Here Comes Trouble

by Leslie Kelly

  The woman was shaking her head slowly. “I’ve lived with this for five years. Just like poor Tom, the weight of it seems likely to kill me sometimes, as does the fear that I’ll run out of hush money to keep it quiet. Trying to help him do what he’s been doing has been about the only way I can make up for things, too.” She glanced at Sabrina. “I’m sorry about today—but you’re right, Tom wouldn’t have hurt you. I told him nobody would be in the house.”

  Great. Now the mayor was in on this.

  “But I can’t take it anymore,” she continued.

  King lowered his head and stared at the floor. He was the only one appearing unsurprised by the news.

  “Tom showed up that day and helped me hide the clock,” she admitted. “I’d found out what Wilhelm had done, you see. Came here to confront him—he’d stolen money from me, the woman he kept saying he was going to marry.”

  Max crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching. Sabrina stepped over to join him.

  “I didn’t come over here intending to kill him,” she added, her tone stark and steady as if she wanted this to be over with. “I only grabbed that clock when he laughed about it. Called us stupid small-town trash and dared me to tell anyone. Said he’d tell them all I’d been his mistress for years, even before my husband died.”

  Secrets. So many secrets. How the hell could a town this size hold so many of them without exploding?

  Suddenly, before Ann could continue, Grandfather cleared his throat and stepped into the room. He’d been standing quietly in the doorway, watching the goings-on, wide-eyed and fascinated. “Young lady,” he said to the middle-aged mayor, “I think you’ve said enough.” Turning to the chief, he added, “You do realize nothing she just said is admissible against her. Those little things called Miranda rights she mentioned earlier?”

  The chief’s jaw stiffened, but he said nothing, as if torn between his duty as a police officer and his obvious liking for the mayor. Not to mention his own disdain for the murder victim.

  “I suggest that I retire to my office with Mrs. Newman and telephone one of my friends, a brilliant criminal attorney in Philadelphia.” He walked over to the mayor and took her arm. “We will make arrangements for Mrs. Newman to turn herself in at the appropriate time—should you find evidence on that ancient, dusty old clock that in any way links our most esteemed mayor to this horrible…accident.”

  And then, with the sheer confidence of a man who’d once emerged from a swordfight with the Emir of Jordan with nothing but a scratch on the cheek and the everlasting admiration of his rival, he breezed out of the room, taking the confessed murderess with him.

  Leaving all the rest of them to stare at one another in wonder. And Max to say, “Man, do I want to be him when I grow up.”

  SABRINA HONESTLY had no idea what was going to become of Mayor Ann Newman, or of Tom King. She suspected—given the close-knit relationship of the residents of Trouble, all of whom had been screwed over by Wilhelm Stuttgardt—that the law might take it easy on them. And heaven knows they had the best attorney Mortimer Potts’s money could buy.

  They’d soon have their own money, too. Once the excitement had died down yesterday, she, Mortimer, Max and Allie had spent the rest of the day going through the clocks. More than two dozen of them, all with some little surprise. It had been like going through a mountain of Cracker Jack boxes, only instead of cheap plastic rings, they found diamonds, rubies and gold.

  Not all the clock weights had been replaced with gold—only about half of them. But given the per-ounce cost of the precious metal on the open market, they accounted for a big chunk of the money Stuttgardt had stolen.

  With the mayor a murder suspect, they’d turned to the town council and the chief to deal with the issue. The stones and gold weights were being stored in the vault at the Trouble Savings and Loan. It had been closed for months—the building was now owned by Mortimer—but the vault was still operational. The town would decide how to handle them, but for now, thankfully, Max and his grandfather were out from under the whole mess.

  Max.

  She’d held him all night last night, loving him, letting him love her, though never saying the words. It was as if he’d had the greatest scare of his life, because later he’d treated her with near reverence, like she was something precious and fragile. Something he’d die to protect.

  Oh, she loved him. She really, truly loved him. Yesterday, hiding in the attic—his voice the only thing keeping her sane—she’d realized that she just couldn’t give him up. She could not get in her car and drive back to Philadelphia tonight, not without taking the chance to see if they could make things work despite the stupid things she’d done.

  But first, she had to tell him about those stupid things. Which was why she was walking through the house now trying to find the man. He’d been missing for the past hour. Figured. She’d finally worked up her nerve to lay it all out—to tell him about her real job, her real purpose in coming to Trouble—and he was nowhere to be found.

  “Where the heck is he?” she muttered, talking to herself.

  “You mean Max?” Allie asked, barely looking up from the kitchen table as she jotted in the margins of a baby name book. “He went outside a while ago.”

  Fisting her hand and putting it on her hip, Sabrina stared at her sister. “And you didn’t think to tell me this?”

  “Sorry.” A tiny smile tickled her sister’s lips. “He’s in the tent, has been in there for about an hour. I figured he was getting things ready for you two to play ‘the sheikh and the virgin’ or something.”

  Feeling her cheeks burn, she finally let out a tiny chuckle. “You like him, don’t you, Allie?”

  “Max?” she said, sounding completely surprised by the question. “I adore him. And he adores you. Now go out there and thank the man properly for racing to your rescue yesterday. I swear, I think he was a little disappointed that he didn’t get to pound anyone for you.”

  Smiling, Sabrina left the kitchen, heading toward the back door. But her smile faded as she thought of the things she’d left in the tent. Like her suitcase. Her briefcase. The book.

  Hurrying out the door, she jogged down the steps. Her heart pounded wildly because as much as she knew Max had to know the truth, she did not want him to find out by accident. She wanted to be the one to tell him.

  Steeling herself for whatever she might find, she lifted the tent flap and went inside. She half expected him to be sitting on the floor, surrounded by the rumpled pages of Grace’s book, completely enraged. To her great relief, however, he wasn’t. Instead, Max was lying on the bed where they’d made such beautiful love the other night. Sound asleep.

  Almost laughing in relief, she walked over to him and sat on the edge of the low-to-the-floor bed, running the tips of her fingers across his cheek. He didn’t open his eyes, merely grabbed her fingers and brought them to his lips for a kiss.

  “Hey, sleepyhead.”

  “Hey. Where’ve you been? I came out here to seduce you.”

  “And decided to take a nap while you waited?”

  Finally opening his eyes, he reached for her. But Sabrina slid away. It would be so easy to fall into his arms and spend the rest of this day taking whatever fabulous moments she could, before admitting the truth and driving out of his life forever.

  She couldn’t do it. He deserved better.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” she said, wishing she’d brought a drink of water from the house. Her throat was suddenly so dry.

  He must have heard by her tone that whatever she had to say was serious. Sitting up, he watched her, saying nothing, just waiting.

  “Max, there are some things you need to know. But before I tell you about them, I want you to know this—I love you.”

  His eyes flared. But he didn’t move, remaining almost wary. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Oh, God, how she wished she didn’t have to drop it.

  But she did. It was time.

  “I’ve
been lying to you,” she whispered. “I’m not a writer.”

  He frowned. “You’re not?”

  She shook her head. “I’m actually an editor.” Bending down, she grabbed her soft-sided briefcase, which she’d stashed at the foot of the bed a few days before. Not saying a word, she opened it, grabbed the thick sheaf of papers secured with a rubber band and handed it to him.

  He looked down. Saw the title. The author’s name. And his whole body went rigid.

  She tried to touch him—reached out to put her fingers on his face—but he ducked away. His mouth barely moving, he practically spit out two words.

  “What chapter?”

  “Twelve.”

  He tore the rubber band off and threw handfuls of pages to the floor. Still silent. Focused. Shocked.

  When he reached the first page of chapter twelve, he started to read slowly—the muscle in his cheek tightening.

  It was as if he’d never read it before. Which seemed impossible—he’d known about the book; his lawyer had tried to stop it. “Max, haven’t you ever seen this before?” she asked when he balled up one sheet of paper detailing an especially raunchy encounter he’d supposedly shared with Grace and threw it hard against the wall of the tent.

  “No.” That was all. Then he went back to his reading.

  Sabrina’s eyes filled with hot tears. This was like a double betrayal—hitting him with the truth of who she was, and forcing him to read the horrible lies Grace had made up about him.

  Finally he reached the last page. Still silent—ominously so—he shoved the rest of the stacked manuscript to the floor, sending the pages fluttering in all directions.

  Sabrina dropped to her knees in front of him, grabbing both his hands in hers. “I am so sorry. I hate myself for coming here under false pretenses.” His silence unnerving her, she continued. “I swear to you, I had no idea Grace had made up all those lies. I really thought that deviant she was describing was you. But I knew better once I got to know you.” Hoping to offer him a little comfort, she added, “The book’s been pulled. It’s not going to be published at all. So you don’t have to worry about someone else’s sordid imagination ruining everything you’ve worked for.”

  He finally reacted, pushing her hands away and rising to his feet. He walked across the tent, kicking papers out of his way, thrusting his hands into his hair.

  “I love you,” she repeated, not able to stand his continued silence. “I realized almost right away that you were not the vile man in that book, but by then it was too late, I was caught in the lie. To tell you the truth would mean leaving you—” Her voice broke. “I was too much of a coward—and too selfish—to do that.”

  Rising she stepped closer to him, reaching out a hand, needing to know if he understood. “Please, say you’ll forgive me. Let me make it up to you.”

  He laughed, a sharp, bitter laugh unlike any she’d ever heard come out of his sweet mouth. “Forgive you? Jesus, Sabrina, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know I’m sorry I lied. Pretended to be something I wasn’t.”

  “You’re not the only one who did that,” he muttered, shaking his head as he looked at the white papers strewn all around their feet. “I’m not some judgmental hypocrite who’s going to criticize you for disguising who you really were.” He grabbed her shoulders, almost hurting her. “Not when I’ve been doing exactly the same thing.”

  She didn’t understand, could only stare at him, wondering why he still seemed so lost—desolate—if he truly was able to forgive her. It didn’t make sense. “Max, I love you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I do…”

  He shook her a little, then let her go and took a few quick steps back. “You love the guy I let you get to know over the past couple of weeks.” He covered his face with both hands, rubbing at his eyes. “Not me,” he said, his tone laced with disgust.

  Still not understanding, she reached out, but he walked around her toward the entrance of the tent. “Max…”

  “Go away, Sabrina. Go back to where you came from.”

  She stalked after him, grabbing his arm. “Like hell I will.”

  He covered her hand with his, squeezing it tightly, then slowly pushing it away. Pushing her away. “You just don’t get it, do you.”

  “No.” She felt like screaming, completely confused by Max’s attitude, his reaction. She’d expected anger and hurt. Not this strange, fatalistic withdrawal. “I don’t. I don’t understand—help me understand, Max.”

  “You hated that vile, revolting bastard you read about. Detested him.” A cold, humorless smile widened his mouth, but it came nowhere near to warming his beautiful green eyes.

  He stepped closer, big, strong and powerful, but offering no warmth or security. Placing his fingers on her chin, he tilted her face up and stared into her eyes. “Don’t you get it? It’s true, Sabrina.” Letting her go, he stepped toward the tent opening. “Every word you read about me in that book is true.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SHE’D LEAVE. Soon. As a matter of fact, she was probably already gone, driving like hell back to where she came from, thanking her lucky stars she’d escaped.

  Good. Better that way. He’d be out of here in a few days, and at least this way he knew where he stood, instead of wondering. There’d be no waiting for the ax to fall, for Sabrina to figure out who he really was and run as far away from him as she could go.

  Max had known, when he’d asked Sabrina the previous morning to come with him to California, that he was taking a risk. His past was always there, waiting to catch up with him, particularly close to home. At any restaurant or social event, there was always the chance he’d bump into someone who’d known him as the rich party boy, the go-to guy for any wild, outrageous activity imaginable. And even if they hadn’t known him from the old days, a whole lot of them had read about him in Grace’s unpublished—but widely circulated—memoir.

  What had she called him? Deviant? Vile? Yeah. He supposed some would say that. At the time, he’d preferred to think of himself as someone who enjoyed anything that made him feel good—and made him forget. Whether it was booze or sex, gambling, or taking stupid, dangerous risks, he’d been willing to give almost anything a try once, as long as it involved only consenting adults and nobody got hurt. Never thinking—had he thought at all that year?—that someday his “experiments” would be the greatest shame of his life.

  His only comfort was that he’d always been careful to protect himself and hadn’t come out of that crazy year in hell with any medical repercussions or diseases.

  “So go,” he muttered as he stalked through the woods, down the hill leading away from Mortimer’s house, toward the closed amusement park. “Get away from the lowlife before you’re dirtied, deemed guilty by association.”

  It was just as well that Sabrina had found out now who he really was. If she’d gone with him—if she’d, God forbid, ever agreed to marry him, as he’d so foolishly been fantasizing—she’d have ended up hating him later. Someday she’d bump into some woman he’d done, whose face he didn’t even remember. Or some guy he’d shared a redhead with. Or two redheads.

  Then she’d have found out about the man she proclaimed to love. So fuck, it was better that she knew now. Saved them both some heartache in the future.

  He grabbed his chest, which felt tight.

  Not heartache. That takes a heart, and she just pointed out you don’t have one.

  Or maybe it was. Maybe he did. But it was way too late to figure out what to do with it at this point in the game.

  Reaching the carousel, he found the toolbox he’d left here the last time he’d come down. He’d stashed it underneath the floorboards of the merry-go-round, knowing the thing wasn’t going to get any use up at the house since Mortimer didn’t seem to want to change so much as a picture on the wall.

  He pulled out a wrench, some pliers. Then, muttering, “screw it,” he reached for the hammer. Crossing over the du
sty floorboards to the center of the carousel, he got to work. If nothing else, he’d get this thing to go around at least once before he boarded his plane and flew away from Trouble, forever.

  He worked quietly, instinctively, not thinking too much about what he was doing. Wasn’t much room in his brain for thoughts of anything except Sabrina. His past. The things she’d read about him.

  Realizing the woman he loved—the only woman he had ever loved—had seen him in that light had been the most shameful moment of his life.

  As much as he hated the thought that he’d never see Sabrina again, frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He didn’t think he could ever look her in the eye—wondering which nasty, fully described incident from his past she was remembering.

  “Max?”

  Dropping the hammer to the ground, he spun around. She stood on the other side of the carousel, half hidden behind a dusty, misshapen zebra. His heart pounded. His head roared. “What are you doing here?”

  She stepped on to the platform and made her way across to him, weaving among the menagerie. “I was wondering where you’d gone. Finally figured out it would be here.”

  Turning his back on her, he connected some newly replaced wires. The engine rumbled a little—an unexpected sign of life.

  “Did you get it working?” she asked, grabbing the nearest horse and sounding surprised.

  “Hardly. More like a few death throes.”

  She reached down, putting her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. “Look, we’ve said all we need to. I’m not mad at you for what you did. Just go back home, Sabrina.”

  “I don’t have a home.”

  He finally shifted his gaze toward her, seeing her lips tremble and her blue eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, the only things that made Philadelphia home were my job and my sister. Now I won’t have either one.”

  Dropping the screwdriver into the toolbox, he stepped closer, until his shins touched the inside edge of the platform. Sabrina stood several inches above him, and he had to tilt his head back to look up at her. “You’re not quitting your job. You sure don’t have to on my account—the book’s history, isn’t it?”