by Sammi Carter
“He was threatening to share the letters with Doyle?”
She nodded miserably. “I begged him not to, but he was such a bastard, he wouldn’t listen.”
“What did he want for them?”
“That’s just it. He didn’t want anything. He just wanted to make me miserable. It would have given him great pleasure to rip my marriage apart.”
“Why would he do that if he didn’t care about you?”
“Because Laurence didn’t like losing. It wasn’t that he cared so much about me, but he did care about being the winner, and he was very protective of his reputation. He had to be the one who called the shots, and he never forgave me for dumping him. If I’d been patient a few more weeks, he would probably have tossed me aside, and that would have been that.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Any man who’d hang onto love letters that had no sentimental value for ten years was probably much more ruthless than she gave him credit for. “Did you find them?”
She shook her head again. “I don’t know where they are. If the police find them before I do, Doyle will leave me.”
“If it’s been ten years—”
“Doyle will understand?” Colleen cut me off with a harsh laugh. “Get real, Abby. Would you understand?”
She had me there. “No, I probably wouldn’t.”
“I didn’t kill him, Abby. I swear it on everything that’s important to me. But now that he’s dead, I want those letters before someone else finds them. I can’t let Doyle find out now. It would ruin everything. Promise me you won’t say anything to anyone. Please.”
What could I say to that? We’d been friends once, and I wanted to believe that she was telling me the truth. Did she love Doyle? I thought she did. Yeah, maybe he deserved to know the truth. But after this long, what good would revealing it do?
“I won’t say a word,” I promised. “As long as you’re telling the truth, and those letters aren’t connected to the murder. If you’re lying to me, all bets are off.”
I hoped I wouldn’t regret my decision, but I couldn’t help thinking that Colleen had bigger things to worry about than my mouth. If she and Laurence had been lovers once, chances were Geoffrey Manwaring knew about their relationship. And I was pretty sure he had the letters she was looking for, and if he did, there was no telling what he’d do.
Chapter 27
I didn’t think much about the murder for the next two days. Hearts and candy took all my attention and every waking hour. Luckily, I didn’t have much time to think about anything else either, including the fact that I would be spending Valentine’s Day alone after the shop closed. When the thought did cross my mind—which was inevitable, considering the nature of the holiday and the looks Karen and Liberty gave me when they thought I wasn’t looking—I consoled myself with the fact that I had Max. He’s warm, attentive, and completely devoted. Who could ask for anything more?
Karen and Liberty drove me crazy, chattering under their breath about their holiday plans with Sergio and Rutger whenever they thought I couldn’t hear them. I did my best to ignore their conversations, but I wasn’t sure which were worse: the whispers, or the sudden silence when they realized I’d come up behind them.
Wyatt came by after work both days and helped with all the grunt work behind the scenes, while I helped wait on the last few frantic customers who raced through the front door in a mad search for that perfect gift. One that looked as if they’d put hours of thought into their choice. And yes, you’re right. They were mostly men.
By evening on Valentine’s Day, business finally began to slow down. Wyatt left. Walk-in traffic slowed to a trickle, and I sent Karen and Liberty home so they could enjoy their own romantic evenings. Bone-weary and, frankly, tired of people, I closed up the shop at eight and climbed the stairs to my apartment.
My date was waiting for me at the kitchen door, ears perked, tail wagging, and bits of wicker clinging to his nose and mouth. In the living room, I found the remains of a basket that had once held a handful of magazines. The magazines themselves were mostly intact, even if several of them had teeth marks in the corners and two were missing their covers.
Okay, so Max isn’t perfect. But at least he doesn’t shack up with his ex-wife under the pretense of checking on his kids. Was I bitter? Hurt? Angry? Yes, to all of the above. Did I really think Jawarski was playing around with Bree behind my back? I wasn’t sure. Did I trust him? Apparently not. Or maybe it was myself I didn’t trust. Roger had been carrying on with Bimbette for a long time before I caught him, and that was the problem.
I should have known. I should have seen signs. I’m sure I did see signs. But I’d ignored them. And now I was terrified that if I let myself fall in love again, I’d become complacent again, and I’d miss something vital to my peace of mind. As a result, I was suspicious of everything.
I hated feeling that way, but I couldn’t just flip a switch and feel something else.
Grumbling under my breath, I picked up the tattered magazines and swept up the bits of wicker scattered all over the apartment. I dumped the trash into the can and sat on the couch to discuss dinner plans with Max. He’d grown bored with my cleanup efforts and had turned his attention to something more interesting. All I’m going to say is that it involved licking.
On second thought, maybe Max wasn’t the ideal partner. I’d have to work on that switch-flipping idea.
I wasn’t in the mood for fast food, but I wasn’t up to having dinner solo at any of Paradise’s restaurants. Not tonight. I could call for pizza or Chinese delivery, but I couldn’t face the possibility of looking pathetic to the delivery person. I was far too hungry to go to bed without putting something in my stomach, and my kitchen was bare, so that left Burger King.
Yeah, I know a Whopper alone has enough fat and calories for a full day’s supply, but I didn’t care. Those are what make it such terrific comfort food. Max and I hurried down the stairs, climbed into the Jetta, and set off for the north end of the valley. Paradise might be growing, but so far we’ve managed to keep fast-food restaurants and chain stores from reaching the downtown business area. You can find either if you want them badly enough, but you’ll have to drive to do it.
I wasn’t the only person in Paradise without a date. At least a date willing to spend more than twenty bucks on the evening. The line at Burger King wrapped around the building—lots of folks otherwise occupied on a night meant for love.
Waiting in the exhaust-filled procession left me way too much time to think, and my thoughts wandered about wildly. By the time I shoved money through one window and had food shoved into my car through another, I’d decided against going home to eat in my empty apartment. Instead I pointed the Jetta toward Jawarski’s house.
I told myself that I was only going to take in his mail and make sure everything was still secure, but I found myself wondering if he had any pictures of Bree hanging around—you know, for the kids. Or not.
It was crazy. I knew it was, even while I was gathering his mail and slipping on the ice that had formed on the driveway. I told myself to get a life as I turned the key in the lock, and again when I flipped on the light in the kitchen. I even managed to wolf down the Whopper and fries and toss the trash before I walked into the living room and started snooping.
Let me set the record straight by saying that I would kill Jawarski if I found him nosing around through my stuff. I’d end our relationship right now if I found out he suspected me of cheating on him. And I do not consider myself a crazy person—usually.
But the fact that I considered for one minute digging through his things so I could see his ex-wife just proves that I was in the grip of a major bout of insanity. Fueled, I’m sure, by all the hearts and romance talk I’d been forced to endure for the past few days. Believe me, it would have driven anyone over the edge.
I scanned the bookcase on the first floor and found only three rows of paperbacks with words like Ops and Conspiracy and Prey in the titles. I was halfway to th
e second when my cell phone chirped. I dug it out of my pocket, checked the caller ID, and froze. I waited so long to answer, I thought I might have missed the call, but I finally flipped the phone open and croaked, “Hello?”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Jawarski’s voice sounded warm and intimate, and I felt about an inch tall.
I turned around and sank onto a step, confusing Max in the process. He nudged past me and found his way to the bathroom where the seat was up. I could tell, even from a distance.
“Thanks.” My throat was tight with embarrassment, but I managed, I think, to sound almost normal. “Same to you.”
“Miss me?”
I thought about saying no, but I was in his house, digging through his stuff, looking for a photo that would either set my mind at ease or make me even crazier. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I do.”
“Hey, listen, I’m sorry I can’t be there tonight. I really wanted to do something great, just the two of us.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I said, and the honesty made my stomach hurt. “But you’re there with the kids. That should be fun if Cheyenne’s feeling better.” You have to understand that I’m not against honesty. I’m just against opening myself up for heartache. And lowering my defenses for this guy would open me up in a big way. I’d been fighting it for almost two years, and look where that had gotten me.
“She’s a lot better,” he said. “I should be able to leave soon.”
Soon. I closed my eyes, hoping that not looking at his apartment would let me pretend to be somewhere else. “That’s good to hear.”
“So what are you doing tonight without me?”
“I’m . . . uh. I’m at your place, actually. Bringing in the mail.”
“Really? So what are you wearing?”
I laughed in spite of my discomfort. “Trust me, you don’t want to know. It’s been a rough few days.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you going out with friends . . . or anything?”
I nearly swallowed my tongue. It almost sounded as if he was jealous. “No, I picked up a burger and fries on the way here. When I leave, I’m going home. Max and I will probably catch some TV before bed. How’s that for exciting?”
“You’re disappointed.”
“About what?”
“I should be there. We should be heading out somewhere romantic. Seeing what the evening brings. Maybe even talking about a romantic breakfast in the morning.”
I’d been railing against the whole Valentine’s Day idea for days, but suddenly the thought of a romantic dinner didn’t sound so bad. Of course, I’m also a notorious chicken, so the idea of dinner and breakfast was a lot less scary when he was nine hundred miles away.
“It’s fine,” I told him. “I’m not disappointed. You’re where you need to be.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
And I was. When we hung up a few minutes later, I walked down the stairs and out the door. My insecurities might rise up to bite me again one of these days, but at least for tonight they were under control.
I gave Karen the day after Valentine’s Day off. She’d worked hard, and she deserved a day to recuperate. While Liberty restocked shelves, I spent the day gleefully pulling down hearts from the walls and ceilings, paying bills, and planning candy production for the next few days.
The call-board at the Playhouse had me scheduled for a run-through of the script with the entire cast that evening, so whenever Liberty wasn’t chattering about her romantic evening with Rutger—dinner at Gigi, drinks and dancing afterward—I thought about the murder. Unfortunately, I didn’t come up with anything useful. Alexander’s rivalry with Laurence hadn’t produced anything interesting. I believed Colleen’s story. And Serena’s. Uncle Whit backed up Doyle’s alibi, and I was convinced that Richie was innocent.
That left Vonetta. And a cast of about twenty people. And a stage crew of at least that many, none of whom had any reason I knew of to want Laurence out of the way. I wondered if the police had anything more concrete than I did, and wished Jawarski was home so I could ask. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason I wished Jawarski home, but that’s enough about that.
Business was so slow, I let Liberty go home early, and then locked up promptly at seven. Max and I set off a few minutes later. We took the stairs that cut through the middle of the block downhill to Ski Jump and grabbed two Philly steak sandwiches and coffee at the deli. With food in hand, we cut through the narrow slip of land between Walgreens and the travel agency on our way to the Playhouse.
After settling Max in the box office with one sandwich and a bowl of water, I hurried to the rehearsal hall where the rest of the cast was already gathered. I’d expected to walk in late, so I was surprised to find that the read-through hadn’t started. A few people milled about the room aimlessly. Others sat on folding chairs in a loose semicircle, contributing to the low buzz of conversation.
Richie sat on a seat at one of the tables, talking quietly to Rachel. I nodded to Paisley and Serena, who were both on the other side of the room, and slid onto an empty chair between Rachel and Richie. “I can’t believe I made it in time,” I said as I shook off my jacket. “I was sure you’d have started already.”
Richie looked pretty scaled down that night in black jeans, black T-shirt, a short white denim jacket, and classic black and white Chucks. I was so glad to see him up and dressed, my heart did a little skip-hop. But Rachel was ready for her close-up in black slacks, a black turtleneck, a plum leather jacket, and stiletto boots. Sitting between them, I felt like a plate of yesterday’s leftovers. It’s a good thing I like them both so much, or I’d have to find other friends.
Rachel rolled her head toward Alexander, who was answering questions for a couple of cast members. “He’s so pissed. We should have started at least fifteen minutes ago, but Colleen’s not here yet.”
Considering everything that had happened around the Playhouse lately, the news made me uneasy. “Has anyone heard from her?”
“She’s here somewhere,” Richie said. “She came in right behind me. She’s just not here.”
That made me feel a little better, but it didn’t completely erase my concern. “Has anyone gone to look for her?”
Rachel shook her head. “Alexander goes ballistic when anyone tries to leave the room. He says we all have to be here when she finally decides to join us.”
I got to my feet again. “Well, I’m not just going to sit here. Something could be wrong.” I took off for the door that led to the shop area.
Richie scrambled after me. “I’m coming with you.”
Alexander bellowed as we darted from the room, but we both ignored him. I couldn’t just sit around doing nothing while Colleen was missing.
Richie’s not exactly fighting material, and normally I wouldn’t expect him to be of much use if a vicious killer was lurking somewhere in the bowels of the building. But I was ridiculously glad not to go searching for Colleen on my own, and with his life and his future on the line, he had added incentive to be tough.
As it turned out, it took about thirty seconds to find Colleen—laid out on the floor near her workstation in the shop area. Jason knelt beside her, gently patting her face as he tried to rouse her.
My heart shot straight into my throat when I saw them. “What happened? Is she all right?”
Jason glanced back at me, panic written all over his face. “I don’t know. She’s breathing, but she was like this when I found her.”
Richie dug his cell phone from a pocket. “I’ll call the paramedics.”
“I think she’s coming around. Maybe we should find out what happened first.” Jason focused his attention on Colleen as her eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened. She answered a few questions, insisted that she was fine, and Jason helped her sit, using a nearby box as support.
I tried to be patient, but I was dying to know what had happened. If she’d been attacked, we were losing precious seconds while her attacker got away. I hunkered
down in front of her and said, “We’re going to call an ambulance, but while we’re waiting for them, do you feel up to answering a few questions?”
Colleen started to shake her head, but almost immediately winced in pain and stopped moving. “Don’t call. I’m fine.”
“You could be hurt,” I told her.
“I’m fine,” she said again. “If you call the paramedics, Doyle will hear about it, and that will upset him.”
Point taken. “Okay, but I want you to promise that if you notice any side effects, you’ll have someone take you to a clinic.”
She closed her eyes briefly and inched her head downward. “Of course.”
It wasn’t the ideal situation, but she was sitting up and talking, and she seemed lucid, so I wouldn’t pressure her into anything that might cause problems in her marriage. “Can you tell me what happened?
“I wish I knew.” She touched the back of her head gingerly and glanced at her fingertips as she pulled her hand away. “No blood,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Thank heaven for small favors.” She shifted to make herself more comfortable. “I came back here to get my prompt script before the meeting. I heard a noise, and before I could turn around to see what it was, somebody hit me. That’s all I know.”
Jason looked outraged. “This is the third attack on someone in this production. What’s going on around here? Is somebody trying to shut us down, or what? Are any of us safe?”
“I wouldn’t worry too much,” I reassured him. “The attacks do seem random, but I don’t think they are.”
“Why not?”