Nickeled and Dimed to Death

by Denise Swanson

  “Hey, that’s more of an acquaintance than the others in our little investigative team have with her.” I smiled at him encouragingly. “None of the rest of us has even met her.”

  “So what you’re saying is that you want me to speak to Willow,” Noah translated. “And see if she has an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  “Actually, I want you to introduce me to her and see if she’ll talk to me,” I corrected, figuring that Noah wouldn’t be a tough enough interrogator.

  “Well. Uh.” Noah’s face flushed. “The thing is, I get the feeling she might be more open to telling me what we want to know.”

  “Why is that?” Was there a reason Noah didn’t want me to talk to her? Then, before he could answer, it dawned on me what he was trying to avoid saying. “I get it. Willow’s been flirting with you, so if you show up with another woman, especially one she may have heard you used to date, she wouldn’t be as likely to cooperate.”

  “I guess that’s it,” Noah admitted, looking a bit uncomfortable. “I’ve never encouraged her; she’s too young for me both in age and maturity.” He twitched his shoulders. “But you know how it is. I’m the only single guy under seventy in the neighborhood.”

  “I understand.” And I did. Noah always had, and probably always would, attract female attention. He was like catnip. What heterosexual woman didn’t want a guy who was tall, handsome, successful, rich, and, best of all, nice? Uh-oh. Did that include me? Was I falling under his spell for all the wrong reasons?

  “Thanks.” He beamed at me. “You know, since we both have the afternoon off and we can’t do anything for Boone until we talk to Tryg this evening, we could go to a movie or take a hike or—”

  “Is it possible you could find Willow and talk to her before we meet with Tryg tonight?” I interrupted him. Spending more alone time with Noah was not a good idea, and we really did need to keep our efforts focused on helping Boone, especially since he was back in jail. “Do you have any idea where she might be?”

  Noah gave me a disappointed look, but admitted, “I’ve seen Willow working on her laptop at Brewfully Yours a few times.” He shrugged. “I think she uses the coffee shop as a sort of writing office. Since she lives with her folks, she probably doesn’t have much privacy. I guess I could drop by and see if she’s there.”

  “That would be great.” I squeezed his arm affectionately. “Now, if I could only think of a way to make Lindsey and Colin talk to me.”

  “Why don’t you call and request a meeting with Lindsey?” Noah suggested as he drove around to the back of the dime store and pulled his Jaguar to a stop next to my Z4. “You could tell her you want to discuss the possibility of an ad campaign for your business.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” I thought about it for a few seconds, then asked, “Do you know the name of the agency she works for?”

  “I don’t think I ever heard it, but I’m sure Vaughn Yager could tell you.” Noah put the car in park and turned to face me. “Remember, he dealt with her company regarding advertising for his factory. That’s how he met Elise in the first place.”

  “Right.” I nodded. “You know, I really can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve already done and are about to do to help Boone. And I’m sorry you were stuck with the check at the restaurant. Let me run inside the store and get some money to pay you back.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal. Consider it my contribution to the Get Boone Out of Jail Fund.” Noah cupped my cheek with his palm. “Investigating with you these past few days has been fun.” He lightly brushed his thumb back and forth across my earlobe. “It’s been a long time since I did anything that wasn’t expected of me.” He frowned. “Even when I was engaged, we mostly went to charity functions and business dinners.”

  “I know what you mean.” My heart was thudding so loudly, I could barely hear myself think. “It seems like I work all the time, too, and when I do have some time off, I’m too exhausted to enjoy it.”

  Which wasn’t exactly true. The past month with Jake, I had actually relaxed a little and we’d gone out on some dates, but now didn’t seem to be the ideal moment to bring up that exception.

  “Maybe we should both try to add a little spice to our lives.” Noah leaned closer. “We always had such a good time when we were together in high school.”

  “But that just made what happened more painful,” I reminded him.

  “I know and I’m sorry.” His mouth hovered over mine. “But before that, it seemed like everything we did together was exciting and new and wonderful.”

  “True,” I whispered. “Those couple of years we had together, before everything went to hell, were some of the best of my life.”

  “Mine, too.” His voice was husky. “I’m so sorry they ended the way they did.”

  My mind kept telling me that I was making a big mistake; I wasn’t the kind of woman who played the field. My few relationships had all been monogamous. Which guy did I want—Jake or Noah?

  Before I could think, Noah pulled me against him and the heat from his body engulfed me. His fingers caressed my jaw, then dipped lower to touch the spot at the base of my throat. My pulse surged, beating frantically, and I made an urgent yearning sound. Cradling my chin, he lowered his head to cover my mouth with his.

  In the moment before our lips met, I saw a hunger in his gray eyes that I’d never seen before. As his mouth touched mine, a shock wave soared through my body—an explosive rush that reminded me of closing a big investment deal, the split second after the client agreed but before he signed on the dotted line. Except instead of the satisfaction that usually followed that sensation, this one left a relentless need in its path.

  An arrow of heat shot through me when Noah swept his tongue across my bottom lip, and I shuddered. It was all the invitation he needed, and he deepened his kiss, plunging his tongue into my mouth, allowing no shyness, no hesitation, and no second thoughts.

  I tunneled under his suit coat and pulled his shirttail from the waistband of his pants. Once it was free, I wrapped my arms around him and caressed the muscles at the base of his spine. Noah’s skin felt as smooth and supple as fine leather, and I wanted to stroke every velvety inch of him. His body was sleek and sinuous, and all I could think of was how much I wanted to be naked and pressed against him.

  Flames of desire burned through my resolve not to get involved with Noah. As he pushed my jacket off my shoulders and started to peel my long-sleeved T-shirt over my head, I felt myself losing the last vestige of control. Then, like a bad case of déjà vu, I heard someone rapping on the passenger window.

  It took only a moment to comprehend that I was about to be caught in a compromising position for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. I hastily pulled down my shirt and sprang apart from Noah, banging my thigh against the gearshift in the process. As I howled in pain, I tried to figure out why the console hadn’t been an impediment when I was in lust but suddenly seemed to become such a huge obstacle when I tried to regain my seat.

  Finally I turned to see who had witnessed my lack of self-control and discovered the grinning face of my best friend. Poppy was giggling like a schoolgirl while simultaneously giving me a thumbs-up. But if she was really that thrilled to see Noah and me together, why the heck had she interrupted us?

  CHAPTER 22

  * * *

  Noah felt like snarling but pasted a genial expression on his face. As Dev ejected herself from his car, he shouted after her that he would call her as soon as he talked to Willow. She nodded and waved, clearly wanting him to leave. Accepting defeat, he drove away, extremely ticked off at himself for losing every damn bit of his famous willpower whenever he was around Dev.

  It was a good thing Poppy had showed up when she did, because he knew that kissing Dev would not be enough. He wasn’t sure anything would ever be enough to stop the ache inside him. He now realized that taking things slow wasn’t going to work, not when he completely lost his self-control anytime t
hey were alone. He knew he had to have her. But not in the front seat of a car parked in broad daylight in the middle of Shadow Bend.

  If he’d been able to think, he’d have driven her to his place, swept her into his arms, and carried her to his bedroom. Too bad his mind had ceased to function the instant his lips touched hers. At that moment, he was positive he couldn’t have pulled away from her if he was threatened with losing his medical license. He certainly couldn’t have waited long enough to get her to his house.

  Taking a deep breath, Noah forced himself to put his desire for Dev aside and concentrate on the matter at hand. St. Onge was in real trouble, and having agreed to help the guy, Noah was honor bound to put forth his best effort to prove him innocent. Noah considered himself nothing if not a man of his word.

  Still, as he entered Brewfully Yours, the memory of Dev’s sea-green eyes and velvety skin interfered with his breathing, and, for a crazy moment, he wanted to return to his car, drive back to where he’d left her, and wrap his arms around her once more.

  Noah took another deep breath; then, having regained his composure, he scanned the café. He was in luck. Willow Macpherson was sitting at a table in the back. Her laptop was open, and she was staring at the screen as she sipped from a mug. Every once in a while she’d put the drink down, type a word or two, but then she’d stop and take another mouthful.

  As Noah recalled from previous meetings, Willow was as slender as her name implied. Previously, she’d always had her waist-length, mahogany hair in a ponytail or twisted into a bun, but today she wore it unfastened. She had an oval face with high cheekbones and full lips that might have been sexy if not for their twist of permanent dissatisfaction.

  Noah pretended to walk toward the bathroom; then, as he passed by Willow, he did a double take and said, “Hey, fancy meeting you here.”

  “Dr. Underwood.” Willow giggled. “You need to work on your pickup lines.”

  “I guess I’m out of practice.” Noah flashed a rueful grin. “Are you busy? Would you like another cup of coffee or something?”

  “Sure.” Willow glanced at her computer, then lowered the screen. “I was just about to take a break, anyway. How about a mocha latte?”

  “That sounds good to me, too.” Noah turned toward the counter, then said over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be here.” Willow waved.

  Once he had ordered, gotten their drinks, and was settled across the table from the young woman, Noah said, “I haven’t seen you walking any dogs lately. Are you too busy writing your book to do that anymore?”

  “Sort of.” Willow’s expression was hard to read. “It’s due in a couple of weeks.”

  “So have you put your pet-sitting business on hold, too?” Noah asked, thinking that might be a good lead in to the subject of the Whitmores. “Or did you get such a big advance, you can close up shop permanently?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Willow’s expression grew martyred. “Everyone thinks that authors are all rich. And if this book is successful, maybe I will be someday. But the advance was only seven thousand, which didn’t even put a dent in my college loans, let alone my credit card bills.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Noah sipped his coffee. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you that your book is a New York Times bestseller.”

  “Thanks.” Willow twirled a piece of her hair, seeming at a loss for words.

  Noah blinked. He’d never noticed her nail polish before, but he did now—maybe because she was sporting a pistachio-green manicure that reminded him of fungus.

  Finally Willow continued. “If my book takes off, I can make a lot of money from speaking engagements and advertisers on my blog. There’s even been some interest in having me host a TV show on the Trinity Broadcasting Network.” She winked. “Not to mention that I can ask for a lot bigger advance and increased royalties for the next one.”

  “That would be great.” Noah noted that Willow’s brown eyes glowed with anticipation. “Are you nearly finished with the manuscript?”

  “Yes.” Willow’s voice held a note of uncertainty. “But the last chapter is harder to write than I thought it would be.”

  “Why’s that?” Noah used his best bedside manner. “Don’t you know how it ends?”

  “Well . . .” Willow sipped her latte. “I thought I did, but now I’m not sure.”

  Noah made a noncommittal sound to encourage her to continue.

  “The thing is”—Willow wrinkled her nose—“I might have been just a teeny, tiny bit misguided in some of my beliefs and assumptions.”

  “In what way?” Noah asked, leaning forward. “If I recall from the newspaper article about you, you believe in chastity until marriage.”

  “That’s been my philosophy.” Willow’s tongue traced her lips. “But I recently had an experience that made me rethink that stance to some extent.”

  “And you’re wondering if you should modify the book’s ending because of it?” Noah asked, figuring she had to be referring to her affair with Colin Whitmore. Were they still seeing each other?

  “It depends.” Willow put down her cup and grabbed both of Noah’s hands with hers. “The thing is, I doubt my editor would be happy with a change.”

  “But . . . ?”

  “But.” She let go of his hands and slumped back in her chair. “I may have no choice.”

  “Because . . . ?” Noah was trying to remember his rotation on the psychiatric ward and the lecture on counseling he’d attended. Short responses and reflecting back what the patient said had been advised.

  “Because something I did might come out.” Willow licked her lips again. “I thought I had fixed it so it wouldn’t, but then something else happened recently and now I’m afraid that it will.”

  “Maybe you’d feel better if you told me about it,” Noah encouraged.

  “I would like to have another opinion. . . .” She trailed off, then seemed to catch herself. “No. I better not. My dad always says two can’t keep a secret.” She glanced at him. “No offense, Dr. Underwood.”

  “None taken, but I am pretty good at keeping my mouth shut,” Noah coaxed. “I can promise not to tell anyone, unless it’s something criminal.” He knew adding that qualifier might have been stupid, but his conscience wouldn’t let him omit it. Besides, if she had committed the murder, he doubted she’d confess. “Just tell me what you’re comfortable sharing.” It was clear she was dying to talk to someone about her problem.

  “Okay.” Willow glanced around, evidently making sure there was no one in earshot, then said, “But if this gets out, it could ruin me.”

  “I understand.” Noah made a note to himself to remind Dev, Poppy, Boone, and Tryg not to share the information about Willow’s affair unless she was guilty of the murder.

  “I, uh,” Willow blushed and looked away, “fell in love with a married man—let’s call him John.” She glanced at Noah and he nodded nonjudgmentally. “Co—I mean, John—promised me that he was in the process of divorcing his wife and that he’d marry me. But it was taking a long time and we, uh, couldn’t wait, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” Noah assured her. “So you two consummated your love.”

  “Yes.” Willow adjusted her watch so the dial was centered on her wrist, then looked at Noah from under her eyelashes. “Unfortunately, we got caught.”

  “Oh.” Noah kept his expression sympathetic and understanding.

  “The thing is,” Willow gave a high-pitched, mirthless laugh, “despite the fact that Shadow Bend is the hub of all gossip in the known world, I was able to persuade the one person who saw me to keep quiet.”

  “The wife?” Noah felt he needed to maintain an air of ignorance.

  “No.” Willow shook her head. “Co—uh, John—took care of her. Someone else.”

  “How did John take care of her?” Noah asked.

  “I don’t know.” Willow shrugged. “He just said that his wife knew it was in her best interest to keep he
r mouth shut, or he’d open his.”

  “But you said something happened recently that may alter that,” Noah reminded her. “Did the wife or the other person change their mind?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “Well.” Willow looked around again, then leaned forward and whispered, “The wife was murdered Saturday night, and I’m afraid the police will find out about her husband and me, and then I can kiss my book deal good-bye.”

  Noah pretended surprise. “Are you referring to Elise Whitmore?”

  “I, uh,” Willow stuttered, then narrowed her eyes. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because I’m fairly certain that hers was the only murder in Shadow Bend this weekend.” Noah added under his breath, “Or any other weekend for quite a while.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Willow blinked. “That was dumb of me, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m sure no one would be thinking straight under the circumstances,” Noah consoled her, then asked, “Do you have an alibi for Saturday night?”

  “Oh, my God!” Willow squealed. “You don’t think I killed her, do you?”

  “No, of course not,” Noah answered in a soothing tone. “But if you do have an alibi, then the best thing might be to ask to speak to Chief Kincaid privately. Tell him your story. That way the police won’t stir up the rumor mill while tracking you down, since they are already aware that Colin was having an affair.”

  “How do you know that?” Willow’s tone became defensive. “Have you been spying on me?”

  “Absolutely not.” Noah noticed that her attitude toward him had subtly changed from flirtatious to guarded. “It’s common knowledge that his wife was divorcing him because he was playing around.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Right.” Willow nodded. “Yeah. I did hear that. I remember being relieved that no one seemed too interested in who the other woman was.”

  “So where were you Saturday evening?” Noah knew the time of death was between eight and eleven p.m.