a Touch of Ice (16 page)

“Read them anyway, as a favor to me.” I couldn’t do more than give her a gentle push, not when her head was filled with dreams of the perfect marriage. “Are you and Marcus planning on a big wedding, Shelly?”

Her face crinkled up and she twirled the ring again. “No, there’s no time for that.” She sighed dramatically. “We’re going to be married in Paris. It’s always been a dream of Marcus’s and since I don’t have family, there’s no reason not to.” Her glossy lips curved into a smile. “We’re going to have a party here, for my friends. Nothing elaborate.”

I leaned toward Shelly and rested my elbows on my knees. It was time to try the Voice of Reason. “You’ve talked about finding the perfect mate a lot. Have you given this enough time to know that Marcus is the right man for you?”

Shelly shook her head. “Positive. All I want is for us to be together and to be a good wife to him.”

She uncurled her legs and went back to admiring her ring. “Hopefully we’ll have children soon.”

Every muscle in my body clenched. Could this get any worse? I touched her hand, carefully avoiding the ring because I wanted the images to be pure Shelly. “As your coach, I have to ask, do you really want to do this? In your gut, does it feel like the right thing?”

Damn. No helpful images popped up, just some blurry movement.

She looked at me and some of the smile left her eyes, but her voice was strong. “I’m positive it’s what I want to do. I can’t say I don’t have doubts, especially in the middle of the night, but all brides get cold feet, don’t they? And how many women are lucky enough to have a real Prince Charming ride in and sweep them off their feet?”

No way I could argue with that, and she wouldn’t hear me if I tried.

“Do you have any questions for me, anything you want to work on before you move into your role as Mrs. Marcus Stefano?” I hoped by making her a Mrs. and taking away the Shelly it would make the situation more real.

She clapped her hands. “Oh, doesn’t that sound exciting—Mrs. Stefano. No, El, I can’t think of any questions.”

So much for that plan. “Have you given any thought to continuing with a coach after your marriage? I think it would be good for you to have someone to talk with, especially since you’ll be leaving your home and friends behind. I can help you locate someone in Paris if you’d like.”

“Oh, no. I want to keep working with you after my marriage,” she said bouncing on the edge of her chair. “I’m sure things will come up because I’ve made this decision so quickly, and it will take time for Marcus and me to learn all the little things about each other. Especially, since I’ve had such bad experiences with men until now, it will take time for me to discover what being a wife is all about. Is it all right if I call you to schedule phone appointments? It may be difficult with the time differences since Marcus and I will be traveling so much, but we can make it work, can’t we?”

I handed her a card, wrote my email address on the back. “We can definitely make it work. Ping me and we can schedule something. That’ll be easier with the time differences.”

“The party for my friends will be at my house. I’ll drop an invitation off for you as soon as I pick them up from the printer.”

“I look forward to meeting Marcus.” The lie tasted sour in my mouth. “In case I can’t make your party, let me wish you the best of luck—and take care of that ring, it’s one of a kind.”

“I know. The color is of the diamond is amazing, and it matches Marcus’s eyes exactly.” She turned to wave as she crossed the street in the direction of her townhouse.

A trail of icy foreboding clawed at my spine.

Eighteen

No doubt about it. Yesterday’s surprise session with Shelly made for a restless night’s sleep. The meeting with the police artist hung over my head, and on the blah scale, oatmeal had more going for it than I did. Best cure I know for the blahs is movement and connecting with the earth. I hit my “athletic drawer” and rummaged for a pair of gray shorts and matching sports bra, then headed for a run around the lake that sits below my townhouse.

The slap of my shoes against the pavement soothed my mind. Sweat trickled down my back and pooled in the hollow at the base of my spine, life sliding into a semblance of balance and order with each step. The early morning air was clear and heavy with the scent of jasmine, ducks and geese were squabbling over space, and all was right with the world—except that I knew way too much about a whole bunch of stuff I wasn’t supposed to know anything about. I desperately wanted to have a long talk with Violet about my snooping and about what I’d learned through fortuitous accident.

The phone was ringing as I turned my key, unlocking the front door. Damn, I’d forgotten to grab my cell on the way out. With all this crazy stuff going on I seriously needed to be more careful. Caller ID told me it was Mitch. Guess that talk with Violet wasn’t going to happen this morning.

After the phone call, I had all of fifteen minutes before the police artist showed up. Barely time for a much-needed shower, and definitely not enough time to dry my hair. It was going to be a wet hair, quick braid and forget the make-up morning—and still I couldn’t stop smiling. I pulled on my softest jeans and favorite Sweetie t-shirt, caught my hair into a high ponytail with some wisps framing my face, and passed on wearing shoes. Bare feet make me happy, and more importantly, would help me keep the connection with earth energy I’d generated on my run. I felt confident, comfortable, and a bundle of nerves all at the same time. Probably meant I needed a long session with a good shrink.

“Morning,” I called as I jogged up the stairs to Violet’s living area. “Mitch phoned to let me know he’ll be home today. It was a lousy connection and a short conversation, but he asked me out to dinner tomorrow night at the new seafood restaurant. From what I could tell he sounded good. Tired, but good. Excited to be coming home, I think.” I couldn’t seem to stop the flow of exuberance. It had to be irritating. Someone else’s love life usually is.

A rustling sound trickled down the hallway, probably Violet moving around in her bedroom. “Morning,” a disembodied voice followed the rustling. “There’s coffee and muffins if you didn’t have time for breakfast.”

Either she didn’t hear my “Mitch monologue” or was studiously ignoring me. I helped myself to a cup of the coffee from the fragrant pot sitting on the counter, cupped my hands around the mug, and inhaled. Yep, she’d added cinnamon. It helped to calm my nerves. I settled into one of Violet’s kitchen chairs—without a pillow. My hip was definitely getting better, a good thing since it was way past time for me to get on with finding Tony’s killer.

“You look relaxed,” Violet said as she strolled into the kitchen.

“The phone call from Mitch really helped. Between that, my run, and his dinner invitation, I’m set to go.”

The sharp peal of the doorbell cut off our conversation and signaled the arrival of the police artist. Violet went to let her in, led her upstairs, made quick introductions, then headed back downstairs to her office. “If you need anything, give me a shout,” floated back to us.

Peggy offered her hand and I shook it. I wanted to know enough to be comfortable, but not enough to trespass. It’s a fine line, but this whole situation was balanced on a precarious edge. As soon as I touched her, I knew that Peggy wouldn’t mind—even if I checked out her daily calendar and all the nuances of her love life.

She appeared to be in her early fifties, slender with a loosely tousled knot of gray-streaked, warm, brown hair at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were the same shade as her hair, and her complexion was tanned to a light golden glow. I knew, both from her appearance and from touch, she spent a lot of time in her garden. Peggy was Mother Earth in bright red capri leggings and a long, oversized, white linen shirt. The shirt had a hand-painted red hibiscus trailing along the hemline that echoed the red of her leggings. I liked Peggy. A lot.

Her lips curved in a warm smile as she helped herself to coffee. She took a sip, calm, normal, and then sat down and arranged a workspace with pad, pencil, pastels, and charcoals. “It’s nice to be doing this the old fashioned way. Usually I do these drawings on a computer, but this time, being away from the station…well, I’ll just scan it into our database later.”

“How does this work? Am I just supposed to talk?”

She gave my hand a motherly pat. “There’s nothing to this, Everly. You describe what you remember, and I draw it. Sometimes I’ll ask you a question for clarification, but all in all, it’s a simple process.”

Her voice and smile reassured me. No way would this woman rat me out to the media. Of course she didn’t have the whole story, but even if she figured there was something odd about me, I felt comfortable with her integrity and for the first time realized this could actually be fun.

“Let’s start with the one I call Shaved Head…”

We worked for the better part of three hours and ended up with fairly accurate sketches of Messy, Pudgy, and Shaved Head. I knew it was probably against the rules, but asked anyway. “I’d like to borrow your sketches long enough to make some copies. It won’t take but a minute. Violet’s copier is right downstairs.”

I wanted to add them to my storyboard, see if something new popped when I changed the collage around, and I wanted to see Violet’s reaction, whether she recognized any of them or not.

“Not a problem as long as I can take the originals back to the station. Adam would skin me if I went back without completed sketches.” There was a twinkle in her eye that had my mouth curving into a smile. A shared moment of “understanding Adam” could brighten anyone’s day.

“You’re an easy witness to work with,” Peggy said as I returned the original drawings. “Have you done any artwork? I noticed a definite artistic eye.”

“None to speak of. My mother was the artist in the family.” I swallowed down tears. What the heck was the matter with me? I can usually talk about my mom without getting all emotional. This whole situation, make that situations, were really messing with me.

After she left, I handed the copies to Violet, watching her face to gauge any reaction.

She shrugged half-heartedly. “Don’t recognize them, but that doesn’t mean anything. There’s no reason I should.”

“I’d hoped for names to put with the pictures. Don’t know why. You’re right. There isn’t any reason you’d recognize them. Obviously my mind is mush. How do you feel about some retail therapy?”

“Good.” Big grin. She glanced at my bare feet. “Put some shoes on and I’ll meet you at my car.”

While Violet focused on driving, I toyed with the idea of confessing what I knew, but I ended up clamping my mouth shut on the words. It wasn’t right. Should have been. We were alone with no pressing commitments, nothing to interrupt us. Except that Violet was driving…a little too fast. And there was traffic. No, now definitely wasn’t the right time. Today was for us to just have fun—without heavy discussion.

Violet wrinkled her nose at me. “You shopping for anything special?”

I felt the heat creep into my cheeks as several hormone-induced fantasies played across my mind. “You know those red sandals you had on the other day?” I slid a sideways look at her. “Some of those would be good.”

She whipped around, a knowing grin on her face. “Sex. You’re totally planning to get Mitch out of his clothes.”

I took a few shallow breaths. “Yeah. Oh, yeah. No clothes would be good.” I paused, trying for cool. “Wonder if I can do red shoes. They’d be far enough away from my hair not to clash…and a new dress. Something—” I took a swallow of water from the bottle in my handbag— “sexy to go with the shoes. It’ll have to have some red to tie the outfit together. I
really
want some of those sexy red shoes.”

“Actually,” Violet said, her eyes sparkling, “you
really
want your hands all over that boy.”

“I do. And why not? He’s luscious, kind, talented, and he likes me.” I fiddled with my water bottle, let out a long, slow breath. “Of course there’s the other side—crappy job that could get in the way of me touching him, over-protective to the extreme, and Jayne. No way I can forget Jayne. She’s family and won’t be going away. Yep—” I nodded— “Jayne is a challenge, but compared to a night of great monkey sex, a challenge I can overcome.”

“Exactly what is monkey sex?”

“Don’t have a clue, but I’m in the mood to find out.”

We were at a stoplight when Violet took the time to twist around and pull a ten-dollar bill out of her purse and wave it around. “Ten says he’ll beat you to it. Bet he gets you naked before you get him naked.”

I snatched the money out of her hand, tucked it in my pocket. “I have no problem with that. None whatsoever. Go, Mitch.”

She flashed me a grin. “Relieved to have those sketches done, are you? I haven’t seen you like this since we were on our way out to the barn.”

“Way to break a mood. Did you have to mention the barn? Seriously. I’m trying to escape the criminal element this afternoon, and that barn is looming. I know I have to go back, touch things, finish what we started, but not today. Today is for fun. Except…”

“I don’t like the sound of that ‘except.’ What’s going on?”

“Pierce. I’m sort of attracted to him, too.”

Panic flashed behind Violet’s eyes, and she sucked in a breath. Preparation for a lecture, so I rushed into providing details. “Not that I want to do anything about it. I know better. Pierce is the worst kind of bad boy there is, and way out of my comfort zone. It’s just that I can’t seem to stop the physical response.”

“He does that to women. Not me, because he’s like a brother, but I’ve been watching women fall at his feet for years.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. An “oh, damn” gesture for sure.

“Years?” No way was I going to let it pass.

She recovered quickly. “Remember I mentioned that he and Adam are friends?”

“I do, and that raises all sorts of questions.”

Audible swallow and a fidget. First time I’d ever seen Violet this uncomfortable, but she recovered before I pushed. “Another topic for another time. This thing you have for Pierce isn’t good, El. He’s not good date material and I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“Logically I know that, and I don’t want to be the kind of woman who falls for a pretty face and heady pheromones. It scares me that I respond to him the way I do. All girly and…hot. I’m not a multi-guy kind of woman. At least, I didn’t think so, but this is…different. Uncomfortable. And I can’t seem to control it. Mitch is solid, dependable. He likes me, and he’s…more normal. Better for me.”

Huge sigh. Who knew she’d be
that
relieved? “Yes. You should definitely go for Mitch. He’s a good man. And available in ways that Pierce will never be.”

Now, that caught my attention. “You think Pierce is damaged”

“Not exactly, no. He’s not a relationship kind of guy. Probably won’t ever be monogamous. You can’t help how your body responds, you know that—”

“But I can control what I do. You’re right. Thanks for listening.” I let it go because I did feel better. Still, there was something about Pierce that touched every feminine instinct I possessed.

Several pairs of shoes (including the best red pair ever), three sets of lacy lingerie, and two great dresses later, we made our way upstairs to the food court. The sweet-salty goodness of a hot pretzel melted on my tongue, and I’d just sucked down a swallow of Diet Coke when I spotted a guy with too-big clothes and a familiar lurch to his walk. I froze, a shiver snaking along my spine. Couldn’t be. I sucked in a breath and make a few garbled sounds in Violet’s direction, pointing at the furtive movements of the suspicious dude weaving through the downstairs crowd.

“Messy. That’s Messy.” I grabbed my bags. “He’s headed toward the outside courtyard. Come on.” I nudged her toward the escalator with my head, my hands being full of shopping bags, soda, pretzel, and a wad of napkins.

“What the—”

I pushed her down the escalator in front of me.

Stealthy we were not. And by the time we got downstairs, he’d disappeared.

“Wonder what Messy was doing at the mall?” Violet mumbled, more audible thought than question.

“Are you going to run it by Adam?”

She was already reaching for her cell. “Yep.”

Their conversation sounded like it had more to do with Jayne Hunt than with Messy.

“What’s going on?” I asked when she ended the call.

“ Jayne Hunt had a run-in with Donny Civitelli, called it in to Adam. She requested my presence at the interview—who knows why—so we’re meeting at seven-thirty tonight. Adam said you could come if you want. Provided Jayne doesn’t ask you to leave.”