict?”
“Something’s definitely wrong with him. But I’ll say this, I think he’s genuinely in love with his wife. He came by a few minutes before you showed up. I told him to leave, but he’s worried.” I bit my tongue.
“Spill it, Grace Ann.”
I shook my head. I wouldn’t betray Eve. Instead, I said, “You scared him. That’s all. He hoped I’d have some sway with Hank. That I could put in a good word for him.”
“And you let him in?”
“I hadn’t locked my front door. The roses were in my hand, and I was sort of juggling everything.”
“Right.” Marsh stared at me. “You need to be careful. I’ve promised myself I won’t go all weird on you again, but you do need to be careful.”
“What are you saying?” I finished the last scrap of my pasta.
“Don’t let Wynn in next time. Don’t trust Eve, either.”
That irked me. “Why not? You don’t seriously think she could have killed Lisa, do you? Surely Eve has an alibi?”
He took a sip of water. “Since you’ve been married to a law enforcement official, you know there are things I can’t share with you.”
“Really?” I hiked an eyebrow. “Hank shared everything with me. Remind me to tell you someday why I divorced him. The not-for-publication real reason.”
“Besides the fact he’s dumber than a grub worm?”
“Besides that.”
Chapter Forty-seven
THE NEXT MORNING PROVED UNEVENTFUL. I’D HAD a lot of trouble dragging myself out of bed. Dreams of Marsh Dillon kept me tossing and turning. I dressed carefully, pairing a pair of black slacks with a V-neck blouse dotted with small black sequins. Despite the special flooring at the salon, my feet still hurt a little from yesterday, so today I slipped on a pair of black FitFlops, sandals with a special sole that supports your foot. The faux black stones on the toe strap of the FitFlops made them a combination of dressy and casual that was perfect.
After taking care of Sam, I climbed into my car and sat there. What could I possibly do to help break the ice at the salon? An answer came in a flash. I stopped by Jergens, a local family-owned bakery, and bought scones and muffins. To my surprise, our contractor was standing there in line.
“Hi, I’m Grace Ann Terhune. The new manager at Snippets,” I said as I extended my hand. “I saw you in the salon yesterday.”
“Roy Jasper, GC. Right. I put in a bid to fit that open area the right way.”
“I know. What’s a GC?”
“General contractor.” Roy Jasper was a couple inches taller than me, with a ruddy, sunburned complexion. His dark brown hair was close cropped over his ears, and a bit long on top, but nothing special. I noticed a couple of small seams in his forehead, telltale signs he’d had skin cancer removed. Most of the older adults in the South sport similar scars. They didn’t wear sunblock when they were young, and now an entire generation is fighting melanoma, one ugly incision at a time.
“Oh. So will you install the new aquarium?” Of course, I wasn’t interested in talking about the fish tank. Not at all. But Mama always says you can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar, so I thought I’d better chat him up.
“No, that’s the responsibility of Fur, Fin, and Feather. They have a maintenance contract with Snippets. All the other salons have tanks, too. I build out around the tank, so I was there to take measurements my last visit. Since then I ordered the lumber and materials I’ll need. Should be here in two days.”
His body was stocky, and he crossed his arms over his big chest in a manner that implied he was accustomed to being the boss.
“Will your work interfere with ours?” I asked.
“Depends on what you mean by interfere. I’ll tape up plastic all around the area,” he said, pointing with his finger and drawing an imaginary rectangle above us. “We’ll try to keep the dust and noise to a minimum, but there will definitely be plenty of both.”
“Too bad you didn’t do this the first go round. Would have saved a lot of hassle.”
Mr. Jasper coughed and glanced around nervously. “It wasn’t my fault. That woman pitched a fit and demanded that there be a clear line of sight between the chairs and the waiting area. Went on and on about how it was her salon.” And he sighed.
A customer got his order and both Mr. Jasper and I moved forward a few
paces.
“Now she’s dead. For what? From what the cops told me, it happened because she was hit in the head and then fell in that darn tank. I warned her that could happen if there wasn’t a half wall coming down to meet the hood. I begged her. Told her it wasn’t safe and she wouldn’t listen.”
I nodded. “You know, it’s weird. I’ll always remember where I was the night that Lisa Butterworth died.”
“Yeah, me, too. I was with my family for the whole of the homecoming bonfire and game. My son, Troy, is on the Sabertooths football team. His blocking allowed our quarterback to make the winning touchdown! It should have been a happy memory for my wife and me and my boy, but now it’ll forever be overshadowed by Ms. Butterworth’s death.”
The young man behind the counter motioned Mr. Jasper forward.
“Have a nice day,” I told him after he received his coffee and started toward the door.
He gave me a curt nod. “See you soon.”
I pulled into a spot right as another driver climbed out of her car, a beaten-up green Volkswagen Passat. I figured she was Suzee Gaylord. “Hey there!” I said with a cheery wave. “I’m Grace Ann Terhune.”
“I know who you are.” Suzee frowned, then thought better of it, and quickly assumed a more benign expression. Even then, her eyes and her nose both tilted down slightly, giving her face a natural negativity. Her voice, certainly, did not sound welcoming, either.
I understood where she was coming from. Mom and I once found a dead body in a parking lot. For days afterward, we were both on edge. Added to the trauma of what she’d discovered, Suzee had another reason to be down in the dumps. She’d been working for Snippets for three years and expected a promotion. Every inch of the woman screamed “beauty industry professional.” Her hair had been highlighted perfectly, and the cut emphasized her best features, almond-shaped brown eyes. Her makeup had been carefully and expertly applied, but that downward cast could not be totally disguised.
Before Suzee and I could move away from our rides, another car pulled in. Somehow Carol must not have gotten word that she worked in a salon. Her hair was a disaster, a helmet of too tight curls, and she wore no makeup. Whereas Suzee wore dark pants, a silver blouse with a draping neckline, and a sharp silver and black belt, Carol’s clothes could have been donated to Goodwill and promptly rejected. Her sagging stretch pants bagged at the knees, and her top had a large pink stain in the center. As we say in the South, Carol looked like twenty miles of bad road.