Dead Between the Lines (14 page)

“He sounds like a good suspect.” Jake jotted a note on his pad.

“Then there’s Kiara Howard.” I swallowed a bite of the corn bread, savoring the buttery goodness. “She objected to Quistgaard being invited to speak to the book club.”

“Why?” Jake leaned forward and wiped a crumb from the corner of my mouth.

The touch of his rough finger on my lips made my heart stutter, but I ignored the zap of electricity between us and explained what Mrs. Zeigler had told me, ending with, “So, I don’t know why.”

By the time the food arrived, we’d added checking Addie’s alibi to our list, but then run out of ideas. As we ate, I tried to put thoughts of the murder out of my head, but that left me wondering if there was any chance Jake would stick around. Or would the siren call of the Marshals Service and his ex-wife lure him back to St. Louis, and leave me with a broken heart?

C
HAPTER 15

W
ith a full stomach and a slight buzz from the beer I’d consumed, I was in a digestive stupor during the ride from Sparkville back to my car. When Jake pulled his pickup into the spot next to my Z4, I stretched and yawned, then squinted at the BMW’s windshield.

“What’s that?” I pointed to something white tucked beneath my wiper.

“Probably a flyer for the local pizza joint or a coupon for a car wash.” Jake got out of the truck, grabbed the offending item, and handed it to me. “Here. It looks as if someone wanted to save on postage.”

“Thanks.” It was a business-size envelope with my name typed across the front. I slit it open with my keys and pulled out the single piece of cheap paper, then gasped. Printed in the exact center of the page was:

KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND STOP SNOOPING OR THE NEXT TIME IT WON’T BE JUST A FALL DOWN A FEW STEPS.

Jake took the note from my unresisting fingers. He snarled as he read it, then opened the Ford’s center console, grabbed a plastic bag, and shoved the letter and the envelope inside, knotting the top.

Wordlessly, he put the truck in reverse and squealed out of the parking lot. I knew where he was heading, and it definitely wasn’t how I’d pictured the evening ending. Instead of a prolonged make-out session, I was in for a lengthy interrogation. This was
so
not how I wanted to spend my time with Jake.

The Shadow Bend Police Station was located on the main drag between the hardware store and the dry cleaner. The lot behind the building was for police vehicles and employees only, which meant daytime parking was often a problem. But since it was now long past normal business hours, all five spaces out front were free. Jake swung smoothly into the slot nearest the entrance, cut the motor, whipped off his seat belt, and came around to help me out of the pickup.

Even the normally thrill-inducing feel of Jake’s hands on my waist couldn’t alleviate the anxiety I felt about going inside. The station’s square cinder-block building, recently installed front window bars, and overall oppressive atmosphere reminded me of the prison where my dad had spent the past twelve years.

Which was a problem for me, because during my one and only visit to the penitentiary where my father currently resided, I had developed a sort of claustrophobia that kicked in whenever I stepped into anything that resembled a jail. I tended to lose the ability to breathe if I thought too long about being locked up. And swooning at Jake’s feet did not project the image of the cool, independent woman I wanted to convey. In my experience, passing out rarely left a good impression on a man, unless, of course, alcohol was involved.

Seeing no other choice, I took a deep breath and allowed Jake to escort me toward the building. My chest tightened as he pushed open the door and waved me through, but I concentrated on inhaling and exhaling and remaining vertical.

The lobby was silent and empty, and we immediately ascended the short flight of concrete stairs that led to the main part of the station. As we headed toward the counter, the young woman manning the desk behind bulletproof glass was laughing into the telephone, but the minute she caught sight of Jake, she licked her lips, muttered a quick good-bye, and tossed the receiver onto the cradle.

She slid the window open—apparently hot guys didn’t have to talk through the small speaker built into the glass—and leaned forward until she was close enough for her breasts to press against the counter. She fluttered her false eyelashes and sucked on her finger.

Once Jake had had enough time to appreciate the assets that were threatening to pop the buttons of her blouse, she said, “Can I help you with something, handsome?” Her sultry tone made it clear that her offer of assistance included getting naked and doing the horizontal mambo with him, if that was what he had in mind.

“Hi there, darlin’. I’m Deputy U.S. Marshal Jake Del Vecchio, and I need to speak to the officer on duty.” Jake rested a hip against the desk and smiled seductively, then drawled, “Although I’d really rather deal with the chief, if that’s at all possible.”

“You’re in luck, sugar.” The dispatcher’s gaze swept every delectable inch of Jake’s six-foot-four frame, and she fluffed her intricate bottle blond updo. “He’s in his office, working on another grant, and he told me not to disturb him, but for you, I’ll risk it.”

“I’d be grateful.” Jake flashed a smile, his straight white teeth gleaming.

It appeared that I had somehow become invisible, because the dispatcher ignored me completely and winked at Jake. She shook a long pink fingernail at him, and said, “Don’t you move now, gorgeous.”

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” Jake assured her.

“I’ll be right back.” She flipped open the counter and disappeared down the hall, her hips moving to some conga beat only she could hear.

Once she was gone, Jake grinned at my revolted expression and said, “I thought I noticed the chief’s car when we passed the back lot. I figured that it being so late, he wasn’t officially here, but I hoped I could persuade the dispatcher to let us talk to him. I think it’s best if we deal with him directly about this threat.”

“Hmm.” It had been interesting seeing Jake turn on the charm in order to get what he wanted. That image might be one I needed to keep in mind in the future when I questioned whether he was being sincere or just using me. “You’re probably right,” I said. “At least we shouldn’t have to repeat ourselves as many times if we start with the head guy.”

A couple of minutes ticked by before Miss Perky Boobs returned and triumphantly reported, “Chief Kincaid says you can go on back.”

As we passed her, I saw her press a piece of paper into Jake’s palm and heard her whisper, “Dump the chubster and give me a call.”

It took considerable self-control not to throttle her. Instead, I slipped my hand into Jake’s and stared into Nympho Barbie’s overly made-up eyes. “Dream on. Inflatable dolls aren’t his type.”

Jake’s broad shoulders were shaking with laughter, and I was trying to think of a comment that would squelch his mirth when we entered the chief’s office. Eldridge Kincaid was as starched and pressed as if he’d just started his shift, rather than having been on duty for twelve or fifteen hours. Did he have multiple uniforms that he changed into when the one he had on got wrinkled?

Once we were settled in chairs facing his desk, the chief said, “So, Del Vecchio, what’s so important that you had to seduce my dispatcher way past her usual level of stupid to see me?”

I couldn’t remember when Jake and the chief had met. The chief hadn’t been involved when I’d been accused of murdering Noah’s fiancée; I dealt with the Kansas City police department then. And when Boone had been arrested, Jake hadn’t been in Shadow Bend. Maybe they’d met socially, or casually around town. Jake mostly stuck to the ranch when he was staying with his uncle, but there was always the grocery store or the pharmacy.

“Take a look at this.” Jake tossed the bag he’d been holding on to the chief’s desk. “We found this on Devereaux’s car windshield.”

“Tonight?” Chief Kincaid asked, smoothing out the plastic and reading the note. When Jake nodded, the chief flipped the bag over and examined the envelope through the other side. He scowled, pulled the phone toward him, and dialed. After a brief conversation with someone I assumed was one of his crime-scene trained officers, since the poor guy had been ordered to get his butt to the station ASAP, the chief carefully placed the handset back in the base.

The chief stared at the letter, turning it over and over as if he could change what was written on the page. Finally, he looked at me with a strange expression and said, “I apologize. I should never have dismissed your fall when you called me earlier. That was negligent of me.”

“Don’t be sorry.” I sat forward and put my hands on the desktop. Despite his quarrel with my best friend and his rigidity, I liked Eldridge Kincaid. I admired his determination to do the best possible job for the people of Shadow Bend. In a way, we were alike. He and I were both willing to risk being disliked if it meant doing what we considered necessary to protect those we loved—even from themselves.

The chief grunted and shook his head. “That’s very kind of you, but—”

“Your assumption was logical,” I interrupted him. “I had been under a lot of stress and I could easily have tripped and imagined that I was shoved.”

“Thank you.” Chief Kincaid dipped his head, then fingered his shiny brass nameplate and asked, “So, what kind of snooping have you been up to?”

“I’ve talked to a few people about that night.” I shrugged. “Nothing more than what everyone else in town is doing.”

“Who did you talk to?” Using his handkerchief, the chief rubbed off the mark his thumb had made on his nameplate.

“Poppy, Noah, my clerks, Addie Campbell, and Mrs. Zeigler.” I closed my eyes. Had I mentioned the murder to anyone else? “Oh, and about a thousand customers asked me about the murder on Saturday.”

Chief Kincaid adjusted the leather blotter so that it lined up more perfectly with the edge of his desk, then said, “Addie isn’t the killer. He was at Gossip Central between nine fifteen and ten. The bartender and several of his drinking buddies swear he never left his stool.”

“Great.” Well, checking Addie’s alibi was one thing I could cross off my to-do list.

“And Mrs. Zeigler was home by nine thirty,” Chief Kincaid continued. “A teacher called her on her landline at that time to discuss a problem, and said they were on the phone for half an hour. Mrs. Zeigler lives way the heck in the country, so it isn’t possible for her to have staked the vic in the heart, dragged his body into the box, and driven to her house in fifteen minutes.”

“The murderer could have overheard Devereaux talking to someone about the crime,” Jake said, then turned to me, and asked, “Who was around during your conversations?”

“The store was full when I was chatting with Addie, but I was alone when I spoke to everyone else.” I tried to remember who had been present while the pawnbroker and I had talked that afternoon. “The entire Knittie Grittie group, a bunch of teenagers, and a handful of customers were there. It really could be anyone.”

The chief posed a few more questions, said he’d have the letter and envelope dusted for prints, and asked for the dime store key so the crime-scene techs could process the second floor. I could tell he didn’t hold out much hope of discovering any evidence, but he promised he’d let me know what they found.

As Jake and I left, I gave a warning glare to the sexpot at the dispatch desk, and she stuck out her tongue. I knew it wasn’t reasonable to be jealous, considering that I was bent on seeing both Jake and Noah, but I assured myself that what I was doing was different from the flirting that the big-boobed, brassy-haired witch was doing with Jake right under my nose.

I was relieved when Jake stayed cool and didn’t go all macho U.S. Marshal on me on the drive back to my store. I’m not sure what my reaction would have been if he’d tried to tell me to stop looking into the murder or attempted to convince me that the police could handle it without my help. But I know my response wouldn’t have been pretty. I’d been taking care of myself for a long time, and it boded well for any future relationship that we might have that he seemed to understand that about me.

Instead, Jake and I discussed our plans for tomorrow. He reiterated his intention to get hold of the past issues of “The Bend’s Buzz” and meet me at the store when it closed at six. After he’d filled me in on the contents of the gossip column, we’d go have a chat with Yale and Kiara. If we had time, we’d track down Bryce and Zizi, too, but I figured they would probably have to wait until the next day.

When Jake dropped me off at my car, he informed me that he would follow me home to make sure no ax-wielding psychopath was waiting for me at my place. Okay, he didn’t say that last part, but it was implied. His tone indicated that he expected me to argue, but I was grateful for his concern. What red-blooded American girl wouldn’t be a little thrilled to have someone as hot as Jake worried about her well-being? And while I was independent, I wasn’t stupid. A killer had just threatened me, so I was happy to have a gun-toting lawman see me safely to my house.

On the short drive, I went over and over in my mind the events of Friday night. Nothing new occurred to me, and I kept wondering what I was missing. If the killer was intimidated enough to warn me off, there must be something I knew that could convict him or her.

CHA
PTER 16

J
ake had wanted to do a quick recon of Devereaux’s house before she went inside, but she’d narrowed those pretty blue-green eyes of hers and said no. When he’d persisted, she’d put her hands on her lush hips, stuck out her cute little chin, and repeated the word
no
until he finally gave up.

After she’d proven her point—whatever the hell it had been—she’d agreed to allow him to wait in the driveway until she checked out the place. He’d spent an anxious ten minutes with his gun at the ready and the truck’s door cracked open, until she gave him an all-clear signal from the living room picture window.

Once he knew Devereaux was safe, he made a U-turn and headed his F250 up the lane toward the main road, all the time wishing she were sitting beside him in the passenger seat. The smell of her spicy yet sweet perfume lingered in the truck’s cab like a hint of what their future together could be if he quit the Marshals Service and stayed in Shadow Bend.

Jake had planned a very different end to their evening. With her grandmother occupied at his uncle’s place, he’d intended to suggest that after dinner they take advantage of her empty house. Instead, they’d spent those hours at the police station.

He’d given up fighting his attraction to the feisty cinnamon-haired woman, and even though he was back working as a U.S. Marshal and couldn’t quite figure out how to manage their relationship, he still wanted her in his bed. Or him in her bed. Or on the couch. Or, for that matter, on the tabletop or the floor, or any other horizontal surface that could hold them.

Too bad she was so damn stubborn. This business of her insisting on continuing to date Underwood was bad enough, but now that she’d been threatened, probably by Quistgaard’s murderer, Jake was afraid that her pigheadedness would get her killed. It had taken every ounce of self-control that he possessed not to order her to stop snooping. His common sense told him that even if he’d been able to wrangle an agreement out of her, she’d just keep poking around behind his back.

Which was why Jake had kept his mouth shut. At least this way she wouldn’t be hiding her investigation from him. He’d be in the loop and at her side while she questioned suspects. If things went south, he’d have a chance to protect her. While he was confident she’d eventually pick him over Frat Boy, he needed to keep her safe—even if that meant biting his tongue and not interfering with her plans to catch a killer.

Jake whacked his head against the back of the seat and stared out the windshield at the empty asphalt as he drove the few miles to his uncle’s ranch. Why was his life always so damn complicated? How had he gone from deciding to tell Devereaux they should cool it, since he was back living in St. Louis, to suggesting that he might stick around for good? What had happened to letting her down easy? Why did logic fly out the window and his carefully planned life go to hell the minute he got near her?

Friday afternoon when Jake had stopped by the store to talk to Devereaux, he’d had every intention of giving her the “let’s be friends” speech. But as soon as he saw Underwood sitting at the soda fountain, as if he belonged there, Jake had allowed his emotions to take over. And instead of saying sayonara to Devereaux, he’d insisted that she go out with him the next night.

Then, on their way home from the restaurant, when she’d accused him of asking her to take a leap of faith without planning to be around to catch her, he’d said he would be there—or at least he’d try to be. Why had he even brought up his uncle’s offer to manage the ranch? Until that moment, he’d never contemplated quitting the Marshals Service and settling down in Shadow Bend. Was that even something he’d be willing to consider?

A year ago, Jake would have said no effing way. Hell, six months ago, his fondest desire was to heal enough to get back to chasing the bad guys. Then he went and kissed Devereaux, and now he couldn’t get her out of his thoughts. Jake whacked his head against the back of the seat again. No woman had ever affected him this way. Was it crazy to think that he might be happier as a rancher than as a marshal if it meant having her beside him?

Jake pulled his pickup into his uncle’s garage and cut the motor. He pounded the steering wheel and reminded himself that he’d wanted to be a U.S. Marshal ever since he saw a documentary about them on TV when he was twelve years old. Then there were all the scum who would still be out there if he hadn’t tracked them down and put them behind bars, where they belonged. Serial killers like the Doll Maker, drug bosses like the guy he’d just put back in jail, and pedophiles like the Candy Man might have gotten away if it weren’t for him and his team.

Still, he’d always loved working on the ranch with his uncle, too, and Tony wasn’t getting any younger. During Jake’s recent stay with the old man, it had become increasingly clear that his uncle was slowing down. Tony had even been talking about signing on a foreman to help out. Once he did that, it wouldn’t be fair for Jake to decide he wanted the job anytime in the near future and ask his uncle to fire someone he’d just hired.

Which meant that Jake had to figure things out before Tony hired someone. He also needed to do it before Devereaux decided that Underwood was a better choice for her. Jake’s breath hitched and his heart gave an agonizing squeeze at the image of her in another man’s arms. He closed his eyes, trying to consider the pros and cons of marshal versus rancher, but the memory of Devereaux’s soft warmth pressed against him crowded his thoughts.

He frowned at his own weakness and scrubbed his face with his fists. He couldn’t allow his emotions to override his common sense. Undercover, that could get you killed, and, in this situation, the results might be almost as bad.

Jake took a deep breath and opened the pickup door. Sitting here stewing wasn’t getting him anywhere. He’d go inside, get a good night’s sleep, and do some police work tomorrow. Then, once he and Devereaux figured out who had murdered the poet, he’d make his decision.