a Touch of Ice

by L. j. Charles

  “I know. The color is of the diamond is amazing, and it matches Marcus’s eyes exactly.” She turned to wave as she crossed the street in the direction of her townhouse.

  A trail of icy foreboding clawed at my spine.

  Eighteen

  No doubt about it. Yesterday’s surprise session with Shelly made for a restless night’s sleep. The meeting with the police artist hung over my head, and on the blah scale, oatmeal had more going for it than I did. Best cure I know for the blahs is movement and connecting with the earth. I hit my “athletic drawer” and rummaged for a pair of gray shorts and matching sports bra, then headed for a run around the lake that sits below my townhouse.

  The slap of my shoes against the pavement soothed my mind. Sweat trickled down my back and pooled in the hollow at the base of my spine, life sliding into a semblance of balance and order with each step. The early morning air was clear and heavy with the scent of jasmine, ducks and geese were squabbling over space, and all was right with the world—except that I knew way too much about a whole bunch of stuff I wasn’t supposed to know anything about. I desperately wanted to have a long talk with Violet about my snooping and about what I’d learned through fortuitous accident.

  The phone was ringing as I turned my key, unlocking the front door. Damn, I’d forgotten to grab my cell on the way out. With all this crazy stuff going on I seriously needed to be more careful. Caller ID told me it was Mitch. Guess that talk with Violet wasn’t going to happen this morning.

  After the phone call, I had all of fifteen minutes before the police artist showed up. Barely time for a much-needed shower, and definitely not enough time to dry my hair. It was going to be a wet hair, quick braid and forget the make-up morning—and still I couldn’t stop smiling. I pulled on my softest jeans and favorite Sweetie t-shirt, caught my hair into a high ponytail with some wisps framing my face, and passed on wearing shoes. Bare feet make me happy, and more importantly, would help me keep the connection with earth energy I’d generated on my run. I felt confident, comfortable, and a bundle of nerves all at the same time. Probably meant I needed a long session with a good shrink.

  “Morning,” I called as I jogged up the stairs to Violet’s living area. “Mitch phoned to let me know he’ll be home today. It was a lousy connection and a short conversation, but he asked me out to dinner tomorrow night at the new seafood restaurant. From what I could tell he sounded good. Tired, but good. Excited to be coming home, I think.” I couldn’t seem to stop the flow of exuberance. It had to be irritating. Someone else’s love life usually is.

  A rustling sound trickled down the hallway, probably Violet moving around in her bedroom. “Morning,” a disembodied voice followed the rustling. “There’s coffee and muffins if you didn’t have time for breakfast.”

  Either she didn’t hear my “Mitch monologue” or was studiously ignoring me. I helped myself to a cup of the coffee from the fragrant pot sitting on the counter, cupped my hands around the mug, and inhaled. Yep, she’d added cinnamon. It helped to calm my nerves. I settled into one of Violet’s kitchen chairs—without a pillow. My hip was definitely getting better, a good thing since it was way past time for me to get on with finding Tony’s killer.

  “You look relaxed,” Violet said as she strolled into the kitchen.

  “The phone call from Mitch really helped. Between that, my run, and his dinner invitation, I’m set to go.”

  The sharp peal of the doorbell cut off our conversation and signaled the arrival of the police artist. Violet went to let her in, led her upstairs, made quick introductions, then headed back downstairs to her office. “If you need anything, give me a shout,” floated back to us.

  Peggy offered her hand and I shook it. I wanted to know enough to be comfortable, but not enough to trespass. It’s a fine line, but this whole situation was balanced on a precarious edge. As soon as I touched her, I knew that Peggy wouldn’t mind—even if I checked out her daily calendar and all the nuances of her love life.

  She appeared to be in her early fifties, slender with a loosely tousled knot of gray-streaked, warm, brown hair at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were the same shade as her hair, and her complexion was tanned to a light golden glow. I knew, both from her appearance and from touch, she spent a lot of time in her garden. Peggy was Mother Earth in bright red capri leggings and a long, oversized, white linen shirt. The shirt had a hand-painted red hibiscus trailing along the hemline that echoed the red of her leggings. I liked Peggy. A lot.

  Her lips curved in a warm smile as she helped herself to coffee. She took a sip, calm, normal, and then sat down and arranged a workspace with pad, pencil, pastels, and charcoals. “It’s nice to be doing this the old fashioned way. Usually I do these drawings on a computer, but this time, being away from the station…well, I’ll just scan it into our database later.”

  “How does this work? Am I just supposed to talk?”

  She gave my hand a motherly pat. “There’s nothing to this, Everly. You describe what you remember, and I draw it. Sometimes I’ll ask you a question for clarification, but all in all, it’s a simple process.”

  Her voice and smile reassured me. No way would this woman rat me out to the media. Of course she didn’t have the whole story, but even if she figured there was something odd about me, I felt comfortable with her integrity and for the first time realized this could actually be fun.

  “Let’s start with the one I call Shaved Head…”

  We worked for the better part of three hours and ended up with fairly accurate sketches of Messy, Pudgy, and Shaved Head. I knew it was probably against the rules, but asked anyway. “I’d like to borrow your sketches long enough to make some copies. It won’t take but a minute. Violet’s copier is right downstairs.”

  I wanted to add them to my storyboard, see if something new popped when I changed the collage around, and I wanted to see Violet’s reaction, whether she recognized any of them or not.

  “Not a problem as long as I can take the originals back to the station. Adam would skin me if I went back without completed sketches.” There was a twinkle in her eye that had my mouth curving into a smile. A shared moment of “understanding Adam” could brighten anyone’s day.

  “You’re an easy witness to work with,” Peggy said as I returned the original drawings. “Have you done any artwork? I noticed a definite artistic eye.”

  “None to speak of. My mother was the artist in the family.” I swallowed down tears. What the heck was the matter with me? I can usually talk about my mom without getting all emotional. This whole situation, make that situations, were really messing with me.

  After she left, I handed the copies to Violet, watching her face to gauge any reaction.

  She shrugged half-heartedly. “Don’t recognize them, but that doesn’t mean anything. There’s no reason I should.”

  “I’d hoped for names to put with the pictures. Don’t know why. You’re right. There isn’t any reason you’d recognize them. Obviously my mind is mush. How do you feel about some retail therapy?”

  “Good.” Big grin. She glanced at my bare feet. “Put some shoes on and I’ll meet you at my car.”

  While Violet focused on driving, I toyed with the idea of confessing what I knew, but I ended up clamping my mouth shut on the words. It wasn’t right. Should have been. We were alone with no pressing commitments, nothing to interrupt us. Except that Violet was driving…a little too fast. And there was traffic. No, now definitely wasn’t the right time. Today was for us to just have fun—without heavy discussion.

  Violet wrinkled her nose at me. “You shopping for anything special?”

  I felt the heat creep into my cheeks as several hormone-induced fantasies played across my mind. “You know those red sandals you had on the other day?” I slid a sideways look at her. “Some of those would be good.”

  She whipped around, a knowing grin on her face. “Sex. You’re totally planning to get Mitch out of his clothes.”

  I took a few shallow breath
s. “Yeah. Oh, yeah. No clothes would be good.” I paused, trying for cool. “Wonder if I can do red shoes. They’d be far enough away from my hair not to clash…and a new dress. Something—” I took a swallow of water from the bottle in my handbag— “sexy to go with the shoes. It’ll have to have some red to tie the outfit together. I really want some of those sexy red shoes.”

  “Actually,” Violet said, her eyes sparkling, “you really want your hands all over that boy.”

  “I do. And why not? He’s luscious, kind, talented, and he likes me.” I fiddled with my water bottle, let out a long, slow breath. “Of course there’s the other side—crappy job that could get in the way of me touching him, over-protective to the extreme, and Jayne. No way I can forget Jayne. She’s family and won’t be going away. Yep—” I nodded— “Jayne is a challenge, but compared to a night of great monkey sex, a challenge I can overcome.”

  “Exactly what is monkey sex?”

  “Don’t have a clue, but I’m in the mood to find out.”

  We were at a stoplight when Violet took the time to twist around and pull a ten-dollar bill out of her purse and wave it around. “Ten says he’ll beat you to it. Bet he gets you naked before you get him naked.”

  I snatched the money out of her hand, tucked it in my pocket. “I have no problem with that. None whatsoever. Go, Mitch.”

  She flashed me a grin. “Relieved to have those sketches done, are you? I haven’t seen you like this since we were on our way out to the barn.”

  “Way to break a mood. Did you have to mention the barn? Seriously. I’m trying to escape the criminal element this afternoon, and that barn is looming. I know I have to go back, touch things, finish what we started, but not today. Today is for fun. Except…”

  “I don’t like the sound of that ‘except.’ What’s going on?”

  “Pierce. I’m sort of attracted to him, too.”

  Panic flashed behind Violet’s eyes, and she sucked in a breath. Preparation for a lecture, so I rushed into providing details. “Not that I want to do anything about it. I know better. Pierce is the worst kind of bad boy there is, and way out of my comfort zone. It’s just that I can’t seem to stop the physical response.”

  “He does that to women. Not me, because he’s like a brother, but I’ve been watching women fall at his feet for years.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. An “oh, damn” gesture for sure.

  “Years?” No way was I going to let it pass.

  She recovered quickly. “Remember I mentioned that he and Adam are friends?”

  “I do, and that raises all sorts of questions.”

  Audible swallow and a fidget. First time I’d ever seen Violet this uncomfortable, but she recovered before I pushed. “Another topic for another time. This thing you have for Pierce isn’t good, El. He’s not good date material and I don’t want you to be hurt.”

  “Logically I know that, and I don’t want to be the kind of woman who falls for a pretty face and heady pheromones. It scares me that I respond to him the way I do. All girly and…hot. I’m not a multi-guy kind of woman. At least, I didn’t think so, but this is…different. Uncomfortable. And I can’t seem to control it. Mitch is solid, dependable. He likes me, and he’s…more normal. Better for me.”

  Huge sigh. Who knew she’d be that relieved? “Yes. You should definitely go for Mitch. He’s a good man. And available in ways that Pierce will never be.”

  Now, that caught my attention. “You think Pierce is damaged”

  “Not exactly, no. He’s not a relationship kind of guy. Probably won’t ever be monogamous. You can’t help how your body responds, you know that—”

  “But I can control what I do. You’re right. Thanks for listening.” I let it go because I did feel better. Still, there was something about Pierce that touched every feminine instinct I possessed.

  Several pairs of shoes (including the best red pair ever), three sets of lacy lingerie, and two great dresses later, we made our way upstairs to the food court. The sweet-salty goodness of a hot pretzel melted on my tongue, and I’d just sucked down a swallow of Diet Coke when I spotted a guy with too-big clothes and a familiar lurch to his walk. I froze, a shiver snaking along my spine. Couldn’t be. I sucked in a breath and make a few garbled sounds in Violet’s direction, pointing at the furtive movements of the suspicious dude weaving through the downstairs crowd.

  “Messy. That’s Messy.” I grabbed my bags. “He’s headed toward the outside courtyard. Come on.” I nudged her toward the escalator with my head, my hands being full of shopping bags, soda, pretzel, and a wad of napkins.

  “What the—”

  I pushed her down the escalator in front of me.

  Stealthy we were not. And by the time we got downstairs, he’d disappeared.

  “Wonder what Messy was doing at the mall?” Violet mumbled, more audible thought than question.

  “Are you going to run it by Adam?”

  She was already reaching for her cell. “Yep.”

  Their conversation sounded like it had more to do with Jayne Hunt than with Messy.

  “What’s going on?” I asked when she ended the call.

  “ Jayne Hunt had a run-in with Donny Civitelli, called it in to Adam. She requested my presence at the interview—who knows why—so we’re meeting at seven-thirty tonight. Adam said you could come if you want. Provided Jayne doesn’t ask you to leave.”

  Nineteen

  I curled up in a corner of the sofa in Violet’s office with a glass of lemonade and tried to look as inconspicuous and innocent as possible. My head was busy with alternatives if Jayne wouldn’t let me stay—like hiding in a closet, or hunkering down under an open window. What can I say? Way too many late night movies.

  Adam and Jayne pulled into the driveway at the same time, and Violet shot me a look. “You can touch, but try not to talk.” With that warning, she went to answer the door.

  “Hey, Jayne,” she said offering her hand to greet Mitch’s sister. “Adam. Please come in. What can I get you to drink?”

  Adam glanced over at me. “Whatever El’s having is fine with me.”

  Jayne’s head snapped to where I sat on the sofa. “Are you part of this meeting?”

  “If you don’t mind? I’ve been working with Mitch and Violet, and I’d like to stay in the loop.”

  She shrugged. “I can’t imagine how you’d be of help, but if it’s all right with Detective Stone, it’s all right with me.” She dismissed me by taking a chair on the other side of the room and directing her comments to Adam and Violet.

  “I went grocery shopping this morning. I always do on Sunday because it’s less crowded, more efficient. I had both arms loaded with groceries so as to only make one trip from car to house. I headed toward my condo, my mind on the idiosyncrasy in the audit I’m going to tackle tomorrow morning.”

  She slipped a glance in my direction. “Besides, I never completely relax when Mitch is on assignment.”

  “I understand,” Adam said, prodding her along.

  “I angled my body to put my key in the lock, and felt something hard press against my neck. Knew it was a gun right away because of the smell. You know, the oil and metal combination. Mitchell insists I keep up with target practice since he keeps a weapon nearby. Says it isn’t safe for me not to know how to defend myself.”

  Adam cleared his throat, an obvious prod.

  Jayne got on with it. “A raspy voice with a New York accent told me to open the door, nice and easy like.”

  Adam took notes as he concentrated on Jayne. Looked like he didn’t miss a beat. Interesting. I sure as heck couldn’t write without looking—not if I wanted to be able to make sense of it later.

  Jayne shrugged, continued. “He told me he wasn’t plannin’ to hurt me, but that we needed to have a talk and it’d go better for me if I cooperated.”

  Violet rested a hand on her shoulder in silent support.

  “I don’t take kindly to being threatened. I pushed the door open and p
assed through the laundry room, all the way to the kitchen. I needed to get the bags out of my hands because I was not, under any circumstances, going to drop an entire week’s groceries just because some lunatic was holding me at gunpoint.”

  Violet grinned. “You go girl. That’s the Jayne I know.”

  Jayne nodded, returned the smile. “He wasn’t able to keep the barrel steady while we moved into the kitchen, because I had to jog so I wouldn’t drop the bags. By the time I set them down, the gun wasn’t pressed against my neck anymore, just pointed in my general direction. It seemed like that was a sign for me to get control of the situation.”

  A pained grimace crossed Adam’s face.

  “I turned to face my assailant to demand an explanation. He looked familiar to me, appeared to be clean, dressed in jeans and a splashy shirt open to his navel, gold chains around his neck, dark hair and eyes. Nasty scowl on his face, but it didn’t feel like he was hell-bent on killing me, so I asked who he was.”

  She took a drink of her soda. “Donny Civitelli. Tony’s brother. After he told me his name, I recognized him right away. Mitch and I went to school with the Civitellis you know.”

  Adam nodded. “Yes. Mitch told us about that when we questioned him about Tony’s death.”

  “I still can’t believe you thought my Mitch had anything to do with Tony’s death,” Jayne said, glare leveled at Adam, pointed. Sharp.

  “Mitch is completely cleared, Ms. Hunt. Please go on.”

  “Well, he wanted to know Mitchell’s whereabouts. Apparently when Mama Civitelli got the police report on Tony’s suicide, she called in some favors to learn who found her son’s body. It set her off about Mitchell because we all grew up together, so she sent Donny down to question him. Like you—” she scowled at Adam— “he thought my Mitchell killed Tony.”

  She stopped to take a breath. “Donny wanted to know where Mitchell was hiding, and ranted for a while about how no one kills his brother and gets away with it, how the family doesn’t like that kinda thing.”