by Misty Simon
“Well, call him back and listen to his voice again while you ask him to come over. I need to find out if he was boinking Tarrin.”
Chapter Eighteen
As you might have guessed, the phrase I chose did not go over very well. But Bella did call him back, and he came over. He arrived so quickly, it seemed like he’d parked around the corner.
The doorbell rang. Bella took a moment to check her hair and teeth in the hall mirror before answering. She couldn’t see who it was through the cardboard covering the sidelight windows, but she threw the door open with enthusiasm. I thought she should have shown more caution, but then that was me.
“Jared! Hi, come in.” She ushered him to the living room and our abandoned cookies. Shooting me a warning look I took to mean she’d do the talking, she sat on the couch. She patted the cushion next to her, so I took the big chair she’d sat in earlier.
Bella flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “So, how are you?”
“Good, thanks. Just wanted to check on things with you, make sure you were okay.” He took his official hat off and rested it on his knee.
“I’m as well as can be expected. Thank you so much for your concern.” She patted his thick forearm. “It makes me feel so protected.”
She was laying it on thick. If she wanted him to see her as something other than a victim, she was going about it all wrong. And I was getting impatient. I didn’t have time for their mating dance. I needed answers and I needed them now. “Were you and Tarrin back together?”
Nothing like a blunt question to perk everyone up. I received a fierce scowl from Bella, and Jared’s mouth gaped.
I decided to not back down. I had their attention, and I was going to take full advantage. “Well?”
“We didn’t date at all. She came breezing into town and tried to hook up, but I told her no.” He blinked, like he hadn’t meant to say anything.
I’d have to remember this interrogation technique for the next time. “So, she approached you, and you rebuffed her?”
“Something like that. Now, I have a question of my own.” He leaned forward, a brown curl falling over his high forehead. His elbows rested on his knees, his hat held in his hands.
“Shoot.” I croaked out a nervous laugh at my own weak joke.
“Why are you asking? You’re not trying to solve this murder, are you? After the detectives asked you not to?”
“No! No, of course not. I heard something the other day and wanted to follow up, is all. I can’t name my source, you understand,” I said, cagey as a fox, then went on to tell him what I’d heard from Mr. Hanks and about Melissa.
“For someone who isn’t investigating, a lot of people sure are talking to you.” He sat back, a perplexed look on his face. “So people in town think I was sleeping with Tarrin? Like some boy toy?” His brows drew together, his mouth scrunched up. I couldn’t say it was an attractive look of irritation. But then he laughed, and that face definitely worked in his favor, with crinkled eyes and two dimples peeking out of his stubbled cheeks. I could see what drew Bella to him.
“You think that’s funny?” This came from Bella, who finally decided to join us in the conversation.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. I was never really involved with that stuck-up snob the first time around, so why would I want to take her now? Especially when I might actually have a chance with...” He stopped himself and Bella didn’t even seem to notice.
“Am I the only person who didn’t know?” she asked.
****
I didn’t get a chance to see Ben again that night. He was out reporting on another robbery. He said they were bizarre, since it seemed nothing of real value was taken, but it was still news.
Thoughts of burglaries made me take out the diamonds from my dresser drawer and examine them again. I was no gemologist, but they sure looked real to me. Could they have been hidden in the leg of my sideboard all along, or was the guy who’d bonked me on the head putting them in the leg when I’d interrupted him? But why would you pick an unknown shop to deposit stolen goods, and how would he have known about the secret door?
My head felt like it was twisting off my shoulders, so I put everything aside to concentrate on painting my toenails Samba Red. I plunked onto the ottoman and put those little wedgie things in between my toes the way Bella had shown me. Then I prayed no one would ring the doorbell for at least the length of time it would take for the paint to dry.
Don’t ask why in the middle of so much going on I decided I couldn’t live without painted toenails. The answer was a dumb one. After bitching and complaining about not being able to get away from my father, I was suddenly lonely in my quiet house all by myself.
Over the last weeks, I’d gotten used to him watching his television programs, as he called them. I also had become accustomed to the noise of another person in my space. Don’t get me wrong, silence is a blessing, and not having to scoot around someone else in my little kitchen was heavenly, but right now I felt so alone with nothing but the radio for company. Hence the toenail painting to keep my mind off the fact my dad still hadn’t come home and could, for all I knew, still be up “talking” with one Miss Mad Martha.
I said “talking” because I refused to think about whatever else they were doing.
Anyway, it was lonely in here, and everyone else seemed to have something to do. No one interrupted my forced “me” time, sadly, even after my toenails dried. I was left with nothing to do and nowhere to go.
I woke up, sprawled out on the couch in pretty much the same position as last night. I assumed I’d bored myself so badly I’d conked out, wedgies still between my toes and clothes twisted around my mid-section.
My dad chose that moment to enter the house. I was trying to scrape some of the fur off my tongue and failing miserably. I must have kicked the opened nail polish sometime in the night, because when I tried to move my feet, I found my arches stuck together.
“Hey! Can you get me the nail polish remover?” I called down the hall to Dad’s retreating back. He must not have heard me or was so caught up in his daydreams he wasn’t paying attention.
Prying my feet apart proved to take quite some time, but I finally did it. I then hobbled to the bathroom and managed to take a footbath in a bucket full of nail polish remover. The fumes were overwhelming, but at least my feet were really clean. Unfortunately, my freshly painted toenails were cleaned right along with the rest of the polish. Darn it.
I found my dad in the kitchen raiding the fridge. Didn’t he get breakfast with Martha? I asked this very question and got a grunt for my trouble. “What’s the nonverbal answer for? Did she put you out into the cold without even a cup of coffee?”
“How very astute of you.”
“Oh, good word, Dad. But you don’t seem to be enjoying it as much as me.” I dumped the old grounds and rinsed out the basket in the coffee maker, then refilled it. I was useless in the morning without caffeine, and my dad was even worse. But what I didn’t understand was how a man left a cook’s kitchen without something in his belly.
Dad answered before I had a chance to even phrase the question. “Apparently, Martha does not cook outside the diner. She says she gets enough grease in her hair at work and can’t imagine cooking anywhere else.”
I laughed before I could help myself. Here Dad had finally found a woman whose company he liked, and he wouldn’t even be getting a decent meal out of her.
“It’s not funny. What am I supposed to do?”
“Well, I think you have three options.” I’d caught his attention. “You can drop her like a hot potato, learn to cook, or buck up your bank account and take her out all the time.”
“Excellent.” He used his best dry voice and had me cracking up.
“It wouldn’t kill you to learn how to cook, you know.” The coffee began filling the pot and I stuck a mug under the stream to get some for my dad. He obviously needed it more than I did.
“Thanks, sweetie.” He took his fir
st gulp. “Not as good as Martha’s at the diner, but passable.”
I socked him in the arm. “I think you better take that back if you want any more food from my kitchen, either.”
“Okay, okay. So are we having beef stroganoff tonight?”
“For the love of Pete, don’t you ever want to eat anything else?”
“Well, I was thinking maybe you could teach me how to make it. Then I could impress Martha with my cooking skills.”
“Ah, it’s all a ploy to win the lady’s heart.” I put cream and sugar (lots of sugar) into my coffee.
“Would that be all right with you?” He fidgeted with the cup, turning it around and around in his hands. His eyes were glued to the parrot decorating it like it was the most intriguing thing in the world.
I was taken aback for a second. Was he really asking my permission to pursue Martha seriously? And did I want to give it? If they became a couple, it might mean he would live here permanently, since I couldn’t see Martha moving all the way across the country. But would they live in her house, right here in town, where she’d resided for the past thirty years? Or would they buy something bigger? Well, as long as they didn’t end up on my street I might be able to handle things.
“I guess it would be fine with me, Dad,” I said after a few seconds. “If you’re asking if it will bother me because of Mom, the answer is no. I loved Mom. But I know you would be happier with a partner, someone who will enjoy doing all the things you like. Is Martha like that?” A part of me really hoped so as I sat down at the breakfast table and made myself comfortable.
“We have a lot of things in common, and I like her.” He leaned against the counter and sipped more coffee. “But I don’t know how this will all translate into real life when I go home.”
When! He’d said when he went home. Hallelujah! “Not to be pushy, but, um, when would that be?”
“As soon as I get you to come home with me.”
Argh! “I thought we already had this conversation. What happened to wanting me to be happy? I thought we settled the fact that I’m happy here.”
His smile should have clued me in to his jesting, but it wasn’t until he laughed into his coffee that I realized he was teasing me. “You are so gullible,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah. So you didn’t answer my question. When are you leaving?”
“The real answer is when I know you aren’t in trouble with the police and your name is cleared. I can’t leave in the midst of all this trouble.”
If only he knew how much trouble I was in. I’d never said anything about the diamonds, and he had no idea I was looking into the murder myself. He’d blow a gasket if he knew I was skulking around trying to find answers to all the questions swirling around me. Oy!
****
The next day, I finally got a trim and a root touchup. Bella and I spent the time kibitzing, and it was fun. Next, I went to have lunch with Ben at Mad Martha’s. Other restaurants existed in the area, but most of them involved fancier clothes than my blue jeans and black turtleneck sweater.
While I waited for Ben to arrive, I tried to catch Martha’s eye. She kept avoiding me, though, until I got up from my corner table and stood in the aisle blocking her way. She came to an abrupt stop in front of me, coffee sloshing out of the pot in her hand.
“Oh, Ivy, hi.” She tried to scoot around me, and I stopped her by mimicking her moves. She wasn’t getting away that easily now I had her.
“Can I get by? I have to take some orders, and I have a girl coming in so I can train her for the evenings.”
“You can leave after you answer a quick question for me.”
Panic flashed across her face, and I felt bad for about a millisecond. This was too important to let her go before we had a little conversation. But she looked braced for a blow or something, so I quickly spit out my question, “Do you really not cook at home?”
Her breath whooshed out. The panic cleared, replaced by a huge smile. She touched my arm and looked me right in the eyes. “No, I do cook at home, but I was angling to get your dad to take me out and finally have someone else cook for a change.”
“Good thinking. Keep him on his toes like that. He needs it.” I returned her smile, but kept her look of panic in the back of my mind as I sat down again. What did she have to be so worried about? And more importantly, what question could I have asked her to keep the panic there and let me find out what the heck was going on?
Before I could get too deep into a funk, Ben whispered a naughty suggestion in my ear and made my insides pool like hot lava. Of course, it could have been his grocery list he whispered and it still would have made me tingle. “You really must continue doing that.”
My phrasing gave him pause, and then the cheeky, sexy grin popped out on his face. “I’ll make sure not to stop.”
“Please do.” I took my jacket off, feeling overheated just being in his presence. If I could keep him around more often, maybe I could bypass the whole layering thing, with long johns and shirts and sweaters. “How are things today?”
“Not so good. We had another robbery, and it’s still as strange as ever. Someone is breaking into houses and only taking non-expensive things like toilet paper and paper towels. I don’t know what the deal is, but it’s bizarre.” Ben’s leather jacket came off, and my jaw sagged. He looked so good in his dark blue sweater and turtleneck I wanted to eat him up. Hubba-hubba.
“And the police have no leads? This is the third break-in, isn’t it?”
“The police have more important things to worry about. They’re still stuck on the murder, and you’re their sole suspect. Your saving grace right now is they can’t figure out why you would do it or how you managed it.”
“That’s because I didn’t.” I wished they’d look elsewhere and stop messing with me. Time was running out; I could feel it.
“I know that, and you do, too, but they need something, and soon. The town isn’t going to stand for this to go unsolved. And speaking of the police, have you managed to figure out how you’re going to turn those diamonds over?”
“No, not yet. I have other things to return, also,” I said, thinking of the mistaken package of lingerie and toys I’d successfully kept out of mind for a few days. Somehow I’d have to find a way to get hold of Chrissie and get it back to her so she could send it on to the rightful person—that lucky someone who was fantasizing about having authority over their lover as a policewoman. All right, cutting the train of thought off before I got red in the face.
“Well, you might want to think about it, because we’re getting to a point where you won’t be able to explain why you kept the diamonds and didn’t tell anyone.” Ben sat back and twirled his empty coffee cup. Martha was over in a flash, a woman in her late twenties following close behind.
“This is Erica,” the older woman said, pouring steaming liquid into the cup. “Be nice to her.” The last was directed at Ben as she tweaked his ear.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Martha bustled off with Erica in tow, who turned back around and gave Ben a shy smile.
I pulled on Ben’s other ear, not so gently, and jerked his head back to face me. “Don’t even think about it,” I said between gritted teeth.
“Oh, please. Don’t you even start. I only have eyes for you.”
“I want more than your eyes,” I said.
“You have all of me, babe. Don’t sweat it. Now let’s get down to business. When can I get you naked again?”
Chapter Nineteen
The answer to his pointed question turned out to be later that night. I wasn’t taking any chances with my dad coming home to find us in the middle of a sweaty bout. Despite his recent evening absences, the way my life went, he’d be home right when we were swinging from the chandelier, and I so did not want to share the image with him. (I don’t have a chandelier, but you get the idea.)
Ben was meeting me at the Shoppe, because it had worked well last time. I got there about nine and tried to push two chaise lounges
together. After much straining and grunting, it looked funky and like my back would break if I got caught between the two pieces of furniture, which in my case would definitely happen. Instead, I laid out the down comforter I’d brought with me on the floor, and ringed it with candles of various lengths and widths. The glow it created was muted and romantic.
I took one last turn around the lingerie room, trying to make sure nothing was missing. Checking my watch, I realized I had about fifteen minutes before Ben was due and used the time to pick out a naughty little something to drive him wild. Cold skin be damned. He could warm me up.
It felt unbelievably decadent to undress and dress (barely) in the store. For one thing, Ben could walk in any minute. For another, it struck me that I really enjoyed having a little secret all my own. Making these kinds of memories in the store made working in here so much more fun. I knew something they didn’t know, and all that jazz.
I finished fluffing my hair and checking the straps of the fire-engine-red negligee I’d donned when the door chime sounded. No one else had a key; it had to be Ben.
I quietly stretched out on the comforter, leaned on my elbow and brought my top knee up until my thigh was perpendicular with my body. Sounds weird, I know, but rest assured it was a good look for me—it hid my belly bulge and minimized the spread on the thighs. Thankfully, the cups in the negligee were wired, so I didn’t have to think about breast spread yet. By the time it became an issue, I hoped to have Ben so enthralled he’d be virtually blind to my boobs falling into my armpits.
The man of my dreams walked into the candlelit room, his swagger more pronounced than ever. But even he stopped when he saw me, his mouth hanging open for a second before he seemed to gather his wits about him and whistle softly. “And all I brought was a bottle of cheap champagne,” he said, falling on his knees beside me. The bottle in his hand rolled along the blanket, coming to rest inches from the edge, forgotten during our kiss.