The Wrong Drawers Read online

  “Not so good, hence the cherry pie and ice cream.” I fidgeted in my seat, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. It reminded me I needed a trim and some more highlights to give my brown hair life again. The detectives hadn’t said whether or not I could talk about what had happened, only that I couldn’t leave. Did I really want to be the first grape on the vine? Some women in town thrived on being the first to dish a new piece of gossip, but not me. However, Martha was so nice, I wouldn’t want her to think I didn’t trust her. If it got out—which I was sure it would in this close-knit town—and I hadn’t told her my first-hand account, there would be hell to pay.

  I decided to tell. “I know you’re a top banana around here when it comes to town news, but you probably haven’t heard the latest,” I said, easing into the news and flattering her at the same time. Maybe I’d get the ten percent discount all the other regulars seemed to enjoy.

  She leaned an ample hip on the side of the booth opposite me, patting her dyed blond hair. “You mean that Tarrin Philips and how she got herself strangled at a party for naughty things?”

  Yikes, my worry about spreading news sprouted wings and took flight. “Yeah, that. It was freaky, and now I’m not allowed to leave town.”

  “Really?” She drew the one word out, setting her ever-present coffee pot on the table and sliding into the booth to sit across from me. “Do tell.”

  So I told what little I knew. It couldn’t hurt for other people to know my side prior to the police trying to prove I’d done more than argue with Tarrin. Damn that scarf. How had it appeared around her neck, anyway?

  A half hour later, I finished the last bite of my second piece of pie—this one on the house—when I felt a tickle on my neck, then a whisper in my ear. Ben.

  “Trouble, thy name is Ivy.”

  Normally, this whole whispering in the ear thing totally worked for me, erogenously speaking, but not tonight. “Don’t you know how to talk at a normal level?”

  “Oh-ho-ho, somebody’s not in a jovial mood.” He waggled his dark eyebrows.

  “Good word,” I said before I could stop myself. “Don’t try to distract me. This is all your fault, you know. If you hadn’t given me a revolting hickey the other night, I wouldn’t have worn a scarf. And if I hadn’t worn the scarf, it wouldn’t have ended up on that contrary woman.”

  “What are you talking about?” He sat down across from me in all his yummy glory. His moss green eyes intent on me, he flicked a hand over his spiky brown and blond hair. Martha had moved on ten minutes ago to wipe down tables and let me wolf down my free pie.

  “Like you don’t know.”

  “I don’t, or I wouldn’t have asked. What contrary woman? I heard there’d been a murder, which was surprising enough, but I didn’t know you were involved. Again.”

  My defenses rose up faster than I could gain a dress size. “You say ‘again’ like I went looking for trouble.” I slumped back against the vinyl and harrumphed.

  “Don’t get the ‘look’ on your face. And before you ask, you know exactly which look I’m talking about.”

  I let my brow relax and my lip uncurl to get rid of said look. He was right. This really had nothing to do with him, but I didn’t like the way things were taking shape in my head. The sick feeling in my stomach over Bella’s reaction before I left her house wasn’t helping, either. Maybe I’d try to see her before I went home to my dad.

  My dad! Oh, my God, how was I going to explain this to him? He was already fighting for me to come home, upset about the last murder I’d solved. He was not going to be a happy camper about this new development. He was sure to redouble his efforts to get me on a plane and back to California. Also, he was probably going to pull out the last few strands of hair he had left on his head. Although...I couldn’t exactly go anywhere now. I’d promised to not leave town.

  My head hurt.

  “Tell me what happened,” Ben said, breaking into my disturbed thoughts.

  So for the third time in as many hours, I repeated my story.

  “That sucks,” he said at the end of my tale of woe. “Tarrin was always a volatile person, but no one deserves an end like that.”

  Which reminded me. “Did you have S-E-X with her?” I whispered.

  “What?” His green eyes nearly popped out of his head.

  “You heard me. Don’t avoid the question. It was straightforward enough.”

  “Uh, no.” He cleared his throat and ran a rough hand over his short spiky hair, again. More forcefully he said, “No, we never actually had sex.”

  “That lying bitch.” I hesitated and backpedaled as fast as I possibly could. “Not that I want to speak ill of the dead.” Argh.

  “Of course, but where did this question I answered come from? I’d like to know why your mind is conjuring these things up.”

  “What do you mean you ‘never actually had sex’?” I quirked an eyebrow at him. “What exactly does that mean?”

  He started fidgeting—never a good sign; I should know. “Well, that’s to say, um, we never, ah, got that far.”

  “How far did you go, then?”

  “Look, Ivy, does it really matter? I’ve never asked you about your sex life prior to us getting together. Can’t we leave it as a qualified no?”

  He had a point, although it wasn’t a good one. I could sum up my sexual experience with three words—one-night stand. I didn’t necessarily want him to know how little action I’d gotten before him. Not before I got him into the sack, anyway.

  “Okay, we’ll let it go for now,” I said, like I was making a concession or something. And the more I thought about it, did I really want to know how many women he’d been with? And how many had enjoyed the particularly enticing aerial view of the top of his head while he was pleasuring them? Yikes, don’t go there.

  I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “So, I guess I’m embroiled in this whole sleuthing thing again. I’m pretty sure I was the last person to see her alive other than her killer. Plus, the police seemed hostile to me, and I’m most likely the main suspect at this point.”

  “Person of interest,” he said absently.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Either way, I’m going to be cooked like yesterday’s Thanksgiving turkey if I don’t figure out what happened and clear my name. Got any ideas?”

  ****

  Ben had plenty of ideas when he asked me back to his apartment—all of them good. Unfortunately, no matter how much I really wanted to get my hands on his beautiful, naked, sweaty body, I couldn’t concentrate, thanks to the fact I was a suspect. And I hadn’t even done anything.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and really meant it. “I can’t get going with all this worry clouding my brain.” I sat up on the beat-up couch he kept in his bachelor’s pad and pulled down the hem of my blouse under which Ben had been doing some fascinating and yummy things.

  He sighed a martyred sigh. “No, it’s okay. I guess I can understand. I want my hands on you, though, Ivy, along with my mouth and other parts of me, as soon as we can. Between your dad and now this, we haven’t had much time alone together.”

  His palpable frustration matched my own. If I could have shut off my brain and let my libido take over, I would have. But I didn’t work that way. Damn.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “Maybe we should try to think of a way to clear my name, and we’ll get to the physical stuff later.” I shrugged, not happy in the least, but didn’t know what else to do.

  To his credit, Ben didn’t balk or get nasty, as some people would have. It was one of the reasons I liked him so much. Well, his sexiness was no small bonus.

  “Thanks.” I kissed him full on those yummy lips, while his hands rested on my meaty thighs. His fingers started creeping upward, and I broke it off before we went any further.

  “Sorry,” he said, one side of his gorgeous lips quirking up into his devilish smile. It devastated me every time. “Couldn’t help myself.”

  “Well, try. Or at least try to help
me.”

  “Will do, boss lady. I think we should start with who Tarrin’s enemies could have been and go from there.”

  We didn’t work out too much information, but as I drove home a couple of hours before dawn at least I felt I finally had someone on my side.

  Chapter Four

  Four days—and another round of police questions—later, Ben was still the only known person on my side. Even Martha refused to commit herself to believing me after I’d given her the scoop. Bella never answered my calls, or her door when I’d shown up at the B&B. Her car was in the parking lot, but my knock summoned no one.

  On the other hand, I could not, for the life of me, get rid of my freaking dad. I’d crept undetected into the house Saturday morning. At the crack of dawn, mere hours later, he banged on my bedroom door, demanding to be let in. I grunted. He came in and the first thing he noticed was the hickey. Before he could get going, I distracted him by blurting out the whole suspect in a murder case thing. Crayola could have created a new color to match his face and called it Punctilious Purple. He clamped his lips shut as his skin turned a molted shade of plum. Cheekily telling him about my new color idea did not get the laugh I’d hoped for.

  And now he’d figuratively attached himself to me at the hip because he couldn’t figure out a way to do it literally. Today was my first day off since Tarrin’s murder. The day I had estate sale plans with Ben in Kilmarnock. But I was having a hard time convincing Dad he didn’t need to come with me. I promised I would stay out of trouble, and wouldn’t stop at any no-tell motels to have wild, hot, monkey sex on the way there.

  Okay, I didn’t actually call it wild, hot, monkey sex, but I did have to promise not to make any unscheduled stops. I also promised to keep my cell phone on all day, unlike the other day when his sin radar had gone off and I didn’t answer. I had told him the phone must have been turned off, but in reality I didn’t hear it ring because I was getting the aforementioned hickey.

  After much conversation, I finally told dear old dad to back the hell off, this was my life and I could damn well do whatever I wanted. If he didn’t like it, I’d personally take him to the airport.

  Of course, I didn’t say that either. What came out of my mouth was, “I promise I’ll take care, and call you when we get to the house. I’ll also call when we leave on our way back, but I won’t be more than fifteen minutes away. I further promise to keep my phone on at all times.” Blah, blah, blah, scout’s honor, I almost added, but didn’t want to provoke him further. So I did manage to un-Velcro my dad for the day.

  I wrapped a brown scarf around my neck. It didn’t go with my blue sweater and black jeans, but it made me feel better and warm as I walked out to the curb and Ben’s idling car. My blood wasn’t thick enough yet to brave November without warm clothes.

  Hopping into Ben’s Explorer, I gave him a really thorough kissing (thankfully my dad had already gone back into the house), then sat back in my seat, satisfied. Despite all the trouble over the past few days, I was going to have fun today even if it killed me. Unfortunate phrasing, but true.

  When we rounded the last corner before our destination, my first glimpse of a Virginia estate sale was awe-inspiring. Thick trees opened up to reveal a beautiful old Victorian with an incredible lawn full of furniture.

  Ben must have seen my eyes bug out because he said, “Like that? There’s also a ton of furniture inside.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve been here before and always come away with some cool treasure.”

  “Some cool treasure, but never any reputable furniture, huh?” I said, thinking of his apartment—the epitome of a bachelor pad, complete with ugly couch and an abundance of duct tape.

  “Ha ha. Actually, I haven’t purchased any new, good furniture because I’m waiting until I get a real house. It would be terrible to get a great couch and then not be able to fit it into the home I’ll eventually buy.”

  “Makes sense, I guess.” I’d never had to worry about furniture. I’d gone straight from my dreaded pink bedroom back at my dad’s house into Great-Aunt Gertie’s furnished house.

  “Of course it makes sense. Didn’t I say it?”

  Now it was my turn to laugh. Sometimes Ben was so over-the-top arrogant. He was joking this time, but there’d been instances over the last couple of weeks where he hadn’t been kidding. Like when he tried to shut me out during our investigation into the death of our friend Janice. He received his private investigator license over the Internet through an online course and wanted to try it out before the ink dried. But I brought him down a peg or two when my wonderful brain and I figured things out first. Fortunately, he didn’t take it too hard.

  We strolled along the rows of tables spilling over with knick-knacks, toasters, and loose silverware. Here and there, flour sifters and old coffee grinders caught the light of the fall sun and threw it back at us.

  Chairs with awesome-looking, cobwebby backing sat on the lush green lawn around a sturdy mahogany table. Each piece had little fluttering pink price tags dangling from white strings. Smaller items had their prices taped on.

  Those little pieces of paper, taped or hung, were great fun to walk around and look at it. I guess I had envisioned some sort of glorified garage sale when Ben said estate sale. The prices were close enough, but the merchandise was so much better. Needlepoint chairs were paired with telephone stands, doilies sitting on the highly polished surfaces and topped with some whimsical glass dog or porcelain bell. I was in love and I hadn’t even gone inside yet. We headed there next.

  “Oh, look at this,” I said as I touched yet another set of linen napkins tinted cream with age. Ben played along, indulging me while I ran around inside the big old house like a child in my first toy store.

  “And this. Beautiful.” Ten pewter mugs decorated with bearded men sat on a baker’s rack in the kitchen. I tried to think of somewhere to put them to justify the purchase, but no dice. I had to leave them behind, even if they were priced for a song. Amidst all the cool things, I still hadn’t found what I’d come looking for—a sideboard for the shop.

  Walking up the beautiful wide oak staircase, I trailed my hand along the highly polished wood. Even the pictures hanging on the wall exhibited prices. One really caught my eye: a mother drying her daughter who’d just stepped out of a tin tub. The paper was yellowed and the frame tarnished, but how cute would it look hanging in my guest bathroom?

  “Can I grab it off the wall? Is that the way it’s done?” Turning to face Ben, I found his eyes fastened to my rear end. Thank God I’d worn my cute jeans. “Find anything you like?” Yeah, I was being cheeky, but what’s the fun of having a man if you can’t tease him?

  “Yeah, I really like...this cast iron money bank. See how the dog jumps through the hoop when you put a penny in his back? The money goes right into the bucket.”

  And it was even better when the teasing went both ways. I wasn’t sure I was necessarily “in love” like waltz-down-the-aisle love yet, but it was a close thing. Although, the naked panic in his eyes last week when my dad had asked his intentions clued me in to the fact maybe Ben wasn’t as close as I was.

  “Actually, I like it.” I took the long metal bank from him and turned it over and around. The heavy, solid piece would be a fun treasure to buy. “You could put it on top of your television and let it hold all your loose change.” As if on cue, Ben jingled his pockets. It always surprised me how much change he accumulated during the course of a day. He had piles of it on his dresser in his apartment every time I went over there, which, sadly, wasn’t often at this point.

  We continued up to the second floor of the house. While I admired a particularly pretty sleigh bed for the carving on the highly polished wood (and Ben made comments about testing it out. Oy!), my gaze landed on an absolutely perfect sideboard. Tucked into a corner nook, it shone with the late afternoon sun. The legs curved—French Provincial craftsmanship, I thought—and the front doors swung silently open at the touch
of my hand. The drawers pulled out easily and had the old dovetail joint construction where the front and sides were joined together. There was only one problem with my beautiful antique—no little pink tag.

  “Oh, no,” I moaned. “Please don’t tell me it’s not for sale.”

  Ben patted my arm. “I told you, everything here is for sale. Let me go find someone and we’ll figure everything out. Be right back.”

  And he was off, which gave me a great view of his behind this time. Yum.

  After I couldn’t see him anymore, I transferred my sights to gaze lovingly at the piece I could already see back at the Masked Shoppe filled with undies and other unmentionables. I could make a great display on the polished top with some old-timey perfume bottles and one of those powder boxes people used to have, with the enormous puff. Add a couple of strings of pearls, a bauble or two, and the display would make any woman want to get dressed for an evening out while remembering to buy the perfect little something for underneath her clothes. God, I loved my new business.

  Just then I heard feet tromping up the stairs, and I schooled my features to nonchalance in the last second. Shouldn’t come across as too eager. I didn’t want to get gouged. Bad enough to be an out-of-towner. Looking like I couldn’t live without the sideboard would seal my fate as surely as posting a sign on my forehead saying, “Sucker: please pad the bill.”

  “This is the piece we were thinking about,” Ben said, steering a short, plump woman into the room. She should be coming to the Masked Shoppe. I had all kinds of things for her curvy little figure.

  “And you say it doesn’t have a tag?” Her blond hair was teased so high I bet she used gasoline to strip it clean. Flies could live in it and she’d probably never know.

  But she was going to sell me my lovely antique and it was best not to anger those who negotiated the sale.

  “No, there’s no tag. We’re sorry to be a bother,” I said. Nice and slightly formal, little apology thrown in for good measure. Well done, Ivy.