Get a Clue (15 page)

“I'd agree with you there.” He was no longer looking outside, but at her profile.

She turned to him and felt her heart squeeze at the look on his face. “This is crazy,” she whispered. “There's a dead guy downstairs.
Dead
.”

“Yeah,” he said on a sigh that spoke volumes about his experiences. To her this was a new nightmare, but he'd seen it all before, and had even walked away from it. She couldn't begin to understand how it must feel for him to go on vacation to clear his head and still face death. “Well, at least one thing's clear,” she said very softly. “I have an alibi for last night and this morning.” Her gaze dropped involuntarily to his mouth, her body even now remembering how good it tasted. “I was kissing the hell out of the detective working the case.”

By afternoon, Breanne needed a distraction. She figured food would do it. Moving toward the kitchen, she stopped short in the hallway and stared at a new painting. Or at least she thought it was new because this she would have remembered.

It was an antique, two-person saw blade, at least six feet long, maybe more, painted with the most beautiful landscape of a raging river surrounded by a thick forest, with a storm brewing on the left. Gorgeous.

But where had it come from?

She was distracted from that by the sound of Shelly talking in the kitchen. The cook had made herself scarce all day, and Breanne had been worried about her. Relieved now, she knocked on the closed door.

“Just a sec!” Shelly called out. Then, a minute later, she opened the door, looking rosy and rushed, but neat as ever. “Hey!”

“Want some company?”

“Uh . . .” Shelly took a quick glance over her shoulder, then flashed Breanne a smile. “Sure. Come on in.”

Breanne looked around. “Who were you talking to?”

“What?”

“I thought I heard you talking.”

“Oh.” Shelly laughed breathlessly as she moved behind the island countertop. “Myself. I talk to myself. A lot. Have a seat. Are you hungry? I have hot water—I boiled it in the fireplace. Start with some tea while I fix something for you.”

Breanne sat at a bar stool on the other side of the island counter, feeling the cool wood beneath her thighs thanks to the short, short skirt. She began flipping through a basket of teas to choose from.

Shelly unloaded an armful of things from the refrigerator, then began chopping carrots at the speed of light, defying gravity and all laws of relativity as her knife flew through the stack. When the carrots were gone, she moved on to celery. And then fresh broccoli.

Neither of them spoke. Breanne wanted to ask about Edward, but Shelly seemed like brittle glass, so instead she sat there shoving the chopped veggies into her mouth with the same velocity that Shelly wielded her knife.

When Breanne caught up with her, eating everything in front of her, she took her tea bag out of her mug and sipped Earl Grey.

“You know,” Shelly said, breaking their silence, “women are a lot like that tea bag.”

“How's that?”

“You don't know how strong they are until you put them in hot water.”

Breanne laughed and it felt good. “Ain't that the truth.”

“If men had to be half as strong as we are, our race would have died out.” A sad smile crossed Shelly's face. “My mom said that a lot.”

Jumping at the chance to think of anything other than Edward, she managed a smile also. “I have four brothers, so that statement would have started World War III in my house. Are you close to your family?”

“Oh. Yes.” Shelly's smile softened. “It's just me and my sister now. More veggies?” She shoved the rest of the chopped broccoli toward Breanne. “I'd have made dip if the sour cream wasn't questionable. Damn the lack of power.” She turned on a small lantern on the counter. It didn't light much. “Damn Patrick for the lack of a generator.”

“A generator would be nice,” Breanne agreed, glancing out at the fading daylight. Another night in the place. Another dark night, this time with a dead body in the cellar.

No one knew the exact time of Edward's death, which meant something even more disturbing. None of them had an alibi, not even her.

Did Cooper count her as a suspect?

Did she count
him
a suspect?

After all, what did they really know about each other, except that their bodies seemed to be predestined to yearn and burn when they were within sight of each other.

“He thinks it's one of us,” Shelly said quietly. “The cop thinks one of us killed Edward.”

It was still odd to think of Cooper as a cop. She'd not thought of him as one yesterday when he'd stripped her out of her wet clothes. Or last night when he'd held her close. Or this morning when he'd had his hands in her panties. She hadn't thought of him as a cop until he'd been standing in the cellar holding his gun, ready to take on the world for her.

Yeah,
then
he'd been a cop, through and through. And actually, given his world-weary eyes and ready awareness, she should have known.

Probably she would have at least guessed if she'd been thinking with her brain cells instead of with every fiber of her feminine being.

“He's walking around, you know,” Shelly said. “Looking for answers.”
Chop, chop, chop
.

Breanne marveled that the chef hadn't lost any fingers. “Maybe he's trying to clear everyone.”

Shelly set down the knife and looked close to tears again. “I don't have an alibi or anything.”

Join the club
. “I saw you last night. I saw you this morning.”

“But you didn't see me in between, or before you got here.”

“No one saw me yesterday afternoon, either. It could be any one of us.” An extremely disturbing thought.

Veggies done, Shelly moved to the refrigerator and searched the dark depths for something else to chop. “Dante told me he'd cover for me,” she said into the crisper drawer. “Can you believe it? No questions asked.”

“Maybe he cares about you and wants to prove it.”
Illegally
.

Shelly shut the fridge and turned to Breanne, her cheeks two high spots of bright red. “He kissed me today,” she whispered as if departing with a state secret. “I mean really,
really
kissed me.”

“So I'm taking it that he noticed you were a woman,” Breanne said dryly.

Shelly flashed a small smile.

“Was it good?”

She let out a shaky breath. “It was the best thing I've ever experienced, but he wouldn't make love with me because we were in the pantry at the time—”

“The pantry?” Breanne couldn't have imagined feeling like laughing, but she choked one out now.

Shelly looked uncomfortable. “So that's . . . weird?”

“Well—”

“Where's the oddest place you've kissed?”

Every time Breanne thought about that morning in the library, and what she'd let Cooper do to her there, her face burned hot as a fire poker. And other places burned, too. “For this conversation, I need something more fattening than vegetables.”

Shelly went to a cupboard and pulled out a bag of BBQ chips. She opened the bag. “Tell me.”

“Can't.”

“That's too bad.” Shelly dug into the chips with a heartfelt moan. “Yum.”

Breanne could smell the salt, could practically taste it. “Damn it. In the library. Happy?”

“Wow. A public one?”

“No.” Breanne snatched the bag of chips. “Here. In this house.”

Shelly blinked. “You've been here before?”

“No.”

“Then . . .” Understanding dawned. “Oh, my God. With the cop!”

“
Cooper
.” Breanne shoved another handful of chips down her throat. “And honestly, I don't know what's wrong with me. I was just dumped.
Again
. I swore off men. Also
again
. Can't believe I let him—Well.”

They munched in companionable, stressful silence for a moment before a loud thud shook them.

“What was
that?”
Breanne whispered.

Shelly sidled closer. “Hopefully, Patrick fixing the generator.”

“Or Dante digging us out of here?”

“He'd have to dig us to China to get us out of here.”

Another thud.

Breanne and Shelly stared at each other.

“I'd feel a lot better if I knew what that was,” Breanne said.

“Yeah.” Looking around her uneasily, Shelly kept eating. “Up until this morning, I thought this house the most soothing, amazing place I'd ever seen. Now it's just . . . creepy.”

“Agreed.”

“It'll be different when the electricity is back.” Shelly hugged herself. “Probably.”

Another odd thump.

“That's it,” Breanne said. She hopped off the stool and opened the kitchen door.
“Hello?”

No one answered.

“It's getting dark,” Shelly noted uneasily.

“Yeah.”

“Wish we could make like a fat man's pants and split,” Shelly whispered.

No kidding. “Where's Lariana?”

“She said she was taking a few hours off. I assumed she was having a late lunch,” Shelly said.

“Wouldn't that be in the kitchen?”

They both looked around. No Lariana.

Thump
.

“Come on,” Breanne said.

“W-where are we going?”

“I'm tired of being scared. We're going to find out what that noise is.”

“But it's nearly dark.”

Was
dark. Breanne tugged down the nearly obscenely short skirt, snatched the lantern, and then, on second thought, took a large butcher knife out of its block, handing it to Shelly before grabbing another one for herself. “Don't worry, we're going to be fine.”

“Then why are we carrying butcher knives?”

“Just in case.” She tugged Shelly out of the kitchen. The hallway was dark except for the lantern's glow, and she went still to listen. “What's down that way?” she asked, pointing with the knife past the dining room.

“A sauna, gym, Jacuzzi, and a small, indoor pool.”

More thumps.

“Oh, God,” Shelly said, swallowing hard.

“Come on.” They tiptoed toward the area, their knives out in front of them.

The thumps got louder.

“Could you really use that knife if you had to?” Shelly whispered.

Breanne thought about the spider she wouldn't have been able to kill. “Yes,” she lied. “You?”

Shelly's knife was shaking so badly it was in danger of falling out of her hand, so she brought up her other hand to help support it. “Sure.” She gulped. “No sweat.”

They turned a corner and came to an open workout area, two of the walls lined in mirrors, the room filled with first-class gym equipment. There was a full-screen TV on one wall with an opened DVD case of
Friends: Season One
on the floor, and Shelly sighed in relief when the light from the lantern fell on it. “Oh, it's just Patrick.”

“You sure?”

“He loves
Friends
. It's how he learned American slang. He must be around here trying to get that TV running on battery or something.
Patrick?”
she called out.

There was no response but the odd banging, which had become . . . steady.
Rhythmic
. “Oh, God,” Breanne said and stopped, sagging in relief against a mirror. She couldn't believe it.

“What?” Shelly whispered.

Someone cried out, a woman.

“
Lariana
,” Shelly said, and ran for the sauna.

“Shelly, wait!” Breanne took off after her, catching her just before the door. “I don't think you want to—”

As they stood there, the door to the sauna opened and Lariana appeared in the doorway holding a flashlight, wearing only a towel and a cat-in-cream smile. At the sight of Breanne and Shelly, one carefully waxed brow shot straight up. Cool as ever, she shut the sauna door behind her.

“Ohmigod, Lariana.” Shelly put her hand to her heart and nearly nicked her own chin with the knife. “You're not dead.”

“Do I look dead?”

Breanne took in Lariana's dewy skin, the I've-just-been-screwed satisfaction swimming in her eyes. “Nope, you sure don't.” Carefully, she relieved the still-shocked Shelly of her knife. “Sorry,” she told Lariana for the both of them. “Overactive imagination.”

Shelly blinked. “What were you—”

“I told you I was taking a few hours for myself.” Lariana strutted past them. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get into the shower.”

“Sure.” Breanne didn't open the closed sauna door and peek, but she wanted to. She'd recognized those thunks. Lariana hadn't been in there by herself—she was sure of it.

“We heard you cry out,” Shelly said, baffled. “We heard . . .” She trailed off when Lariana turned back.

“You're just spooked,” Lariana said as she began to rein in her long, dark hair, piling it up on her head for her shower.

“You should be spooked, too,” Shelly said. “And you shouldn't be alone.”

For one beat, Lariana's eyes skittered back to the sauna. Then she smiled. “Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself.” She vanished into the shower room.

Breanne watched her go, not missing the new love bite on the back of her neck.

“She thinks she's invincible,” Shelly said. “But—”

“She wasn't alone.” Breanne gestured to the sauna door.

“Oh?” Shelly's eyes swiveled to the same door as well. “
Oh
.”

Breanne transferred both knives to one hand and opened the sauna door.

Patrick jerked to a stand, hands holding his towel—the only thing he wore. “Uh, cheers, mates.” Then he caught sight of the knives in her hand. “Christ Jesus, what's happened now?”

“We heard a strong noise,” Breanne said. “We came to investigate.”

“Oh, that'd be us—Me. I mean
me
.” Beet red, he smiled shakily and swiped his arm over his forehead. “No worries, then.”