All That Sparkles (Siren Publishing Classic)

by D. Morrissey

  I hit the send button. She’ll have a million questions, but that will, at least, buy me a little time. Now, I dial my voice mail.

  The first message is from Misty, which is probably the one I dismissed at the restaurant last night. The time is nine-fifteen. “Hey, Chica! Rachael and I are heading over to the Starlight tonight with Denise and Bobby. Officer Bobby, that is.” She giggles and I guess that it’s the same young, unsuspecting cop from the club the other night. “Why don’t you come with? You can bring Dreamy…” She giggles again and hangs up. Delete.

  Message two is from Rachael and there’s a lot of noise in the background. I assume they’re at the Starlight already. “Ellie! Where are you? Still with Detective Dreamy? Y’all get over here. We’re at the Starlight.” Delete.

  Message three is from my boss who, I suppose, didn’t know that Johnny had already texted me. “Ellie. This is Dan. Leon was in a car accident tonight and we…uh…had to rework the schedules a little bit. Instead of coming in at eleven Monday night, we need you here at three for the evening shift.” He pauses. “Uh…call and let me know you got this message. Okay, thanks.” Pause. “Oh! And, Leon’s okay. He just broke his leg. That’s it. Thanks.” Delete.

  That’s it? Isn’t that bad enough? Dan isn’t much of a sparkling conversationalist. But I like him. He’s an older family-type of man and he’s always fair, cordial, and down to business.

  I dial him back and reach his voice mail.

  “Hello, Dan? This is Ellie. I got your message and I’ll be there at three tomorrow. Should I plan to get off at eleven? Or, do you need me to pull a double shift? Just text me and let me know. Either way is fine with me. Oh! And if you talk to Leon again, give him my best wishes. Bye!”

  There! Short and sweet and to the point. Just the way he likes it. I drop my phone on the coffee table and get up to go in search of Cal. I walk to the other side of the fireplace, and look around the corner. I’m surprised to see a whole section of the house I hadn’t even glimpsed last night.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I walk timidly down the short corridor toward the back door, which has a beautiful cut-glass design covering the top half. The view to the deck outside is lovely. Past that I can see the outline of a large building surrounded by nothing but trees and forest.

  I look out at the trees and sigh. It truly is fall in Arkansas, and it’s breathtaking. There seems to be as many shades of autumn as there are leaves on the trees. Maybe Cal had the right idea? This place feels like a small slice of heaven.

  I turn around and go back to my snooping. The first room on the right is an office, spacious and comfortable, just like the other rooms. I poke my head inside and look around, worried there might be some special agent secret spy stuff laying around. But there isn’t, of course. It’s as tidy and neat as the rest of the house, with a sizable contemporary looking desk and a few chairs. There’s a large-screen monitor and a laptop on the desk, along with a few neatly organized stacks of paper, but other than that, it’s relatively clean.

  Shelves line almost an entire side of the other wall. They contain mostly books, but there’s also an iPod with a docking station, and a couple of framed certificates, one of which is very interesting. Hm…

  A degree from the University of Miami for Callum Douglas Stone, III, Juris Doctor. So, he’s a lawyer and a third. Interesting.

  That’s about the most personal thing I see, though, as I look around. Once again, no photos, only artwork by artists who I don’t recognize. I wonder briefly about the woman I saw in the pictures upstairs. Maybe her photo used to sit up there, too?

  I stroll down the hall to the next room and immediately hear the dryer running. Oh good! I get excited just thinking about my jeans and my underwear. I stand in the doorway and look around the laundry room, admiring the nice appliances and the general organization of everything. There’s an ironing board leaning casually against the wall in the back corner and I imagine Cal ironing. The thought makes me giggle.

  I stop when something catches my eye at the back door. I walk over and place my hand on the knob just as Cal paces back across holding a phone to his ear. He’s totally absorbed in the conversation.

  “Both of them? Which location?” I hear him say, and my ear gravitates toward the glass.

  I stand there pondering whether it’s still considered eavesdropping if you don’t try to hide the fact that you’re standing there listening. Maybe, it’s just bad manners? Either way, I want to open the door and walk outside, or turn around and head back to the living room. And I intend to. But I don’t.

  “Absolutely not!” he shouts at the phone, pacing back my way again. I suppose this is Cal’s angry voice, and I decide it’s not one that I want him using with me. “I don’t care. They’re both flight risks. I want him on an accessory charge now, too. ‘And’ attempted murder.”

  Attempted murder? Is he talking about Danny? So, he did think Danny was going to kill me.

  He paces back across once more, doesn’t notice me standing here, and continues walking toward the end of the porch away from me. “No. I have her some place safe.” I hear this part clearly, but then his voice begins to fade the further away he gets. He stops and leans against the porch rail. Dammit!

  I press my ear hard against the glass, straining to hear, and praying he doesn’t look this way. I have no idea what the inside of my ear looks like or how gross it might be pressed up against a glass.

  “He doesn’t need to know where. He just needs to know she’s safe, and I’m telling you that she is. No, I won’t be there today. I have a few things I need to do. But I do want you to call me as soon as you have Everett. Did you get that? As soon as you have him in custody.”

  Suddenly, the dryer buzzer sounds off like a prison break warning bell. I jump, my feet actually leaving the floor, and I nearly wet myself.

  Immediately, I drop to a commando crouch and haul ass back down the hall to the laundry room. This is bad. What if he looked in and saw me hunched over with my Fred Flintstone feet peddling down the hall? I give myself a mental slap. Then another for good measure. Okay. Just act natural.

  I lean over and open the dryer door, pulling out my clothes, and nudging the door shut with my knee. The first thing I see are my panties and I wonder if he found them in the pocket of my jeans before he put them in, or if they just fell out during wash. Ugh. What is wrong with me? I’m certain normal women do not have these kinds of issues.

  I soothe myself with the fact that at least I wore my sexy lavender and black lace underwear with the matching bra, and not my old, cotton granny panties, which happen to be my favorite. I hold the bra in my hand, admiring it and then I grimace, remembering it was actually intended for Danny last night.

  The back door opens and I hear Cal come inside. My heart races as I listen to the sound of his footsteps in the hall and I do my best to try and look innocent, shaking out my clothes and draping them neatly across the top of the dryer. I begin to wonder whether he actually went past the laundry room toward the front of the house.

  “You put your hair up.” His deep, husky voice makes me jump, my conscience still guilty, and then I weigh the significance of his comment. No ‘Was that your ear hole I saw sticking on the door?’ Or ‘Why were you impersonating the Hunchback of Notre Dame on speed?’ So far, so good.

  I smile, folding my jeans over my arm. “Yes. I found a hair tie in my purse.” I run my ponytail through my hand.

  He leans against the doorway and watches me intently, making me extremely nervous. I lay the jeans across my other folded laundry, smooth them with my hand, and then I turn to look at him.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just admiring the view,” he says, making no attempt to move. “You look like a teenager with my shorts on and your hair up like that.”

  Is that good? Or bad?

  “Well, I was just about to take them off now that my clothes are dry.” He still makes no attempt to move and I realize, suddenly overwhelmed with b
ashfulness, that he intends to stand there and watch.

  “Go ahead.” He smirks.

  I grin nervously. “Did you finish all your calls?” I ask, hoping that he’d remember someone else he needed to speak with urgently.

  “Yep,” he says, not budging.

  “You don’t have any more work you need to do?” Please. Please.

  “Nope.” Still not budging.

  Fine! I grip the bottom of my shirt, his shirt, hesitating for a second, and then I roll it over my head, giving my ponytail a shake as I place the shirt on the dryer beside my other things. I can feel my nipples start to pucker immediately and I reach quickly for my bra. Gah! Where is it?

  I grab it, panicking for a second, wondering how I should put it on. There really is no sexy way to put on a bra. I give up and just fasten it under my boobs as usual and spin it around, slipping the straps over my shoulders, and then adjusting the girls for good measure. Now, for the shorts. I push them down and they fall easily around my ankles. I step out of them as gracefully as I can, trying not to fall over, and almost kick them up to catch them, but decide I don’t want to any aerobics in front of Cal right now. I can’t even bring myself to look at him. I reach over, snag my undies and step into them, pulling them up and wiggling my butt to get them in just the right position. Then, I reach for my shirt.

  “Stop!” he orders, and I freeze.

  “What?”

  “I want to look at you.”

  My little voyeur.

  I stand there, feeling awkward, not sure if I should do a quick turn around the catwalk or maybe a few Vogue poses.

  His smoky eyes sparkle and he licks his lips. “Turn around.”

  What?

  Slowly, I turn around and face the back wall, focusing on the ironing board in the corner. This is even worse than facing him. I count to five and then I turn around again.

  “That okay?” I ask, sheepishly.

  He pushes himself off the doorway and strides over to me, gripping my ass with one hand and tracing the lace of my bra with his finger. “Oh, that was more than okay,” he whispers. “A helluva lot more.” I go limp.

  Surely he can’t want sex again. Can he? He flexes his hips and even through his jeans, I can feel his fierce erection against my stomach. Well, that answers that question. He moans and grinds into me. Ah…

  I run my hands up his muscular arms and close my eyes, feeling the crotch of my freshly laundered panties becoming wet and sticky.

  It’s official, I decide. I am a bonafide sex-maniac now, having been converted by this mysterious, sultry, seducer of innocent young murder witnesses standing before me with his fingers tickling my ass. But I don’t care.

  His hand trails across my chest to my back, stroking gently, and then tugging at my ponytail. I summon all my mind-bending strength and I will him to drop to his knees and lick me until I explode into a million tiny atoms that float around the room before they finally settle in the dryer’s lint trap. Please. Please. But then he heaves a sigh and squeezes me.

  “You are really distracting,” he says, but not annoyed. “Get dressed. We’re going out.” He plants a short, sweet kiss on the top of my head.

  “Going out?” But, I, but…you just got me…going out?

  “Yeah. I want to show you something.”

  “Okay,” I say, cheering up a little as I grab my shirt. “Is it a surprise?”

  He chuckles. “Yeah. It’s a surprise. Do you have a jacket?”

  I frown. “It’s in his car.” I don’t want to actually say his name out loud and ruin our happy moods.

  “It’s just a little cool outside, not bad. But, you still need a jacket. You can wear one of mine.”

  He leaves and I quickly finish dressing, actually excited about our little surprise excursion. Feeling giddy, I head down the hall, and slide into the living room with my socks, something I’ve wanted to do since I got here last night and saw the smooth, polished floors. He not in here, so I slide my feet over to the sofa and wait for him to climb down the stairs.

  “Ready?”

  I nod. “Yep.”

  “You might need these.” He holds up my boots.

  “Oh. Yeah.” I giggle.

  “Here.” He hands me my boots and a jacket that I assume is his. I hold it up in front of me and I can tell already that it will swallow me whole.

  Not sure if he’s mind reading again or if my expression gives away my concerns, but he rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure it’ll be big on you. But at least you’ll be warm. No one will see you where we’re going, anyway.” You’ll see me.

  “So, we’re going someplace secluded then?”

  “About as secluded as you can get around here.” He chuckles.

  I slip my feet into my boots, and reach for my phone on the table, pausing with my fingertip balancing on top. I tap it with my finger, thinking. Rachael will be calling soon, no doubt. And, I’m not ready to talk to her quite yet. I decide to leave it, but I check my texts first. There’s one new message and it’s from Dan.

  Dan: Double. Thx.

  Good old Dan. Straight to the point, as usual. I’ll be pulling a double shift tomorrow.

  I stand up and slide one arm into Cal’s jacket. I reach behind me, slide in my other arm, and shrug it up over my shoulders. I look down and see it hanging just above my knees, my arms barely halfway down the sleeves. I feel like Dopey Dwarf.

  “Hm. It looks…” I can tell he’s struggling for the right word. “Good,” he finally says, trying not to laugh.

  “Um…thanks. But let’s just do this.” I take my arms out of the sleeves and drape it around me like a blanket. “Ready.” I head for the front door.

  “This way!” he shouts behind me, waving his hand in the other direction.

  Oh! I turn around and head back down the hall to the back porch where I was eavesdropping just a few minutes ago. I wonder if he’s going to tell me about Danny?

  Chapter Sixteen

  I stand on the back deck, enjoying the light breeze against my face. “Oh! You have a swing!” I skip over and sit down on it, running my fingers up the cold chain that it hangs from. I kick my feet and close my eyes, listing to the soothing, familiar creak from the hooks above. Aunt Jo has one that’s very similar and it reminds me of home, and childhood, and family.

  “I love it.” I squeal, hopping off and bounding down the stairs to the yard where Cal stands watching me and smiling.

  “You sure are energetic this morning. You must have slept well.” He grins wickedly.

  “Oh, I did. Best sleep I’ve had in about a year and a month.” I return his wicked grin, feeling a bit frisky myself. “What’s in there?” I point at the large building I saw from the doorway this morning.

  “What? Oh, that’s just my workshop. My man cave, I guess.” He looks at it with obvious affection.

  “Does that mean there’s a sign on the door that says ‘No Girls Allowed’?”

  “No. You want to see inside?” he asks, almost disbelieving.

  I nod.

  “Really?” He smiles.

  “Yes. Really.” I laugh.

  “Well, come on.” He grabs my hand and practically drags me to the door.

  I step back and watch as he unlocks it. He acts as though he’s about to unveil the lost tomb of King Tut as he steps aside and swings open the door.

  “Here it is.” He beams as he flips on a switch by the door. The fluorescent lights flicker a few times and then pop on overhead.

  I step in and immediately understand why he’s so proud of it. I say the only thing that pops into my head. “Wow.” I study the walls, turning around in a slow circle as I gawk.

  “This is really cool, Cal.”

  It seems as though he’s collected one of every sign ever manufactured, both old and new alike. Several of them I recognize, like Exxon, Sinclair with the green little dinosaur, Mobile, and Gulf. And, there’s plenty more that I’ve never heard of before. There’s even old metal signage for various dine
rs, cigars, motels, and ice cream and every type of soda I can think of. I could stand here for hours inventorying.

  I drop my gaze and I know immediately that this is where the woodworking magic takes place. A plethora of tools, manual and power, line the lower walls just above a long, winding counter, some of which I can identify, like hammers, saws, and drills. But even more that I can’t. A few well-worn saw horses sit neatly against the wall, along with some bigger machinery that I have no clue about. I think I might even be successful at building a bird house in here.

  And, there, in the corner, on a small area rug sits a large, over-stuffed recliner. Next to it, an old radio stands lonely on a worn end table with a mini-fridge off to the side. I imagine him sitting there, listening to a ball game and drinking beer while he’s surrounded by all his precious wood projects. I smile.

  Glancing toward the back of the shop, a fairly good-sized boat perched atop several large wooden supports claims my attention.

  “Oh…look at that,” I mumble as I step toward it. He follows me, shuffling and arranging things on the countertop as we pass.

  “You like that?” he asks, clearly pleased, as I run my hand along the side of its wooden planks. It looks even bigger now that I’m standing beside it.

  “Yes, I do.” I stand on my tiptoes trying to peek inside. I can tell it’s not new. But I can also tell it’s been well cared for, no warping and no rot anywhere on it. “Do you ever take it out?”

  He shakes his head. “Not since…” He pauses, choosing not to finish the sentence and looking almost melancholy. “Not in a long time,” he finally says.

  I gaze at him, wondering how that sentence could have ended. Not since I was seven years old? Not since I moved out here? Not since some horrible incident?

  He looks down at me and I smile. “Well, that’s just a crying shame. She’s beautiful.”

  He smiles back at me, the melancholy fading. “It was my dad’s.” Oh! His dad’s!