Black Cat Blues

by Jo-Ann Carson

  “Comfort you,” he continued. His voice was low and raw.

  Oh hell.

  “Keep you safe.”

  Damn, damn damn. The boat rose to take another swell.

  “Maggy, I . . . care for you.”

  Shit. They rode down the wave. “Hunter not now.”

  Hardening the sheets, he waited for her to say more.

  But she had run out of words. Since the moment she met Hunter, he’d assumed a special place in her life, a friend who was fun to hang out with, a confidant to complain to when things got rough, a neighbor who was a few yards away. And yeah, she knew the feelings between them were growing, but she wasn’t ready. “After Adriano I promised myself to stay clear of heavy relationships until . . . “

  “You had healed.”

  His understanding didn’t make this any easier. “I care for you, Hunter, but my heart is still raw and I’d fuck it up. I need to feel more whole first. You deserve the best.”

  They rode the waves up and down. “Maggy, I’ll wait as long as it takes. But you know we all have bruised hearts. You’ve had the wind knocked out of you, but don’t give up on love. I think we could really be something.”

  “Not now.”

  His chin firmed. “Is it Logan?”

  The sadness in his voice pierced her heart. She didn’t want to hurt Hunter. What she felt for him was complicated, confusing and above all sticky. The one thing she knew for sure was that she didn’t want to lose him. She swallowed. “I like Logan, but it’s not that.”

  “What is it then?” A glint of hope steadied in his eyes. They bounced off a small wave.

  “I guess you could say I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

  “Fuck.” His voice hit a new low. “I hate it when girls say that.”

  “I’m no girl, Hunter. I’m Maggy, and I have strong feelings for you. But right now I don’t want to complicate my life by acting on them. I don’t want to make a mistake with you—not you—if that makes any sense.”

  “Okay. Let’s leave it for now. But I want to make one thing clear. I do not consider you a friend. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you would mean more to me than that. I’ll be here always, through whatever. But be clear, I consider you much more than a friend.”

  His words softened her heart and she felt free in some inexplicable way, as if he’d rubbed away some of the pain that clung to her and wouldn’t let go after her marriage fell apart. He could give so freely of himself, so selflessly. But she still wasn’t ready to start a relationship. “Hunter.”

  “Yeah.”

  She placed her hand on his arm. “You rock.”

  His somber face broke into a wide smile. “And you’re damned fine too.”

  The intimacy of their moment was broken by a big wave hitting them across the bow. Thank God.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ready to come about?” he asked, issuing the standard warning given by the captain before tacking in the opposite position.

  “Ready,” she said taking her position by the jib sheets to do her part.

  “Helm’s a lee,” he said.

  She adjusted the lines holding the jib and felt the wind take hold on the starboard tack. The boat glided in its new direction picking up more speed and distancing them from shore.

  “But you’re ready to be with Logan,” he said when the sails were secured.

  “It’s not complicated being with him. I’m risking nothing.”

  “I wonder.”

  “What?”

  “Haven’t you considered the possibility that he could be the murderer?”

  “Logan?” Dread slithered through her veins. “No, no. . . he couldn’t be.”

  Hunter shrugged. “You know the story of Cain and Abel. It happens.”

  She pushed back the darkness threatening to take her heart. “I don’t think he could hurt anyone. He’s not like that.” But did she really know the man? He said he loved his brother, but hate can live beside love. Her marriage had taught her that.

  She pushed her hair back under her ball cap. If only she could recapture that first feeling of freedom when the ocean breeze met her face.

  They sailed for another thirty minutes without speaking. The waves and wind took over their silence, enveloping them in a soulful rhythm.

  As the sun began to set they sailed back into the marina. Hunter helped her out of the boat.

  She kissed his cheek. His skin tasted salty. “I do have feelings for you,” she said.

  “I know,” he said. “Maybe someday.”

  “Someday,” she repeated. Warmth grew inside her as if part of her believed it would happen. But someday was not today.

  Not when a murderer was after her.

  38

  If I were not a physicist, I would probably be a musician. I often think in music. I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music. Albert Einstein

  After her last set at The Black Cat, Maggy drove home, her body on auto-pilot while her brain scrambled to make sense of it all. Part of her desperately wanted to buy into Mei’s cozy view of the universe, the idea that everything happens for a reason. She wanted to believe that there was a purpose to everything that happened to her. But she couldn’t reconcile murder fitting into her life. Was she supposed to learn something from Jimmy’s death?

  The door of Maggy’s float home hung ajar, again. So much for a normal life. The porch light had been turned on. How neat. A murderer wouldn’t leave a light on, would he? Hunter? Nah, they had already said enough to each other for one day. Mei should be in bed. Who then? Her newly acquired sixth sense would tell her if she was stepping into danger, wouldn’t it? Oh frig it.

  She pushed open the door, ready to face whatever with a kick-you-in-the-balls attitude. But there was no need for the bravado. It was Logan sitting at her kitchen table looking at nautical maps. He turned his head towards her. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  A simple sentence, but its sexual implications made her wobbly, like someone took a few vertebrae out of her spine and put them back in the wrong order. “Hi,” she said.

  “I need your eyes. I’ve gone over the Gabriola shoreline again and again, but no harbor, spit or cave hollers, ‘Brother XII was here’.” Frustration edged his low voice, giving it a halting quality.

  She walked over and threw her arms around him. They held each other for a few quiet minutes while the houseboat moved gently up and down. Small waves rippled below them, but they remained rooted in each other.

  With a long sigh, Maggy pushed away from him.

  His smile started on the right side of his mouth and spread across his whole face making her lower belly quiver. Deadly. The man was deadly handsome.

  “I don’t think the answer’s on the chart,” she said, taking off her jacket.

  Watching her intently he nodded. His eyes had darkened.

  “It’s in the journal,” she said.

  “But we don’t have the journal. I’m trying to develop the only clue we have.”

  “A ten-mile-long island in the Salish Sea, riddled with sheer two-hundred foot cliffs that drop into the sea, and a few harbors?”

  He smiled. “Do you have a better idea?”

  She rubbed her hands to warm them. Maybe, she should try reading tea leaves or something. She had no idea, none, so she shrugged.

  “Were you with Hunter today?”

  She blinked. How could he know? “Yeah.” She stared at him. “So?”

  “He could be the murderer.” Logan’s matter-of-fact voice, lingered in the air like a bitter after-taste.

  “Look, I hardly know you. I’ll spend my time with whomever I want. Hunter’s a good friend.” She’d leave out the rest. Explaining her relationship with Hunter to Mei or even herself was impossible, so she wouldn’t even try to explain it to Logan.

  Her home heaved upwards on a wave. The wind had picked up, signaling another fall storm.

  “Think about it,” he said.

  She tilt
ed her head. “Hunter’s a good man.”

  “Even good men kill.”

  Maggie exhaled slowly trying to contain a jolt of anger that made her want to tell him to fuck off. “Why would Hunter kill Jimmy?” Logan’s accusation made no sense. It was testosteroney-crap. She thought he was better than that.

  “Because he loves you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He held up his hand, so she wouldn’t say more. “Listen, if Hunter learned that Jimmy had a third of the Black Cat Blues Bar and was about to sell it. . .” He put one finger in the air. “And if he thought that meant you would lose your singing gig. . . “ He put a second finger in the air. “He might get mad enough to talk to Jimmy, and then he might lose his temper and kill him.”

  So he knows about Jimmy owning a piece of the Black Cat. “No way.”

  “Hunter has a record of violence. I picked that piece of information up from your Scuttlebutt Café.” He put three friggen fingers in the air.

  “I didn’t say Hunter was an angel. But he’s no murderer. And why would he kill the others?”

  The wind whistled through the marina, rigging clanged and the houseboat began to rock. It was going to be a long, stormy night.

  “You have to put your feelings for him aside.” He reached over for her hand, but she pulled it back. “I figure he may have killed Jimmy in a fit of passion. Edgar and Clarence must have figured it out, or maybe they saw him, so he had to kill them. Remember, the murder weapon was a marlin spike. How many people do you know besides Hunter who walks around with a marlin spike in their pocket?”

  True, all too true. But it couldn’t be Hunter. He may, uh, care for her, but to kill a man so she could sing? Nah. “Hunter thinks you’re the murderer.”

  Logan’s eyes shot wide. “Me?”

  “You’re inheriting a third of the Black Cat. It may be run down, but the earth underneath it is worth a lot of money. Or you could have a dark secret from your childhood, a reason for hating Jimmy that festered through your life until now. You told me you were worried he’d leave your business.”

  “And I’d use a marlin spike?”

  “You have a boat. I’m sure you’ve used them. Or maybe the spike was in the alley.”

  “You don’t believe any of this.” He reached for her hand again.

  This time she let him touch her. A warm glow flowed through her body. The hot chemistry between them always simmered just below the surface, like a pot of water ready to boil. She shook her head. “No, Logan, I don’t believe you’re a murderer, but I don’t believe Hunter is either.”

  His other hand came onto the table to touch her. A chess game: fingers for pawns, looks for knights and she didn’t want to think about his next move. With a quick inhalation, she pulled back and gave him as serious a stare as she could muster. “We have to talk, not touch.” Her words echoed in the small cabin as well as in her heart.

  “I thought that’s what we were doing?” His mischievous smile failed to hide his intentions.

  “How long have you known you’d inherit the Black Cat?”

  He closed his eyes leaned back, as if hit by an ice cold blast from a water gun. “To be honest Maggy, I don’t care about the Black Cat.”

  “It’s worth a lot of money.”

  “Yeah, the realtor offered me one and a half million.”

  “And you need that money?”

  He opened his eyes. “I could use it, but you’d lose your job and the city would lose the best blues bar on the west coast.”

  “This is not about me right now. Do you need that money?”

  He squirmed in his seat.

  “What would you do with that kind of money if you had it?”

  “I’d. . .” He paused. “I could possibly put my family back together again.”

  Shit. Double shit. “You mean your wife would come back to you if you had money?”

  “Yeah, she’s that kind of woman. You know the kind who dreams of a really big house with heating in the damned floor on a fancy street, bigger and better than anything I could ever afford.” His voice sounded robotic, as if he was discussing the bottom line of a spreadsheet for a lemonade stand, not his marriage. He sure as hell wasn’t talking about love.

  “So do it,” Maggy said, pushing away a strand of hair that had fallen across her face. “Do it. At least something good will come out of Jimmy’s death.”

  Logan stood up and walked around the table. He took her by the hands and pulled her to her feet.

  She took a quick breath.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “It’s just money,” she said.

  As he pulled her close to him, she could smell his fancy cologne and feel his muscular chest. Her softness melted into his hardness. A dangerous, dangerous zone.

  “You want me to sell it?” He spoke softly into her ear. The light push of his breath against her skin sent shivers through her body.

  “It would solve your problems.”

  He kissed her neck. The float home, now caught in the full tempest of the storm, swayed, and her wind chime tinkled. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

  Nuzzling into him she answered, “I want you to be happy.”

  He ran his hand down her back pulling her closer into his embrace. His erection pushed against her and she moaned. His lips brushed hers, soft and needy, yet experienced enough to go slow.

  “I want you,” he said.

  Her tongue licked his lower lip. “I need to know. . . “

  “I won’t sell the Black Cat,” he answered, nibbling her lower lip.

  She moaned deeper in her throat. It was what she wanted to hear, but she wanted more. “I thought we weren’t going to—,” she stopped for breath, “—get involved.”

  “Right.” He kissed her gently and then deepened his kiss, his tongue exploring and inviting. He pulled back just long enough to say, “Not involved.” His hand slid under her blouse and undid her bra. “Just playing.”

  His large hand caressed her breast and his fingertips played with her nipple as he entered her mouth for a deep, demanding kiss. Their tongues danced a tango of wanting and needing and tasting.

  As he stroked her, thoughts of saying no slipped slowly out of her mind. The man was married and wanted to be married. This would be a no-strings-attached romp. She could just. . . He grabbed her behind and pulled her closer to his hardness. Oooooooh. She wanted him.

  Taking a quick step back, she threw off her blouse and bra. He took off his shirt. And undid his belt.

  “Let me,” she said, reaching for him. She stroked his length with a firm hand. His eyes darkened and he groaned. But he grabbed her wrist. “Not so fast.” He swept the charts off the table, and pulled her onto it.

  Maggy giggled. The table? Really, the table?

  He pushed her down onto the surface and licked her breast sending currents of desire through her body. She could handle the table. He held her hands above her head and played with her nipples, nibbling, licking, sucking and nibbling again. Yup, the table’s good.

  “Tell me you want me to make love to you,” he said.

  “Let’s just call it sex. Condoms?”

  “Uh. . .” He wasn’t sounding so wordy now. “One.” He croaked.

  “I have a jungle pack upstairs. You can pick your color.”

  He undid her fly and pulled on her jeans. “We’ll save them for later.” Slipping his finger inside her panties, he grazed over her center. “I want you.” His touch kindled her passion.

  “Yes, I’m saying yes.”

  “You’re so beautiful.” He kissed her deeply as his fingers stroked her clit. It felt so damn good. Six months was way too long to be without a man’s attention. She wanted him. Now. Oh God, did she want him. His fingers pushed inside her. His thumb played outside. She flooded with moisture.

  “Now, please. . .”

  He moved back. His khakis fell to the floor, followed by his shorts. His erection was mighty impressive.

  Leani
ng back over her, he licked the inside of her thigh. She groaned. Such exquisite torture. His other hand reached up for her center and played as he continued to lick and kiss her inner thigh higher and higher.

  She wreathed in exquisite expectation.

  He licked her sex and inserted two fingers inside her.

  “Logan. . .” she panted.

  Rhythmically he moved his fingers and his tongue. She grabbed his hair. To hell with worrying about what is right or good or proper. To hell with thinking about dead men or ex-husbands. This was about him and her and right now.

  All she needed was this, now. Her body took over. A burning need flooded her senses. Red, hot desire flamed through her.

  His tongue teased her until she fell apart, into a million pieces of ecstasy.

  “Now,” he murmured as he mounted.

  He entered her, hard and strong.

  ***

  Logan felt like a buck in heat, all cock and no brains, but that was okay for tonight. He pushed into her and felt her warmth envelop him. Hotter than hell, sweeter than heaven and wilder than anything he had ever experienced.

  Afterwards, they lay entwined on her bed. The float home, rocked in the wind as they held each other and the storm raged outside.

  How could he, a thirty-eight-year old man, feel so new at sex, so overwhelmed?

  As her hand stroked lower and lower on his stomach he stopped thinking. Jungle pack?

  39

  After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music. Aldous Huxley

  Sunlight peaked through Maggy’s venetian blinds. Her body was well sated, but her mind—not so much and her heart not at all. It had been a long night of good, really good, sex. The noise of the wind and waves had passed, and the boat house rested.

  He’d left the bed, and she could smell coffee. A man who could make coffee! Oh yes, maybe she could hang out with this guy.

  They had to talk. She’d tried to mention that fact several times in the middle of the night, but they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Every attempt at discussion led to another tumble. And another.