Donnell Ann Bell

by Donnell Ann Bell

  Up until now, Mel’s work environment had been ideal. Her personal life might be a cesspool, but she loved coming to work every day.

  “Unless I could get someone like you to interview for the position,” Aaron said.

  She’d been so wrapped up in her dismal thoughts it took a moment for his comment to register. She looked up to find the blue-eyed blond smiling. “Me?” Mel gasped. “Aaron, really?”

  “Mel, really.” He laughed. “Karlee and I discussed it this morning. No one knows plants the way you do. The other employees love you, and you’re quickly learning the business. Why would I hire someone who might not work out when I already have you?”

  She didn’t want to squelch her chances, but she had to be honest. Her boss had given her a chance when others might not. “I’ve never managed a store, Aaron. Not only do I not have a degree, I have no college credits.” None. Damn. What was she doing, trying to talk him out of a promotion?

  “I reviewed your application, remember? You may not be college educated, but you’re no Neanderthal either. Heck, I’ve seen the stuff you bring to work. You read books with titles I can’t pronounce.”

  Mel stared at him speechless.

  “And about college,” he continued. “Don’t you think it’s time you remedied that?”

  Recalling her conversation with Luke a few nights ago, her heart sank. He’d mentioned the same thing. What’s stopping you now? “I suppose the main issue is money,” she said.

  “Managing the shop requires hard work, longer hours. With me running between two stores, I can’t be everywhere. You’ll supervise, schedule the staff and deliveries, and close much of the time. In exchange, I’ll increase your salary and add benefits, including tuition assistance.”

  Mel couldn’t take her eyes off of Aaron. “You’ll help pay for my college?”

  “For As and Bs, of course.”

  Oh my God. With Luke playing sports, she didn’t pick him up until after eight anyway, and in a few months he’d be driving. She could do this.

  With all of the “do this, Melanie” and “don’t do this, Melanie’s” she’d heard for years, Aaron was offering her nothing short of a lifeline.

  Returning his goofy, lopsided grin, she said, “You are the most generous man I know. I think I love you.”

  “Well, I know I love you.” Then tilting his head, he seemed to think about it. “In the most-platonic employer/employee-related non-sexual harassing fashion, of course. So, what do you say? Do you accept?”

  “Are you kidding me?” She flew into his arms, and he swung her around. “I accept, I accept.”

  The bell over the door chimed. Beaming, Mel glanced over her shoulder. Aaron cleared his throat and set her down.

  Joe stood in the doorway, unsmiling. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

  Seeing Melanie wrapped in a stranger’s embrace, Joe had obviously intruded on a happy moment. Whatever she’d accepted was clearly a big deal, and of her own volition. After Simon’s phone call, his I asked Melanie to marry me had resonated through Joe’s brain the rest of the day. All he could hope for was that she wouldn’t rush into anything.

  Now this.

  Who was this guy?

  The man with short spiked blond hair eased her to the floor and quickly approached. “Happy holidays, sir. Aaron Meyers, owner of Pinnacle Creations. How may we help you?”

  Joe was known to have a firm grip, but this guy had one of iron. Odd in contrast to his rail thin countenance and long tapered fingers.

  “We’re not always so demonstrative. We’re celebrating. Melanie’s agreed to become my store manager.”

  The words store manager took seconds too long. The words agreed to become felt like a defendant awaiting a not guilty verdict.

  Store manager. Joe blinked, then moved farther into the store. “Is that right?” His gaze traveled from Aaron’s face to his beautiful next door neighbor. Melanie stood behind the cash register, pretending to be skimming paperwork when Joe knew damned well she was hanging on every word. “Congratulations,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she replied. She didn’t look up.

  “Is there something we can help you find?” Aaron asked.

  As Joe directed his attention to the store owner, Joe caught her sneaking a peek. He hadn’t seen her in two days. Forty-eight hours. By giving her space, whatever Simon had said to discourage their relationship, had taken root and was working.

  Appreciating the long blue sweater that outlined her curves, he could also see she’d put in a long day. Her auburn hair fell free of her barrette. Joe wanted to take her in his arms, explain that he’d acted in her best interest. As if the independent Melanie Norris would tolerate or appreciate that. Instead of giving her space, why hadn’t he picked up the goddamned phone?

  “I’m looking for something for a friend. Something in the way of an apology,” Joe explained.

  “Ah, I see,” Aaron said. “I take it this gift is for a lady friend? Roses perhaps?”

  “Yes, she’s a lady, and I hope we’re still friends. But roses?” Joe shook his head. “Knowing this particular woman, she probably grows her own.”

  Aaron frowned, and although Melanie wouldn’t acknowledge Joe, her mouth had begun a curve upward.

  Progress, he thought. His iceberg was melting.

  He moved to a display case containing odd-shaped, earth tone platters, bowls and vases. They didn’t do much for him, but Karen had come home with stuff like this many times. He pointed to one he actually liked, a ceramic vase with a rose pattern etched into its side. “This looks nice. How about something like this?”

  “Very nice,” Aaron agreed. “I see you’re a gentleman with taste. These are very popular, and part of the Theresa Alder Collection. They’re handmade and hand-painted, and we import them from Italy. Shall I wrap it for you?”

  Behind the counter, Melanie’s expression had taken on one of total amusement. Joe also noted the subtle shake of her head. What was she trying to say―she didn’t like it? “I don’t know. Maybe I should get a woman’s perspective. Excuse me, ma’am? Is this something you’d like to own?”

  She stared back at him with wide-eyed innocence. “Me? Well, yes, sir. What woman wouldn’t love to own a Theresa Alder collector’s piece? I have to ask, though. Is the gentleman really experiencing three-hundred-dollars worth of remorse?”

  Joe nearly choked on the price. For a vase? Careful not to drop it, he returned it to the shelf. He wanted to say he was sorry, not crazy.

  Melanie laughed and finally took mercy on him. Coming from behind the cash register, she moved into the showroom. “Aaron, I apologize. This man’s not a serious customer. This is my next door neighbor, Joe Crandall.” Then to Joe, she said, “Pinnacle Creations, well, let’s just say, caters to people who never think twice about a water bill or putting their kids through college.”

  Aaron’s confusion morphed into happy understanding. “I wondered what was going on here. So you’re Melanie’s cop?”

  “Am I?” Joe turned to face her.

  Her face the color of the nearby poinsettias, she fixed her boss with an incredulous look. “Aaron, when have I ever said that?”

  “Okay, she’s never said that.”

  “I can’t imagine getting that lucky,” Joe replied.

  Melanie strode behind the counter again, shaking her head. Even embarrassed, she radiated the happiness of the moment. It was a great look on her. Joe planned to keep her that way.

  “So,” she asked. “Why are you here? Really.”

  Ordinarily, he’d prefer to have this conversation out of anyone else’s earshot. But he couldn’t very well ask the shop owner to leave his own store. Plus, this Aaron guy seemed to be taking an inordinate interest in them. What’s more, he appeared to be rooting for Joe.

  “I reall
y came to apologize... and hopefully take you to dinner,” Joe said.

  Aaron all but beamed, then fairly bounced to the front door and flipped the sign over. “Sounds good to me. Instead of standing around saying, ‘I’m sorry to each other,’ and as dead as the shop is for once, I think we should take it as a sign and close this place down.”

  Melanie glanced at her watch. “Aaron, we’re open for another twenty minutes. It’s the holidays.”

  “See why I promoted her?” he said to Joe. “She’s more conscientious than... well, me.” To Melanie, Aaron said, “When you assume your new responsibilities, free time will be a luxury. You’ll be begging me for time off. So tonight, go. Celebrate. You’ve earned it. Besides, will you look at the man?” Aaron fanned himself. “If you don’t say yes, I will.”

  Mel reluctantly let Joe help her on with her coat and left the shop with him. What had just happened here? She’d been promoted, then high-jacked. For days now she’d been taking Simon’s advice to lay low. But the truth was she missed Joe more than she thought possible. He’s a walk away, Melanie. The words simply wouldn’t let go. In the shop she’d almost whispered to Aaron, ‘stay out of this.’ But her boss had amazing intuition. Maybe in his own way, he knew what he was doing.

  Joe put his hand on her elbow, she pulled away. She wasn’t quite ready to forgive him. Not yet. When Carl was alive she hadn’t known this topsy-turvy kind of emotion. Her days had been comfortable, predictable. A wave of guilt wound through her. Passionless. Joe Crandall had the opposite effect on her. Damn him. “Do you want to know what upset me the most on Saturday?”

  “Do we have to talk about it here? I’m sure the list is pretty long.”

  “That you would miss your son’s game,” she said, ignoring that he always had an answer for everything. “How could you do that?”

  “What if I told you I didn’t?”

  Oh, you are too much. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she cocked her head to one side. “Joe.”

  “I watched from the boys’ locker room. I’d already upset you enough. Why drag it out?”

  “Matt got to play,” she said, testing him.

  “For most of the third quarter until he got in foul trouble. I promise, I saw him. He did well. There’s times I’m on the job and can’t be there. But I’d never miss Matt’s game on purpose.”

  She followed Joe’s gaze as he scanned the empty parking lot. With the exception of Aaron’s Jaguar, her Corolla and Joe’s Crown Victoria, no others remained.

  “Look,” Joe said. “I talked to Rick earlier. Asked him for a favor.”

  Here it came again. What was Joe up to? “I’m listening.”

  “I asked him to give the kids a lift home after practice. He did one better than that. He’s taking them to a game at Mitchell. Coronado’s playing them next week, and Rick wants to scope out the competition.”

  “Will they be late?”

  “Home before ten,” Joe said. “I didn’t think you’d mind. The boys were thrilled to be hanging out with their coach. And it couldn’t have worked out better for me. I wanted to talk to you―explain about Saturday and what’s really going on.”

  Joe had gotten to know her well. She didn’t object in the least to Luke spending time with Rick Hood. With Carl no longer in Luke’s life, he needed positive male role models. But the last comment Joe made didn’t come from a man offering an apology. His expression had turned deadly serious.

  Her heart tripped. “Is it Maxwell?”

  “It’s possible.”

  Turning from him, she started walking. What the hell did that mean? No way was she standing around an empty parking lot when Drake Maxwell could be lurking. Thank God she hadn’t told Joe about Carl’s gun. She wanted to go home, load it and keep it ready.

  “Melanie.” Joe caught up with her near her Corolla. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you on Saturday. There’s no need to panic. I won’t lie to you. We don’t know where he is. That doesn’t mean he knows where to find you.”

  Her shoulders fell. Joe pulled her close, wrapping her in arms that felt like steel bands. She’d give anything to possess an ounce of that strength. Leaning into him, she whispered, “Oh god, Joe.” We don’t know where he is.

  “Let me take you to dinner. I’ll tell you everything I know. There’s been a development. No more secrets.”

  Summoning what was left of her depleted inner strength, she said, “Some place quiet. No crowds.”

  They took Joe’s car to a little Italian bistro up the road. It was in a strip mall, and Mel had eaten there once with her co-workers. During the lunch hour, the place was packed. The winter night told a completely different story. She and Joe were the only customers. Cops generally sit with their backs to the wall, and Joe was no exception. Somehow, knowing he watched over her made her feel better. Or maybe it was the eggplant parmigiana, or the glass of wine.

  She listened as he softened his baritone voice. In the dim of the quiet restaurant, with its red and white checkered table cloths and the Italian music turned low, she fantasized for a moment what it would be like for him to whisper sweet nothings or make plans for later between them. Instead he told her about a newspaper article, a dead corrections officer and the uncooperative Cañon City Police. From there, he explained why he’d arranged the little tête-a-tête with Simon, and with nothing to go on but bad vibes and morbid curiosity, Joe wasn’t about to scare her.

  Little by little, her brain and her heart accepted his explanation, and she dismissed Simon’s claim. For Joe to go to such lengths didn’t strike her as a walk away. As a matter of fact, efforts of this magnitude were proof that Simon hadn’t a clue what he was talking about.

  Joe reached for her hand across the table. This time, she didn’t draw back. She held it, smoothed her fingers over a callus, and for the first time in two days, she felt happy. Though wouldn’t it have been nice for him to whisper sweet nothings or to plan something for later?

  She shook off the notion and stuck to real life. “What happens now? I become a sitting duck?”

  “Far from it. First of all, from what Simon’s told me, the police have several suspects in Ropes’ murder. Drake Maxwell wasn’t even on their radar until I tipped them off. In other words, we may be worrying for nothing. Second, Maxwell threatened his family. He went to them asking for money, they turned him down. For all we know, he’s still in California plotting against them.”

  “How horrible that I’m hoping he’s still there,” Mel said, freeing her hand from Joe’s and checking her watch. A good hour and a half remained before Luke came home.

  “It’s not horrible to want to stay safe,” Joe said. “Adam Maxwell has taken precautions. He’s no fool. Neither are you. But I do have some advice for you.”

  “Of course you do.” Mel smiled.

  Joe grinned back. “You should keep your guard up even if no one’s after you. Put all that crap you have in the garage in storage. You’ve got some place that gives you privacy, use it. And get an alarm.”

  “I’ll have you know, it’s not crap,” she said. Even so, every word he suggested made sense. An alarm system would also blow her budget. “Glad I’m about to get a raise.”

  “I’ll say. Next time you’re buying. Dessert?”

  She shook her head. “Even if Maxwell’s nowhere in the vicinity, he’s still winning, isn’t he, Joe?”

  He signaled the waitress for the check. “Only if you let him, Mel.”

  Joe’s comment and the few minutes it had taken him to drop her off at the Corolla had bolstered Mel with a new perspective. Before she left the toasty car for the frigid one she’d left abandoned all day, she leaned over to kiss him. His solid touch and interested gleam confirmed what she’d learned. She could live moment to moment, day to day, or quietly go insane. A great son, a promotion... a potential love interest... she
wouldn’t let evil take the joy out of life. Besides, if Drake Maxwell had left California, how could he find her? She’d worked hard to not leave a trail. Until she spotted Joe’s scar, and made the connection through the police unit he drove, she hadn’t recognized him.

  After fifteen years, would she recognize Maxwell? Would Maxwell recognize her? Swallowing back her fear, she made an effort to smile. “Thanks for dinner. Want to come over for coffee?”

  Joe said, “I’ll use lights and sirens to get there.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Joe followed Melanie home from the bistro, arriving at their respective houses a short time later. She swung the Corolla into her driveway; he drew the police-issued Crown Victoria into his garage and left it inside. Then striding toward her property, he scanned their quiet residential neighborhood, finding it church mouse quiet.

  I won’t lie to you. We don’t know where he is. That doesn’t mean he knows where to find you.

  Joe had made the statement as much for his benefit as for her. She stayed in her car a little longer than necessary. It elevated his heart rate, but as her headlights went off and she stepped out of the vehicle, he realized what had been taking so long.

  Cell phone propped to her ear, she stood by the driver-side door, saying, “Well, ask this girl if she’s going to pay your cell phone bill. When I call you, Luke, you need to hang up with her and talk to me.” Melanie listened, then added, “All right. Be careful.”

  Joe smiled. These kinds of dilemmas he could deal with. “Problem?”

  “My almost sixteen year old’s in love,” she replied. “The only problem is I think my future daughter in law’s name is this girl. Darn, he’s secretive.”

  “It’s the age.”

  “Does Matt talk to you?” Melanie asked.

  “No, he talks to you,” Joe replied.

  She laughed. “You’re right about that one. Matt is a minor bird compared to Luke. At least you don’t have to worry. Matt doesn’t have one girl in his life, he has several.”