Kari Lee Townsend - Sunny Meadows 04 - Perish in the Palm (13 page)

“
I
thought I would find you out here,” I said later that night as I wandered out to the garage in my sea-foam green yoga pants, orange tie-dye T-shirt, and brown leather flip flops. What could I say? I tended to hold onto summer as long as I could.

Mitch had transformed the space, making it his own over the past couple of months. When he’d agreed to move in, he’d gotten out of the lease for his apartment and had moved his things to my house. His style was contemporary while mine was Victorian, but I was hopeful we could find a way to make it work. I had told him he could move his things inside, but Morty had made it clear that wasn’t going to happen.

So Mitch had taken over the garage, and I had gladly let him. I wanted him to feel like my house was his home. Whatever it took to accomplish that, I was all for it. He’d built a workbench to tinker with things in the back, installed indoor/outdoor carpeting throughout the rest, moved his couch, chair and a couple tables inside, and even added a TV, a mini-fridge, and a portable heater. Everything else he’d either donated to the needy or given away to friends, including his bed. I had to admit I was relieved. The last thing I wanted was for him to spend the night out here.

“Just working on my bike,” he said in a crouched position while tightening some bolts on his Harley.

He wore his old, charcoal gray NYPD sweatpants with a snug black short sleeve T-shirt that revealed the play of his muscles as he moved. He never failed to make my heart beat faster just from the sight of him. He glanced up at me and then at my bare feet, his lips twitching slightly. He knew I hated shoes and fought donning them for as long as possible.

“Still cold outside?” he asked.

“Chilly, but it’s nice and cozy in here.” I held my hands over his space heater, kicked off my flip flops, and put one foot on top of the other as I stood in front of the heat, trying to get warm.

He dropped his wrench, wiped his hands, and stood, then went to his fridge and pulled out two longnecks. Walking over to me, he smiled slowly, looking worn out as he handed the bottle to me. “Beer?”

“Sure.” I took the bottle from him and sipped. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.” He took a big drink, then pulled me down onto his lap as he sat on the couch and crossed his feet on the coffee table. “But I’m feeling better now that you’re here.” He gave me a soft kiss, chasing away any chill I might have felt. He tasted like chocolate chip cookies and tangy beer and something unique Mitch. “How about you?” he asked, looking concerned. “You look tired.”

I snuggled into him, curling my legs up and leaning against his chest. “It was a long day for sure,” I responded, as he wrapped his arm around me and rested his palm on my hip. “But you make every day better.” I rested my hand on his chest. “Lunch was good, though. I can’t get over the technology these days. You should have seen the 3D sonogram Jo had of the baby. It was amazing.”

“I bet,” he said with a slight smile. “Babies are pretty amazing, but I admit they scare the hell out of me.”

“Me too,” I agreed, and once again wondered if he even wanted children. I still didn’t know if I did, either. We would have to discuss this before I proposed, but I didn’t want to ruin the mood we were in right now. It felt too good being in his arms.

I laid my head on his shoulder and looked up at him as I traced his cheekbones with my fingertips. Moving on to his forehead and down his nose, I didn’t stop until I ran my finger along his jaw and traced his scar. He made a noise that sounded like Morty when he purred. Tipping back his head, he rested it on the couch and closed his eyes. I bit back a smile, kept my fingers moving, and started talking again.

“After lunch with the girls, I went to the park to see if I could help out with the Fall Harvest Party. Granny and Fiona were in the thick of it. I’m actually shocked there haven’t been any disasters yet. Of course both the police and fire chief were on hand, so the Dynamic Duo were on their best behavior. My mother was her usual lovely self, and of course Morty just had to show up to terrorize her.” Mitch chuckled and I couldn’t help giggle a little, but then I bit my lip, knowing he wouldn’t like this next part of my story. “Um, did I tell you Granny is using Ron Durkin’s company for the tent? And, well, he was there.”

Mitch’s eyes popped open on full alert, his head snapping up and his gaze nailing me suspiciously. “I’m guessing you knew that, and that’s why you went to
help
. Did you talk to him?”

“Of course.” I smiled pleasantly.

He scowled. “I thought we were going to do that together?”

“And I thought we were going to talk to the party planner together, as well?” I blinked at him in an innocent fashion.

“I’m not the one who had lunch plans.” He pinned me with a knowing look.

“And I’m not going to pass up an opportunity when it presents itself.” I ran my fingertip over his Adam’s apple and down his chest.

He caught my hand, then threaded his fingers through mine as he grunted, and finally he gave up the fight. “So what did he say, anyway?”

“Well, he says he was only helping to set up the tent at the wedding reception because he was short-handed that day. He claims he has no clue how the ropes were cut three-quarters of the way with the same knife that was used in the killing.”

“I figured he would deny any knowledge of wrongdoing.” Mitch shrugged, and absently rubbed my back with his large palm, looking pensive. “He’s not stupid, not to mention his company’s reputation is on the line.”

“I agree, but I have to say I believe him.” I ran my thumb over his as I thought about my conversation with Ron Durkin. “He genuinely seemed surprised about the ropes being deliberately cut.” I looked up at Mitch again. “How about you? What did Theresa McFarland have to say?”

“Pretty much what you would expect. She admits to crashing the party, but she claims she just wanted to see Zoe fail as the wedding planner.” Mitch chuckled sarcastically. “I guess calling Jo fat damaged Theresa’s reputation more than she realized.” Mitch shook his head. “What did she expect? She’s lived in this town long enough to know this is Joanne Burnham we’re talking about.”

“Joanne West now,” I said with a wink.

“Jo is Jo, it doesn’t really matter what her last name is. McFarland should have known that. Apparently no one will hire her to plan
any
party now. She’s not a happy camper,” he sighed, “but I don’t think she’s a killer, either.”

I frowned, and my stomach twisted into painful knots. “I have to say I’m getting worried, Mitch. What if we don’t find someone who looks guiltier than my mother? She can’t go to jail. That would ruin my father and devastate Granny Gert.”

“And you,” my smart detective said softly, touching the tip of my nose. “I know you two have your differences, but I also know you both love each other.”

I fought back tears and swallowed the lump in my throat. When I could finally speak, I said, “You’re right. It would kill me.”

“I’m not going to sugar coat things. I can’t promise your mother going to prison won’t happen, but I
can
promise you won’t go through this alone.” He stared deep into my eyes with his intense dark gaze. “You have me, and I’m not going anywhere, baby. We’ll figure this out, you have to have faith.”

“I do, I just need to find a way to take my mind off of things.” I bit my bottom lip and stared at his mouth, letting my fear, my frustration, my affection, my desire—everything I was feeling—show as clear as the water in Inspiration Lake.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” he growled, and then proceeded to distract the breath right out of me.

***

“Granny Gert, you look fabulous,” Raoulle down at Pump up the Volume Hair Salon and Spa said on Friday morning.

The spa was a contradiction with its eighties theme big hair day style like Tracy the owner still wore, with cans of Final Net hair spray to boot. Yet the place oozed comfort and class like a modern day oasis, painted with relaxing blues and greens, complimenting Raoulle’s style.

Trays of cucumber water and lemon water and finger sandwiches were being passed around. Soothing sounds of nature played in the background. Therapeutic smells enticed the senses. And trays full of modern entertainment magazines covered coffee tables and end tables, while guests who were waiting sat in overstuffed comfy furniture.

I smiled at Raoulle in appreciation, and he shot me a conspiratorial wink. He had a way of making all the ladies feel special, but he especially took a shine to my grandmother.

“Boys oh day, do you really think so?” Granny patted her set and styled hair to perfection, looking at her reflection both left and right.

“Honey, I know so. I have clients who pay big money to make their hair shine like your snowy white do. That’s God-given, right there, and anyone who knows anything about hair knows you can’t imitate God-given color.”

“And anyone who knows anything about hair knows color is only half the battle,” Fiona said in the next chair over, admiring her perfectly colored red hair and chic, modern cut. “We all know you’re the star around here.”

“Don’t you worry, Miss Fiona.” Raoulle fussed over her as well. “You’re just as stunning. You lovely ladies are going to be the envy of the Fall Harvest Party.”

“Raoulle,
honey
, you wouldn’t be trying to get more of a tip out of these two
lovely
ladies, would you?” Jo asked from a chair next to Fiona. He was taking care of all three women at once.

Raoulle let out a gasp worthy of Broadway. “Why, Mrs. West. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He squinted his eyes and studied her closely, then let a beaming smile spread across his face. “And might I say you are simply glowing. Your skin tone is amazing. What’s your secret?”

Jo’s face flushed, and she was unable to stop the goofy grin from spreading across her glowing cheeks. “Oh, healthy eating, I reckin’. Guess we all can’t be bandits forever. Gotta grow up someday, right?” She trilled out a giggle.

Reckin’? Bandits? Giggling?
Oh, my. My jaw fell open, and I gaped at her, feeling like I was on an episode of
Smokey Jo and the Bandit
gone horribly wrong.

“Oh, he’s good,” Zoe said, just shaking her head.

“He’s something, all right,” I responded. Tracy the salon owner had already finished with Zoe and me an hour ago. She’d done a great job, but she was all about efficiency. Raoulle, on the other hand, was all about the money.

“Hey, how did your latest fad work out? Did you ever get anyone to buy your idea for those Puffed Up Jeans?” Raoulle asked Granny.

“No.” She pouted. “I thought for sure they would bite. I mean so many jeans are too tight they make you look wrinkled because they suck the air right out of you. We pump air into air mattresses so why not jeans? Puffed Up Jeans would have taken years off a woman’s face, making her look smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

“Well I can tell you right now, they might take years off your face, but I’m thinking the extra air might add pounds onto your nether regions. Last I checked babies’ bottoms were plump. As much as I want you to succeed with one of your ideas, doll face, I know for a fact all of my clients would take the wrinkles over the pounds every time.”

“Oh fiddle dee dee, that’s what
they
said. And I say that’s what wrong with the world today. Whatever happened to models like Marilynn Monroe? And look at the women in paintings from years ago. They were all full-figured, wrinkle-free, beauties. We need more of that in this crazy world we live in.”

“Here here, Granny. Ain’t that the truth? There’s a difference between rolls and curves,” Jo said on a snort, and I could tell she was thinking of Theresa McFarland’s unfortunate comment. “I’d toast you if I could,” she added.

“Any other news?” Fiona asked, obviously eager to change the subject since she was like my mother … one of those
other
clients who would take wrinkles over pounds, and for once, I was glad of her interference.

“Well, Lulubelle was in here this morning.” Raoulle glanced around as though what he had to say was top secret.

Granny, Fiona, and Jo leaned in while Zoe and I rolled our eyes.

Raoulle continued. “She said poor Linda Theodore is having a rough time of it. She doesn’t want to sell, but she might have to. Except now there’s some crazy rumor about some treasure hunting going on. It’s all the buzz. Mark my words, people are going to hear about that and come running. People do crazy things when money’s involved.”

I hadn’t thought about small town gossip and how fast rumors spread. The last thing Divinity needed was a bunch of treasure hunters storming the town, wreaking more havoc than there already was with the murder investigation going on. My stomach churned. I had a bad feeling about this, and that was never a good thing.

“Oh, the poor dear,” Granny said with a sympathetic tsk, bringing me back to the conversation at hand.

“I just can’t imagine losing your husband,” Fiona said.

Zoe and I locked eyes, knowing Linda wasn’t that broken up about losing her husband because she had a secret lover. But we also knew that was something no one else knew except Joanne, and we hoped to keep it that way. It just irked me that everyone pitied the
poor
widow when she might possibly still be the killer.

“And finding out your husband’s accountant lost all your money,” Jo said, joining in, obviously still under Raoulle’s spell. What was she doing spilling secrets willy nilly, especially while the investigation was still going on? My mother’s future was on the line.

“That’s just terrible.” Fiona sounded shocked.

“Oh, my, I should bake her some cookies,” Granny added.

“I agree it’s a downright shame,” Raoulle said. “The last thing the poor dear needs is that tax guy poking around the inn. She already lost the life insurance she took out on Peirce. What more does this blood sucker want from her?”

I bit back a gasp over how much Raoulle knew about the case. It shouldn’t surprise me that in a town as small as Divinity, gossip spread like wild fire, yet the speed of the gossip spreading still did shock me. Although, he did just help me and not even realize it. What exactly
did
the tax guy want with Linda? I’d have to find out. In the meantime, I needed to put a cork in Smokey Jo the Bandit’s mouth.