Buried in Bargains (Good Buy Girls)

by Belle, Josie

  Sam put the cat down and pulled Maggie into his arms.

  “I’m always mad at you,” he said. He kissed her again, more deeply this time. When he pulled back, he sighed. “And still I want to kiss you.”

  Maggie laughed. “So, we’re okay?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “We still need to talk.”

  “I thought that was my line,” she said. “I’m the girl.”

  “Yeah, but I’m an evolved male, and I’m the one who’s mad,” he said.

  “All righty, then,” she said.

  He pulled a chair out from the counter and directed her to sit. He took out a wine bottle and handed it to her for inspection. Marshall Dillon glanced between them and meowed piteously until Sam went to the pantry tucked into the corner of the kitchen and took out a can of cat food.

  Maggie poured the wine while Sam fed the cat. It was such a moment of domesticity that she wondered if this was what the end of the day would always be like with Sam. Then she shook her head. This was their first official date since they were kids. She really needed not to get ahead of herself.

  Once Marshall Dillon was happily noshing his dinner, Sam washed his hands and set about making theirs. Maggie sipped her wine while she watched him. It was odd to have a man making dinner for her, and she realized none ever had before.

  When she and Charlie were married, she had done all of the cooking because his job with the sheriff’s department had kept his hours in constant rotation. She didn’t date for years after he passed, because she was still grieving and her time was spent mostly providing for Laura. When she did finally start dating, it was always to go out to dinner or movies or an event. Sadly, she had never dated anyone long enough to have them cook for her. She had just never met anyone who’d made it past the third date.

  Maggie watched as Sam put fettuccini into a big pot of boiling water. While that cooked, he prepped a salad. Maggie watched his hands move through the motions of slicing and dicing and tossing the salad.

  When he was finished he put it on the small table for four, which she noted was set for two, and he lit a candle. Okay, the man was getting points for ambiance. He moved the wine bottle to the table and then returned to the stove where he melted a stick of butter in a skillet and added an equal amount of cream. He took a big bowl of freshly grated parmesan out of the fridge and then added just a bit of ground pepper to the butter-and-cream sauce. It looked wonderful, and Maggie surreptitiously checked her chin to make sure she wasn’t drooling.

  Sam picked up a fork and used it to twirl a piece of fettuccini out of the pot. He flicked the pasta at the wall and it stuck.

  He grinned at Maggie. “It’s ready!”

  Maggie gave him a confused look.

  “When I first moved to Richmond, I took a job in an Italian restaurant. That was how the chef tested the pasta,” he said.

  He drained the rest of the pasta into a big metal colander and then poured the cream sauce into a huge pasta bowl followed by half of the parmesan.

  He glanced into the bowl and then back at Maggie. “They’re getting to know each other.”

  Maggie glanced into the bowl, too. It looked and smelled divine.

  “Anyway, we used to make fettuccini Alfredo right at the table,” he said. “I thought it might give me that wow factor with you to show off the old skills.”

  “Oh, you’ve got it,” Maggie assured him as he poured the pasta into the bowl and then tossed on the rest of the parmesan and used a big pair of tongs to lightly mix it all up.

  “Dinner is served,” he said, and he led the way to the small table.

  Maggie took the seat across from him and dished her own salad while he dug into the fettuccini, then they switched. Usually on dates she felt overly self-conscious about any lags in conversation, but with Sam the quiet felt natural. Of course, it also felt like he was gearing up for a lecture.

  She was surprised to find that she didn’t mind. If she was honest, she figured she deserved one. She really wished she could say that they had found something in Diane’s apartment, something that would give them a clue to her past. Since they hadn’t, she figured she might as well go for broke and ask him about what had been bothering her ever since she’d been in Diane’s apartment.

  “So I was wondering,” she began, pausing to take a sip of wine to fortify herself, “about those photographs you found.”

  Sam looked at her and one of his eyebrows slowly rose higher than the other.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “’Fraid not,” she said. “When I was in the apartment, I was thinking about the pictures, and I remembered that you said some of them were of her in her apartment. Right?”

  “You don’t really think I’m going to talk about this, do you?” he asked.

  “Yes, I do,” she said.

  Sam tucked into his pasta and Maggie did the same. She didn’t know if he was just avoiding the conversation or if he was stalling to build up his argument. She followed his example and forked up some of her pasta.

  She popped it into her mouth and then her eyes went wide. It was a good thing she had a mouthful of food, or she might have proposed to him on the spot. The fettuccini was amazing, and she kept on eating, forgetting that she had just asked him a question.

  When she’d taken several more bites, she glanced up to find Sam watching her with a small smile.

  She gestured at her plate with her fork. “This is fantastic. I’m in awe of your culinary skills, truly.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’m still not telling you about the photos.”

  “What?” she protested. “You have to.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Okay, have to is too strong a phrase,” she said.

  “Agreed,” he said.

  She noticed the muscle in his jaw was clenching again. He put down his fork and met her gaze with his. His blue eyes were intense, and the mouthful of pasta she had just swallowed went down hard.

  “Maggie, this case is dangerous,” he said. “Whoever killed Diane is a psychopath who likely viewed her as an object and enjoyed having her be helpless against him.”

  Maggie shuddered at the mental picture, but Sam continued, as if determined to make her afraid.

  “Strangulation isn’t the easiest way to kill someone,” he said. “A killer uses strangulation because he or she enjoys complete control over his victim.”

  Maggie took a sip of wine. “So you don’t think it was Joanne, do you?”

  “No, I checked through her alibi again, and it’s pretty tight,” he said.

  “And Michael?” Maggie asked. “You don’t really think it was him, either?”

  Sam sighed. “I don’t know. Until he wakes up and tells us what he knows, I can’t say.”

  “But it couldn’t be him,” Maggie protested. “He was unconscious in a pool of blood.”

  “Maybe,” Sam said. “It could be that Diane whacked him in the head while he was strangling her but he didn’t pass out until after she was dead.”

  Maggie shook her head. She refused to believe it.

  “See? This is why you need to show me the pictures,” Maggie said. “You’ve been away for years, but I haven’t. I know these people, I know this town. I might see something in the photos that you’ve missed. I can help you.”

  “Maggie, I don’t want you anywhere near this case,” Sam said. “I don’t want you in danger.”

  “I appreciate that,” she said.

  She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. She meant it. She did appreciate that he wanted to keep her safe. It meant a lot to her to have someone who felt that way about her again, but there was more at stake here than just her safety.

  Sam turned his hand under hers and wrapped her fingers with his.

  “I just got you back,” he said. “I won’t risk losing you again.”

  The affection in his gaze mingled with his fierce protectiveness made her heart melt, and it was all she could
do to stay in her seat and not fling herself into his arms. She had to make one important point first.

  “If you want to keep me safe, then keep me informed,” she said. “If there is a killer among us, I’m more likely than you to know them. Trust me, Sam, and let me help.”

  He squeezed her fingers in his while he studied her face.

  “You’re just going to keep digging and digging no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

  “Yup.”

  He sighed. “I really hate this.”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t tell you everything,” he said. “I can’t put the case in jeopardy, but I’ll tell you about the pictures.”

  “Thank you.”

  He groaned and then gave her a small smile as he released her hand and they resumed eating dinner.

  “Yes, some of the photos were of her in her apartment,” he confirmed.

  “Were they taken from the field behind the house, the old house next door or the plumbing-supply shop across the street?” Maggie asked.

  Again Sam looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

  “What? I looked out the windows while we were at her apartment,” she said. “I was trying to see where the killer might have watched her from.”

  “See? This is what I’m talking about,” he said. “What if the killer was watching you? What if he saw you poking around in there? You may have made yourself a target.”

  A shiver scurried up Maggie’s back like a spider climbing up its web.

  “You’re trying to scare me,” she said.

  “Is it working?”

  “A little.”

  “Good,” he said. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and drank some wine. “From the angle, I think the picture had to be from the roof of the plumbing-supply store.”

  Maggie opened her mouth to speak, but he held his hand up to stop her.

  “I already spoke to Henry Colbert, the owner, and he said the upper stories are just for storage, and no one has been on his roof since he had his air conditioner serviced last summer.”

  Maggie chewed a bite of tomato from her salad while she thought about what he’d said. Just because Henry didn’t know someone had been on the roof didn’t mean they hadn’t been there.

  She was about to say as much when she heard her phone ringing inside her purse.

  “Excuse me,” she said, and Sam nodded. Normally she wouldn’t check her phone during a meal, but she wanted to be sure Joanne was all right.

  She opened her purse and dug out her phone. It was a text message from Ginger. It was short and to the point.

  She glanced from the phone to Sam to find him watching her.

  She blew out a breath, and said, “Michael is awake.”

  Chapter 17

  “I’ll drive,” Sam said.

  They hurriedly put away the remnants of their dinner and hustled out to the car. Sam didn’t use the siren but he drove at a brisk clip across town to the hospital.

  He parked close to the building, and together they rode the elevator up to five and then jogged down the hall toward the ICU. Claire was waiting, but there was no sign of Joanne or Ginger.

  “Maggie, I’m so glad you’re here,” Claire said as she hugged her. “Hi, Sam.”

  “What happened?” Maggie asked. “Is Michael okay?”

  By this she meant was he mentally impaired from the blow he’d taken to his head, but she felt this was the more tactful way to ask.

  “I don’t know,” Claire said. “Ginger went in with Joanne about a half hour ago, but they haven’t come out yet. All I know is that the doctor came and told Joanne that he was awake and asked her to go and see him.”

  “I’m going to call back there,” Sam said. He went to the phone on the wall that allowed visitors in the waiting room to call the nurse’s station in the ICU. He dialed quickly, and Maggie heard him identify himself and ask to see Michael Claramotta.

  After a moment, he hung up and looked at Maggie. “I’m going in.”

  “Can we come with you?” she asked.

  He shook his head regretfully. “Only two are allowed at a time. Ginger is on her way out.”

  Maggie nodded. She knew it would do no good to argue. This was the hospital’s rule, not Sam’s.

  The doors opened and Ginger came out. She saw Sam and hesitated. It looked to Maggie like she wanted to say something and then thought better of it. Instead, she nodded at him and squeezed his forearm as she passed him. Sam returned her nod and hurried through the open doors.

  “How is he?” Maggie asked. Her chest felt tight, and she realized she was holding her breath.

  “He’s loopy,” Ginger said. “The meds they’ve had him on haven’t worn off, and he thinks he’s at a party. He doesn’t know why he’s here and, as far as we can tell, he doesn’t remember anything.”

  “Not even Joanne or the baby?” Claire asked, horrified.

  “No, sorry,” Ginger said. “He remembers who he is and all of that, but he doesn’t remember what happened to him.”

  “Did Joanne tell him?” Maggie asked.

  “She’s waiting for the doctor to give the okay,” Ginger said. “The doctor wants to wait until he’s a little more lucid before hitting him with bad news and potentially causing his condition to worsen.”

  “So, he doesn’t know that he was attacked and that Diane was murdered,” Claire said. “Wow, I think the doctor is spot-on. Who knows how that kind of shock would affect his recovery, besides which I’m not really sure how you work all of that into a conversation.”

  “Do you think Sam will question him?” Ginger asked Maggie.

  “I’m sure that’s why he went back there.” Maggie stared hard at the door as if she could see beyond it and find out what was happening.

  “Don’t worry,” Ginger said. “Sam’s a pro. He’ll handle it well.”

  Maggie paced. She didn’t know what else to do with her nervous energy. If Michael didn’t remember anything, then they were no better off than they were when he was unconscious. Of course, he was better off, and she was grateful for that for Joanne’s sake.

  While she paced she thought about the photos, the lack of a personal history for Diane and the possible motives of her two friends. She refused to entertain the thought that either Michael or Joanne could be Diane’s killer. It was ridiculous, but if it wasn’t them, then who was it? Who’d had a grudge against Diane?

  As she crossed the room, she had to stop to make way for Ginger, who was pacing across her path, and then again for Claire, who was pacing around the room in a circle. She felt as if she were dancing at the ball again, except they were all missing their partners.

  Maggie stumbled to a halt. The ball. The gowns. Britney Bergstrom. The idea flashed through her mind with the speed of a strobe light.

  How could she have forgotten Britney Bergstrom threatening Diane in the shop the day before the ball? And then at the ball, Maggie had seen Britney with her group of friends mocking Diane and trying to make her miserable until Ginger’s boys and Laura had formed a protective circle around Diane, making it clear that she was not to be bullied.

  “Maggie, you’re in the way,” Ginger said as she went to walk around her.

  “Sorry, I just had a crazy thought,” Maggie said.

  “Do tell,” Ginger said as she and Claire came to stand beside her.

  Maggie opened her mouth to speak, but the automatic door opened and Sam stepped back into the room, causing Maggie to forget what she’d been about to say.

  He looked unsatisfied, and Maggie knew that Michael hadn’t been able to tell him anything of use.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  “Not good,” Sam said. “He kept asking me if his bow tie was tied just right. He thinks he’s back at the Madison ball. Dr. Graber seems optimistic that his memory will come back, but he wants me to wait to question him.”

  “I want to go see him,” Maggie said.

  “I thought you might.” Sam gave her an understanding s
mile. “I told Joanne I’d send you in. He’s in room three thirty-six.”

  “Thanks,” she said. She kissed his cheek and hurried into the ICU.

  The ICU was a circle of glass rooms built around the nurses’ station, which sat in the middle. Maggie checked the numbers on the doors she passed. She saw several patients who appeared to be asleep. They were alone with no one standing vigil by their beds. It made her sad, and she wondered how many patients came in here alone and left alone.

  Michael’s room was toward the back. She saw Joanne standing by his bed. They were holding hands and looking at each other as if each were trying to memorize the other’s face on the off chance one of them should blink out again.

  Maggie hated to interrupt, but she knew visiting hours were ending in minutes, and they were about to be chucked out of the hospital for the night.

  “Knock, knock,” she said.

  Michael rolled his head on his pillow, and Joanne glanced up. They both smiled. Michael’s smile was weak, but Joanne beamed at her.

  “He woke up!” she cried. Maggie had known her friend was worried, but she hadn’t appreciated just how much until she saw how relieved Joanne was.

  Maggie crossed the room and hugged Joanne and then Michael.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said. She patted his hand, and he sighed.

  “You, too, Maggie,” he said. “Although aren’t you a bit underdressed?”

  Maggie glanced at Joanne, who was fretting her lip.

  “We’re at the ball,” she said, and she tapped her finger to her temple. Maggie gave her a nod of understanding.

  “You’re right,” Maggie said to Michael. “I’ll go change in a minute.”

  “Good plan,” Michael said. “You don’t want to miss the mini quiches that they’re passing around. They’re loaded with bacon and cheddar.”

  Maggie gave a faint chuckle that she hoped didn’t sound as forced as it felt. Michael peered out the door of his room as if expecting a waiter with a tray of quiches to appear at any moment.

  “Did the doctor say when he can leave?” she asked Joanne.

  “No, they’re worried about the memory loss,” she said. “He doesn’t even realize he’s in the hospital.”