by Celia Ashley
With a grunt, Jamie pushed off the doorframe with his shoulder. “Want me to call her for you? What’s her name? Maris, right?”
“Maris. And I’ll do it.”
“Some of the guys are saying she’s pretty hot. In a bohemian sort of way.”
Dan snorted. “Where’d you pick up a word like ‘bohemian’?”
“Dunno. You hear it a lot.”
“You might want to look it up in the dictionary.”
“Fuck you, Stauffer.”
“Yeah, you’re not my type.” Dan stared at the man until he started to back away. “Pull the door shut while you’re at it, will you?”
As soon as the door had closed, Dan spun back and forth a few times in his chair. He needed to contact Maris, have her come in, but what in bloody hell was he going to say to her? He couldn’t act as if none of it had happened—not the incident in the stone circle or the confessions in her motel room, not the incendiary sex. They’d both needed the latter, he understood that, but he should have kept it in his pants. And afterward—God, he hated himself for speaking those words despite the truth of them. Even in the dark, he could see the hurt in her eyes, the shock.
Forget the unexplained bond, the flash of hope in which he foolishly thought she might be the perfect partner because she understood where he had been. Forget the comfort, the intrigue, the heated lust. Unless he could prove otherwise, she might end up his prime suspect for the murder of Alva Mabry. He had not only literally slept in her bed, he’d slept with her. Too mild a term for what had passed between them, lightning hot and just as fast, but even if it had been drawn out and taken all night with declarations of adoration and lasting fidelity, would he be any less culpable for his part in it? Of course not.
She had asked him to tell her he wasn’t ashamed of what they had done. He could have said no. He should have said no. Why couldn’t he lie to her? In many of their conversations, he’d hedged, danced around the truth, but he couldn’t lie. Not outright, not even to save her pain. Because she only asked him what she already knew with that damned “sight” of hers. It wasn’t exactly fair, now was it?
And it sure as hell wasn’t convenient.
Dan lifted the receiver, cradled it under his ear, determined to get this conversation over. He yanked open the drawer for another glance at her phone number and punched the digits on the keypad before whipping the drawer shut. After several rings, her voice mail picked up.
“If this is Dan, go fuck yourself. Anyone else, please leave a message.”
Shit! Grateful he hadn’t taken Jamie up on his offer to make the call, Dan tried to compose himself enough to leave a message for her. At the sound of the beep, he was forced to rush his message and ended up prefacing the whole thing with the words “I’m sorry” and, following the plummeting realization it was too late to take the sentiment back, added “for inconveniencing you, but I need you to come to the station at”—he glanced at the clock—“eleven this morning for fingerprints and a few questions. Please be prompt. Don’t make me come get you.”
Oh, for the love of God, why had he said that? He slammed the phone down, only to have the receiver bounce across the blotter and drop behind the desk. Cursing, he jumped up and, after several attempts, retrieved it by the cord.
A light tap sounded at the door.
“Come in!”
The door opened wide enough for a face to peer in. “You okay?”
Sally, the newest police clerk. She looked half his age and probably wasn’t much older than that. She’d been making eyes at him for the past month. Well, he wasn’t interested in any of what she was offering. Or any woman, period. Enough was enough. “I’m fine. Dropped the phone.”
“Good. There’s someone here to see you.”
“I don’t want—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the door swung open. Maris walked in, thanked the girl sweetly, and pushed the door shut. She turned to face him, holding up her cell phone. He heard his voice coming through it. After a second, she hit a number to replay the message, and then did it again and yet again, looping “I’m sorry” like an inane apology.
“You are an insane person,” he said.
“You don’t really believe that.” She slipped the phone into her purse.
He sighed. “No, I don’t. Sit down.”
She sat in the chair where she’d been seated the first time he’d met her. Was that only yesterday in the wee hours of the morning? Yes. Yes it was. Therefore, the little leap of his heart at the sight of her face was inappropriate. Perhaps he was the insane one.
“I need to take your fingerprints.”
“So I heard.” She nodded in the direction of the cell phone sticking up from the pocket in her purse.
“Where were you when I made that call?”
“In the lobby. You said yesterday that you needed me to come in.”
“Yes, I did. I said other things, too, and yet you came anyway.”
“Well, you apologized after all.” She grinned.
He broke into laughter, but sobered after a moment , experiencing a gut-wrenching urge to apologize for real. Maybe even cry a little. God, what was wrong with him?
“Maris, I don’t know what to do.”
“About what?”
“About us.”
She tipped her head to one side. “Is there an ‘us’?”
“It feels like there is.” He spun his chair and leaned forward, hands folded between his knees. “Which is absurd. That’s not an insult, just reality. It’s been twenty-four freaking hours, give or take, and I don’t know you—”
“You know me.”
He shook his head. “I don’t. It feels like I do, but I don’t. And I…” He stopped, staring down at his clasped hands at the scar on his thumb from a slippery blade when cleaning fish with his father their last time out on the ocean. He glanced back up. “I have to ask you this question, Maris. I have to.”
She nodded encouragement, the expression on her face wary. “Go ahead.”
“Did you kill your aunt? Did you poison Alva Mabry?”
A transition took place in her eyes. He couldn’t tell if those gray orbs displayed disbelief or guilt or some other reaction he couldn’t figure out since her facial expression didn’t alter at all. Had she practiced for this moment? He didn’t want to believe something so cold about her, but he had to take a step back and view the situation from an investigative standpoint, without prejudice or sentiment.
She shook her head. “Why would I do that?”
“Don’t answer a question with a question, Maris. It doesn’t bode well for your innocence.”
“Ouch. Fine.” She shifted in her chair. “Tell me why you think I did. What motive are you trying on for size? The whole estate thing you threw at me yesterday? Do you know for fact there is anything to be gained financially from her demise? And why would I suddenly decide to come back to Alcina Cove and kill my ninety-three-year-old aunt? Time was on my side, and it certainly wouldn’t be worth the risk if I wanted to make sure I profited from her death.”
He stared at her, mouth dropping open, at a loss for a response.
“Besides,” she went on, “I loved my aunt. Not the way I did as a child, but the fondness, the loyalty, the memories I had of her—not all of them perfect, of course—didn’t fade completely. I had no reason to harm her. I came here because she needed me. I just didn’t know why.”
He tightened the twisted grip of his fingers between his legs. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
Tears glistened abruptly on her lashes. She blinked them away. “I did not.”
Dan threw up his hands. “Is that your answer, or are you just agreeing with my statement?”
“You’re an ass, Detective Stauffer.”
He stood. “And you’re infuriating. How can I protect you if you won’t be honest with me?”
“Is that what you’re trying to do? Protect me?”
Dan pulled the keys from the desktop and shoved them in his pocket. “You wanted me to figure out what happened to your aunt. That’s what I’m trying to do. If you’re guilty of the crime, I’ll deal with that, but if you’re not—and I really hope to God you’re not—then I need to protect you from the accusations. Now let’s go.”
She rose, too, standing before him, the top of her head in line with his chin. A light fragrance drifted into his nostrils from her hair. As she moved her head, lifting her gaze to his, he saw she’d changed out the studs in her ears from minuscule gold balls to amethyst stones, but the feather remained, drifting back and forth in a current of air like the hand on an upside down metronome.
“Where are we going?” she asked, tucking her purse under her arm.
“Fingerprints.”
Dan yanked open the door. Jamie stood on the other side, hastily lifting his hand as if to knock. Dan shot him a look he couldn’t possibly misunderstand, and the man backed away with a less-than-discreet onceover of Maris as she crossed the threshold into the corridor beyond.
“Left,” Dan said, following her. “Then second door on the right. I’ll need to unlock it.”
“No need,” said Jamie from behind him. “Already open.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Dan shot over his shoulder, tone surly. Ahead of him, Maris had her hand on the knob. She turned it and went inside, spine ramrod straight. Dan entered less than two seconds behind and shut the door before Jamie could join them.
“You sound annoyed,” Maris commented.
“I am annoyed.”
Dan opened the cover to the chemically pre-treated pad while Maris stepped aside in frowning observation. Dan pulled out a ten-print fingerprint card and laid it on the counter.
“That doesn’t look like ink.”
Dan glanced at her. “It isn’t. We use inkless. It’s more accurate. Don’t want any mistakes.”
She held out her left hand. “Does it matter which one is first?”
“Nope.”
Dan took her hand in both of his, working his digits along her thumb until he had it turned properly. Her hands were remarkably soft and warm. He’d lost himself inside her the night before and hadn’t noticed the texture or temperature of her fingers, hadn’t so much as caressed her face, held her hand. He really was a bastard.
One by one, he rolled her fingers over the pad and then onto the fingerprint card, aware of the curves of her body pressed lightly against his side as she leaned in to comply. He could hardly breathe.
“Next.”
She obeyed wordlessly, placing her other hand in his. He extended his ring finger toward her wrist, settling it against her veins, to the pulse racing beneath the skin.
“Maris…”
“Don’t say anything.”
If he walked out of here with a hard-on, he’d be sunk. What the hell was wrong with him? Such a condition wouldn’t go unnoticed by a bunch of guys who obviously possessed strong opinions about Maris’s appeal.
He turned her pinkie over the card and then pulled it away, releasing her hand. “Okay, finished. You can wipe your fingers with one of those baby-wipes. I have to put the card in the developer chamber.”
“How long do they take to develop?” She scrubbed the powder-scented wipe across her fingertips as she tipped her chin up in order to see what he was doing.
“I’ll have a perfect, high-contrast print shortly.” He glanced at her, telling himself he was gauging her reaction to his words, but was more intent on the swing of her hair across her neck.
She tossed the wipe in the trash can, jerking her chin in his direction. “Where’d that scar on your thumb come from?”
“What scar?”
“That scar right there.” She pressed the curve of her nail against the pale cicatrix. Her eyes went momentarily blank. “You were…were you fishing?”
He jerked his hand away. “Come with me. I have a few more questions.”
Dan brought Maris into the interview room and indicated she should take a seat. She did, slowly. He felt the weight of her gaze following his movements as he crossed to the other side of the table and sat opposite her.
“Maris, I called the motel and—”
“I was at my aunt’s.”
He went silent. Was she about to confess?
“After you and I were there, I returned. You’ll find my fingerprints upstairs, I’m sure. I used the bathroom and then went into my old room where I slept for a couple of hours. When it got light, I went for a walk. Some of the neighbors probably saw me. Then I came back and waited for you.”
“How did you get in?”
“I had an old key in my possession. I wasn’t sure it would work, but it did.”
“And then you rearranged the cards.”
“I did not.”
Dan drummed the tabletop in one quick roll, a seething hole opening up in his chest. “So I won’t find your fingerprints on those cards? We took them, you know, as evidence. They’re being processed. I’d be honest with me right now if I were you. Because you’ve lied enough.”
She closed her eyes. “I know I did. I didn’t know if I could trust you.”
“And you trust me now that I’ve found out you’ve been lying to me? Convenient.”
Maris threw her purse up onto the table. Her cell phone popped out along with a tube of lip gloss. She shoved them both back inside. “Dan—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Fine. Detective Stauffer, then. We’ve been lying to each other. Seems that’s the way we operate, you and I. A form of protection, of self-preservation, but not the types of lies that hurt people. Merely the type that keep boundaries in place. I did not touch those cards, and unless the prints are twenty years old, you won’t find mine on them. I spent the night in Aunt Alva’s home to try and get a feel for what had happened. I received no information. I have a key, yes, and told you I didn’t. I understand how bad that looks, but would you have let me return to the house if I had told you, even though you insisted my aunt’s death was one of natural causes? I don’t think so. Because somewhere inside, you thought the possibility existed she hadn’t, from the moment I opened my mouth to you about being called here.”
He frowned at her, part of him recognizing a kernel of truth in her rant. “Are you finished? Or is there something else you’d like to confess?”
“What, like killing her? No.”
Dan opened his fist and smacked his palm on the laminate tabletop. “There you go again, Maris. Don’t you hear yourself? You’re very keen on words, aren’t you? On using them in a way you hope somebody won’t catch in order to avoid a straight answer. So let’s try this again. Did you kill your aunt?”
She stared him straight in the eye, a woman who had admitted to lying to protect herself, and whispered one syllable. “No.”
And he wanted to believe her. God, he wanted to believe her.
“Okay,” he said, “let’s start from the beginning. And I’m going to take notes so there’s no inaccuracy in my memory of this conversation.” He slid a pad and a mechanical pencil from the drawer centered beneath the table and laid them on top. Across from him, she pulled out the lip gloss she’d tossed back into her purse a moment before and applied it quickly to her mouth. Setting the cap with a small click, she clutched the tube in her hand.
“Name.”
“Maris Granger.”
He wrote it down in bold block print. “Address? Again please, yes,” he added, forestalling any protest. She gave it to him, and he wrote that down, too. “And you left your house there in the middle of the night because of a dream.”
“Yes.”
He glanced at her. “And how long did it take you to get here?”
“Three and a half hours. Maybe a little longer.”
“Did you stop anywhere? Would someone remember seeing you?”
She rocked on the chair, rearranging her skirt beneath her hips. “
I have no idea if someone would remember seeing me, but yes, I did stop. I had to get gas along the way. And use the ladies room, which was fairly disgusting.”
Don’t make jokes, Maris. “Did you make a complaint of that to someone there?”
“A passing remark maybe when I bought a bottle of water.”
“And do you remember the name of the station?”
“I paid cash for the gas. I’ll look for the receipt and let you know.”
Dan made the notation gas station and nodded. “Yes. You will. When you got here, you drove straight to the police department, or so you told me. How did you know where to find the building? And don’t say you dreamt—”
“There were signs.”
He opened his mouth.
“I mean the kind on metal posts.”
“Right.” He wrote a word in the margin of the pad but then realized with a start he’d written Maris, which he crossed out with such force the lead broke. He pushed out a bit more with a click to the back of the pencil. “But you came looking for me.”
“I did.”
“Why?” When she didn’t answer, he looked up. “Why?”
Her smoke-gray eyes widened. “I saw you. I heard your name. I knew where I should be able to find you.”
Dan’s breath rushed out his nose. “We’ll leave that for now. What time did you arrive here?”
“I don’t know exactly. Within a few minutes of when the man at the front desk called you to let you know. You could check with him.”
“And at what point did you decide the best course of action would be to lie to me? Right away, or did you size me up and determine I might just be gullible enough for you to pull it off?”
Maris yanked her purse from the table into her lap where it landed with a jangle of coins and keys. She pulled out the latter. He eyed them through narrowed lids. “Going somewhere?”
“Are you arresting me, Dan—Detective?”