Wave Good-Bye (15 page)

I gave Marsh a withering look.

Marty narrowed his eyes and said, “Am I interrupting something?”

“No. All done. I left the shower in good shape for you, Grace Ann,” said Marsh.

Before I could respond, the lawman swept me into his arms and kissed me on the mouth. If he hadn’t been holding me up, I would have keeled right over. I think I kissed him back, but honestly, all I can remember is the jolt of electricity that traveled up my spine, down my spine, and caused tingles all over.

“You aren’t planning to leave town are you?” Marsh released me slowly. Good thing because my legs had turned to jelly.

“N-N-No.”

“I’ll stop by tomorrow.” Marsh’s smile was impish. “Early.”

With that, he slammed the door behind him.

Chapter Twenty-four

“I’M STARVED. GOT ANYTHING TO EAT?” MARTY rubbed his hands together. He seemed unfazed by Marsh’s behavior.

I, on the other hand, felt like I’d gone a couple rounds with a stun gun. My knees buckled, and I sank down onto my sofa. “We had dinner reservations at Enchanté. Nearly two hours ago.”

“Oh. I got busy. How about if you order a pizza? I’ve been eating at fancy restaurants all week. Boy, does that get old.”

Not for me it doesn’t. I could almost feel the steam coming out of my ears.

Papa John’s was one phone number I had memorized, so
I dialed it, and handed Marty the phone. He ordered a pepperoni and sausage pizza with onions, large, without asking me what I’d like on mine. Since I’m not a big fan of pepperoni or sausage, I frowned.

“What?” he asked. “Got any beer?” He settled onto the sofa and pulled me close. “You look nice, by the way.”

“Nice?” I aimed a lot higher than that, but oh well.

Hadn’t Marty noticed the chemistry between Marsh and me? My lips still burned and every nerve in my body jangled. Marty curled around me, in a warm comfortable way, the crease in his Dockers as sharp and crisp as ever. But Marsh’s buzz still rattled me. If he’d been sitting with me on the sofa, we’d have gone up in flames.

I gave my head a quick shake to free my thoughts. “I have five Bud Lights, two Coronas from your last visit, and a bottle of champagne on ice.”

“Great! We can toast my promotion.”

“Promotion? Cool.” At least I hoped it was.

“Yes. I proposed—and the bigwigs accepted—writing a feature story about commerce in the wake of the Arab Spring. I want to track how businesses will respond to the new freedoms. It’ll be my first big feature assignment. Might take a year or two to do all the research.”

“I have my own news, too.”

He put an arm around me and pulled me close. “I heard. Dead bodies have a way of turning up in your path. Guess the good marshal was here because you’re a person of interest.”

“Excuse me?”

“A person of interest. It’s all over the wire service.” He planted a kiss on the tip of my nose.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He reached behind my sofa, grabbed his briefcase, and
withdrew an iPad. After flipping over the black cover, and flicking his fingers across the screen, he pulled up a story:

LOCAL POLICE QUESTION PERSON OF INTEREST

Unnamed sources in the St. Elizabeth Police Department have confirmed that Grace Ann Terhune, of 467 Calhoun Street, has been questioned in connection with the murder of Lisa Butterworth, age 29, of 3111 Park Street, last Friday.

“Ms. Terhune and Ms. Butterworth had a business disagreement,” said the source.

Any person with information about the death of Ms. Butterworth on Friday night are asked to contact the local Crime Stoppers at 555-1212.

*    *    *

“WHAT?” I DROPPED THE IPAD ONTO MY LAP LIKE IT was a hot curling iron. “Who? How could they?”

“You mean they didn’t question you?”

“Sort of. B-B-But it was my ex-husband, Hank Parker, and once my attorney showed up, and Marsh showed up, they let me go.”

“Marsh?”

“That’s what I call Special Agent Dillon.”

“How much do you know about him, Grace Ann?”

“Not much.” I paused. I pulled back from Marty to look him in the eye. “Why?

The doorbell rang and Marty paid for the pizza. As I picked the pepperoni off my slices, he gave me a little background on John Christopher Dillon. Born in St. Charles, Missouri, but he grew up in Stevens Point, Wisconsin. Enlisted in the navy at age eighteen, and soon after became a Navy SEAL. Married Polly Noble, his high school
sweetheart, who was two years younger than he, when he turned twenty.

“A SEAL, can you believe it? The best of the best, the toughest of the tough, and the most deadly killers our nation has ever sent on any mission, anywhere, anytime. Think about how they entered that compound with bin Laden. It was over in seconds. Very little collateral damage. Even after a copter crashed, there wasn’t a hitch. I mean, everything you see in the movies, the SEALs are all that and more. Impressive.” Marty got up and got himself another beer.

“But Dillon left the SEALs after ten years of service, citing his desire for a job that would keep him stateside. That’s when he joined the Georgia Bureau of Investigation as a marshal,” Marty concluded, but I didn’t hear him. I couldn’t focus. Two words chased each other around and around in my head:
He’s married.

Disappointment washed over me.

“Dillon has closed more cases than any other marshal. Also considered deadly with a gun. Knows martial arts. Doesn’t suffer fools. Word on the street is he hates your ex with a passion.”

That brought me back to the here and now. “Hank has that affect on people. He’s the one who took me in for questioning. But being a person of interest wasn’t my big news.”

“No? What gives?”

“Um, why don’t you tell me more about your promotion first?”

He laughed. “It isn’t near as interesting as being named a POI in a murder investigation, but here goes. See, with the Arab Spring and all the uprisings, new businesses are springing—get the pun?—up like crazy in Egypt and the other countries. I want to trace how politics influence
the growth of businesses, who starts them, what red tape they have to cut through, and what that means to America. My theory is that commerce is good for peace because people grow accustomed to a better lifestyle.”

I nodded. That made sense to me. “Is it going to be dangerous? I mean, I assume you’ll have to visit a few of those places.”

His mouth stopped midchew on another slice and he fought a grin. “Grace Ann, I can’t do this story by visiting the Middle East. I plan to go live there. In Cairo.”

“Oh. I don’t even own a passport. I thought we might live in DC together.” I felt like the time that Vonda was on a swing and I walked in front of her and she punched me in the gut. I couldn’t breathe. Then it became clear to me—clear and painful—I wasn’t exactly in love with Marty, but I had held on to him like a security blanket. As long as there was Marty, I had a place to go, a way to start over. As long as he lived in DC, I could move in with him, find a job there, and either we would marry or not, but I had an exit plan from my suddenly dreary life.

“Uh, I wasn’t suggesting that you come with,” he said in a tone that showed he was surprised I’d even think it.

“Oh.” That hurt. I guess it showed on my face.

He set down his piece of pizza and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “I’m not sure what to do or say, Grace Ann. I can tell you’re disappointed.”

“It’s a bit of a shock. And you didn’t tell me about your…proposal.”

“We don’t really have that kind of relationship, do we? Look, I care about you, and I want us to stay friends, but you know how much my work matters to me. I’m finally getting a shot at the big leagues—so this isn’t the right time for…us. Heck, right now, we don’t even live in the same state. I mean, when we did, that was different, but
now…And I never led you on. In fact, I never asked you to move in with me,” he said gently.

Mom always told me that the biggest problem couples had, in her opinion, was that they took a position and quit listening. “Being right becomes more important than hearing the other person out. I get women in my chair all the time who go on and on about how mistreated they are. When you sort it all out, they aren’t mistreated. They’re convinced their position is right and their man is wrong. The emotion gets the better of them, and they fight instead of working together to find common ground.”

Her wise words came home to me. I fought the urge to react. Instead, I told myself to listen carefully, rather than rush in with an accusation. Pushing aside the sting of his rejection was tough, but I did it, and once I did, I realized he was only being honest. “That’s right. You never did ask me to move in. However, you did encourage me to come to DC and find a job.”

“Right. If you want to move up to Washington, I can still help you. In fact, I still have the lease on my apartment. You could move in and live there while I’m gone. I wouldn’t charge you anything. It’s furnished.”

“Why would I? I mean, why would I want to move to DC if you aren’t there?”

“Why not? There isn’t anything for you here, is there? I mean, you’re marking time, bumping into your ex, not really going anywhere. I should think a smart woman like you would have ambitions.”

“Whoa! I like living in St. Elizabeth. There’s nothing wrong with this town. Sure, I’d love to get rid of Hank, but my mom lives here…” And then I stopped, because she wouldn’t live here for long. “And we have a business…” And I stopped again, because that might be kaput, too. “Well, I have friends here.”

“But it’s not like you have a career. I mean, what’s the best you can aspire to? Taking over your mom’s small shop? Two sinks? I know enough about the beauty business to know you can’t be making much money.” His voice was entirely matter-of-fact, without judgment.

Worse yet, if he knew how I’d allowed Lisa Butterworth to steal all our customers, he’d know we’d gone from not much money to zip, nada, zilch.

But now my blood was boiling. Suddenly, I felt like I actually
did
have a lot to lose. I didn’t want to see my mother’s house sold to some pretentious young couple from Savannah who wanted a weekend getaway. I didn’t want to face Althea and Stella and Rachel and tell them they no longer had jobs. Yes, I would like to have expanded Violetta’s, although for the life of me, I couldn’t see how.

In fact, right now, I was fresh out of options. With a sinking feeling, it came to me that I might have to take him up on the offer of an apartment. Unless Mom sold her house and split the profits between Alice Rose and me, I had no seed money. Yes, I had three months’ worth of income in savings, but that was all. Certainly not enough to start my own salon. I took a big gulp of my beer and wished I had something stronger.

“There isn’t much for you here, is there?” Marty repeated himself.

I let him lead me into my bedroom because I couldn’t face telling him good-bye. Not right then.

As his hands slid over my body, I realized that he wasn’t taking advantage of me. The comfort he offered was exactly what I needed right now…and I would take it.

Chapter Twenty-five

TRUE TO HIS WORD, SPECIAL AGENT DILLON BANGED on my front door at six A.M. “Rise and shine. I have a gift for you,” he said to me, although he carefully avoided my eyes as he pushed his way into my living area. Or maybe he was avoiding looking at me altogether, since all I was wearing was a thin cotton
yukata
, a Japanese-style housecoat that Vonda had made for me.

“Thought you might need this. We’re going down to the station.” He handed over a box in the familiar pink and tan colors of Dunkin’ Donuts.

“We’re not going anywhere,” I said grumpily. Although I did lunge for the coffee and grab the bag of donuts out of his hand. After polishing off the chocolate cake donut in
two bites, I took a long sip of the java. Cream and sugar both, exactly the way I liked it.

Hearing a rustling sound behind me, I set down my brew, went over, and carefully pulled away the cloth from Sam’s cage.