Interior Motives (22 page)

I sputtered, then laughed.

“You, Bella?” Dad asked. “I couldn’t forget you no matter how hard I tried.
If
I tried.”

She preened. “Aw, Hale. How sweet.”

Dad gave a totally un-Dad snort. “You might be nutty, unpredictable, sassy, and a brazen imp, but the one thing you’re not is plain old sweet.”

Outrageous. I’d never heard Dad and Bella do this.

She whooped. “You sure know how to flatter a girl, you silver-tongued charmer you. How did your late wife put up with you all those years? Especially if that’s the kind of sweet nothings you whispered to her.”

“Different woman, different personality.”

Enough of the weirdness. “Hey! Time-out, guys. Dad, call the board members. Tell them you forgot, that aliens sucked your brain out, whatever. Bella, back in your corner. Better yet, go check on your beasts. Both of you, take a break, rest up, prepare your ammunition for the next fight.”

“We weren’t fighting.” Bella stuck her pugnacious chin out to the max. “Hale messed up, and I had to tell him.”

Dad snorted—again!

I glared. “It doesn’t matter if you call it break dancing to wails and howls courtesy of your cats. It’s late and I’m shot. I need peace, quiet, and sleep, so Bella, get back to the Balis, and Dad, go . . . ah . . . well, go do whatever you were doing before Hurricane Bella dervished in.”

The hurricane—a roly-poly vision in skintight black leggings and matching turtleneck top—doled out good-night hugs, then marched on home. Dad began his usual pat down, on the hunt for his reading glasses.

“Dad. Check your nose.”

His forgetfulness wasn’t funny anymore. Every time I came smack up against it, unease kinked my gut.

He pushed the half-moons up higher on the bridge of his nose, turned to leave the kitchen, paused, and said, “Good night, Haley. And you too, young man.”

“Dad! It’s Dutch, for goodness’ sake. You know, the builder in the paper for the slippery-slope house—”

“Give me a break!” Dutch griped. “That’s not all he knows me for. I’m sure you remember me, Reverend. I’m the guy Haley barfed on at the Stokers’ home.”

“I did not barf on you—”

“Oh.” Recognition brightened Dad’s eyes. “The one who rowed out to help with Haley’s diving instructor that one time. Well, good night, anyway.”

Once Dad had left, Dutch turned to me. “Is he all right?”

I shrugged. “You saw what I saw.”

“You might want to talk him into a checkup.”

“Dad’s not the talk-him-into-anything kind, but we’ll see.” I sighed. “I’d planned to call Doc Cowan to schedule an appointment not so long ago, but I just forgot. I can make the call, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to talk him into going.”

He chuckled. “If you get nowhere, just ask Bella. I’ll bet she gets whatever she wants from him. Did you see the sparks fly between them? Phew!”

“Yeah. Gunfire. It’s a miracle neither one’s full of holes.”

“Are you blind, deaf, dumb, and kidding me? That’s some hot and heavy chemistry between them.”

“Huh? Bella and Dad? Not in this lifetime.”

Not even the next.

Dutch made a megaphone of his hands. “Wee-ooh, wee-ooh! Earth to Haley. Wake up and smell the romance.”

I went into free fall. My whole world shifted. Dad and Bella? “That’s just too bizarre.”

Really, really scary.

“I don’t think it’s weird. But there’s lots of funny here.” His grin turned wicked. “Gotta love it, Farrell. Your future’s bright as . . . oh, let’s see. What would Wilmont’s favorite designer say?” He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Sure! Your future’s bright as halogen pot lights in the ceiling of life. Picture this: you and the reverend; Bella, your stepmom; and the Balis, stepcats.”

I wailed.

He laughed.

It was the perfect way to end a perfectly rotten day.

14

Two days after the battle of bellows in the kitchen, the much-delayed and even more anticipated hand-carved leather and ebonized-wood Guatemalan chairs for Tedd’s waiting room arrived. I did the dance of joy when I broke open the first shipping crate.

“Absolute perfection,” I burbled at Dutch. “For this office, that is. I’d never stick these in the Weikerts’ house or anything like that. But here?” I kissed my bunched-up fingertips. “Mmmuaw!”

“Watch out, Haley. You’re going to hurt your shoulder, patting your back like that.”

I stuck out my tongue. “Get back to your pile of pick-up-sticks, Builder Boy. I know that’s boring, but you made your choice. You grew up to play ‘If I Had a Hammer,’ while I became the design star.”

“Watch it! Your head’s so swelled up, it’s about to explode all over your nice, new reupholstered chairs.”

I did a Bella and slammed my fists on my hips. “What? Are you calling me conceited? You don’t think my work’s any good? That these chairs aren’t faboo for this décor?”

“Lighten up already. I was just joking. You have to cut down on the Starbucks.”

“Bite your tongue! It’s pure bliss in a cup.”

“Ever think what it’s done to your stomach lining by now?”

I blinked. “Actually, no. Never.” I shrugged. “If my Star-bucks and Milky Way bars mean I’m living
la vida loca
, then life as we know it has taken a turn for the dull.”

“So in Haley World, you’re the last of the daredevil risk takers.”

“Oh yeah. For sure. I’m Evel Knievel in drag.”

He sputtered, snorted, and laughed. Not some polite chuckle either. He let out a rich belly laugh so contagious that I had to join him.

“That,” he said when he could talk again, “is an image to remember. You’re absolutely off-the-wall nuts.”

I gave him a long look. Then I made both hands into pistols and in a goofy voice said, “Right back atcha, baby.”

Dutch shook his head and left, his chuckles so loud that I heard them until he closed the back door. Even though he had too much fun dissing my detective talents, there was a lot to like about the guy. Not the least of which was his sense of humor.

I was in trouble.

I liked him too much.

With a heartfelt sigh, I got back to work. Unveiling the unique chairs felt like a personal triumph. They were incredible in themselves, but when set against the warm, rusticated walls, and once I added the blanket-covered pillows that matched the newly covered meeting-room chairs, they would become absolute masterpieces. As I’d known all along they would.

And because of their perfection, I lost it when I found the final one damaged. The stuffing that gave the tooled backs their fabulous dimension and turned them into 3-D works of art spewed out through a small slit in the leather.

“Aaaarrrgh!”

Okay. So I stomped, screamed, sputtered, and steamed. I griped and whined and contemplated flapping my arms all the way down to a certain Guatemalan artisan studio to confront the careless boob who’d let this happen to one of my beauteous, perfect chairs.

Instead of damage to my arms, I opted for a phone call. Oh, but I did let them have it down in Guatemala. My rage rang out loud and clear; it rang out here in Wilmont. Even Dutch heard it, since he hurried back in, concern on his rugged face.

“Are you all right?”

I nodded, held up a finger, and ended my harangue when the studio owner promised to replace the chair once I returned it.

“Can you believe it?” I asked Dutch. “Look at what they sent me. A torn-up chair, and they charged me 450 bucks for the thing—and it’s only four weeks late. Talk about insult to injury.”

He checked it out. “Ouch! Bummer. That’s amazing work, even if I did tease you earlier.”

“Tell me about it.” I knelt by the chair and gave the cotton fluff a poke. “I am bummed. But isn’t the Trapunto-type work awesome? Look how they stuff with little bits of cotton batting just those areas that are in relief. Can you see how they bring in this stuffing through small slits in the piece of leather that forms the backing? And it comes right up against the carved-out parts. It takes pure genius to do such precise work—”

I gasped. With my pinkie I dug into the slit, parted more of the cotton wadding, and saw what had caught my attention.

“Would you look at that?” I asked.

Dutch drew closer. “What do you see? It looks like a bunch of stuffing to me.”

“No, no. Check it out. There, right behind the fluff. Can’t you see the shiny glass?”

He pressed the side of his head against mine. Again I didn’t pull away. Instead, I welcomed his warmth and closeness.

Crazy, Haley. You are totally, raving nuts.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I see what you mean. What do you think? A nail that poked through and tore the leather?”

“Nope. That’s not metal. I told you. It’s glass.”

“I can’t see it that well. But glass? Why would there be glass in the backrest of a chair? Can you reach it? Can you pull it out?”

“I’ll give it my best.”

My tool chest holds all kinds of goodies. I rummaged until I came up with a pair of long, slender steel tweezers. Because I had to return the chair, I couldn’t add to the damage. I didn’t want the studio owner to blame me for the tear. So little by little I shifted the cotton away from the glass. After a lifetime of sloth-speed minutes, my tweezers slipped around and caught the glass.

“Careful,” Dutch whispered. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m okay.”

I was, until I extracted the stowaway. Once I had it out in the light of day, I fell back on my butt. Dutch drew in a sharp, sibilant breath, more whistle than intake of air.

My tweezers held a rubber-capped glass vial.

Liquid swirled inside.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked Dutch.

“If that’s what I think it is, then I’m thinking Tedd’s in worse trouble than even you imagined.”

A tear rolled down my cheek. “That’s what I’m thinking.” “You know what we have to do, don’t you?”

Very slowly I pulled myself upright. It felt as if I’d swum through an ocean of mud. “We have to hit the cop shop, and right away.”

He ran a long finger across his forehead, then flicked. “Phew! And here I was afraid I’d have to pull a Neanderthal again. You know, throw you over my shoulder and haul you away—this time to jail. To get the evidence to Lila, of course.”

It took my all to give him a lame, wimpy smile. “Nah. I’m not that bad. Let’s go.”

“Your car or mine?”

“Boy, do you live in denial. Your decrepit junk pile is no car. It started life as a pickup truck, and now it’s just a massive display of rust.”

“It runs.”

“Just barely.” I grabbed my backpack purse. “Get a move on, Merrill. There’s a cop waiting for us. Even though she doesn’t know it yet.”

We took off in my car. Not a word crossed our lips. I don’t know what went through his mind, but I couldn’t escape the implications of the vial found in the chair shipped from Central America. Tedd had referred me to the artisan studio.

Tedd was in trouble.

Big time.

And no matter how much I cared, there was no way I could shield her from Lila’s radar. At this point my loyalties were split. I’d promised Darlene I wouldn’t let her down. I’d also promised to help Cissy prove her innocence. Now a contraband dose of voodoo med implicated one of my closest friends in the murder.

Not a good deal.

In the end one loyalty trumped all others. The Lord called me—all his children—to do justice. It was a no-brainer. I had to see this through; I had to see justice done.

I opened my door. Dutch did the same. I looked his way. Our gazes locked. Compassion glowed in the green.

“You sure you’re ready?” he asked.

Before I could stop myself, I answered, “I’m glad you’re here.”

He slapped the roof of the car. “Then let’s rock and roll and get the show on the road.”

I crossed the parking lot toward the squatty brick building. At the steps I paused. Dutch reached me, held out his hand. I looked down, then up to his face. That same tenderness I’d seen the night he found me in tears had returned. This time it seemed to hold more significance. I wasn’t sure what Dutch wanted from me, but I did know one thing.

If I took his hand today, there’d be no turning back.

Was I ready to take that step?

Where would it lead?

Wimp!

With a quick prayer, I took his hand. We walked in, linked by a warm touch and a shared objective. Dutch is a decent man. He too wanted to see justice done.

Lila met us at her office door. “Let me guess. Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. Or is it Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dummer?”

“Cute, Karate Chop Cop.” She frowned, and her lips thinned. I waved the vial. “Wait’ll you get a load of this.” “What is it?” She gave me her sharpest gimlet look. “Where did you get it? And have you tampered with evidence again?”

I glared. “It’s a vial of liquid I found hidden in the stuffing of one of the Guatemalan chairs I ordered for Tedd’s office redesign. I haven’t tampered with anything. I brought what I found straight to you. And last I checked, this is my civic duty. Since the vial could be relevant to a murder investigation, I’m here to turn it over to the lead detective on the case. That’s it. Nothing more sinister than that.”

She reached for the contraband container. “In a chair you ordered for Tedd’s office.”

“Ordered from a studio she recommended.”

“I’ll have it tested right away.”

Dutch cleared his throat. “Will you let us know the results?”

“Would she”—Lila nodded my way—“let me do my job if I didn’t?”

I snorted. “Since when have I kept you from your job— the one you do so well?”

“You’re notorious for your interference—”

“You know what?” Dutch said. “Nature calls, and I’m tired of your bickering. Go at it all you want, but my bladder’s more important than your spitting contest.”

I watched him walking away, my jaw sagging, my eyes popping. When I managed to close my mouth and blink again, I turned to Lila and giggled. Her almond eyes were opened so wide, they almost looked round. Her jaw gaped, and I realized what I must have looked like a moment before.

“He got us,” I said.

She shook herself and gave me a tight little smile. “Are we caught up in a spitting match?”