by Ann Yost
Luke’s eyes fastened on her. He couldn’t fool her. He was determined to do right by Blanche’s niece, but he didn’t want to marry Jessie. He didn’t want to marry anyone.
“You’re a stubborn little thing,” Luke grumbled.
“I think she’s awesome,” Francine put in.
Jessie thought she heard tears in her voice.
“She knows what she wants, and she doesn’t let anybody push her around.”
Jessie was pleased with the praise, but she felt compelled to be honest.
“It’s not the same thing as you and Zach. You have a history together. Luke and I have known one another for a handful of days.”
“That’s the whole point, Jessie,” Millicent said, with a touch of asperity, “you’ve known each other.”
“The world has changed,” Francie pointed out. “Just because a man and woman have sex, the woman doesn’t expect marriage.”
Jessie felt the heat flood into her cheeks. She felt Luke’s eyes on her. She knew he was willing to marry her because of Blanche.
It was an even worse reason than her first engagement.
“I appreciate the thought,” she said, including everyone in her comment. “I’d have liked to see a hand fast ceremony.”
“What if you’re pregnant?”
Luke’s words had the effect of a rock coming through the plate-glass window.
“It’s very unlikely,” Jessie said, after a long minute. “It was only the once.”
“If you won’t get married,” Mabel Ruth said, “I feel duty bound to ask you not to tempt fate.”
“She’s right,” Luke said, his voice gravelly. His eyes held Jessie’s, and for a minute, she was lost in a sensual memory. “If you won’t marry me, we can’t use these.” He took the crumpled bag out of his pocket and set it on the table.
“Hostage condoms,” Francine said. “I like it.”
Later, as Luke and Jessie walked home together across the snow-covered Green under a later afternoon pink sky, Jessie wondered if she’d made a mistake. Once again she wondered if Luke could learn to love her. It might have been worth the risk for the wedding night of hot, heavy sex. She felt heat explode inside her.
“What’re you thinking about?”
She couldn’t tell him how badly she wanted to plunge her hands into his hair, to feel the naked length of him thrusting against her thighs, to experience that euphoric release and the unparalleled pleasure of lying in his arms afterwards.
“Stuff. Expectations. Circumstances. The whole strange business of binding yourself to another person.”
He nodded. “It’s absurd to think a person can promise his or her feelings won’t change over the course of a lifetime.”
He sounded so bitter. She stopped and laid her palm against his chest. His heart thrummed in a comforting beat.
“It’s not absurd. You’ll feel that way again.” She struggled with the next words, but she knew she had to say them. “Maybe even with your ex-wife.”
He shook his head. “Even if I were interested she’s not. She made that pretty clear in her ‘Dear John’ e-mail.”
Jessie’s heart ached for him. “Then she’s a fool.”
Luke smoothed his thumb over her bottom lip. “Does that make you a fool, too?”
She didn’t reply. It wasn’t the same, and he knew it.
****
Maybe it was the still afternoon or the confused state of his senses, or maybe it was just a perverse reaction to her refusal to marry him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was missing out on something great. Jessie Maynard was full of love and life and laughter. He could have done a lot worse in a marriage. Hell, he had done a lot worse.
“C’mon, Elf. Forget your doubts. Let’s get married.”
He hadn’t intended to say that. She grinned at him as if she knew it.
“Ask me enough and I might take you up on it. Then where would you be?”
Heat flashed through him. Suddenly he was hard and ready. The lust must have shown in his eyes because she stepped away from him.
“Forget all this talk about marriage,” she said, lightly.
He didn’t tell her it wasn’t marriage he was thinking of, it was bed.
“It’s the night before the night before Christmas, and we’ve got a funeral to attend. Think the murderer will be there?”
“Pink elephants and lemonade, dear Jessie, hear the laughter running through the love parade.” A smooth masculine voice floated on the winter air.
“Oh no.” Jessie’s small figure went as tense as a hunting dog. “Kit.”
Luke followed the trajectory of her eyes, but all he could see was a box truck emblazoned with a sign, Fusco’s Frozen Foods, Chicago’s Best, parked on Cobblestone Lane. The man seemed to come out of nowhere. His gelled blond hair gleamed in the glow of the street lamps. His teeth flashed, white and straight. He wore what looked like a cashmere overcoat and a soft white muffler. Mister Blowjob.
The intruder scooped Jessie into his arms with easy familiarity. He twirled her around.
“Put her down.” Luke barked the command, and the man froze. He didn’t put her down, though, and he didn’t lose his smile.
“What’s the problem?”
“She gets airsick.”
“That’s new,” Kit said.
Luke waited for Jessie to contradict him. It was oddly satisfying that she didn’t.
“Luke’s right,” she said, mildly. “I really prefer to keep my feet on terra firma.”
When he obeyed, Luke decided to let him keep his teeth a little longer. “Luke, this is Kit Carstairs.”
“Jessie’s fiancé.” The blond flashed his irritating smile and stuck out his hand.
“Ex-fiancé,” Jessie corrected.
Luke stared into light green eyes that crinkled in the corners. The guy was loaded with confidence borne of good looks and an easy manner. No wonder he had a harem.
“Luke Tanner,” he said, dryly. “Jessie’s current fiancé.”
Three jaws dropped. Luke didn’t know who was more surprised, Carstairs, Jessie, or himself.
“So you weren’t just blowing smoke, Tinkerbell.” He chucked her under the chin. “I should have known. You’ve always been a stickler for the truth.”
Luke found himself grinding his teeth at the man’s inappropriate familiarity. He hated that BJ had a history with her. Anyone could see the clown wasn’t right for her. That’s why he’d bent the truth.
“Listen, bro,” Carstairs said to Luke. The blue eyes glowed with confidence. “I’m here to let you off the hook.”
A scent drifted on the air. It was delicate, expensive and familiar. Luke’s gut churned. Chanel Number Five. Crystal’s perfume. He spotted a tall, slim blonde rounding the corner of the truck. He nearly lost his un-wedding brownies.
Chapter Fourteen
It wasn’t Crystal.
He knew it because he didn’t get that constriction around his heart. He was still breathing normally.
The leggy blonde, clad in a black cashmere coat and fashion boots grabbed Jessie and wrapped her in a bear hug. At first glance they looked like polar opposites, but when he saw them side by side, Luke saw the family resemblance in the small straight noses, the sprinkling of freckles, and the glow in their faces.
Jessie couldn’t stop talking. “When did you get here? Is Mom here? What about Dad? How did you get here? Why did you bring Kit?”
He’d like an answer to that last one himself.
The woman laughed then she looked at Luke. He recognized the feminine appreciation in her eyes. He returned her smile even as he wished she and Mister Blowjob would disappear.
“We’ve been here about half an hour. Mom’s in the house. Dad’s coming by plane. We borrowed the Fusco’s truck so we could haul all the wedding stuff including the stations-of-the cross ice sculpture, and Kit is here in case you’ve changed your mind.”
Jessie gaped at the truck. “She didn’t bring the mushroom cloud weddin
g dress did she? Because I’m not wearing it.”
Luke stared at her. He couldn’t believe she was arguing wardrobe.
“You’re not wearing anything,” he said, irritably. “You’re not marrying this guy.”
“Ah,” Gillian said, looking from one to the other. “So that’s how it is.”
Luke didn’t bother to correct her. The least he could do is protect Jessie from that blond sleaze ball.
Suddenly Jessie seemed to remember her manners.
“Luke, this is my sister, Gillian. Gillian, Luke Tanner. And, as you know, this is Kit Carstairs.” Her eyes narrowed on her ex. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Kit, but I was really hoping not to lay eyes on you again.”
“I screwed up, princess,” he said.
He sounded contrite and sincere, and Luke wanted to knock his perfect white teeth down his throat.
“I’ll do anything if you’ll give me another chance.”
It was time to intervene.
“Jessie’s moved on.”
“In three days?”
It did sound ridiculous. He wondered how he could have become so attached to the elf in such a short time.
“Sounds like a rebound. You need to take time to grieve.”
“You didn’t die, Carstairs, you cheated on her.”
“It’s all right, Luke,” Jessie said. “I can handle this.” She turned to the slick-haired ex. “I’m not interested in a reconciliation, Kit. I told you that on the phone.”
They’d been talking on the phone? When?
“You can’t tell me you’re engaged to this guy,”
Carstairs said to Jessie. “I heard he’s a bad seed.” “We’re not really engaged,” she assured him. “I mean, we’ve talked about it and, oh, it’s complicated. Luke and I are friends. That’s as much as you need to know. And you heard wrong. He’s a good seed.”
Luke didn’t know where the next words came from. “If you think I’m such a good seed, why won’t you marry me?”
Carstairs laughed. “Looks like I’ve still got a chance.”
God. He hated this guy.
“Jessie, dear.” Another blonde rounded the truck. She looked exactly like Gillian down to the cashmere coat and boots except her face was a little older and she wore diamonds in her ears the size of a pair of dimes.
“Hi, Mom.” Jessie hugged her mother. “I’m sorry about the wedding and all.”
“No harm done. We’ve got all the trimmings and the license is still good. That is, if you’ve changed your mind.”
Jessie put her arm around her mother. “I know you’re disappointed, you and Dad. We’ll find a way around this. Another way.”
“Oh,” Monica said, “I almost forgot. Someone named Mabel Ruth called. She said what with all the hand fast and confusion she was afraid you’d forget about the funeral.”
Carstairs and Gillian spoke at the same time. “Funeral? What funeral?”
“Thank goodness Gillian and I wore black.
Christopher, did you bring a dark jacket?”
“You want to attend the funeral?”
“Of course,” Monica said, surprised. “I imagine it’s the event in Mystic Hollow tonight.”
Luke looked at the trio of newcomers. No wonder Jessie had been looking for sanctuary. “Did you really bring all the wedding food?” Her mother nodded.
“Good. We’ll have something to contribute to the wake.”
****
Jessie, Luke, and Kit carried large platters of cookies into the side door of the church near the kitchen. Eleanor Prendergast, as pale as ever, accepted the offering. If she had any qualms about serving the pink hearts scripted with “Christopher and Jessie” at Letty Appleby’s funeral, she didn’t mention them.
The Maynard party took up all of one pew. Jessie found herself in the wind tunnel between the men, each of whom was six feet tall. It wasn’t that she really minded being the focus of all that testosterone, but their sheer size made it hard for her to get a good look at the other mourners.
Since they were only three rows from the front she couldn’t find any of her friends but she had a good view of the reverend, draped in a solemn black robe with a white stole, and J. Mortimer Epps, who hovered near the casket like some kind of secret service agent.
Lois Epps sat in the front row on the opposite side of the church, and as the congregation rose to the organ strains of “Blest Be the Ties That Bind,” Jessie could see the woman’s awe-inspiring chest swell with song. Just as the congregation finished, Eleanor slipped in a side door and took a seat near the mortician’s wife.
Reverend Prendergast’s eulogy was long and effusive. It seemed to wander down one path and then switch to another. Jessie stopped listening. Now that her mom and Gilly were here, she realized how much she’d wanted to spend Christmas with them. At the same time, she regretted the loss of her private time with Luke even though she knew it was just as well.
His left arm rested against her right one, and she felt his hard warmth through the thin fabric of her dress. A lump collected in her throat when she remembered the way he’d tried to protect her from Kit. She’d thank him later even though it hadn’t been necessary. He’d already protected her. She was a completely different woman from the one who’d agreed to marry Kit Carstairs. She’d never make a mistake like that again.
Jessie resisted the urge to rest her head against Luke’s muscular shoulder. Just for an instant she allowed herself to pretend they were a couple, that they’d been married for several years. Since it was her fantasy, she gave them a couple of kids.
“Jessie.”
His whispered voice made her jump. She hoped he couldn’t read her mind.
“Epps is guarding that coffin like it was a cub and he was a mother bear.”
“I noticed.”
The obvious question was why? Why was he treating Letty’s corpse like some kind of treasure? Was it because it was a treasure? Had they incinerated Letty and planted a treasure in the box? But why? Whatever was in there was going into the ground in the morning.
How could a buried treasure do Epps and Prendergast any good?
The case was frustrating. She wasn’t even close to an answer. Of course she’d been a little distracted in the past twenty-four hours. Heat surged into her face.
Luke leaned against her. “Hot?”
She gave him a repressive look. No matter how little she wanted to, it was time to put aside the hormones and solve the murder. She forced herself to list the thing she knew.
Number one: Blanche had died suddenly in bed. Epps had gotten a death certificate signed by a half-blind octogenarian doctor and cremation took place before the family was notified.
Number two: Letty Appleby died when an allergic reaction cut off her air passages. This time there was an autopsy, but the county medical examiner found nothing suspicious. The old lady accidentally ingested the peanut oil.
From everything Jessie had heard, she believed Miss Letty had been much too sharp for an accident like that. Mabel Ruth and the others believed Blanche had been killed to shut her up.
Had both old ladies been killed over a secret? And what was it? The reverend’s affair? Or something worse. Something that had caused Prendergast to lock the church and to carry a gun. Epps carried a gun, too. No. This wasn’t just about an affair. Jessie was certain of that.
And then there was number three. Why did Epps need an elaborate operating room at the mortuary? She’d meant to follow up on that. Tonight she’d go online and see what she could find out. There had to be some reason Epps was hovering around that casket like a mother hen.
Prendergast seemed to be winding down. Jessie tuned back in.
“Letty Appleby was a pillar of the community. She was the last living branch of a family that has been here in the Shenandoah Valley for nearly two hundred years. Letty and the Applebys will live on in the pages of Mystic Hollow history.”
Something tickled Jessie’s memory. Some word. History? Pillar? Branch
? Pages? Yeah. That was it. Pages. But why? Had Letty been mentioned in Blanche’s Book of Shadows? Pages. Pages of time. A headline swam in front of her eyes.
“Local Man Named in Macabre Celebrity Scandal.”
She placed it. The top paper on the stack of periodicals in Miss Letty’s parlor. The newsprint was yellow and worn. Why had she kept that clip? What significance did it have? Jessie wished she’d taken the time to read the story. She’d find that online tonight, too.
She wished she could get a look inside that coffin. She had a gut feeling the coffin was at the center of this whole business. She knew it wouldn’t be buried until morning. An idea leapt up inside her. It was bold, daring, and scary as hell, but it might help her solve the murders. And that’s what she wanted. To solve the murders and get back to her real life.
****
Dennis slipped out of the social hall and sought the sanctuary of his office. He removed his robe and stole and hung them neatly in the closet. Between Lois’s flirtatious smiles, and the danger he felt from Mort, he was near collapse. He’d been a fool to seduce the wife of his partner.
Especially a partner with access to a crematorium.
Chills chased up and down his spine like frantic squirrels.
He half sat, half fell into his comfortable chair. Downstairs, the church was emptying out. The citizens of Mystic Hollow had paid their respects to one of their oldest, if not dearest, neighbors. Now they could head back to their comfortable homes in good conscience while Letty’s remains and Dennis himself were left behind in the echoing church.
He shivered again.
He unlocked his bottom drawer, pulled out his pistol, and the bottle of Scotch. He filled a shot glass and drained it. Then he filled another. He couldn’t believe his life had come to this.
Bodyguard to a corpse. He should’ve gotten out of town weeks ago.
A sickening click snapped in the quiet, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Sweat poured down the inside of his white shirt. The liquor, comforting only a minute earlier, gave him heartburn. Who was up here? Epps? His blood ran cold.