3 Dime If I Know

by Maggie Toussaint

  “It isn’t what you’re thinking.”

  “What is it?”

  “I went there to help a friend. I promise you, that was the extent of it.”

  “I want to believe you, but you’re holding back from me. Why does it have to be like this between us? Why didn’t you return my calls last night or this morning?”

  He rose and paced the porch. With his long legs, he was back in no time. “I was busy.”

  “Too busy to send me a text message?”

  “Drop it, Cleo. It doesn’t concern you. You’re crowding me.”

  I leaned into his personal space. “That’s what Sampson women do. We don’t back down from a messy situation. You want to sleep with me, you get the whole me, not just the fun anatomical parts.”

  “What’s that mean? You saying you won’t sleep with me?”

  “I’m saying you aren’t being open with me.”

  He looked away, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Come home with me, so we can be alone. I feel like everyone’s listening to us out here.”

  “I don’t care if God himself is listening. I care about getting a straight answer from you.”

  “You’re not going to tie an apron on me and change me. This is who I am.”

  “I’m not trying to change you. I’m asking you to be honest with me.”

  “You’re confusing me.”

  Glancing over, I saw Madonna’s nose pressed up against the dining room window, looking out at us. She barked loudly. The puppies joined in the chorus, adding to the din in my head. What a crappy Sunday.

  “Welcome to the club. Where’s this going, Rafe?”

  “Does it have to be going somewhere?”

  That hurt. I studied him for a few beats before I answered. “Yes, it does.”

  Silence engulfed the porch. “You’re changing the rules on me.”

  “I’m being honest about my feelings. I care for you, but I don’t think I’m cut out for a long-term affair. It feels like something is missing.”

  “I need you tonight. Don’t shut me out.”

  “You’re shutting yourself out.” I rose and squared my shoulders. “I expect the truth from you.”

  Rafe glanced down at his shiny Oxfords. “Did you ever wonder who you’d be if you’d made different choices in life?”

  “Not really.” If I’d overlooked my husband’s adultery, I’d still be living with a cheater. If I’d never married the bastard, I wouldn’t have my beautiful daughters. I’d made the only choices I could make.

  He shot me an enigmatic look. “There’s no point in digging up the past. I’ve been faithful to you. You have to believe that.”

  “Let’s take the night to think on this.” Trust without verification wasn’t the Sampson way, but Rafe expected it. My expectations ran along the lines of trust but verify.

  We definitely weren’t on the same page.

  CHAPTER 5

  * * *

  I opened the office of Sampson Accounting alone on Monday morning. Mama slept in after her big evening of telling everyone about the wedding. I, on the other hand, yearned for the escape of work. With that thought, I locked the door behind me and started the coffee.

  After a restless night, my feelings about dating hadn’t changed. I believed that a person dated with the ultimate goal of marriage, or at least this person did. Everything I knew about Rafe led me to believe he’d be a good husband, despite the fact he preferred having an affair. He’d been honest about his intentions all along. I’d been fooling myself thinking I didn’t need a wedding band.

  Now that I’d accepted my true goal in dating was marriage, should I stop seeing Rafe? Continuing to see him would prevent me from meeting other men.

  Which sucked because I was in love with Rafe.

  How many women had fallen into this trap of thinking it would all work out in the end? That their boyfriends would come to love them as much as they loved them? I was college-educated. Smart. I owned a business. But my track record with love was rotten.

  I should talk to Rafe about my decision, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Would he call me this morning to apologize for being a jerk last night? I clung to that faint hope.

  Business was slow at Sampson Accounting, the two-person firm I owned, and had been slow ever since the quarterly taxes were paid on September fifteenth. Usually I had homeowners’ association finances to audit or new clients to interview. Today I had nothing except stacks of filing I didn’t want to do. Instead, I turned my computer on and flipped through my emails.

  At a knock on the door, I rose from my desk and hurried across the reception area. A thick fireplug of a guy in a shiny suit glared at me. He’d been my Sunday school teacher for years, and he’d always been a big brother figure to me. He’d also fussed at me for meddling in his business a time or two.

  I opened the door and waved him in. “Detective Radcliff. What can I do for you today?”

  He edged past me. “I need your help.”

  “Come on into my office and let’s talk. You want some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  I poured two cups and carried them to my office. He accepted the steaming beverage, but set it down on my desk, his expression grim. I said, “For goodness sake, Britt. What’s wrong?”

  “Melissa’s sister is in trouble.”

  Melissa was Britt’s wife of twenty-five years. She was also the mother of his two grown sons and his surprise of a daughter. Melissa had a heart of gold, which she needed to put up with Britt’s hardheaded nature. She’d sent over the most delicious chocolate cake I’d ever tasted after Lexy was born.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “The IRS sent Zoe a bill. Seems her no-account husband hadn’t filed taxes in years. Now the rat-bastard is dead, and she’s flat broke. Melissa wants me to take out another line of credit on our house to pay the bill, but I already took one out to set the boys up in their busted plumbing business. I don’t know what to do.”

  While I couldn’t untangle a knot of love, I knew all about knots created by the Internal Revenue Service. “I can help her with the paperwork she needs to file, and we can ask the IRS to put her on an installment payment plan until she gets caught up. She’ll need to come in here and sign a consent form so that I can find out what the IRS knows.”

  “I can have her do that, but I’ll be up front with you. She has five young’uns by that dead SOB, and if she loses her house, Melissa’s already told her she can move in with us. I need you to fix this. Do you ever do any clients pro bono?”

  Steam curled from my coffee mug. “Not as a rule, because it takes food out of my family’s mouths. My finances are pretty lean. I want to help you, but resolving her tax crisis will eat up a chunk of my time, time that could be spent on paying customers.”

  “Could you do it on the side, then? Work on it when you don’t have a paying client? Or would you cut your rate for her? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t a dire need.”

  My business instincts screamed no. Billable hours were the lifeblood of small businesses. But truthfully, I had time on my hands. And Britt had kept me out of trouble many times. I owed him a favor or two.

  I nodded. “I’ll do it because you asked, but don’t let a soul know I’m helping her for nothing. I can’t afford for the word to get out that I’m a soft touch.”

  The tension eased from Britt’s face. “Thanks. I owe you.”

  “Tell her to come on by and give me the particulars. Like I said, I need her to sign that form to get the ball rolling.”

  “I will.” He edged toward the door, thought the better of it, and came back. “You still seeing that golf pro?”

  Alarm clamored through me at Britt’s narrowed gaze. His pointed tone suggested his inquiry wasn’t casual. “What? Is he hurt?”

  “No. Nothing like that. But there’s something off about his story.”

  “What story?”

  “Haven’t you heard? A woman named Starr Jeffries was murdered on the other side of town Satur
day night.”

  “I saw something on page three of today’s paper about a woman being shot, but I didn’t read the story. What does that have to do with Rafe?”

  “He’s a person of interest in my investigation.”

  I couldn’t draw a breath. Dean had been right. Rafe was up to no good on the other side of town. My hand went to my quivering stomach. “You’re kidding.”

  “I don’t kid about that kind of stuff. Stay away from him until I figure this out.”

  “Wait. Don’t go yet. You can’t leave me hanging like that. How is he involved?”

  “Witnesses spotted his car at the crime scene. Not many red Jaguar convertibles park at the Catoctin View Motel.”

  Loyal to a fault, I sprang to his defense. “That’s hardly a smoking gun. It’s a public lodging. Other people own cars like his. Even if his car was parked there, he didn’t murder anyone. Who is this woman? What do you know about her? How does she know Rafe?”

  “I can’t discuss an active case with you. I bent the rules to tell you I was looking at him, but it seemed fair to warn you since you’re helping me out with Zoe.”

  With that, the detective left.

  I reached for the phone. Called Rafe. Got his voicemail.

  My fingers tightened around the phone. Where the hell was he? Why wouldn’t he take my call? The message I left was short and sweet. “Call me.”

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  By the next morning, my nerves still hadn’t settled, so I drove to the golf course to find Rafe. His car wasn’t in the parking lot. Undeterred, I hurried into the brightly lit Pro Shop. Rafe’s whipcord-thin assistant, Jasper Kingsland, slid off his stool behind the counter and snapped to attention.

  “Where’s Rafe?” I demanded, leaning over the counter.

  Jasper took a step backward, bumping into his stool. “He’s not here, ma’am.”

  “I can see that. I need to talk to him. It’s very important.”

  “He called in sick today, Mrs. Jones. I don’t know anything more than that.”

  “What about his golf lessons? Does he have any scheduled today?”

  “He told me to cancel everyone.”

  “Damn.”

  All this avoidance and absenteeism didn’t sound like Rafe. He was in trouble. I knew it, sure as I knew my name. If Britt was looking at him for murder, Rafe needed a good lawyer. Fortunately, a lawyer was about to marry into my family.

  Today was Tuesday. The senior men’s league played golf on Tuesday. Inspiration struck. “Is Bud Flook on the course?”

  “Yes, he is. The seniors teed off an hour ago, shotgun start.”

  “I need a golf cart.”

  “You can’t go out there if it isn’t an emergency, ma’am.”

  “You’re going to have an emergency if you don’t hand me a cart key.”

  Wide-eyed, Jasper reached under the counter for a cart key and dropped it on the counter. “Take it.”

  I grabbed for it. “Thanks.”

  As I strode out, I heard Jasper mutter, “Gotta stay away from redheads.” Though I normally would be insulted by such a sexist remark, I let it go. This couldn’t wait another minute. Britt had a very narrow focus when it came to suspects. If someone connected to one of Britt’s cases acted oddly, Britt interpreted that behavior as an indication of guilt.

  In fact, the detective operated under the mode of “guilty until proven innocent.” Given Rafe’s odd behavior right now, I had no doubt Britt would come after him like a vengeful bloodhound. That wasn’t fair. I’d solved several of Britt’s cases, and I wouldn’t let Rafe be railroaded on the guilty train if he didn’t deserve it.

  I bounced along the unpaved access road that ran behind numbers one, three, and five. The maintenance crew used this rutted lane for their equipment, but so did the ladies when they needed to use the bathroom in a real toilet back at the shop. Sometimes a portable toilet wouldn’t do.

  I zipped past three foursomes before I found Bud’s group putting out on number five, a dogleg par four. I waited in the shade by their carts until they finished.

  As Bud strolled back to the cart, his bushy eyebrows shot up when he saw me standing beside his golf bag. “Cleo! What a surprise.” His stride faltered. His sharp eyes searched my face. “Delilah’s okay, right?”

  “Yes, Mama’s fine. I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to talk to you about an urgent matter. Would you ride with me to number six?”

  He nodded to his playing partner, Bert McGowan. “I’ll catch up in a minute, Bertie.”

  He settled next to me, questions in his eyes. I waited until his buddies pulled away. The next group began hitting their approach shots to the green. With balls dropping all around us, I had to talk fast. “I need to hire you.”

  “You’re in legal trouble?”

  “Not me. Rafe is. Or he will be. Britt thinks he’s involved in something bad. I don’t believe it, not for one red-hot minute.”

  “What does Rafe say about all this?”

  “Who knows? I can’t find him this morning, but that doesn’t change his innocence. Would you be his lawyer?”

  “Criminal law isn’t my forte.”

  “But you helped Mama.”

  “I’m in love with your mother. Of course I’d help her.”

  “I’m in love with Rafe, and you’re the only person I trust to help him.”

  “I don’t know anything about the case.”

  “You know Rafe.”

  He sighed. “This is very unusual. Usually a client retains my services, not his girlfriend. I don’t know if Rafe already has counsel.”

  “I can’t leave this up to chance. My gut tells me he needs us both. If I’ve overstepped, I’ll still pay you for your time. I need this for my piece of mind.”

  “You going to marry this man?”

  Breath stalled in my lungs. Bud’s generation came hard-wired with certain expectations. “He hasn’t asked me to marry him.”

  “Joe wouldn’t approve of you shacking up indefinitely. Me, either.”

  I swallowed hard, knowing he was right about my late father. “Rafe’s coming around to the idea of marriage,” I hedged, hoping with all my heart that visualizing marriage to Rafe would make it so. The imaging strategy worked for golf shots; whether it worked for marriage proposals remained to be seen.

  “Truth is, he isn’t ready to commit yet,” I admitted. “He has family issues. Won’t even talk about his relatives, but I’m working on that. Will you help him?”

  “I’ll look into it as a personal favor. I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.”

  Overcome with relief, I hugged his neck. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  He patted my back, and I was surprised at the tears that formed in my eyes. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. We’ll bring your young man up to scratch.”

  Embarrassed, I blinked away my tears. “As soon as I find him, I’ll make sure he calls you.”

  Bud nodded. “Now, if that’s settled, I’m in the middle of a round of golf.”

  “Gotcha. That bunker on number six is sneaky. It’s hard to hit the green if you catch the sand trap. Aim left.”

  “Good advice. I’ve been in that trap a few times myself.”

  “You sure this is legal?” Jonette glanced around the entrance as I stuck my key in Rafe’s door lock.

  “I’m not breaking in,” I whispered. “I have a key.”

  “Still, Britt is a stickler for the rules. I don’t want him on my back again.”

  “Britt won’t know about this, Rafe either. You’re supposed to be giving me moral support in my hour of need. Don’t add to my nervousness.”

  “You should be nervous. We’re about to snoop through your boyfriend’s house.”

  I unlocked the door, and we stepped inside. “He needs our help. He’s in trouble.”

  “Nice place,” Jonette said, looking around. “I don’t understand why you can’t ask him what this is about.”r />
  “I’ve asked him, but he’s a brick wall.”

  “Look at this leather furniture. And these paintings.” Jonette lingered in front of my favorite painting, a stunning portrait of a little boy flying a kite in a storm. “Are these real oils?”

  “A decorator did his place for him.”

  “How does he afford this? We looked into getting a leather recliner for Dean. Couldn’t swing it. How does Rafe manage such luxuries on a golf pro salary?”

  “I don’t know. There, I’ve said it. I’m blinded by sex, okay? I should have asked him a lot more questions, should have pushed harder earlier in our relationship for answers to things that didn’t make sense. But I didn’t. Now, I’m hoping it isn’t too late.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “I’ll know when I find it.”

  “That certainly narrows it down.”

  I motioned Jonette into the living room. “Snoop.”

  Ten minutes later, we’d rifled through the books on his bookshelf, the junk drawers in the kitchen, the bathroom medicine cabinets, and his desk. His laptop must have been in his car because it wasn’t there. He didn’t have a calendar in his house, but I remembered he kept track of appointments with the calendar inside his cell phone.

  I hadn’t found stacks of love letters from his past. No traces of another woman anywhere. No traces of me either, but that was my fault. I wouldn’t leave so much as a toothbrush over here, because I couldn’t pretend I lived here. Not when I had two teens, a neurotic dog with puppies, and a mama who needed full-time supervision.

  “Got something,” Jonette said, entering his bedroom carrying an old shoebox.

  “Oh?” I came up too fast from under his king-sized bed, the bed I’d shared with him on numerous occasions. The room spun lazily and dark specks danced in my field of vision. I sat down on the carpet until my equilibrium returned a few moments later.

  “Found this box in the guest-room closet under a stack of old golf shoes. He really needs to throw some of those shoes out. They reek big time. Anyway, this box contains pictures.”