Authors: Maggie Toussaint
Chapter 15
I decided to knock off work at four o’clock Friday
afternoon. My client calls had been returned, two more homeowner association
audits had been completed, and the billing was caught up. Not bad for a half
day’s effort.
I had been walking on air all
afternoon, a big goofy smile on my face. Sleeping with Rafe tended to do that.
“You’re certainly in a good mood
today.” Mama leaned a trim hip against the doorjamb. She’d dressed in a
cotton-candy pink sheath and jacket, but the colorful outfit didn’t brighten
her tired air.
I filed away the materials from
the completed audits, smiling inwardly at her observation. “Go ahead. I know
you’re dying to say it.”
Mama laughed, her worried
expression fading. “You’re right. I told you so. I told you so. Getting laid
this morning did you a world of good.”
I blushed. Sex wasn’t a topic I
discussed with Mama. “That’s certainly part of it. I feel like a million
dollars.”
She drifted closer. “It shows.
That Rafe Golden is not so bad.”
He was magnificent. I had trusted
him, and he hadn’t let me down. It didn’t get any better than that. “I love
him, Mom.”
Mama halted. “You certain?”
“Absolutely.” The knowledge
swelled up in me like heated popcorn, pushing at my reservations, seeking
release.
“He seems fond of you.”
“I want to be with him all the time, but I have a responsibility to set a good moral example for the girls. Only, neither of the
girls said anything about us sleeping together this morning. Do you think they
didn’t notice?”
Mama settled in a guest chair,
dismissing my question with a flip of her wrist. “Not a chance. Believe me, they know exactly what’s going on between you and Rafe.”
I clasped my hands to my chest,
daring to hope. I could have it all, a boyfriend and a family. “Do you think
they’re all right with it?”
“Ask them.”
If I couldn’t talk sex with Mama,
no way could I discuss it with the girls. “Right.” Time for this conversation
to end. I stood.
“Anybody back here?” Britt called
from the outer office.
At the sound of his voice, Mama
lurched to her feet, the color draining from her face. Heart in my throat, I
went to her, cinching my arm around her waist. “Come on in. We’re back here.”
Britt’s strong legs ate up the
ground. All too soon he stood next to us, thick forearms bulging from his hunter-green
polo, gun and badge visible at his waist. His close-cropped hair, steely eyes,
and inscrutable face all painted a picture of a tough cop. “I have news.”
I dared to hope for good news,
but his serious demeanor worried me. “Let’s sit down over by the window.” I
steered Mama into a chair and sat next to her, holding her trembling hand.
Britt perched on the edge of his
seat. “The charges against you have been dropped, Delilah.”
Mama gasped. I clutched my heart.
Hope flared, sparkled, and burst across my thoughts. “Eleanor?”
Britt nodded, his features
hardening once again. “You were right about her, Cleo. She had us fooled. She
was in Hogan’s Glen that night. Ate dinner at her brother’s house, bought gas
at the minute market, and made a call on her cell phone to Bud Flook.”
“Perfect Eleanor.” I closed my
eyes momentarily as another wave of relief swept through me. How the mighty had
fallen. “She was always a little too good to be true if you ask me.”
“The feds are questioning her.
They think she colluded with her business partner to defraud their lender. Her
partner took four million out of their business account and fled the country.
Left her to face the music. She was desperate for money.”
Britt’s gray eyes darkened with
concern. “I’m sorry for what you went through, Delilah. I had no choice. Your
Olds is the murder weapon.”
Mama finally found her voice. “Will
I get my car back?”
“I’ll see to it,” Britt said.
Mama sighed deeply.
Britt’s news tumbled through my
mind. Curiosity reared its ugly, whiskered head. “Did Eleanor confess to
killing her mother?”
He stiffened. “She hasn’t
confessed to anything except hating her mother.”
Hate was a strong word. I
shuddered. Her Crandall ancestors must be mortified. “Is she out on bail?”
“When Evan came in to post bail, she spit on him. Told him not to bother. She started yelling at him about
what a big disappointment he was to the family, and she wouldn’t calm down
until he left. She’s staying in jail until the trial.”
“If they have a Christmas pageant
in prison, she’ll already know the part of the Virgin Mary.” It was a mean thing to say, but I felt mean. Perfect Eleanor had nearly framed Mama. Eleanor wasn’t so
perfect anymore.
Britt rose, touched his gun and
badge in an unconscious motion. “I haven’t seen my family in two days, but I
wanted to tell you personally that you were exonerated, Delilah.”
“This is for real? You won’t
change your mind?” Mama’s voice cracked with emotion.
“Not a chance,” he said. “The DA
says the case against Eleanor is rock solid.”
“Well, hallelujah! It’s about time you came to your senses, young man.” Mama stood up, her face wreathed in smiles. “Excuse me. I’ve got calls to make.”
“She’s got grit,” Britt said as
Mama hurried outside, leaving the front door wide open.
Grit was a family trait. I
rounded on Britt. “She’s got a heart condition, and you put her through hell.”
Britt raised his hand, his
wedding ring tight on his thick fingers. “Don’t start on me, Cleo. I had no
choice. My wife has been giving me grief nonstop ever since I arrested Delilah.”
“Good for her,” I said. “Nice to
know the whole world didn’t go crazy at once. You tell Melissa I owe her one.”
Britt nodded. At the doorway, he
looked over his shoulder. “Thanks for your help, Cleo.”
I hadn’t expected him to say anything.
His humility touched my heart. “You’re welcome.” I sat for a minute in my
office, enjoying the peace and quiet. Satisfaction purred through me. I couldn’t re member when I’d felt this wonderful.
Mama was off the hook for Erica’s
murder. Our home was secure. Madonna’s puppies were healthy. And I’d slept with
my boyfriend at my house. Not bad for a day’s work. Not bad at all.
* * * * *
Saturday morning dawned with
clear skies. Dew glistened on the grass surrounding the practice tee at the
golf club. I made a pendulum stroke with my putter. The ball rolled directly
across the smooth putting surface and clinked into the cup. I grinned at my hot
teacher.
Rafe smiled back, his eyes warm
and knowing. “You’ve got the basics down, Red. Practice will increase your
consistency.”
We’d practiced a lot of things
last night. We’d been so absorbed in each other that we’d forgotten to eat. I
hadn’t minded the lack of food one bit. However, certain muscles were letting
their presence be known today. A long soak in a hot tub sounded like just the
thing to round out my Saturday morning.
“Easy for you to say.” I hooked
the head of my Ping putter over my shoulder. “You practically live at the golf
course. When I get the time to come here, my mind is on playing, not on practicing.”
Two golfers smacked balls on the
range behind us, and another woman putted on the far side of the putting green.
Rafe’s sandy eyebrows waggled. “Practice
makes perfect.”
“Don’t even say that word.” I
shivered. “Perfect Eleanor almost ruined my family.”
Rafe moved closer. His husky
voice resonated deep within my bones. “But you didn’t let her. You kept digging
until you found the answer.”
“Does this mean you approve of my
nosing around?”
His expression sobered. “It means I’m relieved you gave Britt the information and let him handle the dirty work.”
Not a ringing endorsement, but I’d take it. “Doesn’t it seem odd that the killer turned out to be a woman? What does
that say about Hogan’s Glen?”
Rafe extracted another golf ball
from his front pocket and rolled it toward my feet. “It says know your woman or
you could wind up dead.”
I gave up the pretext of putting.
Conscious of the others nearby, I lowered my voice. “Am I your woman, Rafe?”
“Most definitely.”
I snorted delicately. “That
sounds like a caveman attitude.”
He held my gaze, heating my
blood. “When it comes to women, men think like cavemen. Don’t let any guy tell
you different.”
An older gentleman joined us on
the putting green. Rafe acknowledged the man with a smile and a nod. “My ten
o’clock lesson is here, Red. Are you going to stay and practice?”
“Heck, no,” I said. “I’m starved,
and I’m looking forward to soaking in the tub.”
To my surprise, Rafe blushed. He
turned to his other student. “Go ahead and hit a few balls on the range,
Nelson. I’ll be right there.”
Rafe scooped up my golf bag and
caught my hand. At the casual contact, electricity arced between us. I wanted
to jump him, but that was poor course etiquette. Definitely not allowed in the
Rules of Golf.
He stowed my clubs in my trunk
and pulled me close for a lingering kiss. We drew wolfish whistles from men loading carts in the parking lot. I didn’t care. My blood sang a happy tune.
“When can I see you again?”
Rafe’s fingers combed through my hair, which had somehow come out of its customary pony tail.
“Tonight. Come over tonight. I’ll figure something out.”
He kissed me again, long and
slow. “Tonight.”
After he left, I sat in my Volvo,
thoughts humming in my head. I loved him. He called me his woman. I trusted
him. Did that mean we were becoming a family? It sure felt like that was the
case.
And that made me happy.
Very happy.
I rummaged through my purse,
looking for my calendar, to double-check that my schedule was clear today. I’d
crossed out my personal training session with Evan to make the golf lesson
appointment with Rafe. I’d called the gym yesterday to cancel today’s session.
Cars whizzed by on the highway,
but I sat rooted in place. Poor Evan. His family had imploded. His sister had
killed his mother, and his sister didn’t want anything to do with him. He had
no one. For years he’d lived under his big sister’s shadow. Living with Erica
and Eleanor must have been awful.
Britt said Eleanor had yelled at
Evan in the police station. About what a big disappointment he was to the
family. Had his mom and sister expected him to rake in the dough?
If not for my nosing around, I
could be in Evan’s shoes. Without that new evidence, Mama would be looking at
prison. I would have spent every penny I owned on her defense. For her freedom,
I’d have given up my house and financial security. Luckily fate had intervened.
But fate had dealt a rough blow
to Evan. How was he holding up? He must feel like a broken man, bereft of
family, isolated by shame. Poor, poor Evan. He was alone in the world now. I bet
he could use a friend.
I needed food. Wouldn’t it be
nice if I got enough for two and dropped over to cheer Evan up? He was my
personal trainer, after all. I might be the closest thing he had to a friend.
My stomach growled urgently. I
needed food and I needed it fast. At the drive-through window, I got two big
breakfasts to go. With juice. A health nut like Evan probably drank juice with
every meal. Even if he turned his nose up at the greasy food, he’d go for the
juice.
I drove to Evan’s apartment and knocked on his door.
Loud Jimmy Buffet music pulsed
through the opening when Evan opened the door. Surprising musical choice, given
Evan’s hard-work philosophy. I would never have pegged him as the Caribbean
party type. He was more the poster child for a health infomercial.
Nor would I have guessed he owned
a Hawaiian shirt, bright red shorts, and flip-flops. The definition in his leg
muscles drew my eyes down to his tanned feet and nicely trimmed toenails. I’d never seen Evan’s toenails before, but they were trimmed as if he’d had a
pedicure. The man was full of contradictions. I couldn’t imagine Rafe or
Charlie going to a nail salon.
“Cleo! What a surprise.” A dark
look crossed his face. “I didn’t forget your session today, did I? The gym said
you cancelled our appointment.”
“I did. But I need to talk to you
about that.”
In the background Jimmy crooned
about fins to the left and right. Evan’s shoulders moved to the feel-good
Caribbean beat. A wall of heat and coconut oil wafted out through Evan’s
doorway. He was really into this tropical thing. I half expected a parrot to
fly up to his shoulder.
“I’m sorta busy,” Evan admitted.
His personal inconsistencies
intrigued me. Why was he in tropical mode? My curiosity flexed its muscle, and
I waved the paper bag of food at him. The aroma of fresh, hot fries encircled
us. “I brought food. Breakfast. I hope you’ll share it with me.”
Evan hesitated, so I waved the
bag of food again. My stomach growled at the enticing smells. “All right,” Evan
said “Come on in.” He cut the volume on his stereo and invited me to sit in his living room.
When he disappeared into a hall
closet, I took stock of my surroundings. Precision-aligned black-and-white
artwork decorated the plain white walls. A cluster of coconut-scented candles
flickered on the walnut coffee table. A leather sofa and chair faced off
against a massive entertainment system.
The National Anthem of
Margaritaville filled the air. Curious. The austere furnishings fit with what I
knew about Evan’s personality, but I liked the laid-back, less intense Evan
better. Was he taking antidepressants to combat stress? With all he’d endured,
poor Evan deserved the lift.
The good vibes from the stereo
infected me. I sank happily into the overstuffed buttery-soft leather sofa. My
toe tapped along with the fun music, while my brain danced around the paradox
of Evan.