“So, your father a tough as nails cop, too?” she asked.
Steed’s happy feeling slipped away. Even after all these years, nothing brought on his melancholia faster than somebody asking about his dad being a cop. Silence hung over them.
“Did I say something wrong?” Darci asked.
“No.” Steed cleaned the sticky barbecue sauce from his fingers with the provided warm towelette. “My dad was a cop. He got killed in the line of duty when I was twelve.”
“Steed.”
Darci dropped her fork and covered his hand. Her touch, like fire shooting through his veins, with the effect of a heavy blanket on a cold winter day, was as much a contradiction as the woman herself. It excited him, calmed and soothed him, and it made him feel safe. What was it about this lady?
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Darci’s beauty captivated him, but the caring in her dark eyes overwhelmed him. Steed found himself fighting an irresistible urge to lean over the table and kiss her until she begged for more. His fingers squeezed around hers. She returned the action. He was going to lose this battle, and he got the distinct impression Darci wouldn’t mind. He leaned forward as she did the same.
“Ahem!”
They both flopped backward. Darci took back her hand, confirming the break in the magical moment.
“I’m sorry,” Tina said, extending a bowl of peach cobbler a la mode and wearing a goofy grin. “Miss Sophie forgot this.”
Darci set the bowl on the table. “Thank you,” she said.
With a quick nod, Tina dashed back into the kitchen. Muffled tones reached the table as the door swung back and forth. Boisterous laughter erupted.
“Uh-huh, I told you, didn’t I?” Miss Sophie boasted. “They weren’t foolin’ me none.”
Steed met Darci’s gaze. So much for playing it cool. “About what just happened,” he said.
Darci picked at her food. “Nothing happened.”
“Not from—”
“How is it again you know Miss Sophie?” she asked.
Not needing a block to fall on his head, Steed left his path and walked on hers. “Rogers brought me here soon after I came on board at the station,” he answered. “Miss Sophie learned I was single and without family in town, so she took me under her wing. She’s a good woman and a great cook. No one can do to a sweet potato what Miss Sophie can.”
“On that we can agree.” Conversation continued while they ate. “How long have you been in Sterling?”
Steed devoured another rib and licked his fingers. “You are a reporter, aren’t you?” he said, before shoving his fork in the macaroni.
“My parents always told me if you want to find things out, you gotta be willing to ask questions.”
“Considering your career, you took those words to heart.”
“I did. So, how long have you been in Sterling?”
“About three years.”
“And law enforcement?” she asked between bites of coleslaw.
“Almost fourteen. I joined the NYPD soon after college. And before you ask, it was NYU.”
She pushed aside the remnants of her meal and brought over the bowl of cobbler. “You were in New York the whole time?”
Steed shook his head.
“Texas?” she asked between spoons of dessert.
“What gave me away?” he asked.
“The boots and blue jeans were a hint, but the slightest detection of an accent sealed it. How did a Texas boy get to New York and end up in South Carolina?”
Steed grinned. Darci definitely didn’t believe in not asking questions. He finished the last of his lunch and drained half of his tea. “Your order isn’t quite right.” He wiped his mouth and pushed away the plate of dry bones. “I started in New York, moved to Texas, back to New York, Texas, and, well, you know the rest.” He held up his hand, feeling another question coming. “My mother remarried when I was fourteen, and that’s when we left Brooklyn to live in Fort Worth. I have an older sister, Lori, and a half-brother named Brett. Now, what about you, the toast of Sterling?”
“I’m hardly the toast of Sterling.”
“C’mon, you’re the town’s little sweetheart. I mean, you’ve got the mayor doing your bidding. That’s something.”
Darci held the spoon in her mouth long after she emptied it. A flash of irritation sparked in her eyes, and the easy atmosphere took a sudden chilly turn.
She dropped the spoon to the bowl. “I have the mayor doing my bidding? Is that what you said?”
“Look, don’t flip out. I happen to know you went to him earlier and made a not-so-veiled threat.”
“What I made to the mayor, Jacob, an old friend, wasn’t a threat.”
“No?” He picked up his spoon and motioned to her bowl. “You gonna eat the rest of that?”
She sprinkled salt on the dessert and shoved it toward him. “As a matter of fact, I’m not.”
Steed frowned. He’d really wanted some of that cobbler. “Real mature, Darci. Is that what you do when things don’t go your way? Act out?”
“Act out?”
“Lady, I didn’t stutter. You went to the mayor and told him if you didn’t get the answers you thought you should have in regard to this case, you would do a scathing exposé on the Sterling Police Department. Is that a lie?”
“Mostly!” she fired back. “I went to a friend to get help with details surrounding the death of another friend.”
“My, you have a lot of friends.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you insinuating?”
“I’m not insinuating anything, I’m asking right out! How close were you and Kenneth Warwick? Were you two lovers?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
What did it have to do with anything? Besides just wanting to know the answer, not a lot. But Darci’s evil clone was back and she made him so crazy, he said things without giving it a lot of thought. Damn! Was Rogers right? Was he gruff? No! If Darci shared an intimate relationship with Warwick, it might explain her inability to accept his suicide. “You gonna answer the question?”
“No, but I have one for you. If Kenny were a woman, would you have asked me that question?”
“In this day and age? Probably. But since Warwick wasn’t a woman, what’s the point in being hypothetical? I need to understand why it is you can’t accept what is a clear case of suicide. And I’ll ask whatever questions necessary to find that answer. I get you don’t believe a word I say, but why not Lorene? Do you have a problem listening to the opinion of a woman who’s almost as beautiful and intelligent as yourself?”
“Almost as beautiful?”
“Get off it, Darci, you know you’re a very beautiful woman. As beautiful as you are a pain in my butt. But you have got to get over this obsession with proving Warwick’s death is anything other than what it is. The man killed himself.”
Darci squared her jaw and slid out of the booth. “You know what, Steed, I’m not going to argue with you anymore.”
“No, you’re just gonna leave.”
“I think that’s best. But before I go, I want you to think about someone you know inside and out. Someone you know as well as yourself. And then ask yourself what you would think if someone told you that loved one had done the impossible. Would you just accept it if you knew without a doubt in your heart that person wouldn’t do such a thing? That something wasn’t right?”
Thoughts of his father and his tragic death filled Steed’s head. He still had questions, and felt like he always would, but the truth was the truth. “If I had evidence like I’m showing you, I would have to accept it, yes.”
“Well, that’s your answer. Mine is no way in hell!”
“Darci, stop making Warwick’s suicide about you. He’s gone because he chose to be, and you don’t want to accept that, so you’ve dreamed up a scenario that can make his death palatable. Murder trumps suicide, right?”
“It’s more than that. Kenny loved his face too much to blow it
off, and he loved his life too much to end it. I don’t care what the M.E.’s report or your, I suspect lax, initial investigation shows. Call me ridiculous, call me crazy, but I’m not dropping this until I get answers that make sense, because Kenny killing himself does not.” She opened her purse and placed a $20 bill on the table.
Steed pushed the money back. “Miss Sophie said it was on the house.”
“Tell her it’s a tip, or the charge for her services.”
“Services?”
“Yes.” Darci’s derisive laughter echoed in his ears. “Miss Sophie is fantastic woman, salt of the earth, but she sucks as a matchmaker.” Angry dark eyes fixed on him. “What I said the first time I tried to leave still stands. I don’t want your help. I’ll get justice for Kenny by myself.”
Steed’s gaze stayed on the door long after Darci walked out of the restaurant and even after he heard the swoosh of the kitchen door and the soft shuffle of footsteps on the shiny linoleum floor. “You took your time coming back out, didn’t you?” he said, meeting the disappointed gaze of the shameless matchmaker.
Miss Sophie frowned. “Why’d you let her leave?”
“I couldn’t make her stay.”
She fanned her hand at him. “You could have.” She plopped down on the edge of the vinyl seat. “You almost kissed her.”
“Yes, and then I came to my senses. That woman is…”
“All in your head, and she’s grieving. I watched her and Kenny Warwick grow up. I saw how close they were. Maybe her grief’s got too strong a hold on her, but what if she’s right?”
“Right? About Warwick’s death?” Steed shook his head. “Miss Sophie, there’s no way. The man buried today killed himself. For Darci’s sake, I wish the facts were wrong, but they’re not. She’s going to spend what’s going to be a lot of wasted time like a hamster on a wheel—spinning around and around and getting nowhere.” He took the old woman’s hands and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for trying earlier, and thank you for lunch.” He matched Darci’s $20 and walked out the door, silently wondering why fate was so cruel as to have his promotion tied to this crazy case and a maddening woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.
CHAPTER 6
Darci took the scenic route back to Jackie’s, trying to forget the fact she’d almost kissed a man she found totally insufferable and who thought she was a loon. Humph. How could she think a decent guy lived inside Steed McGraw? Was it his bewitching blue eyes, coal black hair, and intensely masculine form that did it? Probably. But it didn’t matter how her body responded to Steed. She was human, and he was an attractive man, but she wouldn’t allow her swimming head and tingling body to override what she knew was right in her heart.
She missed Kenny so much. She missed talking to him. Several times over the last couple of days she’d find herself with phone in hand calling him, and then she’d remember. Days after his death, she could still feel his presence as sure as if he were sitting beside her. A presence that didn’t feel troubled, something it would have to be if Kenny had killed himself.
Darci grunted. If Steed McGraw could read her mind, he’d think her crazier than he already believed. If these weren’t her thoughts, she’d think she was crazy, too. How could she prove Kenny didn’t commit suicide? Would she really find the peace she sought if she did?
The chime of her cell phone interrupted the mounting number of questions Darci had no answers for. Pulling her rental car to the grassy edge of the road, she answered the call. “Hello.”
“Hello, Darci. It’s Randall Clayton.”
“Mr. Clayton.” One of the blue bloods of Sterling, Randall Clayton was the most successful lawyer in town. A staunch defender of the downtrodden, he’d marched with Dr. King, and had given of his considerable wealth and time to many charities on the local, state, and national levels. If anyone was the pride of Sterling, it was Mr. Clayton. “What can I do…” Darci’s cheery greeting drifted as she remembered Mr. Clayton was Kenny’s attorney. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling about Kenneth Warwick’s estate. Jackie gave me your number.”
Darci lowered the radio volume. “I see.”
“Kenny named you executor. Were you aware of that?”
She paused for a long moment before answering. “Yes, sir, I was.” She just never imagined she’d be filling the post so soon.
“I detect hesitation. Would it be a problem for you to act in that capacity?”
“Mr. Clayton, I’m still grappling with the idea of Kenny being dead. To be talking about his will…” Darci groaned. Could she really say no?
“Darci?”
“I’m still here,” she answered. “I’ll do it, Mr. Clayton.”
“Very good. The reading is scheduled for tomorrow morning at ten o’clock at his parents’ home. I’ll look forward to seeing you, Darci, but I’m sorry it’s under these conditions.”
“Me, too, Mr. Clayton. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
Steed arrived at the station at seven-thirty the next morning. He’d barely gotten a wink of sleep and felt like crap. Thoughts of Darci Clarke, her beautiful face, gorgeous body, peach perfume, and unwavering belief Kenneth Warwick hadn’t kill himself had haunted him all night long. How would he convince her to let him help? He couldn’t lose that promotion.
The scent of fresh-brewed coffee enlivened his wired brain cells, giving him an immediate jolt. Caffeine! Making his way to the coffeepot, he poured himself a cup and inhaled the robust aroma before taking a big gulp.
The scalding liquid felt like a surge of electricity on his tongue. Steed spit it back into the cup. “Damn! Why is this coffee so hot?” he screamed at the handful of officers in the area. Rushing to the watercooler, Steed filled a cup and stuck his aching tongue into the cold liquid.
Chief Rogers approached, hands in his pockets and his eyebrows stitched in a curious line. “Bad night, McGraw?”
“No, sir,” he lied, “just a run-in with an extremely hot cup of joe.”
“Coffee is supposed to be hot, McGraw.” Rogers loosened the buttons on his blue suit and leaned against the wall next to the coffee setup. “What happened with you and Darci?”
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me when you’re taking your frustrations out on the poor officer who had the nerve to make coffee hot. What’s going on?”
Steed swished the water around in his mouth and swallowed. “Sir, things aren’t going well with convincing Darci that Warwick killed himself.” Steed left the break room with a fresh cup of water and sat behind his desk. “She stormed off yesterday and explained she didn’t want or need my help with this case because she didn’t want to be humored.”
Rogers stood before him, his arms folded and expression subdued. “In other words, you’re not doing your job.”
Steed groaned. His mouth felt like a grenade had exploded in it, and now Rogers was riding his back because he wasn’t good at pacifying people. “Chief, I can’t make Darci listen to reason.”
“Don’t try to.”
“Huh?”
“You’re going about this the wrong way.” Rogers eased into the empty chair. “Stop telling her she’s crazy, and start acting like you believe what she’s saying. Darci’s not going to be here very long, but she’s got a lot of influence with a lot of important people.”
“The mayor?” Steed grumbled.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Why do you say it like that?”
“She mentioned he was a friend.”
“He is that, and more importantly, he’s our boss, so keep that in mind.”
“What’s the point, sir? She doesn’t want my help. I can’t make her let me help.”
“You’ll have to find a way. McGraw, your problem is your inability to bend. You are a wonderful investigator, but you’re not very people friendly.” Rogers stood and buttoned his coat. “If you want this promotion, you know what you have to do to get it.” He rapped three times on the desk. “Ke
ep me informed,” he said, walking out the door.
Steed stared at the closed file. It seemed to mock him. Tease him. Poor people skills. He shoved the folder to the floor. “Damn!”
* * *
Darci checked her reflection in the mirror, wondering if she looked the part of an executor. The navy blue pantsuit looked professional but not too official, and her shoulder-length dark hair, worn loose with full heat-generated curls, might hold out when the outside humidity did its worst. An extra shot or two of her super holding spray wouldn’t hurt.
When the mist from the spray evaporated, she drew a breath to steel her nerves. She’d never gone to a will reading before and had never been an executor. Leave it to Kenny to give her both these experiences at once. He definitely had some big plans for her. The gnawing in the pit of her stomach said as much. She grabbed her purse and headed out.
The fifteen-minute drive to the Warwick house passed with concerns of what Kenny might have in store for her and memories of yesterday’s run-ins with Steed. She’d taken more crap from that guy in one day than she’d ever taken from any other man. Plus, she’d almost kissed him. Not good. She needed to find answers regarding Kenny’s death, but it would be a lot easier without a doubting detective and his hypnotic blue eyes making things more difficult.
She pulled into the driveway as Mr. Clayton got out of his car. His blonde hair was a lot whiter than she remembered and his beach ball belly had significantly deflated.
Mr. Clayton opened her door and greeted her with a big smile and warm embrace. “Darci, you look wonderful,” he said, bussing her cheek.
She returned his smile. “So do you, Mr. Clayton.”
“You ready to go inside?”
Darci shrugged. “I guess.”
“You having second thoughts?”
“Second, third, and fourth thoughts,” she confessed. “But Kenny is—” She closed her eyes for a moment and then continued. “Kenny was my best friend, and if this is one of his final wishes, I can’t possibly say no.”
Not Quite Right (Indigo Love Spectrum) Page 5