The Lady is a Thief

by Aimee Nicole Walker

  You already tried that, moron. Yeah, well, I’d just have to try harder because I really believed I could be happy in Blissville if I could tamp down the urges that my beautiful neighbor brought out in me. I could hit up a bar or club in Cincinnati if I needed some company for the night. I found it amazing at how cold that idea left me when just a few weeks ago it would’ve heated my blood. Resisting is futile, dumb fuck.

  I was glad the drive to the police station was a short one so that my brain had something to focus on other than Maegan’s lush body and the sounds she made when she came. I could ignore my heart’s demand that I give her a chance to prove that she was nothing like Brandy and focus on solving a homicide. The first step in solving a murder was to learn everything you could about the victim.

  “Sorry for calling you out tonight,” Kevin Wen said when I opened the passenger door of his cruiser. “I’m sure you had better things to do.”

  “Catching Renzo’s killer is the only thing on my mind.” A kaleidoscope of sexy and sweet Maegan images replayed in my brain, calling me out for being a liar. Fine, but I could turn that off to focus on nailing a criminal. Then we can think about nailing… “What do we know?” I asked Wen, cutting off my thoughts.

  “Thom’s uncle, Stanley Hubert, lives about twenty minutes from here in a rural part of Carter County. According to my mother, he’s a confirmed bachelor and former ladies’ man, if you will. I don’t know what kind of relationship Stanley had with his sister’s only son.”

  “It’s a start,” I told him. “We’ll start there and kick over every rock until we find our guy.”

  “Or gal,” Wen corrected.

  “Or gal,” I conceded.

  It was black as pitch in the countryside, which was nothing new to me since I grew up in rural Franklin County, but it added an element of danger when showing up at someone’s house unexpected. The last thing I wanted was to look down the barrel of a trigger-happy landowner. I was pleased when we arrived at Stanley Hubert’s house and there was plenty of exterior light illuminating our way to the front porch.

  “This place isn’t nearly as creepy as his sister’s house,” Wen softly muttered before he knocked on the front door. “That place looked like something you’d see in a gothic horror story. I’m surprised there aren’t gargoyles.”

  Wen was in uniform and my badge hung around my neck in plain sight for Mr. Hubert to see when he looked through the glass after I rang the doorbell. When he opened the door, I saw awareness in his eyes.

  “I guess you’re here about Thom,” he said. “Is it true?”

  “I’m sorry to tell you that your nephew, Thom Renzo, was a victim of a homicide. We’re sorry for your loss, Mr. Hubert,” I told the elderly man.

  “Do you need me to come down and identify the body?” he asked nervously.

  “No, sir,” Wen told him. “I went to school with Thom so I was able to do that for you.” What we didn’t tell the man was that our medical examiner, Dr. Melissa Chen, would also confirm the DB’s identity with dental records. Every bone in Thom’s face was broken so using his driver’s license photo for comparison wasn’t an option. Wen identified him by a tattoo on his forearm. I was glad we could spare Mr. Hubert from having to look at what remained of his nephew. “Can we ask you a few questions?”

  “Okay,” Mr. Hubert replied, stepping back so we could enter his house. “I just can’t believe it.” The elderly man slowly shook his head as he lowered himself into his recliner. “Who’d want to hurt Thom?”

  Wen took a seat on the sofa and angled his body toward Mr. Hubert while I remained standing, taking a minute to check out Mr. Hubert’s surrounding while Wen finished making small talk with the elderly man. Everything was dated, drab, and dreary. If I wanted to add another d word into the mix, I would’ve chosen dusty. Hubert himself dressed like Mr. Rogers and it was hard to imagine that he was once a ladies’ man. What era? The seventies? Time had not been kind to the man, and I wondered how much of it had to do with the half-empty bottle of whiskey and the cigarette smoldering in the ashtray on the table beside his chair. How often did he go through a bottle? A day? A week? A month? How many packs of cigarettes did he puff through in a day?

  You’re looking at your future self if you’re not careful. I could’ve argued that I rarely drank and never smoked, but I knew that my heart wasn’t referring to his habits. The loneliness the man felt was a palpable thing that hung heavy and thick in the air. Sure, hearing that his nephew died so closely on the heels of his brother-in-law probably played a large part, but I sensed that his loneliness was an old friend, not a new acquaintance.

  The thought was depressing as fuck so I quickly steered my thoughts back to the investigation. “When was the last time you spoke to Thom?”

  “Not since his father’s funeral.” Mr. Hubert shook his head sadly. “I tried being closer to the boy, but he was just… odd.”

  “Odd? How so?” I followed up.

  “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead,” Mr. Hubert replied.

  “We need to find out who killed your nephew and the only way to do that is to look at everything, even when that makes us uncomfortable, sir,” Wen told the grieving man.

  “I’m not sure I’m the right person to be talking to since I feel like I don’t know Thom anymore. We used to be close when he was a kid, but he drifted away once he got to high school. He ran around with the Sampson kid, who was nothing but trouble. I wasn’t surprised at all when he was arrested for stealing drugs from the evidence locker when he was a deputy in Texas. He’d always been a sly one, and that mother of his always made excuses for him and covered up his bad behavior. Still, I don’t think any of them were up to criminal mischief back then, mind you. They formed that awful band and were convinced they’d make it big. That was all Thom talked about during high school. He drove us nuts with ‘our band’ this and ‘our band’ that.”

  Wen had already explained the Sampson and Renzo connection to me at the station, but that seemed like a stretch. Sampson was arrested and turned over to the DEA two years ago, so it wasn’t likely that he knew anything about Renzo’s death. It had to be related to something else.

  “As weird and as isolated as Thom had become over the last decade, it’s really hard to imagine him making someone mad enough to kill him.”

  I’d seen kids get gunned down in the street for a pair of fucking shoes, so I discounted nothing. I saw no need to share my past experiences with him though. Instead, I asked, “Did your sister and brother-in-law own anything of value?”

  “Something valuable enough to kill over? No, of course not. Why would you ask me that?”

  “Thom had made arrangements with an auction house to sell the contents in the household, but he also set up a meeting with a local woman to give her first crack at the things she wanted to buy for her store. Is it possible there was a family heirloom worth a significant amount of money?”

  “Was the local woman little Maegan Miracle?” Mr. Hubert asked. I didn’t like the way he lit up a little and suddenly sat straighter in his chair. Little Maegan Miracle? Little as far as height maybe, but that woman was larger than life when it came to personality and sex appeal. Yeah, IEDs could be little too, but look at the damage those bastards caused!

  “Yes, it was Miss Miracle. In fact, she and two other people were the ones who discovered Thom.”

  “Oh no!” He sounded horrified at the prospect, so I rushed to assure him that Maegan was okay.

  “She didn’t find Thom’s body,” I explained. “She saw the blood and called nine-one-one.”

  “Still, she must be traumatized.”

  An image of Maegan arched over the side of the couch and grinding her pussy against my face sprung to mind. If I wasn’t careful, other things would get sprung. “She’s a trooper, Mr. Hubert. What about an heirloom or anything else you can think of?”

  Mr. Hubert scoffed. “The only thing Betsy and I inherited from our side of the family was high cholesterol, but I can’t
speak about Charlie’s family. He was from Georgia, and I don’t think I’ve seen his family since the day he married my sister. They met while attending the University of Kentucky. Charlie’s family never approved of my sister or our family. We weren’t good enough for them.”

  “You didn’t see them at his funeral?” Wen asked.

  “Not even then.”

  “Do you know if Thom was able to contact anyone from the Renzo side after his father passed?”

  “Thom told me that they didn’t bother with his dad while he was alive, nor did they show up for his mother’s service. He said they didn’t deserve to be notified that Charlie passed away. He didn’t want false platitudes to ruin his father’s memorial.” I could understand his sentiment. “Charlie just gave up on life after Betsy passed away.”

  “Were their deaths close together?”

  “A few months apart,” he answered.

  “Did either your sister or brother-in-law have any property disputes with anyone?” I asked.

  “Nothing that they ever told me about, Detective. I’d surely tell you if I knew.”

  I’d be willing to accept that Thom’s homicide had nothing to do with his parents’ estate if it wasn’t for the timing. Unfortunately, there was no one alive to ask about missing items from the estate. Unless, Maegan had knowledge of specific items that were no longer on the premises. She had expressed her eagerness to pick through the estate, but why? What did she know that Stanley Hubert didn’t. I made a note to ask her the following morning. Why wait until morning? She made it clear that I was welcome back there if I stopped freaking out.

  Wen and I asked a few additional questions, but we didn’t learn anything of value. Hubert provided the name of the estate attorney who represented both of Thom’s parents. I added his name to the list of people I wanted to interview the next day. I couldn’t think of anything else to ask Mr. Hubert right then, so I expressed my condolences once more and thanked him for his time.

  “What time do you want to get started tomorrow morning?” Wen asked once we were back in his car.

  With Adrian gone on vacation until Monday, I was grateful to have his help. I was just sorry that I had to cut into his time off with his family. “Does nine o’clock work for you?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that works okay for me.”

  It was almost eight in the evening by the time that Wen dropped me off at my truck. I thought about going to the diner for a piece of pie, but I didn’t feel like company. Liar. I wanted company, but not the kind I’d find at the diner. I wouldn’t mind spending some time with a certain blonde-haired minx but saw that she had company when I pulled onto our street. I’d never seen that silver Cadillac parked in her driveway before and couldn’t help wondering if it was that putz I met in her shop. Instead of calling the station to have them run the license plates, I grabbed my blanket and slippers off the porch and went inside.

  I thought about Stanley Hubert and the sadness that rolled off him in waves when I kicked back in my recliner to watch college hoops with a cold beer in my hand. Was that what I had to look forward to in the future? How were my circumstances any different than his? Age and choice of alcohol.

  “I’m not lonely.” Liar.

  I fell asleep after halftime and didn’t wake up again until after one in the morning. I didn’t recall covering myself with the blanket that Maegan returned to me, but her fresh floral scent tickled my nose as soon as I opened my eyes. One of the anchormen on ESPN was talking about the biggest upset in college basketball history when I hit the remote to turn off the tv. Normally that would interest me, but my brain wasn’t the only thing woken up by Maegan’s perfume. My dick reminded me of how close we’d come to the promise land only to be denied by honor and duty. I knew damn well I wouldn’t go back to sleep with a dick that hard.

  I went upstairs and turned on the shower to let it run for a few minutes before I considered removing my clothes. I had learned quickly when I moved in that it took a long time for hot water to travel along the old pipes in my rental house. January wasn’t the time of year to stand around naked and wait. The hot water heater was in the basement, but you’d have thought it was a good thousand feet beneath the earth for as long as it took. In the mornings, I could brush my teeth and shave my face before the water reached tepid temperatures.

  I wasn’t about to climb into a cold shower in the dead of winter, so I crossed the room and looked out my bedroom window to kill time. I tried to convince myself that it was to check out the neighborhood, but I released the curtain I’d pulled back the second I saw that Maegan’s SUV was the only one parked in her driveway.

  I felt the smile tugging at my lips as I made my way back to the bathroom because I knew where my first stop would be in the morning. I tested the water to make sure it was hot enough then stripped out of my clothes. Once beneath the hot spray, I gripped my cock and stroked it while thinking about all the naughty things I could do to Maegan on her sturdy-looking desk in her office. Then I recalled the sounds she made as she jerked and came apart beneath me earlier that night. It felt so real to me that I could almost taste her on my tongue again as I shot my load onto the black tile.

  I braced one arm against the wall while I let the hot water beat down on my head, neck, and shoulders. I wished like hell Maegan was sleeping in my bed so I could kiss her awake and make love to her slowly since I took the edge off my desire. A week ago, I panicked because of the things that Maegan made me feel. And while I wasn’t ready to completely throw caution to the wind, I wasn’t willing to blow my second chance with her either.

  Baby steps, Markham.

  “HOW LONG DID MOM CODDLE you last night?” Milo asked after I arrived at work the next morning.

  “Longer than I thought.” I figured she was going to hang around for an hour tops, but she stuck around for four hours. “We watched a few chick flicks to soothe her nerves.” Which meant that she was still there when Elijah’s truck rumbled into his driveway. Did he wonder who was visiting? Did he care? Stop it, Maegan.

  “You could’ve called me. I had nothing better to do on a Friday night,” Milo whined.

  “And whose fault is that, Milo?”

  “Memphis had plans.”

  “I wasn’t talking about Memphis and you know it.” I pinned him with a dark look. “Andy had to cancel the week before, but I seem to remember him calling to tell you that he was available last night to look at the upstairs space.”

  “Well, it wasn’t convenient for me. I had made a commitment to you—”

  “Save your breath, Milo. It’s okay to admit that you’re afraid to be alone with Andy. You don’t trust yourself around all that hunky flesh.”

  “The fuck you say. I’m not remotely interested in him, so Andy’s ‘hunky flesh’ is completely safe from me,” he rebutted, but I noticed that he avoided my penetrating gaze when he told that big fat lie. Instead, he placed pastries and donuts in the cases.

  “Anyway, had I known she was going to stick around for four hours then I would’ve called you. I had hoped for a quiet night with a bubble bath and a good book after the night we had.”

  “Who’s the liar now?” Milo demanded. His roundabout confession made me smile. Then my brother stood up straight and faced me. “Detective Markham was really worried about you last night. I think that’s why he seemed so angry with you.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Because he told you so?” Milo asked with a raised brow.

  I swallowed hard and hoped my face wasn’t too red when I pictured Elijah’s dark head between my thighs. “In his own way.”

  “At least one of us is getting some,” Milo said.

  “I never—”

  “You didn’t have to, sister dear, nor did I need to rely on my twink link. Your emotions are broadcasted all over your face.” Milo looked over my shoulder toward the front door. “You might want to get them under control too.”

  “Why?”

  Someone rapped their knuckles confident
ly against the door even though we weren’t due to open for another hour. It could’ve been one of our baristas who’d forgotten their key or an overeager, desperate customer, but I could tell by Milo’s wry grin who stood on the other side of the glass.

  I stuck my tongue out at Milo before I turned and locked eyes with Elijah. The sun had just started to rise and the peachy-pink sky was a beautiful backdrop to his rugged beauty. He stole my breath and I stood frozen in place for several heartbeats as I catalogued the scruff that covered his chin and his dark, penetrative stare. Those full lips tilted in a crooked smile as he pointed to the lock. Yeah, he knew the effect he had on me.

  “Invite him in,” Milo whispered behind me.

  “You’ve been watching reruns of True Blood again, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe, but let the good detective in before his manly parts shrivel in the cold,” Milo said. “It’s rude to keep a man waiting.” The last part was a perfect imitation of our mother.

  I crossed the coffee shop and opened the door. “We’re not open for an hour, Detective Markham.”

  “I’m not here for the pastries and coffee.” He sniffed the air appreciatively. “Although, I wouldn’t turn down an early morning treat.”

  “I remember how you like those.”

  Lust smoldered in Elijah’s eyes until Milo cleared his throat, reminding us both that we weren’t alone. Elijah blinked and broke the special connection we shared. The desire I saw in his eyes was replaced with a different kind of determination, which told me that his early morning visit was a professional one. “Good morning, Milo,” Elijah said to my brother without taking his eyes off me.