An attractive woman with reddish hair joined them. “Pleased to meet you.” She shook hands with Kate. “I’m looking for pillows to coordinate with our new drapes. I have a swatch…here in my purse.” She rummaged around inside her large handbag. “I must have left it in the car. It’s in a plastic bag, dear. On the back seat,” she said to her husband.
“I’ll run out and get it,” Sergeant Bower said. His long legs soon got him to their car parked at the curb. He pulled open the rear door and ducked into the interior to retrieve the swatch of fabric.
As he bent down to reach across the back seat, a large, shiny black car slowed down alongside. Almost stopping. A rifle appeared and stuck out of the driver’s window. The sergeant stepped onto the sidewalk. Pop. A bullet whizzed by the sergeant’s ear, broke through the store window and landed above a mirror on the back wall. “What the hell?” he yelled. He pulled his handgun out of its holster hidden under his jacket. Holding it with both hands, he bent and took aim at the tires of the car speeding down the street. His shots hit the car’s rear end. One bullet punctured a tire, which flattened immediately. The tire turned—thunk, thunk—but instead of slowing, the driver increased his speed, swaying across both lanes down the street.
His wife, wide-eyed, stared at the scene through the shop’s window. She, Dutch and Kate ran out of the store. “Are you alright?” they asked.
“Yep. Gonna chase down that son-of-a-bitch.” He jumped into his car and took off with screaming tires as he gunned the gas pedal. The air smelled of burning rubber. They all stared at the retreating auto.
“Come on, let’s follow him,” Dutch said. He grabbed Kate’s hand.
“I’m going with you,” Christie yelled as she jumped into the truck next to Kate. “Move over, girl.”
“Which way did they go?” Kate asked.
At that moment, police sirens echoed across the town streets.
“I’ll head toward the police cars.” Dutch threw the truck into gear and kicked the accelerator.
“Crumbs,” Kate called out. “Hold onto your drawers.”
“You Brits have the weirdest expressions.” But Christie took the advice and held onto the handle above the door as the truck sped toward the sirens.
Dutch soon came upon the scene. They tumbled out of the truck and ran over to the sergeant.
“You okay?” Dutch asked the sergeant.
“I’m fine,” he panted. “Our suspect isn’t though.” The captive leaned on the rear of the car, holding his belly, making sounds like he was about to vomit.
Police cars blocked the black car’s path. The blue lights flashed, reflected in the store windows, enlarging the scene to a dozen lights. Two policemen wearing green disposable gloves patted down the large man’s garments. The swarthy man let go of his stomach and held his hands in the air, knocking his black wig askew. One cop pulled the wig off his head—the man was totally bald—and placed it on the hood of a police car along with the confiscated rifle—a Springfield.
The sergeant slid into the passenger seat of the sleek auto and clicked open the glove compartment. He pulled out the contents in a shower of papers and something wrapped in a bandana. He laid it on the car roof, unrolled the fabric and held the contents. “It’s a Glock handgun,” he yelled. “Bingo. We may have caught the son-of-a-bitch.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kate says: When creating a display, use an odd number of items. It’s the rule of composition and is used in photography, art and flower arranging. It’s more pleasing to the eye and makes a display more dynamic.
Kate sat on the top step of the cabin’s wooden stairs. Dutch would be back soon. Baby, the cat, stretched his long black and white legs as he emerged from the leafy hostas in the tiny flower garden. He mewed a hello to her and lazily climbed the steps up to her. He rubbed his head on her leg, purring loudly like a tiny chainsaw.
“Hello, Baby,” Kate said and stroked his back. “Daddy will be home soon.”
As though soothed at the thought, Baby plopped himself on the step beside her and closed his eyes. His tail flicked back and forth, showing the world that he was not asleep—merely waiting for his dad.
Wish I could relax that quickly, she thought. It’s been nerve-racking these past months, but at least Dutch and I tracked down the forgers. The swarthy man got himself arrested. I need this time with Dutch. Need to relax.
Two squirrels chased each other around the trunk of a large tree next to the driveway. Around and around, they scrambled. Kate felt dizzy watching them. Just then the gravel of the driveway scrunched as Dutch drove up in his truck. He beeped the horn.
She waved at him. Her chest tightened as she gazed at him. Just the sight of this man makes my knees weak and wobbly.
He looked at her. “Hi,” he said. His long legs took him across the driveway in two steps. “Remind me to have a key made for you. It’s not fair for you to wait on the steps.”
“Will do. How’s your day going?”
“Great.” He kissed her as he pulled her up off the step. “Want some coffee?”
“Sounds good.”
“Then I’ll give you a rundown of what happened today.”
He scooped up the cat as he passed by. Baby snuggled against his chest.
“I’m amazed how you two get along,” Kate said. She leaned over and rubbed the cat’s head.
“He’s a great buddy.” Dutch unlocked the door and headed into the kitchen. He put Baby down on the floor and brushed loose cat hairs off his shirt.
Kate poured water into the coffee maker and spooned ground coffee into the filtered basket. It was soon perking, filling the place with the pleasant aroma of coffee. When done, she filled two mugs with the strong drink, added creamer and sweetener and placed them on the table.
“I saw you put sweetener in mine. I take sugar,” Dutch accused her. He leaned back on the counter.
“I read your latest blood tests report. Your sugar’s a little high. I don’t want it to turn into diabetes.”
“Thanks,” Dutch said. “I don’t deserve you—you’re so thoughtful.”
“I’m just selfish,” Kate said. “I want you around for years yet.” She went over to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. “So what’s new today?”
“Well, our scammers have posted bail and are out of jail.”
“Scumbags. They’ll probably get away with everything and do no time in prison where they belong.” She was disgusted. “And what about our shooter? Any news?”
“He’s in jail. He’s the main suspect, and because he’s not from this area and is a flight risk, his bail was set at a million bucks. He’ll be in there until after his trial.”
“But do they think he’s the murderer? Do they have enough evidence against him?” she demanded.
“Whoa. Yes, and yes. Yes, they believe he’s the guilty one, and yes, they have loads of evidence against him,” Dutch said.
“When’s the trial?”
“Months from now.” He brushed his mouth across her lips.
“Going to the trial?” She touched his face, gently.
“No. Boring.” He kissed the palm of her hand.
“Hope they find him guilty. If he’s guilty, that is. Job well done, I guess.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kate says: To update the lighting in your bathroom, an easy and inexpensive trick is to install sconces with dark shades. The Hollywood look of a series of light bulbs is out of style—the softer look of sconces is in.
“This is going to be interesting,” Kate said, snuggling next to Dutch on the soft sofa. She clicked the remote control to turn on the television. The cat balanced himself on the back sofa cushions, snoozing.
“This is easier than sitting through another trial. My behind is still sore from the last one,” she said, laughing.
“Okay. Good. The show is coming on now,” Dutch said.
The local channel’s reporter for Court Timeline opened the broadcast with a rundown of the case. She told h
ow the local banks had been fleeced of millions of dollars.
Dutch looked at Kate. “That’s good news. They hadn’t hit the other banks on the list.”
Kate nodded.
With film recreations of the appropriate scenes, she told the story of how all of the evidence pointed to a guilty defendant.
A cigar stub found in the suspect’s home was proven to be the same brand as the real estate broker’s. A forensic specialist concentrated on forensic botany, explained that plant DNA can identify a geographical location or even the season in which the plant was grown. He reported that his comparison tests showed that the tobacco in the cigars was grown in the same soil that contained identical chemical compounds and mineral deposits.
Further tests showed that the ashes were the same—pure white, which meant that it is of good quality grown in Cuba or the Dominican Republic. Samples of tobacco in the cigar and stub were tested by the FBI lab. The results showed that the DNA in the leaves in both samples matched.
Another DNA test was performed on the skin found under the deceased realtor’s fingernails. The test result showed that the defendant’s DNA matched that under the nails. Not only the DNA matched, but ejected shell casings found at the Magee murder scene contained his partial fingerprints.
Finally, the test result on a blond acrylic hair from the wig the defendant wore over his shaved head, showed that it had the same individual characteristic as the acrylic hair found at the murder scene in the realtor’s office.
The reporter concluded the report saying—
“In light of the overwhelming evidence against the defendant, it wasn’t a surprise when the jury decided that the defendant was guilty of murder in the first degree. At the sentencing, he was given life without the possibility of parole.
“When given the chance to explain his actions, Mr. Romani said he was paid by the developers of the Valhalla at the Lake to clear the world of greedy, manipulating bank officers. It was his contribution as a public service.”
“Does not play well with others,” Kate commented.
“This is Susan Kaplan reporting for Court Timeline. Good night.”
A commercial came on, blaring its message. Dutch clicked the TV off. “We did a great job.”
“Indeed. At least, the killer’s put away.”
“We make a great partnership,” he said.
“In more than one way.”
She faced him, reaching up to hug him around the neck. He leaned down and gently held her face in his hand. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “I love you so much.” His full lips covered hers, wet and wanting, in a passionate kiss.
He lowered his hand and caressed her breast.
“That feels so good,” she murmured between kisses.
He ran his hands over her hips. “Big, baby-making hips,” he whispered.
She felt tingly, aroused, at his suggestive words.
He pulled at her waist, drawing her close to his body. He ran his tongue along her lips, teasing. She opened her mouth. His lips enveloped hers, tasting her sweetness. She ran her hand down his thigh, feeling the tense muscles, slowly making circles inching into his inner thigh. She felt his arousal.
Dutch moaned. I love this woman. I love her intelligence, her body, everything about her. Just being near her, makes me lust after her. He grabbed her hand. “Let’s go to bed.”
Kate raced him to the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes.
About the Author
Rosemary was born in the lovely country town, Bury St. Edmunds in Suffolk County, England. You can see her hometown on her web site. After moving to the U.S. with her military husband, Rosemary lived in New England and currently lives in a historic town in Eastern Pennsylvania. She was a "late bloomer”, attending evening classes at university and graduating law school in her late 40s. Rosemary’s written award-winning environmental research papers on such topics as whales and uranium mining but, now that she’s retired, writes mysteries, and contemporary/historical fiction. Rosemary travels extensively in the U.S. and overseas. Of course, she returns to England every year to visit relatives and to continue researching her current projects.
Visit Rosemary’s website at www.Rosemary-Goodwin.com to read excerpts and view places depicted in her novels.
Look for these titles by Rosemary Goodwin
Now Available:
Curtains in Stonington
One death after another—will there be any customers left for Kate’s decorating business?
Curtains in Stonington
© 2008 Rosemary Goodwin
A Kate Bart Mystery
British-born Kate Bart, the interior decorator in this New Jersey town, helps her friend, Dutch, with his P.I. investigations. He’s decided that he’d like to be more than just a pal, so things get hot when they’re working together. She’s been a widow for some time now, but although she’s attracted to him, she still needs time to learn how to love again.
The arrival of the new sexy undertaker causes a ripple in the traditional-minded townspeople. She slinks around meeting Tom Yoast, the general store owner. What’s she after? He’s certainly no trophy husband-to-be.
“You’ll have ta deal with two dead people very soon,” Carmella, an elderly Italian psychic, warns Kate. Just what she wanted, something more to scare her as she and Dutch search for clues to solve the mysterious deaths. They follow leads, some to dead ends, but in the end the perpetrators are brought to justice.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Curtains in Stonington:
“I see dead people,” the elderly woman said mysteriously. “Following you. I’m like the kid in the movie. You’ll have ta deal with two dead people very soon.”
“What?” Kate asked, surprised at the suddenness of the homely woman’s appearance from the cramped kitchen. She looked over at her friend, Rachel, with a questioning look, then back at the woman. “What dead people are you talking about?”
“You want cawfee?” the elderly woman asked her in a thick New Jersey accent—ignoring Kate’s query. With shaking hands, she carried a cup of black liquid, which rattled on the matching saucer.
“No, thanks. I just dropped in to say ‘hi’ to Rachel.” Kate often dropped in to “chew the fat” with her friend whose occupation was making soft-sculpture dolls. They’d talk for hours about business and their love lives—or lack of same since neither was involved with a man at this juncture of their lives.
“Rachel, my bella niece,” the woman murmured. She kissed the tips of her fingers as though indicating a wonderful, delicious item.
Kate was impatient. “What dead people?” she demanded.
“You remember my Aunt Carmella don’t you?” Rachel interrupted. “She and Uncle Ralph are visiting today.” She winked.
“Of course. I remember you, Aunt Carmella.” Kate turned to the older woman. “It’s been awhile though.”
Carmella had settled herself down in a chair opposite Rachel on the other side of the dining-room table. With legs wide apart to accommodate her pudgy belly, and varicose veins bulging lumpily in her thick support hose, she blew on the coffee and sucked in a mouthful. “Hot.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Yeah, been busy lately. Everyone wants their fortune told.” She pushed her white-streaked black hair off her face and adjusted the waistline of her house dress printed with gaudy bunches of cherries.
“She reads tarot cards,” Rachel said.
Kate turned to the woman. “Interesting. So tell me what you’re talking about—dead bodies following me?” she asked.
“No, silly girl, they’re not following you. Just their auras are—their spirits so ta speak.” Carmella poured her hot coffee into the saucer, blew on it and slurped up the cooled liquid.
At night, she comes alive…but a madman’s fantasies could kill her.
Fantasy Girl
© 2008 Candice Gilmer
By day, Lynn Broadmore leads a boring life as a mild-mannered bookkeeper, enduring one blind date after anothe
r. But by night, she’s “Hush,” webmistress extraordinaire, writing naughty stories for her adoring legion of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan fiction minions.
Now that there’s a new guy working in the next cubicle, though, real life is getting interesting. All Jack has to do is smile, and her insides turn to goo. To her complete surprise, she might even stand a chance against the office bimbo.
Undercover FBI agent Jack Edwards is on the hunt for a serial killer who trolls the Internet for victims. The trail has led to Lynn’s virtual doorstep, and he’s ready to do whatever is necessary to bring the killer down—including using two secret identities to gain her trust. Things get complicated, however, as the goofy fan fiction writer gets under his skin and starts staining his brain—and his heart.
Distractions are something he can’t afford right now…not if he’s going to keep her from getting hurt in what she thinks is a safe, on-line hideaway. Because between the pixels lurks a murderer.
And he’s chosen Hush, his fantasy girl, as his next target.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Fantasy Girl:
“You have got to be kidding me.” I cried out as I kicked my rear driver’s-side tire. The thing was flatter than a pancake. A slew of cuss words slipped out of my mouth, rivaling the best sailors.
“Lynn?” came a voice from behind me.
I spun around. “What?” I snapped, realizing I was spinning around to glare at the one and only Jack Edwards.
Damn my luck. And didn’t it beat all, that a week after meeting him, I was still getting all gooey inside just looking at him.
I seriously needed some help. Professional help.
“Uh, need some help?” he asked with a brow raised, framing his rather amused expression.
“No, thank you,” I snapped, glaring down at the terrible tire. Anything to keep from looking at Jack. “I am perfectly capable of changing my own tire.” I opened the trunk, and tried to pull my tire out. Which really, it wasn’t that heavy. It was a spare…
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