Cold Case, Hot Accomplice

by Carla Cassidy

  He took a sip of his tea and then set his glass back down. “You never wanted kids?” he asked.

  “If I could find a sperm donor who wanted nothing to do with me or the child for the rest of our lives, then I might have wanted a baby at one time. But having seen what men did to my mother, I’ve never really been interested in inviting one into my life on a permanent basis.”

  “When I saw you playing with those kids at the settlement, my first thought was that you’d make a wonderful mother,” he said.

  Roxy’s heart squeezed with an unexpected pang. She tried not to think much about her choice to live her life alone, without a husband, without any children. But his words stirred a longing that was both unexpected and surprising.

  “I’ve got the restaurant, and that’s enough. In fact, eventually I’d like to expand the hours and keep it open through dinner, maybe close at nine or so.”

  “And that way you’d assure yourself that you’d never have a personal life,” he replied.

  “But I’d make enough money that I could take care of Aunt Liz when she needed me, or if Sheri and Marlene got into a bind I could help them out. Besides, personal lives are overrated as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You sell yourself short, Roxy.”

  “I’m not finding this conversation particularly pleasant. Let’s talk about something else.”

  He grinned. “I think you’re the first woman I’ve ever met who doesn’t want to spend an entire meal talking about herself.”

  She returned his smile. “There are so many more interesting things to talk about, like you.”

  “Ah, being the spoiled rotten child that I am, it’s one of my favorite topics of conversation.” He scooped himself a second helping of the chicken potpie.

  “What made you decide to be a detective?”

  “My dad had a best friend who was a cop here in town. He was at our house often when I was growing up. He was a great guy, and I decided I wanted to be a cop because of him. Then after I’d spent a year in uniform, I began to study to get a shield. I love what I do.”

  “And what happened to the man who inspired you?”

  His expression tightened. “Unfortunately he and his wife were visiting Hershey, and a dopehead kid that he’d arrested here in town recognized him and shot him. He hung on for two days and then died.”

  “Oh, Steve, I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. “Maybe it’s time to finish this meal and call it a night. We can’t seem to find pleasant topics between us right now.”

  He released a deep sigh and got up from the table. “I guess you’re right. It’s been a long day.” His cell phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket, looked at the caller identification and then glanced at her. “Excuse me, I need to take this.” He answered and quickly left the room.

  Roxy got up and began to clear the dishes. Only one other time had he taken a call in private, and that had been when they had been at her aunt’s place.

  Was the person on the other end of the line the sexy blonde who worked with him? Maybe another woman who he had some sort of relationship with? She’d only been involved with Steve for the past five days. What did she really know about his personal life with other women besides what he’d told her? And how did she even know he’d been truthful with her?

  She shook her head, appalled that she would have even a tiny seed of doubt as to what kind of man Steve was after all they’d been through together.

  She leaned against the sink in surprise, stunned to realize that for just a moment she’d been thinking like a jealous lover. He owed her no explanation for secret phone calls. He didn’t owe her anything, and she had to get a hold of herself and the tiny streak of jealousy that had suddenly raised its head.

  Maybe staying here with him wasn’t such a good idea after all. Unfortunately it was the only idea that was practical right now.

  Chapter 15

  The one-week anniversary of Liz Marcoli’s disappearance had come and gone, and while Steve was satisfied that his current living arrangements with Roxy were keeping her safe, he felt as if he were slowly losing his mind.

  They had fallen into an easy routine. Each morning he got up and drove her to the Dollhouse, and around six in the evenings he picked her back up. Most evenings she brought home dinner from the restaurant and they ate together, and then went into the living room to sit and talk about their days.

  Her scent permeated the house; her presence filled it with laughter and life. Having her there was slowly chipping away at the armor around his heart.

  When it was bedtime, she went to the guest room and he went into his own bedroom, and every night his desire for her grew deeper and stronger. Despite the fact that she showed no more interest in a bath for two or joining him in his bed, there were times when he felt the desire snapping in the air between them, when he caught a dark shine in her eyes that made him know she wanted him, too.

  Sunday morning he got up just before dawn and fixed the coffee, then sat at the table while the silence of the house surrounded him. Instead of going to his mother’s for lunch, he’d invited her there, and Roxy had insisted on cooking.

  He and Roxy had spent an hour the night before in the grocery store as she picked up this and that to make homemade tomato sauce and vegetable lasagna. Four bags later, she’d declared that she had what she needed. They’d made a stop at the Dollhouse to gather pots and pans that he didn’t own.

  He knew she was nervous about meeting his mother, but she wasn’t concerned about cooking for anyone. To be perfectly honest, he realized he was a bit nervous about his mother meeting Roxy, and he didn’t understand the butterflies.

  It shouldn’t matter to him if his mother liked Roxy, and it shouldn’t matter to him if Roxy liked Rebecca. It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason it did.

  He got up and refilled his cup, then returned to the table and tried to focus on everything that had taken place over the past couple of days. One of the first things he’d done was forward the phone number on the posters, Roxy’s personal cell phone number, to a line to the police station.

  Roxy had gotten a new phone number, and Officer Chelsea Loren was now in charge of fielding the calls that came in on the poster tip line. Unfortunately no viable tips had come in concerning Liz Marcoli and her whereabouts.

  Jimmy had checked out all the places in town and in Hershey to see if anyone had sold a pair of Vampire throwing knives, but none of the stores he checked even carried them. Whoever owned them had probably ordered them off the internet, which made finding the owner nearly impossible.

  Unfortunately, with Liz now missing ten days, it was becoming more and more of a cold case, although Steve would never tell Roxy that. They did have an unmarked car following Edward Cardell on the off chance that he’d been involved in whatever happened to Liz.

  The more pressing issue at the moment was who was after Roxy. Michael Arello wasn’t off his list of bad boys who might have wanted to pay her back for his firing. But, although Steve hadn’t shared his thoughts with Roxy, he’d begun to wonder about Josie.

  He’d done a little background search on Roxy’s right-hand woman, and while she’d come up clean as far as any criminal record, he’d also discovered that she’d looked into buying the Dollhouse around the same time Roxy had.

  Was it possible Josephine Landers didn’t like working for Roxy, that she’d imagined herself the owner and operator of a restaurant and Roxy had foiled her plans?

  If Roxy died, then it was quite possible that the restaurant would be put up for sale, and he had a feeling Josie Landers would be the first one standing in line to take it over.

  But suspicion and proof were two different things, and he had no concrete proof that Josie was involved in any way in the attacks on Roxy.

  He looked up as the object of his thoughts entered the kitc
hen. Clad in a pair of jean shorts and an old blue T-shirt, she looked crisp and clean and offered him a slightly nervous smile.

  “Good morning,” she said as she headed for the coffeepot.

  “Same to you,” he replied.

  “Don’t worry, I’m planning on changing clothes before your mom shows up. I tend to be a bit of a messy cook, so I’ll change right after I’ve got the cooking thing under control.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” he said.

  She poured herself a cup of brew and then sat in the chair next to his at the table. She took a sip from her cup, eyeing him over the rim. “What time is your mother going to be here today?” she asked as she lowered her cup.

  “Around two.”

  “I’ve got to get my sauce going. It needs to cook a couple of hours in order to make the flavors all pop together.” She frowned, as if mentally ticking things off in her head. “If I can get the lasagna in the oven by one, then while it cooks I can make a nice salad and at the last minute bake the garlic bread.”

  Instead of bringing her cup back to her mouth, she gnawed on a fingernail, letting him know she was nervous about the day.

  He got up from his chair, leaned over her and pulled the finger from her mouth. He gave her a sound kiss and then straightened. “It’s going to be fine, Roxy. Just be yourself, and the day will be fine.”

  She smiled up at him gratefully. “Thanks. I guess I needed to hear that.”

  “What? That everything is going to be okay?”

  “No, that I just need to be myself,” she replied.

  He grabbed his cup for a refill. “I can’t figure out why you would think I’d want you to be anything different.”

  She jumped up from the table. “No serious discussions when I’m about to start culinary magic.”

  He returned to the table and watched as she pulled out a big pot she’d brought with her from the Dollhouse the night before. As she began to gather ingredients on the counter and pulled out the cutting board, he knew he’d lost her. She had entered her own little world and was focused solely on her task, and he was content just to sit at the table, sip his coffee and watch her.

  He found it charming how her forehead wrinkled slightly in concentration, how she occasionally mumbled to herself and worked with a graceful efficiency of movements. She used a knife with frightening speed to chop and slice, to dice and trim.

  It wasn’t long before the kitchen smelled of simmering garlic and onion, and Roxy wore a lovely smile.

  When he finished his coffee, he placed the cup in the dishwasher and told her he was going to do a little computer work. She nodded absently and continued with her own work.

  By one-thirty the house smelled like the finest Italian restaurant on the face of the earth. Roxy had changed into a pair of navy capris and a white-and-navy blouse, and seemed pleased with her preparations.

  They set the table together, and when they were finished, she put the garlic bread into the oven and perched on one of the kitchen chairs as if awaiting her execution.

  “Stop looking so worried,” he said.

  “I’m not,” she automatically replied and then cast him a small smile. “Okay, maybe I am a little. I’m just not used to mothers, especially normal ones.”

  “What makes you think my mother is normal?” he asked with a laugh.

  “Because you’re so normal.”

  He laughed again. “And what makes you think I’m normal?”

  “Because I’ve been here in the house with you for a long enough time that if you weren’t normal, I’d know it by now. Trust me, I have a nose for abnormal. I spent the first seven years of my life in it.”

  At that moment Steve’s doorbell rang, indicating that his mother had arrived.

  Rebecca Kincaid was a petite, pretty blonde who Roxy could have picked out of a lineup as Steve’s mom. They shared the same blue eyes, general coloring and overall shape to their faces.

  She greeted Roxy warmly, telling her that she was looking forward to going to the Dollhouse for lunch one day soon, and then she kissed her son on his cheek and told him she hated his shirt.

  At that moment Roxy knew she and Rebecca were going to get along just fine. To be honest, Roxy hated the shirt Steve had pulled on just before his mother’s arrival. It was a short-sleeved floral that made him look like a tourist on a tropical vacation.

  Dinner was delightful. Rebecca and Roxy monopolized the conversation, talking about recipes and the lasagna that Roxy had served. Roxy apologized about the store-bought cake they had for dessert with coffee.

  “I can wrestle any kind of meat and vegetables into all kinds of savory dishes, but I’ve never mastered the art of baking,” she explained. “My aunt Liz used to tell me it was because I was too impatient, that I tried to control yeast rising and chocolate melting. I finally gave up trying my hand at sweets.”

  “Steve has told me about your aunt,” Rebecca said. “I’m assuming there’s still no word?” Her gaze held a sympathy that closed up the back of Roxy’s throat with emotion.

  “We’re still working all the angles,” Steve replied.

  The conversation changed to Steve’s childhood, and soon Rebecca had Roxy laughing in delight at Steve’s antics as a child.

  “He told me he was a perfect child,” Roxy exclaimed.

  “Perfect in what world?” Rebecca asked with an arched eyebrow at her son. “Let’s be real here, what perfect son would choose to wear that shirt?”

  Roxy giggled as Steve got up from the table. “Okay, I bought it on a dare. I’ll go change so I don’t offend you both any longer.”

  He left the kitchen, and Roxy’s laughter halted as she looked at Rebecca seriously. “To be honest, I don’t know what I would have done without Steve over the last week and a half. He’s gone above and beyond his duty to help me since my aunt has been missing.”

  Rebecca’s blue eyes held Roxy’s gaze. “Do you realize he’s in love with you?”

  A gasp of shock escaped Roxy. “Oh, no, no...he’s not. He’s just helping me out, that’s all.”

  Rebecca smiled and shook her head. “I know my son, and I know he’s in love with you. I’m only telling you this because I don’t want you to break his heart. He’s had enough heartbreak already to last a lifetime.”

  “I know. He told me about Tommy,” Roxy said, still reeling from Rebecca’s words.

  “Which only confirms to me how much he cares about you.” Rebecca leaned back in her chair and smiled at Roxy. “You’re a lovely woman, but what I’m saying is that if you don’t feel the same way about him, then make sure it’s very clear to him. Don’t break his heart, Roxy. Please don’t break my son’s heart.”

  The conversation halted as Steve came back into the room, this time wearing a button-down short-sleeved light blue shirt. “So much better,” Rebecca exclaimed with a beaming smile at her son. She stood. “And now I’m going to help with the cleanup and then head back home.”

  “You don’t have to help clean up,” Roxy protested. “I’ve got all the rest of the evening to take care of it.”

  “I feel guilty enjoying such a wonderful meal and not helping afterward,” Rebecca replied.

  “Mom, trust me, you don’t want to argue with Roxy. She’s as bullheaded as you are and will wear you plain slick to get her way.”

  “Well, in that case, I guess I’ll gracefully admit defeat.” At the front door Roxy was surprised when Rebecca pulled her into her arms for a quick, warm hug. “Thank you for bringing laughter back to my son’s life,” she whispered in Roxy’s ear before she released her.

  Roxy nodded, surprised to find a choking emotion rising up the back of her throat. If she gave herself the chance, she could love Rebecca Kincaid, who appeared to be a straight shooter just like Roxy herself.

  As Steve walked
his mother out to her car, Roxy went back into the kitchen and sank down at the table, her thoughts flittering from Rebecca to Aunt Liz and finally to Steve.

  Surely Rebecca was wrong about Steve’s feelings for her. Steve himself had told her he wasn’t interested in finding love again.

  But Roxy thought about the tension that had been rife between then while she’d been there, a tension that screamed of desire. As she thought of how many times his gaze had lingered on her with a softness, how easily he touched her or gently kissed her, she thought maybe Rebecca could be right.

  And if she was right, then Roxy needed to get away from there...away from him. The very last thing she would ever want to do was cause Steve any pain.

  Because there was no way she intended to have any real relationship with him, and she was going to have to make sure that was crystal clear to him. Otherwise she needed to leave and put some distance between them.

  “That went well,” Steve said as he entered the kitchen. “Mom liked you. I told you she would.”

  “I like her, too.” Roxy got up from the table to begin to clear the dishes, needing some sort of action to attempt to clear her head.

  Steve jumped in to help, and it didn’t take long before they were finished. They poured fresh coffee and then went out on the deck to sit before the air became too cool to be outside.

  “You’re suddenly very quiet,” he observed.

  She looked toward the sinking sun, feeling as if she needed to do something, to say something that would address any issues of their falling in love.

  “This has been nice, but you know I can’t stay here forever,” she finally said as she looked at him. “I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time I invite Marlene or Sheri to stay with me at the Dollhouse and get out of your hair.”