To Die For

  “I have a roll of toilet paper in the trunk, though, if that will do.”

  Okay, I didn’t want to know why he had the toilet paper, but I changed my mind about him being unprepared. Diverted from my tears, I went to stand beside him as he popped the trunk, to see what else he had back there.

  The main thing was a large cardboard box, which contained the toilet paper, a pretty extensive first aid kit, a box of plastic gloves, several rolls of duct tape, folded sheets of plastic, a magnifying glass, measuring tape, paper bags, plastic bags, tweezers, scissors, and a bunch of other stuff. There was also a shovel, a pickax, and a saw. “What’s with the tweezers?” I asked. “You just keep them handy in case someone’s eyebrows need plucking?”

  “Evidence collection,” he replied as he unrolled some toilet paper and gave it to me. “I had to have it when I was a detective.”

  “But you aren’t a detective now,” I pointed out. I folded the toilet paper, then wiped my eyes and blew my nose.

  “Habits die hard. I keep thinking I might need some of this.”

  “And the shovel?”

  “You never know when you’ll need to dig a hole.”

  “Uh-huh.” I understood that, at least. “I always carry a brick in my trunk,” I confided, then felt a twinge as I remembered what shape my car was in.

  He closed the trunk, a frown between his eyes. “A brick? Why do you need a brick?”

  “In case I need to break out a window.”

  He paused, then said to himself, “I don’t want to know.”

  We sat in the car until Siana arrived, driving a new model Camry. She got out, looking smart and sexy in a taupe suit with a red lace tank under the jacket. Her shoes were taupe sling-backs with three-inch Lucite heels. Her golden blond hair was cut in a sleek shoulder-length bob, the simple lines doing great things for her heart-shaped face. Despite her great dimples, Siana had a look about her that said, “Be afraid. Be very afraid.” Between us, my sisters and I pretty much had all the bases covered. I was pretty enough, but mostly I was athletic and business-oriented. Siana was maybe less even-featured, but her intelligence shone in her face like a beacon, plus she had great boobs. Jenni was taller than either of us, with darker hair, and drop-dead gorgeous. She couldn’t settle on a career, but she was making good money doing local modeling jobs. She could have gone to New York and tried her luck there, but she wasn’t interested enough.

  Wyatt and I both got out of the car. Siana took one look at me, gave a low cry, and burst into tears as she rushed toward me.

  She looked as if she wanted to throw her arms around me, but she stopped short, started to pat me, then drew her hand back. Tears dripped down her face.

  I looked at Wyatt. “Do I look that bad?” I asked uncertainly.

  “Yeah,” was his answer, which perversely reassured me, because if I’d been in truly bad shape, he would have been coddling me.

  “I do not.” I began reassuring Siana, patting her.

  “What happened?” she asked, blotting her eyes.

  “My brakes failed.” The full explanation could come later.

  “What did you hit? A power pole?”

  “Another car hit me. On the passenger side.”

  “Where’s your car? Can it be fixed?”

  “No,” said Wyatt. “It’s totaled.”

  Siana looked horrified all over again.

  I sidetracked her by saying, “Mom invited us to supper tonight, and I need to get cleaned up before I go over there.”

  She nodded. “That’s for sure. She’d freak out if she saw you like this, with blood all over your clothes. I hope you have some real good concealer, too. You’ve got a raccoon thing going on.”

  “Air bag,” I explained.

  My condo key was on her key ring, mixed in with all her other keys. She separated it, unlocked the door, then stepped back while I went in first and disarmed the security system. She followed Wyatt and me inside. “Mom invited me tonight, too. I figured by the time I got here and back to the office, it would be time to leave anyway, so I left for the day. Do you need me for anything? I’m available.”

  “No, I think everything’s under control.”

  “Does your insurance company provide a rental until the claim can be settled?”

  “Yes, thank goodness. My agent said she’ll make arrangements for me to get the rental tomorrow.”

  Siana was a lawyer; her mind was already moving ahead. “Do you have a mechanic lined up to go over your car, do a postmortem? You’ll need a notarized statement—”

  “No,” Wyatt said. “It wasn’t mechanical failure.”

  “Blair said her brakes failed.”

  “They did, but they had help. The brake line was severed.”

  She blinked; then she went pale. She stared at me. “Someone tried to kill you,” she blurted. “Again.”

  I sighed. “I know. Wyatt says it’s because I’m a cheerleader.” I slanted him a “gotcha” look and took myself upstairs to shower, smiling as I listened to Siana swing to my defense. The smile faded as I climbed the stairs, though. Two attempts on my life were enough. This whole situation was getting on my nerves. MacInnes and Forester had better find that Dwayne Bailey had unaccounted-for chunks of time, and a nice set of fingerprints on my poor car would come in handy, too.

  I eased out of my stiff, bloody clothing and let every garment fall to the floor. They were all ruined, anyway. I was amazed that a simple bloody nose could make such a mess. Finally I went into the bathroom and took a good look at myself in the full-length mirror. Bruises were definitely forming across my cheekbones, and across my nose. And on both knees, my shoulders, the inside of my right arm, and my right hip. I ached in every muscle; even my feet ached. Looking down, I saw a big bruise on top of my right foot.

  Wyatt came into the bathroom while I was standing there surveying the damage. Without saying anything, he looked me over from head to toe, then gently folded me in his arms and rocked me back and forth for a while. For once, there was nothing sexual in his embrace, but he’d have had to be one sick puppy to be turned on by such an array of bruises. “You need ice packs,” he said. “A lot of them.”

  “What I need,” I replied, “is a doughnut. About two dozen of them. I have some cooking to do.”

  “What?”

  “Doughnuts. I need to stop at Krispy Kreme and get two dozen doughnuts.”

  “Won’t a cookie do?”

  I eased away from him and turned on the shower. “Everyone was so sweet to me today; I’m going to make a bread pudding to take to them tomorrow. I have a recipe using Krispy Kreme doughnuts for the bread.”

  He stood frozen, his taste buds already imagining the taste. “Maybe we should get four dozen, so you can make two. That way we’ll have one at home.”

  “Sorry. I can’t work out right now, so I really have to watch what I eat. The temptation would be too much if there was a bread pudding sitting there calling to me.”

  “I’m a cop. I can protect you from it. I’ll take it into custody.”

  “I don’t feel up to making two,” I said as I stepped into the shower.

  He raised his voice to be heard over the running water. “I’ll help.”

  I smiled again at the plea in his voice. He shouldn’t have let me know he had such a sweet tooth; now I had him. I thought about torturing him by not letting him taste the pudding until tomorrow at the police station with everyone else, and that kept my mind off the problem of someone trying to kill me. It’s just mental dancing, but it works for me.

  I heard his cell phone ring while I was rinsing the shampoo from my hair. It was a slow go, since my left arm wasn’t really in the game, but I was managing. I listened to him talking, though I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Finished, I turned off the water and hooked the towel off the top of the shower door, then began drying myself as best I could.

  “Come on out and I’ll finish the job,” he said, so I stepped out. The first thing I noticed was tha
t he had that grim expression again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That was MacInnes,” he said, taking the towel from me and gently wiping me down. “Bailey’s alibi checks out. Every bit of it. He was either at home with his wife, or at work, with only enough time allowed in between for him to make the drive there and back. According to MacInnes, Bailey’s wife has filed for divorce, so she isn’t inclined to lie for him. They’ll check further, but it looks as if he’s clean. Someone else is trying to kill you.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-one

  We were early getting to Mom and Dad’s, even though we stopped for the doughnuts and condensed milk I needed for the bread pudding. Wyatt had everything else at his house, including the size pans I needed. Yes, pans. Plural. We bought four-dozen glazed doughnuts. The smell of them made my mouth water, but I was strong and didn’t even open the box.

  Dad opened the door, paused while he studied my face, then said, “What happened?” in a very quiet tone.

  “I totaled my car,” I said, going to him for a hug; then I went on into the kitchen to face Mom. Behind me, I heard Dad and Wyatt carrying on a low-voiced conversation and I figured Wyatt was giving Dad the skinny.

  In the end, I hadn’t tried to conceal the bruises. Well, I did have on a pair of long pants, a light-weave cotton with pink and white stripes, and a white T-shirt tied in a knot at my waist, because if I’d worn shorts that showed the bruises on my legs, someone would have thought Wyatt was beating me and I didn’t feel up to defending his honor. But I hadn’t put any concealer on the bruises under my eyes, because I figured any makeup would make a mess when Mom did whatever she was bound to do to my face.

  She was standing with the freezer door open, staring inside. “I meant to do a roast,” she said without looking up when she heard me come in. I’m not certain she knew it was me and not Dad, but it didn’t matter. “But I’ve been fighting with that damn computer for so long I don’t have time now. What do you think about grilling—” She looked up and saw me, and her eyes went round. “Blair Mallory,” she said in an accusing tone, as if I’d done this to myself.

  “Car accident,” I said, sitting down on one of the tall barstools at the eating bar. “My poor little car is totaled. Someone cut my brake line and I went through the stop sign into the traffic at that busy intersection just down from my house.”

  “This has to stop,” she said, her voice tight and angry as she closed the freezer door and opened the refrigerator portion instead. “I thought the police caught the man who killed Nicole.”

  “They did. He didn’t do it. He didn’t shoot at me, either; after he shot Nicole, he didn’t leave his house except to go to work. His wife alibied him, and since she’s found out he was cheating on her, she’s filed for divorce, so it isn’t as if she’s protecting him.”

  Mom closed the refrigerator door without taking anything out, and opened the freezer door again. Mom is scarily efficient, so this dithering told me how upset she was. This time, she pulled out a package of frozen peas and wrapped them in a clean kitchen towel. “Hold this over the bruises,” she said, handing the peas to me. “What other damage do you have?”

  “Just bruises. And I’m sore in every muscle. A car T-boned my car on the passenger side, so I took a huge jolt. The air bag hit me in the face and gave me a bloody nose.”

  “Be glad you don’t wear glasses. Sally”—Sally Arledge is one of Mom’s closest friends—“drove her car into the side of the house, and when the air bag hit her, it broke her glasses and her nose.”

  I couldn’t remember Sally driving into the side of her house, and I’m sure Mom would have told me. My sisters and I had all called her “Aunt Sally” when we were little, and they palled around together—Mom and the three of us, Sally and her five. That was quite a group when we all went somewhere. Sally had four boys, then a daughter. She’d named the four boys after the Gospels, but didn’t find any biblical girl’s name that she liked, so they were Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, and Tammy. Tammy always felt left out because she didn’t have a biblical name, so we’d called her Rizpah for a while, but she didn’t like that either. Personally, I thought Rizpah Arledge had a ring to it, but Tammy decided to go back to being Tammy and didn’t even have to have counseling.

  “When did Sally drive into the house? You didn’t tell me about this.”

  “Put the peas on your face,” she said, and I obediently tilted my head back and draped the bag of frozen peas over my face. It was big enough to cover my eyes, cheekbones, and nose, and, damn, it was cold. “As for why I didn’t tell you, it just happened on Saturday, while you were at the beach, and there hasn’t been an opportunity since then.”

  Ah, the beach. I remembered it with longing. It was just a few short days ago, but then my only problem had been Wyatt. No one had been trying to kill me while I was at the beach. Maybe I should go back. Tiffany would like that. So would I, if no one would shoot me or tamper with my car while I was there.

  “Did she hit the gas instead of the brake pedal?” I asked.

  “No, she did it on purpose. She was mad at Jazz.” Sally’s husband’s name is Jasper, which is likewise a biblical name, only no one calls him that; he’s always been Jazz.

  “So she rammed her house? That doesn’t sound cost-effective.”

  “She was aiming for Jazz, but he dodged.”

  I took the bag of peas off my face and stared at Mom in astonishment. “Sally tried to kill Jazz?”

  “No, she just wanted to maim him a little.”

  “Then she should use, like, a riding lawn mower or something, not a car.”

  “I’m pretty sure he could outrun a lawn mower,” Mom said thoughtfully. “Though he has put on a little weight. No, I’m certain he could, because he was fast enough to get out of the way when she drove the car at him. So a lawn mower wouldn’t work.”

  “What did he do?” I had visions of Sally catching him in the act with some other woman, like maybe her worst enemy, which would make the betrayal doubly bad.

  “You know those shows on television where a husband or a wife invites these interior decorators to come into the house and redecorate a room as a surprise for the other one? While Sally was visiting her mother in Mobile last week, he did that.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Mom and I looked at each other in horror. The thought of someone else coming into our houses and undoing what we had done, plus redecorating without having a clue what we like or dislike, was awful. I shuddered. “He got a television show decorator?”

  “Not even that. He hired Monica Stevens from Sticks and Stones.”

  There was nothing to say to that. I was mute in the face of such a calamity. Monica Stevens had a predilection for glass and steel, which I guess was fine if you lived in an laboratory, and she liked black. A lot of black. Unfortunately, Sally’s taste runs more toward cozy cottage.

  I knew how Jazz had picked Monica, though: she had the biggest ad in the phone book, so poor Jazz would have figured she was very successful and popular if she could afford the biggest ad. That’s just how Jazz thinks. He was also hampered by having no clue about a woman’s boundaries, despite having been married for thirty-five years. If he’d just thought beforehand to ask Dad if redecorating was a good idea, this whole problem could have been avoided, because Dad has more than a clue, he has it down to an exact science. My daddy’s a smart man.

  “Which room did Monica do?” I asked faintly.

  “Put the peas back on your face.” I obeyed, and Mom said, “The bedroom.”

  I moaned. Sally had worked hard finding just the right pieces for her bedroom, haunting estate sales and auctions to find the perfect antiques. Some of them had been heirloom quality. “What did Jazz do with Sally’s furniture?” Technically I guess it was his furniture, too, but Sally was the one who was emotionally invested in it.

  “That was the kicker. Monica talked him into putting it in her consignment shop, where of course it sold right away.”

&nbsp
; “What?” I dropped the peas to stare openmouthed at Mom. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Poor Sally couldn’t even re-create her bedroom. “Forget the car, I’d have rented a bulldozer and gone after him! Why didn’t she back up and take another go?”

  “Well, she was hurt. I told you it broke her nose. And her glasses, so she couldn’t see, either. I don’t know what’s going to happen to them. I don’t see how she can ever forgive him— Hello, Wyatt. I didn’t see you standing there. Blair, I didn’t have time to put on the roast, so we’re going to grill hamburgers.”

  I looked around at where the two men were standing in the doorway, listening. The expression on Wyatt’s face was priceless. Dad took it all in stride.

  “Fine with me,” Dad said affably. “I’ll get the charcoal started.” He went through the kitchen and out onto the deck, where he kept his monster grill.

  Wyatt was a cop. He’d just heard about an attempted murder, though I knew Sally had really intended more to break Jazz’s legs than to kill him. He also looked as if he’d just stepped into an alternate universe. “She can’t forgive him?” he asked in a strained tone. “She tried to kill him!”

  “Well, yeah,” I said.

  Mom said, “He redecorated her bedroom.” Did we have to draw him a picture?

  “I’m going outside,” he said warily, and followed Dad. Actually, it sort of looked as if he was escaping. I don’t know what he expected. Maybe he thought we should be discussing my personal situation, but you know that thing I have about dancing around and not thinking about something? I got it from Mom. It was much better for us to talk about Sally trying to run over Jazz than it was to think about someone trying to kill me.

  The topic was like a nine-hundred-pound gorilla, though; we might put it in a corner, but we couldn’t forget about it.

  Siana arrived, having gone home and changed into shorts and a T-shirt. Jenni breezed in, cheerful in a pale yellow dress that went great with her skin tone, and she had to be brought up to speed on the car accident. That was the topic of conversation at the dinner table, over juicy grilled hamburgers. Actually the dinner table was the picnic table out on the deck, but the principle is the same.