by Lakes, Lynde
Paula’s stomach churned. What about the rest of the bikers? What was their connection to Charlie? Was their presence at Charlie’s service to show respect, or were they here to spit on his grave?
Paula’s fingers dug deeper into Bard’s arm. He put his hand on top of hers. His touch was warm, comforting. The subtle scent of his musky shaving lotion floated about her, its aromatherapy providing a needed balm to her soul.
Ray, Nancy, a very pale Gary, and a mousy-looking man Paula had never seen before stood in a cluster near the minister. Was the stranger someone Charlie had known? Afterwards, she would speak to him. She swallowed to ease the ache in her throat.
Lomas, Reed, and Gordon stood just behind the Whitneys. She understood why Lomas and Reed were there. They cared for Charlie. “Why is your boss here?” she asked softly. “He didn’t even know Charlie.”
“Politics,” Bard whispered. “Charlie died on county property.”
It’d serve them right if she brought suit against the county for negligence, but suing people wasn’t her way, and it wouldn’t bring Charlie back.
Les Cardel stood to the left of Gordon, his wide stance as arrogant as ever. “So why is Cardel here?”
“Who knows?” Bard said, studying the house mover with obvious new interest.
The tendons in her neck tightened. Cardel had always made her uncomfortable. He expected everyone to bow to his wishes. Well, he should be happy. Soon, he can jack up her house, set it on blocks, and auction it off. He whispered something to Gordon then nodded to her as if sending his condolences.
Paula looked away and glanced toward the road. Cory stood alone under a shady elm tree near the curb, his emotions hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. She curled her hand into a fist. Why was he here? He hadn’t known Charlie. With the way he was trying to pin Charlie’s murder on her, it was a good bet he wasn’t here to give comfort.
Her gaze swept over the bikers again. Their stony faces and belligerent eyes declared they were there to intimidate. Paula’s shoulder muscles shrank into taut ropes. Please, don’t let them disrupt Charlie’s last rites.
A bee buzzed loudly near one of the roses that covered the casket. Paula briefly closed her eyes, hoping to close out the painfully lonesome drone. She hated funerals. There had been so many.
It was a relief when the coroner finally released Charlie’s body for burial. It had been agonizing torture to know that day after day some forensic pathologist was invading Charlie in ways she hated to imagine. And what good did it do? It didn’t lead the police to his killer. At least Charlie could rest in peace.
Paula stepped away from Bard and closer to the casket. She placed an arrowhead-shaped turquoise stone among the roses. She and Charlie had found the stone near the Indian reservation in the foothills. He had gotten excited and said it was a rare find and carried good spirits. Then, instead of keeping it for himself, he’d dropped it into her hand and closed her fingers over it. To protect you, he’d said.
She wanted him to have it. Angels do use arrows, don’t they Charlie? Or was that just Cupid? Her throat tightened. To the breeze carrying Charlie’s spirit, she silently vowed: I won’t let your killer get away with this.
Paula memorized the mourners’ faces. If Charlie’s murderer was among them, she’d get him—even if it was the last thing she ever did.
She vaguely heard the minister’s voice. “While the Lord opened the gates of heaven for this man,” the holy man concluded in a deep, heartfelt tone, “he will not forsake those left behind.”
Comforting sentiment, Paula thought, but I’m going for an eye for an eye. She clenched her hands so tightly they ached. Slowly, everyone except Cory and the bikers came up and told her how sorry they were for her loss. The words gave her little comfort. She noticed that the stranger had disappeared without a word. Disappear. That’s what she wanted to do. “Bard, please, let’s go now.”
He glanced down at her, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
When she nodded, he quickly led her away as if he felt her urgent need to escape. However, rather than immediately climbing into the car, she paused to listen to Cory speaking to the bikers.
“Glad to see you guys weren’t here to cause trouble,” Cory drawled.
Paula didn’t hear their answer; she heard only a hostile rumble of garbled words. She turned, scanning their faces. All of them looked guilty. Did one of them kill Charlie?
They revved their motorcycle engines, spewing gasoline fumes to the wind. Angry vibrations shook the ground. Black smoke belched into the air.
“Amigos, let’s get da hell outta here!” one of the biker’s yelled.
Paula stiffened. It was the same voice and the same Spanish accent she’d heard at the hotel. “Bard! One of those bikers is the guy who broke into our hotel. I recognize his voice!”
“Which one?” Bard turned to look as the bikers roared away.
“Couldn’t tell.” She gripped Bard’s arm. “But we have to follow them!”
He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Chase eleven bikers?”
“We can’t let that guy get away!” She tightened her hold on his arm. “Please, Bard.”
She’d just buried Charlie. She ached to crawl off to a quiet place to be alone, but this obscure biker could lead her to Charlie’s killer. If she let him get away, he could vanish forever. She held out her hand. “Take me, or give me the keys and I’ll go alone.”
Bard shook his head. “You’re not thinking straight.”
Cory was walking toward his car. The police were supposed to help people, but Paula’s experience with the hotshot cop told her he wouldn’t believe her and would only find a way to use her plea for help against her.
She lifted her chin and stood erect. “Listen, Bard, together, or alone, I’m going.”
He studied her face. She saw the impact of her words go through him, and braced herself for further argument. After a moment, he exhaled heavily. “I guess it won’t hurt to see where they go.” He rounded the car and hopped in. When he turned the key in the ignition, the starter made a grinding sound.
“Give it more gas!”
He shifted the gear out of park and pressed down on the accelerator. The car jolted backwards. Metal crunched. They were thrown against their seat belts as they slammed into Cory’s bumper.
“Dammit! Bard slapped the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. “I’m sorry, Paula. Looks like we’re hooked up.”
Paula swore under her breath as the bikers disappeared out the cemetery gates. It wasn’t like Bard to get rattled. “I think you did that on purpose!”
“Are you serious?” he asked. “Bash in my Z, on purpose? Hit a cop’s car, on purpose?”
Paula frowned as Bard got out of the car and slammed the door, leaving her to think whatever she wanted. Well, it didn’t take a genius to realize she was right. The bump hadn’t damaged either car and the men were able to uncouple the vehicles with ease. That convinced her—he’d backed into Cory’s bumper as a delaying tactic to protect her from herself. Well, if he thought he could dissuade her from going after that guy he had another thought coming.
Unfortunately, with the bikers out of sight she had no plan, unless…. “Deeter lived on Dell Street with some bikers, and I’ll bet that guy is one of them,” she told Bard when they were on their way again.
Bard frowned. “You need to get some rest. I’ll take you home and check it out right after.”
“We’ll check it out, now! If we don’t go right away the guy could disappear like Deeter did.”
Bard’s jaw muscle twitched. “Look, if we drive by the biker’s pad just to check the lay of the land, will that satisfy you?”
Paula crossed her fingers. “Sure,” she said sweetly. “I’m easy to please.”
“Yeah,” he said, giving a her wry grin. “You and the perfectionists of the world.”
About twenty-five Harleys were parked askew in the front of the biker’s apartment building. They’d doubled th
eir numbers plus three.
“Now isn’t a good time,” Bard said, gesturing with his thumb toward the Harleys.
“I guess you’re right.” She laughed without humor. “I suppose I can’t just march in there and ask the whole gang to say something so I can pick the right guy.”
“I’m glad you see that. If the shooter lives this close to your house, you’ll be a lot safer in your new place. Let’s concentrate on getting things ready for the move tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Trust me, Paula, I’ll find out who the guy is. I promise. But I’ll do it when the odds are better.”
“How?”
“I’ll ask around.” Bard grinned. “There can’t be that many bikers that fit his description in the neighborhood.”
Paula ignored Bard’s attempt at humor. He had a point. Charging into a biker’s hangout would be like running into the den of hungry lions. Still, that was exactly what the impatient part of her wanted to do. She wasn’t even sure what she’d do after she found the biker. But she had a strong hunch he would lead her to Charlie’s killer.
“Look!” Paula said, as a wiry Mexican came out the door.
“I’ll bet that’s him. Stop! Let me ask him for directions or something!”
Bard gave her a baleful look and kept going.
“How could it have hurt to ask the guy for directions?”
Bard gave her another look. Okay, so he was right. Her idea wouldn’t fly. Everyone in the neighborhood knew who she was, including the bikers. She’d have to think of something else, because dangerous or not, if Bard didn’t find the man who shot at her, she’d do it herself.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was getting dark outside, and Paula had gone through the house turning on lights. She watched the movers bring in the last of the boxes. Four of them were marked books. There had been five, but she’d brought the one with the journal buried in the center in her own car and quickly locked it away in her bedroom closet.
She whirled around the living room like a child, admiring the huge stone fireplace, the eggshell scalloped jacquard lace draperies over the bay window, the robin blue flowers in the wallpaper, and the lush beige carpeting, soft as dove wings under her bare feet. She smiled at her parrot preening himself in his cage. “We’re home, Iv. Really home.”
Other than cartons stacked in every room her haven was in good shape. Bard had positioned the furniture exactly where she wanted it, and he’d hung the larger paintings and mirrors. Then he’d taken a well-deserved break and gone for food.
Paula turned at the sound behind her.
“That’s everything,” the stocky mover said. “If you’ll just sign this form, we’ll be going.” Paula wiped her hands on her jeans then scribbled her name where he pointed.
Minutes after the moving van left Paula heard Bard’s Z pull into the circular drive. His familiar footsteps echoed through the house, like he belonged there.
“Paula,” he called from the living room.
“Paula,” Ivanhoe mimicked.
“Yeah, where is she, Iv?” Bard asked, passing the parrot’s cage. The affection in his voice touched Paula’s heart.
“In the kitchen,” she called. She smiled. Iv and Bard were getting along so well. Spicy aromas of Mexican food met her nostrils as Bard entered the kitchen. “Tacos?”
“The works.” He winked. “Tacos, burritos, tamales, beans and rice.”
Bard put the bags of food down on the table she just cleared and lifted out the covered plates. As they seated themselves, he drew his chair close. Their knees brushed, sending a tingling through her. Paula’s gaze flew to Bard’s. Desire rocked her senses, and the tiredness from the hectic moving day drained away.
Her cheeks grew warm as she lowered her gaze and studied his tanned forearm, admiring the way his long muscles flexed as he took the covers off the plates and handed her one.
“How did you guess what I was in the mood for?” Paula asked, as she dug her fork into the steaming tamale.
A lascivious glimmer came into Bard’s eyes, and he lifted an eyebrow. “We can take care of that after we eat.”
She laughed and shook her head. “I meant the kind of food.”
****
Bard smiled. He loved the sound of her laughter. It was slightly throaty, and terribly sexy. “Oh,” he said, feigning innocence. “My mistake.”
He picked up his taco and paused before biting into it. “By the way,” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket, “after you left your old place, I found this photograph on the floor. An old boyfriend?” He watched her face. Her pupils dilated, but otherwise she showed no emotion.
Paula took the picture from him and glanced at it. “It’s Dan.”
“Your husband?”
She nodded and propped the photograph up against a Pepsi can and stared at it.
“What was he like?” Bard was as curious as hell what kind of man had been lucky enough to win Paula’s heart.
Paula sighed. “Macho, often irresponsible, immature. But he could be very charming.”
“What happened to him?”
Paula’s face clouded, and she pushed her half-eaten food to the side.
Bard swore to himself. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t….”
She met his gaze steadily. Silence hung between them. “It’s all right,” she said finally. “I’ve kept it inside so long. I want you to know. But you may find it hard to believe. You see, it was another mysterious intruder.”
Bard’s heart pounded. “Like the night Fred was killed?”
She nodded.
“You think Charlie was involved?”
“Of course not. He wouldn’t have had a reason. Dan never mistreated me. At least not in a physical sense.”
A warning uneasiness prickled the back of Bard’s neck. Could anyone believe there were two mysterious intruders? Could he believe it? What if Charlie had only admitted killing Frank to protect Paula? Bard frowned at the doubts swirling in his mind.
“It was midnight,” she said softly, as if she were explaining the murder to herself. “Dan heard someone in the house. He got his gun and went to check. The intruder wrestled Dan’s gun away from him and then killed him with it.”
Paula closed her eyes for a moment, as though to erase whatever images lurked in her mind about that night.
Bard swallowed. His emotions churned like a raging sea. “Wasn’t he a cop?”
She brushed a lock of hair from her face and lifted her chin. “Yes. And an expert marksman. I don’t know how the guy got his gun from him.” Paula looked off in space. Seconds passed. “Dan liked guns,” she said finally. “We went shooting often.” Her voice grew softer. “It was one of the few things we had in common.”
Bard did the figures in his head. Paula was still in her teens, and to be a cop Dan had to be at least twenty. But from the other things she’d said, he was probably at least in his mid-twenties. “How did you meet him?”
“Dan was part of the team who investigated Frank’s murder.”
“Did you know Dan before Frank was murdered?”
“No. I told you. I met him during the investigation. After he closed the case, he asked me to marry him.”
“Then he knew you were innocent?”
“At first he thought I was guilty, but he didn’t admit that to me until much later.”
“So you married him?”
Paula sighed. “I told him I liked him but that I didn’t love him. He assured me it didn’t matter. I married him so I wouldn’t have to go into another foster home. It was a dumb reason to get married.”
“Then you regretted it?”
She was silent a long time. “Somewhere along the way I started to care for Dan. He caught a bullet in the leg that shattered bone and was forced to retire from the police department. Suddenly he needed me. And I liked being needed.”
“All that special care must’ve been tough. Didn’t you have any help?”
“Gramma Emma. And Cory. Co
ry was also part of the team who’d investigated Frank’s murder. He and Dan had been partners. Cory set up some job interviews for Dan to get him back into the work force. Dan thought he was a great guy.”
“But you didn’t?”
“Cory’s a blatant womanizer. He was at our place all the time, looking at me with his sloe-eyed predator look. Then one evening when Dan wasn’t around, Cory made a pass at me. I told him to back off. That I would never cheat on my husband.”
Heat shot up the column of Bard’s neck. He wasn’t surprised that Cory made a pass. He’d been known to date married women. Still, he shouldn’t have pressured a young woman who was clearly not interested.
“Shortly after Cory made the pass, he told Dan that I might’ve hired the hit man who ended his career as a cop. It was crazy, but Dan’s confidence was low, and he started watching me like a hawk. He listened in on my phone calls, timed my trips to the store, checked the mileage. His lack of trust put a giant wedge between us.”
Bard wanted to put his arms around Paula, console her, but something kept him rooted to the spot.
“Then Dan was killed,” she said softly. “Cory came to the house to investigate the murder. If I’d known he was acting on his own without authority, I would’ve reported him to CBI or something. He wouldn’t have gotten away with it if I hadn’t been so young and inexperience. The only evidence the police could find to support my story of a breakin was man-sized boot prints in the flowerbed. Cory tried to make me say I was involved. After everyone else left, he hammered at me for hours.”
Bard swallowed. This explained the tension between Cory and Paula. She had every right to resent him. What was the other side to the story, and what basis could Cory have for his accusations?
“When Cory left,” Paula continued, “he looked at me as if he were undressing me.”
The knot in Bard’s stomach hardened.
“Then Cory came back,” Paula said. “This time he played good cop and offered to help out, get groceries, pay any bills. When I assured him I was making out fine and didn’t want any kind of relationship with him, he turned vindictive. He said he’d prove I killed Dan.”