Arson Takes a Dare: The Third Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 3) (2 page)

Claude sputtered.

“Shut up.” The sheriff lowered his brows, twisting his handsome face. “It doesn’t matter. I have a new partner, what you might call a silent one. With his money, I guarantee I can top whatever the stripper and her groupies offer for the club.” Brightening, he punched the manager’s shoulder. “And I’ll make sure you get a nice fee for your trouble.”

Shouts and whistles filled the club as men and a few women in jeans and blue college t-shirts ran between the stages like water over a rocky riverbed. The party-goers streamed between Marisa and the club manager.

As Claude rubbed his arm and kept his head down, he was swallowed by the crowd.

Diana screamed in frustration. “Did you see that? Claude was relieved to get away from me. He’s trying to put one over on me, and he doesn’t want me asking questions.”

As the newcomers moved through the club in an impromptu line dance, Marisa found herself carried along with the wave. She grabbed a chair. When it was dragged along as well, she let go.

Marisa found herself next to a huge, tiered plastic cake. People flowed around it and her in loose concentric circles. Striptease music filled the air. The audience clapped in bizarre synchronicity, like fans at a basketball game.

The top of the cake burst open, and a woman in a short skirt and frilly halter top popped up. The screams ratcheted up in volume. Eager hands tugged the laughing woman free of the cake. Then, the crowd hoisted her onto their shoulders and danced away as she squealed.

It’s a bachelor party.
Marisa’s stomach lurched and her head spun.
Time to go home. There will be plenty of taxis out front.

Strong hands painfully gripped her upper arms. “Ow! Let me go.” Marisa fought to free herself.

Under the ball cap, the sheriff’s flushed face was determined. “You’re going home with me. I must have spent thirty bucks on your beers. Time to pay your tab.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Marisa kicked at a denim leg. Leave me alone.” She clawed at his shoulders. “Anton, help!”

The sheriff picked her up and threw her inside the empty pink container.

Marisa fell against the plastic walls. “No!”

He peered in at her. “All I have to do is roll you out the back door and to my truck. It’s so noisy in here, nobody will hear you scream.” 

* * * * *

As he wheeled the pink, tiered “cake” through the club, Sheriff Knox Creeter laughed to himself.
She’s going to be a wild one.

The sheriff glanced back over his shoulder to see if anyone noticed him. His knees hit a hard object. Before he could catch himself, he fell to the floor. Excited patrons’ shoes moved near his face. “Damn it!”

As he rolled to pull himself to his feet, a figure fell on him.

“Excuse me, sir.” The dancer, her generous curves emphasized by the sheer drape rather than concealed by it, squirmed on top of him.

Free lap dance, and I’m horizontal.
Sheriff Creeter smiled, his hands automatically cupping the wiggling hips. “I’m sorry. I fell over something.” He turned his head, checking the floor near his face.

A small hand waved in his field of vision. “I apologize, sir. You didn’t see my wheelchair, and you tripped over it.”

The sheriff stared up in amazement.

Appearing small in his wheelchair, the man grimaced. “People so rarely look down, you see.” He ran an agitated hand through his thinning hair. “Are you hurt?”

The dancer dragged herself off the prone lawman, her pretty face flushed. “I didn’t mean to fall on you.”

Sheriff Creeter rose to his feet. “No problem, you can fall on me anytime.” He leered down at her.

She whirled away, blowing a kiss over her shapely shoulder.

He started to follow her. He stopped.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Or in this case, a trapped female is worth two dancers in the wild.
He laughed to himself.
I know there’s a good joke in there about a box trap. Who knew traps came in pink with fake icing?

Still chuckling, the sheriff pushed the rolling cake toward the exit. When he hit the door sill, he grunted.
Damn, that filly is as heavy as plow horse.

* * * * *

The five dancers surrounding Marisa forced her to the front of the club. A waitress held her tray up to hide Marisa’s face.

“Thank goodness Maupin rolled to the rescue.” Diana sounded grim.

“Our mascot Maupin was like a bullfighter in his wheelchair, taking on that bull of a man.” Another woman laughed. “If we had gotten it on video, we could have sent it in to that TV show and won a hundred thousand dollars.”

Marisa tried to dig her heels into the carpet. “Wait a minute.”

“No time, we have to get you out of here. You’re on Sheriff Creature’s radar.” Diana giggled. “The sheriff will get a shock when he looks in that cake. We stashed Anton in there while the varmint was rolling around on the floor.” She shoved Marisa out the front door. “Alex! Take her now!”

The cool autumn night air hit her face.
Take her now? Was Diana matchmaking?
Marisa allowed strong, familiar hands to bundle her into the low sports car. She tried to pitch her voice into a low, sexy timbre. “Hi, Alex.”

“Shut up, Marisa. I have to get you out of your newest mess.” He sniffed. “You’re stinking drunk.” He roughly fastened her seat belt. “And it sounds like you have a sore throat.”

“Marisa, I had to pick you up last night at the freaking strip club.” Alex turned to her, his thin face shadowed in the dim light of the miniscule, cluttered bedroom.

My head is pounding,
Marisa thought.
My stomach is pitching up and down like a boat in a storm. Alex is furious with me.
“I’m sorry, Alex.”

“I stowed you in my home office last night because I didn’t want your nosy neighbor to see you in such a state. This morning, I felt I’d already committed myself to helping you clean out Mosely’s bedroom. I didn’t want to go back on my word, even though I’m not happy.”

Marisa opened her mouth.

“I’m not finished talking.” Alex’s arms dangled at his sides, his hands enclosed in purple latex gloves. Mosely’s soiled blue jeans hung from his fingers. “I thought we had something special growing between us, but I can’t be with you if you’re drinking, carousing around, and getting yourself in trouble.”

Alex is giving me an ultimatum,
Marisa thought, hunching her shoulders in despair.
I refuse to cry.
“The pain was so intense,” she said. “Mosely was murdered because he was my brother. I love Althea like a mother. And yet, she wrote about my terrible childhood and my adult struggles with alcohol so she could sell her books. Parvis Stidham unearthed Althea’s betrayal and used it to hurt me. My friend Heidi died because she couldn’t stop drinking. I was hurting, and I wanted it to stop.”

“I’m sorry you’re hurt. Regardless, I have to protect myself.” Alex swallowed, the sound audible in the cramped room. “What’s your answer, Marisa? Drinking or me?”

Marisa dropped her bulging plastic garbage bag. “You.”

Alex hugged her close with one arm. “I’m glad, Marisa. No matter what happens between us, I don’t want you to end up like your brother.” He gestured with his free hand. “This room is a sad testimony to an alcoholic’s miserable existence.”

Alex released her and lifted the dirty blue jeans from the floor where he’d dropped them. They dangled from his gloved hand like a strange flag. “Did you know your brother Mosely was incontinent?” Turning his head, he stuffed the pants into his trash bag. “There are wet pants and underwear all throughout your mother’s mobile home.”

“He’d been drinking for a long time, since he was in middle school. After a particularly severe binge, he landed in the intensive care unit last past spring, just six months ago.”

Alex set the bag in the corner of the crowded, filthy bedroom. “Let’s walk outside. We need a break. It’s warm, even though it’s October.”

“That’s a great idea. Let me get the last of this trash off the nightstand.” Marisa retrieved her trash bag and gathered fast food containers and wrappers, some still holding uneaten food, from the rickety nightstand. She stuffed them in the huge plastic bag. She tied the top and hauled the bulging bag out of her brother’s tiny bedroom.

Alex took her bag. “I’ll carry it out with mine put it with the others.”

“Mom, we’re taking a break,” Marisa called.

“That’s fine.” The weak voice reached them from the front of the trailer.

Alex tossed the bags onto the large pile at the edge of the narrow, cracked street and walked back to her. The trauma hospital’s interim Chief Executive Officer (and Marisa’s boss for the present time) was dressed in Sunday Casual. In the glow of the autumn sun, his golden brown face and arms contrasted with his snug white t-shirt, which showed off the muscles in his arms and chest. His trim waist tapered into worn blue jeans. Old sneakers completed his outfit. The angles of his thin face were sharp and predatory. With his short brown hair spiky on top and his dark blue eyes, Alex looked handsome and kickass at the same time.

Marisa’s heart stuttered in her chest. Her headache receded. She wondered what his body would feel like next to hers. She wished she knew what he was thinking.
He’s probably mulling over last night, wondering if that’s my new normal. Maybe he’s regretting giving us a chance.
She blinked back tears.

Alex raised a brow. His nicely shaped lips were in a solemn, straight line. His deep blue eyes, filled with compassion and a new hint of wariness, were on a level with hers. “Let’s take a turn around the trailer park.”

As they walked, Marisa’s equilibrium returned. She glanced at him. “Thanks for loaning me a sweatshirt and sweatpants.” She tugged up the dangling shirtsleeves and then hiked at the baggy waistband. “And I appreciate your help cleaning out my brother’s room.”

“You’re welcome.” He drew in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I feel like alternately screaming at you and lecturing you, Marisa. Under the circumstances, I’m not going to yell at you. It would be like kicking a dog which had just gotten home from the vet’s clinic after being neutered. Now, tell me what happened last night.”

“We’ll pretend you screamed and yelled.” Marisa looked down at her feet. The pool shoes she had borrowed from Alex to replace her high-heeled boots looked like flippers at the ends of her ankles.

Waiting for her explanation, Alex took another deep breath.

Marisa wondered if he was using meditation techniques to deal with her issues. “I’m not one hundred percent sure what happened.” While she chose her words, she glanced around. The trailer park was packed with rusted mobile homes as close together as cars in a parking lot. Most of the tiny yards behind the metal rectangles held old cars and trucks perched on concrete blocks. Ancient appliances filled many of the tiny, sagging porches.

“Back in my drinking days before rehab,” she said, “I drank so much I had not only blackouts, but brownouts. I had a brownout last night.”

“Brownout?” The wariness in Alex’s eyes was chased away by humor. “Sounds like a bad dog took a dump in the hallway, and the barefoot owner stepped in it. And it squished up between the toes.”

              Marisa smiled, her heart lighter.
I think I’m going to live.
When she’d awoke on Alex’s couch in his small home office, the areas of her body not covered by the tight sweater and short denim skirt stuck to the leather, it had been a matter for debate. Since then, she’d hung her head in shame as well as pain as she and Alex shoveled debris and garbage from her dead brother’s room.

              “Tell me about brownout.”

“A brownout happens when a person is drinking,” Marisa said. “I’m not a scientist, but in rehab, I did learn the basics. As I understand it, a brownout occurs when the short-term memory doesn’t record events.”

Alex kicked at loose gravel. “That does sound better than sticking your foot in dog poop.”

“Maybe not, Alex.” Marisa frowned in concentration. “I remember going to the club last night. When I got there, I didn’t see any familiar faces. The turnover rate among exotic dancers is pretty high. Diana wasn’t due at work yet. Maupin hadn’t yet arrived. Do you remember him?”

“I met him back in the spring. He has the heart of a lion. Even though he’s in a wheelchair, Maupin confronted a murderer. He also took excellent eyewitness pictures.”

Marisa smiled. “He’s dying to be a paid member of the paparazzi. He’s had some success. After we solved the round of murders last spring, he published his best photographs.”

“You make solving murders sound like playing Twister or Scrabble. ‘The last round of murders’ sounds like there’s sure to be another murder competition.” Alex laughed, the corners of his eyes attractively crinkling. 

Marisa resisted the temptation to change the subject. “I had a brownout between getting to the club and Diana bawling me out and texting you to come and get me.” She took a deep breath. “During the brownout, I got drunk and a sheriff latched onto me.” She forced a smile. “And then you picked me up.”

Alex was surprised. “A sheriff latched onto you? You make it sound like he’s a blood-sucking tick.”

“I think that’s an apt description. I don’t remember talking to him or meeting him. Diana knew him. He’s an ogre. She calls him Sheriff Creature. She and the others saved me from him.” Marisa stopped.

Alex stared at her.

“Nothing happened, Alex.”
I’m pretty sure nothing happened.
“I’m sorry. I was tired of the pain and I wanted it to stop.” Marisa swallowed a sob.

He placed a gentle hand on her arm. “You slipped. That’s all, Marisa. Don’t beat yourself up.” His hand tightened. “Promise me next time you feel tempted to drink, you’ll call me. Or you’ll call someone from your support group. Fred and Jason and Cindy and the others are all there for you.”

Marisa twisted her head so he wouldn’t see the tear slip down her cheek. “I will, Alex. I promise.”

Alex touched her face. He traced the trail of the tear with a gentle thumb. His other hand curved on her back. As if she’d break if he moved too quickly, Alex slowly pulled her close.   

Marisa rested her head on his shoulder. She breathed in his clean scent. His hand was warm on her back, even through the sweatshirt. “I keep thinking if he hadn’t been murdered, Mosely could have stopped drinking.” She tried to laugh, but it was a strangled sob. “Probably wishful thinking, since he almost drank himself to death six months ago.”

“You told me about it a few months ago, but not the details,” Alex said, his body warm and solid against hers. “What happened?”

“Mom is the classic enabler. She took care of Mosely. She even paid his truck insurance.” Marisa sighed. She reluctantly moved away from Alex’s embrace. “Let’s walk.”

Alex fell into step next to her.

Marisa stared at the ramshackle mobile homes and gravel driveways as they walked. “Mom works her ass off for the money she makes at the sewing factory, which is practically a sweatshop. She financed his drinking and his carousing. Our mom decided to visit her sister. She left my brother some money to buy groceries and pay the light and water bills. She came home to no electricity, no water, and Mosely lying unconscious, hooked up to machines.”

“Oh, no.”

“He used the money she gave him to go on the binge to end all binges,” Marisa said. “He literally drank himself into a coma. I guess it’s a good thing he secretly gave his on-the-side girlfriend a key. If Sandra hadn’t found him, he would have died on the floor.”

“You don’t like Sandra.” Alex’s tone added a question mark.

Marisa shrugged. “Sandra is at least ten years older than our mother. She has one leg and a prosthetic device. When Mosely introduced her to me, Sandra informed me she’d lost her leg due to intravenous drug use.”

“I thought Mosely had been dating the woman I met in your kitchen.” Alex frowned. “I think Fern was her name. She left her abusive husband just before he was killed last spring.”

“You have a good memory, Alex. My brother caroused the bars with women his own age, but he always went back to Sandra.” Marisa swallowed. “Macon thought Sandra was a mother figure for Mosely.”

“As your former therapist, Macon loved to hunt for hidden psychological agendas.” Alex’s laugh was devoid of humor.

“Sandra’s big attraction was her occupation, which is liquor store cashier. Mosely started and ended each day with hard liquor. I suspect she stole it from the store and gave it to him.”

“Your mom left to visit her sister,” Alex said. “When she came back, Mosely was in the hospital.”

“While he was in the intensive care unit, he went through DTs. After that, he was moved to a regular room. I took off from work to help my mother sit with him in the hospital. He was so unpleasant. He ranted and raved about wanting to smoke and drink. I tried to keep him calm. I also tried to tell him it was the perfect time for him to stop drinking. He’d already gone through the DTs.”

“You can’t reason with someone who doesn’t want to hear you.” Alex met her eyes very directly.

Marisa wondered if he was referring to her or her troubled brother. “After two days in the regular room, he begged the doctor for increasingly high dosages of pain medication, claiming he was in extreme pain. He blamed the pain on his legs.”

“I remember Mosely wearing braces on his legs when we were all in elementary school,” Alex said.

“After multiple surgeries and years of crutches and braces, the children’s charity hospital fixed his legs. He used his medical history to get out of working, even though he stood for hours on end in redneck bars.” Marisa’s eyes filled. “Alex, I am such an idiot. I really thought Mosely would use the opportunity to get sober. By the time he was discharged, he’d been without anything to drink for ten days.”

“What happened when he was released?” Alex asked, touching her shoulder.

Marisa rubbed her temples. “On the way to my mother’s mobile home, my brother asked me to stop at the liquor store. I said, ‘Hell, no.’ Mom ordered me to stop at the package store. She said if she didn’t buy it, he’d leave the house to get it.”

She swiped at her eyes with her fingers. “It was the turning point for me. After all of the years of angst, I decided I was done with them. I cried the entire way home. I made up my mind to stay away from them both, at least for the short term. The boycott didn’t last long, but it made me feel a little better.”

Alex’s hand was warm on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Before he left the hospital last spring, the doctors said Mosely would be dead within a year if he didn’t stop drinking.” Marisa sniffed. “The prophesy was fulfilled, although it wasn’t alcohol that killed him. It was a vicious murderer.”