by Alice Sharpe
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a saleswoman said, startling Chelsea out of her daydream.
“Very.”
“It would be lovely on you.” She looked Chelsea up and down, and took another off the rack. “I bet this is your size.”
“I couldn’t,” Chelsea said.
The saleswoman smiled. “It’s a slow day and I would love to see this dress on a grown woman who can pull it off. Please?”
Her comment seemed strange to Chelsea. She shrugged. “Why not?”
After putting it on, she stared at her red-headed bedazzled reflection in the mirror. She had a gut feeling she’d never dressed like this in her life, but she had to admit the garment made her breasts look bountiful and her hips enticing. She opened the curtain and faced the saleswoman, a striking brunette, who smiled.
“That dress was made for you.”
“I’m pregnant,” Chelsea said. It was the first time she’d said it to anyone but Adam.
“That’s wonderful. I guess you won’t need a tight-fitting slinky dress, will you?”
“Not really,” Chelsea agreed. “But it was fun to try it on. I wondered, though, why you said what you did, you know, about seeing the dress on a grown woman?”
The saleswoman straightened the skirt. “Someone else bought this same dress this morning. Actually, it was an older guy buying it for his granddaughter. She couldn’t have been over fifteen and she appeared mortified by the way she looked in it. I tried to talk the man out of buying it but he said she’d like it when she got used to it.”
“It really bothered you,” Chelsea commented.
The woman nodded. “The look on the kid’s face got to me. Grandfathers shouldn’t shop for young girls.”
“Isn’t it hard on guys of all ages to figure out women’s attire?” Chelsea asked softly.
The woman shook her head. “Maybe, but anyone could see the child was way too self-conscious to wear something so revealing. It’ll make her want to hide in a corner.” She caught herself and sighed. “I have a thirteen-year-old daughter at home. I guess I’m kind of sensitive to things like this. Now, what are you looking for?”
Chelsea started to make up a story about needing a yellow blouse and then decided against inventing a story. “Do you know Aimee Holton?”
“Kind of,” the woman said. “She came in here once, scoffed at our selection and left.” Her expressive eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering what she’s like,” Chelsea said, and suddenly did a one-eighty and invented a tale to explain her curiosity. “I’m a chef and I’m thinking of working for her.”
“Yeah, I heard her cook quit again.”
“Really?”
The chime on the door rang as a woman entered the store. “Buenas tardes,” the saleswoman called. “Ahora vuelvo.”
The customer waved a hand. “Bien.”
And Chelsea almost gaped. She’d understood every word! Who knew?
“Ms. Holton has an ad up at the culinary store across the street and the girls over there like to...chat,” the saleswoman said, turning her attention back to Chelsea. “They told me she wanted them to cater a party she has planned for two days from now but they declined.” She arched her eyebrows. “You can extrapolate from that what you like.”
Chelsea nodded. Once outside she spied the culinary store across the street and crossed the road. If anyone knew about Aimee Holton, it sounded like it would be the people who ran this store.
Chapter Twelve
Adam hadn’t taken three steps before the trailer door opened and a slender middle-aged guy carrying a set of blueprints emerged. He descended the two stairs before addressing Adam. “You must be here about the electrician job,” he said. “You have to talk to that man walking up the path.”
Adam turned toward the path leading up from the new construction site. He found a man with piercing black eyes and colorful tattoos running up his tanned arms. The hard hat perched on his black hair was emblazoned with Diaz Construction on its brim. “I’m not here about a job,” Adam said. “I used to know a family who lived up here.”
The man with the blueprints shook his head. “I’m a recent transplant from New Mexico,” he said. “The only name I know is Holton.”
The other man approached and introduced himself. “Diego Diaz,” he said. “The people who originally built the little farm on the other side of this property were named Mendoza.”
Adam introduced himself as Frank Mason. “I must have the wrong place.” He raised his gaze to peer over the few trees and contour of the land. “Looks like the house you’re building is a big one.”
“Sixty-five hundred square feet,” Diaz said. He looked at the man with the blueprints. “You headed back to town?”
“Yeah. I’ll work on the modifications and get back to you by Monday.”
“Thanks.”
“Owners change their mind?” Adam asked Diaz.
“Don’t they always?”
“Every job I’ve ever worked on, yeah, they sure do.”
“You’ve worked construction? Are you here about the electrician job?”
“When I got tired of being a cop I worked for a crew up north. But, you know, electricity is a different matter than pounding nails or putting up drywall.”
“That it is. You from around here?”
“Just traveling through. On vacation, kind of.”
“That must be nice.”
Adam laughed. “I’m on a shoestring so that means not quite as nice as you might think. I stop here and there and work for a few days, then move on.”
Diaz groaned. “Sounds kind of cool. At home I’ve got a pregnant wife and two little kids and out here I have a finicky owner who changes her mind every other day. Now she wants a designer refrigerator that’s going to take up two thirds of the wall which means the stove has to be moved and rewired. Last week it was a skylight in the entry. —It’s one thing after another with Aimee. Anyway, what you’re doing right now sounds pretty good sometimes.”
Aimee still lived here? How could that be? As Adam commiserated with Diaz, he noticed Diaz studying him. “So, tell me, Frank,” he said at last. “How would you feel about a short-term job? I’m asking because you said you used to be a cop and this might be right up your alley.”
“What do you have in mind?” Adam asked.
“A sort of watchman thing.”
“Are you losing supplies or something?”
“We take our tools with us every night or lock them up in the trailer, but someone is messing with stuff and now it’s escalated to vandalism. They’ve been spray-painting some pretty nasty words, too. I mean, given the nature of what landed Mr. Holton in prison, it isn’t too surprising, but that’s not his wife’s fault. We clean it up when we find it so she won’t see it. That takes time and as they say, time is money. I think it’s a few teens from town, but I need to know for sure before I go accusing them. They’re well-off kids, the sheriff would laugh at me if I came to him with nothing but suspicions.”
“Why not just put someone at the guard shack?”
“The owner nixed a guard on the road. I’d stay out here myself, but the wife needs me at home and my guys won’t do any overtime until the boss catches up on their wages. Anyway, there’s a room off the workshop you could bunk in. It’s not fancy—”
“Neither are the motels I frequent,” Adam interjected.
“You’d make my life easier, earn a little cash, then ride off into the sunset just like the Lone Ranger.”
Adam laughed, but then grew serious. “I’m not interested in getting involved with the law,” he said. “If your proof requires eyewitness testimony, I’ll have to pass.”
“Then get some kind of proof that doesn’t depend on your input.”
“Like what?”
“Listen, you�
�re a big guy with a certain...air about you. I have faith you’ll figure something out.”
Adam stuck out his hand. “I’ll give it a shot. If I think it’s impossible, I’ll let you know so you can hire someone else.”
“Deal. Come on down to the house and I’ll fill you in.”
After an enlightening hour, Adam pulled on his helmet and mounted his bike. He had a job, but he also had misgivings. In his desire to look different to Holton’s henchmen, he’d actually gone back to looking more like himself, as proven by Dennis’s easy recognition of him. Aimee might do the same—they had lived on top of each other for the six months he worked for and spied on her husband. His hope was that from the outside like this, on her land but not in her space, he could watch who came and went.
There was only one hitch. Nights spent here meant nights alone for Chelsea. How would that work? If the danger was here, how could he leave her?
The road curved to the right and straightened out as it approached the exit. His mouth all but dropped open when he saw an unmistakable green van drive through the gate. What was Chelsea doing here? Had something gone wrong in town? He automatically slowed down and pulled to the side of the road, assuming she would do the same, but she drove right past him, a slight nod of her head the only clue she’d registered his presence. He turned and watched her continue up the hill, fighting the urge to follow her.
Back in town, he parked on the street near the taco truck, found a palm tree casting a bit of shade and sat on the ground to wait.
* * *
CHELSEA FOUND A spot across the street from Adam’s motorcycle. He sat on the ground several yards away but as he saw her park, he got to his feet and jogged across the street.
“What were you doing up on the mesa?” he asked before the door had even closed. “Why didn’t you pull over and talk to me?”
She shook her head. He looked hot and stressed. “Man, your friend Dennis is right, you are wired. Remember the whole treat-me-like-an-adult speech I gave you yesterday?”
He sat very still for a moment and then took a deep breath. “I remember it. I’m sorry.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I didn’t stop because who knows who was watching that road and why advertise we know each other?” She shifted her body position so she could face him and added, “I went for a job interview.”
“A job interview for what?”
“I’m the new cook. And the first thing Aimee Holton confided was that she is off to visit her husband a week from now.”
“Looks like she’s sticking by her man,” Adam said. “Did she mention any reason she was off to see Devin?”
“She said she was ‘reporting in.’ She didn’t explain what that meant.”
“Interesting,” Adam said. “Why exactly do you want a job working for her?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Chelsea asked. “I’ll be inside the house. I can find out if she’s bitter against you. I can see what makes her tick.”
“Honey,” he said, “I was her bodyguard for six months. Money makes her tick. Period.”
“But you haven’t seen her recently,” Chelsea pointed out.
“True. The last time I saw her was when she sashayed into her husband’s trial wearing several thousands of dollars’ worth of designer clothes and claimed her husband was as innocent as the day was long. She called him a pillar of the community and a loving spouse while she dabbed at crocodile tears with a tissue. The jury saw right through her. It only took them two hours to reach a guilty verdict.
Chelsea smiled. “She may have changed. For instance, I have a feeling she has a new boyfriend.”
“What gave you that impression?”
“She took a call while I was whipping her up a sandwich. It was clear she was talking to a man. She got all flirty. I think she mentioned the name Tom.”
“Tom Nolan?”
“I didn’t hear a last name. Who is Tom Nolan?”
“One of her hubby’s cohorts. The prosecutor thought he might be involved in some of Holton’s other criminal activities, but there wasn’t enough evidence to indict him. The dude is married, though. Tell me how this job for Aimee Holton came about.”
She explained about the women at the kitchen store not wanting to cater her party.
“I wonder if we could get a guest list,” Adam mused.
“I could try,” she said.
“Okay. Wait a second. Didn’t Aimee ask to see some sort of identification?
“Nope. I mentioned my purse had been stolen and she shrugged. Said she paid the help in cash, so what did it matter? I don’t think she’s too worried about breaking little laws.”
“Or maybe big ones, either,” he said.
“Okay,” Chelsea announced. “It’s your turn. Tell me about your afternoon.”
“Well, believe it or not, I got a job up there, too, kind of undercover work for the foreman building the new house. The job does come with a condition, however.”
Chelsea raised her eyebrows. “You have to sleep with the boss? She’s really quite attractive, but—”
“My boss is a forty-year-old dude with two kids and another on the way,” he interrupted.
She grinned. “Good luck with that.”
“The thing is I’m going to have to spend nights on the estate. Since I have to be away, maybe you could stay with Whip.”
“I don’t even know him! Besides, when Ms. Holton found out I was just traveling through town she got worried I wouldn’t have a kitchen to practice making goodies. She offered me a room for a couple of days and I, of course, accepted.”
“That means our deadline is Friday night. If we can’t figure out if anyone attached to the estate is involved in Holton’s vendetta by then it’s time to look elsewhere.”
“Like where?”
“One problem at a time, okay?” He touched her face, ran a finger over her mouth. “You know, we’ll both be up on that mesa tonight. Maybe we should arrange a midnight tryst.”
She looked down at her hands.
He tilted her chin up and kissed her. She made sure to stay present in her head and not yield to his lips, but not because of him—her own motives and emotions were the ones she didn’t trust.
“My love,” he said against her cheek, his fingers brushing her ear before he lowered his head to kiss her again. It was clear he didn’t have the same reservations about embracing intimacy that she did. However, he wasn’t the one who’d been abandoned, the one subsequently misled. She didn’t need her memory back to know how all of this had hurt.
He held her for a minute or more, his arms strong, his embrace sure, and despite her resolve, she was whisked back to the night they’d made love and how right it had felt, how familiar and exciting.
“This place is turning out to be Hard Rock’s damn watering hole,” he said into her ear.
The comment jarred her and she straightened up. “What?”
“The taco truck. That’s Whip walking across the grass. What in the world is he doing here?”
“Let’s go find out,” Chelsea said as she turned to get a look at Adam’s mentor. She saw a man in his fifties with gleaming gray hair, a tanned face and a beige suit.
She turned back to Adam. “I want to meet him.”
“Might as well get it over with,” Adam said and they both scooted out the passenger door and crossed the street. “He doesn’t know I’m in Arizona,” Adam explained as they stepped up on the opposite curb. “He’s likely to be a little short with me.”
“Why?”
“He thinks it’s dangerous for me to be here.”
Chelsea cast him a wry smile. “Well, isn’t it?”
Adam smiled. “Yeah, I guess so. Especially if everyone I know shows up at this taco truck.”
As if his policeman’s instincts warned him of their approach, Whip turned. His express
ion went from curiosity to surprise as he saw them. He immediately broke away from the line and approached Adam, hand outstretched.
“Adam?” he said, as though not believing his eyes. “What are you doing here? I figure you had to get to Bill Pierce’s place the day before yesterday. Good grief, do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”
Adam performed introductions before responding to Whip’s concerns. “We were ambushed,” he said in a low voice. “The killers seemed determined to try to make it look like some giant survivalist explosive mishap or something. It wasn’t well thought out and it didn’t work.”
“Was anybody hurt?” Whip asked.
“Bill’s wife was injured but only the killers suffered casualties.”
“Stupid bastards,” he said. “But I haven’t read or heard a thing about it.”
“And you won’t,” Adam said, his voice ominous. He looked Whip over and added, “How are you? Why aren’t you in uniform?”
“I have an interview this afternoon over in one of those buildings,” Whip said, gesturing behind them. He dropped his voice again. “I thought you’d be in Florida by now. The thought of you just disappearing into thin air bothered me, but I have to admit not as much as seeing you standing out here in the open after what’s gone down. What are you thinking?”
“We’re on our way to Florida,” Adam said. “I just wanted to show Chelsea Arizona before we left.”
This was news to Chelsea.
Whip shook his head. “You’re as reckless as your father was.”
Adam seemed to ignore the remark. “Did you learn anything about Ron Ballard?”