Cemetery Club (17 page)

All in all, on paper, Cory Miles seemed to be a model citizen and businessman, the type of person Jack would have welcomed at his own country club.

So he’s got nothing I can use against him. That’s okay. I can still make his life difficult. And as for Marisol...well, she’s got plenty of skeletons in her past. We’ll see how long their romance lasts when the shit storm starts and they’ve got no umbrellas.

Jack went to his desk and jotted a note for himself to run Miles’s plates in the morning.

Since he doesn’t have any outstanding tickets, maybe it’s time he got one.

You messed with the wrong guy’s wife asshole.

*  *  *

Marisol loaded the last DNA sample into the lab’s state-of-the-art Beckman Coulter STR analyzer and hit the run button. It would take twenty-four hours for the machine to run the forty samples; two each from the fourteen pieces of human flesh recovered from the fire, plus controls and standards. The lab had already identified one of the victims - Ana Pachuri, age twenty-two - from her dental records. The police were assuming that at least some of the other remains would belong to her father. The family had provided hair samples for DNA comparison.

But there had also been a second car at the station when the fire started, parked at the pumps. No bodies had been found inside. So there was the distinct possibility that one or more of the samples could come up as unknowns, leading to a long identification process - especially if the car’s occupants were from out of town and had just stopped for gas.

Marisol looked at the clock. Almost midnight. That meant another late night tomorrow. She sent a quick email to Ed letting him know the samples were running and she’d talk to him the following afternoon, when she came in for her shift. Then she grabbed her purse and went across the hall, where Jaime Snyder was running chemical analyses on various pieces of burned metal.

“Hey Jaime. I’m taking off. Do me a favor and just peek at the STR once in a while, will you? Call me if it jams or if there are any other problems.”

“Will do,” the anorexically-skinny blonde said, never looking up from her work.

Marisol thanked her and hurried out to her car, her stomach doing nervous flips. She’d managed to avoid thinking about Cory for the past few hours by concentrating on her work but in a few minutes she’d be alone in her house with him.

The first time we’ve been alone in private since...shit, since the day we decided to go into the tunnel.

The memory of that long-ago afternoon, when she’d kissed him on the cheek just before Todd and John had arrived at the crypt, was as fresh in her mind as if it’d been yesterday.

With a start, Marisol realized she’d initiated every moment of intimacy between them, from the first gentle hints back when they’d both been shy teenagers to the two times they’d kissed since he’d arrived in town.

Her nervousness increased as she thought about how to bring things to the next level. Would she have to seduce him? Could she? The image of her seducing Cory -
Let me slip into something more comfortable
, her mind drawled in Marilyn Monroe tones - was so...bizarre...that she had trouble wrapping her mind around it. They’d been the objects of each others’ teenage crushes and shared two passionate kisses twenty years later. That hardly meant he’d be ready to bring their relationship to a whole different level.
Emotionally ready, not physically,
she amended to herself.
After all, he
is
a guy
.

What if he turns me down? What if I end up standing there, a naked fool in my own bedroom?

She turned onto her street, her house only moments away, and found her hands shaking so bad she had trouble working the turn signal.

Get a hold of yourself, girl! You’re acting like a silly virgin.

She and Jack had stopped sharing a bed two years before the divorce, so in a sense...

Don’t go there!

Cory’s car sat in front of the house, leaving the small driveway clear for her. After leaving Jack she’d taken a portion of her ridiculously small settlement and purchased a nice two-bedroom cottage just off Main Street, technically in a good part of town, but in practical terms, a million light years away from the mansion she’d lived in while serving her time as Mrs. Jack Smith.

Yet where most, if not all, of the people in Jack’s circle would have been mortified to move into a residence smaller than their guest cottages, Marisol felt nothing but joy each time she pulled into her driveway. The house was hers and she was damn proud to say so. She’d earned it, both through her hard work in going back to college and getting a damn good job, and for all the shit she’d put up with as a trophy wife. She could have taken him to the cleaners; after all, he’d had affairs, verbally abused her and generally made her life miserable. Her lawyer had urged her to take half his money, half the belongings in the house and alimony larger than her current salary.

Instead, she’d asked for a cash settlement equal to what she estimated she would have earned had she been working the past twenty years, plus an alimony payment just large enough to cover her school loans and mortgage. In total, it came to less than what they’d paid in country club membership fees and vacation expenses while married. She figured Jack probably only had to cash one of his many bonds to pay everything.

And he’d still been frighteningly angry at having to do that.

Stop thinking about it,
she told herself as she unlocked the front door.
It’s over. Time to move on.

Maybe with Cory? That thought was almost as terrifying as thinking about Jack.

The only light in the house came from the kitchen, where Cory had lit two candles and placed them on the L-shaped breakfast bar that divided the kitchen and dining room. Between the candles sat an open bottle of Chianti and one glass. As she got closer, she saw he’d placed a note by the bottle.

Pour yourself a glass and come into the bedroom.

Her stomach started tingling again and her hands trembled as she poured the wine.
This is it. This is it. Don’t ruin it. Don’t act like an idiot.
But how
should
she act? Should she take her clothes off before going in? What if he was simply watching TV? But if she went in fully dressed and he was naked, would he feel embarrassed?

Oh for Christ’s sake, just go in!

Marisol downed her glass of wine and poured another before kicking off her shoes and undoing the top button of her blouse. The bedroom door stood three-quarters closed. Flickering shadows told her he’d lit more candles in there.

He’d certainly made himself busy. He’d have had to look pretty hard to find the candles and matches. Oddly, the thought of Cory rummaging through her closets didn’t bother her in the least. She reached out to push open the door, paused just long enough to undo one more button, and then stepped inside.

Cory lay under the sheets, just enough of his chest exposed to show he wore no shirt. “Hello Ms. Flores,” he said, one side of his mouth curving up in an enticing grin.

“Hello yourself Mr. Miles.” Marisol set her wine down. “Pretty forward of you, getting naked in my bed.”

“How do you know I’m naked? I could have my pants on.” He took a sip of his own wine.

Marisol pointed to the pile of clothes on the floor. “Then you must have been wearing two pairs of pants.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I’m in my underwear.”

She glanced at the clothes but couldn’t see any underwear in the pile. “Are you?”

Another shrug. “You’ll have to get under the covers to find out.”

She chugged her wine, enjoying the hot burn as it ran down her throat. It was already sending warm, comforting waves of pleasure from her stomach to her brain, each surge washing away more of her nervousness and leaving behind a welcome layer of alcohol-manufactured bravery. Feeling freer and less inhibited than she’d ever felt in her life, she removed her blouse and bra, trusting the candlelight to hide any awkwardness or imperfections. Then she dropped her skirt to the floor, revealing her naked body to him for the first time.

Approaching the bed, she whispered, “I don’t wear underwear.”

Cory flipped back the sheets. “What a surprise. Neither do I.”

The heavenly scent of fresh coffee forced Cory to open his eyes, just in time to see Marisol tip-toeing towards the bedroom door. He took a moment to admire her body and then called out.

“Good morning beautiful.”

Marisol came back to the bed, wearing a wide grin and a short, silky bathrobe that exposed almost as much as it hid. “Good morning yourself. Or should I say good afternoon?”

Cory ran his hands through his hair and took a sip from the steaming cup she had left on the nightstand. “Afternoon? What time is it?”

She laughed. “Almost twelve. Do you always sleep this late?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Only when a horny vixen keeps me up half the night, using and abusing my body.” He stretched and sharp pains in his back and legs told him his statement wasn’t far from the truth. He hadn’t had marathon sex like that in a long, long time.

But it was worth every bite, bruise and scratch!

“Vixen? You were just as bad.
I
wasn’t the one who wanted to do it standing up. Now, since you’re awake, you can get your ass out of bed and I’ll get breakfast started. We’ve got just enough time to eat before I go to work.”

Cory reached out and undid the sash of her robe, revealing breasts that had managed to stay firm and proud, and a stomach that was still youthfully flat. He ran his fingers down her body, beginning at the base of her throat, moving between her breasts and over her stomach, and then trailing down to the smooth, soft area between her legs.

The area that quickly grew damp as he explored.

Marisol moaned. “That’s not what I meant.”

Moving his head forward, he breathed in her scent, a combination of wildflowers and soap that told him she’d already showered. “I guess my idea of breakfast is a little different,” he said, his voice muffled as he pressed his face to her and substituted his tongue for fingers.

Marisol spread her legs and pushed forward with her hips.

“Mmmm. I think I like your idea better.”

By the time Cory showered and dressed, and Marisol showered again, it was close to two o’clock. “You’re on your own for dinner,” she told him, running a brush through her hair. “I’m working the late shift tonight, which means I won’t be done until after midnight.”

“I guess I’ll have to suffer through the day alone,” he said, an exaggerated expression of woe on his face.

She put the brush down and looked at him. He saw something in her eyes, something that looked like fear. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I...I was thinking...if, um, you want, you could, bring your stuff from the hotel and...” she paused again, her cheeks growing red.

“Are you asking me to stay here, with you?” Knowing what he did of her traumatic breakup with Jack, he was surprised and flattered she’d even consider asking him.

“I just thought, staying in the hotel is expensive, and this way you’d be closer to the Town Hall, and...oh, crap, I sound like an idiot don’t I?” She turned away from him.

Cory wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, kissed the back of her neck. “Thank you,” he whispered into her hair. “It means a lot to me. I’ll bring my stuff over later this afternoon.”

Marisol turned in his arms and looked up at him, tears threatening to overflow her wide eyes. “Really?”

He kissed her lips, her cheeks and finally her nose. “Really. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be or anyone I’d rather be with.”

She pressed her face against his bare chest and he felt the warm damp tears seep through the material of his shirt. She sniffled a few times, then took a deep breath and stepped back. “Just don’t think you can start leaving the toilet lid up or drink from the milk carton.”

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Cory said, “Yes ma’am! I’m just a humble sex slave.”

Marisol laughed and gave him a playful slap. “Maybe tonight, if you’re lucky. In the meantime, I’ve got to get going.”

He leaned over and gave her a kiss. “Have a good day. Stay out of trouble.”

“I’ll call you if I hear anything interesting,” she said, and then she was out the door.

Cory poured himself another cup of coffee, leaned against the counter and whispered something he’d waited twenty years to say.

“I can’t believe I slept with Marisol Flores.”

And now he was going to be staying with her. In her house.

In her
bed
.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Cory Miles felt truly happy.

*  *  *

“I can’t believe I slept with Cory Miles.” Marisol spoke the words then quickly glanced around the break room to make sure no one had heard her. She’d been half in a daze all afternoon, constantly replaying the events of the past night in her mind, events that started with her stripping for Cory and climbing into bed with him and ended with her asking him to move in.

Not move in,
she corrected herself.
Stay over. It’s only temporary.
She had to keep reminding herself of that, that Cory still lived in Connecticut, still had a job there. Once they put an end to whatever was wrong with Rocky Point, he’d have to go back. Sure, they could still date but it wasn’t like he was dropping everything and moving back to town.

And as much as having him in her life thrilled her to the core, she had no intention of leaving her job for him.

Still, every time she thought of his hands touching her, his lips caressing her body—

Stop it! Get back to work. The last thing you need to do is screw up the samples. Then you
will
have to find a new job.

She’d checked the STR as soon as she’d gotten in. All the tests were processing correctly, so she’d turned her attention as best she could to the other work that had piled up during the night. Even with the town practically in a state of emergency and all attention focused on the murders, there were still autopsies to do and other crimes occurring around the county, which meant a full workload for everyone.