Teased to Death (Misty Newman 1) (4 page)

Jenkins leaned forward, her smoky breath oozing over my face, frying several of my nose hairs. "It wasn't me who kill't him."

The ugly, scary-looking butcher knife dangled from her other bony hand. The words I wanted to say got lost somewhere around my navel. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Donna watching the exchange with a horrified expression, a bottle of tequila in one hand, a salt packet in the other.

"Uh…" I tried to pull my arm away, but Jenkins's grip cinched tighter. The nerve endings in my spine were firing away, sending tingles all across my nervous system. Even my scalp prickled.

"As much as I hated the man, I wouldn't've kill't 'im." She turned and spat a glob of disgusting black goop into the sink. "He waren't worth goin' to jail over."

"Do—do you know who might've killed him?" I eyed the knife warily, but Jenkins showed no signs of setting it down voluntarily.

"Tell me why you care so much."

"I…the police think I killed him." I watched the knife carefully. "But I didn't, I swear."

"I'd give yer a medal if you did, but I don't believe it." Jenkins's hand crept up my arm, and she had a boa constrictor effect on my bicep. "You wanna find your killer—find out who was sleepin' with him."

"Where would I start?"

Jenkins bit her lip. "He didn't talk to me. But he went out at night. Late, late nights."

"What was he doing?"

"Hell if I know." In one swoop, Jenkins dropped my arm and continued slashing through the lemon. "Like I said. He didn't talk to me."

Donna set down the tequila bottle and gazed around the kitchen. "Do you mind if we take a quick glance around, see if there's anything here?"

Jenkins was more occupied with the lemon than anything else at the moment. "Look at whatever yer want. He didn't come here much 'cept for a few hours of shut-eye now and again."

I followed Donna out of the kitchen.

"I thought she was gonna stab you in the guts," Donna whispered. "You got lucky back there."

"I think we should leave," I said. "I'll take jail over a coffin any day."

"Quick glance, then we're out," Donna hissed. "Check it out."

Donna pointed toward what appeared to be a bedroom. There were mounds of clothes on a mattress in the corner, a few empty cages with what may or may not have been animal remnants in the other corner, and a computer from the DOS era lopsided on a desk. The only thing in some semblance of order was a stack of comic books.

"His or hers?" Donna asked.

"I don't think she's spending her time reading books," I said. "She's more of a 'learn by doing' type, if I had to guess."

Donna cracked a smile. Very daintily she thumbed through a few books. She let out a low whistle.

Tucked inside the cover of one of the comic books was an old Polaroid of a much-younger Mrs. Jenkins in a very compromising position.

"That's actually pretty impressive." I cocked my head sideways. "I'm not sure how she got her leg like that."

A noise in the door startled both of us. Donna let the comic book fall back to the desk, and I whirled in a circle. With painfully slow velocity, the Polaroid of Jenkins swirled like a raspy old leaf in late fall down to the floor.

I raised my eyes after an eternity and met Jenkins's gaze.

She held the knife in one hand and a shot glass in the other. "I think it's time for you to go."

"We were just leaving." I took a step sideways, but neither Donna nor I moved toward the scary knife blocking the door.

"I was hot, wasn't I?" Jenkins asked to nobody in particular. She bent over and picked up the photo, examining it. "I
tried
to keep in good shape. I kept my skin tan, my nails painted, and my body hair contained. But it wasn't enough. Maybe if I looked younger, we wouldn't be having this little issue."

"Issue?" I crossed my arms and stepped back. "Are you talking about Anthony's death?"

Jenkins pursed her scaly lips. "That…among other things."

I looked at Donna, wondering if Jenkins was referring to the so-called illicit lover she'd suspected her husband of keeping on the side. Donna widened her eyes in response.

"Feel free to call us if you need anything…another drinking buddy or something." I spoke directly to the knife. "We should get going now. Donna's got kids at home."

"Five of 'em," she said quickly. "They'd do terribly without a mother."

I refrained from closing my eyes in exasperation.

Jenkins breathed out quickly through her nose and stepped out of the doorway, arms spread wide as if daring us to pass her. The knife pointed the way to the kitchen door.

I glanced at Donna, subtly sending my last words into her brain. I hoped she'd still be able to read my mind even after all our time spent apart in recent years. And even if she couldn't, it'd work out okay. Probably Donna could craft better last words for me than I ever could. All that was running through my brain at the moment was "uh-oh." And I'd prefer a more eloquent phrase on my tombstone.

After a hesitant step forward, I made a break for it. Four quick strides later and a heavily sucked-in gut, I felt as successful as if I'd been a knight who'd managed to slip past the dragon guarding the booty. Except in this case, the booty was my own, and it was in a beeline straight for the front door, Donna trailing closely behind.

"Thanks for the drinks, Mrs. Jenkins," Donna called, waving over her shoulder as we half jogged, half power walked down the front stairs.

"You're too perfect," I said to my friend. "You even remember to thank the hostess after she threatens us with a knife."

"Product of a small Minnesotan town," Donna huffed. "Manners. But criminy, I'm out of shape."

I was breathing pretty heavily too. We'd picked up our pace once we were out of sight of the house, neither of us wanting to be the first to slow down.

"Probably we're dehydrated," Donna said. "Walk to Froggy's, then take a drink break?"

"Abso-frickin-lutely. We can call a cab from there."

"What is this, Los Angeles?" Donna asked. We stopped running. "Here in Little Lake, you call your friends, not a cab. I'll have Nathan give us a ride back in the fire truck. I still get a little rush when I see him in his uniform."

"Too much information."

"Deal with it."

"You're back?" Mr. Olsen greeted us as we hauled ourselves into the bar.

"Martinis, please," I breathed.

"And a ride," Donna said. "Please."

He picked up the phone and punched 9-1-1.

We heard Lana, the dispatcher, ask in a nasally voice. "Is this an emergency?"

"No." I waved my arms at Mr. Olsen. "Not 9-1-1 worthy. Hang up."

"Yes, it is an emergency." Mr. Olsen glared at us, speaking into the phone. "Lana, darlin', I need help. I got two troublemakers in my bar. Send Nathan to pick up his wife."

"Get out." Mr. Olsen shooed us out of the bar.

As tough as the old man seemed, I caught him watching from the front door of the bar until we reached Nathan's car. Bummer it wasn't the fire truck.

I tossed Mr. Olsen a jolly wave. He grunted and turned around, disappearing into the bar.

Donna was already in the car by the time I reached the vehicle. When I saw the driver, I jolted backward in surprise. "You're not Nathan."

"Nathan has better things to do than pick up two drunkies at one in the morning." Jax gave a half a smile and gestured for me to climb in. Since Donna had apparently called shotgun, I heaved myself into the backseat. I only tipped over once, which was impressive considering the martini count in my stomach.

"What could Nathan possibly have to do that's better than picking us up?" I glanced out the window. It was pretty neat—I could see stars here. It'd been a while. The City of Angels was named ironically, as it was far too lit up to see a shooting star, let alone an angel or a UFO.

"Fight fires." Jax clicked the blinker on.

"Please," Donna said. I could feel her eye-roll from the backseat. "The only fire he's putting out tonight is the one he's using to roast s'mores. I didn't hear a single call come through on the radio. Not so much as a toaster flamin' tonight."

"You wanted to check in on me, didn't you?" I interrupted, pointing at Jax. "Well, it's fine. I'm not going anywhere."

"You'd better not," Jax said.

I opened my mouth, but Donna reached into the backseat and put her hand on my knee. "Jax, you really don't think she did it, do you?"

I kept my gaze fixed out the window, but I was dying to know the answer as well.

Jax remained silent as he pulled into Donna's driveway.

He started to respond, but the long, pregnant hesitation was all I needed to hear.

"I'm going to walk home." I pushed the door open and slammed it violently.

"Wait, Misty," Donna called. "Let me drive you home. Of course you didn't do it. Jax is just trying to do his job."

"He's doing a great job of it. No bias whatsoever—it's like I'm a stranger." I wished immediately I could take back my short words, but I was drunk and tired and crabby and angsty and stressed and a bazillion other things, and Jax's pause had been the final straw.

"Mist…" Donna stopped walking. "Please don't go. Don't run away again. You just got back."

I turned around and slowed to a stop. "I'm sorry, Donna. I really appreciate everything you've done for me—coming with me tonight, offering to help. I'm going to figure this out. I'm not gonna run away."

She smiled. "Good. I'm here if you need."

I gave her a smile. "I'm going to walk home though. I need some air."

"No problem. Call if you need."

"I will." I gave her a quick wave but I didn't tell her two important details. The first, I didn't have a phone. My cell had been shut off courtesy of overdue payments after my money disappeared into the studio.

The second problem was that I couldn't promise not to run away. I'd been running most of my adult life, and it was the easiest solution. It'd helped me avoid plenty of problems thus far. I was invested in Little Lake only because of my studio. And my family. But if the studio didn't work out…how on earth could I afford to stay in Little Lake?

I kicked the dirt on the side of the road as I walked. I only had a mile or so to go, and it was a pleasant fall night. The evening had been gorgeous and cool, the leaves changing into beautiful golden shades and pumpkin orange colors. The scent of mulled wine and Honeycrisp apples floated lazily across the fields from the giant orchard on the outskirts of town. The middle of the night turned crisp and chilly, but there was something invigorating about the fresh fall temperatures. If things were different, I could see myself settling down in Little Lake.

Except things weren't different, and the sad realization that very few people would miss me if I left hit me hard in the gut. I took a seat on the curb and let a few gigantic tears creep from the corners of my eyes.

Donna would miss me, and my nine-year-old sister. The latter was a large reason I'd come back to my grandmother's house in the first place. It was hard to take her to movies and help with homework from three thousand miles away.

The rest of my family was a bit preoccupied and wouldn't exactly notice my absence: Mom was in the middle of whirlwind marriage number six, Dad ignored the fact that I danced for a living, which left us very little to talk about, and the rest of my sisters were scattered throughout the state, busy with their own families.

And Jax—I'd be getting rid of a pain in his ass if I left town. I'd be doing him a favor by running away for the second time.

Speaking of the Little Lake Devil, Nathan's car cruised to a stop in front of me. I quickly wiped my eyes and stood up, brushing my hands on my pants.

"Go away," I said as Jax rolled the window down.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Don't be a pain in my rear end," I said.

"Don't be a pain in
my
rear end."

"Why did you drive by?"

"Donna mentioned a crazed, drunken Mrs. Jenkins showed you her knife."

"So?"

"I don't want my main suspect dead."

"How romantic." I crossed my arms.

"Get in."

"No!"

"What if I told you that you're not the only suspect?"

I took a step forward. "What?"

Jax sighed. "You're our main suspect, but there're others. I shouldn't be telling you this. But if you
didn't
do it like you say, then you have to be careful because there's a killer out there."

I leaned on the window, biting my lip. "Shouldn't you be scared of me then, if you're so convinced I'm the killer?"

"Honey, I've never had a problem pinning you down."

I bit back a remark and resumed walking down the side of the road. It was driving me up a wall how some moments Jax was as playful as the day we'd fallen in love, and other moments he was asking me questions, appearing for all intents and purposes to believe I'd killed a man. If he was doing this to get back at me for my choices from ten years ago, it was more than working. And in my book, even a little unfair.

"I'm sorry." Jax eased the car into motion and matched my pace. "Please let me drop you off at home."

"No. Thank. You." I punctuated my words with a finger against his window. I remembered too late it was Nathan's car and felt a little bit bad about the finger smudges. But not that bad, since Nathan had chosen to roast s'mores instead of pick up his wife and me, which had prompted this whole situation in the first place.

"I'm following you home then."

"Fine. I'm not going to talk to you. Please don't run my toes over." I slowed my pace, hoping he'd get the picture and go home. At this rate, it'd take me an hour to get home.

"I got all night, hon. I'm clocking this as overtime. Staking out a suspect."

I showed him one finger that was particularly useful. The long one sandwiched between two shorter ones on either side. Then I wiggled it a little bit. I stomped at a snail's pace for a few minutes, but pretty soon I couldn't stand myself going so slowly, so I resumed normal human walking pace.

Jax coughed, rolled down both windows, and started blaring a
Rocky
theme song.

My ears burned a bit as "Eye of the Tiger" accompanied my nighttime walk of shame home, but I refused to dip my chin. In fact, the only time I faltered during the entire trip home was when Jax switched the radio to play the first song we'd danced to in high school. It'd also been the first song we'd made out to, and gone to second base to, and the first song we'd…well, you get the picture.

I stutter-stepped for a second when it came on but was proud I didn't allow myself to look back. By the time I got to my front door, I gave myself one tiny glance back out of the corner of my eye.

Jax waved as I let myself in the creaky old house, and I was relieved he was too far away to see the wetness pooling in my eyes for the ninetieth time that night. Boy, being home sure did a number on my internal sprinkler system. Hopefully by tomorrow the sinuses would be plumb cleared out.

*   *   *

The morning boasted a bright sun, a cheerful chirping coffee machine, and the promise of a perfect fall day along the Mississippi River. It was a day that begged for a run through crunchy leaves, a slice of pumpkin pie with extra whipped cream, vanilla ice cream, and a warm apple cider on the porch.

I took a deep breath and puttered around the house. I wasn't a particularly early riser on a normal day, but today I had a long list of things to accomplish, so I was happy to be up and at 'em early. I still had a long way to go in finding another suspect in Jenkins's murder, and sleeping the day away wouldn't get me anywhere.

For a brief moment this morning, I'd been able to put the events of yesterday behind me. For example, when I stretched out on my nice, clean sheets upon waking, going to jail had been the furthest thing on my mind. As I took my first glorious sip of coffee (with a boatload of milk), a relaxing day preparing my studio seemed more appropriate than getting a phone call from the police station.

But then the flash of excitement I'd felt seeing six notifications in my email about students wanting to sign up for burlesque classes brought me back to reality. It didn't take a genius to figure out the new students were probably just nosy citizens wanting to see what all the hubbub was about firsthand.

The word had gotten out by now about Mr. Jenkins's death. Between Mrs. Jenkins's loose tongue, Alfie's thrill of being on the case, and the sheer definition of small-town Little Lake life, secrets eased out during the darkness of night. And with the news of Anthony's death, the accusations around who dunnit would swirl closely behind, my name caught up in the whispered beauty-parlor gossip and quiet murmurings over a cold hard cider at Froggy's.

I groaned. Suddenly, the day didn't seem so promising. My coffee tasted significantly more bitter, and even my colorful Froot Loops looked dreary and sad, little
o
's floating in an ocean of milk that'd eventually sink them like the Titanic.

Maybe I was being a bit dramatic, but it wasn't every day I was accused of murder. I didn't know how to deal with these things.

I finished my coffee and slurped the sugary milk, the sweetness adding a little cheer back into my life. Grabbing another cup of coffee, I fumed over the responses I'd gotten to my burlesque class. Nobody—
nobody
—would touch my classes with a ten-foot pole for the entire time I'd been back.

Not until this morning, when I suddenly became the hottest piece of gossip on the town. Now everyone wanted front-row seats to the train wreck that was sure to erupt.

Well, I'd show them. Filled with sudden resolve, I downed my second cup of coffee, forgetting even to add creamer. I typed out an email to my new students:

Welcome!

~*An Intro to Burlesque*~

The Tease…

Welcome to the hottest, exciting new dance trend brought to Little Lake straight from the stages of LA. Your first sixty-minute session will feature some history, different styles, and the transformation of burlesque from its origin through today!

Then…

We'll take it to the floor. You'll get teased with a variety of burlesque styles: striptease, chair tricks, how to seduce with a boa, sexy floor work, and a load of attitude.

Start time: 2:00 p.m. sharp

Attire: clothes you feel sexy enough to dance in

(Please make sure you can move around!)

Where: the new studio next to Sweets

I will supply boas (with sparkles to the lucky few), gloves, and an oversize man's

nightshirt for everyone, in order to get the party started…

See you there!

Misty

Before clicking "Send," I glanced over the six names I'd compiled into a list. Barbara Jones—town busybody. PTA all-star, chocolate chip cookie baker extraordinaire, soccer, hockey,
and
softball mom all in one day, she had her pointy little nose in everything.

She appeared perfect from her shiny hair down to her stair-stepped bottom, but I was willing to bet she couldn't conjure up an ounce of sensuality if she tried. It'd be like teaching a robot how to be sexy. However, she'd show up for one session in order to get enough material to bad-talk me.

I grumped for a moment, then moved on. Sarah Sweeney—she was just on another planet entirely. Quiet and reserved, I would never have guessed she'd sign up. We'd never been friends, but she seemed sweet. There were two names I didn't recognize, though it was possible they'd married and I didn't recognize their last names.

Then there were two surprises. If it was the Sarah Richardson I suspected, she'd been my worst enemy in kindergarten. She moved suddenly up to the big city for first grade (i.e., a small suburb of Minneapolis, which at the time seemed as exotic as Mars), and I'd hoped she'd been sucked into the Mississippi River.