She's Gotta Be Mine (39 page)

“He was a holy terror in high school, let me tell you,” Marjorie added.

“Goodness,” Eugenia exclaimed, “that poor Mary Alice Turner.”

“She had to leave town in disgrace.” Marjorie sniffed.

Mary Alice Turner, another reason people hated Nick. He probably had nothing to do with her leaving town. Busybodies. It was hard to keep silent while they trashed Nick’s character. She nodded for Katie’s sake as the girl divulged that she’d had an abortion when she was eighteen, a low point in her life.

“It’s a wonder any of those boys graduated high school.”

“But look what
Brax
has done for himself. And that Kent English, manager for all those stores,” Patsy lowered her voice and mouthed, “for
Jimbo
,” with reverence.

“That man”—meaning Nick, of course—“should have been sent to prison for the way he tried to lead those poor boys astray.” Eugenia glowered at herself in the mirror, then tapped her stylist’s hand. “Connie dear, do you think you could pluck a few of those eyebrow hairs while I’m sitting here?”

“Thank God they had strong parents,”
Majorie
continued.

Bobbie tucked her tongue in her cheek as Katie expertly applied another coat of gel. This wasn’t gossip, merely old news. Why couldn’t these women give Nick a break?

“I always liked the Angels.” Patsy tilted her head. “I think you’ve missed a spot there, Fanny.”

“Yes, but you’d never call them strong. Why, they never attended any of my parent-teacher conferences.” Marjorie pursed her lips.

“You know, I’m growing tired of making
that man
the subject of every conversation. He doesn’t deserve it.” Eugenia wriggled in her chair, causing Connie the stylist to drop a curler. “Did you hear about that girl who disappeared over in Saskatoon County?”

“No.” Marjorie gasped, popping a hard candy she’d just unwrapped in her mouth.

“Thirteen years old, I hear. Her poor, dear parents must be out of their minds with worry. Disappeared Tuesday night, I read in the Sentinel.”

“On Sunday, I’ll ask the Reverend to say a prayer for her safe return.” Pious Patsy. Bobbie admired the fact that the realtor had the thought, even if she was party to the Nick-bashing.

“Odd coming on the heels of
Jimbo’s
murder like that,” Eugenia mused, her eyes darting between the reflections of her two friends in the mirror.

“Why, I never even thought of that, Eugenia.” Marjorie’s brows drew together. “You don’t think—”

“I’ve never believed in coincidence,” Eugenia finished for her, sending Bobbie a sly glance. Bobbie realized she’d been doing that all along, it wasn’t just a squint.

Her mouth a round O, Marjorie leaned forward to breathe down Eugenia’s neck, forcing Connie to drop yet another curler. “Could
he
have...”

“Well, I heard he was down at
Sylvestor’s
Hardware this morning buying a big padlock.”

Oh God, Nick again. Had the news gotten to
Brax
, suspicious sheriff? Bobbie’s heart rate picked up.

“Whatever would he need that for?”

“What do you think a man needs a padlock for? To lock something in.”

“Or some
one
. Oh my Lord.” Marjorie put a hand to her mouth. “Do you think we should tell the sheriff?”

“You will recall the other day when we were in
Sylvestor’s
, and he asked us where the Rubbermaid was so he could buy tubs just like the ones Jeffrey
Dahmer
used to store body parts.”

Patsy snorted. “Jeffrey
Dahmer
never stored body parts in Rubbermaid.”

“He most certainly did,” Eugenia retorted forcefully. “And if you add that to the fact that man bought a padlock...well, the poor young girl could be chained in his attic missing a few fingers and toes and God only knows what else.”

Patsy smoothed her fingers over the plastic drape covering her knees. For a brief moment, her gaze caught Bobbie’s in the reflection. She turned, but not before Bobbie noted the wrinkle on her brow and the uncertainty clouding her eyes. Even Patsy was becoming uncomfortable with Eugenia’s vicious chatter.

Katie tapped the back of Bobbie’s hand. “You’re tensing up again, sweetie. I can’t get the gel filed properly if you keep doing that.”

Bobbie’s “sorry” came out with no sound. What were those women thinking? Okay, they thought Nick was a serial killer. But to believe he’d torture little girls? She shifted in her seat, trying to keep her hands still. They were horrible, those women.

“Honey, I can’t work with you squirming like that.” A harsh note crept into Katie’s voice.

“I wonder if the sheriff’s checked on any other girls missing in the area in recent months?”

Bobbie’s fingers twitched. Did they still lynch people in small towns and get away with it?

“Remember how I told you
murder
was coming our way.” Eugenia shook her finger at Marjorie’s reflection. “Didn’t I say that just the other day, Marjorie?”

“We really must tell the sheriff. What with
Jimbo’s
murder and all, he might not even have heard about the Saskatoon girl.”

Patsy flapped a hand. “
Brax
knows everything. Let’s not get carried away here.” Finally, Patsy found the voice of reason.

Eugenia was beyond hearing it. “The sheriff’s busy. Perhaps we should form a citizen’s committee to pay Nick Angel a call.”

Bobbie’s breath stuck in her throat as she had a sudden vision of Eugenia Meade carrying Nick’s head on a pike. She couldn’t swallow past the lump, couldn’t drag in much-needed air. God, she didn’t do well in hair salons. They gave her panic attacks. Listening to these crazy women, a big panic hurtled straight toward her.

“Bobbie, honey, are you all right?” Katie’s voice came from far, far away.

“Connie, hand me that cell phone out of my purse, would you? I’m calling the sheriff right away to report this.”

Eugenia Meade wouldn’t really call the sheriff over something as ridiculous as Rubbermaid and a padlock. Oh yes, she would, taking the little instrument from Connie’s hand. And Eugenia’s call might be
Brax’s
probable cause to search Nick’s house. He’d find the shovel. Oh my God. What was Bobbie to do?

Katie filed and buffed, buffed and filed. Musical notes tinkled from Eugenia’s cell phone, then, “Oh damn, what’s that number?” She punched in another number. “Celeste, I’ve forgotten the sheriff’s number. Can you look it up for me?”

“Sweetie, are you having a heart attack or something? You don’t look well.”

Bobbie ignored Katie’s insistent tapping on the back of her hand. Nick hadn’t kidnapped any little girl. He was with
her
Tuesday night. She looked at Patsy, Marjorie, and Eugenia as if through a fish-eye lens, the edges of the image all blurred. Everyone knew she’d been to the Rowdy Tavern with Nick, and they’d ostracized her in less than twenty-four hours.

They’d stone her if they knew she’d slept with him. She’d never belong. They’d never believe her claim that Warren was innocent. The real murderer would go free. The sky would fall in. She’d have to go back to San Francisco, back to her boss, Mr.
Winkleman
, and beg.

But at least
Brax
wouldn’t have a reason to go snooping around Nick’s house.

She’d always played the good little wife for Warren. He’d left her anyway. Being the good little girl for these people, denying Nick, denying their affair, pretending she was dating
Brax
, none of it guaranteed Cottonmouth wouldn’t desert her, too. There was only one right thing to do. And doing the right thing was all she’d have to hang onto when everything was over.

“Put that phone down, Mrs. Meade.”

Bobbie didn’t remembering standing. The babble ceased abruptly, only the whir of mechanical devices remained. Then even the three dryers shut down as everyone leaned in to stare, and listen.

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Just like that other day in that other salon. Only this time, everyone was listening, everyone was noticing, everyone was waiting. Her knees started to crumple.

She blurted it out before her legs gave beneath her. “Nick Angel didn’t kidnap that little girl Tuesday night.”

“How do you know?” Eugenia drilled her with a look.

Who said never let them see you sweat? Like a pack of hyenas, they’d jump her if she showed the slightest weakness. “Nick was with me Tuesday night.”

Eugenia smirked and started punching in numbers. “She was stolen out of her room in the dead of night.”

“I said he was with me.” She stared Eugenia down. “And I meant he was with me
all
night.”

Someone gasped. Patsy covered her mouth in horror. Marjorie Holmes slumped in her chair as if she’d fainted. Bobbie’s fate in this town was sealed.

But Eugenia Meade had to put her phone back in her purse.

* * * * *

There was something wrong with Bobbie. She wouldn’t meet his eye. And she wasn’t opening the cottage door wide enough to let him in.

“Just thought you’d want to hear about my conversation with Cookie today.” That had been Nick’s excuse for coming over tonight.

She opened the door a full twelve inches, still not enough for him to get through unless he shoved his way in.

“You saw Cookie?” A frown creased her forehead, and her lips thinned.

For a minute, he thought she’d have another go at him about his ill-fated relationship with the woman of her nightmares. Instead, she hugged the door, her desire to take Cookie down winning out over jealousy.

She fired a litany of questions at him. “What’d she do? What’d she say? Where’d you see her? Did she look guilty?”

That was Bobbie, everything at once. Her enthusiasm, no matter what the subject, was another of the things that drew him to her. “Let me in, and I’ll tell you.”

Her eyes fell to his shirt front. He’d put on one free of stains just for her. “I was just getting ready to go out,” she said.

Shit. She’d gone and done it, gotten herself a date with
Brax
. “That’s a bad idea.
Brax
is slippery, you might not even know you’re telling him something he can use against you.” Which was true and better than simply saying,
I don’t want you going out with him.

“I have to.” She bit her lip. “There are forces conspiring against you. I have to find out what the sheriff’s thinking.”

“Forces conspiring against me?” He almost laughed, until he noted the tense line of her lip. “Isn’t that a bit melodramatic?” But he liked the fact that she worried about him.

She tipped her head to one side and put a hand up along the door. She’d had her nails done, a spicy shade that reminded him of red-hot chili peppers. He wanted those nails scoring his back.

“When was the last time there was a lynching in this town?”

He did laugh then, but a kink ran through it. “There’s never been a lynching.”

She stuck her tongue between her teeth. “Let’s just say I’m trying to keep it that way. Now tell me about Cookie.”

He didn’t. Yet. “Where are you going with
Brax
?”

“Umm.” She looked at the scratches in the old hardwood floor. “I don’t know. I forgot to ask.”

No woman
forgot
to ask. They had to coordinate their clothing with their destination. This could be in his favor; then again, it might not be. Depended on if she’d forgotten because she was so excited to be out with
Brax
or because it didn’t matter to her. “I was just curious. Cookie did the fake grief thing with aplomb.”

“You mean runny mascara, eyes and nose?”

“Yeah. Silk hankie, too. I went to her house.”

“Ooh, and she let you in?”

“She didn’t have the nerve to turn me away. She was scared.”

“Good job. Did you push her buttons?”

Christ, the excitement in her eyes and threaded through her voice got him hot. “She was quivering with fear when I left. I wouldn’t be surprised if she calls Warren to make sure he hasn’t turned against her.”