Death Stretch (6 page)

“A cool twenty-five grand. I wonder who inherits?”

Ginger put down a half-eaten truffle. “I can tell you one thing—the heir won't be a woman.”

****

The alarm rang way too early the following morning. I pulled myself out of bed and into the shower, not at all happy I faced another workday. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but yesterday hadn't been relaxing. Not to mention the weekend had been a real killer.

I winced at my lame humor and stumbled into the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, I wondered what was wrong with the picture. I finally realized the overhead light shone in my face. The strong smell of burnt coffee filled the room. I blinked.

Brown liquid dripped from the machine I'd programmed last night, but no carafe collected the stream. Coffee trickled down the cabinet front and pooled on the floor. The carafe sat on the table with a note attached. I pulled the plug on my coffeemaker and checked the door lock.

Unlocked. I knew I'd turned the bolt the night before. I remembered checking it. So how did someone get in? Rubbing my arms, I skirted the kitchen table and headed for the front door. That door was locked. Maybe I only locked one door, but that didn't compute. My familiar, beloved house felt more than a little creepy.

The note waited, taunting me with its presence. I picked it up with two fingers. The message read short but not sweet.

Tell your friend to pay the money and keep your mouths shut.

Looked like Morgan had had a partner. Minus my promise to keep Ginger’s secret, I'd call that big ole bad boy Dirk over for security detail. Instead, wide awake and knees quivering, I mopped up the mess. Someone needed money. And was desperate. Not a good combination.

I rushed through dressing with shaky fingers. Feeling like Adrian Monk, television's favorite obsessive-compulsive detective, I flipped my door lock three times, jiggling the knob each time. Part of me wanted to sit with a loaded gun (which I didn’t own) and wait for the intruder. The other part wanted to run long, hard, and far, far away.

Far, far away won the toss. I motored across town to the Get Solid Builders trailer. The crew supervisors and the routine morning briefing waited for me.

I closed my eyes. Shoot. I'd forgotten to bring the doughnuts.

“Want some coffee, Katie? I brought doughnuts.”

Jim Prestwick shoved a mug and some deep-fried dough into my hands. His voice was low. “Sorry I missed you yesterday. We heard about the pretzel guy. You okay?”

Translation: pretzel guy meant yoga teacher in construction guy speak. Morgan.

I blinked back tears. Jim liked people to believe he was a hard-ass but he stood first in line to help anyone in trouble.

“Yep, thanks. I'm fine.” And puppies fly.

He turned toward the assembled supervisors and raised his voice. “You're just in time. We need your input.”

My throat clearing took longer than it should have. “What do you need?”

“Well, Cam just announced he's gonna pop the question.”

No news there. Cam supervised our finish carpenters. His girlfriend had been after his ass for two years. I was just surprised she took so long to nail him down. “Congrats, Cam.”

Cam, a tall man with a dark blond brush cut, Slavic cheekbones and puppy-dog eyes, displayed his dimples and saluted me.

“So we want to know. Should he pop the question at her apartment, get down on his knees, that whole outdated bit, or rent a billboard? I told him I know someone in outdoor advertising who'll give him a deal on a moving electronic board ad over on I-40.”

What was more harmful? Eating a doughnut or pinching myself black and blue to determine if I dreamed? I chose the doughnut. Chewing bought me time to form a response.

“We figure you're female and you've been married, so you're the one to ask.”

“Gee, thanks for making me part of the project, guys.” With everyone’s gaze on me, I bit off a big chunk of fried dough and chewed.

“Well?” Jim put his hands on his hips.

I swallowed. “Apartment. Definitely the apartment. Bring a bunch of her favorite flowers, cold champagne and chocolate. You'll be a hero.”

Cam smiled. “Thanks, Katie.”

His relieved look told me Jim had pushed the electronic sign idea.

“Sure. Get one of the candy boxes from the Chocolate Fix and give her the ring in that. She'll think you're Adonis and her favorite movie star all rolled into one.”

“Got it.”

“And whatever you do, don't tell her you asked these yahoos for advice on proposing. Let her think you came up with the grand gesture on your own.”

“I don't want to lie, Katie.”

“You're not. You're just not telling her everything. It's called presenting yourself in your best light.”

The group hooted out suggestions. Jim started the meeting. I listened on autopilot while my mind moved in strange directions.

Ginger told me Morgan had always presented himself in the best light. She'd said he appeared humble while making women think adoration was his due. He talked a spiritual game, played a material one.

An idea lurked. When I reached for the thought, the impression disappeared. Was the blackmail Morgan's game or did he have a partner? How many women did he play? Who threatened Ginger, a possible partner or an opportunist? Either way, Ginger was in trouble. The cops couldn't learn about the blackmail note or she'd be suspect number one. Worse, she'd never be able to keep the truth from her husband.

I understood Ginger's harassment, but why was someone after me? I could take care of myself, but knowing someone entered my home while I slept gave me the heebie-jeebies. The pain medication I'd taken probably kept me from waking, but still. Made me think twice about living alone. I’d be stopping on my way home to buy new deadbolts.

After my divorce, friendly though it was, I was gun shy. I didn't want kids, but a relationship would be good. Yeah, I was ready for that. Maybe. With a good guy. Unless my relationship wish came from a reaction to the break-in. Crap.

Dirk Johnson's' good looks came to mind followed by flashes of his sexy bod. Wait. What? No, no, no. He reminded me too much of my ex, Chris. Bossy as shit.

My perverse brain, high on sugar, wouldn't back off. Oh, no. Instead, I visualized a rating sheet, with Dirk heading Column A and Chris topping Column B. The tick marks started to pile up and the boys ran even on the looks, hot body and hard worker lines. I thought about the less obvious things like sense of humor, generosity, consideration and sharing. Dirk remained a dark horse, but my mental pencil wanted to give him points for those. Wishful thinking, probably. Chris's self-absorption skewed my take on men. Any interest my ex showed masked a need to control my entire life. The only friend Chris hadn't chased away was Ginger.

Dirk looked better and better. But I'd been down that road. It was a dead end. A cul-de-sac of errors.

I made up my mind. A relationship could wait.

Meanwhile, another part of my brain decided I should report the break-in. There was no reason Dirk or Matt had to know—the intruder had nothing to do with Morgan's death. Or Ginger's blackmail. I needed a sense of security. I’d call as soon as the meeting ended. The cops would have a hard time finding the creep who invaded my privacy, but I couldn't let the situation go. Especially given my worries about being a suspect in Morgan's death. I felt stalked, and if reporting a break-in gave me peace, so be it.

I turned my attention back to the meeting. And work. With thoughts of Dirk interrupting more than I liked.

Chapter Six

The trailer door squeaked open. I didn't bother to look up. “Jim, I told you. The plans will be ready at 2:15 and not a minute earlier.”

“It's not Jim and you’re pretty exact. How can you guarantee that specific time?”

The man had been flitting around my thoughts all morning but I didn't expect Dirk to show up at my job. I plastered on a phony smile. “Detective Johnson. What brings you to my high-rise office?”

He slammed his palms down on my desk. My computer screen shook, but I almost didn't notice. Our gazes tangled and his pupils grew larger, taking over most of his irises.

“Hey, be careful. That's an expensive piece of equipment you just shook up,
Dirk
.”

“What is wrong with you?” His face darkened. He inhaled, seeming to capture all the office's air. “I told you to lock your damn house. Why can't you understand there's a killer in town and you're in his or her sights?”

I stood, needing any advantage I could garner against the looming, angry cop. My hands took up a “don't mess with me” position on each hip. I leaned forward, my nose close to his. “There's nothing wrong with me. I heard you perfectly and I locked my door. What's your problem?”

He mimicked my tone. “My problem?” He crossed his arms, probably to keep from strangling me. “My problem is that you had a break-in and didn't call me or Matt. Are you covering for someone or something?”

“Oh.” I hadn't expected Dirk to hear about the break-in. Silly me. The police force is fairly large but Granville Falls is still a small town. Don't know how I forgot that.

“You're on burglary now? Let’s see...the Departments of Homicide, Traffic, Burglary—you're a one man police force.”

His expression made me rethink my snarky answer. “The break-in didn't seem like such a big deal.” My voice slipped and the bravado I'd thought I could project proved a no show. “I've already bought new deadbolt locks.”

“No big deal?” His voice echoed off the trailer walls. “The guys called me in after you left. I could still smell the burnt coffee. The creep levered a window. They found traces of footprints but couldn't get a solid impression.” He shook his head. “When are you going to wise up?”

“I told you. I'll take care of the locks when I get home.”

“And the windows?”

He made Chris seem copasetic.

“I'll secure those too. What's with you?”

“The coffee pot was set up to scare you. And I don't want you or any other woman getting hurt on my watch.”

His eyes held a spark of hurt and something more, an expression I didn't understand. It hinted at pride and fear. Whatever drove him had some age to it.

“So you came over here to bitch at me?” I watched him visibly re-grasp his control.

“No, I didn't.”

My blood sugar had dropped, I had a deadline, and I felt feisty. “So, what is it then? I've got a project to finish.”

“I have questions about someone connected with the case.”

My stomach dropped. I'd like tearing Flash apart with him, but I didn't think that was his primary agenda. Not if my trusty gut instinct proved right.

“Sorry, don't have time right now. How about next week?”

“How about tonight?”

“You know, I have a bunch of D.I.Y. work tonight. There's a hard-ass on my case about securing my house.”

“I know my way around a drill. I'll bring some tools. We can talk while I help you install the locks.”

“That's really not a good idea.”

His hazel eyes darkened again. He leaned closer to me. “Got something better in mind?”

Dirk's gaze dropped to my lips and my hormones shrieked out x-rated suggestions having to do with drilling holes and screwdrivers. I licked my lips afraid whatever came out of my mouth next would be a double entendre.

The door slammed open. “Katie, where the hell are those plans? I needed the damn things yesterday.”

Tension swirled thick but Jim didn't seem to notice. He raked a glare over Dirk. “Who are you? You better not be screwing around with Katie. I need her head together.”

“No, sir, I'm not.” The cop's voice dropped for my ears only. “Unless she wants me to.”

Dirk eased past Jim and stopped at the door. “See you later, Ms. Sheridan.”

Jim jerked a thumb in the direction of the door. “Who's he?”

“Cop. Wants to ask me more questions about the...pretzel guy.”

“He gives you any grief, tell me. I'll get the mayor to bust his ass.”

That's the thing about Jim. He'd call City Hall in a heartbeat. He put his meaty paw on my shoulder. “Katie, you had a rough weekend. You know if I didn't need you on this project I'd let you have more time off?”

“No problem, boss. I can handle everything.”

“If you can't, you'll tell me, right?” Jim's a sweetie, but he doesn't understand women.

“You bet.” I turned to my desk and picked up part of the plans. “I have most of this done. Why don't you take what I have and tell me the changes you need?”

Jim patted my shoulder again, grabbed the papers and seated himself at his desk. My thoughts jumped. Dirk seemed interested in me, but he probably wanted to talk about Ginger tonight, if he really showed. I had my doubts about him coming over.

If I didn't have locks to install at home, I'd find someplace else to be, just in case Dirk followed up on his threat to show with tools, experience and questions.

****

I stepped inside my kitchen and wished I hadn't.

Dirk had been right. The smell of burnt coffee lingered like a hangover's bad taste. But that wasn’t what made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

Looking around, nothing seemed out of place, but my house looked too neat. Someone had been searching, and not well.

My feet wouldn't move, which could have been a bad or a good thing. Tuning in, I opened up to my surroundings. The house seemed quiet, no creaking boards or odd drafts. A good sign in my old bungalow. The place seemed empty, but I wanted to make sure.