AFTER GETTING BACK to Moyra’s and exchanging my black funeral suit for a pair of sweats, I fed Buster and took him for a brisk walk in the dusky drizzle.
Since Steve’s pickup still wasn’t sitting in his driveway when we got back around six, I hit the bathroom so that I didn’t show up for our date smelling like my wet dog companion.
A half hour later, I turned to Buster, who had been watching my transformation from frizz to flat-ironed. “What do you think?”
He cocked his head and whimpered, probably because I wasn’t offering him any ice cream.
But I had every intention of offering Steve something I hoped he’d find enticing, so I tightened my bra straps and adjusted the girls to enhance my cleavage. “Well, I think I look pretty good.” Even if I was hiding some of my jiggly bits under the teal sweater tunic I’d worn to lunch Tuesday.
I left Buster at the front door and headed across the street, determined to finish what Steve and I had started.
A minute later, he opened his door wearing a smile, a few water drops on his bare chest, and a charcoal gray bath towel clinging to his hips. “One of us appears to be overdressed.”
Smelling light notes of menthol and lime, I wiped away the moisture from his chest, his skin cool under my fingertips. “I had no idea tonight’s dinner would be so informal.”
“And you pride yourself on your perceptive abilities.” Steve locked the door behind me. “Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted by that phone call?”
I pointed at my C-cups. “Here perhaps?”
His lips stretched into a crooked grin. “Ah, yes. I remember now.” He pulled my sweater over my head and dropped it to the floor in one smooth motion.
“And as I recall,” he said while his deliciously rough fingers unclasped my bra. “This had to go.”
“I do believe you’re right.” I smiled in invitation and Steve hooked a finger around a lacey black strap, revealing two of his favorite jiggly bits.
His dark eyes gleaming with carnal intent, he cupped a breast. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is where we left off.”
“Actually…” I pulled off his towel. “I think we were right about here.”
“And now one of us is definitely overdressed.”
“What do you intend to do about it?”
“You know exactly what I intend to do,” he said, leading me to his bedroom.
Goody.
* * *
A half hour later, I propped myself up on one elbow so that I could watch Steve’s face. “I need you to put me out of my misery.”
He smirked. “Didn’t I take care of that already?”
“Not that. I need to understand something that happened at work.”
“Like what?”
“You know that guy I pointed out at Eddie’s.”
Steve didn’t respond, not that I had expected him to.
“I had told Shondra about seeing him with Casey Locklear and then went back to her with the name I heard him use at Eddie’s along with a partial plate. But she didn’t seem the least bit interested in trying to locate him, even though he fits the description of the last person to see Emmy Lee alive. Can you explain that to me?”
Steve traced a finger down my jawline. “Probably because she knew he wasn’t the guy.”
I stared at him, my breath caught in my throat. “Why would she know that?”
“Because I had to tell her we had a regional task force member working undercover to infiltrate the drug ring the Locklears got themselves hooked up with.”
“You mean Blake’s a cop?”
Steve nodded. “I worked with him when I was with Seattle PD.”
“Why are you telling me this? You never tell me anything.”
He smiled. “We made our arrests late last night. Seven people in two counties dealing in everything from prescription drugs to heroin. Stayed up most of the night processing paperwork.”
“So all those late nights…”
“It took some time for all the undercover officers to conduct the buys, but we now have all the evidence we need so it’s a done deal.”
It couldn’t be a done deal. “But what about the buy that Emmy Lee made? She had to have seen something that got her killed.”
Steve shook his head. “She only saw Helen and her grandson, who sold her the pills, and then Emmy Lee drove away.”
“But—”
“I know how it looks, but what happened at the Locklears’ didn’t have anything to do with her death, aside from the fact that Emmy Lee bought enough Oxy to kill herself.”
“Maybe, but what if something did?”
“Char, I’m confident there’s no maybe here, and I want you to be confident about that, too.”
“But she could have seen one of the guys you arrested doing some drug deal out in the parking lot, and he tracked her down, and—”
“That didn’t happen, and at least one cop had eyes on everyone involved when Emmy Lee went missing.”
Then who killed her?
* * *
I was pulling out of the church parking lot when Gram waved a Valu-Mart coupon at me. “Twenty-five percent off all home furnishings,” she chirped.
Shopping at the local discount store wasn’t the way I had wanted to spend my Sunday. “Gram—”
She smiled at me from the passenger seat. “I’ll buy you a treat.”
Like I needed the inducement she used to add when I was a kid, or the calories. But once Moyra got home I’d go back to living with a box as an underwear drawer if I didn’t take advantage of this opportunity. “Fine.”
Thirty minutes later, I was sucking down a mocha latte courtesy of my grandmother, perusing Valu-Mart’s limited selection of particleboard dressers when I heard Gram say hello to someone.
Turning, I met the gaze of Parker Tuttle, who immediately closed the distance between us.
“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise.” He took a whiff and gave me a satisfied smile. “And don’t you ladies look lovely this fine morning.”
I had a squishy shoe from failing to dodge a rain puddle in the parking lot, my hair was in a state of semi-permanent frizz, and I was no closer to convincing anyone with Coroner in their title that Emmy Lee Barstow hadn’t committed suicide. Plus, Parker had just invaded my space to smell me. There was nothing fine about this morning.
“Hi, Parker,” I said, taking a step back.
He scanned the aisle. “In the market for some furniture for the new digs, huh?”
“She needs pretty much everything,” Gram volunteered before I could clue her into the fact that I didn’t want to give this guy any personal information about me.
He aimed some full-frontal smarm at me. “Really. I wonder if I have anything you could use.”
Oh, puh-lease.
“Like what?” Gram asked, hanging on his every word like the good bargain hunter that she was.
“Between all my sister’s stuff and my folks’, I have a very crowded house.”
Now, I was hanging on his every word. “You live with your sister?”
“I like to think of it as her living with me.”
“And in one of the prettier Victorians in town,” Gram cooed as if she were talking about a newborn. “I always thought your father did a beautiful job of restoring it to its former glory.”
Parker nodded. “Takes some upkeep, as you know, so it’s good to have family there to help out.”
Gram nudged me. “See? Not everyone feels compelled to move when there’s plenty of room in a big house.”
I did not want to debate the merits of me moving to my own place in front of Parker Tuttle, but since Katelyn had moved back shortly before I did, I wondered if I could milk this subject.
“Yes, but Katelyn might decide she wants something requiring less upkeep. You know, less demanding on her time while she raises her kids.” Because I couldn’t imagine that she’d want to both work and live with Parker long-term.
He shrugged a little too cavalierly. “If she does, we haven’t talked about it…”
Lie. I’d wager that was a conversation she’d had with him on more than one occasion.
“…so you should stop by and see what I could offer you.”
Not a chance. “Maybe I will.”
His eyes lit up.
Gram opened her mouth to speak, and I knew I’d better cut her off before she suggested following him home. “Will you and Katelyn be there later today?”
“I will. I can’t speak for her. She’s been pretty busy lately.”
That was for sure. “She’s had a new look lately, too.”
His jaw tightened. “Yeah.”
Clearly he wasn’t happy about it, but I needed more from him than that. “What’s that about?”
My grandmother swatted my arm like she used to when I misbehaved. “Charmaine!”
“Gram, I’m just concerned that Parker’s sister is taking Emmy Lee’s death very hard.”
“She’s okay,” he assured me. “This is just what she does. She throws herself into everything, especially when facing something challenging.”
Searching Parker’s face, I saw nothing to indicate that he shared my concern that the latest challenge Katelyn had thrown herself into was named Vernon Barstow.
His lips curled. “So, will I see you later?”
Nope. “I have a few things to do, but if I can swing by I will.”
After we exchanged goodbyes, Gram turned to me. “What great timing. Since he has stuff he wants to get rid of, you’ll probably save even more money.”
“I don’t think that’s necessarily a good thing,” I said with Steve’s words about staying away from Parker echoing in my head.
“What? I thought—”
“Do you have more shopping you want to do?”
“I do, but don’t you want a chest of drawers?”
Yes, and I’d come back tomorrow with Steve and his truck to carry it. “I’ll get one soon enough, but what I need even more is something to get cat pee out of upholstery.”
“Cat pee?”
“Don’t ask.”
Shaking her head, she pushed her shopping cart toward the cleaning supply aisle. “Child, there are times I simply don’t understand you.”
If you knew what I know about Parker Tuttle, you’d understand.
* * *
“Oh, good. You’re home. I was thinking about getting some wine for dinner tonight,” my mother said, stepping into the kitchen while I put away the case of sparkling water that Valu-Mart had on special. “Steve likes wine, doesn’t he?”
Since an uneasy truce seemed to have been struck between Steve and Marietta several months back, I was all in favor of serving some libation to help keep the peace. “Sure.” And if he opted not to drink it, I would.
She reopened the pantry door I had just shut. “What is that?”
“Sparkling water.”
“But it’s not the right kind of water.”
“It was the on sale kind of water,” Gram said.
Marietta plucked out a bottle from the case. “Do you know what’s in this?”
Glowering, Gram jammed her hands on her hips. “Water?”
“Artificial sweetener!”
Gram scoffed. “I seem to recall you living on diet pop and sugar-free gum when you were a teenager. You don’t appear to have grown a third eye.”
“That’s because I now only eat real food.”
“Then maybe you should drink real tap water,” Gram said, stomping up the stairs.
Marietta shoved the bottle back into the case. “I swear, your grandmother can cop such an attitude.”
Like the diva in front of me never projected an abundance of attitude when she couldn’t get her way.
I forced a smile. “So we need wine and water. Anything else?” Because I really wanted to make this the last trip to a store today.
“Maybe a coffee. We could swing by that espresso stand you like and get a couple of mochas. My treat for taking me to the store.”
Like mother, like daughter.
* * *
After fortifying myself with another coffee, Marietta and I went our separate ways in the Red Apple Market—she in search of a burgundy Barry liked, and me on the hunt for her imported sparkling water.
We had agreed that we would meet up at the register, but when I didn’t see her anywhere in the front part of the store, I figured I’d better track her down in the liquor section.
As usual when Marietta Moreau went out in public, she had attracted some attention. She’d typically give me a high sign if she needed rescue from an overly ardent fan. Since she seemed to be enjoying herself, I hung back until the tall brunette she was speaking with turned to reach for a wine bottle, and I recognized her.
“There’s mah daughtah,” Marietta said, waving me over, her accent back at full force. “Chah-maine, this is Juliette.”
Wide-eyed and with a tight grip on the bottle, she met my gaze.
I pasted a polite smile on my face that wasn’t returned. “We’ve met. How’re you doing?”
Juliette didn’t verbally respond, her features frozen in place.
Interesting. Apparently, I had caught her out of the control that she exerted in Roman Rutherford’s home.
Marietta put her arm around my shoulder as if that might help warm up the reception Juliette was giving me. “Oh, I always forget. Everyone knows one another in a small town. Chah-maine, Juliette was just telling me that she’s getting married next Friday at that darling stone chapel I was considering for mah wedding.”
Swallowing nervously, Juliette nodded. “That’s what the wine is for. The reception.”
No it wasn’t, and I couldn’t imagine why Juliette thought she had to lie about it. What reason would I have to care why she was buying wine?
“Oh, honey, you’re gonna need more than one bottle. Trust me as someone who’s been married before, people always drink at weddings.”
“Uh…yes, perhaps another one,” Juliette said, taking a second bottle from the shelf. “But our wedding will be very small.”
“Mine, too! Just family and…” My mother gave me a squeeze. “…significant others.”
I assumed that meant Steve.
Juliette took a couple of steps in the direction of the registers like she’d had enough wedding bonding for one afternoon. “Well, good luck.”
Marietta waved. “Same to you, hon. I wish you and your beau every happiness.”
“Good luck,” I added. You’re going to need it in that marriage.
A smile finally flashed across Juliette’s face before she disappeared around the aisle corner.
“Pretty thing.” Marietta gave her head a little shake. “Must be doing the wedding reception on the cheap though.”
“I doubt that. He’s loaded.”
“Really. Then why aren’t they having it catered?”
Since Juliette had lied about the wine, I didn’t know that they weren’t. “Couldn’t tell you.”
My mother flicked a wrist. “Doesn’t matter. The important thing is that they’re in love.”
“Right.” From everything I’d observed, Roman and his bride needed some luck with that, too.