Chalk Lines & Lipstick: a Maren Colepepper cozy mystery (Maren Colepepper Mysteries Book 1)

by Ophelia London

  I ran my fingers through my hair, knowing I looked a wreck compared to her. But there was no way I'd give up chocolate muffins. Or Snickers. Or cupcakes.

  "Well, anyway, I'm sure you know all that." She sighed. "Healthful living isn't for everyone. One bottle of San Pellegrino," she said to the server.

  Seriously? Imported Italian bottled water at lunch? Can you say pretentious?

  "I'll have a Diet Coke, please."

  Katie's tilted her head to the side, an expression of friendly pity on her bronzer-swept face. I braced for her to launch into a lecture about the evils of caffeine, but all she did was sigh primly.

  I took Kim's advice and ordered the egg white lunch omelet. Katie ordered a bowl of fruit and grilled salmon salad, no dressing, but lemon slices on the side. At least she hadn't asked our server to squeeze the lemons for her.

  "So. Maren." She slid her cell into her bag. "How is it being back home?" Her brows knitted as she nodded sympathetically. "Must be so depressing for you, right?"

  "Not at all," I said, running a finger down the side of my frosted glass. "It's working out great. I get to spend time with my parents now that they've retired, and I can see all of Piper's plays."

  "Oh, that's right. I think I heard something once about how your sister is involved in community theater."

  "She's the star of all the shows," I stated, making up for the last time we'd talked and I'd failed to defend Piper. "I saw her in The Importance of Being Earnest last night. She was amazing. Three curtain calls."

  "Isn't that fabulous for her," she simpered, though she'd managed to make it sound like an insult.

  I took a long swig of my drink so I wouldn't blurt what I was thinking. "I love your scarf," I said instead, hoping meaningless chitchat would get us through the rest of the meal.

  Katie tugged at the knot of the blue, yellow, and red silk accessory tied fashionably around her neck.

  "It's so pretty. Where did you get it?"

  "I picked it up at a little boutique downtown."

  "Nice."

  "And your blouse." She eyed my purple top. "It's very…interesting." How had she managed to make that sound like an insult, too? "Wherever did you get it?"

  "Oh, thanks." I fingered the top button. "It's Prada—last season's from a sample sale."

  "Prada?" She huffed under her breath. "Are you saying the stores around here aren't good enough for you?"

  "What? No."

  "And I'm sure you shop only at Barney's and Bergdorf Goodman and Bloomingdales?"

  "I got this for ninety percent off in a warehouse basement on Sixth Avenue. I almost got mugged on the way out."

  "Really, Maren." She shot me that friendly-pitying expression again. "Must everything be so competitive with you? Just like in high school." She sighed through puckered lips. "I guess some things never change."

  "Some people never change either," I said, taking my turn to fix her dead in the eyes.

  "Well, anyway. I have a lovely home on Humboldt Hill with a view of the bay, two perfect little boys—"

  "Right," I cut in. "You married Mike Carlson. Congratulations. How many years have you been together?" Piper (and Mom's blog) had already informed me that Katie had gotten divorced. Still, my defensive reaction was to go for the dig.

  "Michael and I didn't work out," Katie said, a frosty-calm expression on her face. "We were young when we got married and wanted different things ultimately."

  Mike probably wanted a kindhearted wife with a soul and not an ice queen.

  "Gosh. Too bad about that." I took a drink of Diet Coke to hide my purposefully not-so-discrete smirk. Then I kicked myself. When had I become the mean girl? Maybe that was how I'd behaved when I'd been under Katie's rule, trying to be cool to hide teenage insecurities.

  That wasn't me anymore.

  "Really," I added, setting my drink down, correcting my expression and tone to show I was genuine. "I was sorry to hear about that, Katie. Very sorry."

  She opened her mouth. And for a second, I thought we were about to have "a moment." We were interrupted when our lunch arrived. The plate of fluffy white eggs with bright vegetables placed before me made my stomach churn. I took a small bite and smiled pleasantly across the table at my former best friend.

  "How's your salad?" I asked, after I watched her pick through the lettuce with her fork, eating nothing. "It looks delicious. Salmon's so healthy—"

  "And now you're with Patrick," she cut in, staring down at her plate. "That's pretty fast work, even for you."

  "I'm not with him."

  She lifted her chin, a curtain of dark hair hanging over one eye. The other eye, I noticed, was a little red. Was Katie crying?

  "I'm not with him," I repeated.

  Actually, right then, the thought of Patrick, the way my heart hammered with excitement when he touched me, the way we laughed together, and the fact that his current life was a complete and utter mystery to me, made my stomach twist in all kinds of confusion.

  Was I being Bunburied by Patrick?

  "Really, Maren." Katie set down her fork. "I don't know how you do it. The first man I'm interested in since the divorce, and once again you swoop in. Did your sister tell you? Is that how you knew I've wanted Patrick since he visited last Christmas?"

  "No. Seriously, Katie, I had no idea."

  "Save it." She shook her head, her upper lip actually curling. "You know, I thought maybe you'd changed, grown up some. But you're exactly the same. Exactly."

  I should've butted in and defended myself, but I was too taken aback.

  "You're not even going to deny it, are you?"

  "Deny what? I know I was immature in high school, but we all were. We were teenagers. And remember, you were the one who stopped speaking to me out of the blue."

  Her eyes narrowed into two dark slits. "Because of what you did."

  "What did I do?" My voice squeaked. I cleared my throat after the woman with white hair at the next table shot me a surly frown.

  Katie huffed. "You knew he was going to ask me to homecoming, and you hooked up with him anyway. You knew I had a crush on him all summer, and the next thing I know, you're over at his house, in his bedroom, then you had the gall to tell me it was nothing. You have no loyalty."

  "Wait a minute." I held up a hand to stop her. "Are you talking about Kevin Johnson?" Katie's stiff nod of acknowledgment made me laugh, which made Katie glare. "That's why you were so pissed off back then?"

  She folded her hands in reply.

  "Kevin invited me over. I was there to talk about you. Of course I knew you liked him, I was trying to help."

  "How did you two end up making out on his bed?"

  "I…" After closing my mouth, I ran a hand across my forehead, massaging a temple. Make out? With Kevin Johnson? No, I'd never do that, I…

  He had a San Francisco 49ers comforter that smelled like orange peels and a poster of Megan Fox in a black bikini above his bed.

  Huh. Somehow, I'd managed to forget those details. All these years, and I'd blocked out that I'd kissed the boy my best friend liked…while trying to convince him to ask her to the dance. For some reason, back then, I'd figured out a way to justify it. Or maybe it was those three wine coolers we'd shared.

  Suddenly, I remembered what Patrick had said earlier, how he was surprised I hadn't sabotaged my friendship with Katie on purpose to get out from under her control. Well, maybe I had. Another subconscious move?

  "Katie, I'm sorry I did that to you. It was stupid. I was stupid. I don't know what to say."

  "There's nothing you can say—don't even try."

  I shut my mouth obediently.

  "Women like you are poison. You have no loyalty and you're only interested in yourself, climbing whatever ladder you have to. Sleeping with anyone to get ahead." She reached inside her purse and deposited a few bills on the table. "Lunch is on me since you're unemployed."

  I let that slide, again.

  "I hope you get professional help one of these d
ays, before everyone discovers what you're like. Or maybe that's the real reason you're back home. Bet you piss off your New York friends, too, right?"

  I winced like she'd kicked me in the stomach. Did she know about Joey? How else would she know to use the exact same words Jo had used in her last email to me?

  Catching the stung expression on my face, Katie actually smiled. Even when we were friends, she knew which buttons to push to make me totally crumble. I'd been a bit of a doormat, doing whatever she told me to. I hadn't known it when I was seventeen, but cutting ties with her was probably the best thing that could have happened.

  She stood up, her deep-blue wrap dress snug around her thin body, and she hitched her expensive leather bag across one shoulder. "Here's a little advice." After flipping her long dark hair, her eyes zeroed in on me. "Stay away from Patrick Loomis. He might not be mine yet, but he will be. And I am dead serious." She smiled icily and sashayed her skinny behind toward the door.

  "Oh, yeah? Well, here's some insight for you." I rose to my feet as Katie turned around, holding the glass door wide open with her foot. "I'm not the pushover I used to be," I called, ignoring the stares of other customers. "And if Patrick's who you want, I'm telling you right now, sister, you've got some serious competition!"

  Her smile wobbled for a split-second, but she mostly looked steamed as she clutched her purse and stormed from the café.

  "Sorry for the noise," I said to the table of blue-haired darlings next to me. "We're rehearsing our audition for Real Housewives of Humboldt County."

  "Ahhhh." They smiled, nodded, and wished us luck.

  My life. I barely recognized it. But at least now some of the confusing parts were making sense, even though I hated what I was learning about myself…my past self.

  I sunk into the wicker chair and leaned back. "Another Diet Coke, please," I requested when the server appeared. "And a Nutella crepe. Extra whipped cream."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I'd always been a fan of drowning my sorrows in carbs, but after my second crepe, I rolled my overstuffed self out the door to find Patrick blocking my path to the Taurus. I didn't bother with the pretense of surprise.

  "What do you want?"

  Thin lines striped his forehead. "Are you okay?"

  "Sure." I folded my arms, wishing my coat wasn't in the car. "I was having lunch with Katie Cunningham."

  "Hmm." He sounded neither surprised nor anxious. Then his expression changed, like he'd garnered an important piece of information without me saying anything. "Got it."

  "Got what?" I asked, annoyed with the whole situation. Wasn't it bad enough that he was possibly tangled in my investigation? Did he also have to be so darn sexy and some kind of mind reader?

  "Well, I got that you're clearly upset." He came toward me. "I assume your lunch with Katie didn't go well. Did she say something?"

  "She said a lot of things, Patrick. Would you like a fair exchange of information? I'm ready when you are." When he didn't reply, I smirked. "No?"

  "Fair enough." He dropped his chin and released that self-deprecating chuckle, running a hand up the back of his head. "I meant, did she say something about me?"

  "No." My second lie of the day. I was dang good at it.

  "No?" He arched an eyebrow.

  "No." I gazed off to the side. "We were catching up."

  "That's not what I heard."

  "Heard?" A prickle of oncoming embarrassment tingled under my hair. "How long have you been out here?"

  He pulled back a cocky smile, and a definite look of satisfaction glowed in his eyes. "A while, Maren."

  A fiery blush stung my cheeks as I recalled what I'd yelled to Katie while the door was open. Had Patrick heard me tell her she had competition?

  "Anything wrong?" he asked.

  I rubbed my nose and looked away. "Nope."

  He chuckled again, making me even more annoyed. How dare he be cute and charming at a time like this?

  "Okay, good. You're fine. I'm fine." He glanced at the Taurus. "Where are you off to now?"

  I was actually going to Sierra Pacific to see if I could catch Reg Mintey for a follow-up, but no way was telling Patrick that. "Back to the office," I said, feeling around for my cell then switching it on. "Slow news day."

  "Uh-huh." He leaned against my car. "Well, I'm glad I happened to catch you, because I've been meaning to tell you something. Do you have a minute—"

  "Hold that thought," I said, squinting at my phone. In the hour it had been silenced, I'd received five calls from the same person. I tapped the screen to retrieve the five voicemails then slapped the phone to my ear. After listening to the first message, I immediately played the second, the third.

  "Maren?" Patrick said.

  I played the fourth message, then the last, the one that had come ten minutes ago.

  "What's wrong? Say something." Patrick's eyebrows bent at an angle as he touched my arm. "Mare, your face is white. Who was on the phone?" His expression was a mirror of mine, the worry in my gut showing on my face.

  "My mother," I said, blinking rapidly, hoping that would kick-start my brain. "She's freaked because Piper didn't come home last night. No one's heard from her."

  "Call your sister."

  I felt like an idiot that I hadn't already done so. I scrolled to Piper's name, but it rang and rang, then rolled to voicemail.

  "Hey, sis, it's me." I turned my back to Patrick for privacy. "Mom said you didn't come home last night. We're wondering where you are, making sure everything's okay. Call as soon as you get this."

  I lowered the phone and stared toward the street, trying to think like my sister would.

  "Now call home," Patrick said.

  Mom answered on the second ring and went right into more freaking out. It wasn't like Piper to not come home, Mom said. Of course she stayed out sometimes, she was twenty-three, but she'd never not let anyone know, never not called or left a note for Mom and Dad. Never. My mother was frantic, going on about missing persons and calling the feds.

  "Mom, it's okay," I said, trying to soothe her. "I'm sure she's fine. She probably just…" I bit my lip. I had nothing. "I'll track her down, don't worry."

  Mom was temporarily pacified, but it wouldn't last. Now I remembered where Piper got her flare for the dramatic. I could wring my sister's neck for making us worry.

  "What did she say?" Patrick asked.

  "She didn't come home."

  "And that's not normal behavior?"

  "No." I shook my head. "Her play opened last night. She probably went out with some of the cast members to celebrate. Oh…" I suddenly recalled what Piper had told me right before Eric and I left the theater.

  "Any idea where she'd go?"

  "Maybe. She wasn't going out with the cast because she had a date."

  "With who? Did she tell you?"

  "Sergio something. He's with the circus."

  One of Patrick's eyebrows cocked. "The circus," he repeated deadpan, sounding just like I had. "The one that's in town this month?"

  "I guess."

  He hooked an arm around my waist and led me to his car. It was parked on the other side of mine, like last night. For someone trying to creep around and be all sneaky-snake, parking next to an investigative journalist hot on the story wasn't very stealthy.

  Patrick had some sucky criminal skills.

  He opened the passenger door for me then was immediately around the other side, climbing behind the wheel. "There are two places the circus can be," he said, pulling into the street. "Either the old Montgomery Ward parking lot or the fairgrounds at Redwood Acres."

  I nodded, fastening my seatbelt.

  "Redwood Acres is closer. We'll start there."

  Once we were on the road and had a plan, my heart stopped pounding so hard. I blew out a long, slow breath then looked at Patrick, so calm and helpful, taking care of things when I didn't have the brainpower to do it on my own. "Thanks," I said. "I'm not used to being the damsel in distress."

&n
bsp; "You're not. My car happens to be bigger than yours. If we have to dispose of the dead body of a circus freak"—he jerked a thumb toward the backseat—"I have more room. And a shovel."

  "Great." I exhaled again, though touched that he was trying to make me laugh. He was good at the whole distraction thing. Very good. Too good. Like last night outside SPI. He still hadn't told me why he'd been there, why he'd been poking around in the dark. When I'd started asking questions, that was when the kissing commenced.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. He didn't seem like your typical criminal. He was charming and kind and dreamy and drop dead gorgeous. Hadn't that been Ted Bundy's game?

  "Don't worry," Patrick said, placing his hand over the top of mine. "We'll find her."

  My knee-jerk reaction was to swat his arm away and tell him off for Bunburying me and for hiding in the bushes and obviously following me and for…for whatever else he was doing.

  But I didn't. I let him hold my hand, his thumb running across the inside of my wrist. It felt nice. I needed nice. I needed him with me being nice.

  We were quiet the rest of the way until we got to Redwood Acres fairgrounds It was Friday, it wasn't raining, and therefore, the parking lot was packed, the circus in full swing. The two lines to enter at the main gate were twenty people deep.

  "Over there." He pointed to a side parking lot lined with long silver trailers. "We'll go in that way."

  "You want to break into the circus?"

  "We're not here to check out the clowns. Get your press pass ready to flash when we get stopped."

  "Ah." I felt for it in my purse but then stopped. "Oh, shiz. I don't have it with me. It's attached to my coat in my car at the restaurant."

  "Dammit." He frowned and rubbed his chin with a knuckle. "Okay then, I guess we are breaking into the circus."

  He pressed a hand to the small of my back and steered me past two of the trailers. Just beyond the next one, he cut right and navigated us between a trailer and a tan pickup.

  "Shhh." His index finger pressed over his lips. I did not like him shushing me. "Wait here a sec. Quietly. Okay? Quiet."

  Did he think I was about to start tap dancing and singing at the top of my lungs? He left me to peer around the corner of the trailer. After a moment, he reached a hand back for me. At first, I only glared at it. But we were there to find Piper, and if the downside was holding Patrick's hand… I could think of worse torture.