Guidebook to Murder (11 page)

Greg sat down in my place—waiting for me to leave.

“Be sure to tell him about what Mary said,” I called out to Crystal.

Greg pointed to the dining room.

“Fine,” I said to no one as I walked toward the tables. We were the only couple in the restaurant, so finding our table wasn't rocket science. A baked crab dip steamed on the table, a loaf of fresh bread next to it, and a large iced tea rested beside my plate. I sat down and listened, trying to overhear Crystal and Greg's conversation, but the Muzak version of “Tie a Yellow Ribbon” filled the silence.

I ripped off a piece of bread, dipping it into the crab mixture. The sweet creamy dip filled my mouth, and I quickly took another bite. It would serve him right if this dish from heaven was all gone by the time he got back to the table.

I only had time to scarf down half of the dip before Greg slipped into his chair across from me. He put his napkin on his lap and reached over for a piece of the bread. “You like the dip.”

“I love it. Tell me what Crystal said.” I leaned forward, the food temporarily forgotten.

“If this Mary is right, Crystal did have motive to kill Miss Emily. Especially after Jimmy Marcum visited and basically called her a con artist.” Greg popped a piece of bread and dip into his mouth. Then he chuckled. “She's still hot about his visit.”

“Do you think she could have . . .” I still couldn't say
killed
, and tears filled my eyes when I thought of poor Miss Emily lying so still in her bed.

“Not really, but if Jimmy turns up dead, she'd be first on my list of suspects.” Greg chuckled, using the last of the bread to clean off the edges of the crab dip. “She felt hurt Miss Emily didn't take the time to get to know Annie. Now it's too late.”

I leaned back in my chair. We still didn't know any more than we had last week. In fact, things were worse. Miss Emily was dead. Amy had gone missing. My windfall inheritance might be Annie's. And now I was at dinner with a great-looking guy who seemed to be into me—except for the fact that he was married. I had become a walking, talking country song.

The waiter showed up at the table and set a large bowl of clam chowder in front of me. The creamy, fat-filled kind rather than that tomato broth stuff. And he brought a new mini loaf of bread that smelled like it had just come out of the oven. I grabbed my spoon and took a bite. I made some sort of growl of happiness. Greg started laughing.

“I told you the food here was great.” He ripped a piece of bread off the new loaf and handed it to me. Looking into his eyes, I felt like I'd fallen into a deep pool, warm and comforting.

What the heck?
I thought as I took the offered bread. Even country songs need to eat once in a while.

T
he sun shone blindingly through the windshield as Greg drove toward the highway. Our dinner had been amazing except for the silence between us. Every time I'd think of something to say, I'd realize it came back to the investigation. Or his family life. Two subjects that I was trying to stay away from. I knew our time together wasn't anything more than him either just being nice to the potential murder suspect or victim, depending on the day.

I'd watch him suck the crabmeat out of shells and wondered what thoughts were running through his mind. Was it Crystal, Amy, or even just Miss Emily and the whole inheritance thing? I think the death threats actually took me off the suspect list—at least for now.

I leaned back in my seat, the warm sun mixing with the effects of my full belly. I didn't realize I had fallen asleep until a hand gently shook my shoulder.

“We're here.” Greg's warm voice broke through my slumber.

“Wow, I didn't think I'd been asleep that long. Sorry.” I peeked through my sunglasses and saw the looming store in front of me. “Wait, where's here? This isn't South Cove.”

“Can't pull anything over on you, now, can I?” Greg laughed. “Come on, get out. I told you I'd buy you a housewarming present.”

“I thought you were joking,” I dangled my legs over the side of the truck seat and slid out to the pavement below. At five-six, I'd never felt short, until today. I shut the truck door and hurried to catch up with him. Men at hardware stores are like women at a bridal sale: You have to keep up or try to stay out of the way.

Greg's eyes gleamed as we entered the store. We stopped at a planter display right inside the door. “I know you're having Kevin do your fence, but you might want to look at some decorative plant hangers next spring. It will make that new cedar pop with a few hanging baskets. I can come over and help you with a landscaping blueprint for the backyard.” He kept walking, talking about the future of a house that might not even be mine in the spring.

The thought brought me up short. I stopped walking. Greg finally realized I wasn't next to him.

“What's up?” He came back and stood in front of me. “You don't like landscaping?”

“What if I don't get to keep the house? I mean, with Crystal and Annie and the council and the mayor and the threats?” My breaths came short and fast.

Greg walked me over to a bench display and sat me down. “Calm down. Breathe slower.”

“I love—love the house—and what if it gets taken from me, or if . . .” My eyes widened as I realized that maybe I would be the one who went away. I grabbed Greg by both arms. “You don't think that someone would try to kill me, do you? I know you're staying with me to keep me safe, but I'm not in any real danger. Right?”

My thoughts rambled faster than my words. Tears streamed down my face.

“Jill—Stop.” Greg's hands tightened on my arms. “You're fine. No one's going to hurt you. I won't let them.” He sat next to me and folded me into his arms. “Now just breathe. Slowly, breathe.” He stroked the back of my head.

Breathe, breathe.
I heard the words and followed. My tears slowed. I was having a breakdown in the middle of House Heaven. An old black-and-white film reel ran through my head, but instead of the heroine being escorted to the old-fashioned ambulance by men in white coats, the salespeople in their orange House Heaven vests were dragging me out of the building. I started giggling. Soon my body shook.

“Jill, it's all right.” Greg's comforting voice only made the giggles stronger. He pulled me away from his chest. “Are you laughing?”

“I'm sorry. I just started thinking about how crazy this all is, and then I got the
they're coming to take you away
thing in my head.” I pulled a tissue out of my purse and wiped away the tears. I took a deep breath, then asked the question that had been bothering me all morning. “Do you think someone's trying to get me out of the house?”

“The thought had crossed my mind. But I don't want you to worry about that.” He stood and held his hand out. “Are you ready to go pick out your gift?”

I let him pull me off of the bench to a standing position. “I guess.”

“Don't be so excited.” Greg put his arm around my shoulders. “I promise we are going to figure this out.”

That was a promise I hoped he would keep. I kept quiet as we walked through the long aisle of the store. I could see Greg looking at the shelves and wanting to talk about how great the water fountain or the magic ball would look in my backyard, but he kept the thoughts to himself. I just wanted to get home. Home to my kitchen, where I could heat up water for a cup of tea and curl up on the couch with one of the many books I had started. I wanted to read about someone else's life in shambles, not live my own. We stopped.

The aisle consisted of one thing—rows of grills—shiny silver ones, black ones, tiny ones, and one large enough to use in a restaurant. We stood in front of a silver grill with a propane tank attached.

“What do you think? Is it too small?” Greg pulled the lid to the grill open. “It's got three burners inside and one on the outside where you can heat up your sauce or chili or anything in a pan.”

“It's nice.” I didn't know what he wanted out of me. I didn't know the proper response to evaluating a grill—just like all the other grills. Awareness finally broke through. “This is my gift?”

“What did you think?” Greg leaned down to check the boxes next to the displays. “Here it is.” He pulled out the box and leaned it up against the shelves. “Some assembly required, but I'm sure I could put it together quick. We might even be able to use it tomorrow.”

I watched him study the box. “I can't accept that. I mean, it's too much.”

Greg stood up. “Jill, until we close Miss Emily's murder investigation and figure out who's threatening you, I'm going to be spending a lot of time with you. I could assign Toby overtime to sit outside your house, but your aunt has already hired him to make low-fat mocha drinks. And having a grill will make our evenings out on the porch more convenient.”

He grinned and picked up the box. “So, let's get back to South Cove and see if this puppy is easy to assemble.”

I watched him walk away. Although I bought the it's-not-you-it's-the-job line, one nagging thought kept rolling through my head.

What about his wife?
I sighed. At least I'd have a grill as a parting gift worth more than what I usually got from doomed relationships.

Greg had the phone up to his ear when I caught up to him in the line. He grinned at me and pointed to an addition to the box. A square galvanized watering tub for farm animals sat on top of the box. It was either a planter or his idea of a cooler for the porch.

Greg was turning out to be more outdoor living space designer than tough robot, unlike cops I'd worked with in the city. Or maybe those guys had a soft spot, too, just not one they showed on the job. I don't think Greg realized how different his life would have been if he had lived up to his original dreams of working in a major metropolis. Or how lucky he was to work in South Cove.

He pushed the box to the girl at the counter without missing a beat on the cell phone. Pulling out his plastic, he ran it though the machine and quickly finished the transaction. He handed me the tub. “Cooler,” he mouthed and moved the grill box off to the side.

“Look, I've got to go. I'll call you when I get back into town.” He rolled his eyes at me and listened again. “If it's that bad, call Jim. He can fix the drain.”

Again, silence as he listened to the person on the other end. “Seriously, Sherry. I'll call you later.” He flipped the phone closed and put it in his carrier like a revolver to a gun holster.

Sherry? That must be his wife.

“Something wrong?” I asked, not wanting to know. Even with spending time questioning the murder suspect and my emotional breakdown in House Heaven, the evening had been the closest thing to a date I'd had in five years. One I didn't want to end.

“I just want to know when I became Mr. Fix-It.” Greg lifted the box again and, this time, placed it on a low, flat cart. It landed with a bang. “Sorry, that woman can get under my skin even in a five-minute phone call.”

He took off for the parking lot and the truck.

Following behind with the tub, I did the math. This was the point in the discussion where he told me all about how she didn't understand him. The script I'd read before. Bad boyfriend number three or four, I forgot.

Mentally, I practiced my line.

And my own mantra,
I'm worth more than to be someone's second choice
, even if he had arms the size of tree limbs.

Greg had the box loaded by the time I reached the truck. He grabbed the tub from me and flashed a smile. “This will work great with a bag of ice and a six-pack of beer.”

Not the response I'd expected. Now, I had a choice. Play along and pretend I didn't know, or confront him, making the rest of our conversations uncomfortable and awkward. Maybe I read too much into his attention. He had never once been unprofessional or anything but nice and caring. I could be the one seeing stars because of my reactions, not because of his intentions. I shrugged off my doubt. Until I was convinced that his intentions were anything more than your local friendly law enforcement protecting the damsel in distress, I'd keep my mouth shut.

My phone rang. Leaning against the truck soaking in the last of the evening sun, hot on my face, I flipped the phone open. “Hello?”

“Jill . . .” Amy's voice crackled from a distance.

“Amy? Is that you? Where are you?” I waved Greg over to my side of the truck and stood rigid. I pressed the phone closer to my ear, trying to hear.

“I'm down in . . .” The crackle became worse and cut off the rest of Amy's words.

“Are you all right? Where are you?” I talked louder, hoping that my words were getting through the bad connection.

“I'm trying to tell you, I'm at . . .” Again, the poor connection cut out any hope of hearing Amy's words. Her voice came through again. “I need . . .”

“The place, Amy, just say the place,” I screamed into the phone. Greg reached around me and took the cell phone from my hand.

“Miss Newman—are you there?” Greg's voice was calm. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

He handed me back the phone. “She's gone.”

I stared at Greg. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?” A cold chill encased me.

Greg pulled me into his arms. “I meant the call disconnected. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. You're shaking.”

Amy was alive. I hadn't wanted to hope. But she was alive somewhere, and maybe she'd stay that way. Tears fell down my cheeks.

Greg stepped back warily. I'd fallen apart on him twice in less than an hour. His eyes showed concern—probably didn't want to explain to the authorities how the woman he'd been protecting had just disintegrated in front of his eyes. “Are you okay?”

I grinned. “She's alive. I don't know where she is or who's she's with, but she's alive.” I jumped up and down in a circle, my form of a victory dance. One that no man I'd ever been involved with had seen. I stopped bouncing, realizing people walking into the store were staring. Then I gave one last circle for good luck. What did I care if people stared?

“I'm glad you're happy. Ready to head home?” Greg opened the truck door for me and helped me climb inside. “I've got a grill to put together.”

“Hey, do you think they could trace the call? I know we didn't talk very long, but at least they should be able to find what number called me, right?” My mind raced.

“I'll call my buddy on our way home and see what he can do. It's a weekend, so don't get your hopes up.” Greg shut the truck door.

I sat stunned in the cab of the truck, barely noticing the heat radiating off the windshield. Not get my hopes up? This was the first time I had dared to hope since Amy had disappeared. Maybe the mayor had been right. Maybe this was all about catching a good wave. I hoped so. And when I did get to talk to her, I'd give her a piece of my mind. After a great big hug, that is.

 

Greg completed putting together the grill by reading the directions after a few false starts and a couple of Band-Aids. The grill fit quite nicely on the back porch, like I owned the home, not was just some squatter. I had a small tabletop grill on the floor of the balcony at my apartment, but I had to pull up a chair and sit inside the apartment to watch the chicken so it didn't burn. And every time I used it, smoke filled the living room, reminding me of burnt chicken for weeks. I still felt a little guilty for letting Greg pay for the grill and the country cooler.

According to Jimmy Marcum, tomorrow I would be a pretty wealthy girl. By my standards, at least. My thoughts went back to Crystal. Working full-time, going to school, and trying to raise a baby. If Annie was related to Miss Emily, Crystal should be sitting here on the back porch watching the sun set over the ocean. A quiet sigh slipped through my lips. How did the world get so complicated?

“What's up, buttercup?” Greg walked over and handed me a beer out of the new cooler. He sat next to me on the wooden steps leading down to the grass. The backyard had been filled with pallets of new siding, cedar fence planks, and lumber. In the driveway stood the biggest Dumpster I'd ever seen. Todd had explained that all of the contractors would be using the same Dumpster so I was saving money. I think he'd just heard the rumors about my inheritance. But the time schedule the council had set didn't leave room for arguments. I had thirty days . . . well, twenty-six days now, to get the house up to code. Looking around, I wasn't sure we'd make it.