You Don't Know Jack Page 18

  "You don't know it was your car accident they were discussing."

  But I did. Why wouldn't he believe me? "Why else would someone discuss killing off another person?"

  "Oh, I don't know." He shrugged. "I've heard you doing that when you're plotting a book."

  My mouth opened, then shut. I couldn't deny it. I often drew stares discussing murder plots with Apollo in the grocery store or in a restaurant.

  He shrugged again. "I'm just saying..."

  Maybe the attempts on my life, the threats, maybe my failure to solve Lars' murder before Apollo was attacked, maybe the fact that my every lead led nowhere was finally hitting me all at once. A hot ball of impotency burned through my chest. I lashed out. "I guess when my cold rubbery corpse is lying in the morgue then you'll believe me."

  He swore and shoved his hand through his hair. His eyes were fiery. "I don't take threats to your life lightly, Jack."

  I knew he didn't, knew I was being unfair, but I didn't feel like being fair. I wanted Lars' killer caught. Now. I wanted Apollo to pull through, to be cleared of all charges. I wanted to be unafraid to leave my home without armed protection. None of that was in my control. And I hated it.

  I left him sitting at the table and headed upstairs to my former bathroom and into the bathroom. The decor mocked the Victorian era: White and black subway tiles on the floor and walls, a massive claw foot tub near the obscured glass window and a pedestal sink.

  I dumped floral bath salts into the steaming water as the tub filled, stripped and tossed my offending garments into the hamper. I sank to my chin in soothing water and scented mist, and exhaustion carried me off.

  Moments later, I heard a sound and saw Stone emerging through the fragrant steam, coming toward me. The intent in his mossy eyes was real enough. Unmistakable even. My heart gave a joyous leap. He peeled off his tee shirt, undid the buttons of his jeans, the clothes falling to the floor until he stood in glorious nakedness beside the tub.

  I reached up to stroke him, felt his caressing hands on my breasts, my belly, between my legs. Tiny fires ignited in my veins. I pulled him into the tub, into me, my body arching to meet his thrusts. As our gazes locked, I blinked, confused, uncertain if I was looking into Stone's eyes, or into the eyes of his brother, Duke.

  I shivered, and the dream cooled, darkened as though I'd stepped off the edge of fantasy and into a nightmare. The sweet fragrance reminded me of a florist shop, and then the scent mixed with something acrid, tinny. Blood. The odor brought to mind the cold dark ebony of a killer's calling card, a black carnation.

  I tried to run and couldn't move as a gallery of faces flashed before me: Thieving agents stealing manuscripts for sinister purposes, an obsessed stalking fan, lovers betrayed, a mysterious plagiarized author whose career had been ruined, a brother and sister plotting murder, and one suspect I had all but dismissed, Dinah Edger.

  Perhaps Apollo wasn't the only one Lars had romanced.

  Maybe Dinah's husband wasn't as "straight" as he seemed.

  Until that moment, the thought had never occurred to me and it brought me wide awake in the cooled bath water.

  The light in the room was dim, the bubbles gone. Along with my nightmare. I blew out a breath and something stirred on the surface of the water. Something that looked like a giant puff spider floating near my hand. I started. Splashed water. The "spider" drifted away.

  Not an insect.

  A flower.

  A black carnation.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Stone's orders: Do not go anywhere alone.

  Even to the bathroom after last night.

  Did a deaf ninety-year-old, Mrs. Santa's long lost twin, and a reincarnated gypsy fall within those orders?

  Technically, yes.

  I suspected, however, that Stone would rather I hired Sharkey or one of his biker buddies to accompany me everywhere. Men in my bathroom? Good and bad.

  I nixed that idea and went with my own interpretation: Safety in numbers. Any numbers. My investigation called for the talents of three gossipy, little old ladies who were better at loosening zipped lips than a gallon of José Cuervo.

  If the killer tried anything, Ida Schultz could bonk him with her three-clawed cane.

  We were about to debark the ferry onto Bainbridge Island. Since Old Yeller was too conspicuous for our purposes, we rode in Sophie Ferman's black, four-door Volvo. Sophie, seventy-seven, claimed to have the eye-sight and agility of a fifty-year-old and was their usual designated driver. I sat in front, white-knuckled, while Ida and Madam Zee occupied the backseat.

  "You don't need to worry about that killer, Jack B!" Ida Schultz brayed. "I got my revolver!"

  Shock jolted through me. was packing heat? I jerked around in my seat to see the weapon in question in the ninety-year-old's gnarled grip. Annie Oakley in support hose. "Oh, my God! Give me that before you accidentally shoot someone."

  "I can't shoot nobody!" Ida protested. "Safety's on!"

  What I know about handguns I learned on TV or from reading research material for my books. In real life, guns make my blood curdle. My father was shot to death. The revolver fit into my outstretched palm, was overall black with a rubber grip, and surprisingly lightweight.

  "It's a .38 Smith and Wesson!" Ida said, making a gun with her forefinger and thumb. "Shoots five rounds at a crack! Boom!"

  I shivered at visions of Ida pulling this revolver from an ankle holster as she clung to her cane and gunned down plants and people in the florist shop. A nervous laugh burst from me. Talk about the garden of good and evil. I stuffed the gun into the glove box.

  Bracelets jangled in the backseat and the stainless steel big sister of Ida's revolver appeared in Madam Zee's bejeweled hand. It had a woodgrain grip and weighed slightly more. "It's a .357 Lady Smith and Wesson. Also shoots five rounds."

  "Boom! Boom!" Ida faux shot me again.

  "What the hell are you doing with this? Didn't you hear the loud speakers warning about carrying things like guns onto the ferry? We could all be arrested for terrorists." The tips of my ears burned. My blood pressure was probably higher than all three of theirs combined. I quickly closed the second gun into the glove box fearing someone might pass the car as I was doing so and sound an alarm. My heart banged my ribs.

  "Does this mean you want my revolver, too, dear?" Sophie asked. I gaped at her as she dug into her knitting bag and produced the mother of Ida and Madam Zee's weapons. This one had a satin stainless steel finish and a barrel that seemed to go on and on. "It's a Smith and Wesson .22. It has a fancy laser site, too."

  "It shoots eight rounds!" Ida chirped. "Boom! Boom! Boom!"

  Reeling, I re-opened the glove box and jostled it to fit with the other two deadly weapons. My stomach quivered. I didn't ask if they were loaded. Some fears are better left unconfirmed.

  "It's not like we don't know how to use them, Jack B," Madam Zee said.

  "Sharkey's friend owns a gun shop!" Ida said. "He set us up with lessons!"

  "Did Sharkey's friend also give you a discount?"

  "How'd ya know?" Ida said.

  My last name isn't Smart for nothing, I thought, closing the glove box. Note to self: remember to lock this.

  Sophie gave a shake of her snowy coif. "Single ladies living alone have to protect themselves, dear."

  Tell me about it. I have pepper spray in a lipstick tube.

  "We aren't doing anything illegal, Jack B," Madam Zee said. "We have permits to carry concealed."

  Yes, but did they have good judgment? We were all on edge given the attack on Apollo.

  "By the way, what's the latest on Apollo?" Madam Zee asked, as though my thoughts were ticker-taping the back of my head.

  The heaviness in my heart weighed in. "The same. No change."

  "We'll just have to pray a little harder then, dear." Sophie started the car as a ferry worker signaled our lane's disembarkment.

  Our itinerary was twofold: Eve's Apple Garden, then onto the book doctor's house.r />
  We rode the block to the florist shop in silence, turned down the main street of Winslow, and Sophie found a parking spot. Showing the most driving skill yet, she wedged the Volvo into the space. I borrowed the car keys and locked the glove box while the others exited to the sidewalk.

  I joined them. "You all know what you're going to ask, right?"

  "Indeed." Madam Zee waved her arm setting off the bracelets like a conductor warming up the brass section. "I'm going to find out if Frankie hits it out of the park for the home team."

  Sophie lifted her half glasses from the chain around her neck as though about to read a naughty and nice list. "And I'm going to find out if he's strictly an opposing team player."

  "Or does his bat swing both ways?" Ida brayed, tapping her cane as we approached the shop. "You didn't think of that one, but I did, 'cause some do, you know!"

  What I was after was finding out from Eve Steele just how close Frankie was to Lars... without rousing her suspicions. Directly asking about his sexual preferences was not the way to approach either of his sisters. "We need to be even more subtle."

  "Should we find out if she makes the black carnations for him, too?" Ida bellowed.

  "No." Lord, my head ached. Why had I thought this was a good idea? I stood there, wind hitting my face, counting to ten, trying to find my lost composure. I gathered them around. I kept my voice low. "Ladies, remember this is a fishing expedition, not a baseball game."

  "Ah, I see." Sophie winked at me over her half glasses. "We wiggle a little bait, get her to bite."

  "Exactly." Finally.

  "I could read her palm," Madam Zee said. "I wouldn't need to ask her direct questions then. I could suggest this or that and gently nudge her into revealing what we want to know."

  "I see." Sophie looked less enlightened than obsessed. "Let her think she's dealing with a little fishy, divert her attention from a clear view of the water so she can't see the Great White lurking behind a patch of seaweed."

  "Okay, enough with the metaphors," I said, my knotted stomach twisting tighter. "Remember — subtlety. Tact."

  "You want us to act like three curious, dotty old dames," Sophie patted her snow globe hair.

  "Hah!" Ida said. "We got that part nailed!"

  "Jack B..." Madam Zee was looking across the street and I realized we were directly across from The Other Peppered Page. She made a covert movement of her head, that set her chiming earrings to tinkling. "Isn't that Stone's brother?"

  I glanced toward the bookstore, and a deliciously handsome man filled my vision. "It is." What was he doing there? Interviewing Peppermint Patty? Following me? Buying a book?

  Like there weren't bookstores in Seattle.

  "He's waving us over!" Ida said, stepping from the curb and jaywalking like a happy puppy being called to dinner. Sophie and Madam Zee caught me by the arms and tugged me across the street, our mission at the florist shop lost in a fog of old age forgetfulness and the lure of a sexy male.

  Some hormones Mother Time can't squelch.

  Sophie snatched off my baseball cap. "Quick dear, fluff your hair. My Hermie always said a woman's crowning glory is her hair."

  Madame Zee confiscated my huge sunglasses, whipped off my scarf and unzipped my jacket to reveal the cleavage pushing against my vee neck sweater. "Ah, that's better. It takes more than hair to attract a man."

  "Shame you aren't wearing your stilettoes. Your mother won't approve of those scruffy flats, Jack B." Sophie scowled, her deep dimples tarnishing the disapproval. "No fixing that, now."

  "I'm supposed to be working undercover," I reminded them.

  "Is she wearing lipstick?" Ida brayed, glancing over her shoulder?

  Lipstick is the one essential I never leave home without, even in my best PI disguise. Today's color: Covert coral.

  "I told you no matchmaking," I protested. My objections fell on deaf ears, and Ida didn't hear me either.

  To my surprise my hands were in my hair, doing their best to remove the helmet effects of the cap.

  Duke held the door open, and my gaze feasted. Move over George Clooney, the next generation is nipping at your heels. I didn't know the designer of the suit du jour, but it reeked quality. Everything about him did. I wouldn't be surprised to find the word prime stamped on his fine ass.

  I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the shop window and cringed. With the bandages gone, I looked like a clawed cat toy.

  "Hello, Ladies." Duke smiled and I sensed old bones melting. My own felt spongy. "What brings you all here?"

  "It's our favorite bookstore!" Ida chirped, making me glad that her mind was still sharp and quick. I hadn't come up with a plausible lie. Not that I needed one. Why was I flustered?

  "Are you here on business, counselor?" Madam Zee asked, putting words to my own curiosity, while conveying she already knew the answer. Oh, for her insight.

  "As a matter of fact, yes..." Duke said. "Why don't you all come in, out of the cold? I'd like to speak to Jack B."

  "Of course," three elderly voices sang out. "We need to check..."

  Their voices trailed off as they split for three different sections of the book store.

  My face burned. Duke chuckled. "You've got your hands full with those three."

  Like I didn't know that. "You said you wanted to speak to me? It is Apollo?" I started to dig for my phone, worrying I'd missed a call from my mother.

  He placed a hand on my arm, stilling me, thrilling me. "I just spoke to the hospital. No change."

  My stomach stopped twisting. My breath evened. Sort of. It wasn't good news, but it wasn't worse news. "Then what?"

  He stepped closer, dipped his head toward mine, still touching my arm. Even his breath smelled sexy. My pulse skittered and my body sang, "Hallelujah" anticipating an end to the sexual drought. He said, "I still don't have your account of what happened at the nightclub the night your ex-husband was murdered, remember?"

  What? He wanted a statement? Not foreplay? Not sex? Not afterglow? "I'm sorry. The deposition dropped off my priority list when Apollo was—"

  "I know, and maybe we don't need an official deposition until he's doing better, but I would like to hear your account of events up to when you discovered Lars' body. Perhaps we could do it tonight?"

  Do it tonight. I had to remind myself he was talking about taking my testimony, not taking my celibacy. "Tonight?"

  "If you're free for dinner."

  I hesitated and he hurried on. "If you don't want to go out, I could make us something to eat at my loft."

  Oh my god, he could cook.

  "Told you so." Lars said, finally showing up after days of silence following our argument at the hospital. "Watch out for that shark. He'll gobble you up with those pearly whites."

  I shook my head, hoping to clear out the ghost of husband past. The Golden Oldies were pushing me toward Duke, Lars warning me against him. The emotional tug-of-war made it impossible to hear my own heart. I stalled. Stone's orders didn't include who should accompany me everywhere, but my own version of safety in numbers did. Two was too few. Though that was hardly the issue.

  How could I keep my vow of abstinence with my body clamoring for carnal release and Duke fixing me dinner? I pictured him naked, only an apron between himself and my desire. My mouth watered. How could I trust I wouldn't be swept up by his masculine charms? And what if I came to my senses just in time and then ran out of his place to keep from falling into his bed?

  I'd be alone then. No safety in the number one.

  "We could do it here and now," he said, meaning the deposition, but the double entendre flushed more heat to my nether regions. He seemed unaware. He waved toward the café. "I thought while your companions were book shopping..."

  "Sorry, I don't have time right now, but Aunt Abby is fixing homemade stew and biscuits. Why don't you join us for dinner tonight? Around seven? I could give you a statement after we eat." Before I head to the hospital.

  "It's a date."

 
"No. It's just dinner and a chat. I'm spending the night with Apollo."

  "I can't be upset about that." But he looked disappointed.

  I felt an adverse flutter of pleasure... and a stab of disloyalty. Why? So what if he was Stone's brother? I owed Stone nothing. I needed to stop thinking about men and sex and concentrate on solving Lars' murder. Maybe that was what Duke had been doing? "By any chance did your business have something to do with Patricia Pepper?"

  "Can't discuss my business."

  Just like his brother. Stonewalling me. "Can you at least tell me if she's a client of yours?"

  He hesitated. "I wouldn't if she were. But she's not."

  "Another 'statement'?" I glanced pointedly at his briefcase.

  He said nothing, but his smile said, "Aren't you clever for figuring that out?"

  "Did she tell you she was stalking Lars? That he'd applied for a restraining order?"

  "Really?"

  I nodded. "In my opinion, she's certifiably cuckoo enough to be dangerous."

  "The police and courts require proof. Do you have anything solid against her?"

  "Not yet. That's why I really want to get into her office or her house. Say, were you in her office? Did you spot anything that might make her a serious suspect? Anything that could be used to cast doubt on Apollo's guilt?"

  "Whoa, one question at a time." Duke was nearly laughing. "We did meet in her office, but that's all I can tell you."

  "You might want to do some digging into her relationship with Lars."

  "Thanks for the heads up."

  "If she killed Lars and framed Apollo I will prove it." I caught sight of the store clock. "Oh, no. I'm going to be late if I don't gather my troops and leave now."

  "Sounds important. More investigating?"

  I could have said I can't discuss it, but I didn't. I didn't mention the florist shop, though. None of his business how I proved Apollo's innocence. "I have an appointment with an editor who is helping me edit my manuscript. She lives on the island. Teri Steele."

  "Sounds interesting. I'd love to hear about your book sometime. Maybe tonight at dinner?"