Head Over Heels (8 page)

“Good, because I'm ensconced in Crystal's house and I've turned the place upside down without finding any clue as to why anyone would want to strangle her. Aside from her parenting or decorating skills, that is.”

“What about Eddie's place? Anything worth pursuing there?”

“Damned if I know. I don't have access to Eddie's house.”

“So what's your point, Ice? Break in.”

Coop laughed. “That's what I like about you, Taylor—you don't let a little nicety like the law stand in your way.” He thought a second. “Still…I could do that. Or maybe, since Eddie's lawyer is the one per
son in town who knows who I am, I could check to see if he has a key.”

“Yeah, that's a thought, too. Doesn't sound like nearly as much fun, though.”

“I'm glad I called, Zach. As usual, your skewed way of looking at the world has helped clarify a few things in my mind.”

“Hey, always happy to be of help, bud. Now tell me more about this Aunt Ronnie. I bet she's tall and tan, with a truly sweet set. And probably blond, too—am I right?”

Awry smile tugged the corner of Coop's mouth as he scooped Boo up off his lap and set him on the floor. He climbed to his feet. “Absolutely. It's downright uncanny, the way you can pinpoint these things.”

 

Veronica arrived home to an empty house later that afternoon. She called her answering machine in Seattle; then, in response to a frantic message on it, spent some time tracking down a missing armoire for her Scotland job. She was running low on patience by the time the Portland craftsman who'd been in charge of its restoration returned her call.

“You promised me the work would be completed and delivered before I left Glenkenchie,” she said in response to his excuses. “I'm the one who looks bad when you don't come through, Michael, and I give you fair warning right now: If I ever have to field another call from an upset client because you've let me down again, I'll take my business elsewhere. I need craftsmen who honor their promises!”

Needing to work off her frustration, she set to work
on the living room and had just finished clearing it of the last of Crystal's kitsch when someone tapped at the front door. Before she could rise to her feet from where she'd been squatting to dust the little Duncan Phyfe–legged end table, the door opened and Marissa stuck her head in.

“Hey,” she said and looked around. “Wow. It sure looks different in here.”

Veronica climbed to her feet, dropping the dust rag she'd been using on the end table. “I know. The room looks bigger without all the junk in it, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, it really does. And if you lose that gawd-awful wallpaper and paint the walls a pale color, it'd open it up even more.”

“That's next on my agenda, after we paint Lizzy's room. You want a cup of coffee?” She headed for the kitchen without awaiting an answer and said over her shoulder, “So what brings you here in the middle of the day?”

“Did I happen to mention I'm chairwoman of the decorating committee for the Winter Festival this year?”

Veronica stopped dead and slowly swiveled around to stare at her oldest friend. “Sure you are. And I'm Queen of the May.” A smile quirked the corners of her lips, and she picked up the pot and filled a couple of mugs with coffee. “You almost had me going there,” she said over the fragrant steam. “It would've flown if I hadn't spent half my life listening to your opinions on the women-who-do-good-works crowd.”

“It turns out I wasn't a hundred percent right about them.”

“Uh-huh.”

Marissa didn't laugh or yell
Gotcha!
and Ronnie's smile slowly faded. “Oh, my God, Mare, you're serious, aren't you? You've become a
Junior Leaguer
?”

“I don't know how it happened!” Marissa accepted the mug Veronica handed her and carried it over to the table. She sat and looked at Ronnie morosely. “When Denny was alive, the Bluff matrons didn't even know I existed, or they didn't
want
to know, anyway. I was just some not-so-little upstart from Baker Street who'd married above herself. They tolerated me because Den had too much clout for them to do otherwise, but mostly I was ignored, and that was just dandy with me. But when Den died…God, I was lost for the longest time, and I don't know if his clout transferred to me during that period, or if they felt sorry for me, or what, but suddenly I was ‘poor, dear Marissa.' And before I knew it, I was going to meetings for this and sitting on committees for that, and the truth is, with a few notable exceptions they're a pretty decent bunch of women. Or at least I thought so until they decided to trust me with the Winter Festival decorations this year. I should have said no thanks. I
meant
to say no thanks, but instead I accepted. Don't ask me why, because I've pretty much been hyperventilating ever since. I don't have a
clue
where to start with something of this scope!”

“Okay, take a deep breath here. Drink your coffee.” Veronica watched Marissa follow her instructions, and when her friend seemed to calm down a little, she gave her a gentle smile. “You said you're heading the committee, right? The nice thing about committees, toots, is that you've got other women who will have plenty
of ideas. Why not just sit back and wait for a good one to kick loose?” She reached across the table and gave Marissa a nudge. “Then, of course, as top dog, you get to claim all the credit when it turns out to be a huge success.”

Marissa gave her a wan smile. “Much as I admire your deviousness, what I really need is a decorator-type idea. The committee meets on Monday, and you know how I said that with a few notable exceptions this is a nice bunch of women?”

“Uh-oh.” Veronica straightened in her seat. “A notable exception is on your committee, I take it.”

“Two of them. Angela Tyler-Jones and Diana Wentworth. Otherwise known as the bitch queen of the snobs and her high priestess. It just kills them that I was appointed committee chair.”

“Let me guess—could we be talking about women with good haircuts and tight sphincters, who were born and bred on the Bluff, and are firmly entrenched in the belief that those who weren't were put on earth to serve?”

“You got it, sister.”

“And I assume
they
assume they're much more deserving of the position since they grew up the princesses of Holly Drive?”

“Ronnie, they undermine me at every turn. They're expecting me to fall flat on my face at Monday's meeting, and what really kills me is that they're going to be right. I'm way out of my depth here. I don't know what people were
thinking
when they assigned me to chair this.”

“Probably that you're a warmhearted, capable wom
an who is kind to everyone no matter what their station in life. Or
maybe
that you're someone who can do any darn thing she sets her mind to.”

“I don't have nearly enough experience to pull this off.”

“Ah, but what you've got is even better.”

“I do? It is? What?”

“Me.”

“Yeah?” Marissa gave her a slow smile. “Ms. Restoration Specialist Designs The Winter Festival? You don't have to go to all that trouble, Ronnie—just point me in the right direction.” She shot her a hopeful look. “Unless you truly wouldn't mind? But no. You've got enough on your plate; I can't ask that of you.” Pausing for breath, she gave Veronica a sidelong look. “Besides, having you design the decorations would kind of be like using a bazooka to kill a mosquito, wouldn't it?”

Helping Marissa was the
least
that she could do, after all her friend had done for her. And Marissa's faith in her abilities made Veronica feel like some big-deal movie star. So she waved a hand and said airily, “Well, you know us Baker Street girls—overkill is a way of life. The queen snob and her priestess aren't gonna know what hit 'em.” She got up to grab a tablet and a pencil out of the junk drawer, then dropped back into her seat. “So tell me. What kind of budget are we talking?”

A
S
V
ERONICA HAD SORTED THROUGH HER SISTER
'
S
clothing, she'd saved bits and pieces in a large ornate box she'd dubbed the dress-up trunk. The first thing she saw Saturday evening, when she came down the front stairs ready for work, was Lizzy and Dessa lying on their stomachs on the living room floor, all decked out like a couple of half-pint hookers. Lizzy wore a stretchy royal blue and black sequined tube dress with a handkerchief hem, and Dessa had donned a slinky black satin nightie over a green and yellow floral one. Hems that most likely had come to midthigh on Crystal fell to the little girls' ankles. They both sported overly rouged cheeks and scarlet lips, and a rainbow of eye shadows had been applied with a heavy hand from lashes to eyebrows.

The toes of Dessa's too-large white pumps pointed in opposite directions to accommodate lying with her legs flat on the floor. Lizzy's ankles were crossed in the air and one pink pump lay on its side on the floor while its mate hung precariously from the toes of her right foot.

Stopping in front of them, Veronica slapped a hand to her breast. “Ladies! You look
mahvelous
!”

They looked up from their coloring book, flashing great big pleased-with-themselves grins. For the merest instant Lizzy's faltered around the edges and her crayon stilled over the page she was coloring. Then, her smile turning shy, she dipped her head to observe Veronica through her bangs. “You sorta look like my mama tonight.”

Mrs. Martelucchi took her attention away from
Providence
on the television to glance over. “Why, goodness gracious, everyone's getting dolled up tonight. Ronnie, dear, don't you look festive!”

Veronica reached up a bit self-consciously to finger the silver, bronze, and copper stars that dangled from her lobes and gave her low-cut, cherry-red cashmere sweater set a quick once-over to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be. Dolled up, indeed. She'd even brought out the heavy artillery tonight: her take-no-prisoners water bra, which strove valiantly to provide a modicum of cleavage.

She'd gone whole hog to tart up her entire, ordinary appearance in an attempt to look somewhat less, well…
ordinary
. She wore more makeup than usual, and had used a palmful of mousse, her hot rollers, and the judicious application of a rat-tailed comb to add a little oomph to her hair. She'd eat a bug for breakfast
before she'd admit it, but Coop's crack yesterday about the way she dressed had prompted the sudden desire for a less proper image, if only for an evening.

Well, that and the way he'd behaved last night, as though she'd suddenly become invisible.

Spreading her arms wide, she consulted the girls. “What do you think? Too much change all at once?”

“Nuh-uh,” Lizzy assured her. “You look pretty.”

“Real pretty,” Dessa agreed.

Veronica's heart squeezed at their solemn praise, and she sat on her heels to give them both a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, my little pumpkinettes. Coming from two swell lookers like yourselves, that's a real compliment. You sure know how to make a girl feel fine.”

On the floor next to her a shopping bag holding additional coloring books began to rattle furiously, and Boo's head popped out. Veronica reached out to scratch the cat between his eyes before turning her attention back to the girls. “Now, I expect you two to be good for Mrs. Martelucchi. Have you got your video?”

“Uh-huh. It's right here.” Lizzy pulled it out from beneath a mountain of Barbie clothing and held it up to display the Disney title.

“Okay, good. Mrs. M will make you some popcorn to have with your movie as soon as her program is over. Then, when the movie's done, it's off to bed with you. I don't want to hear about any arguments or wheedling for extra time when I get home. Not that either of you would ever dream of doing such a thing, of course.”

Lizzy shook her head in solemn agreement, but Dessa merely flashed a grin that showcased her half-
grown-in new front teeth, and Veronica couldn't help but grin back. “All right, so maybe a pajama party wouldn't be a pajama party without a smidgen of wheedling. Still, be good. Gimme a kiss.” After both girls had pursed their glossily made-up lips for her peck, she rose to her feet. “I'll see you in the morning.”

She headed for the door and looked back at them while she wrestled into her warm jacket. “Do we have a camera around here, Lizzy?” she asked. “We really should have a picture of you two. It's not every day a girl looks so snazzy.”

Lizzy's remaining high heel thunked to the floor, and she hopped up and ran into the kitchen. A second later Veronica saw her push a chair over to the refrigerator and climb up on it. The little girl paused to wrestle her slipping dress back up under her armpits, then teetered precariously on tiptoe as she stretched to reach the top of the fridge.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa a minute there.” Veronica crossed to the kitchen. “Is it up here?” She peered at the odds and ends atop the refrigerator.

Lizzy nodded eagerly. “Uh-huh. In the back.”

“Okay, I'll find it. You go put your heels back on.”

Moments later, Veronica snapped off several frames, grinning with delight when Dessa hammed it up and Lizzy flashed smiles that were far less shy than usual. Then she bade the girls goodnight, let Mrs. Martelucchi know she was putting Boo out when she found him practicing his telekinetic powers in front of the door, and left. She walked briskly across the street and pushed through the Tonk's front door.

It was pleasant not to be hit in the face with a wall of smoke the instant she stepped into the bar, and be
tween that and thoughts of Lizzy and Dessa in their diva apparel, she was smiling as she pulled off her jacket. Her glance drifted past Coop, then snapped back to focus on him. He stood stock-still across the room, staring at her with an intensity that stopped her in her tracks.

It was a masculine look, a
sexual
look, guaranteed to make a woman feel naked and vulnerable. Veronica's heart gave a solid kick against the wall of her chest before taking off like a greyhound after the track rabbit. Hot color moved up her throat and she could only pray the dim lighting would prevent him from noting it across the distance.

Then, as if he hadn't just given her a look laden with enough sizzle to melt her shoes to the floor, he turned on his heel and presented her with his back. Veronica's heart pounded even harder…this time with affronted anger.

The chemistry that seemed to set her hormones afire every time she came into contact with him didn't exactly thrill her, but she was dealing with it. She was a grown woman—she knew there was a world of difference between feeling inappropriate sexual attractions and acting on them. But Coop had been working overtime to advance her awareness of him from the moment they'd clapped eyes on each other, and to suddenly be treated as if she'd ceased to exist infuriated her.

He shouldn't be allowed to get away with it.

She strolled up to the bar and lifted the pass-through, letting herself in. “Evening, Cooper,” she said to his broad back.

“Veronica.” He didn't bother to turn around.

His rudeness made her grit her teeth as she stowed away her coat and purse and grabbed out a clean apron to tie around her hips. Getting to see the girls in their dress-up finery had put her in a wonderful mood, and she wasn't about to let him engage her in a snarling match that would destroy her nice glow. Maybe instead she should take a page out of the Cooper Blackstock book of
I Breathe, Therefore I Promote Sexual Awareness
. Up until last night, he'd been Mr. Touchy-Feely himself, always crowding her, touching her, doing everything he could to heighten her awareness of him, regardless of the fact that they had nothing in common aside from an inexplicable transient attraction. Why not pick up the ball that he'd tossed down and run with it? It seemed only fair.

Her waitressing paraphernalia was on Coop's other side, in the angle where the counter below the bar wrapped around the adjacent wall to make an additional workspace. Glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention, she surreptitiously reached into her low-cut neckline and hiked her cleavage front and center. Then she took a deep breath and brushed her fingers down his arm. “Pass me my tray?”

His sweater sleeves were shoved up, exposing the corded strength of his forearms as he cut up lemons and limes. Long, lean muscle shifted beneath his tanned skin with every twist of his rawboned wrists. He wasn't a hairy man, and she was highly aware of the smooth warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. She felt the muscles in his arm go rigid, but without a word he set down his knife, grabbed the tray, and passed it to her.

“Thanks.” She traced a fingertip down one of the
soft veins that snaked prominently along the inner length of his arm. “I'll need my cash box, too.”

He slammed it down atop her tray.

“Thank you, Cooper. Looks like the place is filling up, so I'd better get to work. But it's been grand chatting with you.”

His head snapped around, and for just a second those dark eyes pinned her in place with an intensity that made her question her sanity. Poking sticks at a tiger would doubtless be less risky than messing with Cooper Blackstock—especially in an arena where she was a rank amateur at best. It took more than a push-up bra, sexy earrings, and red lipstick to pull off the little payback she envisioned—and why she even thought such a thing was a good idea in the first place was anyone's guess. Veronica's nerves pulsed crazily and blood ran hot through her veins. A smart woman would be singing hosannas that Cooper Blackstock had reined in that damnable sexuality of his—not testing to see if the ability to disturb went both ways.

Unable to sustain contact with those fierce brown eyes, she snatched her hand off his arm and glanced around the bar. “Oh, look, there's Kody.” Her smile was radiant with relief. Maybe she'd go practice her wiles on him for a while before throwing herself head-long into the big league. Not that Kody struck her as particularly minor league, but at least he didn't have the same effect on her that Coop did.

As she turned to go, Coop reached out a hand to detain her. “Do your job before you go flirt with your boyfriend,” he ordered.

“My boyfr…?” Veronica swallowed her initial impulse to jerk her arm free and snarl back at him. In
stead, she raised her gaze from his grip on her arm to his narrowed eyes and gave him a little smile she sincerely hoped made her look like the last of the red-hot mamas…or at least mysterious. But when Coop abruptly released her arm and stepped back, his face wiped free of all expression, she had a sinking feeling she'd appeared constipated instead.
Not
exactly the look she was shooting for. Snatching up her tray, she stalked away. What the
hell
was she doing playing these asinine games, anyway? She'd had better sense back in junior high school.

She headed straight for Kody's table. They'd hit it off during the two days he'd spent putting in the air purification system. He was handsome, fit, and easy to talk to, and she felt comfortable with him, a restful change after time spent in Coop's company.

“Hey, there,” she said, dropping a coaster on his table. “Have you been served yet?” Sandy, the other barmaid, had staked out the pool table side of the room as her territory and only ventured into what she considered Veronica's if Veronica wasn't yet on duty.

He looked up, and his lean cheeks creased with his smile. “No, but then I just got here.”

“Me, too. What can I get you?” When he ordered a domestic draft she made a note of it, then shifted her tray to a more comfortable position. “You know, I was just thinking how nice it is not to be hit with a wall of smoke the instant I walk through the door. Not to mention that I no longer stink to high heaven when I go home at night. That system you put in was worth every penny.” Which reminded her, she still had to talk to Coop about being reimbursed for it—but not right this minute. She'd give him a little room first to
recover from whatever bug had bit his butt. Shooting Kody another smile, she thanked God for laid-back men. “I've got a few more orders to take, then I'll be back with your beer.”

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her from beneath half-mast eyelids. “Looking forward to it.”

She didn't know if it was her own good mood or what, but there seemed to be a nicer class of clientele in here tonight. Several people actually went out of their way to tell her how sorry they'd been to hear about Crystal, which she found both kind and friendly. Her memories of the bar during her college years consisted mainly of dealing with the drunks who'd pawed her and given her a bad time, but for all she knew there'd always been a mix of perfectly nice neighborhood people. It was possible they hadn't stuck in her mind because she'd been young, and fielding personal remarks about her lack of curves and dodging wandering hands that grabbed for them anyway had a nasty way of overshadowing all else.

Whatever the reason, it felt as though she smiled and chatted with more patrons in the short time she spent collecting orders than she'd done in all her previous nights combined.

She danced up to the bar. A stool was available and she climbed up on it, having learned to take every opportunity to get off her feet. When Coop came down from the other end where he'd been making change for a patron, she gave him her most dazzling smile. “I need one Bud, a vodka collins and a Cutty on the rocks, a pitcher of Heineken and four glasses, a Manhattan, a diet Pepsi, and a tequila sunrise.” “Turn It Loose” was playing on the jukebox, and she joined the
Judds with an enthusiastic “mo-woe-woan” in the chorus, tapping her foot in time with the music.

“You're awful damn cheery,” Coop said sourly as he assembled the drinks for her order. “You got a hot date later on with the refrigerator man, or something?”