Cowboy Cop

by Lori Wilde

  Until now.

  Instead of pursuing her newest goal, which was fighting for her brother’s freedom, she’d been making out in a parked car with an ex-con. Maybe it was time to get her priorities straight.

  “I made that policy for a reason,” she explained.

  Weasel nodded. “Hey, I understand. Why drag yourself down with a no-account bum when you’re on the way up, when you’ve got such big dreams? Like a house in Eagle Estates. The top job at Heritage Library. A seat on the city council.”

  Her mouth fell open. “How do you know about all that?”

  “Me and Snake broke into your locker in high school and read your diary. Not too juicy, but you’ve got great penmanship.”

  She turned to Nick. “You can shoot him now.”

  “What exactly are you doing here,” Nick growled at Weasel, “besides spying on us?”

  “I’m working as a valet. It’s all part of the Protégé Project. Rooney hires me to park cars whenever he throws one of his ritzy dinner parties. He likes to bestow temporary employment on the underprivileged. It makes him feel special.” Weasel’s green eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you doing here, Holden? Besides scoping out these fancy houses and feeling up my best friend’s sister.”

  His jaw clenched as Weasel’s smirk widened. “Don’t you have some cars to park?”

  “I’d offer to park yours, but somehow I don’t think you’re here for the party.”

  “We’re spying on Ralph Rooney,” Lucy said. “Trying to find out if he has any connection to the fire.”

  “Oh.” Weasel’s smirk faded. “Gee, Luce, is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Confess to the crime?” Nick suggested.

  “No, thanks,” Weasel said. “But I do have some information”—he paused, flicking an invisible piece of lint from his jacket—“if you’re willing to deal.”

  “What kind of deal?” Nick asked.

  “One hundred dollars or…”

  “Or what?”

  Weasel’s gaze fastened on Lucy. “One kiss.”

  “You’re not my type,” Nick clipped.

  “Good, because Lucy is definitely my type,” Weasel said with a grin. “What do you say, Luce? Do we have a deal?”

  Before she could even open her mouth, Nick reached into his wallet and tossed a wad of bills at Weasel. “Enough fooling around, Malone. What have you got?”

  Weasel stuffed the bills in his shirt pocket with a disappointed sigh. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Lucy.”

  “Just tell us what you know,” Nick said.

  “Okay. So, on the night of the fire…”

  “Yes,” Lucy prompted, her heart beating faster.

  “There was an eyewitness.”

  Nick snorted. “No kidding. Half the neighborhood turned out when the fire trucks showed up.”

  “No,” Weasel clarified, “I mean a real eyewitness. A person who saw somebody leave the Hanover Building around midnight. And that somebody wasn’t Mad Dog.”

  Lucy’s fingers clutched the armrest. “Then who was it?”

  Weasel shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

  “She?” Nick asked.

  “It was one of the girls who works a corner downtown. I heard about her from a friend of a friend.”

  “A call girl?” Lucy guessed.

  “Yeah, something like that. I think her name is Daisy. Or maybe Rose. Some flower name.”

  “You think?” Nick said. “I just paid you a hundred bucks. I expect some quality information for that price. How do we even know it’s true? And why didn’t she report this to the police?”

  Weasel laughed. “The police? Yeah, right.” He stepped back from the car, looking toward the house. “Looks like the party is starting to break up. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Thanks, Weasel,” Lucy called as he strolled away. He’d just given them the biggest lead in the case. She could barely contain her excitement as she turned to Nick. “This is it! I can go undercover. She’ll probably talk to me if she thinks I’m another call girl. And I’ve got the perfect dress…”

  His face hardened. “No way.”

  “But, Nick…”

  “Forget it, Lucy.” He leaned closer to her. “It’s out of the question. In the first place, you could never pass as a call girl.”

  She wasn’t sure if he meant that as an insult or a compliment. Either way, she hoped it wasn’t true. She had to pass for a call girl if she ever wanted to find Daisy, or Rose, or Magnolia.

  “And in the second place,” Nick continued, “it’s much too dangerous down there at night. Believe me. I used to work that beat when I was a rookie. It’s no place for a librarian.”

  Now that was an insult—and a challenge. One she fully intended to meet. She could pull it off, too. All she needed was a little time, some tenacity…and a push-up bra.

  * * *

  “I’m ready for a good, juicy murder.”

  Lucy hid a yawn behind one hand as she scribbled Hattie Holden’s comment on her notepad. Ever since the Rooney stakeout three nights ago, she’d been up late researching every book available about the world’s oldest profession. Now she could barely stay awake for the Bluebonnet Book Club meeting. As this week’s discussion leader, it was her responsibility to provide good reading recommendations.

  She looked around at the kind faces of the club’s five regular members: Hattie Holden, Edith Cummings, Veda Tavlik, Ana Cortez, and Midge Berman. They all had two things in common: widowhood and a love of books.

  “Any other suggestions?” Lucy asked, trying to focus her mind on fiction. Lately, real life had demanded all of her attention. She only had eight more days until Melvin attempted his prison break, and twenty-four more hours until she transformed herself from a librarian into a lady of the evening.

  A tingle of anticipation shot through her. While Nick was on his date with Vanessa tomorrow night in search of information, she’d be walking the streets in search of the eyewitness. Her costume was almost ready and she’d stocked up on hair spray just in case she encountered trouble.

  “I want something challenging,” Edith said, “like a locked room murder mystery.” Shortly after her retirement, Edith had qualified for the semifinals of the senior citizens’ tournament on the Jeopardy! TV game show. She loved to read mysteries, solving most of them before the group got halfway through the book.

  “Nick and Lucy are trying to solve a real mystery,” Hattie announced. “Her older brother is accused of arson and they’re trying to find the real culprit.”

  “Oh, how fascinating!” Midge exclaimed. At sixty-one, she was the youngest member of the book club. She qualified for membership after the death of her third husband, newspaper magnate Wilson Berman. A trained journalist, Midge wrote a popular daily column for the Pine City Herald.

  “Frustrating is more like it,” Lucy said with a sigh. “If we could just find the real arsonist, Melvin could be free. But we’re running out of time, and the police are convinced he’s guilty.”

  Ana, a sixty-eight-year-old yoga teacher who jogged three miles a day, leaned forward in her chair. “Are you saying your brother didn’t start that fire, but someone else is letting him take the blame?”

  Lucy nodded an earnest expression on her face. “The real arsonist is feeling smug and safe while an innocent man sits in jail.”

  Edith brushed a speck of lint off her neatly pressed Jeopardy! T-shirt. “Just like Horace Dexter in that book, Murder for Sale. Remember, girls? We read it last summer.”

  Hattie nodded. “Horace killed the doctor, then framed that nice young lady. Nobody would have discovered the truth if the detective hadn’t tricked him by planting that article in the newspaper.”

  Veda snapped her fingers. “That’s right. The one that said he’d found the murder weapon and planned to have it tested for fingerprints.”

  For a moment no one said a word. Lucy tried to tell herself it could never work, but the more she thought about it, the mo
re possible it seemed.

  “Do you think I should do it? Try to flush out the real arsonist by claiming there’s new evidence that will break the case wide open?”

  “Well, it certainly couldn’t hurt,” Hattie mused.

  “I could put an item in my column,” Midge offered, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement.

  “Really?”

  “I’ll give a review of the case and then put in the plug about the new evidence. All with my trademark flair, of course.”

  Hattie clapped her hands together. “Then when the real arsonist reads it, he or she will panic and possibly reveal themselves.”

  “If they read it,” Edith warned.

  Midge sniffed. “Oh, everybody in Pine City reads my column.” Then she smiled at Lucy. “I’ll make sure it gets in tomorrow’s paper; don’t you worry.”

  “Midge, that would be wonderful,” Lucy exclaimed, almost afraid to get her hopes up. “Thank you all so much. Now, I’ve taken up enough time with my personal problems. We’re here to talk about books.”

  Veda, the group’s oldest member at eighty-two, held up a thick volume in her hand. “Well, I just finished Out of the Blue. It’s very well written and has some nice gory parts in it, but it’s a little light on the romance.”

  “I’m in the mood for another good love story,” Edith Tavlik said, pulling knitting needles and a skein of baby-blue yarn from her tote bag, “like that one set in Australia that we read last month. It was really hot.”

  Hattie nodded. “Wasn’t that Stone character a hunk?”

  “He reminded me a little of your grandson,” Midge chimed.

  “Which one?” Ana said, laughing. “She’s got six good-looking cowboys.”

  “She does, but I was thinking specifically of Nick,” Midge said with a smile.

  “Nick is quite handsome,” Edith added, clicking her knitting needles together, “with those strong arms and big broad shoulders. He’s certainly handsome enough to take a young girl’s breath away. Don’t you think so, Lucy?”

  Lucy blinked, her mind suddenly remembering the feel of Nick Holden’s strong arms wrapped around her. “What?”

  “Lucy and my grandson went on a date last week,” Hattie confided to the group. “He gave her the loveliest corsage.”

  Veda’s slender hand fluttered up to her chest. “Isn’t that romantic? I think flowers are such a poetic way for a man to express his true feelings. My Gavin always gave me bouquets of lavender, which means devotion.”

  Edith turned to Lucy. “What kind of flowers did Nick give you?”

  “Roses,” Lucy replied. “Pink roses.”

  The women all smiled and nodded approvingly.

  “Hold on, let me look it up,” Midge said, picking up her cell phone. “Here it is: pink roses symbolize joy, gratitude, and grace.”

  “I’m very grateful he’s working on Melvin’s case with me.”

  “But you do like him?” Hattie asked.

  Edith snorted. “What’s not to like? That grandson of yours is one handsome hunk of man, Hattie. If I were a few years younger, I’d set my cap on him myself.”

  “I think you mean a few decades younger, Edith,” Veda said with a smile. “Besides, we don’t want Lucy to have any competition. You are almost thirty, aren’t you, dear?”

  “I will be in a few months,” Lucy admitted, wondering how the discussion had turned from hot books to her not-so-hot love life.

  Ana reached over and patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Lucy, you’re still a baby. Nick is a fine man and if he has any sense, he’ll see that you’re a delight.”

  Lucy blushed, pretty certain that wasn’t how Nick would describe her.

  “Why don’t you come over to the house tomorrow evening?” Hattie suggested. “I’ll fix a nice, romantic dinner for two, and then disappear.”

  “Make oyster stew,” Ana said. “Oysters are an aphrodisiac.”

  “The man’s been in prison for over a year,” Midge reminded them. “I hardly think he’ll need any additional stimulation. One kiss and he’ll be a goner.”

  Lucy swallowed. The memory of Nick’s kiss last Monday night still made her woozy. Or maybe it was lack of sleep. She didn’t have enough experience with men to know if kisses usually caused such a strong physical reaction.

  “You’re right, Midge,” Edith said, counting the stitches on her knitting needle. “It will be almost too easy.”

  “Like shooting fish in a barrel,” Veda piped up.

  Hattie clapped her hands together. “Then it’s all set. Dinner for two at my house tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. Nick will be thrilled.”

  Lucy couldn’t keep silent any longer. “Thanks, but we’ll have to do it another time. Nick will be at Rawling’s Steakhouse tomorrow night…with Vanessa Beaumont.” Five pairs of bifocals turned in her direction.

  “On a date?” Edith asked.

  “With whom?” Hattie asked in a weak voice.

  “Vanessa Beaumont,” Lucy repeated, twisting the ballpoint pen in her fingers. “She and Nick are having dinner together. It was…sort of my idea.”

  “Lucy, dear,” Midge said gently. “Men have such short attention spans. It’s not a good idea to distract them by throwing other women in their paths.”

  Ana arched a dark brow. “Especially a woman like Vanessa.”

  Lucy wondered how their book club had strayed so off topic. “It’s not like that. Nick isn’t romantically interested in her.” She saw Veda and Midge exchange glances. “Really. Vanessa may have information about the fire. That’s the reason for the date. The only reason.”

  “So Nick is sacrificing himself for you,” Ana said. “Isn’t that sweet?”

  Lucy didn’t know any man who would consider dating Vanessa a sacrifice. And what if the women were right? What if Nick was vulnerable? Lonely? An easy victim to Vanessa’s obvious charms?

  She closed her eyes, telling herself it didn’t matter. Telling herself as long as Nick kept his focus on the case, his private life was his own affair. Telling herself she didn’t care what tactics Nick used to make Vanessa talk.

  As long as he didn’t touch her. Or order anything with oysters.

  10

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” Nick stood alone in the foyer of Rawling’s Steakhouse the next evening, glaring at the potted palm in the dimly lit corner. He took a step closer.

  The palm fronds rustled suspiciously.

  He’d been on edge all week, wondering how Lucy would infiltrate herself into this phase of the investigation. He could hardly bring her along on his date, but hiding in the foliage seemed a little desperate, even for Lucy.

  “I can’t do my job if I have to keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for you to interfere. I am a former police detective. I can handle this investigation all by myself.”

  No response from the potted palm.

  He wondered briefly if Lucy knew how she affected him, how she drove him to do things a normal, thirty-three-year-old man shouldn’t do. Like make out in a car. Or fantasize about a librarian.

  Or argue with a plant.

  She also made it impossible for him to remain distant and cynical and hopeless. Because when she’d thrown herself on top of him in that car, he’d started hoping all kinds of things—things he’d soon learned could never come true.

  Because Lucy had a policy against men like him. And as soon as she accepted her brother’s guilt and gave up on this case, she’d be out of his life. Forever.

  “Don’t you feel just a little bit ridiculous?” he asked, glimpsing a flash of blue between the leaves.

  The maître d', a tall middle-aged man wearing a dark suit and air of authority, approached him. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, his gaze moving warily between Nick and the plant.

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Charles. Is there a problem here?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” Nick assured him.

  “Perhaps I can be of some assistance?”

  Nick s
hook his head. “No, this is a private conversation.”

  Charles moved back a step. “I see. Well, then perhaps it would be best to seat you now. We have a very attractive fern next to a private table in the back.”

  “My party hasn’t arrived yet.”

  The maître d' glanced at the plant. “Do you have a reservation?”

  He had plenty of reservations. This so-called date with Vanessa Beaumont was not only a dead end, but a potential disaster—especially with Lucy around. She was too unpredictable, too impulsive, too dangerous.

  Hadn’t he been punished enough in the last fifteen months?

  He scowled at the potted palm as he reached into his jacket, pulling out the appointment card he’d received from the Friends of Pine City Association. “Reservations for two at Rawling’s Steakhouse,” he said, handing the card to Charles.

  “Ah yes. The Beaumont party. Give me just one moment, please.” Charles moved back to his station.

  Nick’s gaze fell on a newspaper lying open on a mahogany pedestal table. He picked it up, a name highlighted in Midge Berman’s column catching his eye. His jaw dropped as he scanned the column.

  Midge foresees sparks between a certain librarian named Lucy and a former police detective who can still heat up an investigation. They’re working together to solve the case of the Hanover Building fire.

  While the courts want to lock up a certain Mad Dog in a cage for the crime, this hot twosome is on the trail of the real smoking bandit. And they’ve got sizzling new evidence that could blow the case wide open just in the Nick of time.

  Stay tuned for Moore details of this smoldering story…

  Nick couldn’t believe it.

  He blinked and read the column again. Not only did the item link him and Lucy romantically, it claimed new evidence that just didn’t exist.

  Where would Midge Berman come up with such a ridiculous story? There could only be one answer.

  He turned back to the potted palm. “This time you’ve gone too far.”

  Charles approached him, clearing his throat. “Pardon me again, sir. Miss Beaumont has already arrived and been seated. If you’ll just follow me…”