Full Tilt (2 page)

"You're doing the work yourself?"

"Uh-huh."

Jamie looked at his hands. They were nice and brown and strong looking. "I should hire you to renovate the newspaper building. It's falling apart, too. I never really noticed how bad it was until today. I've got this big-shot investor visiting tomorrow. I'm sure he'll get a huge laugh when he takes a look at the place."

"It can't be all that bad."

"Trust me on this one. The man will take one look at the place and wish he'd never put any of his money in my little newspaper." She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I guess I just needed to talk to someone. I've had a crummy day."

"You know what you need?"

"Yeah, a sword to fall on."

"No, seriously. I know what will cheer you up."

Jamie's eyes narrowed. He was so easy to talk to she'd forgotten he was drop-dead gorgeous and a little on the flirtatious side. "I'll just bet you do."

"I've got this cool car. My friends call it my Maxmobile. We could take a ride."

"I'm engaged."

"Hey, listen, if I were trying to pick you up I would have used a better line than that."

"I bet you've got a lot of lines."

"I don't need them. Most women come on to
me."

Jamie laughed out loud. "You know, I wouldn't want to pay your grocery bill. I'll bet it takes a lot to feed your ego."

"That's just a front I put on to hide my shyness."

He gave her a smile that would melt a woman's bones. She might be engaged, but she wasn't blind.

"Yeah, I was just noticing what an introvert you are."

"I'm serious about my car," he said. "I have a computer inside that talks to me. She's a real pistol."

"A computer that talks to you. Now,
there's
a line I've never heard. And after that we'd want to go by your place to see your etchings. No, thanks. Wouldn't want to miss out on the delicious overdone roast beef they're serving tonight." Probably she would be dining alone. Well, what did it matter? She was a new-millennium woman and all that, and she was on business. Phillip could stuff his tax law business up his behind because she was quite capable of mingling with the best of them, including his mother, Annabelle Standish, Beaumont's Queen Bee of high society.

"Before you go, would you give me the name of that hamburger joint you mentioned a few minutes ago?" Max asked. "As much as I hate to eat alone, it sounds a lot tastier than this evening's fare."

Jamie's mouth watered at the thought of Harry's famous burgers and onion rings. And milkshakes so thick it felt as though you would suck your guts out getting them through the straw. She sighed.

"You're dying for a burger," Max said. "You're practically drooling."

"Yeah, but I can't. I have to take notes on Frankie's speech so I'll have something to put in my newspaper."

"We'll be back before the speech. Come on."

Jamie was sorely tempted. It would serve Phillip right. "Okay," she said at last. "We'll grab a burger and come right back. Let's go this way so nobody sees us leaving."

"Coward."

"Hey, I have to live in this town."

Max led her down the back steps and across the parking lot to his car. He pushed a button on his key ring, and the doors unlocked.

Jamie arched one brow. "Nice wheels." She climbed in, and a padded bar came down, locking into place. "What the

Jamie parked her mustang in her personal slot near the front of the building and sat there for a moment, collecting her thoughts. She felt crummy for sending Phillip home last night, but she had been in no mood for lovemaking. After he'd left, she'd lain awake most of the night thinking about how she'd made such a fool of herself in front of Max whatever-his-last-name-was and worrying about what today would bring.

She ran her hand along the dashboard and was surprised to find it dusty. Normally, she kept her car spotless. She lovingly washed it once a week and hand-waxed it when necessary, taking comfort in the task because of the comfortable feelings it evoked, as well as the memories. It frightened her sometimes to think how close she'd come to selling it. Her father had given it to her as a college graduation gift, and she tended to it as one would a well-loved family member. She often wished she had a brother or sister, but she had no one, no aunts and uncles, no cousins. She had lost her grandmother years before, a soft-spoken, white-haired woman with crystal-blue eyes and a kindly face who had once offered to take Jamie in because she feared her son was incapable of handling the responsibilities of fatherhood.

Jamie had balked at the idea. She and her father could handle anything as long as they were together. She would simply have to try harder to be a better daughter, she'd told herself. She would cook his favorite foods and keep the house just as her mother had left it. She would keep the woman's framed pictures dusted and sitting just so on her father's night table. And she would pretend, just as he had, that her mother would come back and everything would be fine. A normal family.

Sometimes, Jamie imagined she smelled her father's Aqua Velva aftershave in the upholstery, and then she would get tears in her eyes because she felt so very much alone now that he was gone. Then she would think of Phillip, and the knot in her stomach would melt like soft candy. Phillip, who loved her deeply and wanted to share his life with her. They'd met at a fund-raising dance where the men had to pay to dance with the woman of their choice. Phillip had paid five hundred dollars to dance with Jamie.

He offered the stability she'd craved as a child.

His family loved her, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins and second cousins. And Phillip's mother, Annabelle, who treated her like the daughter she'd always wanted and planned to give them a wedding to end all weddings.

Jamie knew she was blessed. Finally, she would have the family she had always longed for. She imagined holidays with fat turkeys and brown-sugar-coated hams and relatives rushing in and out bearing Christmas gifts and shopping with Phillip for nieces and nephews. The scenes in her head were like Norman Rockwell paintings. They represented everything that was sane and normal and real.

Jamie and Annabelle had settled on an outdoor wedding in September, hoping the heat and humidity would be more tolerable. She and Phillip would say their vows beneath the massive moss-draped live oaks that had graced the family estate for more than two hundred years and were as deeply rooted in the history of Beaumont as the Standishes themselves.

Jamie felt more optimistic as she climbed from the car. She was marrying the man of her dreams, and she faced a rock-solid future with him. Although she had never experienced the maternal instincts her friends had, she suspected it wouldn't be long before she and Phillip started a family. Annabelle loved her grandchildren more than anything in the world, and Jamie knew the woman would be eagerly awaiting her son's firstborn. As scary as it was sometimes to imagine actually walking down an aisle and becoming Mrs. Phillip Standish, Jamie knew she was making the right decision.

She hitched her chin high as she started for the building. Even though the day held a lot of uncertainty, what with her silent partner paying a surprise visit, Jamie was determined not to let it stress her. She had sacrificed almost everything she owned to keep the newspaper going, and she was a darn good publisher. In her mind, that was enough. If she was a little short on furniture and desks, M. Holt would simply have to understand.

Jamie rounded the building and headed toward the double glass doors. She found Vera standing outside, as if she were guarding the place. "Good morning, Vera."

"You don't want to go in there."

Jamie came to a halt, feeling a sense of dread wash over her. "Why not?"

"It, uh, needs a little more work."

"What do you mean?"

"Tom and Herman are going to pay for this. I'm on my way to their places right now. I plan to shoot holes into their tires."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Once you see the place you'll want to be the trigger person, but it's my gun and I insist on being the shooter. You can drive the getaway car."

"You
have
lost your mind. Now, get a grip, we have work to do." Jamie tried to sidestep her, but the woman refused to budge. "Would you please move out of my way, Vera? Jeez, how bad can it be?"

She found out as soon as she pushed through the doors. "Oh, double damn."

"I told you it was bad. I'm not even going to charge you for cussing this time."

Several employees stood around the water cooler whispering. They scurried away like squirrels when they spied Jamie. "Is this some kind of joke?" Jamie asked.

"Danged if I know. I've been trying to reach Tom and Herman all morning, but they aren't answering their phones. They're probably having a good laugh over it right now."

Jamie planted her hands on her hips in obvious annoyance. "Why would anyone in their right mind paint an entire office battleship gray? It looks like a dungeon in here."

"I tried to warn you. Tom's crew recently painted the armory building. This was probably left over from that job."

Jamie took in the furniture. Herman Bates had obviously thought it would be fun to decorate the reception area in what looked like cowhide. The sofa and matching chair were a furry tawn with white splotches that made Jamie think of a Guernsey dairy cow. Bullhorns hung from the wall. "I don't believe this." She looked at Vera. "I would be scared to sit on it in case it has fleas or mad cow disease."

"I don't think it's real cowhide, hon." Vera patted her shoulder. "The good thing is the furniture doesn't have to be returned. Herman left a note that we can keep it. Which is a good thing for him considering where I'd planned to stick it after we finished with it."

Mike Henderson came through the front doors and stopped dead in his tracks. "Wow! Cool furniture."

Jamie and Vera glared at him.

He shrugged. "Okay, so it's a little different, but that's not always a bad thing."

Jamie turned and started for her office. "I wouldn't go in there," Vera warned.

"It can't be as bad as this room." Jamie opened the door. Her heart sank to her toes. "Oh, God, it's Graceland."

"I've never seen a desk made of shellacked tree trunks," Mike said. "Is that a velvet painting of Elvis?"

Jamie crossed her arms and tapped one foot impatiently. "This is not a darn bit funny. I know Herman and Tom are a couple of pranksters, but this is way over the line. I have half a mind to

The firing stopped as quickly as it had begun, followed by the sound of screeching tires as a car sped away. Max rolled off Jamie and winced at the sight of her leg. An ugly shard of glass protruded from her calf. Quickly, he searched for other wounds. Thankfully, there were none.

Jamie sat up, took one look at her leg and gave a sigh of absolute disgust. "Would you look at that? I've gone all day without getting a run in these pantyhose. Now I wish I'd gone ahead and bought the store brand instead of spending four dollars more for a name brand." She sighed. "Oh, double damn."

Max just looked at her.

"Well, are you going to pull the blasted thing out or do I have to sit here and bleed to death?"

Max reached for the knot in his tie, undid it and pulled it from his neck. He jerked the glass shard from her leg.

Jamie sucked in her breath sharply. "Ouch!"

"I never promised it would feel good," he said as he wrapped the tie around her, binding the wound tight to keep it from bleeding worse. "This should do until we can get help. Call nine-one-one. I need to check outside." He hurried from the room and almost bumped into one of the men from production. They did a little dance as Max tried to get past him, and the other man didn't seem to know which way to move. Finally, Max pushed him out of the way and ran.

Jamie was already on the telephone, explaining the situation to the police dispatcher. With assurances that help was on the way, she hung up and found Lyle, her production manager, staring at her leg in concern.

"Miss Swift, are you okay?" he asked. "I came in from the back to go to the bathroom and I heard the noise." He glanced around the shot-up office in disbelief.

"I'm okay," Jamie replied. "I'll probably have a scar on my leg the size of our parking lot. There goes my dream of competing in the Miss South Carolina beauty pageant. Is everyone in back okay, Lyle?"

He nodded. "I'm sure nobody back there heard the shots, what with the printing press going at full speed. Do you need me to do something?"

"The police are on their way."

* * * * *

The police arrived ten minutes later, followed by an ambulance. As a paramedic treated Jamie's wound, the police chief, Lamar Tevis, a slightly overweight, sandy-haired man in baggy khakis and a badly wrinkled cotton shirt, issued orders to his men. "Call Bud from the crime lab, and tell him to get over here right now."

"Yes, Chief."

Lamar turned to Jamie and Max. "Did either of you see anything?"

Max shook his head. "They got away before I could get a look."

"Who are you?" Lamar bluntly asked.

Jamie introduced Max. Lamar looked impressed. "I've read about you in the newspaper."

Max handed him a metal casing he'd found in the street. "Looks like it came from a high-powered automatic."

Lamar turned the casing over several times as though he might find a clue. "We don't see this kind of action down here. Somebody is mighty serious about killing somebody." He studied Max. "Do you have any enemies? Anybody who might want you dead?"

"I try to conduct business fairly," Max said, "although I'm sure I've made a few people angry in my dealings. I can't think of anyone who'd actually want to kill me."

Lamar turned to Jamie. "Have you been printing anything controversial in your newspaper?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I did accidentally print that Peggy Block won a blue ribbon for her Wedding Ring quilt, when it was actually Jane Barker."

Lamar frowned. "Did you print a retraction?" When Jamie nodded, he went on. "Well, then, we know that's not it." At Max's incredulous look Lamar added, "These ladies take their quilts seriously."