by Patti Larsen
“Dale.” Molly breathed his name, real regret in her voice. “What did you do?”
“I couldn’t take it,” he said, anguished, love-struck, so broken in those brief words my heart hurt for him despite the gun pointed in my general direction. “He was evil, Molly, cared nothing for anyone but himself.” Tears trickled down his cheeks though his gun never wavered. “I saw him beat down and conquer so many women in the last four seasons I worked for this show, it disgusted me. And Clara wouldn’t do anything to stop him.” The softness of his despair hardened as he spoke her name. “I was furious that night, about Janet’s cheating, about Clara’s attitude, but mostly about Ron. Molly,” he whispered her name. “I love you. I just couldn’t live with it anymore.”
She sighed out her sorrow in a screen-worthy release of air. “Dale, I love you, too.” She pattered her hands in her lap, as if wishing she could rush to him but unable to make herself move further than that tiny effort.
Dale shook his head then, turning his face away, jaw tight. “You told me you were afraid of him. I showed you that side exit so you could escape him, not go to him. But I saw you alone with him.” His voice shook. “I saw you kiss him, how you embraced him. You said you cared about me, but you were just like all the others.”
Okay, I’d expected a more jaded outcome, not some saga of emotional angst. What was I supposed to do to get the gun away from someone with a broken heart?
“What you saw was Ron taking what he couldn’t get by consent,” Molly said, so much power behind her tone Dale’s head whipped around. “How many times did I have to tell you? I despised him, Dale.”
“I heard him tell Clara he had you in his pocket,” Dale said, breathless now. “That he talked you into cheating and that you agreed to support the cookbook.”
A flare of anger crossed her face. “He lied,” she said, blunt, plain. “And you believed him?”
Dale wavered, the gun wobbling in his hand. I felt like I was in the middle of a soap opera and it wasn’t going to end with hugs and kisses and riding into the sunset. The way he was going, it was more likely wrapping up with two dead chicks and a pretty boy suicide. But I stood frozen, indecisive, my phone too far to reach on the counter between Molly and me while the drama unfolded without me.
Enough of things happening outside my control. “You killed Ron for Molly.” And I had to draw attention to myself, right?
But Dale didn’t seem to care about me at that moment. Instead, he addressed his next words to Molly. “I waited until you and Clara left and confronted him. I just wanted to know the truth, to hear it from his lips. Tell him to leave you alone once and for all.” He choked on a bark of a laugh. “You know, he didn’t even know my name? I’ve worked with this show for four years,” his gun hand accentuated the time frame with little jerks that ratcheted my anxiety by about a billion degrees, “and he didn’t know my name.”
“He wasn’t worthy of your name,” Molly whispered.
Dale hesitated, stilled, then went on, finally meeting my eyes with his dull ones, choosing that moment to remember I was there. Awesome. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t confront him to kill him. Things just got out of hand.” He sounded so young and vulnerable, free hand rising to shakily wipe at his forehead, a gleam of sweat on his skin shining in the emergency lights over the set. “How did they get so out of hand?” His eyes met mine. “I didn’t take your mother’s pot on purpose. It was just closest. And the plastic bag in the trash… all a coincidence. I swear it, Fee. I never tried to implicate Lucy.”
Well, he had that going for him in my books. Not much more, though. “Didn’t stop you from trying to kill me, though, did it?”
Dale wavered. “I was scared. I knew you were onto me. Or thought you were. I never wanted to hurt anyone.” He blinked, trembled. “I just wanted to keep Molly safe.”
The focus of his attention rose from her seat, crossed in front of the counter. I reached for her, to stop her, but she shook her head at me, sad smile small and tender.
“I came back,” she said. “To plant the gelatin in Janet’s kitchen.”
He nodded in clear misery. “I was here. I saw you do it.” His whole body trembled. “It’s okay, Molly. I get it, you had to.”
“I didn’t,” she said, crying herself all over again. “I could have quit the show. But then I thought I’d never see you again.”
And then they were crying together, her standing in front of him, the gun forgotten between them and I almost had a heart attack from the tension of it all.
“I didn’t want you to know what I did.” Her wail of despair matched his, like sabotage and cheating was as bad as murder.
He nodded then. “I didn’t judge you, not for a second.” Dale’s own small smile was full of love. “Not one, Moll.”
They wavered there, hearts clearly linked, my own struggling to pump enough oxygen into my brain so I didn’t pass out.
“It was a crime of passion, Dale,” I said, trying to keep my voice low and reasonable despite the thickness of the air that I swore could be cut with a knife. I’d heard that expression used before but I’d never felt it until now. Felt oddly appropriate. “A jury will understand that. Please, just put the gun down and let’s talk to the authorities.”
He snapped it around to point at me, ignoring the fact Molly stood next to him. “I can’t,” he said. “Don’t you see? I killed Ron and I’ll go to jail. I’ll lose Molly forever.”
For a brief, terrifying moment I was positive he was going to pull the trigger. The way her expression flickered, it seemed Molly was on his side, too. She would let him shoot me, the two star-crossed lovers ready to murder me and escape together and no one would ever know.
Clearly I’d been watching too many movies. And totally misjudged Molly. Instead of turning to join him, she very gently touched his wrist, the one holding the gun at me, and smiled a wavering, brave smile.
“You can’t lose me,” she said, blinking through her tears. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That’s how I found myself making a shaking, hasty call to Crew with a gun sitting on the counter in front of me while Molly and Dale hugged each other and whispered their love for one another while I did my best not to burst into hysterical giggles at how utterly screwed up the world was.
***
Chapter Thirty Four
I wasn’t expecting his visit, but when Crew showed up at the door of Petunia’s that night, I let him in without a word, not even thinking about it when I led him downstairs to my apartment before stopping to consider what doing so might imply.
Blushing.
He didn’t comment on our location, though, crouching to scratch Petunia’s ears while he spoke.
“I wanted to check on you,” he said, “after today’s excitement.”
Crew had been oddly kind and rather sweet to me when he’d come to my aid, answering the call almost immediately, already on his way when I finally managed to dial his number. I’d heard the siren in the background, realized he’d gotten my earlier message and was riding to the rescue.
A bit late, but when he listened to me unfold the story while Jill watched over the lovers—the pair ignoring her in favor of hugging each other and continuing to whisper sweet nothings like Dale hadn’t murdered for Molly’s honor—he didn’t yell at me or even seem angry. Instead, to my shock, he held very still a long moment when I rambled to a halt before stepping in and embracing me for a brief, glorious instant of awesome.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, low and gruff, before letting me go. I’d stood there for the longest time while he asked Dale a few questions, had Jill gently cuff him and lead him away, after bagging the gun on the counter.
Hard to believe that had been a few hours ago and not a lifetime. I leaned back against the counter in my kitchen, not sure what to say.
“Thank you for checking in on me,” I finally managed as he straightened from his attentions to my pug, much to her disappointment. She sat herself firmly on hi
s feet and stared up at him in clear adoration while he spoke.
“I just wanted to be sure you weren’t hurt.” He flushed a bit. “After what happened in April, I mean. The concussion and everything. You’re sure you’re okay?” He knew about the wall falling on me.
“I guess I’m luckier than the average redhead,” I said.
Crew’s flash of a smile died as he stood there, hands diving into his back pockets. For once, he was the awkward one, shifting from one foot to the other, disturbing Petunia who simply muttered and moved herself over to reclaim his boots for her butt.
“Fee.” He coughed softly, looked down at the pug using him for a sofa. “About the other night.”
He couldn’t have crushed me more thoroughly than he did with the weight of those four words.
“It’s okay,” I said, choking on trying to be a grownup when he obviously was here to tell me it had been a mistake, kissing me like that. “You don’t have to say anything.” I was such an idiot. Did I really think he was into me?
Crew frowned, meeting my eyes, his tightening around the edges. “I don’t think you understand,” he said. Before closing the distance between us with two long strides and kissing me all over again.
Kissing Crew would never get old.
His lips parted from mine after a brief, passionate moment that was gone way too soon. “I owe you an apology,” he said, gruff and deep. “I’ve left you hanging for months, not sure how to approach this.”
“You’re doing just fine now,” I whispered back. “More of this works great.”
He chuckled over my mouth, hands on my hips, his body pressing me gently into the counter behind me. Just enough weight I knew he was there, felt his warmth without being uncomfortably squished.
“Good to know,” he said. Sighed. “Oh, Fee.”
“Oh, Crew.” I let my hands rise, run around his waist to clasp behind him so he knew without a doubt I wasn’t backing down. “Just say it and we’ll sort it out. I think we’ve head butted enough that if we’re still standing here like this we’ll survive anything you might fumble over.”
His eyes twinkled, lips turning into a smirk. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I stared at his mouth for so long I felt myself leaning in to kiss him again before I forced my eyes upward to his blue ones. “I can take it, Crew. Just say what you need to and let’s figure this out if we can.”
“I’ve never met anyone who infuriates and frustrates and makes me as crazy as you do.” He laughed to take the edge off, leaning his forehead against mine. I wasn’t insulted. Because I totally understood and the feeling was rather mutual. Maybe not the best basis for a relationship? “Or someone who makes me laugh and want to protect her while being so proud of how amazing she is.” Okay, that was better.
“But.” I pushed him back just a bit, so I could focus because it was clear from the weight of his voice this was important.
“No but,” he said. “I’ve been using the excuse that this town has your back and not mine when that’s not fair to you.” I had no idea what he meant, but he wasn’t done so I let him go on, partly because I needed to hear what he had to say. “Your interfering with my cases was the perfect excuse to keep you at arm’s length. All I did was make us both miserable.” I wanted to hug him, to tell him it was all right, but he wasn’t done. “I’m not here to ask you to forgive me for being a jackass,” he said. “I’m here to ask you for a bit more patience, if you’re willing to wait for me. To let her go.”
Let her…
Choke.
“Your wife.” I swallowed hard past the knot in my throat. “Crew, I’d never ask you to do that.”
He shook his head, hugged me then, tucking me under his chin, the fabric of his coat crinkling beneath my hands as I embraced him back.
“She’d be pissed at me, Fee,” he whispered in a thick voice. “For hanging onto her for so long. She wanted me to be happy, made me promise to find someone else. I said I would, but I didn’t mean it. And then I met you and I had to face the fact Michelle was right. I had to find a way to move on.”
So much hurt, more so than when we’d talked in April. “I don’t want to be the cause of your pain.” Too late for that, I guess.
“You’re not.” He gently released me, smiled down at me, blue eyes bright. “I am. I’m a stubborn idiot and a bit slow on the uptake. But if you’re willing to be patient just a little bit longer…” He kissed me again, this time slow and soft and gentle until I wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet. Was surprised when his lips left mine I hadn’t done so already. “It’s going to be so easy to fall in love with you,” he said, “but I don’t want Michelle’s memory between us when I do.”
I wasn’t sure that was going to be possible, but it wasn’t my heart that had been broken by her death.
“I don’t mean I’m going to forget her,” he said, catching my hands with his. “Just that you deserve my whole heart, if that’s something you want.”
I could only think of one way to answer him. When he kissed me back, I knew he took my reply as the resounding yes I meant it to be.
***
Chapter Thirty Five
From the anxious expression on Aundrea’s face and how Pamela’s hand patted her fiancé’s gently in a steady, soothing beat I knew they’d been talking to Mom even before the former spoke.
“Are you sure everything is still going ahead for the wedding?” They’d barely sat down at my kitchen counter five seconds ago, Daisy taking their coats, the pair not even looking at the coffee I set in front of them.
“I’m positive,” I said, doing my best to exude confidence with a broad smile while I hoped I didn’t just lie to my friends. “Everything’s fine, just a few hiccups. To be expected, right?” I sipped my own mug of java as I sat and pushed the plate of sugar cookies toward them. “Snack?”
Pamela took one while Aundrea’s hands settled in her lap, clutching at each other as if she needed the support.
“Your mother sounded like she really meant it,” Aundrea said, glancing at Pamela who sighed and shrugged before meeting my eyes.
“We’re still getting married,” the newspaperwoman said, practical as ever, “in the annex. I’m sure if Lucy can’t do the cake, Fee will take care of everything. Right, Fee?” Was that pleading for backup in her gaze?
“Of course,” I said, wingwomaning like mad. “You have nothing to worry about, Aundrea. We’re so excited to host the wedding. It’s going to be gorgeous.”
“I know.” She seemed to relent, a flash of an excited smile crossing her lovely face. Jared definitely took after his beautiful mother, lucky him. “It’s just we’ve waited so long. I want everything to be perfect.”
The worry that I’d taken on Bridezilla wasn’t lost on me, but they were my friends and I trusted Pamela to make sure her true love didn’t give me an ulcer between now and May.
“Fee,” Daisy said with a smile, “maybe Aundrea would like to see the new dining room in the annex? And the flooring Alicia picked out?” She gushed over the couple with the perfect amount of charm and charisma. “Stunning. Your photos are going to be epic.”
Aundrea rose immediately and went with my bestie, but Pamela lingered, her shrewd expression as she narrowed her eyes, grinning, telling me she’d hoped to get me alone.
“Tell me everything,” she said, no nonsense journalist shining through. “I can’t believe I let Aundrea take me away for the weekend and I missed the story of the year.”
“Well,” I said, “of the month, anyway.” Wrinkled my nose and sighed over my cup.
She laughed, patted my hand much as she had her fiancé’s. “You’ll feel better if you tell me everything. Just us friends.”
My turn to laugh. “No, you’ll have a scoop for the Gazette. But what are friends for?”
By the time Aundrea and Daisy returned, the pair chattering their excitement over the progress of the annex and my best friend’s event plans, the beaming bride-to-be seemed sooth
ed past her jitters and worries while Pamela shot me a wry grin as I wrapped up the story.
I hugged them both before Daisy guided them out, Pamela pausing at the kitchen door with one eyebrow arched.
“You think any more about that column we talked about?” She straightened her coat, shoulders shrugging to settle the fabric, gaze level but amused. “Since you’re not showing any sign of keeping your nose clean?”
“Still thinking about it,” I said. Blushed. Hated that I blushed. She laughed and I waved her off, turning to clean up the coffee cups as she left, the sound of Daisy seeing them off muffled when the kitchen door swung closed.
I had to go see Mom and talk some sense into her, not that I hadn’t tried. Oh, I’d tried. Daisy tried. Wasn’t doing much good, but I refused to quit on my mother. Didn’t help she and Dad were still fighting, though it seemed the yelling, screaming and throwing things—if the big chunk of drywall missing from the living room and the vanished lamp by the fireplace was any indication—was over, their cold distance wasn’t lost on me when I went to visit them after walking away from almost being shot again.
I hadn’t meant to dump what happened on them. I’d just gone to see them, to check on them and ended up spilling the rest of the story while Dad frowned, silent, and Mom trembled, face tight with anger.
Wasn’t expecting her reaction. “You see, Fiona? You see what poking your nose in gets you? If you get shot next time, don’t come crying to me!” And then she stomped from the room and slammed her door while Dad refused to meet my eyes.
It had only been a day since, but I was pretty sure time wasn’t the solution to this problem. Mom’s reaction might have hurt at the moment, but I knew better. She wasn’t mad at me. And from the conversation we’d had at the annex, she wasn’t really mad at Dad, either. The Mom I loved wouldn’t stay mad if he was truly happy doing what he was doing.
So what would it take to heal her heart? I wished I knew. I hated seeing my normally loving parents divided, no matter what the cause. It wasn’t like them and gave me an unsettled and uncomfortable fear to linger over.