Читать книгу Passion to Die For - Marilyn Pappano - Страница 7

Ellie Chase loved her job. Owning a restaurant had long been a dream of hers, way back in the times when she didn’t have many dreams, when she was sleeping on the street or scrounging for a meal. She’d savored sweet visions of a diner, a café, a bistro, warm when it was cold, dry when it rained, safe and welcoming and, of course, filled with all the good food her sixteen-year-old belly had ached for.

Tonight, though, she’d rather be working nine to five at some dreary job where all the responsibilities fell on someone else’s shoulders.

She was seated on a stool at the end of their newly installed bar, receipts, schedules and a glass of iced tea in front of her. Outside it was pouring rain, and the temperature was about twenty degrees colder than normal for October in east-central Georgia. In spite of the weather, business had been good—if you counted running out of broccoli cheese soup, fresh bread and banana cheesecake as good. The oven was being temperamental again, and so was Dharma, her self-proclaimed chef. One of the waitresses had called in sick, a customer had mumbled something about a problem in the men’s bathroom and Tommy Maricci had come in for dinner.

With a date.

To top it all off, her feet were aching, her head was throbbing and though it was nearly closing time, no one besides her and her staff showed any interest in going home.

Carmen, her best waitress and unofficial assistant manager, slid onto the stool next to her. “You want me to comp Russ and Jamie for their dinner?”

“Yes, please.” Russ Calloway, owner of Copper Lake’s biggest construction company, had fixed the overflowing toilet in the men’s room, saving her from putting in a call to her overpriced and very-difficult-to-reach plumber. She was grateful, even if he had come in with Tommy and his date.

“I want you to know, I didn’t step on Sophy’s toes, spill her drink on her or spit in her food, even though I was tempted.”

Ellie managed only half a smile. “Sophy’s nice.”

“I know, and if I worked for her over in the quilt shop instead of here, I’d be hating you. But I don’t. The least he could do is take his dates somewhere else.”

“His money is as good as anyone else’s. Besides, I’m so over him that I don’t care.”

Carmen gave her a long look, from the top of her head to the pointed toes of her favorite black heels. Tommy’s favorite, the devil residing on her shoulder whispered. They made her legs look a mile long and showed her butt to good advantage—Amanda Calloway, retired exotic dancer, had taught her that—and they drew the sweetest, naughtiest little grin from Tommy every time he saw her wearing them.

At least, they used to.

“Uh-huh,” Carmen drawled at last. “I can tell from the way you’re hiding in here instead of working out front like you always do. And from all those dates you’ve been accepting.”

“Hey, your social life is active enough for both of us.”

Carmen snorted. “I’m married, honey. My social life consists of work, church, taxiing the kids around and trying to schedule sex with my husband at least once a month.”

“You’ve got five kids. See how well you’re succeeding?” Ellie hadn’t had sex since last April. She’d thought it was make-up sex—her relationship with Tommy had always been an on-again, off-again thing. When it was over, he’d put on his clothes, kissed her, said he was sorry and walked out. She’d known it would happen someday—people always gave up on her eventually—but not that day. It had hurt more than it was supposed to.

But she was over it now.

And if she told the lie often enough, she might even believe it.

With a grunt, Carmen slid to her feet. “Let me start politely hurrying these people along. They need to get home where they belong so we can do the same.”

Ellie’s house on Cypress Creek Road was pretty, cozy, had two bedrooms and was even emptier than her life. It was the place where she stayed, but it wasn’t home. She didn’t belong there. She’d never really belonged anywhere besides the restaurant.

But it was more than she’d ever expected to have. She wouldn’t whine about the things that were missing.

She’d just gotten back to work when Gina, one of the part-time waitresses, approached. “Hey, Ellie, there’s a woman out front who wants to talk to you.”

“An unhappy customer?” she asked warily. Her food was first-rate and the service even better, but some people always found something to complain about. She comped more meals than anyone could reasonably expect in the name of customer satisfaction.

“Nope. Never seen her before. I told her I’d bring her back here, but she said no, she would wait on the porch.”

Great. In the cold. At least the awning Ellie had installed over the summer would keep her dry. Still, she swung by the office to grab her coat before she skirted through the main dining room to the front door. Unwillingly her gaze strayed to the three tables pushed together in the center of the room, where Tommy Maricci and Sophy Marchand were sitting with Russ and Robbie Calloway and their wives. Their dessert plates were empty, and they were making the restless movements Ellie associated with saying goodbyes.

Tommy would take Sophy home, of course, even though the house that held her shop on the first floor and her apartment on the second was just across the square and around the corner. He would escort her inside; maybe because he was a cop, maybe because his father had raised him right, he was big on that sort of thing. Would he spend the night? Was he sleeping with her?

She didn’t care. She was over him.

A blast of cold hit when she opened the door. A woman waited in the shadows at the end of the porch, her back to Ellie, the hood of her trench coat pulled over her head.

Ellie shrugged into her own coat, belting the wool around her waist, uncuffing the sleeves so they covered most of her fingers. Stopping a few feet from the woman, she said, “Hi. I’m Ellie Chase. I understand you want to talk to me.”

“Ellie. Is that short for something?”

The voice was low, hoarse, probably from years of smoking. Even with the breeze and the fresh scent of rain, Ellie could smell stale cigarette smoke, as if it permeated the woman so thoroughly that it had no choice but to leach into the air surrounding her.

“Ellen,” she said impatiently. “Can I help you with something?”

“Ellen. Hmm. You sure? You don’t look like an Ellen. In fact, you look like…oh, a Bethany to me.”

Wind gusted along the length of the porch. That was the reason Ellie felt so cold inside, why she felt as if her knees might give out. She staggered a step before gripping the back of the nearest chair, her fingers knotting so tightly around the cold wood that they went instantly numb.

“I’m sure,” she said, her voice sounding flat and cold. “I know my own name.”

Slowly the woman turned. The hood cast shadows over the upper half of her face, leaving only an impression in the dim light of aged skin, deep grooves, an overglossed mouth. “So do I,” she said. “I know the name you use now, and I know the name you were born to. Bethany Ann Dempsey.”

She raised one weathered hand to pull the hood back, and Ellie stared. Her stomach knotted, and tremors shot through her, making her shiver uncontrollably inside her coat. It had been fifteen years since she’d last seen the woman, and time hadn’t been kind. Her hair was a dull, lifeless gray, her skin sallow. Too much tobacco, too much booze and too damn much meanness had combined to add an additional fifteen years to her face. The only thing that remained the same as in Ellie’s memories was her eyes. Blue. Cold. Cruel.

“What’s the matter, Beth?” The woman smiled, and that, too, was the same: smug and vicious. “Surprised to see your mama?”

For a moment, a dull haze surrounded Ellie, blocking out sound, cold, rain and wind. Anger, loss and panic welled inside her, each fighting for control, the anger curling her fingers into fists, the panic urging her to run, run right now. That terrified little girl would have run, but she was gone. The woman she’d become wouldn’t give in to emotion.

“As far as I’m concerned, my mother died fifteen years ago.” Shoulders back, Ellie turned and took a few steps toward the door before Martha Dempsey spoke again.

“You’ve made a place for yourself here, haven’t you? Nice restaurant. Nice little blue house. You go to church. You’re a member of the Copper Lake Merchants’ Association. You rub elbows with the rich folks in town. People think you’re something, don’t they? But they don’t know what I know.”

Ellie hovered, frozen in the act of taking a step. After a quavery moment, her foot touched the floor and she pivoted to face Martha, freezing again when the screen door creaked open. Jamie and Russ Calloway came out first, not noticing her, heading directly for the steps. Behind them were Robbie Calloway and Sophy Marchand, lost in conversation, and bringing up the rear were Robbie’s wife, Anamaria, and Tommy.

Half wishing to remain unseen, Ellie knew it wasn’t going to happen. Anamaria was her closest friend in town, and she was sensitive to emotions, conflicts and auras. Her gaze came immediately to Ellie’s, her dark eyes taking in what was probably a fireworks display of auras.

Moving gracefully despite her pregnancy, Anamaria closed the distance between them, smiled at Martha, then wrapped one arm around Ellie. “Dinner was wonderful, as usual, Ellie.” Leaning closer, her mouth brushing Ellie’s ear, she murmured, “If you need me…”

“Thanks.” Ellie squeezed her hand more tightly than she’d intended, too aware that Tommy was waiting, a distinct look of suspicion on his face. All the other times they’d broken up, they’d remained friends, but this time he never smiled at her and never spoke if he could avoid it. This time he’d said it was for good, and though she’d denied it for the first month, finally she believed him.

When Anamaria went back to him at the top of the steps, he was still wearing that look. His gaze met hers for an instant, but he didn’t acknowledge her. Instead, he broke contact, took Anamaria’s arm and escorted her down the wet steps.

“Does she know?” Martha asked, her tone sly and taunting. “Do they?”

People believed she had no family, that her parents were dead and all that was left were distant cousins. They thought she’d been raised in Charleston, where she had, in fact, done a fair amount of growing up, that she’d lived a normal, if somewhat family-deficient, life.

Ironically, Anamaria, whom she’d known the shortest time, had guessed there was more to Ellie than the story she told. But that was none of Martha’s business. Nothing about Ellie was her business.

“How did you find me?”

Martha grinned and lifted one bony shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve got my sources.”

“What do you want?”

Martha felt in her pockets, coming up with a pack of cigarettes and a cheap lighter. Ellie let her shake one out and slide it between her lips, then said, “Don’t smoke here.”

Martha hesitated, hands cupped to protect the lighter’s flame, then slowly lowered it. She left the cigarette in her mouth, though. For forty years she’d talked around one. Lit or unlit didn’t matter. “Your father died four months ago.”

No surprise. No disappointment. No regret. The news meant nothing to Ellie, and that was a sad thing.

“Nothing to keep me in Atlanta anymore.”

Oliver Dempsey may not have amounted to anything as a father, but he’d brought home a steady paycheck, enough to cover the basics: housing, transportation, food, booze, tobacco. He’d resented spending any of that paycheck on a teenage daughter whom he considered pretty much worthless, but he’d taken good care of himself and Martha.

And now she wanted someone else to take care of her.

Ellie wanted to laugh, but was afraid what kind of sound would squeeze through the tightness in her throat. “You want money. From me. Is that it?”

Martha stiffened defensively. “I am your mother.”

“Like hell you are. You gave birth to me, you changed a few diapers and you fed me until I was old enough to feed myself. That doesn’t make you my mother.”

“Don’t you get smart with me—”

“Remember the last time I saw you?” Ellie interrupted. “When I pleaded with you to let me come home? When I was hungry and sleeping in abandoned buildings and I begged you to help me?”

Martha’s expression was contempt tinged with regret. Not because she regretted throwing her teenage daughter out of the house, not because she’d never loved or protected Ellie the way a mother was supposed to, but because her past actions were going to interfere with getting what she wanted now. She was about to be held accountable, and Martha had always hated being accountable.

“You had to learn a lesson,” she said sourly.

“What lesson? That I couldn’t count on my parents? I already knew that. That the next carton of cigarettes and the next case of beer were more important to you than me? I knew that, too. Just what the hell lesson was I supposed to be learning out there?”

“Don’t you cuss at me. I didn’t tolerate it back then, and I won’t now. You won’t disrespect me.”

The urge to laugh bubbled inside Ellie. The idea that she felt anything remotely resembling respect for this woman was ludicrous. If Martha dropped dead in front of her right that moment, she would feel nothing more than relief that such an ugly part of her life had ended.

“You want money,” Ellie said again, her voice flat. “How much?”

Martha smiled, showing teeth in need of care and greed that made her eyes damn near sparkle. “Well, now, it’s hard to say. Like I said, your daddy’s dead. There’s no reason for me to stay in Atlanta, and truth is, it’s a little late in life for me to be starting a new career. I kind of like the idea of retiring, resettling to be close to my girl and the grandbabies she’s sure to give me someday. I looked around that pretty little house of yours, and that back bedroom would suit me fine. I could even help out down here sometimes, you know, welcome customers to our restaurant and chat with them about this and that.”

Ellie’s spine was stiff enough to hurt. There was no way she would ever let Martha move into her house or help out at her restaurant. She’d burn both places down before letting Martha taint them. Drawing on the cold deep inside her, she said, “So you get a better life than you’ve ever known. And what do I get in return?”

Martha’s vicious smile reappeared. “Your fancy friends don’t find out about this.” From under the trench coat, she produced a manila envelope. “Here. You can keep it. It’s just copies.”

When Ellie made no move to touch it, Martha tossed the envelope on the seat of the rocker next to her, then tugged her coat tighter. “I don’t expect you to say yes right now. Take a walk down Memory Lane. Think about what you stand to lose. I’ll be in touch with you in a day or two.”

Ellie numbly watched her pull the hood over her limp hair, then clump past and down the steps into the rain. She didn’t look to see which way Martha went. The only place Ellie wanted her to go was away, and that wasn’t going to happen until she had what she wanted.

When everything was still, Ellie picked up the envelope with unwilling fingers and hid it inside her own coat. She would take that stroll down Memory Lane—more like Nightmare Street—later. First, she had a restaurant to close for the night.

The clock in the hall chimed eleven times, rousing Tommy from the edges of sleep. The television was still on, framed between his booted feet propped on the coffee table, and Sophy was snuggled beside him, her sweater rustling against his shirt as she shifted. Damn, he must have fallen asleep not long after they’d settled on the couch.

“I should go home.”

“Or you could spend the night.”

He could. It wasn’t as if he had someone to go home to. And he’d slept over before—not a lot but enough to be comfortable with the idea. But having dinner at Ellie’s Deli had guaranteed that his mind would be on someone else—looking for glimpses of her, waiting for her to come to the table to greet them like the old friends they were, wondering how he’d been lucky enough to go there on a day when she wore his favorite outfit: white blouse with a deep V and black skirt that clung to her hips so snugly that it needed a slit so she could walk. Conservative clothes that concealed a tiny lace bra and matching thong, all set off by those incredible black heels. Just the sight of them…

His body twitched, and he silently cursed, hoping Sophy hadn’t noticed. He wouldn’t insult her by pretending he wanted her when Ellie was all over his mind. Her sleek blond hair. Her amazing legs. The confident way she moved. Her smiles, ranging from polite to intimate to wicked.

Oh, yeah, and the drop-dead cold shoulder she gave him these days.

“When it takes you that long to come up with an answer, it’s pretty clear.” Sophy sat up, lowering her feet to the floor.

An answer to…? Then he remembered: staying the night. “I’m sorry, babe. It’s just…I’ve got to work tomorrow, and it’s been a long day—”

“And spending the evening at Ellie’s wasn’t the best way to get in the mood to sleep with another woman.” Sophy scooted to the edge of the couch, then looked at him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Rumor is that you broke up with her. If she’s got this much effect on you six months later, why’d you do it?”

He’d issued an ultimatum, and then he’d had to live with it. He’d demanded marriage, kids, living together, commitment and she’d opted for nothing. It had been a lonely six months, but faced with the same situation, he’d make the same demand. He wanted more than a long-term girlfriend. If she couldn’t give him that, someone else could.

Like Sophy.

“It’s complicated,” he said, getting to his feet and pulling her with him. Keeping hold of her hand, he went to the front door, where he snagged his jacket from the coat tree. After sliding it on, he wrapped his arms around Sophy and kissed her.

She tilted her head so the kiss fell on her cheek. “Are you still in love with her?”

Grimly he gave the best answer he could. “I’m trying not to be.”

Sophy studied him for a moment, then leaned forward and brushed her mouth across his. “You’re still welcome to spend the night. I know, not tonight. But maybe next time.”

“Sure.” Provided they didn’t go to the deli, and he didn’t see or think about Ellie all night. Yeah, then he might be good for someone else.

“It’s all right about her,” Sophy said. “I mean, I knew going in…”

Somehow that didn’t make him feel better. He said goodbye and brushed a kiss across her forehead, then opened the door to a blast of cold air. Closing it quickly behind him, he took the wooden steps two at a time, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and set off down the street.

It had been Sophy’s suggestion that they walk home from dinner. Between the canopies that covered the storefronts and the live oaks that shielded the path through the square, they’d arrived significantly drier than if they’d walked the block north with no cover to his SUV. Now, with everything closed up for the night and the streets empty, he wished for a closer parking space.

Tommy was passing the gazebo in the square when a rustle of movement caught his attention. Someone hunkered on one of the benches inside the structure. The dark coat could belong to anyone; the pale blond hair could only be Ellie’s. What the hell was she doing there?

He wanted to walk on. He should have, but he was a cop. He didn’t like things out of place, and Ellie alone in the square late at night was definitely out of place. She should have finished closing up the restaurant over an hour ago, should have been home in bed.

Should have been home in bed with him.

When his boot landed on the first step, she stiffened, then whirled around to face him. There was a moment of surprise on her face, then that blankness he’d come to associate with her. She sat straighter, pulled her coat tighter and something papery rustled.

He stopped halfway up the steps, on eye level with her, and allowed himself a moment to just look at her. Light blond hair falling past her chin, sleek and elegant like her. Skin the color of warm, dark honey. Brown eyes, a surprise on first sight, damned sexy every other time. She was shorter than his five feet eleven inches, slender, with great breasts and hips, but always lamenting that she enjoyed her own food too much.

He’d never agreed. Not from the very first time he’d seen her and thought damn. Damn, she was beautiful. Damn, she was hot. Damn, he was lost. Five years he’d been lost, and he’d hoped to stay that way forever.

His hands clenched inside his pockets. “You okay?”

“Of course.”

Of course. During all the rough patches they’d gone through, she’d never cried, pouted or moped. She’d never pleaded with him or shown a moment’s weakness. She’d always been stronger, less affected, than he. He admired her strength, but would it have killed her to need him even half as much as he’d needed her?

“What are you doing out here?”

“Enjoying the lovely evening. What are you doing?”

“I was at Sophy’s.”

If that news bothered her, she didn’t let it show. Was she the least bit jealous? He wished. Did she miss him? Maybe. Would she ever marry him? Doubtful. If she hadn’t loved him enough after five years, why should a sixth or eighth or tenth year make a difference?

“How is Sophy?” she asked.

“You could have come to the table and seen for yourself this evening.” He’d waited through the appetizers and the salads for her to do just that. By the time the main course had arrived, he’d accepted that she wasn’t going to.

“I was busy.”

“You’re always busy. Running things. Talking to customers.” Was it a good thing that she’d avoided his table? Had she not wanted to acknowledge him with Sophy?

He took another step up. “I saw you talking to that woman on the porch.” Stupid comment. Of course he’d seen them and she knew it; he’d passed within a few feet of them. “I didn’t recognize her.”

The thin light from the streetlamps showed her shrug, stiff and awkward. “She doesn’t live here.”

“An old friend?”

“No.”

“A relative?”

She was stiffer, more awkward. “Just someone who wanted something.”

He thought back to the woman. If asked, he would have said he hadn’t really paid much attention to her; he’d been too busy not paying attention to Ellie. But he’d seen enough. The woman had looked to be in her sixties, average height and weight. Gray hair, sallow complexion, a heavy smoker and on edge. Even when standing still, she hadn’t been still. Shifting her weight, her gaze darting about, her attention honed.

What had she wanted from Ellie? A handout? A favor? And why Ellie?

Because they shared a connection somewhere in their past? In the five years Ellie had lived in Copper Lake, she’d had little to say about her twenty-five years elsewhere. She was an only child, her parents were dead, and her only relatives were distant, figuratively and literally. He knew she’d had some unhappy times, but she’d never been open to discussing them.

A woman should be willing to discuss her hurts and disappointments with the man she’d been seeing for the better part of five years.

The wind gusted, scattering sodden dead leaves across the square, and it sent a chill through him. His jeans and leather jacket weren’t enough to stand up to the cold, but Ellie didn’t seem to notice the temperature. Granted, she wore a long wool coat, but there was an air of detachment about her. Anamaria would probably say her aura was the translucent shade of blue ice.

“Why don’t you go home?” he suggested, wanting very much to do the same.

“Are you going to continue harassing me if I don’t, Detective?”

“Come on, Ellie.” He wasn’t comfortable leaving her, or any other woman, alone in the gazebo with midnight approaching. Copper Lake’s crime rate was nothing compared to the big cities, but bad things still happened to innocent people.

She opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it again and stood, arms still folded across her middle. There was another papery crackle. From something hidden beneath her coat?

She passed without touching him, and when he fell into step beside her, she scowled. “I can make it to my car alone.”

“It’s on my way.”

Those were the last words either of them said until they reached the small parking lot that opened off the alley behind the deli. Her lime-green VW Beetle was the only car in the lot, parked under the lone streetlight, its lights flashing when she clicked the remote. She would have gotten in and driven away without a word, but he laid his hand on her arm, stopping her.

“Ellie, if you need to talk—”

Even through the bulk of the coat, he felt her muscles clench. She looked at him, then at his hand, and he withdrew it. The night chill had nothing on her gaze. “Thank you for the escort.”

Her polite words were as bogus as his response. “You’re welcome.” Pushing his hand into his pocket, Tommy stepped back and watched as she slid behind the wheel, started the engine, then drove away. He stood motionless long after her taillights disappeared down the alley, until another blast of wind hit him, this time dampened with more rain moving in.

Damn, she was cold. Damn, she was distant.

And damned if he didn’t still love her.

Ellie’s house was located at the end of Cypress Creek Road, just before it made a sharp right turn and became Magnolia Drive. It wasn’t a trendy part of town; her neighbors were mostly as old as her house, on the downhill side of sixty. The house was small, but the floors were hardwood, it had an attached garage and the price had been reasonable. Besides, most of her waking hours were spent at the restaurant. The house was used mostly for sleeping and doing laundry.

And, off and on until last spring, for having great sex with Tommy.

She would have been touched by his stopping at the gazebo and walking her to her car if she didn’t know him so well. He would have stopped for anyone, ex-lover, acquaintance or total stranger. He was a protector from the inside out. Ensuring other people’s safety wasn’t just his job; it was who he was.

She’d desperately needed someone like that fifteen years ago. She hadn’t had him then, and she couldn’t have him now. Didn’t deserve him now.

She let herself into the house from the garage, leaving her coat in the utility room and walking through the dimly lit kitchen into the living room. None of the furniture was anything special, and the dishes and linens had been chosen by an accommodating clerk at the housewares shop at the mall. Ellie could walk away from it all and never miss a thing.

Except, possibly, the four-inch heels she admired before kicking them off her feet.

Once she was settled comfortably on the couch, she reached for the large envelope Martha had given her, sure what was inside before she opened it. Police reports, complaints, convictions, photographs. It hurt to see herself at fifteen—still young and naive—and then at sixteen and seventeen. Like Martha, she had aged far more than the months could account for. By the age of eighteen, there’d been a hollowness about her, in her face and her eyes and her soul. She’d wanted to end it all—the pain, the shame. She’d had only one reason to live, and even that had been short-term.

Ellie went to the fireplace, put a sheet of paper on the grate and struck a match to it. As the edges curled with flame, she added another page, then another, report after photo after complaint. When the last piece was burning, she held the envelope over it, feeling the heat from the fire, holding it until she risked a burn. It dropped to the ashes on the grate, and the flames consumed it with a final wisp of smoke and a lingering, sooty fragrance. She stirred the ashes with the fireplace poker, breaking them into smaller pieces that fell through the grate, grinding them to powder until she was satisfied they’d been destroyed.

All those years ago, she hadn’t thought she would live to see thirty. And here she was, not only alive but reasonably well. She had a house and a business. She had the friendship and respect of the people she did business with. She was a success by anyone’s standards.

Would she still be a success if she refused Martha’s blackmail?

She wanted to believe the answer was yes, that her friends would remain her friends, that who she’d become would be more important to them than who she’d been. She wanted to believe that she was good enough, changed enough, to rise above her past.

She wanted to believe that she’d earned the life she had now, that she deserved it.

But the truth was, she didn’t know. She was a fraud, masquerading as someone no different from anyone else in Copper Lake. She’d lied to them about her background and her family. Ellie Chase was someone they could relate to. Bethany Dempsey wasn’t.

She was no stranger to disappointment and rejection. Her mother and father hadn’t been the first to turn away from her, nor had they been the last. And if her own parents hadn’t been able to accept and forgive her, how could she count on people like the Calloways to do so?

How could she ever expect Tommy—the protector, the cop, the good guy—to do so?

She could leave. Disappear. Put the restaurant and house up for sale. Only her lawyer would need to know how to contact her, and Jamie Munroe-Calloway wouldn’t share that information with anyone, especially Martha.

Let the mother who’d abandoned her bleed her dry, give up everything that mattered and run away like a coward, or stand up to Martha and risk the loss of everything—and everyone—that mattered.

It was a hell of a choice.