The Art of Love and Murder (14 page)

Could
he be succumbing to the undeniable attraction she held?

****

The chair at the desk in her room squeaked when Lacy sat. She tugged the drawer open and lifted the Flagstaff phone book out. Myles Sheffield, PhD. No home phone number, only an office number at the university.

“Damn.”

She used her cell to call the number so it would be saved. If she had to wait until tomorrow, she’d just have to wait. After a female voice informed her she had the voice mail of Dr. Sheffield, she left her message.

Out the window, The White Wolf Spirit
,
painted on the building across the street, registered in her mind. Her fingers tapped on her cell as if to encourage it to ring. Chief seemed to be a good friend of Chance. It couldn’t hurt to browse around his store for a bit.

After locking her khaki bag in the hotel safe, she left the Grand View. She paused on the sidewalk for a car to pass, then crossed the street to The White Wolf Spirit. The door stood open, the scent of earthy incense drifted out as she stepped inside.

Chief stood from his stool behind the counter, a broad smile on his face. “Hello, Lacy.”

“Hi, Chief. It smells wonderful in here. What is it?”

“Nagchampa. It’s Indian incense. Or I should clarify, it’s an incense from India. I sell it.” He nodded toward a shelf in the corner.

“I’ll have to get some to take back to my friend in Scottsdale.”

“Visiting from Scottsdale?”

Apparently Chance hadn’t said much to Chief about her. A breath of disappointment left her lungs. “Not exactly visiting. I’m doing research on my birth mother and an artist by the name of Muuyaw.” A couple of paintings hung on the wall for sale, and considering Chief’s age... “Have you ever heard of a sculptor named Muuyaw?” She walked over to the counter.

“Anyone who’s Native American and has lived in Flagstaff as long as I have knows the name. Someone like Muuyaw leaves her mark on a small community.”

“Are you Hopi?”

“No, Navajo.” He smiled. “Her art should’ve lived on, yet it seemed to disappear after her apparent death.”

“Apparent death? You mean she might have left Flagstaff or just stopped sculpting for some reason?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve seen some of her work. She embodied this area, her heritage. I think only death would have brought her career to an end.” He shifted his weight and leaned against the counter top. “A few years back, there was a robbery of some of her sculptures.”

Chance came to mind—sadness and desire confronted her at the same time. His steady, gray-eyed gaze invited her to confide. “I know about Chance’s wife and the robbery.”

“A very sad time for my friend.” He studied her.

“I don’t know how anyone can get over such a thing.”

He shrugged. “There’s no need to get over it, only to deal with it and move on.”

There were questions she wanted to ask as he continued to study her. She didn’t think it would be appropriate to ask the personal ones about his friend that Chief might be able to answer. Could he tell her if she should try to get closer to Chance? Would he let her?

She wanted to know what Kitty really meant to him. Her fingers drifted to the side pocket of her purse, wished for the handsome sheriff to call her, to disturb the silence between her and his friend. Instead, she asked, “Did you know a woman named Kaya Mockta?”

“A Hopi woman. Hmm, sounds familiar, but I’m not sure. Someone you knew here?”

“My mother. She died when I was quite young. I was born here in Flagstaff.”

His already wrinkled brow furrowed deeper. “A plane crash?”

“Why, yes. Do you remember her?” A bit of hope fluttered her chest.

“No, sorry, I don’t. I didn’t know her, and only have a vague memory of the accident.”

“Oh, well.” The weak flutter dissolved.

He smiled and nodded. “How long are you staying, Lacy?”

“Originally, I planned to leave this afternoon. Now, I’m not sure. I’m waiting on a delivery for tomorrow and some phone calls so...”

A couple walked into the shop. The old shop owner righted and nodded at the customers.

“Good afternoon, folks. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

“Actually, you can.” The woman approached them. “We heard you carry Navajo rugs.”

“I only have a couple. I’ll show you.”

He walked from behind the counter, pausing beside Lacy. He patted her hand resting on the counter and leaned close, his face intensely serious. “If you’re waiting for Chance to call you, don’t wait too long.”

Chapter Seven

A brisk wind lifted Lacy’s hair and rippled her blouse against her torso as her foot touched the sidewalk outside of Chief’s store. His advice played in her head. He as much as told her to call Chance, not to wait on him to make the move. Chief looked out for his friend. Maybe she needed someone to look out for her. Her attraction to the sexy sheriff threatened to be more than merely physical. Chance might consider Kitty his Flagstaff woman and Lacy his valley lady. She wouldn’t open herself to a relationship with a man who didn’t give himself to her one hundred percent.

Another gust whipped her hair across her face as if to slap some sense into her. She could have a strictly physical relationship. Why not? She couldn’t deny her attraction to Chance, and he had kissed her. He’d felt it, too. Whatever reasons he had for holding back didn’t need to get in their way. She
could
make the first move and try something new—something light without the promise of an ongoing relationship.

Her hand dipped into the side compartment to get her cell just as it rang. “Hello.” She held her breath.

“Hi, Lacy. Chance here. I got your message. I have some information for you.”

She backed into the indentation of the doorway. “Sorry, Chance. Your voice is competing with the wind. Did you say you had information?”

“Yeah, do you want to go inside and call me back?”

“Oh, well, uh...”

“Is this a bad time? I can call back.”

“No.” Her mouth went dry. “Maybe we could have dinner again? You could go over the information then.” She shut her eyes to the pause on his end then grimaced at the expected turndown.

“I suppose we could meet, discuss it over a burger. Unless you don’t do burgers.”

Her lids popped open. “I do burgers.” Excitement colored her words, and she cleared her throat. “Sure. Where and when?”

****

After the initial jolt of hearing her voice, Professor Sheffield reconnected into his office mail and listened to the message again. Had Lacy Dahl not said her name, he’d have thought an angel called from heaven.

“Damnation.” Every nerve in his body spiked with desire, regret and—fear. “Damn you, Archibald.” How stupid of the curator to tell her that he collected Muuyaw’s sculptures. And women were supposedly the loose-tongued sex. Justine and Carol had managed to avoid leading Lacy to him, which only proved sexual liaisons the most valuable of relationships. Luckily, Archibald was stupid and could be dealt with easier.

He listened to his voice mail a third time—not for the message, but for the voice and the feelings evoked. A slow, deep torture. A torture he deserved.

His hand trembled, replacing the phone in its cradle.

With weak knees, he turned, memories weighing heavy on his shoulders. He glanced around the room. No matter where he looked, she looked back at him. She leaned on the mantel, a Campari soda in hand as she played with the dark tresses tickling against her breasts. In front of the sofa, she sat cross-legged in thought, sketchpad on the floor in front of her and a pencil tapping against her lips. Stretched naked on the sofa, she beckoned him.

To Justine, she was Muuyaw.

To Carol, she was Kaya.

To him...she was the world.

Her daughter wanted to see him, talk about her mother and Muuyaw’s sculptures. Kaya’s daughter.

He rubbed his eyes, fisted a hand against his chest and jerkily turned back to the phone.

Carol answered on the second ring.

“Can you talk?” His voice sounded wrong, foreign in his own home.

“Oh.”

Her startled reply jolted him into the present.

“Yes, Myles. How nice to hear your voice.”

He ignored the pleasantry. “Did you see a chest? A carved wooden chest?”

“No.”

So, Archibald told the truth about the arrival of the chest tomorrow. He’d somehow convinced Lacy to deliver it into his hands. That couldn’t be tolerated.

“Well, there is one, and I would very much like to see it. You do remember John Archibald, don’t you?”

“Vaguely.”

“He’s the museum curator, and he’ll have the chest tomorrow. I think a visit to the museum would be in order.”

“Myles, that’s...how—”

“I’m not concerned with how.” He softened his voice. “I desire this, Carol. If you could deliver this, in your own hands...” Let her think what she would. He couldn’t be directly involved. He couldn’t see Kaya’s child.

“Of course, Myles. I understand how much this means.”

He set the phone down without further comment.

****

Lacy strolled the wood-slat sidewalk that ran the length of the Depot Restaurant and Bar, stopping to smell a hanging basket of flowers, and shook her head to the waitress taking outside orders. Chance slowed his steps, watching her from the parking lot. Hell, the woman filled out a pair of jeans. And those flimsy blouses she wore flowed over her breasts, danced around her waist like the wind. He shouldn’t have come here, should’ve given her the information over the phone. He could just as easy have had her meet him at his office earlier.

His hand rubbed at the day’s stubble on his cheek then across his chin. It’s not like he really had that much information to give her.

“Chance!”

He started at the female voice behind him, noticed Lacy now reading something on the side of the restaurant and turned to greet Kitty. “Hello, Kitty.”

“What a nice surprise.”

Two women he didn’t recognize stood behind her. He tipped his head.

“You must be on your way to have a burger at the Depot. These are my friends Connie and Diane. Ladies, this is my
close
friend, Sheriff Chance Meadowlark.” Her eyes sparkled as her hand touched his chest with the introduction.

“Nice to meet you.” He took offered hands, and Kitty’s palm slid to his bicep.

“I hate to see you eat alone. Would you like to join us?”

“Thanks. I appreciate that, but I’m meeting someone.”

“Oh?” Her brows rose. “You can both join us. We don’t mind, do we?” She addressed her friends not altering her gaze from him.

“It’s a business meeting, Kitty. Thanks anyway.” He turned his shoulders slightly, made as if he checked the sky in order to glimpse Lacy in his peripheral vision. She’d left the outside area.

“Business on a Sunday, Sheriff?” When he only shrugged, her eyes narrowed, but she smiled. “Well, okay, sugar.” She squeezed his arm.

“I need to get something from the truck. You ladies have a nice dinner.” He smiled at her companions. “I’ll give you a call, Kitty.”

“I’ll be waiting. We’ll be in the bar if you finish your business and need some company.” She kissed his cheek, rubbing her breasts against his chest with a smile.

He turned back to his truck, opened the door and leaned in across the seat. “Shit.” Hell of a time to run into a sometimes girlfriend. Living in a small town had definite drawbacks. He might be able to get a table on the opposite end of the restaurant away from the bar; however, knowing her, she’d find an excuse to check out where he sat, see what kind of business he conducted on Sunday. He could’ve told her his meeting was with Lacy, except after their last face to face it seemed like a good idea to avoid another confrontation. Lacy or no, he had to find the time to set Kitty straight on their relationship...or lack of. But not in front of her friends.

Now what? He swiveled his head to catch sight of her entering the bar. Once she disappeared inside, he righted and slammed the truck door. “Coward.”

Lacy appeared at the door of the restaurant, drink in hand. This time, she surveyed the length of the walkway. Her scan shifted to the parking lot, and when she saw him, she strolled onto the walkway, leaned against the railing and sipped her drink, watching him. He considered his options, decided to avoid a possible scene and beckoned her.

Leaving her drink on the wood railing, she descended the three steps and walked toward the parking lot. He took a couple of slow steps in her direction, not to be so obvious in his avoidance of getting too close to the Depot. He waved when she drew near.

“When you said to meet you at the restaurant across from the Brie, I assumed you meant we’d eat here.” Her smile teased. “Looks like they have every kind of burger imaginable.”

“This parking lot is pretty full, and there’re a lot of people milling around. Thought the wait might be too long.”

“I’m not on a time frame. Are you too hungry to wait?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess I am. I know another place, not as big or as many choices, but just as good.” He turned toward his truck. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

Gravel crunched under the tires as he pulled from the parking lot and headed south toward the university. “There’s a burger place in a strip mall across from campus that Jenny likes. They don’t serve alcohol, but the mushroom burger is great.” He didn’t need a drink while in her company anyway, loosening his guard, losing a grip on his professionalism.

He glanced at her, trying not to breathe too deep. Her scent, a hint of roses mixed with patchouli, invited him to get close. The patchouli reminded him of Jenny’s incense, a familiar scent, while the roses spoke of sweet sensuality.

Her lime green gaze had not left him since they pulled out of the parking lot. He could do without that. The message reflected from beneath thick, black lashes hit him below the belt.

He probably misinterpreted her interest in what he had to say as something more. He cracked his window to help him catch his breath, taking the cool air like a slap in the face.

“How’s the research going?” He tossed out the question as he turned onto South Milton.