Читать книгу Mistletoe & Mayhem - Lori Wilde, Cara Summers - Страница 10

“I WANT TO BUY A GUN.”

Jodie Freemont barely kept herself from wincing at the blunt way she’d blurted out her request. But the moment she’d actually seen the gun lying in the display case, the little speech she’d been working on all morning had flown right out of her mind.

Glancing around, she saw that everyone in Hank Jefferson’s sporting goods store was staring at her, including the tall, handsome stranger testing a fishing pole. And Alicia Finnerty, Castleton’s number one gossip, had stopped chattering to him in mid sentence.

In the sudden silence the music pouring out of the radio behind the counter seemed to grow louder. “All I want for Christmas is…”

“That gun.” Jodie quickly pointed to the smallest pistol in the case before she could change her mind. “Could I hold it?”

“I can’t sell you a gun.” As if to emphasize his point, Hank moved forward and planted his hands, palms down, on the glass-topped counter.

Jodie peered between Hank’s thick fingers, trying to keep the gun she’d chosen in view. Visualize Your Goal. In her mind, she pictured yesterday’s motto of the day, one of many that her landlady Sophie Rutherford had been magnetizing to her refrigerator door over the past two months. She’d had plenty of time to practice her visualization skills last night while she’d listened to a prowler walk stealthily across the attic floor.

For just a second, the memory flashed through her—the creak of a board, the tension curling cold and tight in her stomach, the icy shivers shooting through her veins while she waited for the next sound…and the next.

Picturing a gun in her hand had helped her to keep the fear at bay.

But the one she’d imagined had seemed smaller, less lethal-looking than the one in the display case. How would it feel in her hand, she wondered? If she could lift it, would she actually be able to point it at someone and shoot it?

Raising her eyes to Hank’s, she said, “If you’re worried that I can’t afford it, I have cash.”

Hank leaned closer, pitching his voice low. “You’ve got every reason to be feeling a little low, losing your fiancé and your house all in the space of a few months. But what you need is a new young man, not a gun. Billy Rutherford isn’t the only fish in the sea.” Moving around the counter, Hank took Jodie’s arm, patting it gently as he steered her up the aisle. “See that man at the cash register, the one with the fishing pole. He’s new in town.” Pausing, Hank winked at her. “And the Mistletoe Ball is less than a week away. Let me introduce you to—”

Jodie stopped short. “I didn’t come here for an introduction.” Or a date! She barely kept herself from shouting the words. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the man with the fishing pole smile. He’d heard her whole life story and now he was laughing at her.

Next to him Alicia Finnerty had her mouth open like a guppy, absorbing the whole scene.

“My mother told me not to have anything to do with strangers,” Jodie said and immediately bit her tongue. She sounded like a prude. When the stranger’s grin widened, anger mixed with her embarrassment.

“That was good advice when you were young,” Hank said, still keeping his voice low, “but you’re a grown woman now, and you don’t want to spend all your life pining away for a man who walked away.”

Like your mother did. Hank didn’t say the words out loud, but Jodie could hear them hanging in the air before she said, “I won’t. I’m not. What I need right now is a gun.”

“Well, I’m not going to sell you one.”

“I can buy one somewhere else.”

“I reckon you can, but whatever you might think right now, suicide is not the answer.”

“Suicide? I don’t want that gun to…You can’t think that I…” Jodie stopped because the concerned, pitying look on Hank’s face revealed that was exactly what he was thinking. And one quick glance toward the front of the store told her that he wasn’t the only one thinking it. The stranger wasn’t grinning anymore. And Alicia Finnerty could hardly contain herself. Any minute now she would make a break for the door so she could pull out her cell phone and start blabbing the news.

“It’s the holidays,” Hank said. “Lot’s of people get depressed around Christmas. What you need is something to look forward to—like a date for the Mistletoe Ball.”

“Hank, I want that gun because last night there was a prowler in the attic.”

“Did you call the sheriff?”

“I tried, but the phone wasn’t working. Even if it had been, the Rutherford sisters and I are alone in that house, and we’re two miles from town. All we had to defend ourselves with was fireplace pokers.”

“Well, you go on over and tell the sheriff right now,” Hank said. “Let him handle it.”

Jodie opened her mouth and then shut it. She could try to explain to Hank that she and the Rutherford sisters might be dead in their beds before the sheriff or one of his men could even get to the house, but she wasn’t going to change his mind. He was not going to sell her a gun. And if she read Alicia Finnerty’s expression right, by tonight everyone in Castleton would know that poor Jodie Freemont was thinking of committing suicide.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll just take some strong rope. Give me some of the stuff that they string sails up with.”

As Hank’s eyes narrowed, she hurried on. “I’m going to use it for…hauling a Christmas tree to the house.” It was a lie. If lightning was going to strike her, she might as well make it a good one. “Sophie and Irene are putting up a second tree in the dining room so we’re going to dig up a fresh one and replant it later.”

“How much do you need?” Hank asked.

Pulling a piece of paper out of her pocket, she glanced down at it. “Thirty yards.”

As Hank ambled off to the back of the store, Alicia Finnerty cleared her throat. “That’s a lot of rope.”

Turning to find the older woman at her elbow, Jodie couldn’t resist saying, “The better to hang myself with, my dear.”

“Oh, my. Oh, my. Oh, my.” Her hand at her throat, Alicia Finnerty backed toward the door, pushed against it, and bolted out onto the sidewalk.

“She thinks you really intend to do it.”

It was the stranger who’d spoken, and when Jodie turned, she found herself looking into the darkest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. Black smoke, she thought. The kind that blinded you. Though her gaze never left his, she was aware of dark hair falling below the collar of his blue work shirt, strong cheekbones, a square jaw, and lines etched around his mouth. Tall, dark and tough, not pretty. This wasn’t a man you’d want to run into in a dark alley. Or an attic. She felt something curl in her stomach. Not the cold ball of fear she’d experienced last night when she was listening to those footsteps. No, this was something different, something warm…no, hot.

Then she watched, fascinated, as his lips curved in a smile and his eyes lightened to gray. This time he wasn’t laughing at her, but with her, and the warmth inside of her grew. Quite suddenly, she felt as if she’d known him for a long time.

But she hadn’t. Just as she hadn’t really known Billy. Taking a step back, she said, “Maybe I do intend to do it.”

“No.” The man shook his head. “I don’t think so. You’re not the type.”

“Not the type for what?” Hank asked, bagging the coil of rope and placing it on the counter.

“Nothing,” Jodie said, grabbing the package.

“Where’d Alicia go?” Hank asked.

“She—” Jodie and the stranger spoke the word together. When she glanced at him, he was smiling again.

“Ms. Finnerty had a pressing engagement,” he said.

Hank grinned at them. “With her cell phone, I’ll bet. I take it you two have introduced yourselves.”

“No.”

Once again they spoke in unison. This time, Jodie kept her eyes on Hank and said, “I’ll have to take a rain check on that introduction.” She backed toward the door. “My lunch hour is nearly over. I’ve barely got time to meet Sophie and Irene before they head off to their meeting.”

“You going to pay for that rope?” Hank asked.

“Oh.” She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she said, “Just put it on the Rutherford House account.” To the stranger, she managed a nod. “Another time. ’Bye.”

She was halfway down the block before she remembered to breathe. The last thing she needed was to be introduced to another intriguing stranger. Especially one who made her feel hot one minute and icy cold the next. Strangers were dangerous, especially tall, attractive ones. Billy had taught her that.

SHANE SULLIVAN STEPPED out of the sporting goods store just as Jodie Freemont paused at the corner to wait for the traffic light. She would be getting her rain check sooner than she expected—in about fifteen minutes to be exact. That was when he’d agreed to meet Sophie and Irene Rutherford at Albert’s Café.

It was just by chance that he’d run into Ms. Freemont in the sporting goods store. But then Shane believed in chance. It had always served him well in the past.

This time, too, he thought. It had given him the opportunity to assess Jodie Freemont before they were formally introduced. He made it his business to get to know anyone who might stand in his way. And right now, Jodie Freemont might be the biggest obstacle to his goal.

He’d come to Castleton, New York, because he had a hunch that she might know more about the five million dollars her ex-fiancé had embezzled than she’d told the police.

Narrowing his eyes, Shane studied Jodie as she stepped up on the curb and walked quickly and purposefully toward Albert’s.

Now that he’d met her, he could see that the picture in her file didn’t do her justice. It hadn’t captured her smile or the light that came to her eyes when she laughed. Her hair was different, too. In the picture, it had fallen halfway down her back. Now, cropped short and framing her face, it made her look exactly like the homeless waif everyone in town thought her to be.

Shane frowned. Why was he so sure she wasn’t just what she appeared to be? And why was he wondering again, just as he had back there in the store, exactly how she would feel pressed close against him?

His frown deepened. The only thing he should be wondering about was whether or not she was mixed up with her embezzling ex-fiancé, Billy Rutherford. In the six months since his arrest, the man had steadfastly maintained his innocence, refusing to reveal the location of the money. And not one cent had been found.

A quick gust of wind set bells jingling overhead, and Shane let his gaze sweep the street, decorated in picture-book fashion for the Christmas holidays.

The money was here. Shane could feel the familiar tingling in his fingers. Billy would make a break for it soon. Castleton was the perfect hiding place, and Jodie Freemont made the perfect cover. Who would suspect her of hiding five million dollars for the man who’d swindled her out of her home?

He did. He shifted his gaze back to Jodie as she ducked into Albert’s Café. Or he had until he’d met her. Shrugging off the thought, he started down the street. This wasn’t the time to start second-guessing his hunches. His job was to recover the five million, and he had just enough time to store his new fishing pole in his car before he joined the Rutherford sisters. Then he’d get his long-awaited introduction to Jodie Freemont.

“DID YOU GET the gun, dear?”

“No. Hank Jefferson flat out refused to sell me one,” Jodie announced as she joined the Rutherford sisters at their regular table in the window of Albert’s Café.

“It’s for the best,” Irene, the younger of the two sisters said as she patted the peach-colored curls that framed her face. “Guns make me nervous.”

“Everything makes you nervous,” Sophie declared. “And Hank Jefferson’s an idiot.” In her early seventies, Sophie Rutherford still dressed with military precision and wore her iron-gray hair pulled back and twisted into a neat bun. Sophie reminded Jodie of a tank, and she had a personality to match.

“It’s your constitutional right to bear arms,” Sophie added. “You could sue him.”

“Hank would probably persuade the jury that he’d saved my life,” Jodie replied.

Irene shivered. “Firearms are dangerous. An accident could happen.”

“I don’t think Hank was worried about an accident,” Jodie remarked dryly. “He thought I wanted the gun to shoot myself.”

Irene stared at her. “Why ever would you do that?”

“Because of Billy,” Jodie said.

“What does he think you are? Some poor Ophelia pining away for her Hamlet?” Sophie demanded.

“He wanted to introduce me to a perfect stranger,” Jodie said. “I think he was going to ask the guy to take me to the Mistletoe Ball.”

“Well, Hank’s got it all wrong. Billy’s coming back to you, dear. He didn’t desert you by choice,” Irene said. “When the police came to the house, he tried to resist arrest. That shows how much he really cared for—”

Sophie set her teacup down with such force that it rattled every piece of crockery on the table. “When are you going to stop defending that good-for-nothing nephew of ours? It’s thanks to him that Jodie lost her house, and we have to turn ours into a bed-and-breakfast!”

Irene clapped her hands over her ears. “I’m not going to listen to anything bad about Billy. He’s innocent until proven guilty.”

Jodie took one look at the expression on Sophie’s face and hastened to intervene. “How are the preparations for the Mistletoe Ball going?”

Immediately a smile lit up Irene’s face. “It’s going to be the best one ever. Having it in Slocum Hall instead of the library gives us so much more room for dancing. It was Sophie’s idea.”

“You’re the one who thought of having the caterers dress up as Dickens characters this year. People are going to remember that longer than they remember the extra dancing room, my dear.”

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Jodie leaned back in her chair as the two women continued to talk about the ball. For as long as she could remember, the Rutherford sisters had cochaired the Mistletoe Ball, an annual fund-raiser for the Castleton College Library. It was scheduled for the Friday before Christmas, and practically everyone in town would be going.

“Hank Jefferson could be right about one thing,” Sophie said, turning suddenly to Jodie. “You really should have a date for the ball.”

“Absolutely not,” Jodie said. “No sympathy dates for me, thank you. Besides, attending the Mistletoe Ball is part of my job. I have to stand at my boss’s side and make sure he knows the names of all the important contributors.”

“It’s time that Angus Campbell resigned from that job if he can’t keep track of the contributors,” Sophie said. “And you shouldn’t let him intimidate you. Did you forget your motto of the day?”

“No,” Jodie said. How could she, when Sophie tore them off a calendar and stuck them on the refrigerator door each day? According to the publishers of the calendar, if she incorporated them into her daily life, she was going to be a new person in just 365 days.

Privately, Jodie had her doubts about how effective a bunch of mottos was going to be in transforming her. The expression of pity she’d seen earlier on Hank Jefferson’s face testified to the fact that they hadn’t done much good so far. In the eyes of the residents of Castleton, she was still the same “poor Jodie” who’d allowed Billy Rutherford III to turn her into a complete patsy.

“Jodie!” Nadine Carter hurried toward them, a teapot in her hand. The pretty blonde had been Jodie’s student assistant until she’d decided to quit college six months ago and start waitressing at Albert’s. So far Jodie had been unsuccessful at getting her to go back to school.

“I’ve got this new herbal tea I want you to try. It’s supposed to be great for pulling you out of depression.”

“I’m not depressed,” Jodie said, but she knew as she met Nadine’s eyes that she had about as much chance of convincing her of that as she’d had of getting Hank Jefferson to sell her a gun.

“Just try it,” Nadine urged. “I hear you’re feeling a little down today.”

Jodie stared down at the teapot Nadine had placed in front of her. It had bright-yellow daisies dancing all over it, mocking her. Alicia Finnerty had been busy, she thought. By this evening, everyone in town would know.

Suddenly, she’d had it. She glared down at the dancing daisies. “Take it away. I’m through with herbal tea. I’ll have a…a cappuccino.”

Nadine stared at her in exactly the same way Hank had when she’d asked to hold one of the guns in his display case. “But you…you don’t drink caffeine.”

“Well, today I’m just going to go for it,” Jodie said, lifting the teapot and placing it firmly back in Nadine’s hands.

Nadine opened her mouth, shut it. Finally she said, “I don’t know—”

“On second thought, make that a double-strength cappuccino,” Jodie said.

Sophie waited until the waitress had walked out of earshot before she reached over to pat Jodie’s hand. “Atta girl. You did remember today’s motto.”

“Go for It,” Jodie recited. “And I’m throwing over my herbal tea habit. Whoop-de-do,” she muttered sarcastically.

“You tried to buy a hand gun, too. And Hank Jefferson had no right not to sell it to you. Did you tell him about the prowler?” Sophie asked.

“He told me to go tell the sheriff, and he patted me on the arm.” Jodie frowned. People were always patting her—on the head, on the arm, on her back. Somehow she brought that out in people. She hadn’t liked it at eleven and she didn’t like it any better at twenty-six. “I don’t think he believed me. He almost refused to sell me the rope.” She gestured toward the package she’d carried into the café. “I’m sure he’s worried that I might use it to hang myself.”

Both women reached for her hands.

“You wouldn’t,” Irene said.

“You couldn’t,” Sophie said.

As Jodie looked into the eyes of the two older women, she smiled for the first time since she’d left Hank Jefferson’s sporting goods store. “Of course not,” she said.

She’d known the Rutherford sisters ever since she was a little girl. Born into a once affluent family of New York city bankers, they’d never married. And when the family had fallen on hard times, they’d moved into one of the Rutherford family’s summer homes on Castleton Lake. Both women served on the board of trustees at the college, and they’d convinced the dean of the college to hire her as assistant librarian once she’d graduated.

Irene cleared her throat. “What are you going to do with the rope? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Not at all,” Jodie said. “It’s Plan B. Sort of. Remember last Monday’s motto—There’s More Than One Way to Skin a Cat?”

Sophie shot a triumphant glance at her sister before she turned to Jodie. “Those mottoes are starting to work. They’re becoming part of you.”

“I guess,” Jodie said. The truth was that while she’d been working all morning at the library and trying to visualize the gun in her mind, she’d begun to have second thoughts about whether or not she’d have the nerve to actually use it. Pulling a paper out of her pocket, she spread it out on the table. “While I was helping one of the students do some research work on the Internet this morning, I came across this.”

Irene frowned thoughtfully. “What is it?”

“A snare trap,” Jodie replied. At the bemused expressions on the sisters’ faces, she continued. “It’s some kind of guerilla warfare thingamajig that they use in the jungles. Clyde Heffner, the student who downloaded it for me, is coming over this evening to help me rig this up in the attic. The next time that prowler starts poking around up there, he’ll find himself hanging by his feet from the ceiling.”

Leaning closer, the two sisters studied the diagram.

Sophie turned it upside down. “It looks very complicated.”

“Do you think it will work?” Irene asked.

“They work out in the woods. Clyde uses them to trap game.”

“I hope no one ends up hanging from their necks,” Irene fretted.

“I say we go for it!” Sophie said. “I, for one, do not want to end up murdered in my bed.”

“Well, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that anymore,” Irene replied as she began to refill her teacup. “And Jodie won’t have to build that thingamajig, either, now that Mr.—Ouch!” Wincing, she broke off and shot her sister an apologetic look.

Jodie glanced from Irene to Sophie. “Why won’t we need it?”

They stared back at her uncomfortably for a moment.

“We…that is…how about some lemon?” Irene asked, offering a plate.

“I’m not having tea,” Jodie said. “Why don’t we need my snare trap?”

“We were going to tell you this evening as a sort of surprise.” Pausing, Sophie cleared her throat. “Irene and I have also come up with a Plan B.”

“It’s not nearly as complicated,” Irene said.

Jodie pocketed the diagram and leaned back in her chair. “You had your committee meeting for the Mistletoe Ball today. And then you were supposed to be at the newspaper office placing an ad for a handyman. What else did you do?”

Irene beamed a smile at her. “We’ve taken in a boarder.”

“But you’ve already got one—me,” Jodie said.

“You’re not a boarder. You’re like family,” Irene said. “And this is different. Mr. Sullivan’s a carpenter and an electrician. When we got to the newspaper office, he was in line ahead of us, placing an ad to get work as a handyman. We got to talking, and we ended up hiring him. The best part is he needs a place to stay, and he agreed to accept room and board as part of his wages.”

“It was fate,” Sophie said. “We decided to go for it.”

“You’re inviting a perfect stranger to live under the same roof with you? Don’t you realize how dangerous that is?” Jodie asked.

“He won’t be living under the same roof,” Sophie explained. “We offered him the apartment over the garage.”

Irene coughed delicately, then leaned forward and spoke in a low tone. “We explained to him that there was only one bathroom, in the house, and that until we add on another…well, there might be certain…lack of privacy issues. He said the garage would be fine with him.”

“But he’ll still be living on the property with you—with us—and we don’t know anything about this man. He could be a serial killer!” Jodie said.

“I have references.”

The voice. Jodie was sure she recognized it. What were the chances of two different strangers in town speaking in the same low, gravelly tone? Absolutely none, she decided as she turned and found herself looking into the laughing eyes of the man from Hank Jefferson’s store.

“Jodie, this is Shane Sullivan, our new handyman,” Irene said.

“I’ve been looking forward to this introduction, ma’am.”

Shane? Oddly enough the name suited him. He looked like a lone cowboy, and he probably talked to his horses in just that tone, Jodie thought. Except this was Castleton, New York, not some fictional Western town she’d read about in seventh grade. “Your name is Shane?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Pull up a chair,” Sophie said. “We were just telling Jodie about you.”

“See,” Irene said as Shane snagged a chair and straddled it. “He doesn’t look like a serial killer.”

“Ted Bundy didn’t look like one, either,” Jodie said.

“Right you are,” Shane said. “Everyone who knew him described him as charming.”

“Except for the women he killed,” Jodie pointed out.

Shane grinned at her as he pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “Right you are again. I can’t blame you for being cautious. But these are the references I mentioned.”

Jodie glanced at Irene and Sophie and read the determination in their eyes. It was going to be two against one, and it was their house. Reluctantly, she took the envelope from him just as Nadine arrived at the table.

“Your cappuccino will be right up, Jodie. Albert said to tell you he’s having a little trouble foaming the milk. And what can I get for you?” Fluttering her hands, Nadine aimed the question and her smile at Shane.

“A cappuccino sounds great. I haven’t indulged in one since I left California.”

“Ooh my, California. I’ve always wanted to go there. I’ll have to tell Albert we’ve got a connoisseur out here waiting to taste his cappuccino,” Nadine said before she hurried away.

“There’s only one letter in here,” Jodie said as she unfolded it.

“I can get more,” Shane replied easily.

Frowning, Jodie skimmed the paper. “The Kathy Dillon who signed it, is she the same Kathy who’s married to Sheriff Dillon?”

Shane nodded. “She’s a cousin. We haven’t quite pinned down whether it’s two or three times removed.”

“Well, then there’s no problem,” Irene said, patting her curls. “If Kathy Dillon can vouch for Shane, we won’t need those other references, will we, dear?”

Jodie stifled a sigh as Irene began to explain to Shane their plans for the house. She would call Kathy, but she knew the Rutherford sisters had won the battle. Battle? Why was she thinking of it in those terms. She glanced at Shane Sullivan again, wondering what it was about him that had made her feel so…what? Hot and cold, all at the same time? She couldn’t be…no, she really couldn’t be attracted to him. That was just not possible. Lightning could not possibly strike one person twice, at least not in the same year.

She was just suspicious of him. That’s what it was. Because he just didn’t look like a handyman—unless it was the kind of “handyman” a mafia boss might hire as a bodyguard.

“Is there some reason you’re staring at me?” Shane asked softly.

Jodie glanced quickly at Irene and Sophie, but they were heatedly debating the question of how many guest rooms they were eventually going to have.

“I wasn’t staring,” she said, leaning a little closer to him and keeping her voice low.

“It felt like staring to me,” Shane said.

“Who are you really?”

“Shane Sullivan. We were just introduced, weren’t we?”

“No one is really named Shane.”

“What was that, dear?” Irene asked.

“Nothing,” Jodie said, fixing a smile on her face as she turned her attention back to the sisters.

“Isn’t it time for you to get back to the library, dear?” Irene said. “Mr. Sullivan will be all settled in by the time you get home from work.”

Jodie glanced at her watch. She was due back at the college library in five minutes. Nadine arrived just as she rose and picked up her package.

“I brought your cappuccino to go,” Nadine said, handing her the lidded paper cup. “I know you’re never late.” Then she turned to present a foaming cup to Shane. “I hope it’s the way they make it in California.”

As Jodie made her way through Albert’s, she could hear Nadine’s laughter blend with that of the Rutherford sisters. So Shane Sullivan was a comedian as well as a…what? Whatever he was, she was sure he wasn’t a handyman. In the archway to the next room, she turned back. He was facing Irene and Sophie, and they were leaning forward, their attention riveted on him.

A strong sense of déjà vu moved through her and fear settled cold and hard in her stomach. Less than six months ago, she’d seen Irene and Sophie framed in the same window with their nephew Billy. When she’d come into the café, they’d waved to her to join them. That evening, they’d asked her to be their guest at the hotel for dinner. The rest had been history—one she didn’t care to repeat. Nor was she about to stand by and allow the Rutherford sisters to be taken in by another smooth-talking charmer.

A quick glance at her watch told her that she could either be on time for work, or she could stop by the sheriff’s office and ask him about his wife’s two-or-three-times-removed cousin. Once out on the street, she took the lid off her cup of cappuccino, inhaled the cinnamon, and took a long swallow. It might only be a baby step, but she was changing. Perhaps those foolish mottoes were working, after all. Either that or she was learning from her mistakes. Whatever it was, she was going to get to the truth about Shane Sullivan. Turning, she headed down the street toward the municipal building. No one could really be named Shane.