Читать книгу Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 16
ОглавлениеThe bottles of pink nail polish and tubes of matching lipstick peeked at him through the sheer plastic gift bag he’d bought at Wal-Mart. He’d placed the bag on the desk, directly in front of his sketch pad. His first gift to a new lover was always the pearls, perhaps because that was the one item above all others that he associated with—
His hand holding the ink pen quivered ever so slightly.
Cursing himself for allowing her memory to still have such a hold on him, he laid down the pen and grabbed his hand to steady it. She was the past. She was insignificant. Unimportant. She could never hurt him again. Never laugh at him. Never ridicule him in front of her friends.
Unwanted memories flooded his mind. He pressed his fingers against either side of his head, at the temples, and closed his eyes. Don’t remember that afternoon. Don’t think about it. Don’t, damn you, don’t.
Vivid images of her appeared inside his head. Her long dark hair. Her big, expressive brown eyes. Her beautiful face. And her incredible body. He had dreamed of her, worshipped her from afar, wanted her as he had never wanted anything before or since.
He beat the sides and top of his head with his open palms. “Get out of my head, damn you, you vicious little bitch!”
Darkness appeared behind his closed eyelids, then swirls of deep red and flashes of white.
There, that’s better. She’s gone now. You don’t have to think about her. Concentrate on your new love. Think about Thomasina. Move forward with your courtship. You have to finish the drawing so you can put it in the bag with the lipstick and nail polish for her next gift.
Before picking up his pen, he looked at the unfinished sketch and smiled. He hadn’t had the privilege of seeing Thomasina naked. Not yet. But he knew her body, every lush curve. Her slender neck; her long, shapely legs; her full, high breasts.
His semierect penis twitched with anticipation.
He wished they were already lovers, wished she was lying beneath him, telling him she loved him, begging him to make love to her.
Soon, my beautiful Thomasina. Soon.
He lifted the pen and added the subtle nuances to the drawing that brought it to life. Just the right shading to make the nipples appear puckered. And then he moved on, completing the fingers on her right hand that demurely tried to cover her pubic hair.
Brandon Kelley lived outside Adams Landing, in a rock and cedar house built on the banks of the Tennessee River sometime back in the fifties. Brandon had paid five hundred thousand for the place, a fact Bernie knew because her sister, Robyn, had dated the man and he’d bragged to her about how much the house had cost, as well as what his antique Aston Martin was worth. Actually, Bernie knew more about the man and his house than she’d ever wanted to know because her sister was the type who did kiss and tell. Robyn had a penchant for regaling Bernie with stories about her exciting love life. She knew Brandon Kelley liked to give and receive oral sex, that he was a talker during the act and that Robyn, who’d bedded more than her fair share of men, had been impressed with the size of his cock.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Jim said as he drove along the bumpy dirt road leading to Brandon’s house.
“Just thinking.”
“About the case? About whether or not Kelley might be our man?”
“Mmm …”
“What are your gut instincts telling you?”
“Nothing really,” she replied. “I’d never consider Brandon as a suspect if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s a talented artist, which our guy apparently is.”
“You referred to him by his given name. How well do you know him?”
“Not well. Robyn’s the one who knows him.”
“Oh.” Jim tightened his hands on the steering wheel, a fact that Bernie noted and took as a sign of aggravation.
“They dated for a while. Nothing serious.”
“Who broke things off: him or her?”
“What difference does it make? It has no bearing on our case.” Bernie mentally counted to ten, then said, “Unless you’re asking for personal reasons, because you want to make sure she’s not carrying a torch for another guy before you ask her out.”
“Forget I asked.”
“Take the turnoff up there on the left. You can see a glimpse of Brandon’s house from here.”
Jim nodded, took her directions and within a couple minutes pulled his old Chevy truck to a halt in the driveway beside the house.
“Robyn broke things off,” Bernie said. “My sister’s never been dumped in her entire life.”
Jim grunted.
“Well, let’s get this over with.” Bernie opened her door and got out, not waiting for Jim to assist her. He could save his gentlemanly manners for her sister. All she wanted from him was his respect.
Yeah, sure, that’s all you want. You can lie to the whole freaking world, Bernadette Granger, but you shouldn’t lie to yourself.
Jim got in step with her quickly as they approached the wide, sprawling porch that circled three fourths of the house and faced the river. Before they reached the front door, the porch lights came on and the door opened to reveal Brandon standing there waiting for them. Bernie had telephoned half an hour ago and explained that they had a few questions for him about his relationship with Stephanie Preston, and he’d invited them to come to his house this evening. He’d acted charming and cooperative, as if he had nothing to hide.
Maybe he didn’t. She’d know after they talked to him. She’d always had a sixth sense about these things, had always been good at figuring out when somebody was lying to her. That sixth sense had been what alerted her to the fact that her husband had been cheating on her. The only problem was she had chosen to ignore that inner voice for years. And dear God, how she had lived to regret not listening. She had never made that mistake again.
“Come on in,” Brandon said. “Or would y’all prefer to sit out here on the porch? It’s turning out to be a fairly pleasant night, but I’m afraid we’ll get rain before morning.”
“Out here will be fine,” Bernie said.
“Would y’all care for something to drink? I just made a pitcher of iced tea.”
“No, thanks,” Jim said.
“Nothing for me either,” Bernie added.
“Well, then, come on over and sit down.” He indicated the rattan settee and chairs to his right. “I don’t know what I can tell you about Stephanie, poor little thing, but if there’s anything I can do to help y’all find the person who killed her, I’ll be more than happy to.”
“We appreciate your cooperation,” Bernie told him as she sat in one of the chairs, while Jim took the other.
Brandon sat on the settee, crossed his legs and leaned back, looking perfectly at ease as he glanced from Bernie to Jim.
“We were told that you and Stephanie were involved at one time,” Jim said. “Is that correct?”
Brandon smiled and Bernie thought how very attractive he was, very smooth and debonair, almost too sophisticated for a rural area like Adams County, Alabama.
“We had a brief—very brief—fling.” Brandon accentuated his speech with hand mannerisms. “She was a pretty little thing and deliciously eager. But I soon realized that she was taking things a little too seriously, so I ended our relationship quickly.”
“Do you make a habit of dating your students?” Jim narrowed his gaze, giving Brandon what Bernie thought of as “the evil eye.”
Brandon laughed. “I make a habit of dating beautiful young women. Some are students, a few are colleagues”—he looked pointedly at Bernie—“and some are gorgeous fitness instructors with fabulously toned bodies.”
The guy was a sleaze. He might be handsome, cultured, well educated and talented, but he was a sleaze nonetheless. If there was one thing Bernie hated, it was men who bragged about their conquests.
“Did you ever sketch Stephanie?” Bernie asked.
“What?”
“Did you ever—”
“No, I never sketched her. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” Bernie told him. “You’re an artist. She was, as you say, a beautiful young woman. I just thought maybe you liked to sketch or paint your lovers.”
“Have you ever sketched or painted any of your lovers?” Jim asked.
“Yes,” Brandon replied. “But not Stephanie. As I told you, our relationship was short-lived.”
“Were you teaching a class the night Stephanie came up missing?” Jim studied Brandon. Bernie guessed that he, too, had a knack for sensing when someone was lying.
“I don’t teach night classes,” Brandon replied with an air of superiority.
“Then where were you the night Stephanie disappeared?” Jim asked.
“And where were you the day she was killed?” Bernie kept her gaze on Brandon’s face, searching for any sign that might tell her if he was lying.
“You can’t seriously believe that I had anything to do with Stephanie’s disappearance and murder, can you?” An outraged expression marred Brandon’s classically handsome features.
Bernie told him the dates and approximate times of the disappearance and the murder and watched him as he thought about the information. He didn’t appear to be the least bit nervous. Either he was completely innocent or he had simply perfected the art of being “cool.”
“I was here, at home, the night Stephanie disappeared.” He held up a restraining hand. “And before you ask—yes, I have someone who can corroborate that fact. Her name is Holly Burcham. Deputy Holly Burcham.”
Bernie clamped her teeth together tightly, then swallowed hard. Why was she not surprised to discover that one of her few female deputies was banging Brandon Kelley? Could it possibly be because ever since they were high school cheerleaders together, Holly had considered Robyn her rival. Whatever Robyn had, Holly wanted.
“What time did Holly arrive and what time did she leave?” Bernie glared at Brandon, doing her best to disguise the disgust she felt. And yes, the fact that his lack of morals reminded her of her ex did affect her opinion of the man.
“She got here around seven and stayed all night. We went to bed early, but didn’t go to sleep until around midnight.” Brandon clicked his tongue and winked at Bernie.
Sleaze. Irritating, arrogant sleaze. Bernie groaned internally, longing to reach out and slap that silly, honey-I’m-so-good-in-bed smile off his face.
“What about the day Stephanie was killed?” Jim asked totally deadpan, without any expression whatsoever, not on his face or in his voice.
“I was at the college all day. My first class was at eight and my last one ended at five. And no, I did not leave the campus and there should be dozens of witnesses to that fact.” Brandon twined his fingers together and leisurely rested one elbow against the settee arm as he leaned his body comfortably in that direction.
“If everything you’ve told us checks out, you’re in the clear,” Jim said.
“Is that all?” Brandon asked.
Jim stood and looked down at Brandon. “Only one more question tonight: Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm Stephanie? Anyone who held a grudge against her, her husband or her family?”
Brandon shrugged. “No, sorry. I’m afraid I didn’t know much about Stephanie’s personal life. We weren’t friends. We were simply lovers for a couple of weeks and my interest in her didn’t go beyond a mutual sexual attraction.”
Bernie rose to her feet, forced herself to shake hands with Brandon and said, “Thank you for your cooperation.”
He held her hand a moment too long and said, “Tell Robyn I said hello.”
Bernie plastered a weak half smile on her lips, then turned and headed off the porch, wanting to get away from this guy as quickly as possible before she acted in an unprofessional manner.
She made it back to the truck ahead of Jim, and by the time he opened the driver’s door, she was already inside the cab and had her seatbelt fastened. Jim got in, inserted the key in the ignition switch and started the engine; then he spread his arm out across the back of the seat, his big hand resting behind her head.
“Nice fellow,” Jim said.
“Isn’t he?” Bernie replied sarcastically.
“So, is he the type of guy your sister likes?”
That was it—the straw that broke the camel’s back. The tension that had built up inside her at having to deal with a bastard like Brandon Kelley had brought her to the very edge, but she had managed to remain in control. But now this! She’d thought she could handle Jim’s interest in Robyn, that even if the two dated, she would not get upset. After all, Jim Norton was nothing more to her than any other deputy.
Yeah, right. He’s just the man she’d had a teenage crush on, the man she had idolized from afar like so many other teenage girls had done a couple of decades ago. And he was just the first man in only God knew how long who had stirred back to life something uniquely feminine and sexual within her. That’s all Jim Norton was to her.
“Robyn doesn’t actually have a specific type,” Bernie said, doing her best to keep her voice calm. “So if you’re thinking that she might not date you because you’re nothing like Brandon, don’t worry. My sister loves to sample a variety. She has very eclectic tastes in bed partners. Although I have to admit that given the choice between a nice guy and a real sleaze, she usually tends to choose the sleaze.”
Jim sucked in his cheeks, then huffed out a boy-did-I-step-in-it breath and said, “Okay, thanks for clearing that up for me.”
“You’re welcome,” Bernie said much too loudly.
But Jim appeared to ignore her. He backed his truck out of the driveway and onto the dirt road without saying another word or glancing her way. They drove in silence all the way back to town, which made Bernie feel rather foolish. She kept wondering if Jim realized the real reason she had overreacted to his perfectly normal question about her sister’s preference in men. Did he realize that she was jealous of the fact that he was interested in her sister and not in her? God, she hoped not.
Jim couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Bernie, why she seemed to be angry with him. Or did he have nothing to do with her attitude? Maybe she was mad at her sister for apparently sleeping around and choosing the wrong kind of guy time and again.
Just like Mary Lee. Another thing Robyn Granger had in common with his ex-wife. If this similarity didn’t warn him off, nothing would. Hadn’t he sworn that if he ever got seriously involved with another woman, he would listen to his brain and not his dick? Yeah, but who said that if he and Robyn became involved, it would turn into something serious. He got the idea that she wasn’t interested in settling down. So what would be the harm in getting to know the lady a little better, in getting himself laid?
“You’ll have to give me directions to your house,” Jim said. “I don’t know where you live.”
“Huh?”
“You want me to take you home, don’t you? Or should I drop you off to pick up your Jeep? I assume you don’t still live at home with your parents.”
“No, I have my own place and my folks probably took my Jeep to my house for me. I live on East Jefferson Street. That’s two blocks down from Washington. One-oh-four. It’s the third house on the right, an old twenties bungalow. Pale yellow with dark green shutters.”
Jim nodded and continued driving. He had kept silent because Bernie seemed to prefer it that way; besides, he really didn’t know of anything to talk about other than the case they were working on together. He had immediately sensed the tension between them and wished he knew if he’d done something to create the problem. Too bad Charlie Patterson had gotten a call from his headquarters in Huntsville and had to drive back there overnight; otherwise, Charlie would have gone with them to question Brandon Kelley, and maybe his presence would have diffused whatever had set Bernie off. It wasn’t as if she’d screamed or chewed him out or told him that she was totally pissed. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out that something had ruffled her feathers.
“This is it, right?” he asked as soon as he spotted the house. He knew it had to be the right one since the street numbers had been painted on the curb and glowed in the dark. And with the porch light on, the large brass numbers attached to the door frame were visible.
“Yes, this is it.”
He pulled into the drive and stopped at the brick sidewalk that led from the drive to the porch. As soon as he killed the motor, he opened his door, but before he got out, she said, “You don’t have to go to the trouble of seeing me to my door.”
He hesitated for half a second, then got out anyway and replied, “No trouble.” By the time he made it around to the passenger side, she’d already opened her door and gotten out on her own. They stood there and stared at each other for just a minute; then she started walking. He fell into step beside her, and together they rounded the truck’s hood, walked up the sidewalk and stepped up on the porch.
When they reached her front door, she stopped and turned to face him. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.” He made it halfway down the sidewalk before he turned around and called to her. “Do you want to go somewhere and get a bite to eat? We didn’t have any supper and I don’t know about you, but my stomach’s growling.”
She paused in the middle of opening her front door, squared her shoulders and glanced at him. “There is absolutely nothing open in Adams Landing this late on a Sunday night.”
“You’re kidding? Surely one of the fast-food places stays open past nine.”
“Not on Sunday nights.”
“Great. I guess I’ll have to settle for some peanut butter and crackers when I get to the house.”
When he walked away, she called, “Jim?”
He halted. “Yeah?”
“Want to come in and eat supper with me? I’m sure my mother brought some leftovers from dinner and put them in my refrigerator. She always loads me down with leftovers since she knows I seldom cook just for myself.”
“Lady, if you think I’m going to turn down an offer like that, you don’t know me.” He hurried up the sidewalk and was right behind her by the time she opened her front door.
She flipped on the overhead light as she entered the house, and Jim scanned the large, square-shaped living room as he came inside behind her. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find—maybe a plain, colorless decor with functional furniture—but this warm, homey room filled with comfortable-looking chairs and a sofa and what he figured were several antique pieces surprised him. The walls were pale yellow, with wide crown molding at the top and old-fashioned mopboard at the bottom. Floral silk curtains hung over plantation blinds at the windows. Standing there in the middle of the room, Jim got the oddest feeling. He felt at home, and God knew he hadn’t felt at home anywhere in ages. What was it about Bernie’s house that made him react like this?
It’s because this house, even this room, reminds you of your grandmother Norton’s house in Mississippi.
“Sit down and relax,” Bernie told him. “Turn on the TV or the radio or put on a CD while I go warm us up some supper. Do you prefer ham or fried chicken? Since Mama served both today, I’m sure there’s some of both in my refrigerator.”
“I’m not picky. Either is just fine with me.” But he didn’t sit down; instead, he followed her through the house and toward the kitchen.
She glanced over her shoulder and stared at him. “What?”
“I’m coming out to the kitchen to help you,” he said.
“Oh.”
Her kitchen was small, no more than twelve by twelve, and a set of long windows commanded most of the space on the back wall. The room had been wallpapered in tiny, navy blue gingham checks and white curtains hung at the windows and on the half-glass backdoor. The cabinets and appliances were all white, as were the small table and two chairs situated in front of the windows.
“So, what can I do to help?” he asked.
“Get us a couple of plates and some glasses.” She pointed to the top center cabinet. “And the silverware is in the drawer directly below.” Again, she pointed. “You set the table and I’ll see what I can find in the refrigerator.”
“Okay.”
Twenty minutes later, they sat across from each other at the table, two wiped-clean plates in front of them, along with two empty iced tea glasses and a couple of crumb-covered dessert plates.
Jim leaned back, rubbed his belly and sighed. “Your mother is a great cook. If possible, that food tasted better the second time around.”
Bernie groaned. “I ate too much. I shouldn’t have eaten dessert, but I cannot resist my mother’s Mississippi mud pie.”
Jim chuckled.
“What’s funny?”
“You are,” he told her, then added, “in a good way.”
When she stared at him quizzically, he explained, “It’s just that most women won’t eat like you did in front of a man. They pretend they have these delicate little appetites and nibble at their food.”
“You’ll learn soon enough that I’m not like most women.”
“What I said, I meant as a compliment, not an insult.”
“I didn’t take it as an insult.”
“Good.”
“I can put on some decaf coffee, if you’d like.”
Jim shook his head. “As tempting as that is, I’ll pass.” He scooted back his chair, stood and stretched. “After I help you clean up, I’d better head on home. Six o’clock will roll around in a hurry.”
She stood, picked up his plate and stacked it on top of hers. “You don’t have to stay and help me clean up. It won’t take a minute to put these things in the dishwasher. You go on and get a good night’s rest. We’ve still got a murder case to solve.”
“If you’re sure you don’t need my help.”
“I’m sure.”
She walked him to the front porch, then stood there and watched him as he got in his old truck. He paused, looked back at her and waved before he started the engine. She lifted her hand and waved, a soft smile on her lips. All of a sudden, Jim didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go back to his cold, lonely duplex. He wanted to stay here in this warm, inviting home… with Bernie.
Hellfire, what was wrong with him? He wasn’t attracted to Bernie, didn’t feel “that way” about her, so why was it that he didn’t want to leave her?
Because you felt comfortable with her, as if you’d known her all your life.
He rolled down the window and called to her, “See you in the morning, boss.”
Laughing, she shook her head and called back to him, “That’s Sheriff Granger to you, deputy.”
“Thanks for supper.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And thanks for the good company.”
“Same here.”
“Sleep tight.”
“You, too.”
Damn it, Norton, go home, will you? If you keep hanging around, she’s going to think you don’t want to leave.
I don’t.
Go home. You can’t stay here and sleep on Bernie’s couch, even if you want to and she might actually let you. What would the neighbors think? Chuckling to himself, Jim put the truck’s gears into reverse and backed out of the driveway, then headed down Jefferson. Halfway to his duplex apartment an odd thought hit him. Not once while he’d been with Bernie had he thought about her beautiful sister.
