Murder in the Aisles (6 page)

Felicia's gaze darted away then back. “Maybe,” she conceded. “Using your detective skills?”

He chuckled. “Deducing is my middle name,” he joked and got a laugh from Felicia. “I got an A in profiling.”

She studied him for a moment as if sizing him up. “I am an only child. And I am a genius.”

“And of course you really mean the genius part. You're not trying to be funny?”

She hitched in a quick breath.

“I never knew a real genius before, that's all.”

Felicia drew herself rigid.

“Hey,” he held up his hand. “I'm not trying to do whatever it is you think I'm doing…saying. I'm serious.” He paused. “I never met anyone like you—I mean a genius.”

For a moment the air between them stilled.

“What's it like?”

“What's what like?”

“Being incredibly smart—the smartest person in the room?”

There was a long pause before she answered. She placed the salt and pepper shakers perfectly in the center of the table. “Lonely, mostly.”

* * * * *

Mark and Felicia stood in front of the hotel.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked.

“No. I'm parked around the corner.”

“I'll walk you to your car.”

They walked in companionable silence, warmed by the drinks and good company. Mark had to force himself to keep his hands in his pockets and not slide his arm around her waist.

“This is me,” she said, stopping in front of her Navigator.

“Hmm, nice ride.” He mentally compared her vehicle to his.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“The least I could do after making you wait.”

Felicia opened her purse. She took out the disk, looked at it for a moment, then shoved it toward Mark. “He would have never been there,” she said. “Never.” The depth of her conviction glimmered in her eyes. “I found this buried among his papers in his office. It's password protected; another thing he would have never done.” She waited for him to take the disk.

“How do you even know it's his or that it's not blank or that it's even important?”

“Just take it, damn it.” She shoved it into his chest. His fingers wrapped around it. “Find out what's on there.” She spun away, deactivated the car alarm and got in.

Mark stood there and watched Felicia drive away. He looked down at the disk, grimaced and then stuck the disk in his coat pocket. He pulled his collar closer around his neck. Suddenly he was very cold again. He turned in the opposite direction and walked toward his Honda.

Chapter Nine

Felicia leaned harder on the handlebars. Determination etched itself onto her face. Sweat dribbled between her shoulder blades and down the valley of her breasts. A lone drop fiercely hung from the tip of her nose. Her pulse was high but steady. She could feel the burn in her thighs.

“Five more minutes,” Elizabeth called out on a hot breath.

The wheels of the stationary cycles spun furiously in the steamy room. Labored breathing pulsed in the air, filling it with the aromas of the hot dogs, Greek salads, tuna sandwiches and garlic-sprinkled lunches that the class participants were all trying to burn off, mixed with the boot camp chant “go-go” from their instructor—the devil himself.

“Dig in. You can do this. See the finish line. Watch those calories melt. Go! Go!”

Wednesday night was spin class. Sunday afternoon was yoga. Felicia and Elizabeth had joined the spin class after a dear friend died of a sudden heart attack at the tender age of twenty-five. The shock kicked them both into high gear and a determination to stay in shape. After much debate they'd opted for spin class and became devotees almost immediately. But Felicia insisted that having a well-toned body wasn't enough. They needed a healthy mind and spirit so they joined a local yoga class. Those decisions were nearly five years old. They never missed a class. Felicia was too regimented for that to happen. The only reason in her mind for missing a session was deathbed illness or death in general.

“Great class,” Elizabeth huffed as she mopped her face with a towel. She pulled open her locker and took out her pouch of toiletries. She slammed the locker shut. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Felicia opened her locker and took out her own tote bag.

“I always know when you're lying.”

“No you don't.”

“Yes, I do.”

“How?”

“You always say ‘fine' and your voice goes up a notch.” She lifted her finger in the air to demonstrate.

Felicia angled toward her friend, made a face and stomped off to the shower.

Elizabeth followed.

A half hour later, showered and dressed for the cold, Felicia and Elizabeth trudged through the two inches of fresh snow that had fallen throughout the day and headed toward their parked cars.

“Whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here to listen.”

“I know.” Felicia stopped walking, catching Elizabeth off guard.

“What? What's wrong?”

“He hasn't called.”

“That detective?”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “Are you upset because he didn't call you after your impromptu dinner date, or that he didn't call with news?”

“News, of course. Why would I care if he called me? It wasn't a date. Far from it. All business. That's all. Nothing more.”

“She doth protest too much,” Elizabeth chided. “Look I'm sure as soon as he has anything to tell you he'll tell you.” She placed a calming hand on Felicia's arm. “Okay?”

Felicia pressed her plump lips together. “Fine,” she said on a breath.

Elizabeth kissed her cheek. “I'll see you tomorrow at the service.”

“Okay. Drive safely.”

“You, too. And relax…please,” she softly implored.

On the ride home Felicia tried to follow Liz's advice to relax. But relaxing was difficult for her on good days. And since Paul Dresden's murder, she hadn't had any real good days. With his memorial service looming ahead in the morning, her normal anxiety was kicked up a notch. Normally, working out helped. When that failed there was always Blake, who was more than happy to smooth her rough edges. However, the last time she had Blake over on a weeknight she found a dead body the next day. She'd just have to be sure to send him on his merry way. No sleepovers.

Felicia pulled into her driveway and began to feel a little better about her options. Once inside she shed her heavy outerwear, changed out of her gym clothes and put on her silk robe. She turned on the electric fireplace and lit and placed scented candles in the living and bedrooms. In no time the townhouse was brushed with the soft scent of vanilla. She glided over to the stereo system, selected some of her favorite CDs by Leila James, Jill Scott, Leidsi and Kem and loaded them on the player.

She took a look around. Perfect ambiance: crackling fire, aromatic scents, good music and her. She smiled.

Now to call Blake. While he was on his way, she'd chill some wine and fix them something to nibble on besides each other. Just thinking about what Blake would do to her body had her wet with need. She felt the telltale twitch. She reached between the folds of her robe and tenderly gave her sex a pat. “Soon, baby, soon,” she crooned and then went to get her phone just as her doorbell rang.

No one came to her house without calling first except Elizabeth, and she couldn't imagine Liz showing up tonight. She put down her phone, tightened the belt on her robe and went to the door. “Who is it?”

“Detective Rizzo.”

Her heart slammed in her chest and her clit did a “let him in” Morse code dance. For a split second she couldn't think straight. What was he doing here?

“Just a second.” She unlocked the door but kept the chain in place and peeked out. “Yes?”

“Hey, uh, sorry to drop in on you, but—”

“I know. You had to tell me something face-to-face,” she snarked. He grinned and the pit of her tummy fluttered in response.
Why did he have to be such a sexy asshole
? She released the chain and opened the door. “Come in, Detective.”

Mark stepped in past her and stopped just beyond the threshold. Felicia turned and landed dead center in the grip of his gaze. She breezed by him.

“Ready for bed so early?” he said while he walked behind her.

“Do I really owe you an explanation when you pop up unannounced on my doorstep, Detective?” She stopped in front of the couch and faced him. “Have a seat.” She indicated the side chair with her extended hand. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Whatever you're having,” he said, shrugging out of his overcoat.

Her lips pinched. “Wine, then.” She marched off and retrieved the bottle of wine from the rack in the mini-fridge. “Would you take out two glasses from the Étagère?”

“Étagère, so fancy,” he mumbled and held back a grin. “Sure.” He crossed the room to the glass enclosed cabinet, which was lined with sparkling crystal of varying sizes and shapes—all perfectly lined and arranged. He was almost reluctant to disturb the display. He plucked two wine glasses from the center shelf and closed the glass doors.

Felicia was seated on the couch when he returned. The wine waited on the center of the glass and wood table along with a corkscrew. She gave him a look and then the bottle. Her message was clear.

Mark reached for the wine and the corkscrew, opened the bottle and poured two glasses. He handed Felicia a glass and raised his. “Salud.” He took a swallow of wine and for the first time noticed the candles, the sensual scent and the sound of bluesy jazz coming from the speakers.
She'd been expecting someone. That explained the robe, the atmosphere
. His jaw tightened and he tossed down his wine in one gulp and refilled his glass.

“Something wrong, Detective?” she asked in that raspy thickness that short-circuited his senses. She crossed her legs. For an instant a flash of a warm, brown thigh peeked and teased and was instantly gone.

Mark swallowed.

“Are you planning to tell me why you're here?”

He cleared his throat. “I had one of our tech guys figure out the password. Took a little longer than I'd expected.”

“And?”

“Bunch of stuff on there about a Steven Hollis.”

Felicia's neck jerked back and her brows knitted. “The poet laureate?”

“Who?”

“Steve Hollis, the poet laureate?”

“Oh, yeah.” He offered a lopsided grin. “Lots of notes, poems. Looks like the doc was researching him, heavily.”

“That doesn't make sense.” She shook her head and absently ran her fingers through her short hair. “There was no reason for Dr. Dresden to research Steven Hollis. The Librarian of Congress, Dr. Wallington, had vetted him,” she said, speaking slowly as if putting each word inside a huge puzzle. Her wide brown eyes jumped toward Mark's. “It doesn't make sense,” she repeated. “None of this does.”

Mark was pensive for a moment. His gut told him that she may very well be right, but the facts didn't agree. “Look,” he said, “sometimes people do things that can't be explained. Maybe this Dr. Wallington asked him to do some digging that you didn't know about.”

Felicia leaned forward and the opening of her robe dipped ever so slightly. Mark held his breath.

“Even if that were true, which I highly doubt, Dr. Dresden was the least computer savvy person on the planet. He would have never been able to come up with some encrypted password for starters. And although he was messy when it came to organization,” she said and gave a little shiver, “he was meticulous about his notes. He would not have left that disk blank.”

“Stranger things have happened. And I've pretty much seen them all.”

Felicia sucked in a breath of distaste. “So…that's it.”

Mark gave a slight shrug. “Not much else to be done. His doctor ruled it natural causes. There's no evidence that anything untoward happened. If you know something that I don't that can shed some light, I'm willing to listen.”

Felicia stared at him, evaluated his words, his tone. He actually seemed sincere. She folded her hands demurely on her lap. “Can I see what's on the disk? Maybe there's something that you missed.”

Mark pursed his lips in thought. “Hmm, well, I don't think that should be a problem. It's in the evidence room at the station. I can arrange for you to see it tomorrow.”

“Fine. What time?”

“What time do you get off work?”

“Tomorrow is the memorial service. I took the entire day off. I can stop by the precinct afterward. Around noon.”

He nodded in agreement. “Where's the service?”

“Riverside Chapel in Arlington, Virginia.”

“How 'bout I go with you? You know, just to scope out the attendees.”

Her brows lifted in question.

“If there is something or someone out of place, and I'm not saying that there will be, often the funeral is that place to spot it or them.”

“So you believe me.”

“What I believe is that
you
believe it.”

Her back stiffened. “I don't need your patronization, Detective.”

“No patronization intended.” He smirked. “What I'm saying is that you knew him, you believe something ain't right and all I'm doing is my job—following up.”

She angled her head a bit and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “Even if I think you're doing all this to try to appease me, it really doesn't matter. What
does
matter is that you're willing to keep digging, at least for now. You'll eventually see that I'm right. It's up to you to prove it.”

Mark lifted his glass toward her, then took a swallow of his wine.

“I'll be ready to leave at eight. The service is at ten.”

“We can take my car.”

She flinched. “You can drop your car off here. I'd prefer it if we took mine.”

“Whatever makes you happy.”

Her gaze smoldered. “You have no idea what makes me happy, Detective Rizzo.”

His insides churned. There was that tone again, that look in her eyes that did things to him. It was time to leave. He pushed to his feet.

“Thanks for the wine.”

Felicia stood and pulled her robe tighter around her. Mark wondered again if she had on anything beneath all that soft silk. He swallowed, grabbed his coat from the chair and slid it on.

Felicia walked to the door and opened it. Mark walked around her to the opened door. His arm brushed against the weight of her unbound breasts and he nearly yelped. His cheeks burned.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Detective.” The shadow of a smile hovered around her mouth. Her lashes hung low over her eyes.

He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from caressing those breasts that called his name. “See you in the morning.” He stepped out into the cold, unforgiving night.

Felicia shut the door behind him and closed her eyes. Her heart raced. Her clit pulsed between her thighs. Her nipples stood erect. She moaned. She couldn't stand that man! But when she pleasured herself that night instead of having Blake doing the honors, her thoughts while she came over and over were of Mark Rizzo.