Dead between the lines, p.7
Dead Between the Lines, page 7
After I put on the blush pink cropped jacket, I slid into my Jimmy Choos. I was squeezing out the last little bit of lip gloss from the old tube of Venom that I’d unearthed from the bottom of a purse when I heard a vehicle thundering down the lane. Scooping up my bag and taking a deep breath, I sprinted into the foyer and glanced out the side window.
Even if I hadn’t been expecting him, I would have known it was Jake. The enormous Ford F250 reminded me of its owner—strong, tough, and determined, with just a whisper of sexiness and a dash of playfulness for good measure.
As always, the pickup’s black paint gleamed as if it had just left the dealership. Since I knew that unlike a lot of men who drove gigantic vehicles, Jake actually used his on a working ranch, I wondered how he kept it so clean. Did he wash it every time he came to see me? While that was a nice idea, I kind of doubted he’d make that sort of gesture. Noah, yes; Jake, not so much.
To avoid any awkwardness at the front door, I hurried outside. If I invited him in, we might never leave the house. I was determined to have a serious talk with him and not be swept away by our physical attraction. Of course, if he weren’t so damned sexy and gorgeous, concentrating on something other than getting busy with him would be a hell of a lot easier.
As soon as I stepped off the porch, the truck’s passenger door popped open and Jake leaned out, grinning. “Where’s the fire?”
“Uh.” My pulse doubled. This would be tougher than I’d thought. In the weeks since he’d been away, I’d managed to convince myself that the chemistry between us couldn’t be as strong as I’d remembered. “Huh? Oh, you mean me coming out of the house so fast? Gran’s resting, and I didn’t want the doorbell to disturb her.”
“Really?” He raised a dark brow. “Uncle Tony said that your grandmother is away on a senior bus trip. Did he get the dates mixed up?”
“Did I say Gran? I meant Gran’s cat.” I hated it when I got caught in a lie. “Banshee hasn’t been feeling well, and the vet doesn’t want him agitated.” There, he’d made me tell another whopper.
“Seriously?”
I nodded, studying the man before me. Jake seemed to get better-looking every time I saw him. His thick ebony hair curled over the collar of his white Western shirt, making me want to run my fingers through the silky strands. And his full lips tempted me to climb into the pickup and onto his lap. What could one little kiss, or ten, hurt?
“Come on. Invite me inside.” His voice held a satin-edged persuasion. “With Birdie gone, we could have the place to ourselves.”
“Um.” I searched for an excuse. “But what about dinner? I’m starving.”
“So am I.” His expression made it clear that he wasn’t talking about food.
“Terrific.” I chose to ignore his hint. “Then let’s get going.” I placed my foot on the step and used the handle inside the doorframe to hoist myself up into the pickup. Jeez! I’d forgotten that it was like climbing a sequoia just to get inside the cab.
“Are you okay?” Jake’s sapphire eyes twinkled with laughter. “I can’t believe how hard you make it seem to get into this truck.”
“Hey, big boy, I’m only five-six, with the upper-body strength of a toddler. Maybe if I were six-four, like you, I wouldn’t have a problem. I bet Meg doesn’t have any trouble at all.” Meg being his ex-wife. I’d never met her, but the image of her in my head was a cross between Wonder Woman and Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada.
“Meg’s never been in my truck.” The bronze skin tightened over his cheekbones and he muttered, “And she damn well never will be.”
As much as I wanted to explore that statement, I contented myself with settling into the brown, saddle-leather passenger seat, then said, “I guess I should start lifting weights or working out or something.”
“No.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “I like you soft and curvy.”
“Then don’t tease me about my ascent into the lofty regions of your pickup.” I clicked my seat belt buckle into its slot and asked, “Where are we going to eat?”
“How does Chinese sound?” He put the Ford in gear and made a three-point turn. “I hear the new place in town is good. Have you been there yet?”
Oops! I’d been there with Noah last month, but I wasn’t ready for that conversation, so I hedged, “I had lunch there with my friends a few weeks ago. The food was fabulous.”
“Great.” He turned onto the main road. “How are Poppy and Boone?”
“Fine.” Was it my fault he assumed that by friends I meant my BFFs? Of course, I could have corrected his misimpression, but why ask for trouble? “Poppy’s spending the weekend in Chicago with her new boyfriend, and Boone’s taking a cruise. He caught a flight out this afternoon.” It was a relief to talk about something other than our love life, and I gave Jake all the details of what Poppy and Boone were up to as he drove toward town.
I briefly considered mentioning the murder to Jake, but I was sick of thinking about it, since it had been constantly on my mind since Chief Kincaid showed me the body. I’d tell Jake sometime before he took me home, but for right now I wanted a break and a few hours of fun.
During the ride, I was happy that Jake had to focus on his driving. I could relax and look at him. His striking blue eyes were fringed with dense black lashes and wisps of dark hair curled against the V of his open shirt. He had an air of authority, as if he were used to receiving instant compliance to any order he issued. And although he’d never get obedience from me, it was a comfort to be with someone to whom others acquiesced. Someone who wouldn’t take any shit from anyone and didn’t care what people thought of him.
“So Boone is okay now that the murder charge is behind him?” Jake pulled the pickup into the Golden Dragon’s parking lot.
“He’s getting there.” I unfastened my seat belt and prepared to exit the truck, wishing I had a parachute for the descent. “Spending time in jail took its toll on him.” I blew out a breath. “I suppose it will have changed my father, too.”
“Tony told me your dad’s been cleared but is taking parole so he can get out of prison sooner.” Jake came around to my side of the pickup and helped me to the ground. “Are you good with that?”
“Yeah. Although I’d rather he didn’t have to go through life with a criminal record.” When we’d met, I had told Jake about how my father’s conviction had affected my adolescence. “But I feel guilty for not believing in him and for resenting him all these years, so I don’t feel I can say anything to him about it.” I sighed. “Gran never doubted him for a minute. Hell, even the chief of police thought he was innocent. But his own daughter didn’t have faith in him.”
“It’s tough to trust someone you think has let you down.” Jake took my hand. “You can’t blame yourself for having resented him.”
“Maybe.” It was hard to think with Jake’s thumb drawing circles on the sensitive skin of my wrist. “I’ll just have to try to make it up to Dad when he gets home.”
“Don’t go overboard.” Jake opened the restaurant door for me.
“As if,” I sniffed. “You never talk about your folks. Why is that?”
“We’re not close.” Jake’s voice was even, but a crease had formed between his eyebrows. “I generally see them about once a year, and that’s usually too much.”
“For them or you?” I was curious about Jake’s ability to have a relationship.
He was saved from answering, as the hostess, a stunning Asian woman in her early twenties, glided toward us and asked, “How many, please?”
“Two,” Jake answered, then added, “And we’d like a quiet booth.”
She glanced at me, a puzzled look in her eyes, then smiled and said in a melodic soprano, “Ah, now I remember. You were here with Dr. Underwood. Would you like his table? He’s not expected tonight.”
Shit! Caught in another lie. I just couldn’t get a break. Maybe it was time to be a little more truthful. Nah. That would be too easy.
“Sounds good.” Jake shot me a look that promised we’d talk about this later.
Once we were seated and the hostess left, in a rush to distract him, I said, “Tell me about the case you’ve been on this past month. Did you catch the guy before he killed the witness?” Jake had been undercover trying to locate a cartel boss who had skipped bail.
“We got him a few of days ago.” Jake studied the menu. “He was about fifty yards from the Mexican border.”
“He sounded like a real bad guy.”
“Yeah, but in terms of pure evil, he doesn’t even rank in the top ten.” Jake’s expression darkened.
“Oh?” I was curious about Jake’s life as a marshal. “Who heads that list?”
“The psychos are the worst.” Jake’s jaw tightened. “And the serial killers, like the Doll Maker.” I opened my mouth to ask for details, and Jake cut me off. “Believe me, you don’t want to know more.”
“Okay.” I sort of did, but I’d wait for another time. Instead, I asked, “What happened to the cartel boss?”
“I escorted him back to jail, then came straight here.” He put the leatherette menu down and looked at me. “I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch for so long.”
“I understand.” I took a sip of water, wanting to ask how many days he’d be in Shadow Bend, but unsure how to broach the subject. “It’s your job. It’s not as if you have time to make calls and drop in for a visit when you’re out catching the bad guys.”
He didn’t respond, and it was a relief when the waitress appeared to take our drink order. Jake asked for a Tsingtao, and I went for a lychee martini. After she walked away, the silence was starting to grow uncomfortable when I spotted a familiar figure hurtling toward me.
I was about to warn Jake that we had company—he had his back to our approaching visitor—when the whirlwind trilled, “Dev, you’re just the person I wanted to see.”
Winnie Todd’s frizzy gray curls bounced as she charged up to our table. She and her daughter, Zizi, were members of the Blood, Sweat, and Shears sewing group that met at my store on Wednesday nights. Winnie was the original flower child, and she still dressed the part. Tonight she had on bell-bottoms, a fringed suede vest, and a flowered scarf tied around her forehead. Winnie was one of a kind, and I loved that she never allowed the Shadow Bend Peer-Pressure Posse to make her conform and blend in.
“Tell me about the murder at the dime store,” Winnie demanded, breathless from her mad dash across the restaurant. “Zizi said the dead guy acted like a real dickweed at the book club.”
Zizi had been so quiet during the meeting that I had almost forgotten she had been there. Come to think about it, it was strange that she hadn’t been more vocal. Zizi was a social work graduate student and usually extremely outspoken if women were being dissed.
“There’s not really—” I started to deny any knowledge of the murder.
But Winnie caught sight of Jake and cut me off. “Ah, I see the hot U.S. Marshal is back in town. How delicious. Is he edging out our gallant doctor in the competition for your affections?”
There was no way to answer that question, so I ignored it and said, “Jake, this is Winnie Todd, a friend of mine from the sewing group.”
They exchanged greetings, and then Jake asked, “What murder?”
“Last night, a man named Lance Quistgaard was found dead behind my store, not inside it.” I emphasized the word while staring at Winnie.
“Did you know him?” Jake’s law-enforcement antenna had clearly been engaged.
“Earlier that evening, he’d been the guest speaker at the local book club that met there.” I summarized the event for Jake, with Winnie avidly taking in every syllable I uttered. I ended with, “So, no, I didn’t know him know him, but I had met him.”
“I heard that he was a poet,” Winnie commented. “Poets are very passionate men, and passionate men make enemies. I knew a lot of them when I lived in Haight-Ashbury.” She had left Shadow Bend to live in San Francisco during the midsixties, and had returned, sans husband, in the late eighties to have Zizi, her only child.
“Well, I’m sure the police will sort it out,” I assured Winnie.
“But with the murder being behind your store, don’t you think you should help them?” Winnie fiddled with the silver peace symbol hanging from a leather thong around her neck.
“No.” Actually, I sort of did, but it really wasn’t any of my business.
“You figured out who killed Dr. Underwood’s fiancée, and you cleared Boone’s name when he was arrested.”
I saw a gleam in Winnie’s eye and could almost hear a click. Oh-oh. A figurative lightbulb must have just gone on over Winnie’s head. “That was pure luck.” All I needed was Winnie with an idea.
“You seem to have a knack for detective work.” Winnie ignored my attempt to dismiss my previous investigative success. “Zizi and I could help.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll leave this one to Chief Kincaid.” I looked over her shoulder. A group of sixty-something women was beckoning her. “I think your friends are trying to tell you that your food’s arrived.” I pointed to a lady waving a large red hat with a purple plume.
“Yikes! I hate cold moo goo gai pan.” Winnie leaned in and hugged me. “Got to go. But call me if you need a Watson for your Sherlock.” Before she let go of my neck, she whispered in my ear, “By the way, keep both guys. I always did.”
After Winnie walked away, the waitress served our drinks and took our appetizer order for hot and sour soup and pot stickers.
Once we were alone again, Jake said, “Tell me more about the murder.”
“Why?” I took a sip of my martini. “It doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“Because I know you’re holding something back.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Humor me.”
Figuring Jake was one of the few people in Shadow Bend who could keep his mouth shut, I told him everything I knew about the case.
When I finished, he said, “So, you withheld information from the police?”
“Not withheld so much as deferred revealing it until a more convenient time.” Hey, I’d told the chief—eventually. And shouldn’t the cops have figured it out without my help? After all, they were the so-called experts. “Anyway, what kind of evidence can they really expect to get from my store? Anything they find could have gotten there during legitimate business hours. There’s no way to sort that stuff out, is there?”
“There isn’t a way to time-stamp fingerprints or trace, so it’s highly unlikely the crime-scene techs will come up with anything,” Jake admitted, then frowned. “But back to someone hiding in your store. How did they manage that?”
“As I said, both Quistgaard and Addie Campbell stormed out of the meeting.” I chewed my thumbnail. “Although I didn’t like the idea of them wandering around my store unsupervised, I was mobbed and couldn’t follow them right away.” I shrugged. “I figured all they had to do was turn the knob on the dead bolt to let themselves out, and at least one of them did that, because the door was unlocked when I was finally able to break away and check.”
“What I don’t like is that someone was in your store and you weren’t aware that they were there.” Jake stared into my eyes. “You do realize that once everyone left, you were alone with a killer.”
CHAPTER 8
As when I’d previously eaten at the Golden Dragon, the food was wonderful and so was the company. I had a good time talking to Jake. I loved his wicked sense of humor, and his stories about being undercover were riveting. For my part of the conversation, I brought him up to speed about what had been happening in my life since I’d last seen him, and how I’d helped figure out who had really killed the woman that Boone had been accused of murdering.
We lingered over dessert, but finally our server brought us the check with two fortune cookies on top of the ticket. Jake tossed me one of the cellophane-wrapped clairvoyant confections before reaching for his wallet. I momentarily considered offering to pay half, but decided against it. Jake wasn’t the kind of guy who’d be okay with going Dutch treat on what he considered a date.
As he laid money for the bill on the little plastic tray, I opened my cookie and read aloud, “‘The current year will bring you much happiness.’” I tucked the little slip of paper in my purse. “I hope that means my father’s homecoming will go smoothly.” I wondered how Dad would get along with Jake and Noah. Would he like them or feel threatened by the men in my life?
“Just take it slow,” Jake advised, then handed the cash to the server, who had returned to pick up the check, and told her to keep the change.
Once she thanked him and left us alone, Jake cracked open his cookie. His face was expressionless as he read, “‘You will take a chance in the near future, and, if you have faith, win.’”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I slid out of the booth and when Jake joined me, I asked him, “Are you planning a trip to the casino boats?”
“Nope.” Jake’s palm on my lower back guided me to the exit. “The only gambling I do is part of my job.”
“You mean because you put your life on the line every time you go after a bad guy.” I preferred not to think of that aspect of his profession. Another reason I was hesitant about getting too serious about him.
His answer was a twitch of his shoulders. When we got to his pickup, he opened the passenger door and said, “Here, let me help you up.”
“Thanks.” His hands on my waist sent a shiver of awareness sizzling though me.
Apparently, Jake felt it, too, because instead of lifting me into the truck’s cab, he pulled me toward him and, his voice thick, rasped, “It’s been so long since I had my arms around you.”
