Death Stretch (11 page)

****

Dirk sat in his car outside my house when I returned. He unfolded his length from the front seat and sauntered across my lawn. I could have stood next to my car watching his display of masculine grace all day. Too bad he spoiled the picture with a scolding.

“Why don't you have a porch light burning?”

“Why don't you mind your own business?”

“You are my business.”

Well, that unexploded bomb sat between us for a minute while I tried to gather my thoughts. “Excuse me?”

“To serve and protect. That's what I do.”

Uh huh. I believed that because anything more would be way too much for my brain.

“Okay, Mr. Serve and Protect. My porch light burned out last night. I meant to change the bulb, but I forgot.”

“Get a bulb. I'll change it right now.”

The serve and protect business gave me hives, but, jumpy from the break-ins, his company felt pretty good. We entered the house, which had been locked, thank you, and I got the bulb and a stepstool. A couple of longnecks cooled in the fridge, so I pulled one out for him, just in case he got thirsty after the strenuous work of changing a bulb. I poured myself a glass of wine, arranged some cheese on a plate and pulled out the crackers. Mama taught me to make nice with men who could do household chores.

Dirk put the old bulb on the counter and pointed to the beer. “Mine?”

“Yep.” Crap. Now we're speaking in couple’s shorthand. What the?

“So, Detective Johnson, why are you here? Can't be for my stellar cooking skills.”

“Mind if I sit?” I pointed to the chair and he settled in. “I need to ask you again about Saturday.”

My head throbbed, right behind my eyes. The story had been repeated so often I doubted there could be anything new to add. I sighed. “Okay.”

“We've narrowed down the murder weapon.”

My spine straightened as if someone pulled me up by the head. “Really? What was it?”

“I can't really say, but I need you to think back to the victim's actions during class.”

I'd get the weapon information out of him or my name wasn't Katie Sheridan. “I'll tell you again what I saw if you tell me how he died.”

Dirk sighed. “Okay, look. I'll give you our working hypothesis, but you can't tell anyone. Not your best friend or even your cat.”

He knew I had no cat, so he meant Ginger. His expression told me he wouldn't back down, so if I wanted the information, I had no choice.

“I promise.”

Dirk carefully matched cheese and a cracker. He took a bite, chewed and swallowed. I about crawled out of my skin, but I knew he stalled for effect.

“The man's yoga mat and some strange foam blocks held enough ricin to kill three people. Maybe more. How long did he handle the mat or the block during class?”

I knew his thoughts were off base before he finished the question. “He didn't.”

“What you mean he didn't use either one?”

“No, not until the end of the class. Morgan wasn't on his mat like the rest of us. He walked around the room, correcting poses for most of the students.” I paused, reviewing the scene in my head. “When he demonstrated poses, he didn't use the mat at the front. He just went into the pose from wherever he was at the time.”

“Is that usual?”

“Got me. My first class, remember?”

Taking a gulp of wine, I spent more time in review. “Morgan didn't return to his mat until right before we went into the corpse pose.”

Dirk did a great second look. “The what?”

“I know. Creepy, isn't it? That's what the last pose is called. You lay flat out on your back. Laying flat is supposed to induce total relaxation, but it didn’t work for me.”

His lips curved up at the corners then dropped down. “So Anderson didn't use the mat until the end of the class.” He tapped his fingers against his lips. Lucky fingers. “Did you notice anyone near his mat? Either before or during class?”

I searched my brain cells, but nothing came to mind. “Nope, can't say that I did.”

“Can you tell me who was positioned adjacent to the victim?”

“Flash was directly in front and to his left. You'll have to ask her who the others were. I didn't notice.”

He made a note then tapped his pen against the page. “The blocks. Were they used in class?”

The question differed from the ones repeated ad naseum on Saturday, so I thought for a moment. “Morgan didn't need them, I guess. A few people used blocks, but I didn't see who did or didn't.”

“And everyone brings their own mats, is that right?”

“Everyone who has one. The studio provides mats for beginners like me.”

“That helps quite a bit. Thanks.” He moved to stand.

“Whoa. Where do you think you're going?”

He grabbed another cheese and cracker combo. “Thanks for the beer and snacks, but I gotta get back to the office.”

“That's all? You give me one crumb of information, drink my beer, eat my snacks and leave?”

I waited while he finished chewing. “Oh, sorry. I should say thanks for the lead. Thanks. Gotta go.”

I rose and moved to block the doorway. “Nyuh uh. Are you saying Morgan may not have been the intended victim?”

“Nope. That was his mat. His assistant gave us a positive ID.”

“So Morgan
was
the intended victim all along.”

Dirk raised one eyebrow.

“You can't even tell me that? Give me a break. I mean, you're not telling me how the ricin was used. Or if any of the women he screwed had a reason to kill him. Or how big of a bank account he had. Or who inherits, for cripes sake.”

He moved closer. “I can tell you one thing.”

Our gazes collided. “What's that?”

“This.” He palmed my cheeks, tilted my head and laid on a kiss so hot my brain exploded. Not really, but it sure felt that way. Not only did my brain become mush, time stopped.

One of his hands moved to cradle the back of my head, the other stroked my cheek. I could taste the beer on his exploring tongue, and his chest was hard against mine. My hands moved up to his shoulders, then my greedy fingers reached for his hair. Yep, those badly cut, dark, silky-smooth and tangle free strands. Smooth until I had my wicked way.

Dirk lifted his mouth from mine but his lips and tongue came back for another taste. I sucked that movable organ like there was no tomorrow. From Dirk's moans, I'd say we both hit the jackpot.

He had more discipline than me, because he pulled away, sucking my bottom lip as he left. I licked my lip after him and he looked ready to dive back in. His darkened eyes held promise, but Dirk shifted me from the doorway. He moved around me and down the hall.

My sluggish brain couldn't think of a way to stop him so I could get more answers about Morgan's death. Huh. The jerk manipulated me with a kiss. Not that I'm complaining, but still. His payback would be hell.

“Forget your questions about the murder and let me handle the case. Lock the damn door. And keep the porch light on all night.”

So much for tender sentiments from Mr. Protect and Serve.

****

The alarm rang good news, bad news. Good news because I was still alive, bad news because I didn't feel like working on design plans. But Jim's a great boss and he'd be lost without me.

Early morning was still dark and the kitchen lights glared at my tired eyes. No coffee brewed automatically because I forgot to buy the beans, and caffeine-free wasn’t the way I liked to start the day. Somehow I kicked my butt into gear and headed into the office.

Jim looked up when I entered. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay home.”

“Good morning, Jim. So good to be back.” I waited for him to catch my drift but he didn't pick up. Someday I've gotta figure out why my favorite men have no social skills. “I can't let you mess up the project plans for much longer. You'll go broke in a week.”

“You puppy. I been at this longer than you've been alive.”

“That doesn't mean you know the Auto-CAD.” I pointed at the stacks of paper covering his desk. “Or that you're organized.”

He rubbed his brush cut a few times and gave a low grunt. “All right, I could use your help.”

Construction Speak Translation: he was glad to have me back.

Jim ducked out of the trailer to avoid my wrath. Papers tilted in haphazard piles over most of the desk surface. Styrofoam cups took up the slack, perched precariously, waiting to dump their cold contents over plans I recognized as originals. My boss knew I hated a messy workspace and didn't want to hear my bitching. Especially when he caused the disarray.

The coffee perked hot and handy, and my mug got filled before I tackled the pile of work in front of me. Concentration wasn't easy knowing my best friend faced blackmail, someone used my house like a bus station locker, and a hot cop was, well, hot for me. At least his interest seemed that way.

I needed to think about life, not death. Jim returned with one of his supervisors, but neither said a word. He just pretended my presence meant business as usual. And that's what made him a kick-ass boss. Maybe polite social skills are overrated.

Lunch came and went before I got the updated plans organized and ready for each job we worked. I liked feeling in control for a change.

My muscles were tight from sitting all morning and my stomach growled. I needed a stretch and some food and knew where to get both. A quick fifteen-minute walk later, Dora's came into view.

I entered and wanted to turn around and leave. Seated with heads close together were Flash and Dirk. Flash had her hands moving along Dirk's arm, and he didn't look too sad about her caresses. My appetite disappeared but my chance of leaving passed. Flash's smirk and loud greeting told me I'd been made.

“Well, there she is now, Miss Lifesaver. Practiced any CPR lately?” She kept her hold on Dirk's arm. “Detective Johnson asked me to lunch. Wasn’t that sweet of him?” She, honest-to-God, batted her eyelashes at him.

I had to swallow my automatic retort and a mouthful of bile before answering. “Sweet, Flash? Yes, I can see where you’d think that.”

Dirk shot me an apologetic look. My palms itched to slap it off his face, but I played nice. “I’ll just leave you to your lunch. Enjoy the food.”

The statement was silly because their empty plates told me they’d finished eating before I walked in. Maybe they’d been planning on afternoon delight for dessert prior to my interruption.

I walked my misery to a stool at the counter. Dora raised her eyebrows and I nodded. Less than a minute later, she set a large glass of iced tea in front of me.

The café owner leaned toward me as she handed me a straw. “Now that’s a bee with an itch.”

I gathered my courage and glanced into the mirror behind the counter. The scene was not reassuring. Flash had scooted closer to Dirk. She leaned so close she could have been his napkin. Their contrasting coloring looked good together, like a fancy salt and pepper set.

“Why do you say that, Dora? You gotta admit, the man is hot. You’d be in Flash’s place if you thought you could get away with it.” So would I, even if saying so made me want to cry. Why I’d ever think Cop Sexy could be interested in me?

“She walked in here like she had a right to order me around.”

Oops. That would’ve gone over well. Not. Even knowing Flash had made Dora’s “B” list didn’t cheer me.

Dora squinted. “Sweetie, don’t put your arm down there. I missed a spot.”

Too late.

My forearm slid across the counter. I jerked forward and came close to dumping my glass. A look at my arm told the story. Smeared ketchup from elbow to wrist. I swiveled off the stool and headed for the ladies.

Focused on washing off the gunk I didn’t look up when another customer walked in.

“Little Miss Murderer. I thought you were arrested, but here you are, walking around free. I'm glad I have a big, strong policeman to protect me.”

Gag me. “Get over yourself, Brandi. It's not my fault Morgan dumped you.” I stared at her reflection in the mirror. “And, unlike you, I don't put the make on anything with a penis, so stop spreading the stories I ran after Morgan. I didn't know the man.”

Her ugly smile told me her next words would match the look. “Then why did you make sure no one else could get close when you jumped his bones?”

“Oh, for cripes sake.” Tossing the messy paper towel into the sink, I turned to face her. “I did CPR. Not the most romantic setting for a seduction in case you don't know. Not that I'd have anything to do with a man who screwed you.” I put a finger on my cheek and tilted my head in my best coquette move. “Oh, wait. He screwed you, then screwed you over, didn't he? My mistake.”

Flash pointed her index finger at me. “I'll thank you to mind your own business.”

I couldn't believe someone actually used that phrase in real life, but she did. “Brandi, stop your story-telling or I'll slap your ass with a defamation suit so hard and fast you won't be able to sit for a month.”

Flash’s face could have doubled for a stoplight. “I heard about your moves from a reliable source. You'll have to prove you didn't kill Morgan.” She pivoted and huffed to the door. Whirling, she added misery to insult. “Stay away from the cop. I deserve a guy like Dirk. You wouldn’t know what to do with him.”

The mirror reflected her momentary yearning expression. Flash was vulnerable? Like a snake.

My stomach churned and I couldn’t hide out in the ladies all afternoon. I pulled half a dozen hand towels from the dispenser and scrubbed my arm dry.