Murder Mayhem and Mama

by Christie Craig

  When he stopped talking, she jumped in. “I wasn’t upset. It’s none of my business. But she should be upset.”

  He placed his hand over the phone. “I don’t think she would care. That was my sister.”

  Sister? Suddenly hit by the resemblance between the two of them, she felt like an idiot. She should have known. Even more, she should have never mentioned it.

  “Do you want salad and bread sticks?” He arched his eyebrows at her.

  She nodded, then dropped into the chair and only halfway listened as he finished ordering and gave the hotel address. Then he hung up.

  She stared at the television. She felt him watching her, not the TV.

  “Her name is Susan,” he said. “She lives in Austin. I guess it was rude of me not to introduce her, but I got the call about the pickup and I didn’t think.”

  “Maybe you should go spend some time with her.”

  “I did while you were in school.”

  “Bet she’d like to see you again. Living out of town and all.” Cali’s focus stayed glued to the television. Not that she listened.

  He said something to her, and she glanced at him briefly. “Can we just watch some television?”

  His gaze shifted back to the television and then back to her. “It’s a commercial.”

  “I like commercials,” she said.

  “So erectile dysfunction is of a real interest to you?” He chuckled.

  She refocused on the television, saw the man and woman lounging in bathtubs and blushed. “This whole thing is too awkward.”

  “What’s awkward?”

  “This.” She eyed him. He still looked good, too good. “You, laying on my hotel bed and ordering takeout food. You being nice one minute and a jerk the next.”

  The sudden crease between his eyebrows hinted at his frustration. “I admit I wasn’t on my best behavior in the beginning, but I’ve been working on that.”

  “And that’s confusing me. So go back to being a jerk.”

  He frowned. “Look. All I want to do is make sure you’re okay. Make sure you come out of all this without being hurt.”

  “Really? That’s all you want? And that kiss out there was what?”

  “The kiss was probably a mistake.”

  Probably? He stared at her as if waiting for her to throw the next verbal blow, but she didn’t have one. She really did need to learn to argue better.

  The news broadcaster announced a news flash on the television. Their argument went on pause, and they focused on the screen. “A woman’s body was found. We’re told Galveston police suspect the boyfriend to be the killer.”

  “You see!” he said. “That’s why I’m here. You could be next.” He jumped off the bed, tossed the remote down, and stormed into the bathroom. The door thudded closed. And Cali’s heart thudded with it.

  The sound of shower spraying water onto the plastic curtain became apparent. The news continued. She focused on that, anything not to think about him being naked in the shower. The reporter shifted subjects to a report about the Houston cops who were recently killed. They splashed Mike Anderson’s photo across the screen. She remembered him from her apartment, but she also remembered him from somewhere else, too. But from where?

  It’s important, Cali. You need to remember. Her mom’s voice echoed inside her head.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Still frowning, Brit stepped out of the cold shower and grabbed the towel that hung over the curtain rod. The moment he buried his face into the nubby white cotton, he regretted it.

  The musky aroma of woman mixed with a flowery fragrance clung to the damp cloth. Her scent. The vision of her rubbing the towel over her naked curves filled his head. The memory of the kiss whispered through his mind. The recollection of how soft her skin had felt when he’d slipped his hand under her sweater to caress her bare back had him aching to touch more. He breathed in, letting the aroma of the towel drive him crazy, because sniffing towels and sweaters was as close as he could afford to get to her.

  He hadn’t been kidding about the kiss being a mistake. Since when did he lose his head and start making out in public? He wasn’t a sixteen-year-old hormone-crazed kid anymore. What the hell had he been thinking?

  He moved the towel down his chest and lower, only to discover the cold shower hadn’t helped. Friggin’ hell. He couldn’t face her with his dick as hard as wood. And taking care of the problem with her in the next room didn’t feel right.

  Leaning against the sink, he tried to think about something that would make him go limp. The thought that tomorrow he would have to attend his mom’s birthday party did the trick. The fact that his mind took him to his mom, reminded him how he’d compared Cali to his mother in the beginning. He remembered thinking she was hiding something earlier when he’d shown up at the school after Garcia had called. Had it only been seeing him with Susan that had her upset? Or was it more?

  He pulled his underwear and jeans off the towel rack where he’d hung them. His jeans weren’t zipped when he heard the knock on the hotel’s door.

  “Don’t you dare open that,” he yelled and stepped out of the bathroom as he finished zipping.

  She stood next to the door, her purse in her hands. Her eyes rounded. “It’s...our dinner.”

  He stepped to the window and carefully slid the curtain back. At the sight of the young teenage boy, he relaxed, and called out. “Just a sec.” He reached in his back pocket for his wallet.

  “Here.” She shook three twenties at him. “Take it.”

  He took the money, opened the door, and exchanged the twenties for plastic bags full of food. Backing up, he set dinner on the dresser, and started pulling out the white boxes. When he looked up, he met her frown.

  It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t have a shirt on. Frowning, he dropped the food and headed for the bathroom to finish getting dressed.

  When he came back out, she sat on the bed, one of the boxes balanced on her lap. Her knife and fork were unwrapped and she had a napkin spread out on part of her lap. She glanced up and picked up her plastic silverware as if she’d been waiting for him before she began to eat. Another sign of her impeccable manners. He walked to the dresser, collected his own box, and sat on the other side of the bed.

  When his weight shifted the mattress, a frown pulled at her mouth. He considered getting up and sitting in the chair, but that felt silly. He wasn’t going to attack her. Besides, he couldn’t sleep sitting up in a chair, and that’s exactly what he hoped to do after dinner.

  Tense silence filled the room, and he could feel her trying to build a wall around herself.

  He didn’t want a damn wall between them.

  “How’s your dinner?” he asked.

  “Good,” she said.

  One word. And she didn’t even look at him. Yup, she was building a wall.

  “How was your day?” he asked, determined to tear it down.

  “Fine.”

  One word.

  “Did your principal talk to you about me showing up?”

  “No.”

  One word.

  “Did you want to share entrees?” he asked.

  She wrapped some pasta around the plastic fork, cut the few strings of pasta hanging off with her knife. “I’m fine.”

  Two words.

  But he needed more. “Why not?”

  He saw her shoulders tightened, and while making her mad wasn’t his objective, sometimes that’s what it took to bring down someone’s wall.

  She dropped her fork and knife and raised her eyes. “I’m not sure I know you well enough to eat after you,” she said in an oh-so-polite manner. While anger flashed in her blue eyes, obviously it wasn’t enough, because the wall she built between them still stood. Mentally, he could see her add another few bricks.

  “That’s funny,” he said.

  “What’s funny?” Her tone was tight enough to strangle someone.

  “You worried about germs. It didn’t stop you from putting your t
ongue in my mouth in the parking lot.”

  Her gorgeous mouth dropped open. “I didn’t do that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  She opened her mouth to deny it and then closed it. “But you started it.”

  “You didn’t tell me to stop.”

  Her frown deepened. “I already told you that I’m not—”

  “Having sex with me. Yeah, I know, I heard you the first time. But I’m not talking sex. I’m talking about sharing your Chicken Marsala. And maybe sharing a conversation. I hate the silent treatment. I don’t see any reason why we can’t be civil to each other.”

  She looked down at her food and stared at her chicken. “I wasn’t giving you the silent treatment.” She paused. “Okay, maybe I was, but this is crazy.”

  “What part of this is crazy?” he asked, wishing she’d look at him again.

  “All of it.” She finally raised her eyes. He somehow sensed the wall she’d built was gone.

  “It does feel crazy,” he said, meaning what was happening between them. He took a bite of his veal and the tomato sauce and cheese flavored his tongue.

  She exhaled. “Here.” She handed him the box of food. “Let’s swap.”

  “You sure?” He smiled.

  “Yes.”

  He couldn’t help but wonder if he could change her mind about the sex that easily.

  He waited until she took a bite from his box before he started eating. They ate in silence, but it was no longer the tense, angry kind of silence.

  “Save room for dessert.” He forked another piece of sauce-laden chicken and a mushroom into his mouth.

  “What did you get for dessert?” She started to close her box lid.

  He reached over and pierced the last piece of veal from her box and brought it to his lips.

  “Italian cream cake,” he said around the flavors in his mouth. As he ate the last bite of chicken, he suddenly realized something. For the last few weeks, he’d eaten when his gut hurt from hunger, but he hadn’t tasted or savored food. Hell, he hadn’t tasted or savored life.

  And while he didn’t quite understand it, he sensed the change had something, or rather everything, to do with her.

  ~

  After eating two small bites of dessert, Cali, still sitting on her side of the bed, set the cake down beside her and started gathering up the to-go boxes. When she looked over at him, he was watching her.

  “You not going to finish that?” He pointed his fork at her and gazed at her cake.

  “No. I’m full.” She passed him the Styrofoam box with her half of cake in it and she watched him devour it in three bites.

  When he looked up, he flinched to see her watching him.

  “What?” he said around the cake and covered his mouth. He swallowed. “Did I break some manner thing?”

  She grinned. “No.” She’d actually been thinking she liked how he ate with enthusiasm.

  “Then why are you looking at me like the manner police?”

  “I’m not looking at you like the manner police,” she said.

  “Bull crap. I’ve seen the way you eat, all proper-like. You used your knife and did that roll thing with your fork and pasta.” He pointed at her with the fork. “And you put your napkin in your lap.”

  Her mouth dropped open a bit. “Wait. Are you accusing me of making fun of how you eat, or are you making fun of the way I eat?”

  “I’m not making fun of you. I’m just saying you eat like you’re at some richified dinner party.”

  “I do not,” she said, not really insulted, because of the humor she saw in his eyes. He didn’t smile nearly enough. “I just eat the way my mother taught me to eat.”

  “Which is richified,” he said and chuckled. “And then there’s all the pleases and thank yous you hand out.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Since when did being polite become a bad thing?”

  “I didn’t say it was bad. It just makes you different.” He continued to grin at her, then scraped the bottom of his Styrofoam make-shift plate and slid the fork into his mouth to savor the last of the icing. He pulled the fork out of his mouth slowly. “I’ll bet you wouldn’t have done that,” he said.

  “I do that all the time.”

  “You don’t cuss.” He pointed at her again with the fork. “When you were mad the day you couldn’t find your keys, you said ‘darn it.’” He laughed again. “Do you know what I say when I lose my keys?”

  She frowned. “I can imagine. Anyway, I don’t use bad language because I’m a teacher.”

  “Teachers don’t cuss?” He repositioned himself lower on the bed, and looked at her through his thick lashes.

  “If I cuss outside the classroom, then I’m likely to cuss inside the classroom. And the last thing a teacher needs is a student going home and telling their parents that Miss McKay used bad language.”

  He rested his hand on his flat stomach and continued to look up at her with his smirky grin on his face. “I bet you couldn’t say shit if you had a mouthful of it.”

  “I can say dickhead.”

  He tilted his head back and laughed. “You know I’m just teasing you.”

  “Right,” she said and still was only half-annoyed. What was it about him that made her feel lighter?

  “Seriously, you’re perfect.” His smile faded to something softer, something that reminded her of how he looked before he’d kissed her.

  He kissed just like he ate, as if he really enjoyed it.

  “Don’t change a thing,” he said.

  He picked up the remote and flicked channels until he found a movie.

  Sneaking a peek, she found him watching her and not the television. She stood up. “I’m going to brush my teeth. Are you going to make fun of me for doing that, too?”

  He smiled. “No.”

  She started for the bathroom.

  “But can I borrow your toothbrush when you’re done?”

  She swung around. “No!”

  She heard him laughing as she shut the bathroom door. When she looked up at her reflection, she was smiling. She almost didn’t recognize herself. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who needed to laugh more.

  ~

  When she walked out a few minutes later, she grabbed a pillow and stretched out with her head at the foot of the bed. Pillow tucked beneath her, she latched her arms around it and pretended to watch television.

  “You have to work?” she asked without looking back.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll have some cops ride by.”

  “I’m sure I’m fine,” she said. Burying her chin deeper into the pillow, she thought about Stan catching her at the lawyer’s office. Fear did a number on her full stomach. Then for some reason, she recalled Stan saying he hadn’t been the one to shoot at her. She almost told Brit that, but thought better of it. He’d just think she was defending Stan again.

  Then she remembered the dream last night, when Mom had said…No. Her maternal psyche had said that Stan hadn’t killed anybody—that Nolan was after him, and that Stan was looking for the bracelet because he needed money to get away. Could Nolan have been the one who shot at her door? Had he been aiming at Stan?

  There had been blood on the door. Was it blood from his two friends? Or had Stan been shot? She closed her eyes and tried to remember if he’d seemed hurt when he came at her at the parking lot.

  No, he had seemed fine. Then all of a sudden, she recalled that he’d smelled really bad. Had it been because he’d been in the hotel room with the dead bodies? Oh, God, what kind of person would do that?

  She chewed on those thoughts and questions while chewing on her lip. Footsteps sounded outside the door. She stiffened, then relaxed when she heard them pass. Taking a deep breath, she glanced over her shoulder. Brit was asleep. Something told her all she had to do was scream, and he’d be up. But what if Stan showed up while Brit was at work? Suddenly, she wasn’t so eager for him to leave.

  ~

  Cali heard the beeping noise, but pushed it away
. The warm mattress beneath her shifted slightly. Or was it a mattress? It felt too warm, too much like…someone. A male someone. Oh, crap!

  Everything came back. Brit in bed with her. She felt the warmth of bare skin under her cheek. When had he removed his shirt? When had she decided to trade out her pillow for his chest? Bare chest. She started to jerk up when she heard and felt him take a sharp breath.

  Mortified, she feigned sleep. That’s when she realized her head wasn’t the only thing on top of him. Her right arm and hand rested across the man’s bare stomach. Yup, mortified pretty much defined her mood right now.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  He inhaled again, sharply. He shifted and through the tiniest slit in her eyes, she saw him look at his watch.

  Slowly, as if not wanting to wake her, he picked up her hand and removed it from his stomach. Then she felt him slide out from under her. Cali’s head dropped to the warm spot on the mattress. She kept her eyes shut, praying he wouldn’t guess she was awake. She felt the mattress shift as he left the bed. She heard him heading to the bathroom.

  In a few minutes, he came back and sat on the edge of the bed. She felt him staring. He leaned down and pulled the blanket across her. The mattress shifted ever so slightly and she felt his breath on her ear. Lightly, he pressed his lips against her cheek. The minty scent of mouthwash filled her nose.

  “Damn, you’re pretty,” he whispered and stood up.

  Her heart stopped beating, and she wished he’d crawl back in bed, pull her into his arms and make love to her.

  Instead, she heard him gathering his things from the bedside table, and he moved to the door. He didn’t leave quickly, but stood there for several seconds before finally walking out.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, she rolled over and pulled the pillow he’d been using closer to her face. It smelled like him.

  Closing her eyes, she shut everything out, and let herself drift off.

  ~

  Brit stood at the motel door. He had to think about Keith and Anderson, he had to go to work. How long had she been in his arms tonight? He wished he’d been awake the entire time. Sweet heavens, she’d felt good. For that, he’d give up sleep.