The Wrong Drawers Page 5

  I laughed and made a beeline for the bathroom. When I came back, I had his shirt untucked and pants unbuttoned before he could take his next breath. My hands were zeroing in on his delectable flesh when someone cleared their throat above me. I would have known the sound anywhere.

  I sank my head between Ben’s head and shoulder and groaned. “You couldn’t have waited to call my dad until after?” I said, low enough for only Ben to hear.

  He shook his head, bumping my ear with his chin.

  “Crap.” I lumbered to my feet. Straightening my sweater (thank goodness, he hadn’t been under there again—but then, I hadn’t given him a chance), I faced my dad. I concentrated on his gray sweater and the white T-shirt underneath, instead of looking into his penetrating blue eyes. “Hi.”

  “Ivy, let’s go home.” He looked over at Ben, giving him the evil eye. (What was it with that, lately?) I cringed. How long could I continue to expect Ben to put up with being treated like this?

  “I’ll, um, be home in a little while, Dad.” I hated the weakness in my voice. “I’d like to go through everything and make sure it’s all here before I go. I should get a new lock for the door, too. I don’t want anyone else in here without me.”

  “I can help,” Ben said, and received another quelling look for his trouble.

  I flinched but held my tongue. Again.

  “I think Ivy and I can handle it, Benjamin, but thank you for the offer.” Nice enough, sure, but I could have frozen dead buffalo in the room.

  “Dad—” I mentally pulled at my collar to keep it from choking me. “Ben probably has something in his truck to help us. There aren’t any stores open this late, unless I go forty miles out. We can listen to what he has to say first, right?” There went the question thing when I meant it as a statement.

  “Fine. Make it quick, though. You should be home in bed, not out traipsing around at all hours. I’m going to go home myself, but I’ll stay up until you get there. Don’t be long.”

  He stomped out of the room without commenting on a single thing hung or stored in what I affectionately called the boudoir. I’d deliberately kept him out, till now, because I didn’t know how to tell him what I sold, things he called “beyond unmentionables.”

  “Phew,” I said, once the door had slammed shut.

  “I guess I’ll go get whatever it is you think I have out of my truck.”

  Ben was disappointed in me. I knew because I was disappointed in myself. In fact, I wanted to kick myself in the eye. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Where was my backbone now? I looked down, realizing for the first time that I had changed into a pair of brown jeans after my bath, and that I wore my brown scarf again. This couldn’t be happening.

  “I have a couple of things here we can use, and then I should go.”

  Ack! It was worse than I thought. He couldn’t wait to get away from me. “I’m really sorry, Ben. I should have stepped in and not let him talk to you like that.”

  “Yeah, well, it would have been nice.” He looked at me from under hooded eyes. “Then again, maybe he was scared and acted like a jackass instead of giving in to the shakes.” Checking all the windows, he went to the front of the store with me trailing like a puppy.

  “How can you excuse him and his behavior?”

  “I’m excusing yours, aren’t I?” Point gouged into me. “But I also heard his voice when he called to see if you were at my place. He was scared, Ivy, and asked for my help, which probably galled him in the worst way. It’s a good thing I had the key.”

  Yes, it was lucky. I needed a bit of luck in my life about now. I risked losing it all if I didn’t get to a place where I could, and would without hesitation, stand up for myself again.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll talk with my dad as soon as I get home.”

  Ben simply looked at me, his spiky brown hair with its gold tips running a million ways but straight up. His green eyes fixed on mine. His masculine scent, a mix of earthy and fresh, tickled my nose. I inhaled and a flutter trilled its way through my belly.

  What did he see when he looked at me? Did he see the woman I wanted to be: strong, capable, lovable? Or did he see who I really felt I was? The woman I’d been forced back into being from the moment my dad had taken up residence: weak, meek, and wearing brown. Gah!

  “I know I’ve said it before, but I really mean it. I’ll talk to him. I swear.” I fidgeted and almost put one of the highlights framing my face in my mouth. Which reminded me I needed a cut. But where was I going to get it done, now that Bella didn’t want to see me anymore?

  I couldn’t stop or help it—I cried. Big, huge tears and loud, obscene sobs. Ben wrapped his arms around me and held me while I blubbered. Never once did he try to push me away as I soaked his shirt. If that wasn’t commitment, I didn’t know what was.

  Circling through my head the whole time was the thought I needed to buck it up and stop with the waterworks. They didn’t do anything, and we had a killer to find and my name to clear.

  Chapter Seven

  I have never been a pretty crier, never able to sniff delicately while my eyes shone and gentle tears tracked glistening paths down my glowing cheeks. Oh, no. My eyes felt dry as dust, and itchy, which meant they were approximately the color of ripe tomatoes. My nose ran and I sniffed—again, no delicacy here—and the snort was enough to set me back on my butt.

  Ben, being the man he was, had no handkerchief, which was fine with me. They always freaked me out. (Wash boogers? Not me.) He did, however, get up and fetch a tissue for me from the long wooden sales counter.

  “Don’t apologize again,” he said as he handed me the tissue. My mouth hung open to do just that, and I snapped it shut at his order. “I know you have a lot going on right now, and I also know you and Bella aren’t talking. She called me.”

  Well, at least there was one less thing I had to tell him.

  “It’s been hard for you. As an outsider and now a suspect, you’re frightened. I get that. All I ask is for you to try to get a grip on the things you can, and let me help you while you’re doing it.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say thank you, but the hell with it. I used that tongue to show my gratitude instead. His lips were soft and warm. My tongue took on a life of its own and became a wild hussy. It foraged, it played, it taunted and teased. Ben’s ran right along with the program and his hands weren’t idle, either.

  Some fondling followed, but Ben stopped before it went too far (surprise, surprise) and disappointment flooded me. We were alone, with no one to stop us this time. On second thought, I looked around and noticed lights throughout the room glaring from their positions. It was possible the police could pull up to see why, and get an eyeful in the process.

  Ben’s chest heaved, his broad shoulders nearly shaking. Feminine power roared through me like a freight train. I did this to him with a simple kiss and some groping—amazing.

  During my awestruck moment, I completely missed what he was saying. I saw those luscious lips moving, but no sound penetrated. “What?”

  “I said I did some digging today and have some things to tell you if you’re ready to listen. I’d planned on telling you tomorrow, but now works. I would have told you earlier, but you distracted me.” He leered; I sighed in ecstasy. I wanted to nibble him from tip to toe.

  Instead, I scooted closer to him, although it didn’t seem humanly possible in our present position. Putting my hand on his solid thigh, I snuggled up. “Why don’t you stop with the would-haves and get on with it?”

  “Can I trust you to keep your hands in order?” He snickered and some more of the tension riding my shoulders loosened. “I’m trusting you to behave.”

  “Puh-lease,” I said, and was reminded again of Bella. I gulped down the threatening tears and forced a smile. “I promise to behave. Okay?”

  “All right then.” He shifted on the planked floor and turned more fully toward me, engulfing both my hands in his. For a big girl, my hands looked small when they were in his.

/>   He toyed with the garnet ring on my middle finger while he related what his friend down at the police station had to say. “They don’t have any real evidence against you as of right now. Apparently, they’re still trying to figure out what, exactly, happened. They have your scarf and statements saying you were alone with Tarrin in the back bedroom. You say you went into the bathroom to take a breather and during that time someone else strangled her. But no one else was seen going in or coming out of the room. It’s your word against a closed case.”

  Not quite what I was hoping to hear. “But it can’t be a closed case. I didn’t do it. Some maniac is running around, and they can’t see past the convenient suspect—namely me—to find him.” Leaving my hands in his, I shrugged my shoulder to remove the hair clinging to the side of my face. Nice. I had to be a frightening sight with smeared makeup, red eyes, and flyaway hair, but Ben didn’t seem to notice, bless him.

  “The main problem is everyone but you has an alibi, even the fiancé. The police talked to him and he was at a restaurant, taking a call from Tarrin’s mentor, Chrissie. She was letting him know how things were going, since it was Tarrin’s first night. My understanding is they’d arranged the call ahead of time so they didn’t upset her. And the call came around the time Tarrin was strangled. They pulled Chrissie’s cell records and his. It’s all there and in order.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not. So we need to figure out who else could have had it in for her, and why they framed you.”

  “I’m going over to Bella’s house tomorrow afternoon to pick up some of my stuff. Maybe I can talk to her, or at least look around while I’m there. The police might have missed something.”

  “That’s my girl.” He lifted my knuckles to his lips and took a nibble.

  I don’t know which made my stomach flutter harder: his calling me his girl or the nibble. Whatever it was, I liked it and I liked him.

  Ben, with his PI-inclined mind, started listing people who could have wanted Tarrin gone. Her death was obviously deliberate; you didn’t “accidentally” strangle someone dead.

  “Her family has been notified. I think we might want to try and talk with her younger sister. She lives here in town and could possibly give us more insight into Tarrin’s life since she moved back.”

  “Where is this sister?”

  “Right down the street, actually. She’s only a year younger than Tarrin, and a waitress some days at Mad Martha’s. I’ll get in touch with her and see about setting something up.”

  “What can I do?”

  “You could sit, take care of yourself, and look pretty.” There went the cheese-me smile, the one that popped out when he knew I wouldn’t go along with what he wanted but he was determined to try anyway.

  “Try again,” I said. “I refuse to be left out, and you know it, so don’t try to blind me with the smile. It’s my life on the line, and I’m not going to sit back and let you save the day.”

  “I do know, but it was worth a try.” He was so predictable. “I care about you and don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Wow, almost the declaration of love I wouldn’t have minded hearing, though I wouldn’t say it first. It wasn’t really a declaration of anything, but I squinted at it like one of those hidden picture things I could never see...

  Anyway, it was nice he cared, but I needed to have an active part in this whole thing. For so long, I had sat on the sidelines and let life happen to me. No more. Ben’s earlier words had struck a chord. This wasn’t something I could completely control, of course, but it was certainly something I could try and figure out before I got thrown in a cell with Big Bertha.

  Eventually, it was time to say goodbye. He had his full-time paying job at the newspaper to do tomorrow, and I had to work, too. The shop opened at ten, but if I wanted a decent sleep, I’d need my bed soon.

  How I thought I’d sleep with all this crap churning in my head was beyond me. I’d never signed up for the illustrious title of amateur sleuth, but here I was again embroiled in more trouble. Last time I was the intended victim, and this time I appeared to be the intended villain. No rest for the wicked, and all that jazz.

  ****

  Back at home, I found my dad, sitting in my favorite chair, waiting up for me like he’d promised. I walked past the living room and him, then made a swift turn in the hallway; he almost collided with me.

  “I have something to say to you and I’d appreciate if you’d listen.” Not a single shake in my voice—a proud moment for me.

  “Of course I’ll listen, Ivy. Don’t I always?”

  What a loaded question. I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot sandwich. Which reminded me, I hadn’t eaten dinner. I wondered if anything decent inhabited my fridge, before tuning my mind back in to my dad. We had to get the whole snubbing-Ben thing sorted out, and soon. I thought about the little speech I’d rehearsed on my way home. The drive from the shop was short, so I had used the time wisely.

  But when it came time to deliver my pithy and strong statement, I backed off and fumbled with it. Sigh. “Um, you didn’t treat Ben very well tonight, you know?” Argh! Where was my strength? My straightforward “don’t do it again”? My freaking backbone?

  Looking at the flower-patterned carpet runner, Dad grumbled something I didn’t quite catch.

  “What?”

  He huffed, he puffed, he could have blown the damn house down, but on this, at least, I wasn’t budging. I wanted to make sure my ears hadn’t deceived me and I’d heard him right the first time.

  “Well?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest in classic Ivy impatience.

  He tried kicking a rut into the carpet before finally looking at me. “I said it didn’t look like he was respecting you while he rolled on the floor with you.”

  “That’s what I thought you said.”

  “Then why did you ask?” He folded his arms over his own burly chest and all five foot five of him quivered with indignation. We must have looked like a matching pair of bookends.

  Exasperated, I finally got a mental kick in my butt and spelled some things out for him I should have said long ago. “First off, I’m twenty-four and you raised me to have a mind of my own. I fumbled it for a while, but I think I’ve worked it out now. And that mind is made up; I want to be with Ben. I like Ben.”

  “Fine, but it doesn’t mean he has to have his hands all over you, does it?”

  “If you had taken a minute to really look, you would have seen I was the one with the wandering hands, not him. Besides, I want my hands on him and his on me. Why is that such a problem for you?”

  My God, had I really said that? Out loud? Yeesh! No choice but to brazen it out.

  “It just is. I don’t have to explain myself to you, young lady, and I’ll thank you to remember I’m your father.”

  “I do remember. I wish you’d remember I wasn’t a little girl anymore.”

  “You’ll always be little to me.”

  Ha! Wasn’t that a laugh? I hadn’t been little for almost fifteen years. “Look, I’m not going to fight with you, no matter how wrong you are.” I continued over his sputtering, “I’d appreciate if you’d lay off Ben. Please?”

  “We’ll see.” And as always, that was the end of the conversation as far as my father was concerned. He opened the door to his room and closed it before I could think of anything to say in response.

  I went to my room, exhausted, and curled up with a brown throw I’d found in the trunk at the foot of my bed. Hopefully, tomorrow would bring better news. I would look into the matter of Tarrin and clear my name.

  Chapter Eight

  The crack of dawn came really early after a nearly sleepless night. I’d tossed and turned for the small part of the night I’d lain in my bed.

  Rambling thoughts bounced around. Could Chrissie have been lying about taking the call from the fiancé? Phone records indicated no, but what if Chrissie had strangled Tarrin and talked on the phone at the same time? I kn
ew it was ridiculous, but from what Ben told me last night I was going to have to move fast if I didn’t want to be a closed case.

  I felt like time was running out, and the longer this dragged on, the farther the life I wanted, and the girl I thought I was, receded.

  Stumbling out of bed, I tripped over my slippers and nearly went sprawling into the oak armoire. I gripped the handle to keep myself steady and the other door swung open. All the clothes Bella had given me from her post-divorce/pre-svelte days stared at me. Beautiful gem-toned blouses, skirts, and pants hung in a row on the rack. There was the electric blue shirt I’d worn the first night I’d met Ben. Bella and I had such a blast that night, and it had been the first step in the complete changeover in my wardrobe. Our first night out together, too.

  Next to the blue shirt, other fashionable and non-brown items hung, things I’d shopped for with Bella. Tons of beautiful clothes inhabited my closet, and all I longed for was my umber slacks and a nice beige sweater to go with them.

  I thought ahead to this afternoon and what I would say when I saw Bella. Nothing came to me, but it wasn’t as if any planned speech would help me, anyway. Witness last night’s ridiculous debacle. I’d blown it with my dad and now didn’t know how to bring up the whole subject for a second time without drowning in it.

  After a trip to the bathroom, I returned to stand in front of the armoire. Should I take all of Bella’s clothes out and return them to her when I went to get my own stuff? Was it the right thing to do? Or would she think me petty? Would she even want them back now that I’d worn them?

  Indecision was killing me and depressing me at the same time. I had been indecisive-less for weeks after finding myself and figuring out the town’s only murder in ten years. Now I was back to square one. Or maybe I was completely outside the square, staring across the playground, watching others confidently play the game. Who knew? All I had worked for felt gone, and I didn’t know how to go about getting it back.