by D. D. Ayres
“Did he remember you?”
“No.” Carly held on to her temper. She didn’t like being questioned like a suspect.
“When did Mr. Glover recover his dog?”
“He came by my aunt’s home after he checked out of the hospital.”
“Your aunt’s home?” The eyebrow twitch was the tell of his surprise this time. “Why there?”
“She has a fenced yard.” She glanced around her flat for emphasis. “My apartment doesn’t allow pets.”
“Is there anyone who can verify Mr. Glover’s visit to your aunt?”
Carly took a deep breath. “My aunt. You might know of her. Judge Fredda Wiley. She sits on the juvenile court bench.”
Durvan’s eyes crinkled in the corners. “I do know her.”
“Then you know she’s going to have something to say about me being late for church.” Carly stood up. “I’m sorry but I really must go.”
Durvan stood up but didn’t move toward the door. “I appreciate the time you’ve given me, Ms. Reese. You’re lucky your insurance will cover all the damage your premises sustained.” He glanced around her apartment. “Of course, as successful as you’ve been, money shouldn’t be an issue for you.”
Carly held on to her smile until she thought her lips would crack. “No, I don’t need to set any place on fire for the insurance.”
He didn’t smile, but a grudging respect entered his gaze. “Thank you for your time.”
He moved toward the door, but Carly anticipated the sudden “Colombo” hesitation and turn even before he executed the move.
“Just one more thing. I understand your husband died a few years ago under mysterious circumstances.” His cool gray gaze held hers. “There were rumors of suicide.”
Carly felt as if he’d kicked her in the stomach. He’d delved deep into her past. Deeper, perhaps, than Noah had. But she’d had years of practice dealing with haters. Nothing showed in her expression as she stared back at him.
“There was no mystery to it. Arnaud was a brilliant fashion photographer but also a drug addict. He’d been clean for nearly two years. He backslid, and it killed him. No fires were involved. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Durvan nodded but didn’t back down. “I had to ask. It’s possible someone helped Mr. Glover execute his hoped-for demise.”
Just in time, Carly bit off the words of defense on Noah’s behalf. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“If you should remember anything else, anything at all about the fire or Mr. Glover, I’d appreciate a call.”
“Or, I could call the media.” That got his attention.
“Have you been approached by the media?”
“No. I prefer to keep my private life private.” But the implied threat had been made. Carly Harrington-Reese could be pushed only so far before she pushed back.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it that way, Ms. Reese. My job is the find out the truth. Once the media gets wind of an event like this, none of us will be able to control it. Sensational headlines could hurt everyone involved, especially the innocent.”
Like Noah. Carly’s heart jumped. This man couldn’t possible know anything about her and Noah. But he suspected a connection.
For the first time, Durvan’s mustache twitched up into what might have been a smile. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Reese. I must caution you to avoid Mr. Glover should he try to reach out to you. You may be called to give testimony if the case goes to court.”
“You really think he started that fire?”
Durvan didn’t answer.
Once she shut the door, Carly leaned against it, waiting for her heartbeat to slow.
“Underhanded! Vicious! Creep!” She murmured each word so that Durvan wouldn’t hear if he was standing just outside. But talking to herself always helped clarify her thoughts. “He thinks I’m part of the crime of arson.”
The second the words were out of her mouth she knew they were true. Inspector Durvan didn’t believe Noah. He didn’t entirely believe her either. If this was an indication of how the line of inquiry into the arson case was progressing, no wonder Noah had bolted the night before.
A chill worked its way down Carly’s spine as she walked over to pick up her purse and keys. Best not to get involved any further. That had been Jarius’s advice. She wished now she’d taken it from the first. Although …
It had not occurred to her that the authorities might entertain the idea that she was part of Noah’s suicide—No … arson? Uh … murder attempt? What exactly did the arson investigator think? He’d scattered a lot of innuendo but few facts.
She’d told Noah from the first that she didn’t want to be involved in whatever mess he was in. She had been right to worry about his presence complicating her life.
“That’s why you’re going to mind your own business from this second forward, Carly.”
As soon as she made one call.
She opened her purse and pulled out her cell phone, ready to dial the number Noah had left with her the night before. Right up to the second she began considering the possible repercussions of that call.
What if she was called as a witness, or suspect, and her phone records were subpoenaed? A call to Noah right after a visit from the arson investigator would look suspicious. And it should.
One thought toppled onto others. What if someone had seen them together the night before? Either coming out of Flawless. Or worse, entering her apartment building. What if Investigator Durvan already knew they’d come up to her apartment, and that Noah had stayed until the wee hours. One plus one would make a man like Durvan think of sex every time. Not that Noah had actually been in her bed. They’d never made it that far.
There it was again, the jolt of desire that made her body flush and her toes curl inside her sky-high heels every time her mind wandered to the early hours of the morning.
She glanced begrudgingly at the chair on which they’d had sex—made love? The novelty of her feelings surprised her. She’d wanted Noah Glover with an urgency she hadn’t felt since Arnaud. And maybe not then. She’d been almost a virgin with Arnaud. Now she was a grown woman who knew pleasure—how to give it and receive it.
Last night she’d done both, with a man who knew how to give as well as receive too.
She blew out a long almost desperate breath.
She’d thought she knew what she was doing. It was just sex, after all. Nothing earth shattering, or with a future. She had heard out all his objections, all the sane reasons why they should take their hands off each other, turn their backs, and step quickly away in opposite directions. But they hadn’t.
Even after the first time, they hadn’t wanted to get far enough apart to make it possible to move to the softer more comfortable bed in the next room.
He’d simply held her as she lay in boneless contentment against him until it was clear that his body was rallying. His touch turned more gentle the second time. His fingers no longer held on desperately but leisurely quested out the contours of her body. He whispered into her ear. Telling her what he was going to do to her, and how it was going to be better than the first time.
The wonder of it was, he’d kept that promise. With her still astride him, he’d found a way to take control, hands holding, molding, forcing her up and down his shaft until she was gasping softly as his mouth tugged first one nipple and then the other. He was waiting, still whispering now and then in a deep voice that seemed to come from someplace deeper than his chest. And still he waited, bringing her to climax twice before he groaned and stiffened and emptied into her.
Carly smiled as she ran a finger along the back of the chair she’d never before liked all that much. She hadn’t expected the power of the feelings that stirred in her lower belly even now. It wasn’t the beginning of anything. It couldn’t be.
And yet, the erotic images that her memory was suddenly offering up fed those hot and satisfying sensations.
Carly turned away from the chair.
She’d matched his composure after they’d come back to reality, still locked in a sweaty embrace. Leaning toward him, her eyes shut, she remembered how she inhaled the scent of his skin just beneath his chin one last time. A memory to preserve until another night.
Smiling, she opened her eyes. That’s when reality landed like Dorothy’s Kansas house, shattering the unformed plans stirring in her thoughts.
In the faint light she had seen his expression becoming wary even before he spoke.
They couldn’t have another time. This was it.
And so she’d retreated, watched him dress silently, and then let him go.
Carly turned toward the view beyond her windows.
How did she feel about Noah Glover? She wasn’t certain. She hadn’t had to consider a man in in her life in—damn!—years. There’d been no conscious decision to become celibate. It had just happened, first as a protection against the pain of Arnaud’s death. And then because she was busy trying to reinvent herself. The drought had lasted so long, it was no surprise she’d been overwhelmed by the sensation of good sex. Oh, Noah was good. But eyes-rolling-back-in-her-head good?
Or was that just the novelty of letting go after three years of self-imposed celibacy that had turned her into a delicious mush of satiation?
“I’d have to have something to compare it to.” She spoke the words to the chair, as if it might provide the solution. The only idea that formed in her head in reply was More, please.
But Noah wouldn’t be coming back. Not to her home, or to her bed. He’d made that clear.
The very best thing she could do was go to church and pray all during the service that she wouldn’t be caught up in Noah Glover’s life any more than she already was. No good could come of getting in deeper.
She walked over and scooped up her laptop, lying closed on the coffee table, and curled up on her sofa. She was just going to make a list. In case she needed it. Of what she knew, what she suspected, and how it might have gone down.
Half an hour later, she had a list of questions that impressed even her. Top of the list was: Why kill Noah in that store? Like any city, Fort Worth had its share of down and out neighborhoods. Why not choose an abandoned house in a derelict neighborhood where no one would have come upon the fire until it was too late? That question spurred lots of others until she had a long list of things to be run down.
“Noah should see this.”
The thought given voice surprised her. She’d promised herself at least twice now that she wasn’t going to get any more involved. She’d just made the list to prove to herself that Investigator Durvan couldn’t be saying all that he knew about the fire. Or that the investigator was so busy trying to frame Noah that he hadn’t bothered to look at all the facts. The list made her feel more in control, more like her old self.
At least that was as good as she was going to be feeling about things for now. She had a daunting task of obstacles involving Flawless. Beginning with her calling in the restoration company right this minute.
She dug in her purse and found the card the young man had given her the morning before, and placed the call. The answering service for the company said they would send someone out by noon. She didn’t need to be there. With her permission, they would get in because the mutual wall between her store and the fire-gutted one had been damaged and needed to come down anyway.
She’d begun calling her vendors yesterday, the morning after, because she didn’t want them to hear from anyone else about the fire and subsequent damage to Flawless, and its merchandise. Most had been friendly, even supportive, as she promised them that they would be paid out of the insurance money. A few had been upset at the loss of their work, feeling as she did that the intrinsic value was in the creative process itself, not in how much the resulting works were worth. How did one value a painting or even a handmade scarf or wall hanging, except in terms of how appealing they were to a potential owner? Many artists struggled with the idea of selling their one-and-only favorite creation. Several agreed to recreate versions of Carly’s choices from their inventory, but kept the original pieces. She understood their feelings.
Carly reached up to finger one of the silver bells that made up the necklace she wore. She had hand-fashioned each bell into the shape of the African sesame seed flower with its long narrow bell and flared ruffle edge. Each of the three dozen bells had taken days to shape. A fresh water pearl suspended on a thin silver wire served as a clamper for each. With the largest placed at the center point, clusters of smaller and smaller bells climbed up either side of the silver chain, creating a bib necklace of bells. It was the task that helped her get through the first two months after Arnaud’s death. But it wasn’t a memento of him or their life. It was a pledge to herself that she could and would make a life on her own, with new talents.
Carly checked the wall clock. Services, usually praise singing, had begun fifteen minutes ago and usually lasted half an hour. Even so, she was dressed. That left no excuse not to go.
Arriving much too late at St. James A.M.E. Church to miss turning every head in the sanctuary, Carly tiptoed up the aisle to Aunt Fredda’s prominent third-row pew.
Aunt Fredda waited until they were rising to sing another hymn before she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “What kept you?”
“An unexpected visit from the arson investigator who’s looking into the fire.”
Aunt Fredda made her famous humph of disapproval.
Carly sighed. She’d felt the same about Durvan’s visit. She didn’t like being accused by hints and by the resurrection of an old scandal of wrongdoing. So maybe she’d do a little bit of investigating. On her own.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Texas Motor Speedway was home to Big Hoss TV, as the world’s largest high-definition LED video board was known to fans. Covering more than 20,000 square feet in area, it was filled with news about the events taking place on this the final day of the Lone Star Nationals Giant Automotive Festival. Located in far north Fort Worth and spilling over into Tarrant County, the speedway routinely hired off-duty police, firefighters, and county law enforcement personnel to augment their security for big events. Noah, always glad for extra ways to earn money, had arrived with his K9 Harley an hour before the opening.
Noah led Harley through the crowded infield where the Texas sun ricocheted off the surfaces of more than two thousand candy-colored, chrome-plated vehicles. Just as he had predicted, the day had warmed quickly. He was beginning to sweat where the neckline of his collared shirt chafed his neck. It was going to be a long-ass day.
The display was open to 1972 & older models, street rods, custom vehicles, muscle cars, trucks, and classics all lined up for display to the delight of the attendees. The event also featured more than a hundred vendor exhibits, a Giant Swap Meet & Auto Trader Classics Cars 4 Sale Corral, the ultra-intense Goodguys AutoCross timed racing competition, a model car show, a free Kids Zone, and live music entertainment! All in all, it was a logistics headache for security.
Noah and Harley’s job was to make certain the fun was not interrupted by anyone setting off anything incendiary or explosive. A couple of numb nuts with fireworks could do a lot of damage. Forget the ever-present threat of terrorism.
In his work harness and on the leash, Harley moved through crowds of automotive enthusiasts pushing strollers and carrying backpacks, diaper bags, small children, Texas-sized portions of vendor food, and oversized bags of purchased merchandise. Harley sniffed it all, head from side to side as he explored every passing pants leg and purse with the purpose of finding something interesting so that he would get a reward. He’d smelled the liver treats in a utility pocket of Noah’s cargo pants before they left home. Liver treats were his favorite, second only to duck and sweet potato. He wanted every liver treat in Noah’s pocket. The game was on!
He paused every so often to sneeze hard, deliberately blowing out the accumulation of smells in his sensory passages that could overwhelm a less well-trained dog. The s
heer numbers of human smells, mingled with the odors of gasoline, motor oil, tires, leather, dust, not to mention food odors from the many vendors, made the job an ordeal even for the most experienced professional K9.
Noah, too, felt the tension of working the large crowded environment. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” blasted from the overhead speakers and was giving him a headache. Vintage rock for vintage cars, he supposed. But, damn, they were well into the second decade of the twenty-first century. How about some Sam Hunt or Beyoncé?
Most times, he could forget about everything else but the job, and how to stay safe. But today, it was more difficult to pack everything else away and focus. What if the man who’d tried to end his life were here, watching him and knowing he wouldn’t be able to identify him? The place between his shoulder blades itched just thinking about that possibility.
“Get your act together, Glover.” He muttered the words under his breath as his gaze swung from scouring the way ahead to watching intently as Harley paused to assess a smell.
Festivals like this were often a place where a person’s trash could be a dog’s poison. Aside from the main reason they were hired, there were constant and possibly fatal hazards of working a K9 around cars. The drips and drops of sweet-tasting antifreeze, as well as other acids and alkalis spilled by careless car owners were toxic to dogs. Then there was the possibility that if Noah wasn’t alert, Harley might scarf up a discarded piece of sugar-free gum or candy, both of which contained xylitol, another toxin for dogs. Added to this were the temptations of remains of vendors’ offerings, many of which included mushrooms, grapes, onions, garlic, or chocolate. Harley was obedient and an excellent explosives K9, but he was still a dog. Noah’s job was to keep Harley on track and out of harm’s way while the K9 did his job.
After an hour on the crowded infield, Noah pulled Harley off the job and took him inside to let him explore behind the scenes in the corridors that ran beneath the arena seating. Here, at least, the floor was clear of clutter and spills. The fiercest gauntlet was the one where Noah would come face to face with a colleague.