Dearly Depotted (11 page)

He had the crazy part right.

At that moment Marco stepped out of the shadows, saving me from having to come up with an excuse. Despite my earlier request, Marco had changed out of the tux and was in his usual jeans and T-shirt, which still looked better on him than on any man I’d ever met. Behind me I heard Pryce mutter something under his breath that sounded like
bastard.

“Ready?” Marco said, making it a point to ignore Pryce.

I turned around to thank Pryce for the coffee offer, but he was already striding toward the east end of the parking lot.

“What was that about?” Marco asked, leading the way to my Corvette.

“I’m not sure.”

“Yes, you are. He was flirting with you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, yes, and it’s creeping me out. Three months ago he couldn’t stand to be in the same room with me. Now, suddenly, he wants to go for coffee.”

“He could be a grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side-of-the-fence kind of guy. He wants what he doesn’t have, then once he gets it—”

“He drops it into the nearest manhole, replaces the cover, and walks away, brushing any remaining traces off his hands,” I finished for him.

“I was going to say he doesn’t want it anymore.”

“I prefer a more graphic interpretation. Want to hear my interpretation of what happens to him after he walks away from that manhole?”

“Does it involve a heavy object falling from a roof?”

I swatted a mosquito away from my face. “No, but I could work it in. Pryce can flirt with me all he wants, but he had his chance to marry me and chose to walk away from it. Correction. His parents chose.”

“And there’s your answer to his renewed interest—his parents. Now that you own your own business, you meet their standards for a daughter-in-law.”

“So all it takes to make Pryce interested in me again is the Osborne seal of approval? I have two words for that. No thanks.”

“I see everyone left but the police,” he said, nodding toward the garden, where evidence was still being collected. “How did it go inside?”

“Not good. Reilly has started calling Richard Davis a person of interest.”

“You’re right. That’s not good.” Marco glanced at my feet. “Did they confiscate your shoes as evidence?” He was so much more creative than Pryce.

“They should have,” I replied. “Those heels were killers.”

He groaned. “That was bad.”

“Sorry,” I said with a weary shrug. “It’s been a long day.”

Marco put his arm around my shoulders as we walked along. “You’re quite a trooper, sunshine, you know that?”

I beamed up at him. I was a trooper. Not as good as hot, but still admirable, especially when Marco was doing the admiring. “Thanks.”

“Why don’t I drive? Your toes might not be up to operating the pedals.” He opened the passenger door for me, and with a grateful sigh I slid in.

As I buckled up and settled against the seat, Marco shut his door and turned the key, and the engine roared to life. I reached over to stroke the steering wheel of my sleek yellow baby. “Did you miss me?” I cooed. “Was Marco good to you?”

“I treated her like the hot stuff she is—with gentle hands, as is my style.” He lifted an eyebrow, and all I could think about was the touch of those gentle hands on my nape—and that massage he’d promised to finish.

“Should I forgive you for changing out of the tux?” I asked playfully.

“I can explain.”

“Over coffee at my place?”

“I was thinking of a special bottle of chilled white wine I have tucked away at the bar.”

I liked the way he thought. I glanced at my watch. It was twelve thirty in the morning, I was still wearing the ugly dress, my feet hurt, my hair was a mess, and my eyes felt like sandpaper, but would I turn down a chance to get cozy with Marco? I wasn’t that tired.

As if to prove me wrong, I was overtaken by a rogue yawn. Another followed. I rubbed my eyes, blinked hard, and decided I’d better keep talking if I wanted to stay awake, so I told him about my conversation with Jillian and Claymore, the new information on Vince Vogel, and the reason for Reilly’s interest in Richard Davis.

“But none of that matters, does it, since the police are handling it.” Marco gave me a pointed look as we sailed along deserted roads.

“I hear you loud and clear. And even though I’m a little concerned about Richard, I’m keeping my nose out of it.”

“Thank you. And just so you know, I had to change out of the tux because a water pipe broke in the bar’s kitchen and I didn’t want to ruin your fancy hem work by wading through water. I’ve got the suit on a hanger. I’ll drop it off tomorrow.”

“That’s the problem with those old buildings. Something is always going wrong.” But right then everything was going right, so I sat back and put my mind on cruise control, letting my gaze drift over to the man-licious hunk beside me, who would soon be pouring glasses of crisp white wine and getting cozy. Was there any better end to an evening?

We pulled up across the street from the Down the Hatch Bar and Grill and Marco shut off the engine and unbuckled his seat belt. “I’ll be back in a second,” he promised. “Then we’ll talk about that debt you owe me.”

Ah. Payback time. With all sorts of wicked thoughts in mind, I leaned my head against the seat back and watched Marco jog across the street and into the bar. Then I fell asleep.

Slumbering soundly, I dreamed that Marco, wearing his black tux, of course, was carrying me up a grand, curving staircase into a gauzy, candlelit boudoir, easing me onto a big, soft bed, and bending over me like a prince preparing to awaken his princess with a tender smooch. “Ready to hit the sack?” my dream prince asked in a husky whisper.

Wow. Nothing like being blunt. “Don’t I get a kiss first?” I murmured.

“Sure.”

It wasn’t quite the romantic answer I expected, but, hey, it was the best my sleepy brain could do. I curled my toes and puckered up expectantly.

He gave me a peck on the forehead.

My pucker froze in place and my eyes flew open as the real Marco pulled a sheet over my prone body and tucked it gently under my chin. I gazed around in confusion, my groggy mind struggling to make sense of my surroundings. Wasn’t that my U2 poster on the wall? Was I at home?

“I’ll stick the wine in your fridge,” he said. “You get some sleep. I’m going back to the bar to take care of the plumbing problem. That floor isn’t going to mop itself.”

I was at home. Marco had carried me all the way up to the apartment. Damn. A real-life fantasy, and I’d been too exhausted to enjoy it. “What about my debt?” I managed to mutter.

“We’ll work something out.” With a cryptic smile, he closed the door and was gone.

I let my lids flutter shut, then spent the rest of the night dreaming about the kiss-that-might-have-been, only in my version it had a completely different ending.

 

When the alarm clock went off the next morning, I groped for the Off button, pulled myself to a sitting position, and struggled to lift my eyelids beyond a slit. I peered down at Simon, who was sitting next to, not on, the green throw rug beside my bed, keeping one eye on it in case it should attack without warning. He had a dire fear of throw rugs.

As soon as I threw back the sheet, Simon began to meow. I shushed him so he wouldn’t awaken Nikki, sleeping in her room across the hall. To retaliate, he gave me that helpless expression cats are so good at—head cocked to one side, eyes wide and innocent. At his feet was an object I took to be a piece of an old felt mouse he’d found behind the sofa.

“Sorry, buddy,” I said, patting his head. “I’m really tired. We can play later.”

Simon gazed down at the object, then up at me again, tilting his head like he didn’t get it.

I sighed. There was no way I could win against that look. I picked up the toy to toss it, then realized it was a dead bumblebee, partly chewed, missing its legs. I immediately dropped it, shuddering, then had to scramble for Simon before he finished it off.

“What’s going on?” Nikki said from the doorway, yawning. Her short hair was sticking up all over and her pink Tinkerbell pjs were askew. I’d known her since third grade. I’d moved in with her after graduating from Indiana University and enrolling at New Chapel University Law School. I’d planned to live there only until I married Pryce and moved into his condo. Since neither of those events had happened, I was still there, like an ink stain on a cuff.

Since she was already awake, I thrust the cat into her arms. “Simon ate the legs off a bee. When was the last time you fed him?”

“My, aren’t we grouchy this morning?” Nikki said, following as I stumbled to the kitchen for a glass of orange juice.

“Five hours of sleep,” I groused, “and a missed chance at romance.”

“Late nights are murder on you, aren’t they?”

I stopped pouring the juice and glanced around at her.

“What did I say?” Her eyes got wide in mock alarm. “Omigod, Jillian finally pushed you over the edge and you did away with her. How did you do it? Did you hold her face under the frosting of her cake?”

“No, but that’s a good idea. I wish I’d thought of that last night.”

Between gulps of juice and mouthfuls of toast, I gave Nikki the rundown on the entire previous evening, including Jack’s fistfight, return to the banquet center, and murder. I also mentioned Jack’s disguise and the cops’ interest in Grace’s beau. Then I tossed in the part about Marco tucking me in, and Nikki nearly had a seizure.

“You slept through that?” she kept saying, until finally I threw on my workout clothes and headed for the park to escape her. Then I plodded around the track like an elephant slogging through wet cement. Five hours’ sleep was not enough for this sleeping beauty.

 

When I dragged myself into the shop at eight o’clock, Grace didn’t come out of the parlor as she usually did, ready to greet me with a cup of coffee and her chipper, “Good morning, dear. How are we today?” In fact, she didn’t come out of the parlor at all, so I peered in at her and smiled. “Good morning.”

There were circles beneath her eyes and her hair wasn’t as neatly styled as it usually was. “Oh, good morning, dear,” she said, trying to put cheer in her voice. “I didn’t hear the bell. Let me get a cup of coffee for you.”

“I’ll do it,” I said, but she was already pouring, so I took a seat at the coffee bar. On the counter was a copy of the
New Chapel News
, open to the front page, where a headline blared: MURDERER ON THE LOOSE. Underneath it was an article and a photo of Jack Snyder. I turned it over so Grace wouldn’t have to look at it. “You’re exhausted, Grace. Why don’t you take the day off?”

“I’d only sit and fret. The police questioned Richard extensively last night, and I’m afraid they’re not done with him. They’ve asked him not to leave town.”

“That’s standard procedure. I wouldn’t worry.”

“It’s not that I want to worry, dear, but they didn’t ask
me
not to leave town.”

She had a point.

“And one more thing,” Grace said. “It appears Richard doesn’t have anyone who can verify his movements after he left the banquet hall after all.”

“No one at the sports center saw him?”

“No one. He used the back entrance and went directly upstairs to his office. At that time of evening he has a manager on the main floor, but the second floor is empty.”

“Tell me again why he had to leave.”

She poured herself a cup of tea and joined me at the counter. “All I know is that it was a business matter. I didn’t ask for specifics because I didn’t really feel it was my place. I’ve only known him a short while.”

“Let’s look at this from the police’s viewpoint. What would Richard’s motive be?”

“I suppose they could say he did it out of revenge, but I tell you, Abby, Richard is a kind, decent man. He would never stoop to such a level.” She set her cup into the saucer with a clatter.

“Are you sure about him, Grace? As you said, you haven’t known him that long.”

She struck a pose, a sure sign a quote was on its way. “As Josiah Gilbert Holland wrote, ‘The time demands strong minds, great hearts, true faith, and willing hands.’ I can’t think of a more apt description of Richard, and as you know, I’m an excellent judge of character.”

“You didn’t trust Marco when you first met him.”

“I still don’t, but it has nothing to do with his integrity and everything to do with his devil-may-care attitude. I worry about you when it comes to matters of your heart. I know how shattered you were after Pryce broke your engagement.”

“Yes, but didn’t
that
turn out to be a blessing in disguise.”

She picked up her cup and sipped quietly, her gaze straying to the bay window. “When my husband died, I didn’t think I’d ever meet another man who had as much integrity and charm as he had, and I certainly wasn’t about to settle for less. When I met Richard I felt a new glimmer of hope that perhaps I wasn’t destined to live the rest of my life alone. Yet for months I resisted his offer of friendship, fearing I’d be disappointed. But he’s a persistent man, so I finally let him into my life. Now I can’t help but think it was a mistake. Look what has happened to him because of me.”

Grace looked so racked with guilt and sadness that my heart ached for her. How many times had she consoled me, and there I was without even one good quote to cheer her up. The best I could come up with was, “You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“But you
can
ask Abby for help,” Lottie said. She was standing in the doorway, a shrewd gleam in her eye. No one could raise four boys without gaining a little shrewdness. Obviously Grace had filled her in on the events of the night before.

“I’ll bet you any money that Abby can figure out who killed Jack Snyder,” she said.

I glanced at Grace, preparing myself for her resounding
“Absolutely not.”
She hated when I poked around in police business. To my astonishment she lifted an eyebrow, as if she were actually considering it.