Long, Lean and Lethal

by O'Clare, Lorie

  “I arrived at the scene,” Al offered. She stood on the other side of Rain and scanned her light over the front seat. Glass particles were scattered over both leather seats. “And you’re right. The car was still running when I got there.”

  “I want pictures,” Noah told her.

  “No problem. I’ll e-mail them to Rain in the morning.” She scanned her beam over the back of the car. “When I arrived, the victim was in the front seat with her head resting against the steering wheel. She wore a cocktail dress, and with the covered dish in the passenger seat,” she added, shifting her flashlight beam to show the dish still sitting there, “it appeared she was leaving for a party.”

  “Yup. Anyone do measurements on the exact height that the bullet entered the window?”

  “I’ll check the report.” Al studied his face. “Why do you ask?”

  Noah pointed to the window. “She was shot in the side of the head. If the bullet entered here,” he said, pointing his hand like a gun and aiming it at the window, “she would have been sitting upright.”

  “It didn’t enter her forehead, but her temple. Whoever shot her … she wasn’t looking at them.”

  “And the window wasn’t rolled down very far,” Rain added. “So either the conversation had ended or they were able to approach her by walking in her front yard, with her not noticing.”

  “If the bullet entered more around here.” Noah moved his finger, drawing a circle in the air near the front of the window closer to the steering wheel. “She would have been leaning forward, possibly starting the car, adjusting mirrors. But if it entered back here, she would have been reclined in her seat, which is more of a position meaning the person is prepared to drive. What gear was the car in when you found it?”

  “It wasn’t in gear. When we found her it was in neutral and I’m pretty sure no one touched it prior to my arriving. Witnesses standing at the scene all concurred with that fact. They saw the car, that a violent act had just occurred, and called into nine-one-one on their cell phones. Two calls came in around the same time, more than likely once the car was spotted blocking the road.”

  “Why would she be sitting in her car, with it running, and in neutral, and not doing anything?” Rain asked.

  “Maybe she was speaking with her killer, had just finished the conversation, started rolling the window up, and she was waiting for them to leave so she could leave. She was running late.” Noah moved Rain’s hand, training the beam on the interior of the car. He started around the car, taking Rain and the flashlight with him. “Looks like we missed out on a fruit thing,” he added, aiming the light at the dish.

  “Looks yummy,” Rain said sardonically, her body brushing against his as he stood partially behind her and moved the flashlight with her over the interior, finally resting back on the dish. Other than the dish, the inside of the car was impeccably clean, shy of bloodstains, which were minimal.

  Clear plastic covered a nice ceramic bowl that had some kind of fruit medley thing inside it. Other than glass flakes that appeared to have punctured some of the plastic, and the white powder that forensics used while checking the interior for prints, the dish Patty had prepared for the party was untouched.

  “It looks like something someone would throw together who cares more about appearance than taste,” Rain mused.

  Noah bent over, letting go of the flashlight, looking inside the car, and Rain slowly squatted next to him. She pressed against his legs and her thick hair, which grew more and more disheveled as she continually tugged at it or combed it with her gloved fingers to keep it out of her face, touched his hair. He put his hand on the top of her head, ignoring the quick glance Al gave him when he touched Rain, and then stroked the back of her head.

  “When I was upstairs at the Gamboas’ and Steve Porter stopped me outside of the bathroom, he made a comment about parts of town.”

  “Yeah?” Rain balanced herself by pressing her hand against the floor of the car and glanced up at Noah. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “He said our home wasn’t in a better part of town, but where Patty lived and apparently where he lives are the areas where the successful reside.”

  Al snorted. “Successful wannabes is more like it.”

  “Patty lives in a trendy part of town. The house we’re in is stable middle-class, but certainly not a bad part of town by any means.” Rain returned her attention to the interior of the car. “Patty probably lived the life of someone who was concerned the world saw her at the top of her game. This car, the bowl the fruit is in, the neighborhood where she lived, are all indications of a woman doing very well for herself.”

  “But Joanna’s home, although simple on the outside, reeked dollar signs on the inside as well,” Noah added.

  “Where are you going with this?” Again Rain looked up at him.

  “Maybe nowhere. I’m not sure. We’re obviously seeing control issues with this group. We have one person who decides, with no need to create discussion, who will hold the next party.”

  “And it looks like whoever holds it is in a coveted position.”

  “Like you’ve fallen into good graces with the anorexic, brooding blonde,” he said, and then moved the flashlight in Rain’s hand so he could better see the dash. “As well, this group is very into appearances. Let’s find out how much our Miss Patty was making annually. My hunch is she was living way beyond her means.”

  “Don’t most people?” Al asked.

  “Too many, probably,” Rain answered before he could. “But if we have a competition going on over who rakes in the most, someone might not like it if they think someone else is passing them up.”

  “To the point of murdering?” Al shook her head. “Hell of a group of friends.”

  “You’ve got a point,” Rain said, straightening and following Noah around the car. “It was very obvious tonight at that party that everyone wanted to impress the Porters. The couple who arrived when we were leaving almost appeared scared to voice any negative comments about them.”

  On the way back to the house, Rain sat in the passenger seat, one foot propped up on the seat while she rested her arm on her knee, chewing her finger while scowling ahead.

  “Any bets on who our guy is?” he asked, breaking the silence and shifting his attention in the dark to take in her contemplative expression and the way her dark hair draped over her shoulder and parted, allowing him a very nice view of the swell of her breasts.

  She shifted with a start, as if she’d forgotten he was next to her. “I was just thinking our motive might be a lot simpler than we’re making it,” she said, ignoring his question. She scowled at him and still looked hot as hell with shadows accentuating her facial features and her thick lashes draping over her pretty blue eyes. Watching her at work turned him on as much as seeing her in the skimpy outfit she wore to the potluck. She kept going when he didn’t comment. “What if we simply have a case of a wife who’s been pushed too far?”

  “Someone killing off her husband’s lovers?” Noah asked. “Then that husband must be going both ways. How do we explain George Lapthorne’s murder? And why would these murders match the timing and profile of deaths occurring in two other cities?”

  “That’s what I was just thinking about,” Rain offered, shifting in her seat so she faced him, her seat belt straining down the middle of her sweatshirt and aiding in showing off her breasts. “If we have a pissed-off wife, why would George have been killed? Unless maybe he knew something. Maybe he caught one of the husbands in the act of adultery and wanted to make a stink out of it. In a world where image is everything, maybe he got himself killed because he threatened to go public with what he’d seen.”

  “So we have an insanely jealous wife who would rather eliminate the partners in crime than prevent the crime from happening again.”

  Rain shrugged and then shook her head slowly. “The motive for murder is seldom any prettier than the act itself. But if it’s true, we might also have an incredibly int
elligent and sadistic wife who believed matching crimes occurring around the country might allow her to get away with her crime once the murderer was found in the other cities.”

  “There’s another angle,” Noah said, forcing his attention to the road.

  “What’s that?”

  He was aware of Rain studying him while he stared at the quiet road ahead of them. “Maybe we’re not looking at a wife, but a girlfriend. Possibly our murderer is a jealous lover, comfortable in her position, and unwilling to allow anyone to take that rank from her.”

  “Comfortable in her position, or his position,” Rain said, and adjusted her body so she faced forward, once again assuming her brooding position.

  TWELVE

  Rain stared at the thermostat and seriously doubted the budget allotted for either her or Noah would cover sending someone out to look at the air conditioner. It was muggy as hell outside and twice as bad inside. She wished it would just rain and get it over with.

  Noah squatted in front of the large-screen television, the manual on the floor next to him, and studied the remote while fighting to get the programming to work on the set. Rain didn’t need to know him inside and out to know he was best left alone. God forbid she suggest he read the manual. And she was pretty sure it would be an even larger crime if she picked up the book and started reading it and advising him.

  “Maybe when you’re done with that you can look at the air conditioner,” she suggested, staring at roped muscle, which rippled across his bare back. Or maybe she should just go up to him and slide her body against his. It might be tight and muggy in the house, but what better way to distract herself from the humidity than to enjoy his virile body? Spending time alone with him here in this house was becoming sheer torture.

  “Hmm,” he answered.

  She turned, grabbing her hair and twisting it into a knot on top of her head. Then as she headed to the bathroom in search of a clip to get it off of her neck, her thoughts strayed to the night before. Noah had crashed before she did, leaving her to work on profiling each suspect. He’d made himself comfortable in the large bed, sleeping naked. When she finally crawled in next to him, he didn’t move. Even though she’d stripped down and slipped under the cool sheet, she wasn’t comfortable enough with him to cuddle up next to all that hard-packed muscle. Not that she didn’t want to—Lord, it was torture not touching him. Rain was sure she’d toss and turn all night, and even prayed it would wake him up. But she’d been asleep in minutes. Noah was awake and showered before she got up this morning.

  Rain stared at her face in the mirror, noting the glow on her cheeks and forehead from a sheen of perspiration. She contemplated applying a bit of makeup, some powder, to give her a fresher look, and then scowled as she adjusted her hair clasp behind her head. It felt a hell of a lot better with her hair off her neck.

  Her father used to tell her repeatedly she was too pretty to hide under a mask of color and paint. She didn’t need makeup, and any man who requested it was too shallow to see all the gifts she had to offer. Rain bought into it easily, never having been one to waste time primping.

  She shifted her attention to the doorway, hearing Noah down the hall as he messed with the television.

  “What would you have thought of him, Dad?” she whispered, returning her attention to her reflection in the mirror.

  Boyfriends didn’t hang around long while Rain was growing up. Her father held tight to strict rules, one being any boy, or man as she grew older, who wanted to take her out entered their home and faced the inquisition. No matter how many times Rain assured the men she was interested in who came around that her father didn’t bite, eventually they quit calling. Her father always said good riddance. None of them met with his approval.

  Heading down the hallway, she glanced in the empty bedroom facing the front of the house that they hadn’t done much with yet. A car drove by slowly outside, looking as if it would stop at their house. Frowning, Rain walked into the room and stood in front of the window, then leaned to see the back end of the car as it reached the corner.

  “Interesting,” she mused, staring at the back end of what looked like a Miata. “Driving by to see if you can catch me home alone?”

  She remembered then that the rental car was in the garage. Anyone driving by wouldn’t know if either one of them was here. Rain hurried out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, applied the makeup she’d hesitated on a moment before, and then headed back to the living room.

  “I’m going outside,” she offered as she opened the front door, and then left it that way, not too surprised when Noah grunted something unintelligible.

  She wore her pale yellow tank top and hip-hugging blue-jean shorts and was barefoot. She immediately felt awkward with the amount of makeup she’d applied.

  “This is undercover work,” she reminded herself, fighting the urge to run her finger over her eyelid and dull some of the eye shadow she’d applied. “You know damn good and well Steve Porter likes a good slut.”

  Which she wasn’t. Not even close. One-night stands didn’t exist in her world. Even after her father died. For the first time in her life at the age of twenty-eight she was living on her own. Work preoccupied her enough Rain didn’t give a lot of thought to dating. She could count on one hand how many men she’d had sex with during her life.

  Could Steve Porter even remember the names of all the women he’d probably fucked?

  Noah would guess she had prettied herself up just for him, and it would be best for both of them if they kept their private time at the house on as much of a business level as possible. This was about saving lives, not creating a relationship. But if he questioned her, Rain’s reasoning was sound. Steve Porter would expect (and be more impressed and more likely to continue talking to her) if she appeared the part and played the kind of woman he would chase.

  “Okay, Mr. Porter, are you going to come around and double-check to see if the missus is home alone?” She walked barefoot down the cool sidewalk and tried to figure out what she could do out here to make herself look busy.

  Halfway down the walk, she turned and faced the house, checking first and noting that the Miata, if that’s what she saw, had already turned at the end of the block. Either he would drive back around the block or she came outside to simply allow the mosquitoes some free lunch.

  She continued looking at the house, at the bushes growing alongside the front door all the way to the garage, and thought it would be smart to trim some of them back. Not that it would be a comfortable hiding space, but as thick and overgrown as they were at the moment, someone could hide in them and surprise anyone coming to the door.

  The house was a simple ranch-style home, with a few others on the block having similar architecture. She hadn’t noticed before, but as she looked now, there appeared to be three different types of houses on the block. She counted three two-stories, four that matched the layout of her house, and five that were like her home without the garage. Of those, three had built-on carports. It was all about keeping up with the Joneses.

  Rain studied the four houses that looked like hers and then glanced back at the front of her house—or better yet the city’s house, although paperwork had been adjusted to show Noah and Rain Kayne as the owners, just in case anyone got nosy and decided to learn whether they really owned their house or not. She pictured it with a fresh coat of paint, the bushes trimmed, and possibly shutters on either side of the windows, when a car turned onto the street at the end of the block—the opposite end of the block from where she just saw the Miata turn.

  “Damn, I’m good,” she muttered, turning slightly so it looked like she studied her home, but she could better see the silver Miata coming toward her.

  As the car approached slowly, Rain walked over to the bushes and then bent over, offering him an enticing ass shot, and picked up a few loose branches that were underneath the bushes. There was more trash closer to the house, but she would have to go around the bushes to get it. She stood with branche
s in hand and headed to the garage.

  The Miata pulled into the driveway as she reached the garage door. Steve got out, looking like he just won the lottery.

  “Offer a view like that, sexy, and you’re going to cause accidents.” He was dressed similarly to the night before, still wearing his penny loafers and jeans. The wide-collared button-down shirt looked like something a tourist would wear on a trip to Hawaii: bright red, with orange and yellow birds printed on it. She wondered at the type of man who’d willingly put something like that on in the morning.

  “Not on this road,” she countered. “Only reason you’d come down our street is if you meant to, or have a lousy sense of direction.”

  Steve laughed easily. “You’re probably right about that.” But then he didn’t elaborate, as if his showing up obviously made her day.

  Instead he followed her into the garage when she lifted the garage door. “Where’s your husband?” he whispered, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her backward against him. “You’ve got to be the hottest fucking lady I’ve seen in a long time.”

  “He’s inside,” she said, knowing if she said he wasn’t here, then Noah would come outside.

  She tried turning away from Steve, but he tightened his grip on her. “Sleeping?” he asked, and ran his hand up her front to squeeze her breast.

  “Nope. He’s setting up our new TV.” She struggled in his grip and managed to point to the wall. “Right on the other side of that wall.”

  “Too bad,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m dying to taste you.”

  She wasn’t sure how to react. Her gut told her to elbow him hard in the stomach, force him to take his hands off of her, and possibly slam him to the ground just to make sure he understood how he was supposed to behave. More than likely doing that would send him away and she wouldn’t have the chance to learn anything from him. Not to mention, she was supposed to be a swinger. Unless everything she’d read was fiction, swinging wasn’t synonymous with cheating.