by Karen Kelley
“Are you sure this is a good time?” Conor stepped into the house.
Trudy laughed. “If I waited for the right time to invite someone over, I’d never have any friends.” She motioned them to follow her.
They entered a foyer. An elaborate Chinese carpet covered the hardwood floor. An abstract painting hung on one wall and on another a field of pastel flowers. There was a clutter of knick-knacks scattered on a shelf, and a set of deer antlers mounted on the wall held several baseball caps. Amazing. She tried not to stare as they followed their host down a narrow hallway.
“I keep telling them we need to socialize more, but even George acts funny about it. You’d think it was a sin for me to have anyone over.” At the end of the hall, she bumped her hip against a door. As it swung open, she proudly exclaimed, “And this is my kitchen.”
It took a minute for Jessica’s eyes to adjust.
“Astonishing,” she mumbled, trying to grasp the color scheme.
Black-and-white-checked floor, fluorescent orange cabinets, a center island that had been painted red, white, and blue, and Jessica wasn’t sure, but it looked like the refrigerator leaned to the left. Optical illusion? She’d gone to an amusement park one summer. A man had placed a ball on a table and it rolled uphill. Trudy’s kitchen had the same effect. It was rather unnerving.
“I designed it myself. My taste runs eclectic.”
“Very… unusual.” Conor appeared thoughtful.
“I tried for a modern decor, but I added my own imag ination. George says I should’ve been an interior designer.”
“I could tell from the start, George has a good eye for style,” Conor told her.
Thankfully, Trudy didn’t catch the sarcasm in Conor’s observation. Jessica wanted to poke him in the ribs, but George chose that moment to open the back door. With him came the tantalizing aroma of grilled meat. How could she think about food? She pushed thoughts of her empty stomach to the far recesses of her mind and focused on George.
This might be a good opportunity to question him. “It must have cost a fortune to remodel. Maybe Conor will let me spend a little money on our place.” She cast a glance in his direction.
“Now, honey, you know we have to keep track of every penny if we’re going to do more than rent.” He nodded toward George as he picked up the cue. “Maybe you can give me some business tips that will help us financially. Looks like you’re doing pretty good for yourself.”
A rooster couldn’t have puffed out his chest more than George. And in less than a minute, he began to crow.
“I do not like-a to brag, but si, I am considered very good when it-a comes to matters in our family business.” He smoothed his fingers across his eyebrows.
“What exactly is your business? I don’t think I’ve heard anyone really say.” Conor smiled innocently.
Jessica held her breath, waiting to see how George would answer. She knew he wouldn’t come out and say they were burglars, but he might accidentally let something slip.
“Business?” his voice squeaked. He cleared his throat and straightened his spine. “We are-a movers.”
“Movers. That’s interesting.” Conor tapped his fingers on the Formica counter. “What exactly do you move?”
“Uh… my steaks! I have-a to check on the meat. Excus-a me, pleeze. I would-a really love to continue this wonderful-a talk, but we wouldn’t want-a to burn our supper.” He hurried out the door.
“Don’t you just love that sexy accent?” Trudy beamed as she took a pan off the stove. “Macaroni and cheese,” she said as she dumped the contents into a bowl. “I think I was born to marry an Italian. I just love pasta.” She winked. “And I have a bottle of Boone’s to go with it. Y’all like strawberry- or peach-flavored wine?”
They didn’t get a chance to ask anything else. Trudy kept everyone busy carrying food and drinks to the picnic table in the backyard. Then it was time to eat, and George’s father wasn’t exactly opening any conversations about what they did for a living.
Barry didn’t seem very impressed with them, either. Although he resembled George more than his father, she could see their personalities were miles apart. Barry had a cold, calculating gleam in his eyes. And the way he watched her every move made Jessica squirm in her seat. The farther she stayed away from him, the better.
“So, how long have you lived here?” She shifted her position on the bench when Winston turned his attention from his steak to her. As he glared at her, he stabbed a piece of steak and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing with his mouth open.
The small bite she’d put in her mouth suddenly turned rancid. It was all she could do to swallow it down with some of the carbonated peach wine.
“Not long,” Trudy finally answered. “Only ‘bout three months. Barry found the work and—”
“Shut up, Trudy.” Barry might have meant his words for his sister-in-law, but his gaze was glued on Jessica.
“Don’t be so damn rude, Barry!” Trudy tossed her green linen napkin on the redwood picnic table. “I was only makin’ small talk. You should learn how to do it sometime.”
Trudy glanced across the table, and for a brief moment Jessica felt a little sorry for her. George’s bride actually looked embarrassed by her in-laws’ behavior. Who could blame her?
An uncomfortable silence filled the air. Trudy looked close to tears because her dinner party wasn’t turning out the way she’d planned. George kept looking from his father to his brother, who in turn had narrowed their eyes on the two guests. Jessica was starting to feel decidedly uncomfortable.
“So what do you think about football season? We going to have a chance this year?” Conor casually asked as he cut his steak.
“Si!” George grabbed at the change in conversation and smiled from ear to ear. “I cannot-a wait for the first-a game. I always watch the Dallas Cowboys.”
Conor had effectively calmed the sudden turmoil that had erupted, but Jessica was frustrated that she hadn’t found out anything. What was worse, the men seemed to gather in their own group as the talk about football intensified. Jessica was left discussing fashion with Trudy. Her sympathy quickly drained away, leaving a bad case of boredom in its wake. And it didn’t get any better as time passed.
Then it was too late to discover anything. The evening was obviously drawing to a close. Her shoulders slumped. She could see the surveillance stretching into weeks.
But then, what had she expected? They would confess? Her father’s job would be saved? She wouldn’t be drooling over Conor all the time?
Well, maybe there was something more she could do. Abruptly, she stood. Conor looked surprised by her sudden movement.
“Trudy, do you mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Sure, I’ll show you the way.”
“Oh no, don’t trouble yourself. I’m sure I can find it. Just point me in the right direction.” She hoped her smile was warm and friendly.
Once inside the house, Jessica hurried down the hall and made a quick detour from the way Trudy had told her to go. She opened the first door she came to.
A linen closet. Sliding her hands underneath towels and sheets, she searched for anything that felt out of place. Nothing.
Closing the door, she hurried to the next room. As soon as she slipped inside, she knew this had to be George and Trudy’s bedroom. It looked as if a huge cauldron of Pepto had boiled over, coating everything pink, from the walls to the shag carpet. Sickening. She blinked several times to get her equilibrium back in kilter.
The pink bed, walls, and floor were bad enough, but pink lace ruffles and feathers adorned everything from the canopy to the curtains to the frilly chair that had been placed against one wall. Trudy had created the first Pepto infinity bedroom. It was enough to make the most stalwart stomach queasy.
She went straight for the closet and opened the door. A walk-in. Nice, except it overflowed with Trudy’s unfash ionable wardrobe and George’s rainbow of suits. It was still better than looking at all the vomit-pi
nk color.
Shaking her head, she stretched her arms upward, her nimble fingers darting around and under boxes on the top shelf. Nothing.
She knelt on the floor, careful not to disturb the shoes neatly lined against the back wall. There had to be at least fifty pairs. But something was shoved in the far corner that didn’t look like it belonged.
Her pulse quickened. Was it going to be this easy? Just half an inch more and she’d be able to reach… there, she had it. Exultation filled her. The tape! Why else would they have hidden it? Her father’s job would be saved. This was plenty of evidence to put the burglars away. Her dad would be able to get a confession and make them name the ringleader.
“Is there something you were lookin’ for?” Barry’s voice came from behind her.
Her heart plummeted. Damn it! She should’ve been listening for someone to enter the room. Slowly, she came to her feet and turned around to face him, keeping her arms and the tape behind her. She had to think—and fast!
Barry’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. Cripes! He would have to be the one to catch her prowling around. She could’ve handled George. But Barry? She wasn’t so sure about him.
Batting her lashes, she smiled coquettishly. “Oops, caught red-handed.”
What to do? She couldn’t drop the tape and let it clunk to the floor. There was only one solution that she could see. Carefully, she inched up the back of her shirt.
Oh lord, she was stealing evidence. This wasn’t good. Conor would strangle her. She took a deep breath. She’d get the tape back somehow. Besides, she had to make sure this was the right tape, anyway.
If she didn’t screw everything up.
She had to convince Barry she was doing no more than snooping. Okay, here goes nothing.
“I got lost looking for the bathroom. When I stumbled into this room I just knew it had to be Trudy’s. The best way to find out about another woman is to look in her closet.” She sucked her stomach in, keeping her smile in place, and slipped the tape inside the elastic waistband at the back of her slacks.
Her smile faltered. The weight caused the tape to slide downward to the seat of her pants. This must be what hemorrhoids feel like. She was never so glad she’d worn a long shirt tail as she was today. It would easily hide the evidence. If she didn’t move too suddenly.
Praying her tactics didn’t get her into more trouble, she sauntered forward. “I just wanted to see what kind of person Trudy is. You’re not going to tell, are you?” She pouted.
When he hesitated, she reached out and trailed a finger nail down the front of his shirt. “I promise I won’t ever go where I don’t belong again.”
Stay calm, she told herself. Remember what you’ve been taught. But she couldn’t use any of her self-defense training. As sure as she did, their cover would be blown. Then she’d have to explain everything to Conor. He’d kill her, and her father would lose his job.
“I been watchin’ you all evening.” His nostrils flared like over-inflated balloons. “I saw the way you was lookin’ at me. I knowed you wanted me. I got this really bad itch for you, baby.”
Maybe he just had fleas.
Instead of offering to buy him a flea collar, she smiled prettily. “I wondered if you had noticed.” Now she was going to be sick.
“There’s a soft place we can do a little scratchin’.” He motioned toward George and Trudy’s four-poster bed.
Her eyes widened. She briefly wondered if George and Trudy would think anything about a dead body in their room. She could paint Barry pink. Maybe they would just think he was a rasp-Barry?
He took a step toward her. “Why rile Conor when we don’t have to, sweetie?” Her words spilled out as she tried to think of something that would waylay his advances. “We can meet somewhere and he wouldn’t have to be the wiser. Just you and me.”
She almost gagged. Not only on her lies, but the sour smell of his breath. Was the man afraid of vampires or what? He smelled like rotten garlic.
His chuckle echoed through the room. He’d bought her act. Don’t relax yet, she told herself. She had to stay on top of the game.
“I thought you was newly weds ?”
She shrugged. “He’s boring in bed. I need a real man.” Her voice was husky and reminded her of an old B-movie starlet. She wondered if she should bat her eyes again for more effect. No, she didn’t want to push her luck.
“Well, you found a real man here.” He latched on to her hand.
Ugh! Slimed. She’d picked up a frog once that was less clammy.
“Jessica! Where’d you go?” Conor called.
“Oh, no. He can’t catch me here with you.” She almost did panic when Barry didn’t loosen his hold.
“Where we gonna meet?”
“I’ll call you, sugar.” That seemed to appease him, and he let her go. Without a backward glance, she hurried from the room, scrubbing her hand on the hem of her shirt. When she reached the hall, Trudy and Conor were just coming from the kitchen. She screeched to a halt and tried to slow the erratic beat of her heart.
“There you are, hon—I was starting to worry.”
Jessica met Conor’s gaze and saw more than worry mirrored in his eyes. She had a feeling she’d catch hell as soon as they got home.
“Uh…” She frantically sought a plausible explanation for her long absence. “It must have been the beans. I’m a little queasy.” That excuse had worked for him, why not her? At least she hadn’t popped his bed and used most of his aftershave!
“Y’all sure you’re from Texas? I haven’t ever seen two people with as sensitive stomachs as the both of you.” Trudy shook her head in amazement.
“It was a lovely supper, Trudy,” Conor politely stated.
His jaw twitched. Definitely irritated. Conor wasn’t as calm as he appeared. Trouble brewed, and she didn’t have an escape route. She squared her shoulders. Nothing to do except face the storm head-on.
“Yes, lovely,” she quickly chimed in.
She could probably think of some reason to stay a little longer, but that would only delay the inevitable. Besides, the tape was uncomfortable in the seat of her pants.
Going off to investigate had been crazy. It wasn’t as if she’d had any real surveillance training. And she’d very nearly blown their cover—again. But she had to admit the intrigue was exciting. Maybe she’d given up on being a cop a little too soon.
And then, maybe not. Now she had another problem to contend with—Barry, and the tape she had to return. This was the one, though. She could feel it all the way down to her bones. Her father wouldn’t lose his job.
Excitement bubbled inside her. She’d done it. Barry didn’t matter in the least.
How could Conor berate her when she’d found some of the evidence? A little longer, and she probably could’ve found the jewels that were on the list of stolen goods.
“Conor, I…” she began as he hurried her across the lawn like a disobedient child. Jeez! The tape was bouncing around in her pants worse than a pickup on a country road.
“Save it until we get inside.” His words were short and clipped.
Conor’s hand tightened on her arm. She didn’t think he realized how hard he squeezed.
“Could you at least loosen your grip?”
Without even an apology, he eased his hold, but didn’t release her until they reached the house, and then only long enough to jerk the door open. As soon as she was free, Jessica slid around him and inside to the living room. He slammed the door and followed.
“What the hell did you think you were doing back there?” He didn’t make any attempt to hide his anger.
“Well, you didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I just thought I’d investigate a little on my own.”
Conor couldn’t believe it. Of all the stupid, female stunts! He raked a hand through his hair. “Not getting anywhere? What the hell did you think I was doing, Jessica? Maybe you should’ve stayed on the streets long enough to know we don’t play games when we’re on a stake
out.”
Why didn’t she look apologetic? His eyes narrowed. He’d been around her long enough to know she was up to something. Hell, she looked as smug as a cat that’d just caught a fat mouse.
“At least I came up with something concrete,” she stated with a self-satisfied smirk.
“What?” he asked cautiously.
Reaching behind her, Jessica began to squirm. Finally, she pulled a tape from the back of her slacks. “I have the mayor’s tape! This should get my father off the hook—at least until we can find more proof they’re behind the bur glaries.” She was almost jumping with excitement.
“You stole evidence?” Didn’t she realize she could never get a conviction that way?
“I didn’t actually steal it.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “More like borrowed it. I’ll get it back.”
He closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Are you sure it’s even the right tape?”
She tugged on the hem of her shirt. “Well… no. Not positively, but it was the only tape I saw in the whole house. It has to be the right one. Why else would it be hidden?”
A flicker of doubt crossed her face.
“No better time than now to find out.” Taking the tape, he strolled across the room to the VCR and popped it in. He turned the television on and pushed a button.
When he started to step back he almost stumbled over Jessica, who’d sat on the floor right in front of the TV She scooted over. He continued to stand.
The screen went from black to the interior of a bedroom. A man suddenly jumped into the camera’s eye, arms flung outward, wearing what looked like a caveman’s costume.
“I am-a Tarzan, King of the Jungle! Where-a is my lit tle slave-a girl?”
Okay, he’d been wrong. It hadn’t been a caveman’s suit, after all. He should’ve guessed from the leopard print. The costume looked two sizes too big, but it still wasn’t long enough to hide George’s knobby knees or his bony arms.
George brought his fists to his hairless chest and did a fair imitation of a jungle man, even if it sounded a little on the soprano side.
Conor glanced down at Jessica and felt a moment of pity. Her mouth had dropped open. Apparently sensing he watched her, she glanced up, confusion written across her features. She turned back to the TV screen.