I tried to harden my heart against it. A grin should only be able to take you so far, no matter how endearing.
“I wanted to talk to you on the QT.”
“Really?” I arched my brows and stepped back to look him over. He was wearing one of the waiter’s turbans and a flowing burnoose. He looked great. “Have you considered the telephone? Marvelous invention for anonymous communication.”
“Bel.” He put a finger lightly across my smart mouth, reducing it to stupid. “This is serious. What are you doing here?”
Being humiliated. “Having supper. What are you doing here dressed like Ali Baba?”
Not that I was complaining. White was definitely his color, deepening the color of his eyes and showcasing his tan.
“Doing a little unofficial snooping. Isn’t that why you’re here? Because of the message in the matchbook?”
“What message in what matchbook?”
“The one in the purse. You said you looked through it.” He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed as he waited for my response.
“Why would I look in the matchbook?”
“Considering what happened last night—” I started to puff up and he grinned. “I know. Nothing happened last night.”
I crossed my arms. “I was looking for ID, not clues.” Something nudged at the edge of my mind, something about the purse. “I’m not the sleuthing type.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
That made me bristle. “Why is it okay for you to sleuth and not me? Are you some kind of cop?”
“I’m not any kind of cop.”
“Right.” I leaned against the wall. “And your gun?”
“Don’t ask questions, Bel, unless you’re sure you’ll like the answers.”
I stared at him for a moment as a chill made its way down my back. “That almost sounded like a threat.”
“It’s a friendly warning.” He leaned in, his hands resting on the wall on either side of my head. “So you won’t get hurt. Whoever was shooting last night, got a good look at me. I’m probably not the safest person for you to be seen with.”
“Oh.” The pre-Akasma chill returned in spades. Once more, I saw the round-headed guy framed in the open window. Had he seen me? I shuddered, felt the goose bumps pop out on my arms. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wasn’t the sleuthing type. “Then maybe I should get back to Mike.”
“Ah yes, the doc.” He straightened. He almost sounded miffed. “You know, he’s not your type.”
Warm pushed at the chill as the balance of power shifted back my way. “You haven’t even known me for twenty-four hours and you know what my type is?”
His smile had a bit of wolf to it. “But it’s been such a busy day, it seems longer.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Just moments ago I’d been wondering if it would ever end. Now I was wondering about the ethics of wanting to kiss one guy, while on a date with another. Maybe it was because Mike was still an unknown while I knew what kissing Kel was like.
Kel was close, but not close enough. The air in the small space was super-charged and I knew in my quivering gut he was feeling what I was. Maybe not for the same reasons; men were aliens after all. Perhaps he was only interested in good fax. The power of being desired, in a strange way, gave me the resolution I needed to deny us what we both wanted.
“I have to go.”
“Yes.” He took one step back. “No more sleuthing?”
I smiled, feeling old and wise, and shook my head.
He stood there, looking like the gorgeous sheik of something.
“Take care, Bel.”
“I will. You take care, too. Watch that wound.” I smiled feebly. “I’m fresh out of underwear.”
His gaze was scorching as it swept up, then down my body. “I can see that. Anyone ever tell you that you have magnificent legs?”
This time my smile wasn’t feeble. Magnificent was better than great. Kind of took the sting out of Akasma. I knew he watched me walk away, and I knew the moment he quit watching. I felt part of me leave with him. I hoped it wasn’t my heart. I only had the one.
NINE
I got back just as Mike tucked some money into Akasma’s wispy pants, but I was in no position to call him on it. I waited until Mike was once more ensconced in the cushions before approaching. I don’t think he saw me coming because he jumped like he’d been shot when I asked, “Was it as good for her as it was for you?”
Luckily for him our food arrived and our respective guilt kept us a quiet for a few moments as we dug into the succulent food, his a concoction of lamb with onions, apricots, almonds and spices, mine chicken strips and almonds wrapped in pastry. We ate without talking, Mike’s thoughts presumably on amazing breasts, mine fixed on Kel and the mystery.
“So,” Mike leaned back and patted his full stomach. “How’s the patient?”
I looked up, mid-bite, hoping I didn’t look as guilty as I felt. “The patient? Oh, the patient. He’s fine.”
“No ill effects from being treated by a vet?”
“Just an inclination to roll over and beg?”
He chuckled. “So, how did you meet this guy?”
“We just—accidentally bumped into each other.” I wasn’t born to sleuth, but I did have the normal amount of curiosity. A promise to not sleuth didn’t preclude wondering. Why was Kel here, why the disguise as a waiter? What message had he found? My pastry stuffed chicken turned to ashes in my mouth as another thought pattered through my brain. What if the round-headed man showed up here?
I did another surreptitious survey, but there were no round heads in my vicinity. I turned my musings back in Kel’s direction. It was kinder to my digestion. Not a cop, he said. Could he be a private detective? I examined the idea from all sides and decided I liked it. Pleased with this minor, though unconfirmed, bit of deduction I studied the crowd again. My problem was, I wouldn’t have recognized a clue if it came up and spoke to me.
“Rosemary?”
Not a clue. A jerk. I looked up with extreme reluctance.
My sister’s toe rag ex, was looking down at my legs. Where Flynn Kenyon was light, Dag Kenyon was shadow. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark soul and bimbo-deep in the second year of his mid-life crisis. Muir didn’t look like either of them, though I couldn’t remember precisely how. He was the ultimate, out-of-sight, out-of-mind, forgettable guy.
I gave Dag a frigid look that bounced off his ego. “Still trying to pretend you can’t tell us apart? Isn’t it a bit redundant now that Rosemary doesn’t want you either?”
“Isabel.” His smile was thin and cold, his eyes a dead zone. He looked at Mike and his oddly light brows arched in a question I had no intention of answering.
I didn’t care if I was Baptist. I wasn’t about to forgive him for what he did to my sister.
“I could have sworn Muir said he had a date with you tonight?”
“Really?”
“I had no idea you were involved with someone else.” He looked at Mike again.
“I can’t think of any reason why you should know.” Mike’s voice was quiet, but there was a hint of menace darkening his eyes. I knew his massive shoulders weren’t just for show and hoped Dag provoked him into flexing them.
Dag looked at the shoulders and chose discretion. “I’m Dag Kenyon, Isabel’s brother-in-law—”
“Ex-brother-in-law.”
Mike rose from the cushions, his bulk casting a shadow over Dag. “Mike Lang, Isabel’s vet.”
“Really? And how is your huge hound, Isabel?”
I felt a chill. Surely he hadn’t seen Rosemary’s car parked outside Mike’s house last night?
“He still doesn’t like you.”
“Can’t win them all.” He stepped back, flicking us both another mocking glance. “It was so charming to see you again. I won’t give Muir your love.” He turned away, but before I could sigh with relief, he paused to deliver one last salvo, “Oh, Dad was right.” He let the pause length
en painfully, before adding, “You do look intriguing today. What have you been up to?”
Before I could answer, he gave me a mocking salute, then turned and slithered back into the shadows from whence he came.
“Nice guy,” Mike said, resuming his pillows.
I sank down. “A real gem. Rosemary and I usually fall for the same guys, but he was the exception. I don’t know what she saw in him that I didn’t.”
“Maybe that you didn’t like him was the attraction?” Mike said. “Couldn’t have been easy to always look like someone else.”
Talk about illuminating the obvious. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before. And of course, I’d resisted marriage and moved to New Orleans to prove I didn’t care. Poor Rosemary sure paid a heavy price for autonomy, I decided, watching Dag pay his tab and then usher his bimbo of the moment out the door. He looked back long enough to give me a mocking salute. I resisted the urge to give him a one-finger salute in return.
“Do you think he saw the car outside your house last night?” I asked.
“It isn’t the only Mercedes around.”
“He has a particular interest in this car.” And what if he saw more than just the car?
“Does it matter?”
“Probably not.” I tried to shrug away the uneasy feeling that it did matter while we finished our dessert. I was glad to leave the stuffy den for the cold outside, even more glad for Mike’s big body providing some shelter from the breeze whipping across the parking lot. His arm over my shoulders was comforting, but it didn’t weaken a single bone in my body as we strolled in the direction of his car. Dozy and stuffed with good food, my gaze passed right over the round silhouette without it registering on my internal Richter scale for several steps.
I stopped, looked back and saw nothing.
“Stan?” Mike pulled gently on my arm.
Further down the line of cars, I sensed, rather than saw movement. Without thinking I pulled away from Mike and took a few steps in that direction.
“My car’s this way.”
“Did you see someone over there?” I didn’t consider this sleuthing. It was being careful. “There, did you see that?”
“So, there’s someone there. What of it? This is a parking lot.” Mike sounded understandably bewildered.
I saw a minivan pull away from a line of cars and turn toward the street. In just a moment it would have to pass under the street light.
I pressed forward, anxious to see the color, caught my heel on something on the ground and went sprawling. The landing was surprisingly soft.
What—
In my peripheral vision I saw an ear. Before I could stop myself, I turned and looked. A face. A face with a thin line of something dark oozing down from the hole in his temple…
* * * *
I sipped the coffee Mike had brought me and leaned against a police car, the flashing blue lights tracing a constant path across my feet, heightening the feeling that I’d wandered onto a crime drama cop show. All around me official types were stringing tape, taking pictures and asking questions. No one was drawing chalk outlines, which I found disappointing. I decided I was in shock. With detached calm, I spotted Mike making his way through the throng of police people. He looked so normal, so real, it was almost obscene.
“How are you feeling?”
I managed a wan smile. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I lost it. I had no idea I was a screamer.”
“It’s a nasty business.”
“Do they—” I had to swallow twice before I could get past the clump of fear clogging my throat. “—know who it was?”
“It’s a kid.” He shook his head. “I heard someone mention drugs.”
I shouldn’t be relieved it wasn’t Kel. Someone had died. Someone’s son or brother. I wanted to cry, but I was too tired. And so very cold, my tears would come out as ice cubes. I couldn’t seem to stop shuddering. They’d start as small, little quivers across the surface of my skin, raising goose bumps on their way, then grow into these great, quaking shudders that made my bones ache and rattled my teeth.
“I want to go home.” I looked up at him with a pitiful look that wasn’t faked.
While Mike went to check, I stood up and tried out my legs with some pacing. My teeth didn’t chatter so bad when I kept moving. I wasn’t surprised when Kel pulled me into the shadow of 4x4 pickup truck. It seemed inevitable.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Happened?” Although I couldn’t see him that well, he’d lost the burnoose for a clothes black-out, I looked away. “What happened? I tripped on a body. That’s what happened!”
“How did you manage that?”
There was a hint of amusement in his voice that brought my hackles up. It wasn’t his fault, I knew it in my mind, but in my heart I felt like it was. I’d managed to get through four years in New Orleans without involvement in any kind of crime. Less than twenty-four hours after meeting him, I was involved in two murders. Coincidence?
Only if I believed in fairy tales.
“I thought I saw the round-headed man.”
“The…who?”
“The round-headed man. From last night. You know, in the green minivan that chased us? The guy who killed Mrs. Carter. I thought—aren’t you here looking for him?”
“I didn’t see the man who shot at me.” He stepped close, enveloping me in the spicy scent of his after shave, mixed liberally with cooking smells from the Tandoor Club. It was pretty yummy, even on a full stomach and in shock to my eyeballs. “You saw the man who shot at us? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.”
There was a short silence. “Did he see you?”
“Tonight? I don’t think so.”
“No, last night. Did he see you last night, when you saw him? Does he know you saw him?”
“I don’t know.” Yummy fled. People who can identify killers get killed. This was not good. “I wish Mrs. Macpherson hadn’t got the flu!”
Kel looked at me, opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. “Are you sure it was the same man?”
“Of course not. I only saw his silhouette. But he drove off in a minivan—and no, I don’t know if it was the same one. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s dark out.”
I was descending into grumpy. I was tired and I wanted to go home. And worst of all, I wanted my mother. I’d been reduced to that. “Are you, like, a private detective or something?”
He went tense. “Why do you ask?”
Had I struck a nerve? “John Q. Citizen you’re not. I’m not stupid, you know.”
Okay, so maybe he didn’t know, but he could give me the benefit of the doubt. I challenge anyone to shine after getting shot at and tripping over a body.
“I never thought you were.” He hesitated, then said, “Not a bad bit of deduction.” I felt an inappropriate thrill of pleasure until he added, “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t sleuth?”
I drew myself up. “I wasn’t sleuthing. I was thinking. There is a difference.” A fine one, but still a difference.
He smiled, the white of his teeth cutting the darkness—and my angst—in half. “I guess I can’t fault you for thinking. I’ve been thinking, too.” He hesitated. “About you.”
“Really?” Yummy was making a comeback, but I was still suspicious. “What about me?”
He hunched his shoulders, the action shifting him into what little light there was. Or maybe my eyes were just adjusting. I could see his eyes, the blue shining like a beacon in the dark, but the expression in them was less clear. I had a feeling he was uncomfortable—or nervous.
“I’ve just…never met anyone like you.”
I was trying to decide if this was a compliment or not, when I heard someone call my name. I turned in the direction of the voice—and felt the brush of cool air carrying Kel’s scent as he slipped away like a will-o’-the-wisp. If he didn’t stop doing that…
“Miss Stanley?” The man flashed his badge, his voice abrupt, but no
t unkind. “I’m Detective Dillon of the Homicide Division. I’d like to ask you a few more questions before you leave, if you don’t mind.”
“Couldn’t this wait?” Mike spoke behind him. “She’s already given two statements to two officers.”
“Its okay, Mike. He probably needs further clarification on a few points.” I gave the detective a helpful look.
“You have that down mighty pat, Miss Stanley,” Dillon said, suspiciously instead of gratefully.
“I’m a Columbo fan.” And my dad was a cop. I could have played the dead cop’s daughter card, but I wasn’t that tired…yet.
“Wonderful.” The detective flipped open a notebook.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Stan,” Mike said, dryly.
“So am I.” I sighed a little. He was such a nice guy and Kel was right, Mike wasn’t my type.
“Then you won’t mind answering a few questions?”
“No, detective, I don’t mind. Though I don’t know what else I can tell you.” Actually there was a lot I could have told him. But none of it concerned this particular murder.
“According to your statement,” the detective said, “you don’t know the victim?”
“No.” I studied the detective, wondering why he looked familiar to me. He was a handsome man, about my height, with big dark eyes and a strong chin. “Have we met somewhere before?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Does the name Paul Mitchell mean anything to you?”
“Hair care.” Both men looked blank. “Awaphui Shampoo. Hair conditioner. The ultimate cure for split ends.”
Mike grinned. The detective looked annoyed.
“Paul Mitchell is the victim’s name.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Dr. Lang indicated that his car is parked several lanes over that way. Why did you walk down the lane where the body was, Miss Stanley?”
This was a tricky part. I plastered on what I hoped was an innocent look and offered a half truth. “I thought I saw someone I recognized.”
“In a dark parking lot?”
“It was a nagging impression of familiarity. You know how it is.”
His face said he didn’t. His eyes narrowed for the kill. “And were you right? Was it someone you knew?”
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