George called back late in the afternoon.
“You know how you were wondering if anyone was asking questions?”
“Yes.”
“Someone came by this morning.”
“And? What happened?”
“This guy started hanging with a couple of kids who were smoking outside. He asked some weird questions.”
“Like what?” She wanted to dive through the phone and prod George, but on some things, he mirrored her mother. He had his own time schedule.
“If they knew anything about Miltronics.”
Her heart rate kicked into overdrive. She already knew the answer, but she asked anyway. “This guy. What’s he look like?”
“Big. Dark hair. Could have been black or brown. I’m not sure.”
“Did he have glasses?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention at the time. Charlene’s kitten was missing, and she was pretty upset until he turned up at the back door.”
“She knows the rules. I thought she said she’d found an owner... It doesn’t matter. I’ll talk to her about it tomorrow.” Katherine rubbed her brow. “Is there anything else I should know about this guy?”
“He came by with an envelope. Said it was for you and the shelter.”
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know. It was sealed. I put it in your desk drawer.”
She debated whether or not to wait until Monday morning to find out, and then realized she couldn’t hold off that long. “Can you go to my office and open it?”
“Sure, give me a sec.”
While she waited, she paced the length of the kitchen. She didn’t know what to think.
“Got it. I’m opening it right now.”
“And?” Her hand tightened on the receiver. The continuing silence on the other end drove her nuts. “What is it?”
He whistled, which further rattled her nerves.
“It’s cash. Lots of it.”
She grabbed a kitchen chair and dropped down in it. “Are you sure?”
After several, long, agonizing seconds, he said, “Oh, yeah. They’re all hundreds. We’re talking close to ten thousand here.”
“It’s got to be a joke. That or they’re counterfeit.”
“Who’d be crazy enough to donate counterfeit money? Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.” George laughed. “Anyway, they sure smell real. I’d bet a week’s wages they’re legit. Whoever he is, he’s an angel. You know the shelter’s desperate for cash.”
“Okay, George. Thanks,” she murmured, unable to mask the tremor in her voice. “I’ll be down in a bit. I can’t leave that type of money there. And especially over the weekend.”
“Oh, there’s one other thing ...”
She’d been rising to her feet, but she quickly sank back down in her chair. She was almost afraid to ask. “What’s that?”
“Well, your question earlier today and this guy got me curious like, so I asked Alex and Scott—they’ve been around the longest—if they’d seen him before or anyone else that looked kinda suspicious.”
“And?”
“They had. But not the guy from today. Someone else. They’d seen him talking to Brian a couple of times.”
“And then Brian disappeared.” She was not going to get paranoid here. But just the same... “Maybe we should call the police. Have them look into it for us.”
“Don’t hold your breath. You need a cattle prod to get them moving. Remember when Steve just up and left?”
“I remember.”
But she didn’t want to. Steve had been so damaged emotionally. Heroin, his drug of choice, had been his savior from pain and his companion in death. He’d been discovered dead from an overdose a couple of months later by the police, but only after someone called in a complaint about the stench in an alley.
“The way he disappeared like that looked damned suspicious,” George insisted, “what with leaving all his clothes at the shelter. And what did the police do? Not a damn thing. Some street kid with a prior and no one who gives a shit isn’t going to get a fire up their ass and you know it.”
Emotionally drained, she rose to her feet. “I’ll see you in a little while.”
After a few fumbling attempts, she managed to get the receiver in its cradle. This was getting way out of hand. Clark’s ‘interest’ in her seemed beyond strange. It was darn right frightening. And what in the world was he doing at the shelter asking a bunch of teenagers if they knew anything about Miltronics? What did her uncle’s company have to do with the Morning Dove?
Was it some angle on a story? Maybe a story on the Spalding’s? No. Clark hadn’t made the connection with her or her mother, so why would he go that route? It didn’t make sense. Something was really wrong here. And now there were two suspicious figures loitering around the shelter and an envelope of cash she had to worry about.
First, she’d take care of the cash.
Later that day, she deposited the money into the shelter’s bank. When she discovered every single bill authentic, she didn’t know whether or not to be pleased. Thankfully for the remainder of the day at the shelter, one crisis after another distracted her from the mysterious donation, and she didn’t finish up until after dark.
After hearing about last night, George wouldn’t let her go back to her car alone, which was fine by her. By the time she stepped through her front door, Katherine, too exhausted to do anything, grabbed some leftovers from the fridge for dinner, and hit the bed.
Saturday morning, her head didn’t feel any clearer with all the questions and thoughts tumbling inside it.
Until her encounters with Clark, she’d thought of herself as a good judge of character, able to read through a person’s B.S. better than some. Clark had never come across as dangerous. Maybe a little strange, yes, but never a threat. Especially when he’d gone beyond the call of duty the other night to help her. And there were his eyes. She’d always believed a person’s eyes were the gateway to their soul. Clark’s were clear gray, warm and without artifice. But maybe she’d never read them correctly, and they’d been only a buffer, shielding her from a sick, dark mind.
If that were the case, could he have orchestrated the other night to appear as her savior? Was he playing some sick game of cat and mouse? That would be too bizarre. But everything about this situation was bizarre.
Did she dare go over there and start asking questions? And if on the off chance he was home, what could he really do to her in the light of day? Grab her and drag her inside? Kill her? She didn’t think so. If he’d wanted her dead, he wouldn’t have interfered the other night.
Katherine showered and changed into a wool sweater and khaki pants, and before she lost her nerve, she grabbed a jacket and her pepper spray and went outside on the pretext of getting yesterday’s mail. She palmed the canister and hoped to heaven she wouldn’t have to use it.
As she walked to the mailbox, Katherine eyed the end townhouse. Clark didn’t have a car, so she couldn’t tell if he was home unless she knocked. After she pulled out a couple of bills from her box, she stuffed them in her pocket, eased the pepper spray inside her other pocket, and veered in the direction of Clark’s townhome.
At his front door, she rang the bell and waited tensely, having no real clue as to what she would say when he opened it. She waited some more, but when she didn’t get an answer after the second attempt, she leaned over a prickly hedge, which surrounded the porch, and peered into the large, front window. The blinds and drapes were open, which enabled her to see into the interior of an empty living room. Not even a lamp or a picture on the wall.
Katherine knew he’d told her that he’d rented the place. The rental sign had also been removed. She didn’t know what were lies or facts anymore.
Stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets, she trudged around the corner to the side of the house and winced. Snow seeped over and inside her running shoes with each step. Served her right for snooping. She found two other windows that faced the park
ing lot and street. The opaque one was probably to the bathroom. She walked past it and stopped beside the other window.
Here the blinds were also open. Unlike the living room, this room was partially furnished. A bed, its sheets thrown back, the comforter partially dragging on the carpet, butted up against one wall, and a brass lamp sat on the floor on this side of the bed.
That was it. Not even an end table, book or magazine to identify the owner. Even the bedding, some beige pattern, was nondescript.
Suddenly, Clark stepped into the room with a tiny white towel wrapped low on his hips. His hair, still damp from a shower, looked as if he’d raked it back with both hands. She had a clear impression of his face without his glasses, and it was startling at the dramatic change. His thick-framed glasses had given him an air of intelligence, of reticence, but without them, the hard thrust of his jaw, his prominent cheekbones conveyed a merciless face.
A fine sheen of moisture clung to his body, emphasizing the taut muscles of his arms and the sleek expanse of his chest and stomach. He had long, well-defined legs with a smattering of dark hair across his thighs and calves. He could have easily stepped from a fitness center commercial...or some female’s sultry fantasy. He looked like sin personified.
Before she’d recovered from the initial shock of seeing him, he yanked at the towel around his waist and dropped it on the corner of his bed. When he turned and flipped on the light to the closet, she got an eyeful. And what an eyeful. The image was absolutely, irrevocably affixed in her mind. There was no mistaking him for anything other than a man.
“Oh, my!”
She didn’t know if he’d heard her. Just the same, he turned toward the window—and saw her. The recognition in his slate, colored eyes was unmistakable. For two, very slow, very agonizing seconds, they stared back at each other. Embarrassment, hot and humiliating, burned up her throat to her face.
Katherine bolted, almost tripping over a mound of snow in her hurry to get away.
Chapter 8
The doorbell rang.
In growing dismay, Katherine backed further away from the front door. She’d rushed inside the house, closed and locked the door moments before, but right this second, she stood in the middle of the hall feeling like an idiot for overreacting.
She’d hoped Clark would have let it slide, be the gentleman and pretend he hadn’t caught her sneaking a peek at him like some sick voyeur. Talk about mortifying. She paced in front of the door in indecision. Did she dare open it? Maybe if she just ignored him, he’d go away.
The doorbell rang again.
“Katherine! Are you all right?” Clark’s words, which sounded muffled yet concerned, penetrated past the door. It looked like he didn’t plan on leaving any time soon.
“Go away,” she whispered.
When he resorted to pounding the door, she sighed in frustration. If he kept this up, the neighbors were going to call the police.
She grabbed the knob and yanked the door open, and then snapped on the lock to the storm door to keep him from entering. “I’m—”
At the sight of Clark, her train of thought collapsed. He hadn’t taken the time to do anything but pull on a pair of faded jeans. He was bare-chested, barefooted—and freezing if she could go by the way he shifted back and forth on the cement porch. He also hadn’t bothered with his glasses. His clear, gray eyes, minus the frames, were far too penetrating as he swept his gaze over the length of her.
She’d never be able to look at Clark in the same light again. How could she, with the image of him wet and naked plastered in her mind? He hadn’t looked civilized then, and he didn’t now.
“What’s wrong? You look upset. I didn’t come by yesterday because I thought you needed space.” He searched her face while visibly shivering and rubbing at his bare arms. “Is it your stomach? Is it still bothering you? Do you want me to take you to the doctor?”
“My stomach couldn’t be better.” Katherine took a deep breath. Here goes. “Why were you over at the Morning Dove?”
She’d shocked him. Good. Let him get out of this one unscathed.
“What are you talking about?”
She tensed. He was going to deny it. But then, what should she have expected? All she’d gotten from him so far were lies and fabrications. “Someone at the shelter told me you’d been asking questions about Miltronics. You also donated a huge sum of cash. Is it some type of bribe I don’t know about?”
“They must have confused me with someone else.”
“I don’t think so.” She started feeling a healthy dose of anger. Good. Maybe then she wouldn’t be taken in by a pair of gorgeous, gray eyes and a body more potent than any addictive drug. “Why go behind my back? Why couldn’t you have come to me?”
“Come to you? About what? I don’t know what you mean.”
For a wild moment, doubts assaulted Katherine. Maybe her suspicions were unfounded, driven by her own paranoia.
“Can we talk inside? It’s cold out here.” Clark nodded to his feet.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” If he wanted to run around without his clothes and freeze, that was his problem. “You have me so darn confused. I don’t know what to make out of anything anymore. All of a sudden, you and someone else have made the Morning Dove a very popular place.”
He grasped both sides of the doorframe and leaned closer. “Someone else? Who? The man who attacked you the other night?”
She hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t know.”
“You’ve got to believe me. I would never hurt you. That’s something I know more than anything else, and deep down, you know it’s the truth.”
Katherine swallowed against a suddenly constricted throat. She searched his eyes for the truth. What a mistake. The sincerity in their depths made her waver. Goodness knows, she wanted to believe him. From past actions, Clark never once gave her a reason to believe he was immoral. But before she found herself weakening further, she looked away and glanced over his shoulder.
She inhaled sharply.
Oh, no. Of all people—her mother, walking across the sidewalk and heading this way. Katherine completely forgot to call her back last night, which was probably why her mother decided to show up in person.
Great. Just what Katherine needed. She didn’t know what was worse—having her mother discover a strange, shirtless man outside her doorstep or inside her house. Since she couldn’t find a lesser of the two evils, she unlocked the storm door and opened it.
“You better come in. My mother’s right behind you.”
Clark glanced over his shoulder before slipping inside. He tossed her a sheepish smile as he wiped his bare feet on the indoor mat. “I’ve an idea I’m not going to make the best impression.”
“I’m not about to argue with you there.”
When Sharon stepped inside, Katherine had to give her mother credit for taking in Clark’s appearance with an expressionless face.
“Mom, this is Clark Kent,” Katherine said into the silence, keeping her gaze away from Clark’s very naked chest. “He’s a neighbor who just moved in. Clark, this is my mother, Sharon.”
Katherine, among a select few who knew her mother well, saw the almost indiscernible pause before she shook his hand. Sharon glanced over to Katherine and didn’t attempt to conceal her shock.
“What happened to your face?” Sharon glared at Clark. “If this—this man touched—”
Katherine saw Clark’s eyes flash with anger, and before he retaliated with some scathing retort, Katherine said, “You’ve got it all wrong. I was attacked the other night and Clark, here, was the one who saved me from being raped.”
As she explained in further detail of her encounter with her assailant, the color leached from her mother’s face.
“Did you report it?”
“No. I didn’t think it’d be a good idea.”
“That was quick thinking on your part,” Sharon said in obvious relief. “Goodness knows I have enough publicity without somet
hing else being leaked into the papers. With elections this year, it’s hard enough trying to keep the media focused on the issues and not on an incumbent’s dirty laundry.”
“Did it happen here?” Sharon asked. “I can’t imagine. You think you’re safe in your own home when it’s the farthest from the—”
“No. I’d just finished work for the day, and I was walking to my car.”
Sharon’s lips thinned, and disgust flashed in her eyes. “I should have known. It was only a matter of time before you were hurt at that place. I certainly wouldn’t be surprised if you were attacked by some homeless delinquent you befriended. When are you going to give up on this fixation you have with these people? The Morning Dove’s a lost cause. Let it go, Katherine. It’s draining the life out of you.”
“Mother, it’s who I am.”
“A martyr?” Katherine’s mother scoffed.
Clark cleared his throat, his gaze narrowed on her mother with obvious dislike. “Why don’t you give your daughter some slack? It’s obvious she didn’t call the police because she wanted to protect you. The least you could do is return the favor and support her.”
Sharon spared him the briefest of glances. “We can discuss this later.”
Katherine sighed. “So, why did you come?”
“I was on my way to do some errands, and I thought I’d drop by since I haven’t been able to reach you.”
Katherine saw her mother’s look of reproach and took it for what it was—yet another manipulative move on her mother’s part. “I’ve been a bit busy with my own problems.”
“Which is understandable. I actually came by to tell you that David’s throwing a birthday party for his father next Saturday. Paul’s turning fifty this year, and it would be a shame to ignore such a milestone. And of course, you can invite a friend.”
The tight-lipped expression thrown Clark’s way told anyone with an ounce of intelligence, Sharon didn’t classify him as a “friend”. But then, anyone Katherine personally picked was always regarded with suspicion.
Duplicity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance Page 6