Deceiver Page 2

  “Alright,” he says scribbling away in his little notepad. “What about blood or scratches or anything weird like that? Did you notice anything else?”

  Another sigh, with me feeling useless. “Well, he was covered in blood, as you can imagine, but I can’t say for sure if it was his or someone else’s. I assumed it was all from his arm. As far as scratches or other injuries, I don’t recall seeing anything else.”

  He snaps his little notepad shut and clicks his pen. Then, he stuffs them both back into his pocket and retrieves a business card, which he hands to me, pinched between two fingers like he’s performing a magic trick. “This was actually very helpful, Mrs. Putnam.”

  “Oh. It’s Candy,” I say coyly, smiling and batting my lashes. “Or, Ms. Putnam.”

  “Candy,” he repeats, and the sound travels through me like a warm, pleasant breeze. “Well, if you think of anything else, would you mind giving me a call?”

  I look down at the card, thinking that I wouldn’t mind giving him a call whether I remember anything else or not. “I’d be happy to.”

  I walk him to the door and stand there awkwardly watching him leave. He pauses on the porch steps, turning around again to face me.

  “Oh, and Candy…”

  My heart flutters, which actually concerns me since I’m a nurse. “Yes?”

  “I think you… uh…you…” He stutters as if he’s having trouble saying something.

  Go on. I’m what? Hot? Attractive? Irresistible? On your menu for tonight?

  “Yes, Dan?” I prod, fluttering my lashes and brandishing my sexiest smile. He’s into me!

  He sighs. “I think you have your shirt on backwards.”

  What the fuck? I look down and immediately spy the little white tag dangling like a small flag of surrender from my collar.

  “Oh!” I smile, embarrassed. “I was trying to hurry so you wouldn’t have to wait,” I explain.

  He grins, and my face heats up, along with other various body parts.

  “I really hope you call,” he says, and then turns to walk away.

  I step inside and close the door, leaning against it, wondering what the hell just happened. My chest heaves as if I just ran a short marathon. Did he mean he really hopes I’ll remember something and call him? Surely, that’s what he meant.

  Or did he mean he really wants me to call him, regardless?

  No way. He’s far too good-looking to look twice at me. I might have thought I had a slim chance before I sat there and rambled like a used car salesman for half an hour. And, let us not forget that I wore my shirt backwards and inside out the entire time he was here. Idiot!

  I shake my head and skulk off toward the bedroom where Josh’s dirty laundry awaits. Oh, the exciting life of a divorced mother!

  Chapter Two

  One hour and two loads of laundry later, I’ve managed to put my shirt on the right way when I hear the front door slam shut.

  “That you, Josh?” I call from the kitchen where I’m draining pasta for our lunch.

  The television comes on in the living room. “Yes, Ms. Putnam, it’s me, the Clown Killer. I’m just walking around your neighborhood, checking for unlocked doors so I can come inside and rape and murder some unsuspecting housewife, like yourself, is all.”

  I roll my eyes. Smart ass. “Well, let’s have some lunch first, and then you can tell me all about your day of carnage and chaos.”

  “Really, Mom. You have got to start locking the doors when you’re here all by yourself.” He kisses me on the cheek as I top off his spaghetti with a little bit of Parmesan.

  “There you go, Kiddo. Stinky cheese. Your favorite.” My nose actually crinkles as I hand him his plate.

  “Mm. Thanks. That looks great.” He swipes some silverware from the counter and heads back toward the living room.

  Gone are the days when we would actually look at each other while we ate. Sometimes, we would even talk, face-to-face, without a phone. Oh, well. I shrug and make myself a plate before joining him in the living room.

  “Hey, who was here today?” he asks with his mouth full as soon as I sit down.

  “Wow. That didn’t take long.” I shake my head. “How the heck could you possibly know someone was here?”

  His eyes never leave the television. “Mrs. Gilmore.”

  Ah. I nod. No further explanation is needed. Since my divorce five years ago, she watches this place like it’s the neighborhood crack house. “Well, it actually was the Clown Killer. I told him I was right in the middle of doing your laundry and asked him to come back later tonight.”

  Josh flicks the television over to a different football game in between bites. “You might want to call and tell Mrs. Gilmore. Seemed like the suspense was killing her. She couldn’t wait to let me know that you were entertaining strange men while I was gone.”

  “Really? He didn’t seem that strange to me. He was actually quite pleasant. He was a police detective.” I take a bite of my spaghetti nonchalantly, like detectives stop by all the time.

  Josh stares at me, his fork suspended in mid-air.

  “What?” I ask innocently.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?” I swallow and take another bite.

  “Well, what did he want?”

  “Nothing, really. He just needed my help to solve a murder.” I shrug and continue eating.

  Josh grabs the remote again and turns down the television. “What do you mean?”

  I figure I’ve tortured him enough now. “He was asking me questions about a patient of mine who is a suspect in a murder case.”

  “See? That’s what I’ve been telling you. It’s not safe working there until all hours of the night and then walking out to your car in the dark by yourself. Then, when you do get home, you leave the door unlocked and fall asleep on the couch! It’s just not safe, especially with Dad not here.”

  Another issue that’s come up since my divorce. My seventeen-year-old son thinks he’s my father now, constantly searching for reasons why it would be better for me if Michael were still here.

  “Josh, I have to work if we want to eat. Nurses work shifts. That’s just the way it is. And, I left the door unlocked one time.” I hold my index finger up for emphasis. “One time! Because I’d just worked a twelve-hour shift and was exhausted. Cut me some slack, kid.”

  “I’m just saying.” He turns the television back up and forks some spaghetti into his mouth.

  He is so much like his father. “Well, I’m just saying, too. You need to stop worrying about me all the time and worry about yourself for a bit. What are you going to do when you leave for college next year?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  I put down my fork. “Thinking about what?”

  “I think I’m going to just stay here and take classes at the community college in North Little Rock.”

  I stare at him, my mouth gaping. “Like hell, you are. You’re going to Fayetteville, just like we discussed. You’re staying there on campus, and this issue is closed to further debate."

  I’ve been saving for his college since he was a baby, fought like a tiger to keep it during my divorce, and I’ll be damned if he misses one single college experience.

  “Okay. Let’s not do this today. I need to get a shower and go meet Eric and the guys at Tinseltown. Besides, we still have time. We’ll talk about it later.”

  He drops his plate on the coffee table, drains his glass, and then places it on top of the empty plate. I stare after him as he shuffles down the hall to his room.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get your dirty dishes!” I yell behind him as I pick up the remote and click the television off. “Oh, and I’ll turn off the TV, too!”

  Of course he can’t hear me, but it makes me feel better to yell at him. I pick up his plate and his glass, stacking them carefully on top of my own, and whisk them back to the kitchen.

  After I’ve cleaned up our lunch mess and folded the rest of the laundry, I return to the
living room to relax and read my book. I’ve just started the latest and greatest sci-fi mommy porn series by Erica Long, and I’ve been dying to get some free time to myself.

  Kicking back on the sofa, I open my cheesy book, The Epoglonian Highlands, to page nineteen and nestle in for some good action-packed Scottish alien romance. I’m just getting to the good part where Felonia Appletap, the twenty-ninth century heroine from the planet Epoglonia, is transported back in time to the eighteenth century highlands. Suddenly, a tall, muscular man in a short skirt jumps off an embankment and lands in front of Felonia, his skirt flying high the air. Poor Felonia is very close to swooning when she learns what Scotsmen really wear beneath their kilts.

  Totally on the edge of my seat, reality crashes around me.

  “Mom? Can you iron this shirt for me? I need it for band.”

  “Mm,” I reply and turn the page.

  “Mom,” he repeats, and it sounds like an irritating buzz in my ear. “Mom!”

  I sigh and peer over my book at him. “Yes. Iron your shirt. When do you need it?”

  “Tuesday, I think.”

  “Fine. Just leave it right there on the chair.”

  “Thanks. And can I borrow twenty bucks?”

  “When you say ‘borrow,’ that means that you intend to pay it back. Did you know that?”

  “I’ll pay you back when I get paid on Friday.”

  “Get it out of my wallet over there.” I point to my purse on the bar. “You realize it’s only Sunday. Right? Didn’t you just get paid two days ago?”

  “Yeah, but I had to pay Dad back the fifty I borrowed from him the week before.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes. For God’s sake, pay him back or we’ll never hear the end of it,” I grouse under my breath.

  “What?” He reappears in front of me suddenly.

  “I said be careful and stay out of trouble. Don’t forget you have school tomorrow.”

  He leans down and plants a kiss on my forehead. “I won’t. I’ll be home before eleven.”

  “Love you!” I yell as the door slams behind him.

  I settle back into the couch and open my book again. Peace and quiet. Finally. I fluff the couch pillow behind my head and squirm around to get comfortable. Naturally, as soon as I start reading again, my phone rings.

  “I give up.” I toss the book on the table and go in search of my phone. “Hello?”

  “Candy?”

  “Billie?” Oh, crap. I forgot that I had called Billie in a panic this morning. “Hey! How are you?”

  “I had a missed call. Everything okay?”

  “Um… Yeah. Everything’s fine now. I just had a little scare is all.”

  “I see. Did you want to come over and talk? We could have a glass of wine or some iced tea or something. Adam is working today.”

  I look around at my empty house and my sad little book.

  “Sure. Why not?” Besides, I’m tired of working and coming straight home to do laundry and clean house for a kid who’s practically a grown man now. “Let me change and I’ll be there in a few.”

  “Great. See you in a few.”

  After I change into my newest, hippest outfit that I bought on sale at the Bargain Barn, I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. No makeup, hair barely brushed, I look like I’ve just given up. I am too young to act this old. Time to dig out some powder and dab it on my face. Encouraged, I follow-up with some mascara and a little bit of lip gloss. My cheeks are rosy enough, so I just run a brush through my hair, which is still pretty curly even after sleeping on it last night.

  There! That’s about as good as I’m going to get today. I stick out my tongue at the mirror and then turn off the light and head for the front door.

  I pause there for a moment, slipping into my tennis shoes as I scan the room for anything I might be forgetting. Josh! You little… I stop myself before thinking something I might regret later, and leaning over, I pick up his mud-covered boots and place them carefully outside on the front porch. Where in the world has that kid been walking?

  Suddenly, a gasp escapes me. Oh, no! Mr. Stratford’s shoes! I had forgotten all about them. They were caked with cement. Maybe it’s nothing. Then again, maybe it’s exactly the information he needs to break the case wide open? Better call Detective Cole as soon as I get back home.

  Crawling into my car, it dawns on me that I’ve quite possibly lost my mind. Finally a day off, and here I am driving toward MojitoVille instead of lounging on the couch and reading about someone else’s cocktails and escapades like I’ve dreamed about doing all week. Not to mention, the last time I acted on a wild impulse like this, I got myself into a whole heap of trouble. Another sigh. Too late to turn back now.

  Turning onto the freeway toward Billie’s house, I think about Detective Cole. That was one fine looking man, slap-you-in-the-face handsome. No, sexier, I think. Impossible to forget those thick, full lips, or those eyes that were as clear and blue as an August sky.

  Maybe I should go ahead and call him now? Nah. Not while I’m driving. What would I say to him? Shoes, Dummy. Yes, I need to tell him about Mr. Stratford’s shoes! That’s going to seem stupid, though. Hey, Dan. I noticed the guy’s shoes were dirty. Well, hell, yeah, they were dirty. He’s a farmer and they’re shoes. What if he’d lied about why his shoes had cement on them? What if he buried that girl somewhere in a concrete grave? That twelve-year-old little girl… I get madder and madder as I think about it, gripping the steering wheel until my fingers begin to ache.

  Before I know it, I’m pulling into a metered parking space in front of Billie and Adam’s apartment. I glance up at the building. It doesn’t look like much from the street, but Adam is loaded and owns the entire top floor. I keep meaning to ask Billie what he does for a living, but I don’t want to come off as being nosy, which, I am, of course. Whatever it is, he’s obviously pretty good at it.

  “I’m here to see Billie Shaw,” I announce to the sharply-dressed elderly gentleman at the front desk.

  “Yes, ma’am. She told me you were expected.” He smiles warmly. “Take that elevator right over there to the seventh floor. Oh, and here. You’ll need this.” He hands me a plastic keycard. “Be sure you put that in first, or the elevator won’t go anywhere.”

  “Right.” I tap the keycard on the counter. “Got it. Thanks.”

  I step into the elevator and insert my keycard, then press the button for the seventh floor. As the doors close, I wonder if I’m supposed to leave the keycard in the slot? Or if I should pull it out now that I’m moving. Hm. A glance up at the camera mounted in the corner makes me smile nervously. I hate knowing that someone is watching me. I have to admit, though, these cameras sure did come in handy a couple of weeks ago when Billie needed an alibi.

  The elevator dings, and the doors slowly open. I step into the entryway, which is almost as big as my living room, and look around, taking in all the decadence.

  Billie opens the door before I even knock. “Hey!”

  I look at her, surprised, then cock my brow.

  “Charlie said you were on your way up,” she answers before I have a chance to ask the question.

  “Oh. I see.” I give her a quick hug and then hold her at arm’s length to inspect her. Pretty before, now, she’s absolutely stunning, still carrying the glow of some tropical Hawaiian beach.

  I shake my head. “Where is my rich, handsome sugar daddy? I need someone to whisk me away to the Caribbean or Cannes or Cuba.”

  “Just anywhere that starts with a ‘C’?” She laughs as she closes the door behind us and leads the way across the foyer. “Do you want a glass of wine? Or, I could make Margaritas or iced tea? What sounds better?”

  “A glass of wine actually sounds great. I’ll have to drive home later, and if I start drinking Margaritas, I probably won’t be able to stop.”

  “I know what you mean. You can always stay here tonight. It’s not like we don’t have the room.” She rolls her eyes at the huge apartment. “Or, I’m sure A
dam would drive you.”

  “That’s sweet, but I know you guys are still wiped out from your Maui trip. Plus, I have to get home tonight. Not to mention, I’ll need my car in the morning. So, better just stick with a glass of wine.”

  “White or red?”

  “Um… red. I don’t really like white very much.”

  “Dry or fruity?” She holds up a bottle in each hand, and I stare at them.

  “Dry?”

  “Fine. Do you know which one that is?” She laughs.

  “Nope. Just surprise me.”

  She grabs a corkscrew and begins to open one of the bottles. “Okay. So, what spooked you today?”

  “I had a detective show up at my door.”

  Billie drops the corkscrew and fumbles the bottle, catching it just before it hits the floor.

  “What the hell?” She stares at me wild-eyed and bewildered for a moment. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “Well, I was going to. That’s why I called, to tell you he was at my house and wanted to talk to me.”

  “What did you say? What did he do?”

  “Well, it turned out, he didn’t even want to talk to me about…” I pause, looking around nervously, and then I whisper, “Derek.”

  “I don’t understand. What did he want, then?” Billie retrieves the corkscrew from the floor and resumes the task of opening the bottle.

  “Turns out, he was asking me about another man, a patient I treated at the hospital last month. What are the odds?”

  Billie pours a glass for each of us and pushes one toward me. “Are you sure he wasn’t fishing?”

  “Fishing?” I take a sip and cut my eyes to my lap. “You mean, like for tuna?”

  “No, gross.” She chuckles. “Fishing. You know, dropping a line to see if you bite? Feeling you out to see how much he can get out of you about Derek?”