Читать книгу Capturing Cleo - Linda Winstead Jones - Страница 10

“This is not the police station,” Cleo muttered, as Malone pulled his gray sedan to the curb. “As a matter of fact, we’re not even close to the police station.”

Malone threw open his door and unfolded his long body from the driver’s seat, ignoring her statement. He rounded the car and opened her door for her, leaning slightly in. Like it or not, he took her breath away when he moved in close like this.

“The Rocket City Café has better coffee,” he said as he offered his hand to assist her from the car. She grudgingly placed her hand in his and stood. “Besides,” he added as he released her hand and closed the car door, “you’re nervous. The station would just make matters worse.”

“I am not nervous,” she retorted.

The annoying Detective Malone responded with a brief smile.

The Rocket City Café was a small restaurant with plastic red-and-white checkered tablecloths and a strange collection of patrons. Two old men sat in a corner booth and argued about local politics. A group of elderly women crowded around a table in the center of the room, and from the excited utterances about brownies and bundt cakes, it seemed they were planning a bake sale. A middle-aged waitress in a pink uniform and a white apron leaned against the counter where a No Smoking sign was prominent, and smoked as if she really enjoyed every puff. A very young short-order cook, with his long hair in a hair net, scrubbed the grill behind the counter. He was singing, and not very well.

When the waitress saw Malone she smiled and put her cigarette out in a nearby coffee cup. “Hey, Sugar,” she said, with a grin that transformed her face into a mass of wrinkles. “The usual?”

“Yeah, and…” He glanced down at Cleo. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t make me eat breakfast in front of you while you sit there and glare at me. Get something to eat. They have really great doughnuts here, and if that doesn’t grab you, they have pancakes. Eggs. Cinnamon buns.”

She stared at him silently.

He lifted finely shaped eyebrows and pinned those dark eyes on her. “At least get something to drink.”

The waitress was waiting. Malone was waiting. And Cleo just wanted to get this over with. “Orange juice,” she said, giving in too easily. “And toast.”

Malone led her to a booth against the window, where they could watch the people passing on the sidewalk. This position also placed them as far away as possible from the other customers, no doubt so he could interrogate her without having to lower his voice.

Cleo sat, and the old cushion sank.

“So,” Malone said, taking his own seat, which didn’t seem to sink quite so low. “Tell me about Tempest.”

Cleo fixed her eyes to Malone’s. He thought she was nervous? She’d show him. She could be fearless when she had to be, and she was not afraid of this cop or anyone else. “Jack was a mean-spirited, unfaithful, unscrupulous snake. Marrying him was the worst mistake of my life, and I am not sorry to know that I won’t ever have to see his face again.”

The waitress popped into the picture to place a huge mug of coffee before Malone and a tall glass of cold juice before Cleo. Their conversation ceased until she moved away.

“Do you know who killed him?” Malone asked calmly.

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

“Probably not.”

Malone took a long swig of coffee. “Fair enough,” he said as he set the mug on the table. “I’ll need a list of everyone who was in the club last week when you told your little grapefruit joke.”

“If I can remember.”

“Do you have a gentleman friend, Ms. Tanner?” He didn’t look at her as he asked this question, but stared into his cup of coffee. “Someone who might have felt compelled to defend your honor and then leave a grapefruit behind so you’d be sure to know this murder was a…gift?”

“No gentleman friend,” she said precisely, her heart clenching at the idea that someone might have thought she’d consider Jack’s murder a gift.

“Oh,” he said. “Then, who sent the roses?”

The temperature of her blood rose a notch. She was not about to tell Malone about her secret admirer. He’d probably find it all very amusing. Besides, secret admirers were harmless. She’d had more than her share. They all turned out to be shy, sweet men suffering from something that was no more intense than a crush, ordinary men too timid to approach her even to say hello.

“None of your business.”

“You are going to cooperate, aren’t you, Ms. Tanner?”

She didn’t like the way he said that, or the way he lifted his eyebrows and planted his eyes on her and asked the question as if it wasn’t a question at all, but a demand. No one pushed her around anymore, no one told her what to do. Not even Luther Malone.

Cleo was saved from answering when the waitress appeared again, bearing a tray laden with food. She placed a heavy white plate with four pieces of toast—three more than Cleo would eat—on the table, along with a bowl filled with small containers of butter and strawberry jam.

Malone’s plate was huge: scrambled eggs, a mound of bacon, a bowl of grits and one of those doughnuts he’d tried to entice her with. Glazed.

She shook her head and smiled as she reached for the preserves, letting loose a very small laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Malone asked defensively.

“Nothing. Just wondering if I’ll be a suspect when you keel over with hardened arteries.” She glanced at the plate. “Something which is certain to happen any day now, if that is your ‘usual.’”

“Oh,” he said, reaching for the pepper. “I thought you were laughing at the doughnut.”

“That’s just icing on the…”

“…doughnut?” he finished.

She liked the fact that he ate such a huge and fat-laden breakfast and then finished it off with the cliché of a cop’s doughnut. It made him more…human, somehow. Her smile faded. It was bad enough that she’d placed him so high on the Barney-Bruce scale and thought he was inappropriately good-looking; now she actually had to like something about him? Bad news. Very bad news.

“And to answer your question,” she said, putting on her most severe face. “No, I don’t see any reason why I should cooperate with you.”

He nodded his head as if he had already figured that out.

Cleo took a bite of her toast, glad that Malone was giving at least some of his attention to his breakfast. He did keep looking at her, though, lifting his head and staring at her hard, as if he might see something different, this time.

He lifted his head, stared at her face and pointed. “You have…” He wiggled that long finger in her direction.

“I have what?” she snapped. “Guilt written all over my face? A suspicious glint in my eye?”

He reached across the table and touched her face, there near her mouth, dragging the tip of his finger slowly and gently down. It was a shock, when he touched her—a literal, heart-jolting shock. His warm finger briefly brushed her lower lip, sending a riot of sensations she did not want or need through her body. Her heart beat too fast, her temperature rose, and she was quite sure he would be able to see the heat she felt in her cheeks.

Malone showed her his finger as it withdrew. “Strawberry jam on your face.”

When he licked the jam off his finger, she thought she would swoon.

And Cleo Tanner did not swoon! She took a napkin and rubbed it vigorously against the corner of her mouth, there where he had touched her, doing her best to wipe away any remaining jam as well as the lingering effect of that warm finger on her face and her lip.

Malone seemed unaffected, by the contact and by her reaction to it. “Do you think Tempest would commit suicide?”

“No,” she said, while he dug into his breakfast. “I already told you that.”

“I know, but…it’s the grapefruit that mucks everything up. Would he jump with a grapefruit just to screw up your life again?”

Again, like Malone knew everything about her and Jack. “Maybe,” she admitted softly. “If Jack was going to kill himself, he’d definitely go out of his way to pin it on me.”

Malone wagged an egg-laden fork in her direction. “That’s what I figured, but still…I don’t see suicide.”

He sounded almost disappointed. “Then, why the hell did you ask?”

“Gotta cover everything.”

“Then, don’t forget about Randi with an i,” Cleo said. “She’d been with Jack long enough to know what he was like, and she didn’t like me.”

“Why not?”

“Because Jack wouldn’t leave me alone, that’s why,” she said softly.

He nodded, again as if he understood.

“Now will you hurry up and eat that monster breakfast so you can get me back to my car and I can go home? I’ve had about all the cooperation I can take.”

Luther didn’t hurry, but he did quit questioning Cleo and gave his breakfast the attention it deserved, while she played with a piece of toast and sipped at her juice. Cleo Tanner hadn’t tossed her ex-husband off the First Heritage Bank building, of that he was ninety-percent sure. But she was at the middle of it, somehow.

He wished she’d eat a little more, maybe get more jam on the corner of her mouth so he could remove it for her. Wiping it off had been bad enough. What he’d really wanted to do, what he still wanted to do, was lick it off.

Stupid idea. Cleo was gorgeous, in an exotic, all-woman kind of way, but she was too stubborn for his taste. She liked to argue, to butt heads. And what a mouth! He liked his women soft and sweet and compliant.

Well, soft, sweet and compliant was great for an hour or two, he admitted grudgingly. After that, most women lost their luster. They wanted too much, they needed too much. Cleo Tanner was anything but compliant. She was also anything but sweet. As for soft…

He almost groaned aloud when Russell walked into the diner, smile on his face, not a single golden hair out of place. The kid didn’t even dress like a homicide detective. Tan pants, blue shirt, brown jacket, burgundy tie and those damn loafers. The kid looked like he’d just stepped out of GQ, right down to the brilliant grin he turned on them.

“I figured I’d find you here,” the kid said, and then he laid eyes on Cleo.

The kid was transparent, and he’d just fallen instantly, deeply and annoyingly in love. Well, in lust, anyway. Luther had a feeling that happened a lot to Cleo. She sucked unsuspecting men in like a swirling, dangerous, inescapable black hole. If he wasn’t careful, he could be next.

“What do you want?” Luther asked.

“We’re supposed to be partners, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean we’re joined at the hip,” Luther grumbled. God, the kid was so damn…enthusiastic.

“My mistake. I thought we were working on the Tempest case today. I didn’t know you had a…” He laid adoring eyes on Cleo again. “A breakfast date.” Russell actually blushed.

“Michael Russell, this is Cleo Tanner.”

The kid’s smile faded quickly. He knew the name well. “Oh.” Still, he offered his hand, and Cleo took it. “A pleasure, ma’am.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she said, with a frosty smile that Russell apparently found endearing. He sat beside her, and she scooted toward the window to give him room.

“Cleo Tanner,” Russell said, nodding his head knowingly.

Cleo sighed. “Yes, Jack Tempest was my ex-husband,” she said in a no-nonsense voice. “Yes, I hated his guts. No, I didn’t kill him. You’re up to speed, now.”

Russell smiled at her, that sweet smile that probably had women falling at his feet. Luther was glad to see that Cleo didn’t immediately fall. She looked as wary as ever.

“Glad to hear it,” the kid said.

“Robin,” Luther said, signaling to the waitress as he took out his wallet and threw a few bills on the table. “Get Mikey here a good breakfast.”

Russell bristled at being called Mikey, as he always did, and Robin waited for his order. The kid debated for a minute, until Luther rose to his feet and signaled for the kid to let Cleo out. Russell came quickly to his feet and offered Cleo an assisting hand that she blatantly refused. Good for her.

“No, I’m not hungry,” Russell said as he stepped back and let Cleo rise from the booth on her own. “I’ll ride with you guys, if that’s okay. I can pick up my car later.”

Luther growled and took Cleo’s arm, and she shook him off with a muttered and sardonic “The more the merrier.”

He drove Cleo to the lot where her car was parked, Russell chattering away in the backseat. Luther tuned the kid out, and apparently so did Cleo. Russell was not deterred; he talked about the weather, a movie he saw last night, the traffic. Inane, polite, irritating chatter. He was still talking when Luther pulled into the lot where Cleo’s car was parked.

She exited the car quickly, and Luther did the same. When Russell tried to open his door and join them, Luther pushed it in and glared through the window. The kid got the message and settled back with that damnable smile on his pretty face.

Cleo wasted no time. She had her keys in her hand and had inserted one into the door lock, as Luther came up behind her.

“Put a peephole in your door,” he ordered.

“Mind your own business.”

“And move that damn spare key.”

She had the door open. “Screw you, Malone.”

Oh, he could only wish… He shook the inappropriate cravings off and grabbed Cleo’s arm, preventing her from slipping into her Corvette and out of the parking lot.

“I don’t like this,” he said.

She stared at the hand on her arm. “Neither do I,” she said frostily.

For a second, a long second where nothing moved, Luther wondered if either of them was talking about Jack Tempest, murder or grapefruit.

He didn’t release her. Not yet. “I would like to believe that your ex committed suicide, but I don’t.”

Some of the toughness faded from her face, leaving her looking momentarily vulnerable. “Neither do I,” she said again.

“And like it or not, the grapefruit means you’re involved.”

“I know,” she said.

“So put a peephole in your door and move that friggin’ key.”

She almost smiled. The tension faded for a moment and she was more tempting than ever. For a second he saw the unguarded Cleo, a real warm woman who needed to be scratched behind her ears until she purred. “I’ll think about it.”

He released her, and she immediately opened her door and dropped into her seat. Before she could close the door, he leaned in, placing his face near hers. He could almost see every muscle in her body tense, and her eyes—golden eyes that had been almost laughing a moment ago—became guarded. She didn’t like it when he got too close, he had sensed that from the beginning. Tough.

“Like it or not this is my case, Ms. Tanner, and alibi or no alibi, you haven’t seen the last of me.”

She said something obscene, and he withheld a smile. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Not if I can help it,” she said, reaching past him to grab the handle and pull the car door closed. He barely had time to jump out of the way.

She jammed the keys into the ignition, then hesitated. After a moment she rolled her window down and lifted softened eyes to him. “I didn’t mean that,” she said, almost apologetically. “About my mother.”

He could not imagine why she was telling him this, but he nodded as if he understood completely.

“True, we get along much better when she’s in Montgomery and I’m in Huntsville, but…” Her face fell. “Crap. I’m going to have to call and tell her about Jack. She hated him more than I did, but she will want to send flowers to the funeral.” She rolled her eyes in disgust. “It’s the right thing to do, you know.”

“Do you want me to make the call for you?” he asked.

She laid her strangely golden eyes on him, no longer angry. This Cleo was guarded but honest. She was a little afraid, a little shaken, and she refused to admit to either. Still, the strength that put fire in her eyes and a sassy retort on her lips was there, as much a part of her as her shape, her mouth, that amazing head of hair. And he wanted, more than anything, to kiss her.

“You would do that?” she asked.

“If you want me to.”

“No, thanks. I can handle it.” She shook her head slightly. “God, Malone, you would have to turn out to be a nice guy.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It is,” she said as she began to roll up her window.

Oh, this was a bad idea. Cleo was a suspect in a murder, and even though he had dismissed her as a viable option, she was connected to the investigation. She was off-limits. This was his damn job, and he never mixed business with pleasure. He couldn’t start now, no matter how tempted he might be.

Cleo was talking to herself as she drove away. He couldn’t hear her, but he saw her mouth move. Maybe she was cursing his name. Then again…

“Now, that’s a woman,” Russell said, and Luther turned around to see that the kid was leaning against the car with an annoyingly jaunty air.

“Too much woman for you,” Luther said as he headed for the driver’s side.

“But not for you,” Russell said, with a smile, hurrying to the passenger seat so he wouldn’t be left behind.

“Maybe she is,” Luther said, starting the engine. And then he thought about the way she’d looked fresh from bed, in her cat nightshirt with her hair going in every direction; the expression on her face, the fire in her amber eyes when he’d licked the jam off his finger; and the hint of vulnerability that had flashed over her face when she’d agreed that somehow she was involved in her ex-husband’s death.

“And then again, maybe she’s not.”

“Did she do it?” Russell asked, as Luther pulled onto the street. His bright smile faded rapidly as they got back to business.

“No.”

“Does she know who did?”

Luther sighed. “I’m not sure. I’m going back to the club tonight. Whoever did this might be there to see Cleo’s reaction to the murder. If he’s fixated on her, he might be there every night.”

“So what are you gonna do, take up hanging around bars as a part of the job? Can I come?”

Luther opened up his very clean ashtray and plucked out a peppermint, unwrapping it expertly and quickly. At times like this, he wanted a cigarette so bad he could almost taste it.

Truth was, another pair of eyes would be a good idea. Russell looked at everything from a different slant, and, like it or not, that made them good partners. What one missed, the other often saw.

“Sure,” he said. “And don’t forget to bring your ID.”

Russell growled, and Luther smiled. The last time they’d gone out for a drink, Mikey had gotten carded.

“Dress casual, and let’s go in separately and keep it that way.” Yeah, another pair of eyes would be great. “There’s a barmaid about your age, pretty girl named Lizzy. You can cozy up to her and pick her brain over the next few days.”

Russell nodded. The kid loved undercover work, even something as simple as this. “That’s great. What about Cleo? Should I try to pick her brain, too?”

It was true, Luther usually let Russell interrogate the women. They just seemed to crumple when he smiled and asked them questions. A woman who was intimidated by Luther would fold in a heartbeat for Mikey.

But he had a feeling Cleo never folded. Besides, she’d chew the kid up and spit him out before he had a clue he was in trouble. Besides…

“Cleo is mine.”