Dead Man's Rules

by Rebecca Grace

  “Sounds like a good idea to me,” Bradley said.

  Perhaps if he had not sounded so smug, Cere might have agreed. “Even if I don’t pursue the story for air, it doesn’t mean I won’t continue to investigate. I’m not convinced he committed suicide.”

  Bradley stiffened and he gripped the edge of the table so hard his pudgy hands turned white. His blue eyes grew frosty as icicles. “That was my conclusion as sheriff and that of the coroner. Are you saying we were wrong?”

  “Maybe you didn’t have the proper information to uncover the truth,” she offered, trying to appease him.

  “The truth was right in front of us. Same as with the burglaries the first time he went to jail. I knew that boy did it, no matter how much he protested his innocence.”

  Rafe cleared his throat. “What was the evidence? Were there fingerprints?”

  “He was seen near the jewelry store and he had cash and a diamond ring. Where else would he have gotten it? There were no fingerprints. I bet he wore gloves.”

  “Can we change the subject please? It was so long ago. This isn’t why we came to dinner,” Lottie protested in a high voice. Her face was pale except for two pink splotches on her cheeks.

  Guilt swept through Cere. In her haste to battle the mayor, she had ignored her mother’s wishes. A quick glance at Rafe told her he felt the same way.

  “Mayor, tell us about Tres Padres,” he said, changing the subject. “I keep telling Cere it would make a much better story.”

  Bradley drew back, the tension lessening. “Yes, it would. I talked to those folks this morning, in fact. That project could bring good things to the valley.”

  Cere forced herself to show interest, making a few notes and the conversation got them through dinner. When Lottie excused herself to go to the ladies room Cere went with her.

  “I’m sorry for bringing up Marco,” she said, taking her arm as they entered. “Did Mr. Foster know he chased you?”

  Lottie’s arm was tense, her voice dry. “Of course. Everyone knew. When we were juniors, that nut spray painted ‘Marco loves Lottie’ across the side of the Palladium. Dad had a fit and Bradley made him clean it.” Despite her tense answer her face broke into a sad smile.

  “Do you ever dream him?”

  Her mother blinked rapidly. “What a strange thing to say. Why would I dream about him?”

  She pressed her lips together, unable to reply and simply shook her head. “No reason.”

  As they stopped to wash their hands, seeing her mother’s sad eyes in the mirror she decided to cheer her up. “What do you think of Mr. Gennaro?”

  Lottie’s brow wrinkled. “No more Marco. I told you he was too afraid of him to stop him from chasing me. All the boys were.”

  “I mean now.” Cere grinned at her mother. “Haven’t you noticed how he keeps hovering around the table?”

  Her cheeks turned vibrant pink but she laughed. “You and Freeda. Stop playing matchmakers. But...well, don’t take this the wrong way... I may not be home tonight.”

  “You’re going to spend the night with Mr. Foster?”

  Lottie glanced around as though someone might be listening. “It’s not like that.”

  Her mother’s face flushed brilliantly, and Cere felt a lump in her throat. She refused to contemplate her mother and Bradley as lovers. It seemed disloyal to her father. But after her earlier behavior, all she could do was squeeze her mother’s hand.

  “Do whatever you would do if I wasn’t here. Rafe will take me home. I promise not to tell Freeda. She’d never let you hear the end of it.”

  Lottie’s smile was one of gratitude. “You behave yourself.”

  “I have to, and you don’t?”

  “That isn’t what I meant. Rafe doesn’t want you investigating any more than I do. You should have seen his face when you were talking about threats. He cares about you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “You should have told me about the van,” Rafe said as they strolled along Main Street and turned onto the block where the van had shone its lights on her.

  “I didn’t want to worry you.” She kept her tone light, as though she considered the matter inconsequential. “This is where he backed up and that’s the tree I ducked behind.”

  “You knew it would worry me.” He leaned down for a look at the street surface, but the pavement gave up no information they could use.

  “Maybe I hoped it would,” she said, attempting to banter.

  “Cere.” He straightened and took her hand. The moonlight was all the light they had, but in its silvery glow she could see the flame of desire in his dark eyes as he spoke in a soft, intimate voice. “I do worry about you. Believe me, I’d rather not. You’re quite a handful.”

  “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” she protested.

  “Caring about someone makes you want to take care of them.” He tugged her hand, pulling her toward him. “Damn, I’m not sure what I want to say.”

  Her senses buzzed as her heart skipped. He was saying he cared about her. Cere reached up and stroked his face with her free hand. She was beginning to care too. Did things happen that fast? Could it be possible she was falling in love?

  He leaned down and kissed her quickly, just a soft touch but it quickened her breathing and set her pulse on high-speed.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you home, unless you want to go back for the car.”

  “Let’s walk. Mom’s not coming home tonight.”

  “Is that an invitation?” he asked with a chuckle. Playfully he caught her in his arms and held her loosely against him.

  Cere leaned against his chest, inhaling his clean scent. Her insides grew jittery, and all her senses leaped to life. Hot sparks heated her skin. “What do you think?”

  “You claimed to be too much for me to handle.”

  She leaned back to look up at him. Shadows hid his eyes, but she could feel he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She touched his feathery lashes with her fingertips. “That’s true.”

  “I’m not into games, Cere. I’ve always played for keeps.”

  Her stomach did a wild flip flop, and her knees felt weak. But as she reached up to kiss him, he drew a deep breath, released his hold and stepped back.

  “Unfortunately I don’t think we’re ready for that.”

  Cere tried not to let her disappointment show. “Oh.”

  “Let’s do something fun. Want to take a drive?”

  “To the Palladium?”

  “No!” He took her arm and tucked it under his as they resumed walking toward the house. “You enjoy going out, don’t you? I bet you miss the noisy atmosphere, the swanky clubs.”

  “I like going out, but I seldom have time. I used to meet friends for dinner, but it’s become a chore. Traffic is horrible, everyone lives miles apart. Did you and your wife go out a lot?”

  “Carmen wasn’t much for the social scene. She was a teacher and dedicated herself to her students. She’d have tutoring sessions at all hours of the day and night. That’s...” Rafe stopped and shook his head.

  Cere regretted mentioning his former wife. She kept doing that, and it put him into a thoughtful mood. Had his wife been on a late night tutoring session when she’d been killed? Maybe a change of subject was in order.

  “What do you think of Bradley Foster?” she asked.

  “Full of himself. Like his son.”

  “He’s very smitten with my mother.”

  His lips twitched into a smile. “Does that bother you?”

  “I never thought my mother might get involved after Dad died. Mr. Foster doesn’t seem her type, but she says she had a crush on him when she was young. Mr. Gennaro is closer to her age and seems to like her, but she thinks of him as a brother.”

  “Isn’t that how it always is?” he said with a gentle laugh.

  “I guess. Poor Marco had a crush on her and she probably didn’t notice him either. Did you hear Mr. Foster? He’s so certain Marco committed the burglaries, but I
read the letters to his sister. Why would he lie after he’d been convicted?”

  “I wondered how long it would take to get around to Marco.” Rafe cast a glance at his watch. “Two hours. I’m impressed.”

  “Stop it. You looked interested too.”

  “Maybe a little.”

  They turned onto Lottie’s block and she leaned her head against his arm. “Want to come in for coffee? It might keep me out of trouble. You know if you leave me alone I’ll go to the basement and start reading through letters again.”

  “Let’s sit in the back yard and talk.”

  Rafe wasn’t certain if he was doing the right thing agreeing to stay. As he stood in the back yard, lighting a torch at one end of the patio he could see her inside the kitchen, pouring glasses of port. She turned on her mother’s stereo, which was still set up to feed music outdoors, and came through the door with glasses in hand. She put them down on a table at the edge of the patio and playfully grabbed his hand.

  “Dance with me, Tafoya. I need to keep moving.”

  “I don’t dance well.”

  Cere was not to be denied. She pulled his hand until he was against her. The touch of his chest and thighs against her body shot a bolt of electricity through him. She leaned her head against his chest, and he thought about what he’d told her—he didn’t believe in casual sex. Did she? His body was coming alive in a way it hadn’t in years and he could feel the thud of her heart beneath his hand which enfolded hers against her upper chest.

  His palm gripped her back, and he could feel warmth penetrating through her thin dress. What would it be like to feel his hand against her bare skin or maybe his lips? A hot wave of desire splashed across his lower regions.

  Closing her eyes, Cere gave in to the music, her body swaying against his. All too soon the song ended. Rafe’s lips nuzzled the top of her head, and Cere lifted her head for a kiss.

  The touch was warm, gentle and carried promise of things to come. Too soon he had to break it or beg her to take him to the bedroom.

  “Cere,” he whispered into her hair. “You know how much I want you.”

  “I can feel it,” she said with a giggle.

  He jostled her and pulled back, only slightly embarrassed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth.

  “I like it,” she whispered.

  Her radiant smile made Rafe’s heart skip. Hell, everything about her tonight turned his insides to butter. Why the hell didn’t she just go back to California? He hadn’t been joking about one night stands. The problem was he wanted her and not for only one night. He wanted to hold her, but he feared he might never be able to let her go. He would make a fool of himself and try to get her to stay. He had persuaded Carmen to move to Los Angeles. She had gone and paid the ultimate price. He’d never ask anyone to sacrifice for him again.

  He jerked away and held her at arm’s length. “Behave.”

  “Want to talk about Marco?” she asked with a coquettish grin.

  He laughed. “Maybe.”

  “I just wish I could hear his songs. I’ve been waiting for Freeda to come back and sing them for me. I don’t know much about music.”

  “I can play the guitar and sing. Not well, but I can do it.” Suddenly he was willing to do anything, even sing Marco’s songs if it meant putting distance between them. At least singing might keep them from personal talk.

  “Drink your wine and I’ll get the songs and Mom’s guitar.”

  He sipped the wine while she retrieved the song sheets. The tunes were simple, and once he familiarized himself with the guitar, he began to put the words to music. A chill ran through him as he sang. He smiled at Cere, perched below him on the top step of the porch.

  “Wow,” she said with a laugh when he finished the first song. “You’re not a bad singer. I didn’t realize you had hidden talents.”

  He touched the folded paper, thinking about the songs and what they meant. “These aren’t bad.”

  “I told you he was special. He accomplished a lot for having the deck stacked against him. There’s no telling how far he could have gone if he had lived. Why hasn’t it occurred to anyone that a man like that doesn’t give up?”

  Rafe sighed. She was right, even if she was going about her investigation the wrong way. What could he do? What good would opening up old wounds do for anyone? Marco was dead. He moved to the next song, strumming Marco’s written chords.

  “You’re not going to believe this, but I feel a connection to him,” she said. “It’s like it’s always been there. Remember the first night at the Palladium? I thought you saved me. Now that I think about it, I wasn’t carried out. Something, someone led me, let me know I was safe.”

  His lip twitched in annoyance. “We were all safe. There was nothing there. Are you saying the ghost helped you? Formed a connection? That’s why you’re dreaming him?”

  “Not anymore. I think that was triggered by seeing his picture in the paper. It must have set off my subconscious.”

  “Better not tell Freeda.”

  “Don’t laugh, Tafoya. Last week when I got locked inside, I knew that I’d get out safely. Sometimes I feel he’s watching me or talking to me. It’s like I can hear him.” She stopped as though she realized how crazy that sounded.

  Rafe peered at her over the top of the guitar. “Do you think your ghost will protect you from the person who almost ran you down or threatened you?”

  She inhaled sharply, small face growing serious. “You don’t need to remind me of that.”

  “The threats are not from a ghost. They’re real.”

  “I know. I want to stop, but I feel bad for him. Look at those love songs. He poured his heart out and Mom never saw them.”

  “My mother says her family was against her seeing him.”

  “Have you asked your mother about Marco?”

  He didn’t answer, pretending to work on the next song. He wasn’t certain how to explain, but he could see her determination. Maybe it was time to be more honest. He set the guitar aside. “When I discovered my mother’s involvement, it bothered me. I thought maybe he killed himself over her.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Bradley Foster told me. It stopped me from publicly asking questions about the mystery woman.”

  “Some mystery,” Cere said. “Everyone knew Marco wanted my mother. He painted their names on the wall of the Palladium.”

  “She might not be that final mystery woman. There’s something else I haven’t told you.” He slid down from the chair to sit on the step beside her. “The woman could have been my Aunt Rosalie. She wrote to him in jail and he came to see her when he got out. That was how Mom got to know him.”

  “And they started going out?”

  He shrugged. “Apparently.”

  Cere put her hand on his arm, gripping it. “Rafe, she was the one who gave Mom his letters. She might be the key. Can you get her to talk to me?”

  “I’ve never met Aunt Rosalie. She moved away years ago.”

  “Mom said...she was in love with him.”

  A jolt of surprise reverberated inside him. “What? How does she know? Mom said…” He stopped. Again, there was too much at stake, too much he couldn’t reveal. He sighed and shook his head. “All that happened a long time ago. I’m not sure it’s worth digging up.”

  Cere stared at him, but for once there was softness in her gaze. When she touched his arm this time, it was a gentle squeeze. “That’s why you tried to stop me from doing the story, isn’t it? You didn’t want me dragging your mom and her sister into this.”

  His nod was quick. “Now you can see the problem.”

  “Rafe, I don’t think he killed himself.”

  His stomach knotted, but he made the declaration he had been ignoring since the first morning he took up Marco with his mother. “Neither do I.”

  “As sheriff, Rafe, you have the power to re-open that case.”

  Rafe sighed heavily, a finger stroking the
scar on his face. For years he hid it behind his beard. Now it was a reminder of how things could go wrong while trying to do the right thing. A young gang member had sliced his face in a knife fight while Rafe was trying to save his life.

  “I’ve thought about it. If I hadn’t discovered my mother’s involvement, I might have done it.”

  “So now what?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want more people to be hurt.” He leaned toward her and touched her lips gently with his, ignoring the urge to wrap his arms around her and hold onto her. “That includes you.”

  She stroked his face, touching the scar with exploring fingers. “I’m not as fragile as you think.”

  He pulled her hand away, kissed it and got to his feet. “That’s what scares me. I better get going.”

  “Before I drag you up to my room?”

  He tilted his head toward her, attempting to look as stern as possible, but he feared she could see right through him. “Goodnight, sweet Cere.”

  “One more thing. How about if I do a story on Naldo?”

  “What?” That came out of left field, but he had a feeling she had other things on her mind.

  “A feature story.” Her eyes came alive as she hopped up and began pacing back and forth on the porch. “I could talk to people. Find out about his life. Heck, get the truth about that buried treasure. Maybe it would stop those people digging up the yard.”

  “You just want to ask about Marco,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “I’m good at people features. Naldo was a fixture in town, right? So far all I’ve seen in the paper is mention that he once ran a pawn shop and now he’s a murder victim. There has to be more to him than that.”

  Rafe groaned, but she was right. Willie had talked about doing a feature, but none of them had the time to work on it so it had fallen by the wayside.

  “I’ll ask Uncle Willie. We tried contacting his son but no one knows where he is. His grandson is an attorney in Albuquerque but he’s back east on a civil case. If Willie agrees, I’ll pass on the information.”