Once Upon A Killing (A Gass County Novel Book 2) Page 13

  She’d shed a few more tears before drying her face with the sleeve of her sweater and took Wayne’s hand until she was standing next to him.

  * * *

  It had been a nice few days leading up to the last day of the second week at Wayne’s house and with the chance to rest her leg properly the injury had recovered tremendously fast. In fact, it was good enough that she had stored her crutches and was able to move around the house ever so slowly, getting a little better, a little steadier with every day that went by.

  It had worked well between them, too, she thought, as she moved along the kitchen counter preparing dinner for the night. She almost felt it had gone too smoothly for someone who’d never lived with another person, and had never been in a relationship. Wayne had truly amazed her these past fourteen days.

  It had been both thrilling and satisfying waking up next to his bare chest in the mornings, having him roll over and kiss her goodbye before heading out the door for a shift at the station, and this last weekend they’d spent some time at the bakery together preparing for her return next week. There had been a few calls and text messages on his phone, which he, after looking over at her in bed, had closed off quickly or hadn’t answered at all. With a bit of luck, his conscience was heavy and this was his way of repaying her the effort with Mary. Something she decided she wouldn’t think of too closely.

  Mary had done well and gotten a volunteer job at the tutoring center after school, where children in classes below hers adored her youthfulness and adamant energy for floor time play and sports outside. The after school tutoring center loved her and were glad to have her stay. Things were panning out nicely, she thought, as she flipped the side of the pork chop and smiled.

  The door opened down the hallway, and she heard Wayne’s distinct steps leading down the wood floor and into the kitchen.

  “Hey, take it easy. You should be resting.”

  “Hello to you as well,” she smiled, feeling his body pressing against hers hugging her from behind.

  “I just don’t want to prolong your suffering, I know how bored you can get when you’re not at the bakery working non-stop.”

  “I know, thanks for the thought but I’m actually doing just great. There is no pain, and I can easily walk around without my crutches.”

  “Easily?” he huffed and smiled, then grabbed some chips and dip from the counter and lifted an eye brow.

  “Yes, in fact, I can use my entire foot and leg now, not limping like I was earlier.”

  He watched her spin in a little circle, spatula still in hand, and walk a few steps in each direction before returning to the meat frying in the pan.

  “Nice, very nice. Alright, I believe you, but if you’re not feeling well you need to tell me and not play ‘fine’ like I know you’d do.”

  “Fine.”

  Another eyebrow started playing over his eye,

  “Okay, yes, I will tell you. Alright, stop it.”

  He placed the last chip in his mouth and brushed of the salty crumbs by rubbing his large hands together.

  “So, I did something this morning worth mentioning,” he said quietly and looked over her shoulder and up the stairs.

  “Alright, please share. You’re making me nervous just saying that.”

  His lips clamped together and he walked over to the stairs to look more closely, making sure no one was in earshot.

  “Okay, well, I called the insurance company today to see if I could get a second opinion on the paternity test, and I told them about my physician that I’ve used before and asked if I could get to meet another one. So, they gave me the name of another doctor and said I could continue with him since the one who did the paternity test recently passed, just a few days ago. And listen to this, there had been a break in to his office, papers and laptop stolen, and he himself had been viciously stabbed. Not even able to save his own life. What are the odds of that happening around here? Who does that kind of thing, who would commit such a coldhearted crime? It sounds so fictional like it should be on the screen and not on today’s news. Am I right?”

  “Your doctor, stabbed? What?” Her voice shouting in surprise. “That is awful, I do agree. Although, media like to portray the worst to get more viewers. But, wow, he was almost about to retire too… horrible.”

  “Oh, it gets better. Listen to this,” he laughed mischievously and continued, “okay, now don’t be offended but I’ve tried to get in contact with Lucy.”

  “Lucy?”

  “The girl I slept with in high-school and apparently got pregnant, Mary’s mom.”

  “Aha.”

  “I told you not to get offended; I need to make sure things are right here. It’s not every day someone shows up on your doorstep telling you they are your child, okay. Okay?”

  “Just calm down, I am listening, and no, I’m not offended. Thanks for telling me though, seeing someone named Lucy calling you might have caused a slight irritation. Like the other calls.”

  “Please don’t bring that up right now. It’s not time for that, and for the record, I haven’t slept with anyone since we started doing it.”

  “But before we started ‘doing it’, and were just dating, you mean you did? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I’m not saying anything, and we are way off the subject at the moment.”

  “I’m sorry, but I think I might have a problem with this. I know you’re freaking out about the physician, but I think I need to take a break here and leave you for a little bit. You just brought some information to the table that I need to reconsider.”

  “But you haven’t even heard the weirdest part yet! This is serious, Christine!”

  “Oh, it gets better?”

  “Yes!”

  “Just spit it out while I get my stuff and drive home. Oh, and don’t call me for a while, okay.”

  “Just stop it Christine, we’re not even talking about the same thing here. You’re getting upset over things that are minor to these events I’m telling you about.”

  “Just let whatever is on your chest out so I can leave, I’m not in any mood to stay here any longer.”

  “Mary said Lucy passed away, she was murdered. How strange is that? ”

  “You mean the two incidents?” she pondered the idea for a second. “Might be a coincidence, might not be. They were not living in the same town, maybe not even the same state. Could be two random vicious crimes.”

  “But they’re leading back to me! It’s like a plague has hit the people that have known me, and they’re falling off the earth like dead flies.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I’m leaving Wayne. If you need to talk to someone, call any of the girls you were apparently still ‘in touch with’ when we started dating. Maybe they would like to hear your voice again, because I sure don’t. Good bye.”

  “Come on, Christine. You’re acting surprisingly calm in all of this, and I’m freaking out! Hey, for the record, we did not even date seriously until we slept together.”

  “It’s all about the sex for you, isn’t it?!” she wheezed in frustration. “I can’t believe I opened myself up to you, talked about my past, kissed you, got to know you, went to New York with you and all this time you never took it seriously since we didn’t sleep together, yet.”

  “Hey, you kissed me first, I didn’t do anything.”

  The doors slammed hard; first his front door, then her car door. The gravel spun around the tires in an attempt to get the car away from his house as fast as possible.

  Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket and when picking it up, Wayne’s number showed up, then just after a second number showing Mary asking if they could get together for coffees or drinks in town since she was already there.

  With fumes burning up every particle of sanity inside her she thought why not and veered right instead of a left where Wayne’s road became the interstate. In a few minutes she’d be able to down a drink, or maybe two, and curse the man-whore that was Wayne Matthews. Or maybe she wouldn’t, not a
round Mary, but she was sure as hell going to have that drink, or three. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse, so why not spend some time with the girl whose daddy still didn’t believe she was his. Maybe the dumbness was a paternal trait, she thought, knowing what brewed in his family pot. She didn’t care. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than a few drinks and to enjoy her evening. Away from Wayne.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  When Melanie Orchard walked into the smoky shadows of the bar she noticed two things: it wasn’t too crowded for a weeknight and two seemingly drunk women were having what looked like a heated discussion perched up on stools at the end of the polished bar. One using her hands to vividly paint a story, the other listening, disengaged in both the tale teller and the drink the bartender had poured her. It seemed obvious one had had a worse evening than the other.

  She’d had an exhausting few hours as well, driving over two-hundred miles just to arrive at the end of the map she’d had folded across her knees while driving. ‘Primrose Valley – the coldest place in the County,’ the welcome sign had said, all painted in white and blue with green pine trees as a backdrop. Beautiful on a painting, not so much in real life.

  Yes, she thought, Gass County sure wasn’t the hottest place in the country right now, but she wished to be out of the town before winter grabbed this part of the state and the frost of the famous season spread like spider web across windows and turned the ground into frozen icy crystals. ‘Claiming lives on the roads and electrical heaters since 1929,’ the subtitle read.

  Why anyone would decide to live in such despair by their free will was beyond her, and she wrapped the thick leather jacket a bit tighter around her shoulders while a shudder went through her body, making her head tingle and give off the smallest of shakes.

  “Need something to warm you up, I see.” The bartender on the other side dried a few glasses with a towel she bet was as clean as licking the dirty floor of the bar. She missed the cleanliness of restaurants at home, the amount of amenities available at any desired time, and the less rugged exterior of the male population. In this part of the country the invention of the razor blade hadn’t seemed to catch on, as most men she’d met along the way into town had either sported a few days old beard, or seemed to have stopped shaving altogether. Maybe they had prepped for coming winter months, their beards saving their skin from the pricking ice winds and dusts of snow.

  “What would you like?” The bartender on the opposite side of the bar seemed done with attempting to clean the glasses anymore and leaned onto the counter, his large hands spread out on either side of her, staring her right in the face.

  “Depends on how far it is to the closest hotel?”

  “Oh, to save you some time looking, there is only one,” his mouth formed a slight side grin while his finger pointed up to the ceiling. Her eyes followed the movement but she didn’t quite catch on at first.

  “Four rooms upstairs and only one is taken. You want one?” he asked, then turned to walk along the counter to a small locker near the end of the bar and pulled out a key attached to a wooden plate stating the room number.

  “Number four will do well with you. It has a nicely tiled bathroom which I just regrouted. You’ll like it. Everything is in the room, towels, extra pillows, you name it. If something is missing just come downstairs and I’ll see if I can be of any assistance. Breakfast menu is simple, same thing every day, so I hope you like eggs and bacon. We got a lot of pig and chicken farmers around here…”

  She held up her hand asking him to end his sentence, as she already knew where bacon came from and didn’t need reminding.

  “How much?” she asked, crossing her fingers the room wouldn’t contain bedbugs or silverfish, and brought her hand into her pocket to grab her wallet.

  “Let’s say forty-five bucks. I’m not running a fancy hotel. I’m just a bar keeper with a few extra spare bedrooms I rent out to fill the emptiness of the building.”

  “Thanks, I’ll take it. Not sure how long I’ll stay though…” she mumbled and placed the first night’s rate on the bar, then motioned for one of the beers lining the shelves in hundreds at the back of the bar. He opened it and started to pour it into a glass when she grabbed the bottle from his hand and downed a large gulp before sitting it down on the counter.

  “Alright,” he said with a smile, and put the glass in the sink behind him. “So, since you’re gonna stay here, my name is Rick. What’s yours?” His hand combed through his thick black hair, displaying deep green eyes, and an even nicer, square jawline, she thought.

  “Melanie,” she answered between sips of beer. “Melanie Orchard. I’m here to see Officer Brody …, for some business. I’m a police officer and I’ve known Brody for a few years. Work, seminars, you name it. Just here to check some things out for a while.”

  “Brody’s friend, you say,” he mumbled and nodded a goodbye to the two ladies at the other end of the bar, before turning back to her. “Let’s make the rate thirty bucks.”

  “Because I know Brody?” she said, puzzled.

  “Sure. He’s helped me out too many times to even remember when brawls have started or people have gotten too drunk. Everyone knows not to mess with the Sheriff,” he smiled and leaned against the back wall of the bar opening a soda can. “His love of fines and ticketing is infamous. That his pure pleasure is to let someone spend a night in jail. He even had the holding cell repainted and recently bought new sheets for the bed just to hold people longer, for the fun of it.”

  She smiled back and shook her head slowly. “Yep, sounds like he hasn’t changed at all.”

  “If you’re alright here I am going to clean up a few tables and tell the last few customers at the very back booth to leave,” he nodded over to a teenaged couple only having eyes for each other, “then lock up for the night. See you tomorrow for breakfast. I’ll be in the kitchen. Good night.”

  She watched him walk away and caught herself staring at his ass. Even with an unshaven face and hair a bit too long his backside made up for it, she thought, then admired how the back of the jeans clung nicely to his cheeks, and the way his hands folded the long shirt sleeves up his arm. A man in jeans was always nice to look at, but a man in perfectly fitted jeans, a nice smile, and a dark voice was plain dangerous. She downed the last of the beer and placed the bottle on the counter before she strode quickly over to the wooden staircase gripping the back wall of the bar and hurried up the steps, trying not to get another visual of the man in jeans.

  She was only here for a short time, and she was not here for pleasure. She was here to see Brody.

  The key to door number four fell smoothly into the key hole and turned just as nicely. She was stunned. The room inside lay white as snow in the shadows of the evening, and as her hand reached up to turn the light switch on the wall the room looked even better.

  As if the man downstairs was from the Jane Austen era, the room had been decorated in a soft beige, where white linens featuring crocheted dainty yellow roses covered a bed fit for two. Along the window soft curtains hung from top to bottom, heavy skirts dusting the floor boards, reminding her more of a historical residence a hundred years in the past than a spare room on top of a bar in the middle of chilly America.

  “You’ll be alright in here, Officer?” a dark voice brushed by her shoulder, causing a shudder, which made her turn.

  “Most certainly. It’s more than I expected,” she answered and held the door open.

  “Well, goodnight then. I’ll see you in the morning for that breakfast I mentioned earlier. Sleep tight, and feel free to fill up the bath with hot water. I’ve already showered today, so whatever hot water is left is yours. Enjoy it.” Rick’s long legs brought him quickly down the corridor, and in the slight opening of her door she watched him enter his room at the end, appreciating a last glimpse of his back side before he was engulfed in the darkness.

  The bath tub filled up nicely, and she was surprised a man had even thought about stocking the room with
bubble bath and robes. Not only one, but two, implying an invitation for someone during her short stay, but reluctantly she shed the intensifying thought as her phone rang in the near distance.

  “Welcome to town, Melanie,” a stern voice said on the other side.

  “Officer Brody Jensen, nice to finally talk to you again. Been a while now. Thanks for the invitation,” she said softly and relaxed her heavy head back onto the soft towel she’d rolled up behind her neck before the phone rang.

  “Can never get too much help around here. Thanks for coming. Heard from Rick you’re staying at the pub, which is great, since I’ll probably be there in the morning for breakfast as well,” his voice continued as an officer shouting commands into her ear. Inside she was laughing, knowing how much of a vacation he was in need of, or maybe a woman would do the trick. Loosen up whatever wire he had wound up so tight a slight crack in his appearance might kill him. Not that she was interested. She’d had enough of the cop type, and she knew if anything was ever going to happen, the opposite type of a man was what she would need. Someone not wired tight, not in need of being correct all the time, and who was as laid back as she wished she was. At the moment, the man just a few rooms down the darkened corridor seemed to fit the description.

  She hadn’t known him more than an hour, two tops, but she was certain he was different from the league of colleagues she was used to spending every waking minute with, every day of the year. This, in Primrose Valley, was a nice break. Brody might want to use her knowledge, but she was not on an assignment and had no one to report back to. Maybe going on sick leave wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  “Melanie,” a voice from the other end of the line broke her dream. “Still there?”

  “Yes, sorry, just relaxing in the tub Rick had redone. The bubbles caressing my body are putting me to sleep,” she sighed and closed her eyes.