Dead Girl in a Green Dress (14 page)

She grabbed her purse and headed for the door, not trusting herself to remain in close proximity to him and a bed. "I hope the diner’s open."
 

As they covered the short distance between the motel and the restaurant, he teased, "Glad to see you’ve made a rapid recovery."

"Thanks mostly to you." She admitted, slanting him a salacious look. Now that she’d thrown caution to the wind, she intended to enjoy every moment she could grab.

He wagged his finger at her in a mocking scold. "Keep that up and we’ll be getting this meal to go."

"But we have to pick up my things from the B&
B,
otherwise I may have to wear your boxers." Tate stifled a chuckle while she blushed at the thought of him sans boxers.

"Is that a promise?" He winked as he held the door for her.

The flirty waitress from the morning had been replaced by a grandmotherly type who poured coffee and suggested the chicken pot pie. They both followed her recommendation, but before their order arrived, Tate’s phone rang.

Frowning, Tate glanced around the restaurant and rose to his feet. "Sorry, I’ll just take this outside."

As he slipped out the door,
Byrony
realized that he hadn’t said a word about his visit to the Grand Hotel. This phone call had to be connected. She fidgeted and tried to see where he went, but to no avail. The waitress arrived with their meals just when
Byrony
had decided to go in search of him. The yummy smell of the pot pie made her reconsider waiting for Tate a few more minutes.

She’d nibbled half the top crust off the steaming pot pie when he slid back into the booth opposite her, a perturbed expression clouding his face. He reached for his fork, but she grabbed his hand to stop him. "What’s wrong?"

"That was Shaffer." He looked decidedly displeased. "They’ve made an arrest."

Shock and disbelief coursed through
Byrony’s
system and she gasped. But his negative reaction confused her. "Isn’t that good?"

"It would be if they had the right guy." Tate’s narrowed eyes made another sweep of the room. "Finish your dinner, Sunshine. We’ll talk later."

Alarmed, she nervously looked over her shoulder. But none of the dozen patrons seemed to be paying any attention to them. "At least tell me a name," she hissed.

"Finish dinner," he insisted, and dug into his pot pie.

Byrony
watched him shovel food into his mouth for several long minutes before she fully comprehended that he really wasn’t going to tell her.
Damn stubborn man!
Blowing out a frustrated sigh, she took a bite, and then another. She couldn’t taste a thing but forced down three more bites and watched him with an icy glare.

"All right."
Tate signaled the waitress, who hurried over with the coffee pot. He gestured at
Byrony’s
barely touched entrée. "Can you package hers up and bring the check?"

"You’ll thank me later," he said, taking a sip of coffee. Then, after the waitress disappeared he muttered, "Justin Saunders."

"What?"
Byrony
thought she must not have heard correctly. "But –"

Tate gave her a silencing look as their waitress wended her way in their direction. "Call us a cab, Sunshine. I don’t want you walking anywhere."

Swallowing down the thousand protests rising in her throat,
Byrony
pulled out her phone while Tate paid for their meal. "Can we at least wait outside?"

"Sure, after you."

Once they were out the door, she couldn’t hold back any longer. "Why in the world did the police arrest Saunders?"

"After Shaffer found out about the key, he got a warrant." His voice was so low,
Byrony
had to lean close to catch his words. "He found some texts to Jessica on Saunders’s phone. One of them warned her something bad would happen if she didn’t break it off."

Still incredulous,
Byrony
bit her bottom lip, but couldn’t help stating the obvious. "But Saunders is gay. Why would he care if Jessica was having an affair with Michael Prince?"

Tate gave an enigmatic shrug. "Looks like Prince
swings
both ways and he and Saunders had a thing. Though Saunders denies it, Prince doesn’t."

"That makes no sense," she insisted, confusion scrambling her thoughts. She could come up with no reason why Michael Prince would want to cast doubt on his own sexuality.

Shaking his head, Tate muttered. "Told you, they got the wrong guy."

Stepping into the street, he waved his arm at the approaching horse and buggy.
Byrony
knew he wouldn’t say anything else until they were alone again and she silently cursed in frustration. Since she knew Tate was too stubborn to sway, all she could do was wait and fume.
 

When the cab pulled up in front of the B&B, she crawled out the moment the driver stopped. Behind her, she heard Tate asking the driver to wait, they wouldn’t be long, but she didn’t slow down until she reached the front door. Then she had to set her purse on a table in order to dig out her room key with one hand.
  

"Miss Long?" Mrs. Giroux opened the front door and came outside wringing her hands. "I’m so glad you’re all right but so sorry you were hurt. We have so few accidents with horses, and here it happened to you twice."

Bryony gave the woman a frosty look. "Trust me, Mrs. Giroux, what happened to me was no accident, and I will be pressing charges when we find the perpetrator."

Favoring his left
leg
,Tate
huffed up the front steps. "And we will find him, or her."

Giving the innkeeper a curt nod, he held the screen door open.
Byrony
ducked under his arm and strode quickly to her room. He caught up and followed her, giving an exaggerated shudder at the room’s frilly décor.

She held up her good hand to silence him. "I know, I know. I’m hurrying."

Opening the armoire, she took down her suit and the other things she’d hung up. Meanwhile, Tate tossed her suitcase onto the bed and zipped it open. As
Byrony
struggled to fold her things, she paused. "Why did you say we’d find him or her?"

After a long moment, he asked, "Do you remember anything about the horse that ran you down? Did it have white stockings on its front legs?"

"I… I’m not sure." Just thinking about the incident again rattled her nerves. "Why?"

"This afternoon, Mrs. Cristina
Woodleigh
-Prince was riding a big black horse with white stockings." He took over folding clothes, a thoughtful expression on his face. "That horse looked familiar to me, but I’m not totally certain."

Eyes bulging in surprise,
Byrony
paused in the midst of shoving her extra shoes into protective bags. "Do you think she
– "

"I’ll finish up here," Tate interrupted, one eyebrow raised. "Why don’t you get your stuff out of the bathroom?"

Snapping her mouth shut,
Byrony
stumbled into the bathroom, her mind still whirling. Had the snooty blonde attacked her? Was the woman trying to protect her husband? Or was Cristina Prince the killer?

Byrony’s
hand shook as she dumped her toiletries into a plastic case. This could be it! They might have solved Jessica’s murder. She balanced the full case with her brace, zipped it shut, then hurried back to Tate. Unfortunately, Mrs. Giroux appeared before she could say anything.

"I’ve brought your final bill," the woman said, waving a sheet of paper. "I’m sorry to see you leaving under these
circumstan
…" Her voice trailed away as her forehead creased. "Actually, I’m sorry about the circumstances that brought you here. Maybe you’ll come back at a happier time."

The woman’s obvious discomfort made
Byrony
feel a bit guilty about the unkind things she’d thought of her. As she finished up with Mrs. Giroux, Tate took her suitcase to the waiting cab. A few minutes later,
Byrony
joined him.

"I hope you have a plan," she muttered as he helped her into the carriage.

His dimples flashed. "You can count on it, Sunshine. Of course I do."

Darkness grew rapidly as the horse and buggy plodded back to the Harbor View.
Byrony
kept her lips pressed in a tight line, but questions bubbled furiously inside her. Shifting from foot to foot, she waited impatiently for Tate to pay the driver and open the door of their room.

"Okay, Cowboy, spill it!" She demanded as soon as they were inside. "Do you think pretentious Mrs. Prince is a murderer? Or is she trying to protect her philandering husband?
And what about your plan?"

"Slow down, Sunshine."
Taking his time, Tate placed her suitcase on a stand and zipped it open. "Stick the leftovers in the fridge and I’ll help you unpack."

Blowing out a sigh of aggravation, she followed his suggestion. But as she hung her suit in the closet, she insisted, "So start by telling me what happened at the Grand Hotel."

"I had a nasty little encounter with Prince’s dragon lady assistant." Tate removed her shoes from their bags one at a time and handed them to her. "Mrs. Prince was off-site but I convinced dragon lady to tell me where. Mrs. Prince was not happy to see me, and told me to talk to her lawyer. Then she rode off on her big black horse, which, as I said, looked awfully familiar."

Byrony
stood thoughtfully for a moment. "How do we prove she’s the one who attacked me?"

"First things first, Sunshine."
He pulled out a dressy blouse and carefully hung it up. "We need to make a follow-up report to the
Sarge
about the attacks."

"What about Detective Shaffer? Did you tell him he arrested the wrong guy?"

Tate paused in his unpacking. "I tried but I’m an outsider and not even a cop. The Mac City guys aren’t anxious to look for other suspects, especially on my say so." When
Byrony
stuttered in protest, he signaled time out to silence her. "We have to find new evidence before we go to Shaffer."

"Your plan?"
She prompted, but his attention was distracted by the remaining contents of her suitcase – her underwear. He fingered the lace on a black
demi
-bra,
then
shot her a questioning look. "They had a sale at Victoria’s Secret," she explained, an unexpected blush rising up her neck.
"So what about your plan?"

Dimples creasing his lean cheeks, Tate twirled a pair of black panties around his index finger. "Afraid we can’t do anything about the plan until morning."

Byrony
felt heat rising, but it had nothing to do with embarrassment.
"Morning, huh?
That’s a long time from now."

"I’m pretty sure we’ll find something to do ‘til then." Dropping her panties back into the suitcase, Tate took off his jacket and tossed it on a chair.

Following his lead, she shucked off her
hoodie
and pitched it on top of his jacket. Then, when he toed off his shoes, she did the same. Still grinning, he sat on the end of the bed and slowly removed his socks. Also moving with deliberate slowness,
Byrony
did the same. Tate rolled his shoulders,
then
pulled his dark T-shirt up and over his head in one fluid motion. Wadding it into a ball, he lobbed it onto the other bed. She struggled to do the same, but the T-shirt caught on her brace.

"Allow me." His voice was raw with desire, but his hands were gentle as he drew the fabric over the bulky plastic.

Impatiently, she wrestled the shirt the rest of the way off, her bare breasts springing free. Tate threw her shirt away with one hand while his other reached for her. At the same time,
Byrony
covered his mouth with hers, causing them to fall backwards against the mattress.

The burning kiss ended quickly in a frenzy of activity. The rest of their clothing landed on the floor as she spread more heated kisses down his neck and across his broad chest. As Tate struggled with the wrapper on the condom, she followed the trail of his body hair down his stomach to his jutting erection. The sight of his obvious desire disintegrated any remaining inhibitions. She caressed his hard length with her fingers, and followed with her lips.

As
Byrony
ran her tongue around the head of his cock, he moaned. "Slow down, Sunshine, you’re going to kill me."

She couldn’t hold back a throaty giggle. "Then you’re going to die with a really big smile on your face."

But he took advantage of her momentary distraction to roll the condom on. "So are you."

His fingers found her hot, wet center and stroked the over-sensitive spot with his thumb while his fingers plunged in and out, driving her wild for more. After a few more minutes of increasingly urgent kisses and caresses,
Byrony
shifted on top of him and rode him to a quick but mutually satisfying completion.

A half hour later,
Byrony’s
growling stomach interrupted her drowsy repose. Tate heard it too, for he patted her bare butt.
"Told
ya
you’d thank me later for those leftovers."

A few minutes later, she emerged from her turn in the bathroom wearing his T-shirt and her black panties. Clad only in flannel pajama bottoms, Tate pulled the steaming pot pie from the microwave. They both ate from the plastic container and then shared an apple that Tate cut into slices with his pocket knife. As he wolfed down the last piece, he wiggled his eyebrows. "All right, time for dessert."