Telling Tales

by Shiloh Walker

  “Well, now that’s true…which I’m going to assume means you told quite a few people. But you should have picked a different night.” Joe grinned and Darci had to smile at the satisfaction she saw in his eyes. He continued, his voice level, eyes direct. “Because you see, Darci was at a skating rink for a birthday party for my niece. It was thrown together at the last minute because my brother-in-law had to go out of town for the next few weeks.”

  “And Missy spent the morning getting her pictures from the party developed. She’s going to hit the entire town with them, if I know my sister.” Joe smiled, reaching up to scratch his chin. “You know how fast she talks, how much she likes to talk. By nightfall, damn near everybody is going to see those pictures-time-stamped pictures-of Darci at the party last night.”

  If Darci wasn’t mistaken, Carrie growled. A low, furious sound under her breath before jerking her eyes away and focusing on her mangled leg, rubbing it with both hands.

  “I’ve got to wonder-some people will brush it off, I know, but others? Well, I wonder, are they going to start to ask why in the hell you’d tell such an obvious lie?” Joe moved over to where Carrie was massaging her leg and he leaned down, a sardonic grin on his grizzled face. She lifted her gaze, staring at him with hatred as Joe said, “You should really try to get your story straight and make sure the lady you’re spreading rumors about is actually at home, alone, before you start telling stories about her.”

  Darci felt the knot that had been present in her belly since last night loosen just a bit. She breathed out a silent sigh of relief and slid Joe a look of gratitude.

  Of course, pictures weren’t going to mean a thing to Della. Her ears still stung from her friend’s furious phone calls. All the pictures in the world wouldn’t mean anything to Della.

  Darci lifted her eyes and stared at Carrie, at the smirk in her muddy eyes. The old bitch knew what was circling through Darci’s head. Even though the story was falling to shreds around her, Carrie had at least succeeded in one thing. She had cost Darci a dear friendship.

  Softly, Darci voiced the words that had crossed her thoughts earlier. “You have got to be the saddest, most pathetic creature I have ever met in my life,” Darci said, shaking her head.

  Carrie froze, her eyes wide. For a brief second, naked pain shone in her eyes.

  Joe chuckled. “Nobody’s ever called you out before, have they, lady? Does the truth hurt?”

  “Get out!” Her pasty face turning florid with rage, Carrie glared at them hatefully as she shouted, “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

  Smirking a little, Darci said, “Now maybe you have an idea of just how angry I am, Carrie.” Pacing back over to where Carrie sat, Darci snarled down into her homely, hate-filled face. “I’ve told you this before,” Darci said, her voice soft and low. “You didn’t listen. I’ll tell you once more and I’d advise you to pay attention this time. Stay away from me. Stay very, very far away from me.”

  ***

  Kellan Grant looked up as Darci Law stalked away from Carrie Forrest’s house, her face white with fury, twin flags of color riding high on her cheeks. Her head was down so she never even saw him parked just a few yards away from her.

  But he saw her…hell, he saw her in his dreams.

  Sleek, slender with subtle curves and an ass that drove him crazy, the woman drew eyes everywhere she went.

  Damn, but she was a cute thing.

  He had thought so from day one when she had moved into town more than five years ago, all big eyes, gamine features and sharp tongue. Pretty mouth. Nice plump little breasts, sleekly rounded hips, nice ass…damn, he really liked that ass. He had been going through a messy divorce at the time and still didn’t care to be involved with a woman for more time than it took to get her naked and bury his dick inside her for twenty minutes or so.

  His ex had taken him for a ride and he wasn’t interested in getting back on that particular roller coaster.

  And he knew Darci wasn’t about unattached sex, uncomplicated fucks, or a quick lay. There was little about Darci that was uncomplicated.

  He ran a hand through the thick, deep auburn hair he had been born with, and hated, most of his life. What in the hell was he doing here? He rested his hands on the steering wheel and told himself he really didn’t want to get involved in whatever mess this woman was trying to create.

  “I need to have a word with you, Sheriff,” Carrie had told him when he’d called her back this afternoon. “It’s rather important…but very private. Just some information that you should know.”

  So what in the hell was going on in her deluded mind now?

  Knocking on the door, he waited for Carrie’s personal assistant to answer. Or her slave, as she was also known. Kim was basically Carrie’s bitch, and everybody, including Kim, knew that. Carrie said jump and Kim would only ask how high. Once upon a time, Kellan had seen slavish devotion in Kim’s quiet green eyes.

  Now he just saw weariness.

  She opened the door and said softly, “Carrie really doesn’t want visitors, Sheriff Grant.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. But she called for me, and if she wants to talk to me in the next few days, now is the time,” he said politely. Maybe she’d say, that’s fine, another time…and he could go about his job without listening to the complaining of the tired old shrew.

  Kim swallowed and Kellan felt his heart break a little for her as he glimpsed the unhappiness in her eyes. What in the hell did Carrie have over her? Or was Kim still convinced that Carrie was the woman she pretended to be?

  Kellan knew better. Hell, he suspected half the town knew, but they were so used to the status quo that they didn’t say shit. Carrie and Beth…as he followed Kim up the stairs to Carrie’s studio, he imagined what the town might have been like if those two hadn’t hooked up. They had never really interacted, until the gallery, and life had been sweeter then.

  If they hadn’t gotten together, maybe people would actually trust each other. Maybe they wouldn’t automatically assume the worst of each other.

  Kim walked away after pointing to the closed door at the end of the hall, folding her arms around herself, her head down. Kellan walked on, dark auburn brows arched over his hazel eyes as he listened to the stream of hostility coming from the room.

  A regular tapping interspersed heavy steps. Carrie was pacing. She had been in an accident when she was a teenager, sitting in the backseat of a car when the friend who was driving ran a red light, and didn’t see the oncoming car in time to stop. One friend had been thrown from the car and had died instantly.

  Carrie’s leg had been pinned and broken in three places, and as a result, she walked with a limp.

  “…bitch. I can’t believe…damn it, get over here. I don’t care what you’re in the middle of,” she was saying.

  Kellan arched a brow, hardly able to believe the harsh, angry voice was Carrie’s. Oh, he knew the stoic mother figure she presented to the community wasn’t her real nature. But he’d never before heard such clear evidence of it.

  He lifted his hand and knocked loudly, right in the middle of her next sentence, and had the honor of hearing superb acting skill as her voice went from shrewish bitch to suffering martyr.

  What Kellan wouldn’t have given to have been able to see the transformation taking place, and not just hear it.

  “Just…just one moment, please. I need a moment,” Carrie said, and he heard a very loud, very dramatic sigh. A moment passed and then the door opened, revealing Carrie with a pale but composed face. He wasn’t surprised that she still managed to suck people in. She looked entirely too motherly to be the person he knew her to be.

  “Sheriff Grant.” She stood still, her eyes wide behind the thick lenses, her black plastic frames perched on her nose. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t really expecting any visitors-I told Kim I needed some time alone.” She smiled that sweet mother’s smile before she added gently, “I just…had a falling out with Darci. It’s been some time coming, and I don�
�t think we’ll be able to repair the rift this time.”

  Kellan arched a brow and said, “I was under the impression that you two were never friends anyway. What rift would there be to mend?”

  His sharp gaze caught the hot fury that flashed for the quickest second in her eyes. But he had to wonder, how bad had Darci pissed her off? Jibes generally weren’t enough to faze her.

  “Now, that just isn’t true, Kellan,” she said, her smile dimming a bit. “Just because there’s been some strife lately between our gallery and Becka’s…well…you know she’s never been entirely right in the head.”

  Kellan arched a brow. “I hadn’t paid much attention. But it’s never really been my concern anyway.” He shrugged as he moved over to the couch and settled down, watching Carrie with waiting eyes. “Exactly what did you need to talk to me about?”

  Carrie’s eyes clouded for the briefest second, and Kellan watched, wondering if she had forgotten.

  Finally, she nodded. With a downward glance at her hands, she heaved a deep, tired sigh.

  Twenty minutes later, Kellan was stomping out of her house, aggravated beyond all belief.

  Carrie had wanted to let him know that she suspected Darci was guilty of a crime that hadn’t even been reported yet. What an absolute fucking waste of time.

  Becka had supposedly had money stolen.

  And lo, Darci gets a fancy new camera that sells for thousands. Not only that, Carrie had seen her skulking around the gallery hours after it had closed.

  “Wednesday. Around seven. Then I heard rumors that she was at the Golden Inn with Joe,” Carrie had said, her voice rougher, deeper than normal. For once, it wasn’t that annoying nasal twang.

  “Are you sure you want to go on record with that statement?” Kellan had asked, reaching up to rub his neck. She’d called him here with an obviously contrived story, and now stood there, lying through her teeth. “Sure you want to tell me that she was seen at the gallery? Because if something comes up, I’ll be reporting your statement, as you tell it now. And you could be called as a witness.”

  With her martyr’s sigh, Carrie had nodded. “I know that. But right is right, wrong is wrong. It will hurt to stand against Darci, she’s such a unique individual, and I do quite like her a lot. But I have to do the right thing.”

  Kellan had arched a brow at her and suggested, “Then tell the truth. I really don’t think it’s wise for you to be telling an officer of the law that you saw a woman skulking around an office when twenty other people saw her at the skating rink. Myself included. And I’d really like to know how she could have possibly been at the Golden with some guy. When she was supposedly at the gallery skulking around, and at a skating party. Not just in two places at once, but three. Now, that’s impressive.”

  Carrie’s mouth had gone tight as he continued, “Daisy is my cousin, you know. Well, second cousin. Her daddy and I are first cousins and he is going out of town this morning on business. He didn’t want to miss her party, so Missy threw one together Wednesday. And Darci met Missy around 5:30 that evening to help get stuff together. They went to the Wal-Mart in Madison for cake and stuff. They even have receipts, with Darci’s signature on them. Missy made damn sure that JT, down at the office, saw those. JT is a tad bit upset as well-she is pretty fond of both Joe and Darci. And that’s how I know all of this. I had no more than stepped foot in the station this morning when JT was all over me with this information. Took a few minutes to figure out what receipts and pictures had to do with the Golden Inn, but then I figured it out. Of course, this is the first I’ve heard about her skulking around the gallery.”

  So what in the hell was going on? he wondered, dragging his mind back to the present. Some bitchy old loon calling him up to tell him obviously fabricated tales. Willing, even, to lie about it on record, it seemed.

  And the rumors…hell, the rumors. There were so many, it was a wonder any of them knew what the truth was.

  Hell, he knew who had started most of the rumors.

  Her name was Carrie Forrest and, in a fit of fury, she had thrown him out of her house after he had informed her that her story-which was really rather pointless, since no crime had been reported-was full of holes. Holes large enough to drive a school bus through.

  So what in the hell was going on with Carrie now?

  “I hate that whey-faced, bratty little bitch,” Carrie whispered, as Beth walked back and forth across the room.

  “If you had just made sure she was home,” Peggy murmured, shaking her head. “It’s a delicious little rumor. She could have lost her job. Nobody wants a tramp teaching schoolchildren, after all. But nobody will believe what’s being said about her, after the last one was such a bold-faced lie.”

  Kim sat curled on the chair, biting her nails nervously.

  Tricia Casey sat in the corner, sipping tea, her neatly styled gray hair swept back in a chignon, her eyes watching the tableau before her with great interest. “You told too many tales,” she said, shaking her head. “I know we’d rather just see Dreams die-” she smirked a little at her own personal joke. “And Becka losing Darci would do a lot of damage to her emotionally. She might not be able to handle it. But gossip is one thing. This wasn’t gossip. It was bold-faced lying. You’re not as good at that as I am.”

  Beth scowled at Tricia and said, “Nobody would have listened to you. You’re too new here. They like Darci.” Beth’s lined face looked much older than it really was. Casting a bitter look at Carrie, Beth said harshly, “You caused this mess, Carrie. Damn it, you shouldn’t have done something so damned huge. Not with Darci. Too many people like her and she’s too damned outspoken. She doesn’t take things lying down. You should have figured that out by now.”

  Carrie slammed her charcoal pencil down and glared at all of them. “Would you shut up? I don’t need to hear this from you. Not from any of you,” she shouted. A startled look crossed her face and she swallowed. “I-I’m sorry. This is giving me such a headache.”

  She muttered, “How in the hell was I supposed to know Darci wouldn’t be going home? She said she was going home. And I’m not about to just let her get by with the snipes she makes at me. How she treats me like shit, like I was just like anybody else… I’m better…” As she spoke, her voice started to take on a little singsong quality, drifting up and down. Lowering herself into her chair, she smiled, and those who saw it took a minute to wonder. That smile was…wrong. Her eyes started to gleam as she whispered, “And that damned gallery. I hate it…I hate all of them.”

  “Carrie, you need to get hold of yourself,” Tricia said quietly.

  Carrie blinked, looking confused. Looking from one woman to another, she didn’t like the looks she saw, disgust, worry, fear. Nothing to worry about, she told herself, turning back to her desk, lowering herself into the chair. Nothing to worry about.

  Aloud, she said, “I know what I’m doing. I’m doing what’s best for all of us, for the gallery.” Taking a charcoal pencil in hand, she started to sketch.

  “Don’t go acting like this had something to do with the business,” Beth said flatly. “This was personal. Which means if anybody has problems from it, it will be you. Not us. You.”

  “There aren’t going to be problems,” Carrie muttered, her hand moving rapidly over the heavy paper. Her eyes were wide and feverish, locked on the work in front of her.

  “I hope not.”

  Darci was kicking back at the café when Kellan crossed the street, carrying a white sack in his hand.

  Dotti’s.

  His work day was over and he had gone to Dotti’s again for dinner. Like he did most every night.

  Darci knew, because any time she was in town, she looked for him. And at this time of day, he was usually heading out. Over the past couple of years, she had spent a lot of time studying him.

  And the first thought that drifted through her mind was Damn, but that man has one fine butt.

  The strong columns of his thighs, that firm ass, his back, everyt
hing from the back view added up to one fine piece of man-flesh. Yep. There was just one thing to say about him.

  Damn, he was fine.

  His eyes… She loved those eyes. And his hands-she hummed under her breath as she thought of just what she’d like to see those hands doing.

  Darci bet he hated that hair. It was deep, deep dark red, worn a little longer now than he used to wear it, past his collar, brushing his shoulder. His skin was a warm mellow gold, not the pale white she normally associated with redheads. Against that golden skin, his hazel eyes gleamed, glowing green-gold one minute, then amber the next.

  You are obsessed.

  In response to her silent, self-directed comment, she muttered, “Yep,” and chuckled.

  Tipping back the cappuccino, she took another savoring sip, humming in appreciation as she swallowed.

  A low humph reached her ears and she arched a brow as Clive sent her a narrow look. “Listen, you skinny little white girl, you planning on going home soon or are you going to keep sitting here lookin’ purty?” he razzed. “Or better yet, go have some fun. Pretty thing like you needs to be out having fun on a night like this. Not sitting there brooding.”

  She pursed her lips. “I think I’ll just sit here and brood,” she drawled, tapping her cup. “I want another, and a biscotti. A chocolate one dipped in white chocolate.”

  Clive grinned at her and said, “Girl, don’t you think you should be out combing the woods and pointing that camera at things? You need to be taking photo-graphs, dontcha? We need some photo-graphs.”

  She rolled her eyes and said, “I don’t feel like taking photo-graphs,” drawing the word out the same way he did, mimicking his deep Southern accent. “I’m taking a break. Is that okay with you, buddy?”

  He smiled, his teeth white inside the grizzled salt and pepper of his beard. “Sure thing, lady. You’re a pretty knickknack to have sitting around my shop, that’s for sure.” Then his eyes sobered. “I was wondering, though, are you mebbe tryin’ to avoid being by yourself, tryin’ to avoid doin’ any serious thinking? Serious thoughts tend to hurt some when somebody has struck out at ya, somebody who was a friend.”