3 Dime If I Know

D
IME
I
F
I K
NOWD

A DEBUTANTE DETECTIVE MYSTERY

M
AGGIE
T
OUSSAINT

FIVE STAR
A part of Gale, Cengage Learning

Copyright © 2013 by Maggie Toussaint

Five Star™ Publishing, a part of Gale, Cengage Learning.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Toussaint, Maggie.

Dime if I know : a Cleopatra Jones mystery / Maggie Toussaint. — First Edition.

    pages cm

ISBN 978-1-4328-2718-2 (hardcover) — ISBN 1-4328-2718-9 (hardcover)

eISBN 978-1-4328-2900-1 eISBN 1-4328-2900-9

1. Single mothers—Fiction. 2. Women accountants—Fiction. 3. Maryland—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3620.O89D56 2013

813′.6—dc23                               2013008359

First Edition. First Printing: August 2013

This title is available as an e-book.

ISBN 978-1-4328-2900-1 ISBN 1-4328-2900-9

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Printed in the United States of America
1  2  3  4  5  6  7  17  16  15  14  13

This book is dedicated to Ben Phillips and Hunter Adams.

Former police detective Lee Lofland provided insight into evidence and arrests. Critique partner Polly Iyer was instrumental in helping the book shine. Thanks to beta reader Craig Toussaint for that last comb-through. The nod for moral support goes to friends and family near and far. Any mistakes or errors in this book are mine and mine alone.

Sunlight feels different in October. Thinner. Paler. Cooler. Unwanted change rides on the biting wind. In general, change doesn’t suit me, but this fall I want something different. The idea began as a whisper skulking around the edge of my summer thoughts. As weeks passed, the notion solidified. Points pro and con volleyed through my consciousness, occupying more and more of my waking hours.

“Cleo?” my golf pro boyfriend asked. “What were your swing thoughts on that shot? Did you mean to hit a duck hook?”

Rafe Golden’s voice drew me back from my musings. I could give him the answer he wanted to hear. I could pretend to be paying attention to his golf lesson, but I wouldn’t lie to him. Instead, I leaned on my six iron and studied him. “I was thinking about something else. You.”

Heat burned in his eyes, but his tanned face remained the epitome of professionalism. “The mental side of golf is as exacting as the physical. Great golfers go through the same preshot routine before they strike the ball as amateurs do. Settle your thoughts, and let muscle memory guide you.”

I nodded, breathing in his just-showered scent, treasuring the sexy twinkle in his dark eyes, the languid grace of his lanky frame, and the baritone timbre of his voice. I was so gone on him it was pathetic.

“I can do better.” With that, I whacked a few more dimpled balls, some on target, some on tangents, but mechanics like stance, grip, and swing plane didn’t hold my attention today.

My name is Cleopatra Jones, Cleo for short, and I’m crazy about my golf pro. When I’m not with him, I fantasize about the magic of his touch. When I’m with him, reality more than matches my fantasy. Who’d have thought I’d ever have a hot affair?

Not bad for a thirty-five-year-old divorcée and mother of two teens.

Not bad at all.

But trouble lurked in paradise.

I’d begun hearing wedding bells. Rafe had been clear from the start that this was an affair. I didn’t want to jeopardize my excellent fringe benefits with talk of lasting commitment. Except I couldn’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to have him as a fixture in my life, how nice it would be to wake up next to his smiling face every morning.

I wanted more than great sex and sneaking home in the middle of the night. I wanted to have this settled. To not worry about date clothes or morning breath. To be the upstanding citizen my late father expected me to be.

“Cleo?”

Uh-oh. I’d drifted off again. We’d been at this for thirty minutes, and if I kept stinking up the course, the club’s owners would surely fire Rafe for being the worst golf instructor in the known world.

I shot him a guilty smile. “I’m sorry. That was a terrible shot.”

“You seem distracted.”

“I am.” I did a quick calculation. “We’ve been at this a while now. I’ve had a dozen lessons, and I’m not improving. You’re a great instructor, I know you are. I saw what you did with Lorenzo Baker’s swing. But we should face facts. When we’re together, I can’t focus on golf.”

He grinned like the Cheshire Cat. Electricity snapped in the air between us. My thoughts veered to the last time I ran my fingers through his strawberry blond hair, to when his six-foot frame had been riveted on giving us both pleasure.

I punched him playfully in the shoulder. “I’m serious as a heart attack. Around you, everything shorts out, and my swing thoughts vanish.”

His eyebrows waggled. “I’m sure with enough repetitions we could groove your stroke.”

“More repetitions and I’ll drive away your paying customers. A lousy player like me isn’t good for your professional image. I should take lessons from another golf pro, say Fred over at the city course, or Bobby at that new place over the mountain. At least then there wouldn’t be any physical distractions.”

“Those guys? No way. Fred’s fourth wife just left him, and he’d put a ring on your finger in a heartbeat. Bobby’s always bragging about his sexual conquests. Nope. I don’t want you going to them for anything, least of all a swing tune-up. We can keep working on it. In fact, I insist that you remain my golf student.” He edged closer. “There’s nothing I like better than our private practice sessions.”

Heat steamed off my face despite the brisk temperature of the October day. We’d practiced my swing plenty in his bedroom mirror, but clothing had been optional. “Stop, please. I can’t be thinking about that now. It’s broad daylight.”

He edged closer on the pretext of examining my club grip. His voice dropped to an intimate caress. “Why not? I think about it all the time.”

A chill tangoed down my spine. My mouth went dry. I thought about
it,
too. About how nice
it
was. About how special he made me feel. About a life centered around the two of us.

Like that would happen. I had Responsibilities and Obligations. Children I dearly loved. And Mama. Couldn’t forget her.

“You’re incorrigible,” I said.

His warm breath feathered the side of my face. “Guilty.”

“You make me feel like a teenager.”

“God, I hope so. You’re coming over tonight, right?”

I laughed, slow and sultry, now that the balance of power had shifted. “I’m not the one who got us all hot and bothered on the driving range.”

“Want to head to my office? Jasper won’t disturb us, not if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Ooh.” The thought of his assistant pro walking in on us cleared my head. I stepped back a few paces to minimize the testosterone-induced fog. “We definitely have to wait until later. I’ve got puppy duty this afternoon. Oh, and tomorrow I can’t do lunch because I’m helping Jonette with her campaign. She wants to finalize the details for her mayoral fundraiser.”

“Does she have a chance of winning?”

“Hard to say. People either like Jonette, or they say she’s got too much baggage. She entered the race to make a point with our pompous mayor, which she’s made, so she feels successful already. Darnell stepped on plenty of toes as mayor, and White Rock will hurt him.”

“Good point. That residential development is going nowhere fast. He should’ve hired a professional to manage the White Rock property before the bottom fell out of the economy.”

“As his accountant, I advised him of that very thing, but Darnell likes to hold the reins.” I brightened. “Jonette has a radically different management style. She delegates like crazy.”

“Does this mean you’ll be mayor pro tem if she wins?”

“Lordy, I hope not.”

At a faint buzzing sound, Rafe pulled his phone from his trouser pockets, studied the number displayed, and grimaced. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

“No problem. I’m packing up anyway.”

“Don’t leave. I’ll only be a minute.”

He walked over to the ligustrum hedge, leaning into the phone for privacy. My curiosity spiked. Rafe always took his calls in front of me. Who was on the phone? My thoughts detoured to a worst-case scenario. A hurt family member. An old girl friend. A newer girl friend. A younger girl friend.

I sighed. It was a miracle that Rafe Golden dated me. Women threw themselves at him. Only he was very adept at not catching them. I couldn’t remember how many times I’d pinched myself to make sure his interest in me was real.

Me. An accountant. Dating a professional athlete.

The very idea made me smile. I tucked my club into the golf bag, sauntered around to the front of the cart, and waited for my fellow. I was a lucky woman indeed, and it was about time I caught a romantic break. This relationship with Rafe felt right, even if I longed for marriage, and he liked the status quo.

Rafe slid in beside me and wheeled the cart around in a tight circle. I gripped the side of my seat to keep from being spun out of the vehicle. “Gracious. Is there a fire?”

“What? Oh. Sorry. I was in a hurry and wasn’t thinking. Something’s come up. I have to cancel tonight. All right if we move our hot date to tomorrow night?”

“Sure.” His worried expression fanned my fears. “Did you hear bad news? Is one of your golf crew injured? Can I help?”

“Nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of it.”

His rigid posture and white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel told another story. What the heck? My curiosity and suspicion accelerated from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye.