Jennifer Crusie Bundle (67 page)

She stretched against him, clutching him closer, trying to melt into him, dissolve her flesh into his, and he said, “Almost enough,” and rolled his hips against hers. The heat flared low in her, and she bit him hard on the shoulder as he slid his fingers down her slippery body and into her, and she clenched around him, her tongue licking across his collarbone as she breathed into the waves of pleasure he stroked inside her.

They moved against each other slowly, rediscovering in deliberate detail what they'd found in tumbling haste the night before. The heat kept them slippery with need, salty with desire, and what had crashed and exploded before built slowly, inexorably, in low, swelling waves this time, moving higher and tighter, and when he finally arched himself into her and she enclosed him, they stopped for a moment, not breathing, listening to the lap of the blood in their veins, feeling the pulse where they were joined together and the throb of each other's hearts.

“I love you,” Mae whispered to him, her lips moving on his. “I will love you forever.”

His lips traced a silent echo on hers, and then all thought faded, and they were only rhythm and flesh and friction and heat and finally fusion, mindlessly one. And when all thought and fear and relief had been burned away, they slid wordlessly into sleep, still locked in each other's arms.

M
ITCH WOKE
the next morning when she moved away from him, and he reached for her to pull her back against him.

“I need a shower.” She kissed him and then slipped away, so Mitch shrugged and followed her.

It was a long shower.

“You know, if we do this often, we're going to have to start getting up earlier,” Mae told him later as she went through his cupboards. “Why don't you have any food?”

“Because I never eat here. There are cockroaches the size of Bob here, and I don't want to encourage them.”

Mae looked around warily.

Mitch sat on the edge of the bed. “Mabel, there have been some new developments.”

“I know.” Mae leaned on the counter. “I think I'm under arrest.”

“I've got that handled. We're going to go see Nick right now, and he'll take care of everything.”

Mae swallowed. “Okay. That sounds good.”

Mitch hesitated. “There've been a few…updates on the situation.”

Mae closed her eyes. “Hit me with them.”

“Well, the good news is, you're not broke. The bad news is that your Uncle Armand embezzled your trust fund and then wrote in the diary that someone was forcing him to pay it all back. He deposited eight million in your account in the past three months. That's a motive for killing him.”

Mae frowned. “The police think I was leaning on him? I didn't even know he'd done it.”

Mitch blinked at her. “Mabel, did you miss the part about the eight million?”

“No.” Mae walked over to the bed, and Mitch spared a moment to enjoy watching her move. He was going to spend the rest of his life watching her move. It was enough to make a man enthusiastic.

She picked up her purse and pulled out one of Armand's diaries. “Look what I found at the town house.”

Mitch took it, read the date on the spine and gaped at her. “I searched that town house. Harold searched that town house.”

Mae nodded. “I think somebody left it there to be found. Just not by me. Probably by the police. There are pages missing at the end, but there was enough there for me to figure out he'd put a lot of money back into my fund and into several other funds he'd looted. He was really unhappy about it because he'd worked it so there was no legal redress unless he confessed, which of course he did in the diary. He must have thought he was invincible.”

“That sounds like our Armand.” Mitch opened the diary and flipped through it. “Who made him put back the money?”

“Claud. Once he found out what Armand had done, he leaned hard on Armand to put it all back before the Lewis name got any more tarnished. It must have been Claud on the phone that night, making sure Armand had restored the accounts he'd looted. It's all in the diary.” Mae laughed shortly. “Poor Uncle Claud. He finally forces Armand to pay everything back and gets everything covered up, and he even gets a bonus when Armand dies and won't be letting down the family anymore, and then we come along making noise about the diary.” Mae sat down beside him. “No wonder he was willing to pay a fortune to get you out of the picture. He had everything taken care of, and there you were, screwing things up. That's what he meant that night when the lawyer told us there was nothing. Remember, he said, ‘You and June and Harold will be taken care of'? He meant the money was back in the trust fund.”

“Why didn't he just
tell
you that?”

“Uncle Claud doesn't tell people things. He takes care of things for them.”

“When do you get that fund?”

“My thirty-fifth birthday. Six weeks from now.”

Mitch whistled. “Armand was cutting it pretty fine.” He flipped to the part of the book where the writing stopped. “Somebody's ripped out the last pages here. What did Armand do right before he died?”

Mae shrugged. “Married Barbara. Sold the house to Dalton. Slept with Stormy. Maybe they were all in it together.”

Mitch grinned. “Barbara, Dalton and Stormy? Not a chance.” His grin faded. “How about Claud, Gio and Carlo? They all had motives.”

“No, they didn't.” Mae sounded exasperated. “They didn't like him, but they didn't kill him.”

“It's the only thing that explains all the stuff that's been going down,” Mitch told her gently. “Look at the motives. Claud sees the family name disgraced and his reputation damaged. Gio gets swindled and broods about it for years on end. Carlo thinks Armand turned him in to the police.”

“He did. It's in the diary. Armand thought it was funny.”

“Armand wasn't too bright. Just look at what they've done since then. Claud tries to buy me off and then buys my building and has me evicted. Carlo kills my car. Gio makes threatening phone calls to my clients. They're the only ones doing this stuff, Mae. They must have been in it together.”

“And they shot at us? They shot at me? I don't believe it.”

“You were wearing my jacket,” Mitch told her. “It was dark. Carlo would love to pick me off just on general principle, let alone if he thought I was getting close to the diary and his motive for killing Armand.”

“I don't believe it.” Mae's voice was stubborn. “I do not believe that they all clubbed together and murdered Armand. Forget it.”

“Well then, there's also this.” Mitch reached for his jacket and pulled out the 1952 diary. “This is the year June's son, Ronnie, was born.”

Mae took it from him. “I don't get it.”

“It was a thought I had the other day, after the condom hunt. If June got pregnant, and Armand wasn't happy about it, what would he have done?”

“Made her get an abortion.” Mae began to leaf through the diary.

“And he tried. But she wouldn't. So he stopped sleeping with her, and then, to make sure it never happened again…”

Mae looked up from the book. “He had a vasectomy.”

Mitch nodded. “That was my theory. And sure enough, it's in there. And then, because Stormy wanted kids, he wore condoms rather than tell her that he was sterile.”

“Stormy poked the holes in the condoms.”

“Right.” Mitch stood up. “I'm not exactly sure what that means, but it means something.”

“You think Stormy killed Armand because he didn't tell her he'd had a vasectomy?” Mae rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on.”

“Somebody killed him. The police don't go looking for trouble. If they were ready to arrest you, they're sure Armand was murdered.”

Mae shook her head tiredly. “Can we think about it after we've eaten?” She tossed the diary on the bed. “I'm starving. I haven't had anything to eat for more than twenty-four hours, and you're going to have to buy me breakfast because you took my last twenty last night for gas, which, by the way, is why I had to walk a hundred miles to get here.”

“You have plenty of twenties,” Mitch said, abandoning his argument for the time being. “Eight million worth.”

“Not for another six weeks.” Mae stood and wrapped her arms around his waist pulling him close. “Until then, I'm at your mercy. Give me my twenty back.”

“If you want my money, you have to marry me for it.” Mitch stopped when he saw the expression on her face.

“Marry?” Mae swallowed and let go of him.

“What happened to the librarians? Opening the West? I'm not your type?”

“You've got to be kidding.” Mitch shook his head in amazement. “We went over this last night. Haven't you been paying attention the last forty-eight hours? We're in a different place now.”

Mae nodded. “I know. I know. It's just…I've known you a week. Exactly a week. And I'm under arrest. And I'm hungry. And…”

“Okay.” Mitch leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You're right. I'll feed you, get you unarrested and then we can talk. But I'm not leaving you.”

“What are you talking about?” Mae grabbed his shirtsleeve. “Of course you're not leaving me. Are you crazy? I'm not sure about marriage, but I'm sure about us. You must be nuts. Leave me? Not in this lifetime, buster.”

Mitch started to laugh. “Then you're going to have to make an honest man out of me, Mabel.” He pried her fingers off his sleeve. “Stay here. It would not be a good idea for the police to see you having breakfast with me before Nick shows up to take your hand. I'll get breakfast and bring it back.”

“And my twenty,” Mae prompted. “I hate being broke.”

“Well, in your case, it's not permanent.” Mitch picked up his keys. “Stay here. Don't open the door. Don't talk to strangers. Don't—”

“I'm starving to death.” Mae collapsed back onto the bed. “But I'm being polite about it because I don't have any money so I am completely in your hands.”

“I mean it, don't move.” Mitch opened the door. “Unless somebody shoots at you.”

“You know, my life has gotten so much more exciting since I met you.”

She smiled at him, and Mitch had to take a deep breath before he could speak. “Did I mention that I love you?”

“No,” Mae said. “Mention it often.”

“Don't move,” Mitch said. “I'll be right back.” He hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Don't move” again, and left.

He had a terrible feeling that leaving her was a bad idea, he just wasn't sure why.

T
HE
ATM
WAS
less than a block away, but Mitch covered the distance at a trot, anyway. He wanted to get Mae to Nick and then to the police so he could start tracking down the answers to his questions, even if he had to beat them out of somebody.

Especially if he had to beat them out of Carlo. And Gio. And Claud. And Dalton. He didn't think Dalton was guilty, but he wanted to hit him, anyway.

There was no one at the ATM, so Mitch slid his card in without looking around and punched in his password.

The machine beeped. “Access denied. Your account has been closed. Your card has been confiscated.”

“What?” Mitch yelled at the machine. “It can't be…” His card had worked fine the day before. Who could have…?

Mitch pounded the ATM machine because he couldn't get to the murderers. He'd had enough with the Big Three and their hobbies. Poisoning old men, beating up cars, shooting at Mae, destroying credit ratings…

Mitch's internal rant died on that last thought. Who the hell would try to kill him, and then get really mad and go after his credit card? What kind of master plan was that?

And then it dawned on him.

It wasn't a master plan.

It was three master plans.

“I'll be damned,” Mitch said, and turned to go back to Mae, only to see Carlo standing behind him.

“No, you'll be dead,” Carlo said, and hit him.

A
n hour later, Mitch still wasn't back, and Mae faced facts: she was on her own. She'd spent most of the hour trying to decide how Armand's vasectomy fit with the holes in the condoms, only belatedly realizing that Mitch wasn't going to show up.

The possibilities of what had happened were limited.

One was that Mitch had gotten tired of the whole mess and had washed his hands of her. It was what a prudent man would do, but Mitch wasn't prudent and he loved her. Not in a million years would he desert her.

Another was that Carlo had given up beating up on Mitch's car and had decided to beat directly on Mitch. This had the beauty of plausibility and previous attempts to recommend it, but even Carlo would have gotten tired of hitting him in an hour. If it had been just Carlo, Mitch would have been back by now. That theory was out, too.

A third theory was that the police had picked him up for questioning. If that was true, Mitch would stay away for a while to keep them away from her, but sooner or later, he'd have to come home. If they followed him and found her here, he'd be in trouble as an accomplice. That would be bad.

And then there was always the possibility that Armand really had been murdered, and the murderer had jumped Mitch and killed him.

Mae really hated that one, so she opted for number three, which meant that the smartest thing she could do was get out of the apartment in spite of Mitch's instructions. Waiting around for the police to follow Mitch home had no appeal whatsoever.

She picked up her purse and set out for the only place in Riverbend where she might possibly be safe.

She had a phone call to make.

W
HEN
M
ITCH CAME TO
, he found himself looking up at the severed head of Holofernes in Gio's office. It didn't seem like a good omen. Then he turned his head and saw his three least favorite people in the world.

“Ah, Mr. Peatwick, with us at last,” Claud said from his vantage point in a nearby chair.

“Where's Mae Belle?” Gio demanded from behind his desk.

“I'm gonna kill you next time,” Carlo promised, looming over him.

Mitch reached up and touched his temple, and his hand came away bloody. He groaned and eased himself slowly to his feet, tottering as he stood, and then, as Carlo smirked at him for being such a wimp, Mitch sucker-punched him to the floor.

“That's for hitting Harold,” Mitch told him as he did the looming this time. “I still owe you for shooting my car, clubbing me on the head and almost killing Mae.”

Carlo surged to his feet, and Mitch drew back his fist, and Gio yelled,
“Wait.”

Carlo and Mitch both froze.

“He almost killed Mae?” Gio turned his little obsidian eyes on Carlo. “What did you do?”

“Nothin'.” Carlo stuck out his jaw. “He's lying. I wouldn't hurt Mae. Ever.”

“You couldn't see her,” Mitch said. “That night at the storage shed, you were shooting at her not me. You came within an inch of killing her, you moron.”

“Is this true?” Gio's eyes impaled his grandson. “Did you do this thing?”

“I shot at him.” Carlo's face was mulish. “I never shot at Mae.”

“He missed her by a couple of inches,” Mitch told Gio. “He thought he was shooting at me because she was wearing my jacket, but he almost killed her.” He shook his head. “You know, giving him a gun is not a good idea.”

“No more guns,” Gio said to Carlo who glared at Mitch. “I want them all.”

“You might want to take the knives away from him, too,” Mitch suggested. “There was that incident with the finger….”

“You stay out of this,” Gio snapped, and Mitch said, “No.”

Gio surged up out of his desk chair. “Nobody says no to me—”

“Well, they do now,” Mitch told him. “I've had it with all three of you. Who do you think you are, anyway? All of you, yapping away about how you want to protect Mae, and then you do everything you can to get her arrested or, God knows, killed. The police are after her, a murderer is on the loose and you take out the only guy who's protecting her.” He jerked his thumb at his chest. “Me.”

Claud stirred in his chair. “There is no murderer, and we know about the police. We've retained a lawyer. Now, if you'll—”

“She doesn't need your lawyer,” Mitch said, exasperated. “I got her a lawyer. She's got everything she needs except me, and the only reason I'm not with her is because you guys think you're in a
Godfather
movie.”

“She doesn't need your cheap shyster,” Gio began.

Mitch turned on him. “He's not cheap. He's going to cost you a friggin' fortune. I was going to cover it, but after this last trick you pulled, he's going to bill you.”

Claud narrowed his eyes, which made them essentially disappear. “And why would we pay for this lawyer?”

“Because I finally figured out what the hell was going on here,” Mitch said. “And you are in deep trouble, all of you.”

“Where is Mae Belle?” Gio demanded.

Mitch felt his temper hit boiling and tried hard to keep the lid on it. “Well, she was at my place, but knowing Mabel, she's hit the road by now, so I have no idea where she is, and that's your fault, too, Grandpa, so don't hassle me about it. You know, I could have figured out this whole thing a lot sooner if you hadn't been playing your dumb Master of the Universe games.”

“Aside from Carlo's assaults, there is nothing—”

Mitch swung around to glare down at him. “Oh, no you don't, Claud. You're in this as deep as he is. You should never have messed with my credit, Claud. Bad move.”

“What credit?” Gio scowled. “Who gives a damn about your credit? I want—”

“Forget it.” Mitch leaned over the edge of the desk and stared him down. “What you want doesn't matter anymore. Mae's been arrested for murder, which means somebody actually did kill Armand.”

“Nonsense.” Claud dismissed him without a flicker of emotion. “You're just protecting your job.”

Mitch took a deep breath. “Claud, pay attention here. The police
arrested
Mae. They don't do that because they're bored. They do that because they think they can get a conviction. If there was any doubt at all that Armand had been murdered, they wouldn't be arresting Mae. Trust me on this.”

Claud stared at him as if Mitch had crawled out from under a rock, but he didn't say anything.

“I was pulling for you three as the killers because I could spare all of you without too much trouble. But I couldn't make it work.” Mitch glared down at Carlo. “Carlo was stupid enough to slash my tires—” Carlo growled and Mitch braced himself for another punch “—but he wasn't smart enough or rich enough or connected enough to get me evicted from my office.” Carlo stayed put, and Mitch turned to Claud. “Claud could get me evicted, but he wouldn't threaten my clients with physical danger.” Mitch then faced the apoplectic little man behind the desk. “And Gio would threaten his own mother, but he wouldn't bother with shooting my car. I liked the idea that the three of you were in this together, but Mae said no, and eventually even I couldn't see any of you trusting the others with cab fare, let alone a murder plot.”

“I don't get this, and I don't care,” Gio said. “I want—”

“Then Mae was arrested and somebody killed my credit. And right there at the ATM, the solution hit me. And then fifteen seconds later, Carlo hit me.” Suddenly overcome by disappointment, Mitch stared at Carlo. “You will never know how much I wanted you to be the bad guy in this. Ohio has the death penalty, you know.”

“Mr. Peatwick, we're really uninterested in your credit rating,” Claud said. “We want—”

“Then why did you kill it, Claud? I should be grateful because that's what made me finally catch on. I mean, two nights ago, somebody tries to shoot us, and that doesn't work, so somebody gets Mae arrested for murder, and that doesn't work, so then this guy escalates the battle and goes after my
credit card?
” Mitch shook his head. “I know your Dun and Brad-street is more important to you than your prostate, but even you must have figured out that losing my credit card would run a poor second to getting shot. That's when I knew I was dealing with more than one loon.”

“Do you realize to whom you are speaking?” Claud asked him coldly.

“Yeah.” Mitch stared him down, just as coldly. “I'm talking to the guy who ruined my credit rating. That would be you, and that's illegal. Financial harassment. I discussed this with my attorney when you had me evicted, and he says it should be an interesting lawsuit.”

Claud dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “No attorney would touch a lawsuit like that.”

“Mine would. He likes Bolivian tin mines and redheaded radicals. He lives for risk.”

“Some ambulance chaser.” Claud chuckled derisively. It sounded like a death rattle. “Some nobody.”

“Nick Jamieson.” Mitch watched the smile fade from Claud's face. “Yeah, he's good, isn't he? Well, look on the bright side, he's defending Mabel, too.”

“How do you know Nick Jamieson?” Claud demanded.

“I'm his stockbroker.” Mitch watched Claud blink as he absorbed the information and then Mitch turned to Gio. “Then there's you. Threatening my clients, harassing my landlord, making nasty phone calls. You ought to be ashamed. Especially since the cops would love to get something on you. You really screwed up this time, Gio.

“And then there's my personal favorite, the bottom feeder in your gene pool.” He turned to glare at Carlo. “You owe me twelve new tires, new seats, all new windshields and lights, and a hell of a lot of bodywork. I can't believe you beat up my car like that.”

Gio pounded on his desk. “Will you forget that damn car? I don't care about the car. I will pay for the car, and this lawyer, and anything else. Just tell me, where the hell is Mae Belle?”

“I don't know, Gio.” Mitch stood up straight again. “My guess is, she's gone to see the murderer. I'm a little concerned about that. And that's why I'm leaving now.”

Carlo blocked his way. “You're not going anywhere.”

Mitch faced him. “I will go around you, over you, or through you, whatever it takes. But I am going to Mae.”

And then he walked toward Carlo and the door.

M
AE LET HERSELF
in the front door of the town house at the same time that Stormy came down the stairs carrying a suitcase.

They both stopped, surprised.

“I was just going to call you.” Mae eyed the suitcase. “Going somewhere?”

“South America. I just came by for my passport.” Stormy put the suitcase down, frowning as if she'd had a sudden thought. “I thought you'd been arrested.”

“Now, why would you think that?” Mae tossed her purse on the table.

Stormy blinked. “I heard it on the radio.”

“No, you didn't. We've had the radio on all morning. No escaped socialites.” Mae sat on the edge of the table and looked at her sadly. “You framed me, didn't you, Stormy?”

Stormy bit her lip. “It wouldn't have stuck. Your uncles would have gotten every lawyer in Riverbend.”

“Why did you do it?”

Stormy shrugged. “You were the one who started the murder rumor. I figured it made sense that you'd be guilty.”

“No. I mean why did you kill Armand?”

Stormy opened her eyes wide. “I didn't.”

Mae shook her head. “You're good, sweetheart, but that wide-eyed bit went out with Brigid.”

“Who's Brigid?” Stormy asked with genuine confusion this time.

“You killed him because you loved him, didn't you?” Mae tried to keep the sympathy out of her voice. After all, this woman was a killer.

Just not a cold-blooded one.

Stormy snorted. “Why would I love him? He was a mean old man. And I'd have been stupid to kill him. He'd already given me all the money I was going to get. I wasn't in his will. I—”

“You loved him, and he was going to leave you. You tried to keep him by getting pregnant. That's why you poked holes in all of his condoms.” She looked at Stormy sadly. “That wouldn't have worked, you know. He never gave a damn about kids. Not about Ronnie and not about me.”

“If somebody put a hole in a condom, it was Armand.” Stormy stuck her chin out. “He wanted me to stay with him after he got married. Maybe he thought if I got pregnant, I'd have to stay.”

“He had a vasectomy in 1952.” Mae watched Stormy's face go white.

“He couldn't have.” She sounded as if she was out of breath. “He promised me—”

“He promised a lot of people a lot of things he had no intention of delivering.” Mae saw Stormy lift her chin in defense, and she felt an ache of pity for her. “I'm sorry, Stormy. It's in his diary. Right after June told him she was pregnant, he had it done. He was never going to give you a baby.”