by Beth Ciotta
Ziffel walked in just as Jack claimed the seat behind his recently organized desk.
“Got here as quick as I could, Chief.”
Jack shook off thoughts of Kylie, assuring himself she was fine and en route to McGraw’s. He focused on Jessie and Maddie, whom he’d talked into joining Mrs. Carmichael over at the Methodist Church. Along with several other women, they were currently coordinating the booths that would feature and sell homemade crafts over the next few days. He felt better knowing they were surrounded by people. Plus it would help to divert Jessie’s dark thoughts.
“Sorry to pull you in on your day off, Ed.”
Ziffel smoothed his windblown hair and shrugged off the imposition. “Figured it was important.” Though dressed in faded jeans and an Omertà T-shirt, he still managed to look official in his EPD nylon jacket.
Jack noted his bright eyes and controlled movements. Though playing it cool, Deputy Ziffel was primed for action. “Shut the door,” Jack said, then motioned the man to sit in an opposing chair. “Until otherwise notified, what I’m about to say is off the record.”
“Understood.”
Ziffel listened intently as Jack informed him of the break-in and the possibly connected sleaze factor.
“I can see why Jessica Lynn insisted on keeping this under wraps,” Ziffel said, then shook his head. “Why the heck didn’t Frank hide his…er, private collection in a better place? I mean, jeez, a suitcase on the shelf of their bedroom closet?”
“I wondered the same thing.” Jack wondered about a lot of things. “There were two dozen or so fashion and health magazines in the mix. I assume he buried the fetish mags underneath, still…” He drummed his fingers on his desk, worked the puzzle aloud. “Found a few porn videos stashed in a spare bedroom. According to Jessie, Frank’s returning to Eden tomorrow. Two reasons. The divorce settlement and unfinished business.”
“Maybe that unfinished business includes packing up the sensitive materials he left behind in a rush.”
“Maybe.”
“Frank split town the same day he broke off with your sister,” Ziffel said. “No one saw it coming. There were rumblings of a high-paying job and a lady lawyer friend with influential ties. You know Eden. Folks speculated plenty. The longer Frank was gone, the more certain they were he wasn’t coming back.” Ziffel shifted, looked away. “You’d be shocked by the buried secrets that started to see light.”
“I’m not easily shocked,” Jack said, but he was intrigued. He knew Ziffel would have answers. This was almost too easy. “Let’s hear what you’ve got, Deputy.”
Ziffel opened his mouth and a siren wailed.
Shy howled.
Jack and his deputy rose as one, although Ziffel was the first out the door.
They both gravitated to the station house’s large front pane, Shy howling on their heels.
“What on earth is Max up to?” Ziffel asked.
Jack raised a brow as the retired fire chief’s 1951 Dodge/Van Pelt pumper zoomed up Main Street, then skidded to a stop. One of the most popular events of the Apple Festival was the Antique Car and Truck show. Max’s hook-and-ladder fire engine was an annual favorite, but that didn’t entitle the man to speed into town, siren blaring. “Never thought I’d see the day when I’d have to lecture Max on safety,” said Jack. Only it wasn’t Max who jumped down from the driver’s throne, but Kylie.
“What the hell?” he thought, followed by “Christ, she’s beautiful.”
The petite woman faltered on the running board, the hem of her red coat caught in the door she’d just slammed.
“Man, oh, man,” Ziffel said as she struggled to pull her trench free. “I didn’t realize she was this desperate.”
Jack moved toward the door. “Meaning?”
“Like I have to tell you?” Ziffel asked, hot on his heels. “Kylie’s been trying to set Eden on its ear for days. So far we’ve rolled with the punches, but this? There’ll be no living with Max Grogan. Kylie stole his pride and joy.”
The siren and Shy continued to wail as Jack pushed outside. “How do you know she stole it?”
Ziffel snorted. “I know you’ve been away for a while, but surely you haven’t forgotten. No one drives Red Rover except Max.”
Jack cleared the front steps just as Kylie shrugged out of her trapped coat and the owner of the vehicle poured out of Kerri’s Confections, followed by his cronies. Shaking his fist, Max bellowed something, but Kylie paid no mind. She ran hell-bent for the station house. For Jack.
Stuck between curious and worried, he focused on the wide-eyed, dark-haired woman flying toward him. Dirt-stained clothes, rumpled hair, no glasses.
Running full out, she tripped and slammed into Jack. “Murder!”
He gripped her upper arms, steadied her, studied her. Her eyes were wild and glassy. Her face was flushed. She had a twig stuck in her tangled hair and a red welt on her left cheek. He willed his pounding heart steady. “Slow down, hon.”
“Murder,” she gasped. “Lake. Two men. Mobsters.”
Jack’s blood cooled the moment she mentioned the mob. What the hell was she playing at? If she was looking specifically to shake him up, then she’d scored.
“Hooligan!” Max pressed in, flanked by the mayor, Jay Jarvis and Ray Keystone. “You are in big trouble!” Max railed to Kyle. “I tried to play nice. Tried to be understanding. In your defense, I spearheaded un-vandalizing the water tower. And for what? You broke into my house and stole my priceless truck! I’ve never felt so…so…violated!”
“I didn’t break into anything!” Kylie shouted back. “You never lock your doors. And I didn’t steal your truck, I borrowed it!”
“Without asking!”
“It was an emergency!”
Meanwhile the siren whirred and Shy yowled. Jack snapped. “Would someone shut off that damned cherry top?”
Most of the stores in town were closed, but select shopkeepers were hanging “sale” banners in preparation of the festival, and Front Street, one block down and over, had been closed off for carnival rides and food and game booths. Several people started trickling over, curious about the fuss.
“I’ll get it,” Max grumbled. “It’s my truck. Besides, sometimes the door sticks. Gotta know the trick.” He jiggled the knob, then tossed Kylie’s freed coat. “Hope it got grease on it,” he taunted while climbing into the antique red cab to squelch the noise.
Jack caught the coat midair.
Kylie snatched it away. “Are you going to do your job or not?” she snapped at Jack.
He narrowed his eyes. “Mobsters?”
“Yes, darn it! Stop looking at me like I’m nuts! Mobsters. You know. As in wiseguys. Hit men. Gangsters. Didn’t you ever see The Godfather?”
“Or Omertà?” asked Mayor Wilson. “Although not every member of the mob can be classified as a hit man, Kylie. That’s generalizing.”
“What’s the mob got to do with you stealing my truck?” Max railed as he rejoined the show.
“What’s with the pansy combat boots?” asked J.J.
“Last time you wore those flowered boots,” said Keystone, “you tried to sabotage the historical block. Now you’re trying to wreck a historical truck. I’m thinking those crazy boots make you do crazy things.”
“Maybe you should return to more sensible footwear,” suggested the mayor. “Seems like you gave up your good sense on your birthday when you gave over your practical shoes to Wanda.”
“Would you forget about my shoes?” Kyle shrieked. “There’s been a murder and the wiseguys are getting away!”
“Lower your voice,” Jack said, worried that she’d alarm the growing audience. Instead, the onlookers snickered.
Kylie flushed a deeper shade of red. “You don’t believe me,” she said in a choked voice.
“Mobsters?” Deputy Ziffel stepped into the fray, brow creased. “In Eden, Indiana?”
Max snorted. “And she accuses us of being obsessed with Omertà.”
“Are
you making fun of us now?” J.J. asked, looking hurt.
“Enough with shaking up Eden,” Mayor Wilson said. “Shaken, stirred and over it, Kylie.”
“Don’t you lecture me, you…you tattletale!”
The mayor puffed out his chest. “So, Spenser called you, did he? Gave you an earful, huh?”
“Told you that would backfire,” Max said to his friend. “Just made her act out more.”
“Hey! Check out the old fire engine,” a kid called.
“Cool,” another added.
“Look, don’t touch!” Max yelled.
Wanting to break up the scene, Jack looked to Ziffel.
Shooing the onlookers away, Deputy Ziffel worked his magic. “Move along, people. Nothing to see. Get back to what you were doing. Move along. Move along.”
Being law-abiding citizens, everyone cooperated. Except Max and his cronies.
Mayor Wilson focused on Jack. “The Apple Festival opens tomorrow, Chief Reynolds.” He angled his head toward Kylie. “Can we or can we not depend on law and order?”
Kylie blew out a frustrated breath. “What do you think I want?” She tugged at Jack’s lapels. “While we’re standing here arguing, the trail’s going cold.”
He felt the same way about the B and E case. Jack traced a thumb over the welt on Kylie’s cheek. Her claim was preposterous, but her anxiety seemed genuine and she looked like she’d taken a spill in the woods. Had she wiped out on her bike again? Wrecked it? Why else would she borrow Max’s fire truck? “Give me the key, Kylie.”
She stiffened her spine. “You have to believe me. They were shoving a dead guy in the trunk and—”
“Clichéd,” said the mayor.
“Pitiful,” said Keystone.
“Now,” said Jack.
Jaw clenched, she passed him the key to Red Rover.
Jack passed it to the fuming owner. “Sorry about the inconvenience, Max.”
“Want to press charges?” Ziffel asked.
Max considered. “No.” He glanced at her flowered combat boots. “Clearly, she’s going through a crisis.”
Kylie whirled. “I’m not—”
“Cheese and crackers!” Keystone exclaimed. “I get it now. She feels inadequate. Her brother’s got a hit television show—fame and fortune, a woman in every port. And what does she have?”
“The responsibility of running a store she doesn’t even own,” said J.J. “And have you noticed how she’s always pinching pennies? Plus, she’s thirty-two and single.”
“With no prospects,” said the mayor. “Unless Jack’s stepping up to the plate.”
“Maybe her baby clock’s ticking.”
“You mean biological clock.”
“Same difference. Maybe she’s hormonal.”
“Ease up, gentlemen,” Jack warned. Holy shit.
Kylie had frozen with embarrassment.
“Looks like she took our advice,” said Max. “She let her hair down.”
“Except she forgot to comb it.”
“Maybe she’s going for tousled,” Ziffel said in her defense.
“Is that some sort of newfangled hair accessory,” Keystone asked, plucking the twig from her hair.
Kylie snatched it back and flung it to the ground. “Without my helmet, you…you busybodies,” she sputtered, “my hair got a little windblown. Now, could we please—”
“A little?” J.J. noted with a snort.
“You rode your bike without your helmet?” Jack asked. Part of him wanted to rescue her from Max and gang. The other half wanted to shake her for being so damned reckless. Riding without a helmet? And where the hell were her glasses?
“Did you wreck your wheels,” Max asked. “Is that why you stole my truck?”
“She stole your truck to shake up her boring life,” said J.J. “Get with the program, Max.”
“I feel for you, Kylie. I do,” said Mayor Wilson. “We’re always talking about your brother and his adventures. Must get tiresome for the sibling who’s stuck in low-key Eden peddling humdrum shoes. Still—”
“That’s it,” Kylie snapped, nabbing Jack’s cell phone from his inner jacket pocket. “I’m calling the county police. Those goons whacked the guy out of your jurisdiction, anyway.”
Shy whimpered, sensitive to the woman’s anxiety.
Jack pried his phone from Kylie’s clammy hand. “Let’s take a ride, Tiger.” Holding her elbow, he guided her away and toward his Aspen, motioning Ziffel to follow.
Unfortunately Max and gang continued to gossip.
“Maybe she thought she’d make the Eden Tribune by stealing Red Rover.”
“Or the six o’clock news by reporting a murder.”
“Mobsters. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?”
“If it were real.”
“Which it ain’t.”
“Speaking of bull-hooey claims, what did you think of that legend Spenser debunked last night?”
Kylie sighed as Jack handed her into the front seat. He opened the back door for Shy, who also sighed. Seems his dog had bonded with yet another female in distress. The doe-eyed mutt had already glommed on to Jessie and Maddie. For a man who’d sworn off drama, Jack’s life suddenly resembled a damned soap opera.
Deep in thought, he circled to the tailgate to confer with his second-in-command. “You understand I’m obligated to investigate a reported crime.”
“Except she’s right. The lake is county turf.”
“Yeah, but Kylie’s my turf.”
“Really.” Ziffel scratched his head. “After one date?”
Jack had no intention of sharing details of their evening. Nor would he expand on his feelings for Kylie. Feelings he’d just fully realized when he blurted in essence, she’s mine. For Christ’s sake, he was in love. The epiphany packed a lethal punch. In one night, he’d fallen hard for a woman who’d been infatuated with him for years.
Well, hell.
Unbalanced, Jack redirected Ziffel’s focus. “I need you to run the prints I told you about with IAFIS. Also, those secrets you mentioned? Make a list. I want to know every thing you’ve heard about Frank Cortez, whether you think it’s true or not.”
Ziffel grimaced. “I’ve heard some doozies.”
“Like I said, I’m not easily shocked.” He rapped the man on his bony shoulder. “Call me if you need me.”
“Ditto.” Ziffel gave a mock salute, then trotted toward the station house.
Max peeled Red Rover toward the fire station.
Jack climbed into the Aspen, marveling at the difference a day made. Laid-back Eden was hopping with activity. Not all of it good. He frowned at Kylie’s disheveled appearance. “I’m torn between kissing and shaking you.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead. “I’m not partial to either if that helps you out.”
He bit back a smile and keyed the ignition. “Relax, Kylie. I’m on your side.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You have to admit your story’s far-fetched.”
She turned and glared. “You think I want this to be true?”
Something in her eyes and tone grabbed his gut.
Damn.
He couldn’t buy the mobster angle, but something was sure as hell rotten in Paradise. Even Shy sensed trouble. As Jack headed for Route 50, the dog hopped into the front seat with a whimper and laid her head on Kylie’s grass-and-dirt-stained lap.
Some women would have shooed the dog away. His ex, for instance. Amanda had never wanted pets. “They’re hairy and smelly, and who has the time to feed or walk them?” she’d complained when he’d mentioned a fellow detective had found a stray hound in need of a home. Amanda used to cringe when she had to clean out the fridge. Forget scooping poop.
Kylie didn’t seem to mind that Shy was shedding all over her clothes. She smoothed a kind hand over the mutt’s head and body and Jack’s heart did another funny hitch.
Although he didn’t think Kylie had had a run-in with mobsters, he did b
elieve she’d witnessed something out of the ordinary. Life crisis aside, deep down, Kylie Ann McGraw was a sensible, grounded soul. He reached over and smoothed her tangled hair from her face. “Okay, Tiger. Tell me about those wiseguys. And don’t leave anything out.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
MOLLIFYING. THAT’S WHAT HE was doing. Grandma McGraw used to accuse Grandpa of trying to mollify her. Kylie had asked once what it meant. “Means he’s trying to calm me down by playing nice,” Grandma had said. “Gripes my cookies because it’s insincere.” After looking up insincere in the dictionary (she’d only been eight at the time), Kylie decided if someone ever mollified her, she’d be just as miffed as Grandma. Just now, Jack was really griping Kylie’s cookies.
To think fifteen minutes ago she’d been thrilled to see him. Jack Reynolds. The man of her dreams. The chief of police. She’d sprinted toward him thinking, salvation! He’d protect her from those wiseguys! He’d track and arrest the goon who’d whacked a man just for spitting on his shoe! What kind of a person did something like that?
But the moment she’d mentioned the mobsters, Jack’s expression had morphed from concerned to annoyed. He thought she was lying. She’d been shocked and more than a little annoyed herself. Was this the same man who’d shared her bed last night? The man who’d transported her to another universe via multiple orgasms and bone-melting affection? The man who’d said they clicked? How could he have so little faith in her word? Granted, her story was wild, but she knew what she saw. And heard.
“This isn’t some pathetic cry for attention,” she said, still smarting from the Busybody Squad’s assumptions. “And I’m not jealous of Spenser. Envious, maybe. A little. Okay, sometimes a lot. But it has nothing to do with fame and fortune. I mean that would be really shallow.”
“There isn’t a shallow bone in your body, Kylie. I know that and so do Max and the boys. They’re just pumped.” He reached over and squeezed her fisted hand. “Where am I going, hon?”