There's Something About Marty (A Working Stiffs Mystery Book 3) (20 page)

No, like my grandmother had suggested, I needed to stop this thing between Steve and me, but it would take a very long time to feel okay about it. “Sure.”

“Want something to eat? The kitchen’s going to close in less than an hour.”

“I had a candy bar.” The protein bar, too.

“And now you’re having more chocolate.”

I sighed. “I know. I’m wallowing.”

“I have a customer at the other end of the bar. Back in a few.”

Closing my eyes, I waved her away. “I’m not fit company anyway. You should just shun me.”

“Since when did you become a bigger drama queen than your mother?” a familiar male voice asked.

Cringing, I looked up at Steve. “Is that a multiple choice question?”

Without answering he picked up my drink and carried it to the table in the far corner.

“Do you want a beer, Steve?” Rox called after him.

“No.” He pointed at a chair. “Sit.”

“Okay.” I didn’t care for the attitude, but at least he was talking to me.

Taking the seat opposite me, he folded his arms. “Your grandmother is worried about you.”

He couldn’t have made me feel more deflated if he’d reached out and popped me like a balloon. “You’re here because of my grandmother?”

“I’m here because you wanted to talk, and you weren’t home. So talk.”

Blinking back tears of relief that he had come looking for me, I filled my lungs with a shaky breath. “First of all, I apologize for not telling you about that dinner with Kyle Cardinale. I was dressed up for a date that Friday and there he was. Not the man I wanted to be with, but he was nice enough to ask and we had a pleasant time. Then we ran into Mitch Grundy and he jumped to some conclusions. That’s it. I should have told you when you came over that night and I chose not to. That was a mistake, and honestly, not very brave of me.”

I could have mentioned the kiss, but the tic above Steve’s jawline looked like it was counting down the seconds until he exploded, and I had no desire to push him to zero any faster than necessary.

“It was just one of many mistakes I’ve made lately where we’re concerned.” I smiled at him while I struggled to find the words I needed to say. “I wanted to take it slow at first, but I wanted things too much to take it slow, so it got
complicated
.”

His gaze tightened. “What are you talking about?”

Shit, this wasn’t going well. How could I make him understand what I was trying to say without laying myself emotionally bare in front of him? Because if he decided to walk, if he’d had enough….

“I rushed things. The way I tried to get everything out in the open. I made a mess of everything, especially with Rox, and then I pushed myself into your house.” I couldn’t take the cop squint he was giving me, so I stared down at my drink. “Into your bed. That was a mistake. Things had been going along okay, and I pushed them into a different stratosphere.”

I glanced up in time to see the corners of his mouth flicker into a smile.

He wiped his mouth like he didn’t want me to see it. “Stratosphere? You are a drama queen.”

“Will you stop saying that? I’m trying to make a point here!”

“So what’s your point?”

“I think we should slow things way down and then see where this takes us.”

I breathed a little easier, like a suffocating weight had been lifted now that I had said everything that I’d rehearsed earlier and then some.

I made no demands, set no expectations, while being carefully vague. Depending on his response to what I’d had to say, maybe we could put this genie back in the bottle.

Steve leaned forward, his eyes wary. “Slow things way down? I thought we were fine. Except for the fact that you keep lying to me.”

“Excuse me, I have not been lying to you. I just omitted a couple of things.”

He smirked. “Yeah. Such a careful distinction.”

“I’ve already apologized for that.”

“And I sort of sicced Dr. Cardinale on her,” Rox said, clearing the table in the opposite corner. “Sorry, not trying to eavesdrop, but had to fess up for my part in this little drama.”

I rolled my eyes. “Will you two stop with the drama stuff? I made a big mistake and I’m sorry!”

“Are you done?” Steve asked.

“I guess.” But other than airing myself out in a more public way than I had intended, it didn’t feel like anything had been settled.

He pushed away from the table. “Then let’s go.”

“I haven’t finished my drink.”

He drained it in two gulps and then grimaced. “What was in that?”

“Peppermint schnapps.”

“The girly shit you drink.”

I stood, getting in his face. “Hey, it was
my
drink.”

“Yeah,
was
. Let’s go.”

“I need to pay for it.”

He threw a couple of bills on the table, took my hand, and pulled me to the door.

“So, have you two kissed and made up?” Rox asked, calling after us.

I waved at her over my shoulder. “Not yet.”

“Well, do it soon. You don’t want to go to bed angry.”

“You heard the woman,” Steve said, pebbles skittering at our heels as we crossed the parking lot. “We need to kiss and make up so we can go to bed.”

“Did you not hear a word I said about slowing things down?”

“I heard you, but I think that’s something we should sleep on.”

I groaned. “You are making my head hurt.”

Using his legs, he pinned me against the driver’s door of my car. “Maybe there’s something I could do to make you feel better.”

“Give me two aspirin perhaps?”

Steve smiled as he lowered his mouth to mine. “Maybe later.”

I woke up feeling crampy and bloated. At least my body had been spared a rematch with the Crippler. Not to say that I had enjoyed a delightful night’s slumber in Steve’s bed since I spent more hours staring at him than sleeping. Still, our make-up session before he started softly snoring had been fun.

After pulling on a pair of stretchy black yoga pants and a long cashmere sweater to hide my bloat, I headed to the third floor of the courthouse, where I was handed a white envelope marked with the county seal.

“It’s a subpoena for a former caseworker involved in that abuse case and needs to be delivered today,” Patsy said, her gaze shifting to her glass-domed clock.

No sunny morning greeting. No chirping. No humming.

All bad signs for Mitch Grundy but good for me. I didn’t know how much more of
songbird Patsy
I could withstand.

“No problem.” A little field trip would be a welcome break from copying all the files that one of the criminal prosecutors had dropped onto my desk yesterday afternoon.

Heading past the breakroom, I read the address on the envelope. Sequim, a destination spot for visitors to the Olympic National Forest, was located just a few miles northwest of Victoria McCutcheon’s bed and breakfast.

With each step I took, I mentally replayed my observations leading to that trip to her bed and breakfast. Bob Hallahan’s proximity during the funeral, the protective way he looked at her, the care he demonstrated afterward.

If Victoria had been the other woman when he was dating Courtney, it seemed likely that he would have driven her home during that time. And wouldn’t that be interesting to know.

I could think of one person who might be able to tell me: Rhonda, the River Rock Inn manager.

Even if she were able to fill in a few blanks about their relationship, would it prove anything? No. But the fact that Marty, Bob, and Victoria had used an online dating service around the same time felt a lot like a puzzle piece. Now all I had to do was take a little side trip and figure out where the piece fit.

I glared at the stack of files that appeared to have multiplied overnight on my desk.

Fine. Copying first. Hours and hours of copying documents. On the plus side, that would give the layer of fog hanging around after last night’s rainstorm a chance to burn off.

And that was the only plus as I found out three hours into my marathon when the copy machine overheated. Seeing that we both needed to cool off, I carried the box of files and all the copies to my desk, grabbed the envelope I needed to deliver, and told Karla that I’d be back in a couple of hours.

By the time I made it to the freeway exit I’d taken with my mother, it was approaching noon. If the office where I was headed closed for lunch, this was a bad time to try to serve a subpoena, so I took the turnoff to have a little chat with Rhonda.

Parking in front of the two-story house like I had on Saturday, I stepped out into the crisp October air, walked to the door and knocked.

Rhonda opened the door with a pleasant smile. “You’re back.”

“My mother was quite taken with this place when we were here last weekend.”

“I know. She brought her fiancé here to see it yesterday afternoon.”

She couldn’t have waited a day? It would have helped my cover story.

I nodded to make it look like Marietta’s visit hadn’t come as news to me. “I’m helping her with the invitations, and I was hoping to take some pictures of the chapel as well as the grounds. Would that be okay?”

“Of course. Take as many pictures as you like. We just ask that you respect the privacy of our guests.”

“Thanks. Also, could I take another look at that picture in your office? The one of the owner with the light streaming in through the stained glass?”

“Certainly.”

I followed her to the office and sat at her desk so that I could get a good look at Victoria’s wedding photo and strike up a conversation in the process.

“Lovely picture, isn’t it?” Rhonda asked, standing behind me.

“Yes, indeed. I was thinking that I might have seen her when we were here the other day, but this doesn’t look like the man she was with.”

“Oh, no, that wasn’t her husband. Unfortunately, Mr. McCutcheon passed away recently.”

I turned so that I could read her face. “When I saw her holding hands with that other man, I guess I assumed they were in a relationship.” I hadn’t seen them publicly display any affection, so I hoped she didn’t call me on my bluff.

“From what I understand he’s a good
friend
of the family,” she said with a pucker of disapproval at my suggestion to the contrary.

So much for Rhonda knowing any of the history between Bob and Victoria.

I thanked her and wandered over to the chapel to snap a few pictures with my cell phone. Not that Marietta needed them. I was sure she would have taken several of her own so that she could take images of this place back with her to Louisiana and daydream about her upcoming wedding between takes.

Ambling through the floral garden surrounded by vine-covered stone cottages, I could see why my mother loved the charm of this bed and breakfast. Heck, it looked like it had been plucked out of a story book by a little girl’s fairy godmother.

But a pall hung over it much like this morning’s fog, something dark and sad that made me want to run back to my car and return to the safety of the courthouse. Maybe because I knew too much about the owner.

Rhonda waved to me from one of the windows as I passed.

“Bye,” I said, although she couldn’t hear me from the other side of the glass. “Thanks for nothing.”

No, not nothing. She might not know much about Bob Hallahan, but that didn’t exclude him from fitting into this deadly puzzle somehow. I just needed to keep my eyes and ears open because somebody was going to slip up, and when they did….

I didn’t know what I was going to do. Based on how fast I was walking to my car, running would probably be involved.

∗ ∗ ∗

After a crampy Thursday spent doing scut work to prepare for that abuse case, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my grandmother’s claw-footed bathtub and spend the next hour steaming away the ugliness of the day.

The only thing standing in the way of that steam? The actress at the kitchen table, who had been reading a fashion magazine when I stepped through the back door.

“Oh, goody, you’re finally home,” Marietta said with a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to worry.”

Worry about what? “It’s not even five-thirty.”

She rose to her feet. “But Bassett Motors closes at six, so we need to go. The DeLorean’s ready.”

“We can’t get it sometime tomorrow?”

“Barry and I have something special planned with his son tomorrow.”

Swell. At least I hadn’t heard my name mentioned in that sentence.

“Where’s Gram?” Not that I wanted her to volunteer as Marietta’s chauffeur, but I hadn’t seen her Honda in the carport.

“Shopping.”

No doubt to get away from my mother for a couple of hours.

She waved toward the door, a half dozen gold bangles clanging at her wrist. “So, let’s go!”

I did an about face with Marietta nipping at my heels in her red stilettos, and then I reached across the passenger seat to open the car door for her.

“You should have George fix this door for you,” she said, climbing in next to me.

I waited for her to fasten her seatbelt. “That costs money.”

“I have money. Let me pay for it.”

She had money because of the movie role that had fallen into her lap last month. A year from now would be a different story. It always was with her.

I started the engine. “Thanks, but no. You have a wedding to spend your money on.”

She gave me a pained look, so I knew I needed to up the wedding distraction ante. “Speaking of which, have you made a decision on the venue?”

“As much as I love that chapel, an outdoor wedding at sunset would be so romantic.”

Whew! It sounded like the River Rock Chapel was out of the running.

“Being in a rain shadow the weather shouldn’t be a factor, but I was assured that white tents could be made available if needed.” Marietta touched my arm as I drove down the hill toward Main Street. “You don’t think we’d really need them, do you?”

“I’m sure it will be fine.”

“What if it’s windy and damp like it was last night?”

“It’s October. We’re supposed to get wind and fog and rain. Your wedding’s in late June. It’ll be fine.” Maybe.

“I don’t know. Maybe an outdoor wedding is too iffy.”

“I think you should go back to Rainshadow Ridge and take another look. Really, I can’t imagine a more beautiful site than that.”

“Maybe,” she said, fingering the gold necklace at her throat as I turned into the Bassett Motor Works parking lot.

“And you said that their calendar is filling up fast, so when you go you’d better reserve the date.”

“I suppose.”

Her answer lacked the conviction I wanted to hear, but my mother’s wedding was the least of my concerns when I pulled in next to the DeLorean, one of three cars parked in front of the office. Because one of those cars was Darlene’s tan Ford Bronco.

It didn’t take long to spot Darlene inside the office, alongside her daughter, who was snarling at Little Dog like she wanted to take a bite out of him.

“Oh, mah.” Marietta’s Georgia accent was back at full strength as she stepped out of the Jag. “Someone’s in a snit.”

And from what little I could hear from the other side of the door, it sounded like Nicole had a good reason for that snit. She didn’t have the money to pay her bill.

“I don’t frickin’ believe this!” she exclaimed, storming out of the office, followed by her mother and Little Dog.

Marietta stopped in her tracks. “Are you okay, honay?”

“No, I’m not okay! If someone quotes you a price, they should honor that price.”

Little Dog stood in front of the door, his beefy arms folded across his chest, straining the seams of his blue coveralls. “I told Austin it would be close to seventeen hundred and it is.”

“Well, that’s not what he told me!” she said, wheeling around.

“Take it up with him. You want your car? One thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine dollars.”

Little Dog offered an apologetic smile to Marietta. “Be with you in a moment. Want to come in and take a load off?”

She took a step and then hesitated. “I’m fine waiting out here, Georgie.”

Probably because she didn’t want to miss any of the drama.

He turned his attention back to Nicole. “What’s it gonna be?”

She looked longingly at her Volkswagen. “I need my car. I’m sorry, Mom. It’s either borrow your car another week or—”

“I’ll take care of it,” Darlene said, pulling her wallet out of her leather purse.

Little Dog held the door open for her and then looked at my mother. “It will be a few minutes and then I’ll be right with you.”

She waved him off, bangles clanging, as they stepped inside. “No problem.”

Like me, she knew the more interesting story was out here with the daughter, cursing under her breath.

Nicole stabbed a finger in the direction of the DeLorean. “That yours?”

Nodding, Marietta beamed. “From mah show.”

“What show?”

The effervescence behind my mother’s eyes fizzled as if Nicole had flipped an off switch. “Never mind.”

“So, how quickly did George say it would be ready?”

Marietta inspected a nail. “A few days.”

“Do you know how long my car has been here?” Nicole didn’t wait for an answer. “Over two weeks! Most of the time just sitting because my idiot husband wanted to be the big man. These things are all about negotiation, he told me. What a joke.”

None of us were laughing. She’d had a miserable two weeks. A dead car. A murdered father. And some obvious money problems that appeared to be straining her marriage.

I thought about what she had said about borrowing her mother’s Bronco—the only car parked outside the house when I spoke to Nicole the Friday after her father’s death. “At least your mom had a car you could borrow.”

She rolled her eyes. “Which left her stuck at home all day.”

But I thought… “So you were driving it that Friday when I came out and took your statement.”

Nicole slanted me an irritated glance. “And almost every other day that week thanks to Austin trying to fix my car. At least it was drivable before he screwed around with it.”

That meant that Estelle might have been right about the car she had seen, but she’d made the wrong assumption about the driver.

Knowing I would have only another minute while her mother settled the bill, I couldn’t waste a second. “By chance, were you driving your mom’s car when you visited Bob Hallahan the night after your father’s death?”