Small-Town Secrets

by Linda Randall Wisdom

  “It’s about Estelle Timmerman,” Bree said.

  Renee looked wary. “What about Estelle?” She looked from one to the other. “What are you trying to find out?” Her hand trembled as she pushed her cup toward the middle of the table.

  “What exactly is Estelle afraid of?” Cole said. “A week ago, she asked Bree and me to come over because she had something to tell us. Except while we were there, someone called her, and after she took the call, she suddenly clammed up. Bree told me how you’d talked to her about Estelle. What else can you tell us?”

  “Good going, Becker,” Bree muttered, as the older woman’s expression abruptly shut them out.

  Renee groped for her bag. “I have to go,” she mumbled.

  “Renee.” Bree reached out for her, but she shrugged her off.

  When the older woman turned to look at her, her eyes glistened with tears. “You don’t know, do you?”

  Bree and Cole shook their heads.

  “Estelle passed away last night. She had a heart attack.” She moved jerkily as she swiftly left the shop. The bell over the door tinkled merrily.

  Cole muttered an expletive that Bree softly echoed.

  “I hadn’t heard a thing at the station.” She pressed her fingertips against her forehead, where a headache was winding its way around her skull.

  “None of my sources told me anything, either.” Cole slumped in his chair. “She asked us to come over. Someone frightened her and now she’s dead.”

  “Is everything okay over there?” Greta called out.

  “Just fine,” Cole said glumly.

  “Then do me a favor and look as if you’re enjoying my coffee and food. People will run the other way if they see the two of you look as if someone just died.”

  Bree closed her eyes at Greta’s inadvertent choice of words.

  “I’ll get over to the office and see what I can find out,” he muttered.

  “I don’t dare ask around the station right now,” she said. “Not unless it’s related to a crime. Holloway’s just looking for an excuse to put my head on a platter for any imagined infraction.”

  Cole picked up his cup and finished his coffee. “Think you can get away tonight? My place for dinner?”

  She kept her eyes closed as she rubbed her fingertips across her brows. “What time?”

  “Six-thirty?” He rattled off an address.

  “I’ll be there.”

  Cole pushed himself out of his chair. He leaned over the table and kissed Bree, lingering for a moment.

  “If chocolate tastes that good on your mouth, I wonder how it would taste other places?” he murmured, before he took off.

  The bell over the door seemed to echo inside Bree’s head.

  “Wow, whatever did the man say?” Greta dropped into the chair Cole had vacated.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you saw your face, you’d know exactly what I mean. Anyone looking at the two of you would think you are having some hot sex. Are you?” she probed.

  “I wish,” Bree said fervently.

  “Then do something about it, girl! You don’t use it, you’ll lose it,” she insisted.

  “I imagine you’re not asked to teach sex education.”

  “Of course not. I’m a bad influence.” Greta slid the cookies from the plate into a bag. She handed them to Bree. “Tempt Cole with them.”

  “I don’t think I need to tempt him with cookies.” She smiled, accepting the bag.

  Greta’s own smile dimmed. “What’s wrong, Bree?”

  She shook her head. “More than you can imagine.” She stood up. “I’ll see you later.”

  “I’m always here,” she called after her, injecting extra meaning into her words.

  Bree tried to still the voices in her head as she walked to her vehicle.

  It wasn’t easy to shut them out when they were pleading with her to help the senior citizens of Warm Springs.

  Cole spent the next couple hours in his office making phone calls and trying to act as if nothing was wrong, when he felt the exact opposite.

  He blamed himself for Estelle Timmerman’s death. In his mind, the news that the woman had died in the hospital hadn’t made things better.

  He slumped back in his chair, tapping a pencil against the desk edge.

  Mamie stepped inside his office and closed the door behind her. The sorrow darkening her eyes told him she knew.

  “She wasn’t a well woman, Cole,” his assistant told him, as if guessing the direction of his thoughts.

  He shook his head. “Dammit, Mamie, why can’t you find out anything?” he snarled.

  “You really want to know why I can’t find out anything? No one will talk to me because I work for you,” she said bluntly. “You haven’t exactly made it a secret that you feel Sheriff Holloway knows something about the deaths you’ve labeled wrongful. And gee, Cole,” she said sarcastically, “some people are afraid of the man. I think you should be, too.”

  “No way. If the bastard is behind these deaths I’ll do whatever is necessary to take the man down.” Cole continued with his pencil tapping, increasing the tempo.

  Mamie shot him a dark look. She reached across the desk and snatched the pencil out of his hand. He looked up, puzzled by her action.

  “Do you realize how annoying that is?” She dropped the pencil in the coffee mug he used for a pencil cup. “What are you and Bree Fitzpatrick going to do next?”

  “I don’t think I should tell you, Mamie. After all, no one will talk to you.” Cole’s smile was without guile. Innocence personified.

  Mamie didn’t buy it.

  “Fine, but if I learn anything I will come to you first.”

  The moment she left the office, he dug the pencil out of the cup and started tapping it against the desk edge.

  There was nothing better than an annoying sound to help him straighten things out inside his head.

  Cole’s idea of preparing for Bree’s visit was to toss his dirty clothes in the closet and make sure the toilet seat was down.

  He set the containers of Chinese food in the oven, set the temperature on low and opened a bottle of wine.

  “What did you find out?” Bree demanded, when he opened his front door. She swept past him. She’d obviously been home before coming over, since she was wearing trim-fitting jeans and a mustard-colored, long-sleeved T-shirt.

  “That no one will talk to Mamie because she works for me, and she inferred I’m treading on dangerous ground.” He headed for the kitchen. “Want some wine? I hope Chinese food is okay.”

  “Yes and fine.” She followed him.

  He set the cartons on the table and laid out paper plates. “Kung Pao chicken, broccoli beef, orange chicken—which is spicy but really good—barbecue pork fried rice, shrimp in lobster sauce.” He pointed to each carton.

  “Exactly how many people were you expecting for dinner?” She spooned a little out of each container.

  “I want to have leftovers.”

  Bree nodded. “Ah, your dinner for the next week.”

  “And breakfast, too. Chopsticks or forks?”

  “Chopsticks.” She made a small sound of approval when he handed her delicately carved eating instruments.

  “Picked them up during one of my trips to China,” he explained. “You get a chance to find out anything?”

  Bree shook her head. She expertly manipulated the chopsticks as she picked up a piece of orange chicken.

  “I checked our logs at the station, but there was nothing there. Probably because she died in the hospital.” She laughed as the spices exploded through her mouth. “This is really good.”

  “Shay’s Chinese Pagoda.” He gave a wry shrug. “Yeah, the name doesn’t work, but everyone knows he serves the best Chinese food around.”

  “Did I tell you that not only did Holloway lecture me big time, but he also accused me of turning a molehill into the freakin’ Swiss Alps?” she asked. “His words, not mine.”

  Cole cocked
an eyebrow. “Really? And why would he say that?”

  “Because he knows something we don’t,” she said smugly.

  “I knew you’d help me figure this out.” He gave an admiring shake of the head. “So how do we prove he does?”

  “Hell if I know, but with some luck we’ll find out everything we need to know.” She tried the shrimp next. “Unfortunately, I don’t think he keeps a diary or computer file we can hack into.”

  “Too bad.” Cole munched on a chow mein noodle. “Villains don’t make it easy anymore.”

  Bree stared off into the distance, one chopstick waving in the air to a tune that only played in her head.

  “It’s getting bad, Cole,” she said grimly. “Estelle died because of us.”

  Equally serious, he grabbed her free hand. “We’re going to nail the son of a bitch, Bree.”

  “I know we will.” There was no doubt in her voice. She took a deep breath. “All right, let’s finish the food before it gets cold. I tend to think better when I’m fed, anyway.” She stole a water chestnut off his plate.

  “Our business will be tabled for the time being.” In return, he swiped a piece of chicken.

  It wasn’t easy for them, but they managed to turn the conversation to other subjects.

  “Exactly how many of Cody’s games have you been thrown out of?” Cole asked.

  “Not as many as he tries to make it sound,” she replied. “I used to make jokes about stage mothers and fathers, not to mention the radical parents at sports games. I saw them at Sara’s dance recitals and when David played Little League and Pee Wee football. Then, at one of Sara’s recitals, I listened to a mother try to psyche her out. She insisted Sara was doing the steps wrong. Poor baby was only nine and I could tell she believed the woman. I didn’t stop to think, I waded in and took the woman off into a corner. She was advised to worry about her own kid.”

  “Man, you don’t fool around, do you?” He held up the wine bottle in a silent question. She shook her head.

  “Holloway would have a litter of kittens if I was stopped for Driving Under the Influence.”

  “Litter of kittens,” Cole repeated. “You do have a way with words.” He watched the deft way she handled her chopsticks.

  He tracked the faint smile touching her lips and the way her eyes crinkled a bit at the corners. She didn’t seem to worry about the fact that she was over thirty. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met a woman so comfortable in her own skin.

  He watched her sitting in the chair, one arm resting on the table as she plucked bits of barbecue pork out of the rice and popped them into her mouth.

  “Do you realize how much I want to make love to you?”

  By the startled look on her face, he guessed he’d scored a direct hit.

  She chewed slowly and swallowed before answering.

  “I’ve thought that way about you,” she admitted in a low voice. She tipped her head back, looking up at the ceiling instead of looking at him.

  Cole was surprised, since Bree never seemed to have any problem facing him squarely.

  She took a deep breath. “When I changed my clothes, I made sure to put on new underwear.”

  He stilled, not sure what she meant and not daring to hope. “And this is a good thing?”

  Bree laughed. Her earlier unease seemed to be disappearing fast.

  “Oh yes. It’s a very good thing. You see, through the ages, we girls have been told by our mothers to always wear nice underwear when leaving the house. That way, if we get in an accident, we won’t be wearing something old and faded.”

  Cole swallowed. The idea of seeing Bree in that new underwear was a tantalizing thought. “I don’t think this was the kind of situation your mother was thinking of when she passed out that advice.”

  Bree stood up. She carefully closed the tops of the food cartons and gathered them up. She put them away in the refrigerator, then carried the paper plates to the sink. When she turned around and leaned against the counter, a devilish gleam in her eyes warned him what was coming next.

  “Okay, Becker, I’ve had my say. Now it’s your turn,” she challenged. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

  He wasted no time in abandoning his chair.

  “We will not act like teenagers and make out in the kitchen,” he said against her mouth, as he pulled her against him.

  “Of course not.” She nipped at his lower lip. “After all, we are responsible adults. We can restrain ourselves. Just how far is your bedroom from here?” Her fingertips brushed across his fly.

  Cole groaned. He grasped her fingers before they went any further. “Right now, it seems like a thousand miles.” He kept his arms around her as he guided her out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

  “If I find one centerfold on the walls…” Her warning came out more as a tease.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll save you the aggravation and shoot myself,” he vowed, fumbling for the light switch. In seconds, a soft glow bathed the room.

  Bree peeked over Cole’s shoulder. “No centerfolds. No dirty underwear or socks on the floor. I’m impressed, Becker.” She laughed throatily as he tried to silence her with kisses.

  “Dammit, woman, there are times when you talk too much,” he growled as he reached for the hem of her T-shirt. She obliged by lifting her arms so he could pull it off. In turn, she dispensed with his polo shirt.

  Their fingers worked in unison as they unbuckled each other’s belts and unzipped zippers. Even their mouths refused to leave each other, their tongues tangling. The soft rasp of Cole’s beard against Bree’s skin was a delicious sensation.

  Cole looked at Bree wearing a bra the color of candlelight and matching bikini underwear. Her daily runs gave her a lean look, with just the right amount of healthy curves. A round patch of puckered skin was a sad reminder of the pain she’d suffered a year ago.

  He pursed his lips in a low whistle of appreciation. “Right about now, I am so glad you listened to your mother.”

  “So am I.” She gave him a less than gentle push that dropped him backward onto the bed. She followed him, straddling his hips. She bent forward, planting her hands on the bed on either side of his shoulders.

  “Tough guy,” he taunted, gripping her hips.

  “Tough guy? Oh, Becker, we have a lot of work ahead of us. And here I thought you were so observant.” She dropped her head to trail kisses along his jawline. “Some investigative reporter you are if you can’t tell the difference,” she breathed into his ear. At the same time her tongue curled around his earlobe.

  Wanting much more, Cole framed her face in his hands and brought her mouth to his. The tension and hunger that had built up between them exploded in a cataclysm of need as they feasted on each other.

  Cole practically tore off Bree’s bra and panties even as his mouth refused to leave hers. He uttered a supremely male growl as he cupped her breasts in his hands. His thumbs pressed lightly against her nipples until they pearled, a deep dusky rose.

  “They’re not young and perky.” She chuckled against his lips.

  “Like a fine wine, they just get better.” In return, he gently nipped a corner of her mouth.

  “I’m not perfect.” She breathed a sigh against his skin, drawing in his musky scent.

  Cole rested his fingertips against the puckered scar from the gunshot wound. “A badge of honor,” he murmured just before he trailed his mouth across it in a loving caress. “Ah, Bree, we should have gotten naked and rolled around on the bed a lot sooner.”

  “You’re not naked yet,” she reminded him, running her fingers around the band of his briefs.

  He obliged by lifting his hips so she could slide them off. She purred as she encircled him with her hands.

  “Are you the typical male with supplies in the nightstand drawer?” she asked as she continued a slow up-and-down massage with her fingertips.

  “Yeah.” He figured the one-word answer was coherent enough, since there wasn’t enough breath in
his body to say anything more.

  It was.

  When she slid down on top of him, Cole felt as if he’d died and gone to heaven. Bree’s slow and leisurely movements soon left both their bodies sheened with perspiration. It wasn’t enough for either of them, but neither wanted to rush the moment. By unspoken agreement, they alternately teased each other with words and caresses as the heat between them built up until they could take no more.

  Cole turned the tables by rolling until he was on top. His hips rocked against hers, accelerating until they moved in a frenzied rhythm.

  He looked down and saw her eyes blaze with an emerald fire as she tipped over that ultimate edge. He blindly followed.

  Bree felt boneless and so relaxed she didn’t think she’d move for the next year.

  Since the air was cool, Cole rolled them enough to pull the bedspread out and cover them with it. Bree curled her body against his as he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Wow,” he murmured in her ear. “Detective, you are one hot number.”

  She smiled against the curve of his shoulder. She inhaled the warm musky scent of his skin, knowing it was imprinted on her own.

  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  He rolled over onto his side until he loomed over her.

  “You better understand this ain’t no one-night stand,” he rumbled.

  Her smile grew even wider. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Good, because I bought a new box a week ago.” He kept his eyes on her as he reached blindly into the nightstand drawer.

  Bree thought sneaking into the house so she wouldn’t wake the occupants had ended when she finished high school.

  At the late hour of two in the morning and at the ripe age of thirty-five, she found herself whispering a command to Jinx as the dog greeted her with his cold muzzle against her hand.

  She’d almost made it to her bedroom when David’s door opened.

  “About time you got home.” He uttered words parents all over the world were familiar with. “Do you know what time it is?”

  She clenched her teeth before a curse dropped from her lips. She could tell he’d been sleeping. His hair stuck out in all directions and his T-shirt and pajama pants were rumpled.