Love Can Be Murder (boxed set of humorous mysteries)

by Stephanie Bond

  He gave a little laugh. "Well, they say everyone has a twin somewhere. Who is this Hagan guy?"

  "Just a friend." Her breathing was shallow.

  He squinted. "What did you say your name was again?"

  Fine hairs rose on the nape of her neck. "Jolie Goodman."

  He nodded, then drained his wineglass. "Ladies, it was nice meeting you," he said, edging away. "But this is, after all, a wine tasting, and I need another taste." He lifted his glass, turned and strode away.

  Carlotta gave her a wry smile. "I guess you were mistaken." Then she frowned. "It's weird, but the name Gary Hagan sounds familiar to me."

  Jolie's heart rate picked up, but she tried to maintain a steady voice. "You know Gary?"

  A furrow formed on Carlotta's forehead, then she shook her head. "No, I'm thinking of another guy I used to know, Gary Haggardy." She shrugged and looked around, already bored.

  Jolie watched Roger LeMon moving through the crowd. His pace seemed more hurried than someone who was chasing a drink refill. Indeed, instead of stopping at the bar, he strode past and veered off down a hallway. Curious.

  "I'm going to the ladies' room," she murmured to Carlotta.

  "I'll meet you at the food table," Carlotta said. "Hannah said they were getting ready to put out lobster cakes."

  Jolie barely heard her as she walked away. Keeping an eye out for Roger LeMon, she traced his steps through the crowd and down the side hallway. A lone pay phone was mounted at the end of the hall, just before the entrance to the restrooms. Roger LeMon stood with his back to her, a black phone receiver pressed to his ear. The fact that the man was using a pay phone was suspicious enough, and from the angry gestures he made, she gathered he wasn't talking to his mother.

  Thankful for the carpet, she walked quietly toward him. As she drew closer, she could hear his agitated, lowered voice.

  "—recognized me from a photograph...Hell, I don't know...She said she was a friend...Goodman, Jolie Goodman..."

  At the sound of her own name, Jolie's feet faltered and her knees threatened to give way. She spun around to make a silent retreat, but as she rounded the corner, the wineglass slipped out of her hand. She clawed the air, but the glass tumbled and bounced on the carpet, spilling wine in a red arc. Jolie stared at the glass, knowing if she retrieved it, she'd be in LeMon's line of vision—and if he'd heard the noise, he would most likely be looking. Instead she turned and racewalked back through the crowd until she reached the food table.

  Carlotta, in her look-at-me ensemble, was hard to miss. She grinned. "Jolie, try the quiche—"

  "I have to go."

  Carlotta frowned. "Is something wrong?"

  "I'm...not feeling well," Jolie said. Which was true. "I'll s–see you tomorrow—thanks for the ticket."

  She turned and practically trotted toward the exit, sending panicked glances over her shoulder for Roger LeMon. She flew by the ticket taker and stumbled down the entrance ramp, walking as fast as her shoes would allow along the dimly lit sidewalk to her car. She gulped air as she fumbled to get her key in the lock, then realized she'd forgotten to lock the door. She grabbed at the handle and opened the door, then practically flung herself inside and slammed it shut.

  She gripped the wheel, inhaling and exhaling slowly to calm her vital signs, trying to figure out what to do next. Call Detective Salyers? The woman's suspicion resounded in her head. Would she accuse Jolie of grasping at straws, or maybe lying altogether? Jolie hesitated, then reached for her purse.

  "Jolie," a man said. From the back seat.

  She froze, and terror bolted through her body at the realization that someone had been lying in wait for her. The muscles in her legs bunched and her arm flew to the door handle.

  "Jolie, it's me—Gary."

  Chapter Seven

  "GARY?" SHE WHISPERED on a breath that seemed to be pulled out of her.

  "Don't turn around, Jolie."

  She stopped, mid-turn, her heart thudding in her ears. "Why not?"

  "So that when the police ask if you've seen me, you can say no." His voice sounded reedy and unfamiliar. Terrifying.

  Her fingers curled around the metal door handle. "What happened to you?"

  "I don't have time to explain now, but I want you to know that I didn't do what the police are accusing me of. I was set up." His voice ended on a choke.

  Think, think, keep him talking. "Who...who was the woman in your car, Gary?"

  "I can't tell you. The less you know, the better."

  "But where have you been?"

  "Staying out of sight. They think I'm dead, and I want them to keep thinking it."

  She frowned. "Who is 'they'?"

  "Like I said, the less you know, the better." He sounded more agitated. "If anyone asks you about me, I simply disappeared."

  "With my car," she reminded him.

  "I'm sorry about that. I'll pay you back, I swear. Money, at least, isn't a problem."

  She pulled the door release as far as it would go without making noise. "How did you know I was here?"

  "I followed you from your apartment. It was too dangerous to talk to you there. They would expect it."

  Her skin crawled and her mind raced with questions. "Gary, if you were set up, why don't you go to the police? The detective I've been talking to—"

  "Jolie, if anyone knows I'm alive, you could be in danger. That's why I had to do this—to warn you."

  She swallowed. "Why would I be in danger?"

  "Because of the envelope."

  "What envelope?"

  Silence, then..."Oh, God, maybe they intercepted it." He sounded desperate, making mewling noises.

  "Gary," she said carefully, "what was in the envelope?"

  A scrambling noise sounded from the back. "I have to go, Jolie. I'm sorry I got you involved. I'm sorry for a lot of things." He sounded almost philosophical, as if he were talking about something in the very distant past.

  "Wait, Gary—don't go. Let me drive you to a police station."

  "No."

  "If you're in danger, they'll put you in protective custody."

  He scoffed. "That only means I'll be alone when they come to kill me."

  "Who is 'they'?"

  "Bye, Jolie. Promise me you won't say anything to the police. Both of our lives depend on it."

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head, fighting tears.

  Suddenly he came up over the seat and put his arms around her, pressing his cheek against hers so she couldn't move her head. She screamed, but the sound was lost against the hand he cupped over her mouth. She sucked air through her nose, jerking in her attempt to fill her lungs. His hands smelled grimy, his rough beard pricking her skin. He had her arms pinned to her sides. He had never behaved aggressively toward her, and the possibility of him being high on cocaine blipped into her panicked mind. She struggled and tried to bite his fingers.

  His grip tightened like a vise. "Jolie, for God's sake, I'm not going to hurt you, but you have to promise me you won't go to the police. Please," he begged, his voice tearful. "I need time to get my ducks in a row, then I'll go to the police."

  His despair reverberated in the small car. Real or imagined, he was indeed afraid for his life. She nodded against his hand.

  "Thank you," he breathed, then slowly released her mouth. "I'll be around, keeping an eye on you. But be careful, Jolie."

  She gasped for fresh air and glanced in the rearview mirror, but she saw only the outline of his head and shoulders. The back door opened, then slammed, sending a vibration through the small car. In the side mirror, she saw him run away and disappear into the darkness.

  Jolie clawed at the controls on the door panel until she heard the comforting thwack of all four doors locking, then she lowered her head on the steering wheel, giving in to shuddering breaths and waves of relief...frustration...confusion. Nothing remotely like this had ever happened to her before. How had she, a normal, hardworking, good girl, suddenly become enmeshed in a murde
r investigation?

  She massaged her temples, trying to chase away the fear, to clear her head enough to think. Gary was obviously terrified, but was it possible that he'd become mentally unstable—sometime before or after he'd driven his car into the river and killed that woman? And was he using coke? With all the talk about what "they" would do to him, he'd sounded clinically paranoid. She'd promised him she wouldn't go to the police, but that went against her every gut instinct.

  And what if he was telling the truth? What if he had been set up by some kind of drug ring and the police couldn't protect him? Roger LeMon had seemed intent on hiding his relationship to Gary, although the man didn't strike her as a criminal mastermind. If he were a successful investment broker, he might simply be worried about his reputation if the media tied him personally to a murderer.

  Common sense itself kept pulling her away from Gary's fantastic tale of being set up. Wouldn't denial be a likely first line of defense? On the other hand, if he were guilty of murdering the woman in his car, why would he stay in Atlanta? Why not flee to another state, or another country? He'd made it sound as if he were going to try to resolve the situation himself and go to the police afterward. What if he was right—what if she went to the police and their interference only made things worse...or cost him his life?

  A knock sounded on the window. Jolie gripped the steering wheel and screamed until her tonsils quivered, then turned her head.

  Beck Underwood stood there with his hands up, his eyes wide. "Didn't mean to scare you," he shouted, his voice muffled by the window.

  Her shoulders fell in relief, but she'd had enough of men sneaking up on her for one night. She rolled down the window. "Are you following me?"

  He looked perplexed. "What? No." He gestured in the direction Gary had gone. "I was coming back from walking my sister to her car and I saw you sitting here. Are you having car trouble?"

  She looked up at him and burst into tears—a first for her, ever. And she wasn't sure who was more horrified, her or the man standing outside her car. While she tried to pull herself together, he squatted down to her level and placed his hand on the car door. He had big, strong hands that matched his physique...capable hands...capable of harm? She retreated a few inches, suddenly suspicious of everyone.

  He sighed. "Look, Jolie, I don't know what kind of trouble you're in, but it's clear to me that you're scared of something. Does this have anything to do with that police officer coming to see you the other day?"

  His voice pulled at her with a promise of comfort. Once again she had the overwhelming urge to confide in this stranger. But as the seconds ticked by, the desire to spill her guts was overridden by the fear that Gary might still be watching her, might even be within hearing distance.

  "I'm fine," she said, dragging a tissue from her purse. "I'm not feeling well, that's all." Now accustomed to the man seeing her at her worst, she blew her nose noisily.

  "Let me drive you home," he said.

  "No." She stuck the key into the ignition and turned over the car engine. "I'll be fine. I just need a good night's sleep."

  "I'll follow you home."

  "No," she said, more vehemently than she'd intended. What kind of mess was she that in the space of a minute she could find him suspicious, then trustworthy, then suspicious again?

  "Good night," she said quietly, then buzzed up the window, displacing his hand.

  As she pulled away from the curb, she glanced in the side mirror and watched him standing with his hands on his hips, staring after her. He had to be thinking she was the most bizarre woman he'd ever met.

  Considering her current predicament, she would have to concur. In the past couple of days, she felt as if she'd entered the Twilight Zone. As she proceeded north on Peachtree Street, she scanned the sidewalks for any sign of Gary on foot, while keeping an eye on her rearview mirror for headlights. She wiped the corners of her eyes and exhaled heartily, then turned on the air conditioner full blast to dispel the faint smell of cigarettes and body odor Gary had left behind. How long had he been following her, waiting for her? She shivered, remembering the desperate edge to his voice.

  What had been in the envelope he'd sent her—money? Drugs? And was this "they" he was talking about intercepting her mail? If so, "they" had already made a connection between her and Gary. Who were "they"...friends of his? People who knew about the missing person's report she'd filed? Police officers? Was that why Gary was afraid for her to go to the police, because they were involved somehow? Of course, the missing persons report was a matter of public record, for anyone to access.

  She shook her aching head, realizing she was buying into Gary's thin explanation of a conspiracy. Because, despite evidence to the contrary, she wanted to believe him, needed to believe him. Because she needed to justify her decision to become involved with him? Otherwise, what kind of a woman would she be if she could be conned by a con man?

  Gullible? Or, in this case, criminal?

  She reached for her purse and rummaged with one hand until she came up with her cell phone, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her thumb hovered over the number pad as she debated whether to call Detective Salyers.

  But what information could she provide really—other than the fact that Gary was alive, which the police already suspected? He'd given her no names, no specifics at all, to support his contention that he was set up. Salyers would probably dismiss his ramblings as those of a strung-out fugitive, then have him hunted down. And maybe haul her in for good measure.

  If he was guilty and she didn't call Salyers, he would eventually be found and brought to justice. If he was innocent and she didn't call Salyers, he might be able to gather more information in his defense before the police closed in.

  So in reality, there was nothing tangible to be gained from telling Salyers about Gary's sudden reappearance. And if she implicated herself further, the police would pester her to no end. Gary's warning to be careful rang in her ears. The police couldn't help her there, either, other than to reiterate his warning...and maybe make things worse if "they" thought she was cooperating with the police.

  She glanced down at the phone, wavering. When she stopped at the next intersection, she punched in a number and waited while the phone rang one, two, three, four times.

  "Hello," Leann said, sounding out of breath.

  At the sound of a familiar voice, Jolie's blood pressure instantly eased. "Hey, it's me. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

  "Just dealing with some throw-up," Leann said with a tired sigh.

  Jolie cringed. "Your sister sounds miserable."

  "Almost as miserable as I am," Leann murmured. "I thought you were going to a party tonight."

  "I just left." She flipped on her signal, then merged onto Roswell Road.

  "Wow, it must have been a bomb."

  "No, it was fine," Jolie said. "A little ritzy for me, but...okay."

  "Your new friend must be ritzy, too."

  Was that a touch of jealousy in her voice? Jolie gave a little laugh. "Carlotta? Get this. She had fake tickets to get us in, and smuggled in wineglasses so we wouldn't have to buy them for the wine tasting."

  "You crashed the party?"

  "Yes."

  Leann howled laughing. "I don't believe it! You crashed a shindig at the High Museum?"

  Jolie frowned. "Yes." At this point, she didn't want to admit she'd been bamboozled into being bad. "Apparently, Carlotta and her friend are both serial party crashers."

  "Sounds fun. So why did you leave early?"

  She didn't feel like recounting the story of Roger LeMon, especially when there were more important things to report. "I was tired. But when I walked back to my car, Gary was waiting for me."

  Leann gasped. "Gary? Are you shitting me?"

  "No. He was in the backseat, hiding."

  "Omigod! Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

  "No, he didn't hurt me, but he nearly frightened me to death."

  Leann sputtered. "Tell me everythi
ng! Where has he been?"

  "He didn't say, only that he's been hiding out. He said he's innocent, that he was set up for the woman's murder."

  "Who set him up? And who was the woman?"

  "He wouldn't tell me anything. He said the less I knew, the better. And he begged me not to tell the police that I'd talked to him."

  "So why did he come to you at all?"

  "He said he wanted to warn me that both our lives will be in danger if I go to the police."

  "Gee, Jolie, he's either crazy or crazy in love if he'd risk his life just to talk to you. Do you believe him?"

  "I don't know...maybe. He was definitely scared."

  "Tell me you're going to the police."

  Jolie bit into her lip. "I've been going back and forth trying to decide...but I don't think so, not yet anyway. Gary didn't tell me anything useful, and he said he needed some time to get his ducks in a row."

  "You mean, like to get away?" Leann asked dryly.

  "If he wanted to get away, he's had plenty of time to do that. I think he's trying to gather evidence against the people who set him up. He said then he'd go to the police himself."

  "Jolie . . ." Leann's voice petered out.

  "I know—you think I'm being gullible."

  "Jolie, for God's sake, he's a fugitive. You could get into big trouble."

  "Leann, I'm not harboring him."

  "Do you know where he's staying?"

  "No—if I did, I would definitely call the police. But they're already accusing me of knowing more than I do. If I told them I talked to Gary and that he didn't tell me anything, do you think they would believe me?"

  "That actually makes sense. Either that or I'm sleep deprived. Do you think you'll see him again?"

  "I don't know. He said he'd be keeping an eye on me, to make sure I'm safe."

  Leann made a choking sound. "Doesn't that creep you out?"

  "A little," she admitted. "But he actually sounded...protective."

  "I didn't realize you cared so much for this guy."

  Jolie sighed. "It's not a matter of how much I care for Gary. When that detective accused me of being an accessory, I felt helpless. If Gary is innocent, I don't want to be the person to make things worse. You had to be there, Leann, to hear his voice."