The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1) (5 page)

"I hope that works. He's
good-looking, but there's something very cold about him. It's freaky."

"I agree." Phoebe took a
deep breath in relief. She could read people. After all, she'd had to protect
herself from strangers all her life. But it was good to know her friend had the
same impression of Butch as she did.

After ending the call, she returned
to the shop with thoughts of Marc Rahn swimming in her head. It wasn't like she
could ignore the man. He was everything hunky, handsome, and muscular. Being
with him…
Stop that!
She had no time
for a man or a relationship. At any moment she'd get her big break and go off
to Hollywood or New York or wherever she could to record her music and become
famous. Feelings for a man like him would just get in her way.

You
could just have great sex. You wouldn't have to allow yourself to fall for him.
She nodded, pursing her lips thoughtfully. He'd probably want to eventually
settle again here in town, and she had no intention of staying in Birchwood
Falls any longer than necessary. She had big plans.

She'd had those plans ever since
she could remember. Foster care had been her home for the first ten years of
her life. Abandoned when she was a month old, Phoebe had then been raised by
and had to interact with strangers most of her life. In early grade school, she
hadn't had many friends. All the kids knew she lived in a foster home. She wasn't
accepted because she didn't have real parents. Very shy and withdrawn, she'd
kept to herself.

Then, when she was ten, she was
officially adopted by Roger and Maudie Barnes and legally given their last
name.

She was proud to belong to someone.
Her new parents were fantastic. It took a while for her to believe she was safe
in a family, but the Barneses' love and support finally settled in her brain
and heart. They discovered she could sing and lavished her with singing and
dancing lessons. She felt like a Cinderella who'd been granted everything she
could ever wish for.

But she never quite forgot the
loneliness of her earlier years, never fully trusted kids her own age, always
waited for them to drop her if they found out she wasn't quite as normal as
they were.

Moira and Davy had become friends
when she first moved to B Falls. Moira was just a sweetheart you couldn't help
but love. Davy was a young gay man in a very small town. He was a bit of a lost
soul, and she and Moira had taken on befriending and protecting him.

The three of them would do anything
for one another.

Phoebe really hoped Davy didn't develop
a major crush on Marc Rahn since he was anything but gay. The most those two
could be was friends, just as she intended to be with Marc.

Wait
a minute. Why even worry about this?
She had no plans to get any closer to
Marc. She didn't want Butch, and she didn't want Marc. What she wanted was a
major singing career preferably in a big city like New York or Los Angeles. She
intended to be famous and successful and have myriad admirers who would
slavishly love her.

Chapter Six

Everywhere Marc went after his
visit with Frank, he saw Wilcox Resort signs. They stoked his anger. He had to
get that under control to think straight and figure this out. Killing people to
gain their land? That was a motive as old as time, but it was too obvious. Was
Harold Wilcox stupid or depraved enough to commit murder for land?

He entered the police station and
asked for Butch Wilcox. He was shown into a small room with a metal table and
chairs and given the investigative file regarding the death of his parents.

It didn't take him long to read
everything. There wasn't much. Just the police report of the incident—no
findings of foul play, no suspicion that another vehicle was involved. No
forensics at all, no blood results, no testing of scratches on the car.

Just cold, hard inconclusive facts.

Butch joined him in the room. "Hey
buddy, have you learned anything new?"

"There's not much here. Where
are blood tests? I know my dad would never have driven drunk. My mother wouldn't
have let him."

"This is all there is. I
checked the computer. There's only one file, and that's it. Are you thinking it
wasn't an accident?"

Marc was not about to admit that.
He suspected Butch's father and didn't know what to think about Butch himself. "I've
been away for a long time. Now I need to understand what happened so I can put
it to rest." He'd downplay his suspicions.

"Well, Marc, you know even one
drink can impair a person. It was late at night. Your dad might have been
sleepy. Anything can happen."

"Yeah, I understand." He'd
like to see the blood alcohol level though. Contacting the coroner's office
would be his next move, but he wasn't going to telegraph his intentions to
Butch Wilcox.

"So what'd you think of my
girlfriend's singing?" asked Butch. He'd planted his butt on the table,
swinging one leg back and forth.

Girlfriend?
He'd said that yesterday, but it sure hadn't seemed like that was Phoebe's
feeling. Not after that kiss. "She was good. I enjoyed her singing, and
she seems like a nice girl."

"Oh, she's nice all right.
Very nice, if you get my drift." Butch winked and almost looked like he
was twirling an imaginary handlebar mustache, so obvious was his remark.

Marc hid his reaction, his gut
roiling with disgust. Butch had always been kind of an asshole as a kid, and it
seemed he'd only gotten worse.

"We've been going out for
quite awhile."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, and I hope you don't
take her flirtations too seriously. She likes to flaunt herself, but I don't
worry about her because she's committed to me."

Marc shook his head. "I didn't
notice any come-ons, so yeah, you're safe." Phoebe hadn't flirted one bit
with him. He'd been the one who'd initiated the kisses. Even with the hot
little nipple ring, she hadn't acted like a woman who slept around.

God,
I hope Butch is exaggerating.
The thought of him touching her and enjoying
that spectacular body and its sexy piercing made him sick. Butch's attempts to
warn him off wouldn't work, but Butch didn't have to know Marc intended to do
whatever he wanted.

If seeing Phoebe Barnes was something
he wanted to do, well by God, she'd be in his bed as soon as possible. But he
hadn't come back to B Falls for sex.
How
many more times do you have to tell yourself that before you let thoughts of
her go?

Taking the copy of the police
report made for him, he thanked Butch. "See ya' later."

Pausing on the steps of the
courthouse, his gaze traveled across the one-hundred-eighty-degree sight lines.
Not for the first time he almost lost his breath at the difference between home
and his deployments.

Civilians took this for granted.
What was normal for them was not the same where he'd been stationed. He loved
these views and the sounds of birds, of people talking, of kids playing. Even
the sounds of car engines roaring out from a stop sign, honking horns, slamming
of doors all told him he was safe at home. There were no gunshots, no bombs, no
screaming or moaning of injured people. This was such a small town that there
weren't even any sirens.

Someone brushed past him, awakening
him to the fact he'd stopped stock-still right in the way of foot traffic.
Before he reached the bottom of the steps his gaze landed across the street on
Ollie's Bar & Grill and its prime location on the corner of First Street
and Route 20.

He and Mike Banning, the owners'
son, had been close friends and teammates in high school. The Bannings had
tried to help him after his parents died, tried to keep him fed, but he'd shut
them out along with everyone else. All he'd wanted to do was graduate and leave
what had become for him this Godforsaken town.

He wondered if Mike was still
around. As he loped across the street, the open door welcomed him into a dim
interior. It hadn't changed in all these years. A horseshoe-shaped bar hunkered
in the center, stools on three sides. Little white twinkle lights draped from
the ceiling over the bar. Several tables and chairs sat on the original
hardwood floor, and the spectacular vintage 1958 Seeburg jukebox filled the far
corner, a song he recognized from the fifties playing. It was as if time stood
still. "Wow."

Pausing in the doorway, he gazed
around letting the memories of all the hours spent there with Mike and the
other guys from the football team wash over him. There was the yeasty smell of
beer, the greasy scent of hamburgers and fries.

He almost broke down weeping with
yearning for the old days, the simpler times, for life before his world had
been destroyed. The guys were never allowed to drink liquor, especially since
Mike's mom and dad ruled the roost, but they could hang around as long as they
wanted.

"Can I help you?"

He glanced toward the woman behind
the bar. "Is Mike Banning still here?"

She leaned both hands against the
bar and said, "Sure. Well, at least not this minute. He's in school."

"Oh, I mean an older guy—my
age, twenty-five, twenty-six."

"Yes that's Mike. He's a
teacher."

"No kidding. At BFHS?"

"Yeah. Do you know him?"

Marc chuckled through a sudden
thickness in his throat. "Mrs. Banning?" She resembled her former
self but was a little thicker around the middle and a little more gray-haired
now.

"Yes. Who are you, young man?
No wait, you do look familiar. Let me think." She started around the end
of the bar.

"It's been awhile, ma'am."

"The Rams. You were on the
Rams football team." Then her mouth dropped open. "You're taller and
bulkier—I mean muscled, not fat, that's for certain." Grinning, she held
out her arms. "Marc! You're a sight for sore eyes. Welcome home, honey.
Mike'll be thrilled to see you again. I know I am!"

"Yes ma'am." He smiled
back. The years dropped away, and he couldn't stop her from putting her arms
around his shoulders and giving him a good squeeze. He didn't want to stop her,
choking back emotion, not wanting to blubber in front of her.

"You still a Marine?" She
let him go but hustled him to a nearby table and ordered him to sit.

"Yeah."

"What can I get you to eat? I
bet you're hungry. Can't say that you look skinny, but I bet you can still eat."

"I wouldn't mind something,"
he responded, glancing toward the kitchen in the back. "Are you working
here alone? Where's Mr. Banning?"

"Oliver's at a Rotary meeting.
We don't usually serve anything to eat, as you should well remember, until
about four o'clock. Mike's home by then and helps out. He'll be so happy to see
you," she repeated.

"Is he married yet? Any kids?"

"Nope, darn it. You?"

"No, thank goodness." He
laughed.

"Ha, the two of you better
settle down soon. You're not getting any younger."

Marc just shrugged. He wasn't ready
for that. He ended up joining Mrs. Banning in the kitchen while she grilled him
a burger which he ate with complete and utter joy. Good memories of B Falls
were coming back to him, and he didn't feel so alone.

Giving her another hug and peck on
the cheek, he promised to come back later to see Mike and his dad.

"You'd better, buster. Say,
are you staying at your old house?"

He shook his head. "I'm on
Linden Lane for right now. I promise I'll be back later. Thanks so much for the
burger. I really missed those."

***

Where
the hell had the day gone?
Enjoying his full stomach, he walked down the
highway—now it finally had a sidewalk on both sides—toward his house, reveling
in the pleasure that came from small-town America. Full green trees shaded
clean sidewalks. Church bells chimed the hour. It had been so long since he'd
been back home, not able to bear the pain of memories of happier times.

Running straight into enemy fire
had been easier than remembering the tragedy of the night his parents were
killed.

Gazing up into the leafy boughs of
a white birch tree bordering the church's parking lot, he pressed his palm
against the horizontal bark lines. They were a part of his childhood, and he'd
always loved these trees. They were a luxury he now appreciated after so many
deployments in the Middle East. He'd hated everything about the town after his
parents were killed. Struggling to finish high school, knowing it was his
ticket into the Marines, he couldn't wait to graduate and leave.

His gaze roamed over the highway he
walked along. Anyone who'd driven through any number of American small towns
passing from farmland to streets winding between tree-sheltered houses knew
speed limits quickly dropped to thirty or twenty miles per hour.
God, I've missed this.

And striding toward him was
something else he'd missed. Damned if it wasn't Phoebe Barnes looking like a
hometown sprite instead of the sultry jazz singer of last night—slim denim
skirt teasing him with a sweet view of her shapely thighs, a short-sleeved
cotton blouse, a straw hat atop her dark hair with its bright-pink bangs. She
was a sight for sore eyes. When she glanced up and spotted him he made no
attempt to hide his smile of male approval.

Painful memories left him and
tension of a different sort gripped his belly. Phoebe was one tasty dish, and what
he'd tasted had been tempting but too short-lived. He leaned a shoulder against
a tree, crossed his arms over his chest and just gazed. He could see the warmth
in her green eyes watching him right back. Her fair cheeks flushed, and her
lips opened. To say something? The movement made him want to claim those lips,
press his own against them, explore her mouth, play with her tongue.

It had been so long. His cock
hardened.
A bed. Fresh sheets. Willing
woman. Soft flesh. Hers. Their limbs entwined.
He wanted his bigger, harder
body molded to hers. He wanted more of those kisses. Wanted to slide his aching
cock into her sweet body. Ram it in hard and long. Sweet and sensual.