Blind Dates Can Be Murder (37 page)

Chuck had been shocked.

The Lettie that Chuck knew wasn’t capable of that. She wasn’t capable of much of anything other than keeping his house clean and getting his dinner on the table. Yeah, she had done some secretarial stuff from time to time when they were first married, but to go out and work all over the country, slip the skimmer discs into the credit card machines, show up every day and pretend nothing was up, and then pull them out a month later and disappear? To go somewhere and pretend to be a secretary, pop in a flash drive, and steal their customer and employee data?

She didn’t have it in her.

Lettie didn’t understand that in a lot of ways, weird ways, she was like a child. Chuck knew that skimming required
personality
, lots of personality, but Lettie could barely carry on a conversation with anyone other than family. She was a social zero, an idiot who didn’t know finesse from a hole in the wall.

She also had no money management skills. Before he went to prison, he had kept her on an allowance because she didn’t know any better. She never had a clue as to how much money he really made skimming, or how much slipped back out of his hands before she ever saw a penny of it. She was incapable of the things Mickey had described.

Mulberry Glen, 5 miles

Passing the highway sign, Chuck drove even faster, counting the minutes until he would see Lettie face-to-face. Once he found her, he still didn’t know what he wanted to do more at that moment: kiss her, because he’d missed her so bad, or kill her, for three years of uncertainty and disobedience.

Maybe he’d do the one and then the other.

Jo had hoped Denise might give her some wisdom regarding her love life and this new development with Danny. But as soon as they started talking on the phone, it became clear to Jo that Denise wasn’t the right one to talk to. As Danny’s sister, she was simply too biased—and way too excited—to do much more than gush about how wonderful it was that Jo and her brother were “an item” now, and how excited she was about their future together. Jo’s protestations were brushed off with a laugh and a dismissive “Don’t be silly, Jo. Everybody knows you’re perfect for each other.”

Jo finished that call as quickly as possible and dialed Marie instead. That conversation went a lot better, once Marie finished reacting to the news that Danny was in love with Jo.

“I guess we all should have figured that one out a long time ago,” Marie said. “In retrospect, it’s like, duh, of course.”

Jo busied her hands with straightening the silverware drawer as they talked.

“But what do I do now?” Jo asked. “I don’t know how to respond.”

“Do you love him? In that way, I mean.”

“I don’t know. I never thought about it. When I run the idea through my head, all I feel is…terrified.”

“Terrified. Okay. We can work with that. What scares you more: the thought of loving him or the thought of losing him?”

Jo swallowed hard, moving a tablespoon out of the teaspoon slot.

“Losing him,” she whispered. “I could never lose Danny. He’s like a part of me. I know him better than I know myself.”

“Well, maybe that’s the problem,” Marie said. “Maybe the reason you’re so scared is because for the first time in your life, you’re considering having a relationship with someone you actually know. I mean really, to the core of his soul, know. You sure can’t say the same about Bradford. In comparison, you guys were practically strangers.”

“But what difference does that make? Love is love.”

“Jo, the love glasses you wear are even more rose-colored than mine,” Marie said. “Romance paints a pretty picture, but it also keeps you at a distance. If you ask me, it takes a lot more guts to love someone when you can’t hide behind all the hearts and flowers.”

Jo straightened the last of the knives and slid the drawer shut.

“So if I love Danny, I won’t get the hearts and flowers?” she asked in dismay.

“Oh, honey, I think you’d get all that times ten. It’s just going to come in a different order, that’s all.”

Chuck easily found the Palace and pulled to a stop in the parking lot. With no cars out front, the place seemed deserted, but when he got out of his car, he could hear a man and woman yelling at each from one of the rooms upstairs.

He went into the office and asked the old man behind the counter for the room key for Smith. When the guy refused, Chuck grew belligerent, taking out his anger at Lettie on the desk clerk. Chuck was just taking a deep breath to launch into another tirade of cursing and threats when the man produced a gun from behind the counter, pointed it at him, and cocked it.

“I’ll say it again,” the old man told him calmly. “I ain’t giving out no room key to somebody I don’t know. I don’t care if you say she’s your wife or not. She checked in alone, and until she comes and tells me it’s okay, she’s the only one with a key.”

Amazing how three years in the joint had changed Chuck. Before he went in, a gun pointed at his head would have made him run scared. Now, it just made him change his tactics.

“Fine, buddy, fine,” Chuck said, holding up both hands so the guy wouldn’t shoot. “Could you call Mickey Paglino? He’ll vouch for me.”

The old man hesitated a long moment and then lowered the gun.

“You know Mickey?” he asked, pausing to spit into the trash can. “Well, why didn’t you say so? That changes everything.”

Jo opened the door to the House of Lee and stepped inside, spotting Ming at a booth along the wall. She was sitting at a table with papers spread in front of her, so absorbed in what she was doing that she didn’t notice Jo until she was sliding into the seat across from her.

“Jo! Hi! I didn’t see you come in.”

Ming introduced her mother and asked about Jo’s food preferences and ordered for both of them.

“I can’t believe this restaurant belongs to your parents,” Jo said after Ming’s mother walked away. “I’ve passed by here dozens of times.”

“Yes, it’s practically a Moore City institution.”

“Ming, before we get started, I wanted to talk about what you said—”

“Listen,” Ming interrupted, “I apologize if I was out of line the other day. I didn’t realize that you and the photographer—what’s his name? Danny?—I didn’t realize that you two were involved. Maybe I spoke too soon. Is the relationship serious?”

Jo felt guilty. Her actions of holding Danny’s hand and having him kiss her had been dishonest. So much had happened since then, however, that to completely deny a relationship of that nature now would also be a lie.

“Our relationship is…complicated,” Jo said honestly. “But there is a lot of love there.”

That much was true. Jo just didn’t specify
which
kind of love—not that she knew, anyway.

Ming seemed satisfied with that answer. She began talking about her and Peter’s relationship, sharing her heart in a way that seemed somewhat inappropriate. Strangely, Jo realized, Ming had gone from being a hostile adversary to a giggling confidante—and to Jo, both stances seemed quite unprofessional. This was, after all, primarily a business meeting.

According to Ming, she and Peter had only been dating for a few months, and she wasn’t sure if he was seeing her exclusively or not.

“We’ve never had that talk, you know?” she said. “I mean, I assume there’s nobody else, but I can’t know for sure. He’s very busy and very private, so there are a lot of hours of his day unaccounted for. I don’t know if I can trust him. With his work in risk management, he does mostly offices and professional buildings, but he also conducts a fair amount of home inspections. I worry about all of that one-on-one time with lonely housewives.”

“You really don’t trust him?”

“Not always. I’m just not sure.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Jo replied, “he was completely professional with me. I never picked up any vibes of flirtation at all.”

“Thanks, Jo. That’s good to know.”

“You’re welcome. Now what do you say we talk about Peter’s house? I’ve got some architectural questions—and a lot of great ideas.”

Chuck used the key to let himself into the room, closing the door behind him. What a dump. About the best thing he could say about it was that it was nicer than his prison cell—but not by much.

Chuck moved into the room, a sudden tenderness overcoming him. This was Lettie’s room, Lettie’s stuff. Her clothes. Her suitcase. Her cup of water on the bedside table.

He ran his hands along the surfaces, fingered the fabric of her clothes, touched the rim of the glass to his lips.

He didn’t understand the hold she had over him or why he loved her so. She wasn’t pretty, at least not so’s anyone could tell. She sure wasn’t sexy or fascinating or filled with things to talk about.

She was just so…sweet. So tender. So unassuming.

So
guileless
.

He hoped they could start over. He would forgive her, she would forgive him, they’d find the money, and they would start a new life. As long as she kept her mouth shut and stayed in line, he wouldn’t ever have to hurt her again.

On the floor beside the bed, something sparkled. Chuck leaned down and picked a little dog made from foil. He smiled. He had forgotten she did that. Almost a nervous habit, she was forever constructing these elaborate animals and then simply giving them away.

He sat on the bed and crushed the dog between his fingers until nothing was left but a tiny ball of foil. He flicked it toward the trash can and then stretched out, face down on her pillow, and simply inhaled.

He missed her so much!