Collared For Murder

by Annie Knox

  “And when was that?” I was growing impatient with Jonnie G’s cat-and-mouse game. He knew something, and I wanted him to just spit it out.

  “April.”

  “April?” That was about the time Pamela Rawlins came to Merryville to scope it out as a possible location for the silver anniversary. It was long before the missing collar dangle had even been announced. Pris couldn’t have come looking for Jonnie G to get rid of the real prize jewels before the prize had been designed.

  “What was she trying to get rid of?”

  “That’s personal. I wouldn’t be much of a businessman if I devolved that kind of information. But it was stuff I could help her move.”

  I had a sudden flashback to Pris touching her pearls and then recoiling as though she’d been scalded. I’d never owned pearls—they’re not really my style—but I’d heard you could tell by touch whether they were real or not. Maybe Pris was harder up than she’d let on even to me and she’d hawked her jewelry.

  But it was stuff I could help her move. The import of Jonnie’s words struck me.

  “Meaning there’s stuff you can’t help people move?”

  He grinned at me. “I can help just about anybody. But some transactions require the use of more middlemen than others.”

  “Anything recent like that?”

  “Mebbe.”

  It was like talking to the caterpillar in Wonderland. Only Jonnie’s breath was worse.

  “I might have had an inquiry a couple of nights ago. Friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend sort of deal. But we only spoke in generalities.”

  “Who was it?” I held my breath, waiting for him to describe tiny Mari and her abundance of golden curls. I was not at all prepared for what he said next.

  “Never met the man before. Or since. Can’t say I liked him much. I don’t really care for artists.”

  CHAPTER

  Twenty

  I felt ridiculous.

  The M-CFO was hosting a masquerade ball in the North Woods Hotel’s second ballroom. As a thank-you to Merryville for playing host to the event, the organization opened the ball up to members of the community, and many of them had come out just for the fun of dressing up and drinking champagne.

  There was nothing catty about this space or this event. While crews were still disassembling all the tables and privacy screens in Ballroom One, the North Woods Hotel had scattered the floor of Ballroom Two with tables draped in white linens, chairs tied with gauzy white bows, and centerpieces of summer roses and sparkling candles. They’d turned the houselights low to create some atmosphere, and it made all the partygoers look like they were walking through an old film set.

  The theme of the closing masquerade was “old Hollywood.” I’m five ten and curvy, with an overabundance of pitch-black hair. My options were limited. I’d originally thought to go as Elizabeth Taylor, but in the weeks leading up to the retreat, I’d heard tell that every Merryvillian with black hair had had the exact same idea.

  Instead of adding to the herd of Liz Taylors, I’d let Lucy talk me into attending the party as Sophia Loren. She’d come by my apartment that evening and decked me out in a low-cut peasant shirt and tiered skirt that she had used as a pirate lass costume a few Halloweens before. With a heavy heart-shaped locket Dru had found at a thrift store and my hair piled in soft curls on top of my head, I looked as much like Sophia Loren as a pale, green-eyed Irish girl could look.

  Only problem? I was no bombshell. I couldn’t muster the necessary swagger. And though Aunt Dolly and Lucy wouldn’t have thought twice about showing so much bosom, I trembled in fear of a wardrobe malfunction. Besides, I could barely see through the haze of eyeliner they’d plastered on my face.

  I took a sip of chardonnay and tried to discreetly hike up the neckline of my shirt.

  “Stop futzing with your costume,” Rena said. “Lucy did a great job and you’re going to soccer-mom it all to pieces.”

  “Yeah. Where’s the fun in that?” Just the sound of Jack’s voice made me go hot all over, but having him peering down my cleavage made my face flame.

  “You snuck up on me,” I complained.

  He raised his eyebrows in wide-eyed innocence and took another pull from the hollow stirrer in his plastic cup of pop. “I’m the police,” he mumbled around the straw. “I was surveilling.”

  Rena laughed. “Surveilling what?”

  Jack bobbled his eyebrows. “Top secret stuff.”

  “You’re not in costume,” I said, reaching up to straighten the knot of his black tie and brush the shoulders of his charcoal suit.

  “Sure I am,” he said. “I’m Charlton Heston.”

  I stopped with my hands hovering over his shoulders. He was right. His hair was a little lighter, his eyes not so brooding, but he was otherwise a dead ringer for a young Heston.

  Rena laughed again. “At least you didn’t dress like Moses.”

  “Or Ben-Hur,” Jack agreed. “It’s a little drafty in here.”

  I couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across my face, listening to two of my favorite people bantering so naturally. It was ironic, too, that the straitlaced cop should have such a rapport with my best friend. Normally, Rena’s choice in wardrobe, hair color, and attitude made Merryvillians dismiss her as another degenerate from the wrong side of the tracks. Some people even thought Rena practiced witchcraft. She might curse her enemies—both real and perceived—to kingdom come, but I’d never once seen her cast a spell. But Jack saw past all of that to the sweet and loyal girl she really was.

  Tonight she was dressed as Charlie Chaplin’s Tramp: a three-piece suit, a tall bowler, a walking stick, lots of black eyeliner, a black felt Hitler mustache . . . and newly dyed black hair to complete the look. Jolly was feeling a little under the weather that night, so Rena had talked Sean into coming along as her plus one. He’d donned a seersucker suit and made a darned fine Atticus Finch.

  Lucy had had a date with Xander (who was not keen on dressing up), but she’d helped Dru dress up like a very tall Dorothy, complete with a blue gingham dress and glittered red flats sparkling on her feet. Lucy had insisted on being faithful to the original, so she’d forced Dru to borrow my Packer to serve as her Toto, complete with tiny wicker basket. He wiggled this way and that, trying to take in the sights from his precarious perch in the basket.

  I’d brought Packer’s leash as a backup plan, as I couldn’t see Packer putting up with being toted around in a basket for very long.

  “Izzy, your dog weighs a ton.”

  “Oh, hush. He’s not fat.”

  Jack sputtered a laugh. “With all the table scraps you feed that dog, it’s a wonder he isn’t spherical.”

  Everyone chuckled, and even Packer rocked from haunch to haunch, his big doggy grin wide at being the center of attention.

  “You shouldn’t feed the dog scraps,” Sean said, his voice hard-edged. “It’s not good for him.”

  “I know that,” I said, trying not to get defensive, “but it makes him happy.”

  “Come on, Izzy,” he snapped. “You know how this goes. He’s a dog. He doesn’t have judgment. You do. Use it.”

  Rena and Dru both gasped, and Jack took a step like he was going to angle in between me and Sean. I didn’t like the look on his face.

  “Sean Tucker. Can I have a word with you?”

  “Of course, Izzy McHale. I’m delighted to be at your beck and call.”

  “Oh, stuff it, Sean.”

  I turned and stalked off. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Jack start to follow me, but Rena put a restraining hand on his arm.

  I wasn’t sure Sean was behind me until he reached ahead of me to open the ballroom door for me. I didn’t look at him, but from that point forward, I could feel his presence as he followed me down the hall to a small meeting room that looked out over the hotel’s lovely green space.


  I took a deep breath and turned around to face Sean, intent on finally having it out with him once and for all.

  * * *

  Lightning flashed outside, and in the breathless moment that followed, before the grounded rumble of the thunder, Sean and I glared at each other. He took a step in my direction and I in his. Whatever had been brewing between us crackled and hissed in the half-light.

  “What is going on with you?” I snapped.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been so prickly lately.”

  He stared at me hard, and I was reminded of the serious boy he had been. He’d always had a quick smile and a joyous laugh, but with something deeper moving in his eyes. Thoughts he rarely shared.

  “I don’t know,” he finally replied.

  I held my breath, gathering courage to ask the question that had been niggling at the back of my mind since the very first time Jack Collins kissed me.

  “Is it Jack?”

  “What about Jack?”

  “You know.”

  “Are you asking if I’m jealous?”

  Despite the stormy dark, I felt like I’d been staring into the summer sun: face hot, eyes unfocused, body lethargic.

  “Maybe,” I conceded.

  In a heartbeat, his glare softened, and his mouth lifted in a boyish half smile. “Fair question. If you’d asked me even a week ago, I might have said yes. I might have grabbed you by the shoulders and kissed you silly. I might have meant it.”

  I was keenly aware of how close we stood to each other. If I raised my hand just a few inches, it would brush his.

  “And now?” I murmured.

  “Now I think the answer is no. I’m not jealous. When we first started spending time together last fall, a part of me thought . . . well, that I would feel the same way about you. The way I felt in high school. But now I realize that we’ve both changed.”

  I wasn’t so sure I’d changed. Or that he’d changed. But I kept my mouth shut.

  “Back then everything was so raw,” he continued. “Not just between us, but everything. I burned for you, Izzy, a passion that was out of proportion with the rest of my life. I’ll never feel that ache again . . . not even for you. The night after the murder, when you kissed me in your kitchen, there was no heat to it. No heat from you or from me. Just a memory of something long gone. It’s a powerful memory, but still a memory.”

  I won’t lie. His words made me a little sad. It’s like Ruth had said. There are secrets and there are secrets. Just because we both knew that the romance—even the possibility of romance—was gone from our relationship, keeping it quiet allowed us both to avoid mourning what we’d shared. Now the words were out. Spoken. Real. There was no avoiding them anymore, and we were left with no choice but to confront our loss and put it to bed.

  I was scared, deep down, that this would sever the tenuous thread between us and a lifetime of love would end. I needed Sean to love me—not the way Jack loved me but the way I loved Sean and Rena and my sisters. That kind of love was no consolation prize. It was just as important a part of my life as the romantic love Jack and I shared.

  As if he could read my mind, he reached out to take my hand. “I do still love you, Izzy McHale. Always will. But that love I had for you in high school, when I stood under your window and begged you to leave Casey, that was the basis for a wild romance. Not the basis of a life together.”

  I realized the truth in his words. Back then, if I’d let myself see past the sparkling future I’d mapped out with Casey, I might have returned Sean’s love. With the benefit of hindsight, I know I would have. We would have had one of those wild affairs fueled by hormones and the invincibility of youth. And—who knows?—perhaps that would have settled into something more stable. Permanent. But the moment had passed, and no matter how tempting, you cannot unravel the fabric of time.

  And, frankly, given how deeply I’d come to love Jack—despite my continuing inability to say the words—I wouldn’t want to unroll time. Yes, the time with Casey had been hollow, but it had put me in a position to meet Jack, and I couldn’t regret anything that brought me to that point.

  I stepped away. Just a step, but it felt as though it ripped apart the intimacy of our conversation. The lingering tension between us drained away into the space I’d created.

  “So if you’re not jealous of Jack, why have you had your back up every time I’ve spoken with you?”

  “Have I been that bad?”

  “Pretty bad,” I said.

  He laughed. “I’m sorry. I only came to the realization that I had to let you go recently, and my heart hasn’t taken the news well. It should have been the obvious conclusion the first moment I saw you look at him like he was some sort of superhero, but it didn’t strike me all at once. It came in waves: first I realized that I wasn’t good for you; then I realized that Jack was. In the middle there, I wasn’t really myself.”

  “You think Jack’s good for me?” Part of me knew it was strange to ask this of a man who’d professed feelings for me, but Sean had been my friend for longer than he’d been a potential love interest. His opinion mattered to me.

  He nodded, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Lightning lit up the room and I could see the sincerity in his expression. “Jack’s a good man, with a sense of humor and a kind heart, and he’s clearly head over heels for you. He’s solid. And me? I’m not quite done searching yet.”

  “What are you searching for?”

  “If I knew that, I’d have found it by now. In the meantime, I have the best friends a man could hope to have. Crazy-making, but still amazing.” I started to open my mouth, but he raised a hand to forestall me. “Before you ask, the answer is yes. We are most definitely still friends. You don’t get to weasel out of my life quite that easily.”

  Another crash of thunder rattled the windows in their panes.

  Without thought, I threw my arms around Sean. “Why would I ever leave you?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  The bluster of the storm had drowned out the sound of the door squealing on its hinges as it opened, and I hadn’t heard Jack coming into the room, but now—with my arms still around Sean’s waist and my easily misinterpreted words still hanging in the air—I couldn’t focus on anything but him.

  He stood like a fighter, feet braced apart, hands hanging at his sides, loose but ready to react. He must have gone outside to look for us. Rivulets of water slid down his cheeks and spilled from the folds in his jacket, but he made no move to shake off the wet. Still. He stood so still.

  I couldn’t read any emotion on his face, but he couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes as he fixed his gaze on me.

  Tension thrummed in the air like the storm’s static, paralyzing me. Sean was the one who slipped out of my grip—our embrace—and stepped away. His hands raised, he said, “Everything’s cool, Jack. Take care of her.”

  I’m not sure if Jack heard Sean or not. His full attention rested squarely on me.

  I didn’t break eye contact with Jack, but I was vaguely aware of Sean wrapping his jacket around his shoulders and slipping out the door.

  “It’s not what it looked like,” I finally murmured.

  “Really?”

  In three long strides, Jack was at my side. He smelled good, like ozone, newly mown grass, and a hint of something darker.

  I’d seen Jack serious, mostly when he was busy being Jack-the-cop. I’d seen him tender, when he brushed my hair from my face or when he lent his arm to his elderly mother. I’d seen him amused, teasing, laughing . . . all as we danced the intricate dance of flirtation. But I’d never seen Jack like this. A man, guarded, wounded, yet still somehow bold.

  I didn’t quite know how to approach this Jack. But honesty hadn’t failed me yet.

  “We’re friends. Nothing more,” I sa
id.

  He grunted.

  “Really. Once upon a time we might have had something else, but it’s gone. He likes you. Thinks you’re good for me.”

  “I don’t give a flip what Sean Tucker thinks of me. What do you think?”

  I felt like we were balanced on a fulcrum. One misstep from either of us, and the surface that held us suspended in the night would crash to the ground, smashing us both with its simple gravity.

  “Jack. I think you are a good, strong man. I think you make me smile at the most outrageous moments. I think you keep me from falling too far into myself, taking myself too seriously.” My balance tottered, and I took a breath to steady myself. “And I think I love you.”

  A flash of lightning—gentler this time, as though the storm was finally moving away—illuminated Jack’s face. The raindrops caught in his lashes glittered, and he swiped an arm across his face to clear them away. I searched his face for signs of a reaction, but he remained stoic.

  “Seriously. Sean has moved on. He’s not interested in me that way anymore. And I’m not interested in him that way either. We both thought—I don’t know—that maybe we could have that magic back. The magic of being teenagers. But we can’t, and frankly, now I don’t even want to.”

  “Hush.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, hush. You really do talk a lot.”

  “Well, I’m pouring my heart out to you, and you’re just standing there. Didn’t you hear me? I think I love you.”

  A flicker of amusement lit up Jack’s eyes, and for a second it looked like he was fighting a smile. “Think?”

  I raised my hands to his chest to give him a gentle shove backward. “Okay. I know. I know I love you. You’re making this hard.”

  He caught my hands in his and held them trapped against the heat of his body. “No. This couldn’t be any easier,” he said.

  With the tiniest tug, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me senseless.

  I let myself lean into his embrace for a moment before kissing him back, trying to convey a promise to him. A promise that I didn’t just think I loved him but that I knew I loved him. That Sean’s friendship was no threat to him. That the bond between us was real.