by Gail Oust
“Be patient a little longer,” I advised Casey, giving him a scratch behind the ears. He looked back at me, a reproachful expression on his doggie face. Promises, promises, promises, he seemed to be saying.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I scooted from the car, hurried down the walk, and shoved open the doors of the police station.
“Hey, Piper.” Precious Blessing stopped filing her nails. “Find another body?”
“Ha-ha,” I replied. “Not funny.”
“Oops.” She grinned, not the least bit repentant. “My bad.”
I found myself grinning back. It was hard not to when confronted with Precious’s good-natured sass. “The chief in?”
“You just missed him, girlfriend.” She pointed her nail file at the door. “Last I heard of him, he was mutterin’ somethin’ about a cold beer and a burger.”
“Drat!” I drummed my fingers on the counter separating the public area from the restricted one. “I need to run something past him.”
“Bet you can find ’im home ’bout now. Be a shame for him to miss out on how pretty you look with your hair and makeup all done up proper.” She gave me a wink. “Do you want directions or can you find the way?”
I felt a telltale blush creep into my cheeks. “I think I can manage, but thanks.”
Precious chuckled at my reaction but, thankfully, didn’t pursue the reason why I didn’t need a road map to find McBride’s place. “You gonna take time to have some fun come Saturday? You know what they say about all work and no play.”
“Put your mind to rest,” I said. “I plan to be at the dance and fireworks. Dr. Doug’s fairly confident he’s going to be one of the winners. My daughter, Lindsey, is part of his team. You should’ve seen the look on her grandmother’s face when she said that she was going to a butt-rubbin’ party.”
Amusement shimmered in Precious’s dark eyes. “Lordy! I bet Miss Melly was fit to be tied, hearin’ that comin’ from the mouth of her sweet grandbaby.”
As I headed out the door I couldn’t help but think “fit to be tied” might also describe McBride’s reaction when I told him my suspicions about his old friend the comely and voluptuous Barbie Q.
CHAPTER 29
FOLLOWING AN IMPULSE—another of my bad habits—I headed down Route 78, a narrow two-lane county road. I’d been to McBride’s once before after Lindsey and her friends engaged in a bout of underage drinking on prom night. At the time, he’d been renting a fixer-upper with an option to buy. According to the local grapevine, which boasted a 95 percent accuracy rate, he’d since made an offer and was now the proud owner of a handyman special.
A spanking-new mailbox with MCBRIDE neatly stenciled along one side marked the drive. As the gravel crunched under my tires, I began to doubt the wisdom of my decision. Kona coffee and fresh-baked blueberry muffins aside, it wasn’t as if McBride and I were buddies. Our relationship was strictly professional—except when it wasn’t.
Like now.
I spotted him casually reclining on the porch steps, beer bottle in hand. He’d exchanged his starched navy blues for cutoff jeans and … nothing else. My mouth went dry at the sight of his bronzed torso and well-defined abs. A hint of five o’clock shadow along his square jaw only added to the sexy image. My libido kicked into overdrive. No need to get my estrogen level checked. Heck, my ob-gyn could avoid billing for expensive blood work by parading him through her office from time to time. The man was a living, breathing hormone barometer.
His icy-blue gaze unwavering, McBride watched me brake to a stop at the foot of his drive. He took a long pull from his beer as I approached with Casey romping at my heels. “What’s the occasion?” McBride asked
“Would you believe I’m just being neighborly?”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “I was referring to the hair and makeup ‘occasion.’”
“Oh…” I ran my hand over less curly curls thanks to Reba Mae’s wizardry with a flatiron. “Today marked my TV debut. Barbie and her video guy came by and filmed a segment for her show.”
“I thought you and the vet might have a hot date—or maybe you were trying to seduce me.”
My eyes widened. “McBride, shame on you. And to think, all this time you’ve been keeping it a secret.”
He frowned. “Keeping what a secret?”
“Your sense of humor.”
“Every now and then.” He grinned, and my favorite dimple popped into view. “As my daddy used to say, even a blind squirrel finds an acorn sometime.”
I sat on a lower step. Casey sprawled at my feet. I looked out across a yard bordered by sweet gum, loblolly pines, and oak. The last of daylight slanted through the boughs, forming a filigree of sunlight and shadow. Crickets chirped in the thick grass. “It’s a nice night,” I said for want of clever repartee.
“Can’t argue with that.” He took another swig of beer. “Haven’t had much company, so excuse me if my manners are a tad rusty. Care for a beer? It’s the best I can offer in the way of adult beverages.”
I shook my head. “No thanks. Never been much of a beer drinker, not even in college.”
“Didn’t think so. Had you pegged for a white wine sort of gal from the get-go.”
“Don’t sprain your arm patting yourself on the back. I like red wine, too.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he drawled, letting a hint of Georgia creep into his voice. “How about a Dr Pepper?”
“I’d love a Dr Pepper.”
He nodded his approval. “Now we’re dancing to the same tune. Stay put; I’ll be right back.”
I rested my arms on my knees and stayed put. I felt oddly content. Peaceful. I wished I didn’t have to spoil it all by bringing up Larry, Moe, and Curly, otherwise known as Becca, Maybelle, and Barbie. Wished it were simply an evening spent in the company of an interesting and attractive man. After my divorce from CJ, I’d sworn off men for good. Time heals all wounds, as the saying goes. Guess it’s true in my case, too.
“Here you go.” McBride handed me a cold can of soda. I noticed he’d taken time to pull on a T-shirt and ruin the awesome view of his bare chest. “Say,” he said, settling back on the top step. “What happened to all those cute freckles?”
Cute freckles? Never in a million years would I have “pegged” McBride as a sucker for freckles. “Blame their disappearance on Carter Kincaid, the videographer. He complained I looked pale and washed-out. The extra foundation and blush were his idea, not mine.” I popped the tab on my Dr Pepper and took a sip. I felt a pang of guilt. As though I were being disloyal to Doug for enjoying McBride’s company.
He gestured toward the can of soda. “I’d offer you a glass with ice, but I keep forgetting to refill the damn ice cube trays.”
“No problem,” I assured him. “It’s nice and cold.”
“One of these days, I’m planning to replace the relic that came with the house. I looked at Lowe’s, but came away even more confused. Guess I never realized there are so many choices when it comes to a fridge. Freezer on top. Freezer on the bottom. Side by side. White, black, or stainless steel. Only thing I’m sure of is I want a built-in ice maker. No more fooling around with ice cube trays.”
“Built-in ice makers are great features.” I swept a glance over the exterior of the house. “Doesn’t look like you’ve done much since the last time I was here.”
He grimaced. “Truth of the matter, I’m afraid I bit off more than I can chew. Got carried away by the low price—and the fact the property sits on five wooded acres with a stream running through it. Realtor kept stressing it was a steal. A do-it-yourselfer’s dream. When I questioned her, she said the price reflected the need for redecorating. Now that the house is mine, I don’t know where to start.”
For a tough cop he seemed flummoxed at being a homeowner. I was torn between laughter and sympathy. “Somehow I never pictured you as a do-it-yourself kind of guy.”
“I own a hammer. I can read directions.” He shrugged. “How hard can it be?”
“I could be wrong, but owning a hammer isn’t the equivalent of being a licensed contractor.”
“Before you drove up, I was about to fix myself a burger,” he said, stretching his long legs. “Care to join me?”
“Sure,” I said, surprised by the offer. “As long as you let me help.”
Getting to his feet, he held out a hand. “Nothing fancy. Burger and chips. If you’re in the mood for dessert, I’ve can dig out a bag of Oreos.”
“Oreos…?” I laughed. “I’ll definitely be in the mood for dessert.”
He held open the screen door and Casey scooted through before I could stop him. “Don’t worry,” McBride said. “I like dogs. Might even get me one someday.”
I stepped inside and got my first up close and personal of the handyman special. A small entryway led into a living room. A leather recliner was the sole item of furniture. At the far end, a large flat-screen television backed up to a corner cabinet made of knotty pine. Next to the living room was a small dining room with a card table and a couple folding chairs.
“Bedrooms and bath are on either side. Kitchen’s to your right. Like I told you, the place needs work.”
“Let’s see the kitchen.”
He led the way. I felt I’d entered a time warp. Cracked red and black linoleum, worn thin in spots, chipped gray Formica countertops, and antiques for appliances. A drop-leaf table, layered with yellowing paint, and two chairs that looked like garage sale castoffs completed the vintage look.
“I know it’s not much.…”
“Not yet,” I agreed. “But think of the potential. All it needs is—”
“A ton of cash.” He dragged a hand through his hair.
“With a little imagination and the right budget, you’ll get a big return on your initial investment.”
“Tell me you’re not serious. You’re beginning to sound like my Realtor.” Crossing to the fridge, he took out a package of ground beef.
“Let me make the patties while you start the grill.”
“My ‘grill’ consists of the plug-in George Foreman variety. A gas grill is another item on my list.” He handed me the meat and rummaged through a cupboard for the George Foreman. “I lived in a furnished apartment in Miami. If I wanted a steak, I’d use the grill out back by the pool.”
I shaped the burgers while he set the table with inexpensive plastic dinnerware. “What do you have in the way of seasoning?” I asked.
“Will good old salt and pepper do?”
“They’ll work just fine.” When the burgers began to sizzle, I sliced a couple tomatoes I found cowering behind a stack of mail.
“Precious brought in a whole sack of them. She said her brother has so many he can’t give them away.”
“Nothing better than homegrown tomatoes,” I replied, arranging them on a plate.
McBride opened a bag of potato chips and set bag and all on the table. Brought out mustard and catsup. I still hadn’t broached the subject I’d come to discuss. And felt oddly reluctant to do so. When our conversation shifted to the impending barbecue festival I leaped at the chance.
“Melly and I had a rather interesting conversation after Barbie finished filming.” I slid the burgers onto buns, put one on each plate, and sat down at the table.
Taking the chair opposite me, he squirted catsup on his burger and added a dollop of mustard and a slice of tomato. He nudged the bag of chips closer to me, a signal for me to help myself.
The man knew how to turn silence into a weapon, I thought grumpily, putting a handful of chips on my plate. “Melly said Barbie wasn’t happy while growing up in Brandywine Creek. Said the kids teased her, made fun of her. That Barbie was the target of bullying.”
He raised a dark brow but waited for me to continue.
I broke off a small piece of my burger and fed it to Casey curled beneath my chair. “Melly remembered a certain vice principal took a special interest in the girl. Then, all sorts of vicious gossip started. Melly believes that the bullying and subsequent rumors were the reasons Barbie dropped out of school and left town.”
Finishing his burger, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. The legs of the chair creaked in protest. “And your point is…?”
He wasn’t making things any easier, I realized with mounting frustration. “The vice principal was Arthur Dapkins. During this period, Becca Dapkins, née Ferguson, worked as the school secretary. According to Melly, Becca had set her cap for Art. She wanted him for herself and wasn’t about to let some buxom high school student steal him away. We—Melly and I—think Becca started those rumors and Barbie knew it. I witnessed firsthand the animosity between the two women the day Barbie arrived in town.”
“And your point is…?”
“Stop repeating yourself,” I snapped. I gave Casey what was left of my burger, which I realized wasn’t very much. I didn’t even remember eating most of it. “My point is, Barbie had a motive for killing Becca.”
“Just because two women dislike each other doesn’t necessarily equate with murder.”
I hated it when I came to him all fired up and he doused my conclusions with ice water. Now it was my turn to fold my arms. “Will you at least ask Barbie if she has an alibi for the night Becca was murdered? I tried,” I admitted, “but she threatened to call the police if I didn’t leave.”
He got up from the table and, rummaging through a drawer, produced a half-eaten bag of Oreos. “Dessert?” he said, offering me some.
I took one. Reba Mae claimed chocolate helped her think. This was as good a time as any to test the theory. “You’re the one enrolled in the motive, means, and opportunity school of police work. Becca Dapkins’s reprehensible behavior destroyed the reputation of a young girl. Why not ask Barbie where she was the night Becca died?”
“Because I know where she was.”
I blinked. “You do? Where?”
“Barbie was in exactly the same spot you’re sitting right now.”
“Here…?” I asked when I found my voice again. “In this chair?”
McBride stood, leaned against the chipped Formica counter, arms braced behind him, and looked me square in the eye. “Barbie dropped by when she first got into town. Stayed for a few beers. We sat around and reminisced.”
“I didn’t realize you were that close.” Why should the fact he and Barbie-Q-Perfect were “close” bother me? I wondered. I channeled Scarlett O’Hara and told myself I’d worry about it tomorrow.
“Barbie and my sister, Claudia, were inseparable when they were growing up. I stepped in a time or two when kids picked on Barbie, and she remembered. She and my sister still keep in touch.”
“I see,” I said slowly. It wasn’t a stretch to picture McBride as the protective older brother, coming to the aid of his sister’s little friend. Even then he was living under the credo “to protect and serve.” My earlier irritation faded. “Thanks for dinner,” I said. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
We paused in the drive while Casey watered the shrubbery. “Since you’ve blown my theory all to smithereens that must mean Maybelle still tops your list of suspects. You don’t know the woman like I do, McBride. She’s a gentle, caring soul, who’d give you the shirt off her back. She woulnd’t hurt a fly.”
Darkness had fallen, making it hard to read his expression. Reaching out, he skimmed his thumb over the bridge of my nose and rubbed lightly. For a split second I thought he was going to kiss me. Did I want him to? Or didn’t I? My reaction to Tall, Dark, and Lethal made me feel like I was cheating on sweet, dependable Dr. Doug.
“There,” McBride said, his voice humming with satisfaction. “The freckles are back just the way I like them.”
I stepped back, panicked and flustered. “If you’re seriously thinking about renovating, I have a lot of ideas,” I said in a rush to regain my emotional moorings. “You might want to consider adding shutters and possibly flower boxes to the front of the house. Y
our hydrangeas need pruning, and you might want to do some replanting. Gardenias and holly are always nice.”
“Anything else?”
I hurried to the car, and Casey hopped inside. “Well, as for the interior, I’d knock down the wall separating the dining room from the kitchen and living room and go with an open concept.”
“No sweat. I’ll get right on it with the aid of my trusty hammer.”
Still on a roll, I slid into the driver’s side. “While you’re at it, tear out that corner cabinet. It would be a great spot for a gas-log fireplace. You might also want to knock out the windows along the back wall and put in French doors. They’d look great leading out on to a deck with its new grill.”
“That’s all?”
“For now.” I gave a friendly wave as I backed down the drive. The beam of my headlights showed him looking even more flummoxed than he had earlier. For some reason, which I didn’t stop to examine, that gave me a distinct feeling of satisfaction.
CHAPTER 30
NOT MANY CARS out at this hour. As I drove toward town, I tuned into a country-western station playing oldies. A female singer was lamenting that certain men cause good girls to go wrong. Wyatt McBride instantly came to mind. The man had a way of getting to me. With a look he made my tummy flutter. A touch made my toes curl. Tummy flutters and curling toes, as most women know, are unreliable predictors of compatibility. McBride spelled danger with a capital D.
And a capital D stood for “Doug.” Doug Winters was safe, sweet, and—another d word—dependable. Those were qualities I admired in a man. Not bare chests, weight-lifter abs, and cute dimples. I liked a man who knew his way around a kitchen. One who owned a grill that you didn’t have to plug in. Who owned more tools than just a hammer.
I switched to one of Lindsey’s favorite stations. I wished I could change my train of thoughts just as easily. Wyatt McBride obstinately stayed at the forefront. Specifically Wyatt and Barbie. I had to own up to the fact I felt a twinge of jealousy. They were consenting adults. Considering their history, it was understandable they’d spend time together. Perfectly natural they’d spend a night reminiscing. What a lucky happenstance for Barbie that none other than the chief of police himself could supply an alibi for the night her nemesis was bludgeoned to death.