With Her Last Breath (32 page)

Ed was talking to himself. “Waste not, want not, my ma always used to say.”

Brent frowned; Ed had somehow known where Leo’s car had been stashed, in that old garage. The bartender had collected the car and would likely sell off the parts.

And whatever Ed’s mother used to say was familiar; their
mothers were of the same bottom-grade ilk. But Brent had raised himself above the low-class start he had in life. He sneered at Ed, who still showed his shack-town roots.

Ed guzzled beer from a bottle. He ripped off the tarp covering the new sports car, the one Leo had rented in Louisville, Kentucky, and set to work. “Good old Leo. By coming in from Louisville the same as The Crazy, and driving up here he took care of any clues that might put him in this area. Have to give The Crazy credit for suggesting it to good old Leo. There are always buyers for these babies. I’ll repaint and sell to a customer wanting a high-class model at a low price.”

Disturbed from its nest, a huge spider crawled on top of the shiny hood.

Ed’s fear rose and swelled and screamed, echoing in the cluttered garage. Picking up a bat, Ed pounded the hood of the car, the spider skittering across it to disappear within.

Panting fiercely and winded, Ed stood back. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and blinked at the car. The red shiny surface was battered; the spider reappeared and then returned inside the car. Ed grabbed a can of insect spray and began fogging the car. “If the witch woman is haunting me, I’m finishing her off for good.”

Overcome by the fumes, he coughed and staggered back. “Another time, Celeste,” he said as he flung the tarp back over the car and left the garage.

With a keen distaste for the garage’s junk and smell, Brent eased inside moments later. He held a handkerchief over his nose as he lifted the tarp and viewed Leo’s rented car.

The battered hood pinpointed Ed’s desperate fears. “Always interesting to know what they fear,” Brent crooned softly. “Well, this is coming along nicely, Maggie. He’s doing all the work and will take the blame for what happens to you. Too bad he won’t be around to enjoy it.”

“I
don’t want you doing what you did for him.”
Nick slapped the file of Lorna’s receipts onto the kitchen table, and the plant Maggie had been tending there quivered in the fragrance of morning coffee as he continued, “I should be taking care of
you,
not the other way around. And there are plants everywhere. This place looks like a jungle.”

He lifted the damp cloth over her unbaked and rising cinnamon rolls. “You don’t need to get up early and start cooking. I don’t need—”

Nick’s bristling, laying-down-the-law male role grated on Maggie’s nerves, so she said, “The cinnamon rolls are for Eugene. Not you.”

“Oh…well, okay.” He sounded disappointed.

But Maggie knew that the cinnamon rolls or the plants weren’t Nick’s real problem. Maggie almost felt sorry for him—a big, powerful male locked in a battle with necessity and fighting his macho instincts.

He studied her coolly. His inspection of the overlarge cotton shirt and sweat pants she had borrowed was so long and
thorough that Maggie shifted uncomfortably. “My other clothes are in the camper. It’s locked, you know—a great big padlock.”

Nick ignored her reminder that he had moved and locked the camper. He leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms. “This is what you do, isn’t it? You are a facilitator, smoothing out other people’s lives. Like Vinnie and Lorna. You just had to step in that, didn’t you? What happened to Miss Mind Your Own Business?”

Maggie removed the last of the plant’s dried leaves. From the challenging look of the man who had loved her well last night, she needed to smooth out her own life. “I’ve learned that it doesn’t pay. I can’t make life choices for other people. I don’t want to hear any more of your groaning about Vinnie and Lorna. They are in love, Nick, whether you like it or not. I wasn’t going to get involved with Blanchefleur, but now I am.”

“You are
involved with me.
We’re lovers, Maggie. I want to marry you, and I won’t be placed into the same category as your ex-husband. I won’t have you making-do for me or cowing down to Lorna to help me.”

“Leave Ryan out of this. I am not arguing with you. You have a simple choice, Nick, to let her help you or not. I think Lorna would have made the offer whether or not I was involved—because of Vinnie and because she’s basically sweet.” Maggie didn’t want to think about how she’d given her life to a man who, in the end, cared only for himself.

Her distrust of giving herself totally to her new relationship to Nick had definite ties to her past, and they both knew it.

Nick walked out of the kitchen into the early dawn. He stood with his hands on his hips surveying the vineyard.

She understood his dilemma, pride battling survival; she’d faced enough of that herself. So he was angry that she’d been the messenger of an offer he didn’t want to accept.

On the other hand, she wasn’t happy with his high-handed macho-man protect-the-little-lady attitude, either. It was
her
camper padlocked and perched against his home. If he needed thinking room; he’d have it.

She went out onto the deck and held her palm upright. “I want the key to that padlock.”

He turned to glower at her. “Why?”

“Because that’s my home, that’s why. I want to be in my house.”

“You’re being ridiculous. It’s locked for your own protection. The police are trying to locate Leo. He
does
wear size tens, the same size as the footprints in the wine. He could be anywhere, and that camper is like a sardine can. He could break in—”

This time, Maggie’s hands were on her hips, her legs braced apart. “Stop deciding my life for me, Nick.”

The sweet morning air quivered between them, and Scout whined softly, looking from one human to the other.

Neither one looked at Dante, who had just pulled up in his pickup. He walked to the deck and studied them. “Problems?”

“Not a one,” Nick said curtly.

“He’s shoving me around and I don’t like it,” Maggie said.

“She’s being stubborn. They still haven’t located Leo, and I don’t want to take the chance that he might be after her.” Nick glanced at Vinnie’s black van, which had just pulled beside the other vehicles. Lorna was in the passenger seat. His short flat curse said he could have done without the visit. “What are they doing here?”

“I invited them. You are going to be nice.”

“This should be interesting,” Dante commented, then raised his eyebrows at Maggie’s silent warning.

“Dante, would you please go in the kitchen and put my cinnamon rolls in the oven? Just follow the directions in the cookbook next to the stove. Make some icing while you’re at it, please. As soon as you can, bring out some coffee and juice for Nick’s guests. You can serve the rolls when they’re done.”

Dante looked blank for a moment, then he said firmly, as if reaffirming himself, “I can do this. I can do this…About Leo. Here’s Lorenzo’s update: Three days ago, Leo flew into Louisville and rented a sports car. It’s likely that he did that as a diversion in case anyone was checking on his whereabouts. From there, it’s an easy shot up to Michigan and Blanchefleur. They’ve alerted the state patrols. His friends said he was pretty ticked over what happened when he was here and that he was out for payback. He’s a size ten lead, anyway. And they can’t locate that car.”

Nick reached to scoop Maggie protectively against him. Unused to anyone’s help, Maggie floundered between comforting him and the decision at hand. Nick’s scowl at Vinnie and Lorna wasn’t friendly. Maggie decided that Nick was on his own, and moved away from him.

“Hey, man,” Vinnie said as he held Lorna’s hand. On the deck now, Nick’s cousin had an air of a man squiring a lady and proud of it. In a white ruffled peasant blouse and a long cotton floral skirt and sandals, Lorna looked feminine and wary; her hair was now a soft brown.

While Nick stood immobile, his scowl locked in place, his arms crossed over his bare chest, and his jeaned legs braced apart, Maggie smiled brightly. “Hi. We’re just about to have breakfast. Dante is in fixing it now. Have a seat.”

She noted Lorna’s nervous glance at Nick and decided that powerful chest would upset any woman. Maggie hurried inside, took one of his shirts from the dryer, shook it briefly to remove the wrinkles, and found Dante looking at her. “What’s up?”

“Lorna can help Nick and he’s not being friendly.”

Maggie briefly described Lorna’s offer, and Dante whistled. “Good luck. He won’t buy it though.”

“Just don’t ruin the cinnamon rolls, will you? There’s a serving tray in the closet. Be sure to bring napkins. Put the rolls on a plate, the juice in a pitcher, and don’t forget the forks. If the situation gets difficult, get lost. Do laundry or something in here.”

Dante had that disgusted look, the same one as when Sissy asked him to change his nephew’s diapers. Clearly Alessandro men had definite ideas about man-woman roles.

Outside, Nick wasn’t budging. Maggie pinched his butt lightly, and when he scowled down at her, she held up the shirt. He put it on, but left the buttoning to Maggie. She added a little warning jerk and a look when adjusting his collar. Nick’s dark eyes locked with hers, then shifted over her head to Lorna.

“What’s the deal?” he asked abruptly.

Vinnie moved closer, protectively, to his girlfriend, just as Nick had done with Maggie earlier. “It’s a woman thing, man. They do weird stuff, but that’s what makes them what they are. You gotta appreciate the little differences in their thinking. She could make a bundle off that aged wine, but instead she’s following her heart.”

“Sit down, please?” Maggie offered as she nudged Nick to a big wooden lawn chair and pushed him. He eased down into the chair as if he would make up his own mind about doing anything, however everyday common.

To ensure Nick wouldn’t move, Maggie sat on his lap. Vinnie’s arm went around Lorna’s shoulders as they sat on a plastic love seat. “Now this is real nice,” Vinnie said in the obviously tense silence.

“I like the plants,” Lorna said quietly.

“They’re Celeste’s. We put some here in the house and on the front porch. The wind chime was hers, too. I like to think of her as always being with me. Would you like a start from them? That would give you a little piece of what she loved.”

“I’d love that. Thank you.”

Another long silence, then Nick asked Lorna, “What’s the catch?”

Obviously nervous, Lorna shot back. “You’ve got the offer. Are you interested, or not? Hey, bud, I can always sell that inventory to someone else—”

“Now, hon—” Vinnie began.

“Pretty day, isn’t it?” Maggie said, hoping to lighten the
moment as she placed her arm around Nick’s tense shoulders. “Nick?”

“You’d really do that, wouldn’t you, Lorna? Sell my wine to someone else, so you can make a profit?”

“Hey, bud. It’s
my
wine. I bought it.”

“You’ll never be the cook my mother is.”

“You just try me. I’m already planning a family do at Vinnie’s, and I won’t have it catered, either.”

“‘A family do?’” Nick repeated harshly. “If you think that I’m coming to anything you—”

“Well, this is going well, don’t you think?” Maggie asked in her best cheerful tone.

Vinnie shook his head. “I know them both. It’s just something they have to go through before making the deal. Both stiff-necked as hell. But Lorna’s neck is a whole lot prettier and sweeter and—”

He leaned to nuzzle Lorna whose frown gave way to a girlish squeal of delight.

This time, it was Nick’s turn to shake his head. “Sure. Why not,” he said in a doomed voice. “It’s a deal. I’ll try an extenuating circumstance plea with the state board to iron out legalities of transfer and resale.”

The kitchen door opened and Dante warily studied the people on the deck. “Can I come out now? Look what I baked—”

Maggie waded through the tension on the deck to play hostess. From this point on, everyone had to make his own choices.

“I’d like this recipe,” Lorna said, as Vinnie sucked the frosting off her fingertips.

Nick groaned painfully and his stare accused Maggie. “I suppose before I do any finger licking, I will have to—”

She held out her hand. “You’re right. You will have to kiss it. But right now, give me that key.”

After a day of Nick’s frowning and gloomy silence, and visiting Lorna’s extensive cellar with him to keep peace, Mag
gie decided she needed a little space from brooding males, and her camper was like a cool, quiet oasis.

Maggie ignored the big man on the deck. He paced, using his cordless telephone to make business calls and substitution offers—while he watched her unlock the camper.

The hum of her tiny air conditioner was comforting, almost a melody as she settled down with a stack of women’s magazines. She smiled as she thought of Beth’s baby news and set forth to wallow in sloth with a cinnamon roll, chocolate milkshake, and salty munchie orgy. She totally deserved every calorie.

The knock on her door was ominous. “Yes?”

Scout whined softly, and her pleading look said her buddy Nick was at the door.

“Are you coming out?”

“I don’t have any plans at the moment.”

“Make plans.”

She waited, letting him think over the pushy male routine. “What was that again?”

The long silence said Nick was thinking very hard. “Thanks for helping,” he said finally.

“You’re welcome.”

“Would you open this door?”

“It’s locked, like you told me to.” With a sigh, Maggie rose from her luxurious peace and potato chip sloth, and opened the door to Nick.

He looked tired and wary as he thrust a bouquet of roses at her. “Celeste’s plants miss you. So do I. How long are you going to stay in here?”

Nick looked closely at her. “Whatever you’re eating is all over your face.”

“Chips, cinnamon rolls, a chocolate milkshake.”

“Is that what you do when you get upset?” He looked so worried and confused that Maggie’s desire for ultimate peace slid into a warm puddle.

“You’re not exactly a stress-free-maintenance item.” She
tentatively lifted a finger laden with frosting and potato chip crumbs.

Nick’s mouth was hot and warm and the look in his eyes sent definite hungry messages to her body.

“When was the last time you spent the night in a camper?” she asked, fisting his shirt and tugging slightly.

“Is that an invitation?” But he was already moving toward her with that look that said he intended to be very thorough.

Like an artist, Brent studied Ed’s slumped body, and the suicide note next to the whiskey and pills. Experienced with drug effects, Brent checked Ed’s pulse and lifted his eyelid. In an hour or less, Ed would no longer have any problems. The bar had been closed for two hours; Shirley was due in the morning and would probably let herself in when Ed didn’t answer.

Investigators had been snooping around Blanchefleur all day, and Lorenzo Alessandro was busy digging for information too. According to Ed, his notable, ongoing conflict with the Alessandros had made him a perfect suspect. The police were only gathering evidence now, but they would soon pressure Ed in hard interrogation, taking off the gloves. It was only a matter of time before he revealed the identity of his upstairs guest. The incident with the spider in the garage said Ed was unstable and would likely break under intense interrogation.

And Ed had made the mistake of arguing with Brent, of telling him what to do.

“My ultimate conclusion, Ed, old boy, was that you had to go. Thanks for the hospitality and the tranquilizer dart gun for the dog.”

By the time Shirley found Ed, Brent would be like any other tourist, sleeping in his anonymously rented hotel room. He ran through his checklist: The telephone records would show that calls from Ed’s phones had been placed to Leo just prior to Leo flying into Louisville and renting a car. That car was in Ed’s salvage garage, complete with Leo’s wine-
stained boots. The stolen bottles of Nick’s best wine were easily seen on the tavern’s bar.

Brent walked to turn one bottle until the labels were exactly straight and even. He wiped a spot off the otherwise gleaming bar and took one last look to see if all the pictures in the bar were straight.