Death Stretch (7 page)

I'm no hero, so I grabbed my phone, setting it to quick dial 9-1-1 with one touch. I picked up an iron skillet in the other hand and tiptoed through the house. Throwing open closet doors with both hands full was hellish, but I managed. Fifteen minutes later, I took my first real breath since coming home. No one hid under my bed but the energy imprint of my intruder left a nasty feel.

Foregoing my usual post-work glass of merlot, I started dinner even though I wasn't hungry. Preparing food gave my shaky hands something to do and leftovers meant no chopping or dicing.

Dinner heated on the stove, giving me time to replace the kitchen door lock. My hands still weren't steady so the job took longer than expected. A loud creak on the back stairs made me drop the screwdriver.

“You should check your pot. Dinner's starting to burn.”

Shoot. Dirk smiled down at me. I had to fight my hormones
again
. My overheated reactions were tiresome. I rescued my leftovers and turned to see Dirk inspecting the doorjamb.

His thumb rubbed a scratch and he drilled me with his gaze. “These gouge marks weren't here earlier. Did someone break in again?”

“No. My hand slipped.”

“Sweetheart, don't even try lying to me. Prevarication doesn't work for career criminals and won't work for you. Your hands shake like a bad case of palsy and you jump when I get too close.”

I bit my lower lip. Dirk's eyes darkened. “It's silly.”

“The only thing silly is you not telling me what happened.”

“I'm nervous because it
feels
like someone searched my house while I was at work.”

His gaze sharpened. “I suppose you picked up a frying pan and went looking for trouble.”

How did he know? “My speed dial was set to 9-1-1.”

“That's a great help when you're bleeding out from a gunshot wound.”

“The house felt empty.”

“Famous last words. Anything missing?”

I shook my head. “It's just that everything looked too neat. Neater than when I left this morning.”

The guy deserved credit. He didn't roll his eyes and I could tell he considered my words. “You're sure?”

This time my head moved in the positive.

He nodded. “Okay. Let's get the locks installed.”

That was all he said yet I fell halfway in love. Dirk picked up the other lock and headed for the front door. My hands were better but still shaky. He finished installing his lock the same time I completed mine.

“Want some dinner?” I asked.

He glanced to the stove. Following his glance, I saw the pot smoking.

“Damn. I hate when that happens.”

Dirk had enough sense not to say a word, a tick mark on my score sheet for him. Instead, he pulled out his phone. “Pizza okay?”

I nodded.

“Sausage or pepperoni?”

“Both.”

He grinned. Dirk placed the order and hung up with a graceful economy of motion. “Pizza will take about forty minutes. Let's start on the windows.”

Dirk didn't say why he'd really come to my bungalow and I kept my mouth shut. We worked together like a seasoned team—a scary thought. We finished the last of the ground floor windows before the pizza guy rang the bell.

“Beer?”

He hesitated and then he nodded. “Sure.”

I hooked two longnecks from the fridge. The paper plates and napkins were already on the table. We dug in.

Two inhaled pieces later, I reached for a third and he broached his first question.

“So you're divorced?” His gaze stayed on the pizza, so I couldn't get a take on why he asked.

My appetite dissipated. “The split was friendly, if that's what you're wondering. We exchanged birthday and Christmas cards for a while. That died out, but you know, the cards were a gesture.”

“What kind of gesture?”

I pondered for several heartbeats. “Probably a sign of ‘no hard feelings.’ Like we declared a permanent truce instead of all out war.”

“Where is he now?”

“Another mindset in a different state. Texas maybe. We grew apart.”

“So he wouldn't have come by here today while you were out?”

“Right. Couldn't be him.” I picked up my pizza but didn't take a bite. “What about you? Married?”

“Divorced. All out warfare. She got custody of the kids and most of what we bought together.”

I figured he got the bills, but he didn't go there, so I didn't either.

“I miss the kids, but they're better off without me.”

I replaced the pizza and pushed my plate away. “That's a load of self-serving crap.”

“No, really. Their stepfather is loaded. They spend time together as a family. It's cool.”

His expression looked anything but cool. Listening to my intuition for a change, I didn't pursue the topic, which was fine because he looked ready to drop a bomb. Guess I pissed him off.

“Mind if I have another beer?”

I pointed to the fridge. “Help yourself.” There's no law against watching a fine ass bending over to find one of the bottles I'd left on the bottom shelf, so I indulged. He straightened and I jerked my gaze back to the plate in front of me.

“Opener?”

“Drawer on the left next to the stove.” Too late, I remembered where I'd stashed the latest written threat. “Wait, I'll get the opener. That drawer is a mess.”

He looked up from the open drawer with a grin. “No problem. I’m an investigator.

“What’s this?” His quiet tone surprised me until my brain processed his timbre. Pissed and getting more pissed.

Always the optimist, I stalled. “What's what? Can't find the bottle opener?”

Dirk pointed. “When were you going to tell me about the note?”

“What note?” My angry tone sounded real, probably because I was pissed. At myself.

He looked at me, just looked, and I steeled my backbone.

“You're not being honest and this is a murder investigation. Does that note refer to Ginger?”

The mutinous look I practiced through my teen years didn't work. He waited for my answer. When I didn't reply, he changed direction.

“What was Ginger's relation to the deceased?”

My hand jumped before I could stop it. Damn him. I fell officially out of love and erased all his tick marks from the good column.

“She attended classes at the center. I don't think it was more than that.”

He sighed and I almost sighed with him. I really was a pathetic liar. “Promise me you'll be discreet.”

“Does the note refer to Ginger?”

“Tell me you won't talk to her in front of her husband. Not that he's ever home, but still.”

“Answer me. Does the note mean that Ginger's being blackmailed?” He paused. “I can speak with her when her husband isn't there.”

I noticed he didn't promise discretion, but I knew I'd gotten all the concessions he'd give. I inhaled like I hadn't breathed in the last three minutes. Maybe I hadn't.

“Ginger received a blackmail note demanding twenty thousand dollars.”

Dirk sat down and led me through a set of questions that might have been painless if they were about someone other than my best friend.

“You understand I can't let this go, right?”

I nodded, too miserable to get snarky. “She couldn't have killed Morgan. Ginger made a mistake, but she's not violent. Whoever did this is underhanded.” I’d been wondering if Rob had killed Morgan out of jealousy and hoped Dirk didn’t suspect Rob too.

“Preliminary autopsy results indicate poison. Poison is often a woman's weapon.”

“Ginger isn’t a murderer.” I thrust my chin out and kept my posture unbent. “She wouldn't even know where to get poison.”

His gaze chilled me. “Do you?”

“What kind?”

He unfolded himself from the chair and stood looking down at me. I felt like a Lilliputian. Dirk ran the back of his fingers across my cheek. I shivered. Holding my chin in his grasp, he gently pulled my head up. Our lips were too close for words and I hoped he'd kiss me.

“Don't be foolish. Call me if you or Ginger get another note.”

His fingers brushed heat against my lips and he left.

****

Ginger howled. No other word described the noise coming from my receiver. “You told him!”

“I didn't say a word. He found the note in my drawer.”

Somehow I doubted the difference meant anything to my friend.

“You let him find it.”

This conversation was hurting both of us when talking was supposed to help. “I didn't, but that's not the point. He's coming to talk with you, and you need to be prepared.” My cheek still tingled where his fingers had brushed my skin. “He's sneaky. He'll ask you hard questions and make them seem like everyday stuff. Get yourself together, Ginger.”

A hiccup sounded. Crap. “Can you come over?”

My body sent out a dry-throat alert. “Not possible. I'm afraid he's looking for a reason to haul me into the station. Interfering with an investigation would give him cause.”

“Huh. I bet Cop Sexy wants to do a full body search. He wouldn't have to take you to the station for that.”

Not a discussion I wanted to have, but at least my friend focused on something other than the note. “Oh, give me a break. He's not into me. Not at all.”

“He should be. You're gorgeous, smart, loyal.” Her last word broke.

“Yeah, just like a Border collie. Our coloring is the same, seeing as I'm white with black hair. My eyes are brown, though, not that spooky blue some of those dogs have.”

“Oh, stop.”

Good. Ginger had fallen for the distraction and warmed to “let's match Katie up” mode. Not my favorite topic, but if discussing possible mates relaxed her, the ploy worked.

“You have big bones but you're not fat. And you keep yourself toned. If you didn't, you'd never have gotten through class on Saturday.”

I hadn't known so many muscles were required in a stretch. The women in class made the poses look easy, but a lot of strength was required to practice yoga effortlessly. Those skinny women were seriously strong.

My breath stuck in my lungs, waiting to see if Ginger would break down again. An inhalation that would do a yoga master proud echoed over the phone line.

“So you're not a stick figure like Flash. Real women have curves.”

This spoken by a willowy blonde. “You're making soap company commercials now?”

“Cop Sexy talked to you longer than anyone else. And he looked at you. Really looked when you walked out. Let me tell you, I know interest when I see it, and he's interested. In you.”

My psyche leaped in joy with her words. I ignored my inner self. “He wanted to figure out if his handcuffs would fit me.”

“Ooh, I didn't know you were into kinky stuff. When were you going to tell me?”

Ginger's teasing meant she felt better. I hated to bring her down, but she needed a wake-up call. “Sweetie, sorry to remind you, but he's on his way, and you need to tell him everything.”

“But—”

“Everything. Don't hold back.”

“The story will get out and Rob...”

“He doesn't deserve you, but let's stay focused. Detective Johnson already knows about the note. If you're truthful, he'll be more inclined to believe you're innocent. Then he'll look for the real killer.”

Deep silence could be a little scary. I sat at the edge of my chair.

“Okay, I'll talk with him.”

Her doorbell sounded. My gut told me Dirk waited.

“Just remember he's sneaky. I'll come over in a bit so you can fill me in after Johnson leaves.”

I heard the snick of her dead bolt just before she said goodbye. The sound twisted my gut into a knot. I hoped Ginger was home when I got there and not at the police station waiting for bail.

Chapter Seven

My normal path to Ginger's took me past the Yoga Studio. I’d planned that excuse if I got stopped or seen by one sexy cop named Dirk Johnson.

The studio lights shone onto the sidewalk, a real surprise given the crime scene tape strung around the place. A black and white sat parked out front. Justin Nash leaned against the side of the car. His slumped shoulders, crossed arms and bent head gave me all the hints I needed about his attitude.

My decision to snoop came without conscious thought. I pulled into a nearby parking space and got out. When I reached Justin, I held out my right hand.

“Justin, isn't it? My name is Katie Sheridan. Last Saturday was my first class, but I'm so sorry about what happened.”

When my outstretched hand wasn't grasped by Justin in return, I dropped my arm and waited for him to look at me. He didn't.

He lifted his head. His naked hatred made me step back. “I hear confession is good for the soul.”

“Are you implying something? I don't...I didn't know Morgan. I had no reason to want him dead. I understand your grief. I just stopped to extend sympathy.”

“Oh, really?” He crossed his arms across a muscled chest covered with a tight black tee. “I heard you were kneeling next to Morgan right before he died. That you touched him, spoke with him. Then you left and when you came back, you made it seem like you tried to save him.”

My throat was so dry the swallows I attempted didn't lubricate anything.