Look Before You Jump (10 page)

Bobby pushed fries around his plate, chose
one then swirled it in a mound of ketchup. “Amy’s mom died from a
drug overdose a couple of years ago. It’s what brought us back from
serving in Central America.”

That one stopped me. “Drugs?”

“Yeah,” Bobby admitted. “Her mom was a
lifetime user, though she was high functioning for years. I’d never
have known it at our wedding if Amy hadn’t warned me
beforehand.”

Drug use – that brought on a whole slew of
possibilities for what happened to Amy. But it still didn’t explain
the rest of her family’s absence at the funeral.

“What about her dad?”

“Amy never knew her father.”

Now this was getting interesting. Talk about
your church ladies gone wild. If the tongue waggers at the church
got ahold of this dishy bite, they’d be busy for months gnawing on
that bone. As open as Amy was, I doubt she would’ve shared this
tainted tidbit anytime soon – even with me, regardless of the
cosmic connection she’d felt between us.

“Did your mom and dad know Amy’s secrets?” I
asked.

“See that’s the thing,” Bobby returned. “Amy
never thought of them as secrets. They were simply a part of her
life’s journey. Challenges that steered her toward a better life,
though she’d have done anything to rescue her mom from drugs. And
she tried.” Bobby’s face clouded with anger. “But my parents were
insistent Amy keep her
dirty laundry
out of the church.”

“
Her
dirty laundry? Not like it was
Amy’s fault her mom chose to get mixed up in drugs.”

“Didn’t stop my mom from thinking of her as
the devil’s spawn.”

The burger slid sideways down my throat. I
coughed so hard the stuck steer splashed right into my beer. “Did
she really call Amy that?” I asked as I fished around in my
drink.

“Might as well. The phrase
Mexican
trash
spewed out of her mouth only an hour ago.”

“But Amy was your wife,” I replied in
horror.

Bobby shrugged and sighed, dropping the
ketchup-drenched fry as if he’d lost his appetite. “Nothing’s
changed in the years since I left. Seems all Mother cares about is
appearances. And Amy didn’t measure up in her mind.”

“When it comes to your mom, no woman ever
could.”

And I knew that firsthand. I wanted to march
right over to the Vernet mansion and hose down Mary Jo with warm
beer. Host a cow chip throwing contest on their front lawn. No, wet
t-shirt night. That’d get the neighbors talking. But we’d never get
everyone past security. Hell,
I
probably would never get
past security again after today. I only hoped my day pass didn’t
expire before retrieving my car.

“Now do you understand why I had to get away
all those years ago?” Bobby asked.

“I’m beginning to.”

“They make it almost impossible to practice
the command to honor thy father and mother if I’m anywhere within a
five-hundred mile radius. If there was any chance to find a real
relationship with the Lord, a real relationship with a woman, I had
to escape the family trappings.” He pushed his plate aside and
looked me square in the eyes. “Does that make sense?”

More than you know, Bobby Boy. More than you
know.

***

Does sharing two different meals with two
different guys in one day make me a certified hussy?

Don’t answer that.

After a lifetime of dining in the most
expensive and glamorous five-star restaurants around the world, I’d
come to discover that expensive didn’t necessarily mean tasty. Most
of the time it translated into exotic, strange, and just downright
unappetizing – at least to this youngster. What kid wants to roll a
dollop of slimy snail around in her mouth, regardless of the wasted
fifty bucks? Ugh!

When the status of my pocketbook changed
after my flight to freedom, Zeke had introduced me to some of the
best food Dallas had to offer. Though the dive appearances had
originally given me pause, what they lacked in ambience and
aesthetics they more than made up for in mouthwatering
deliciousness – at reasonable prices to boot. Even so, our favorite
Italian dive,
La Buona Cibo Vino
, tipped the top of my
current wallet’s scale.

Financial concerns melted away with my first
bite of shrimp manicotti. “Mmm. It’s been too long.”

Zeke cocked an eyebrow. “Stopped coming to
our place after you stormed away?”

I wouldn’t dignify Zeke’s attempt to goad me.
“More like out of financial considerations.”

“Things that bad?”

“Just restocking the coffers. The Vette
needed some heavy-duty maintenance this year and set me back a
pretty penny.”

That got me a snort. “That car is a money
pit. Don’t know why you keep it.”

“Because it’s
my
money pit,” I said.
“A gift that keeps on giving.”

“But I know how you feel about the
giver.”

“It’s my name on the title, and that’s all
that matters.”

I plopped another bite of manicotti in my
mouth for good measure and smiled around the cheese. After all the
cotillion training, Mom would be ashamed if she saw me, though she
should’ve realized I was a lost cause after I threw up all over the
floor on my first day of kindergarten. Or after tripping over the
threshold entering a swanky restaurant after church on Sunday and
exposing my Hello Kitty undies to an astonished crowd. Then there
was the time I tore down the aisle of the old church during the
kid’s Christmas production, ruining my grand entrance as the Virgin
Mary and launching the Baby Jesus doll into the audience to escape
the rampaging donkey colt.

But that was all before I’d descended into my
present day adult anarchy.

Zeke just shook his head as if he’d had a
front row seat to my walk down memory lane. “So why’re you really
snooping around for Bobby? Hoping to jump back on that bandwagon
now that the wife is out of the way?”

I so wanted to spit cheese in Zeke’s face.
“That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“You always were good at playing us against
each other in high school.”

“You’re thinking of Lorraine Padget.”

That stopped him for a second. “Nah, I was
thinking of you and me.”

“There is no you and me. There is no me and
him. Bobby was my friend.
Is
my friend and always will be.
That’s it. Case closed.”

“You wish,” Zeke mumbled into his loaded
meat-lovers lasagna.

I ignored the jab, but it got me thinking.
Was my past with Bobby really a closed deal? Sure he was still
finger-lickin’ good-looking. Yeah my heart did a little pitty pat
where Bobby was concerned, and my panties rode the tilt-a-whirl on
occasion.

But the guy was a pastor now, which is a
no-go in my book. There’s no way I’d ever desire to hold the title
of
pastor’s wife
, so why bother admiring the goods on the
shelf? Besides, the shelf life on my virginity expired a long time
ago, and we all know what Mary Jo Vernet thought of that. This
outlaw putting up with the Vernets as in-laws? A big nuh to the uh.
Bobby and me a couple? Not an option.

“If you’re done living in the past, let’s
bring this meeting to order,” I urged in my best Judge Judy
voice.

“Fine. Did you talk to Bobby?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“He and Amy had a very open marriage.”

“Open as in…”

“Honesty, Zeke. Open and honest,” I said.
“Gee, get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Sounds to me like yours is the mind that’s
gutter bound.”

“Hey, if you want me to pick up tonight’s
tab, you better lay off.”

“What about the lack of family at Amy’s
funeral?” Zeke asked, zeroing in and right back on track like a
good Ranger.

“Bobby said her mom died of a drug overdose a
couple of years ago,” I offered. “I understand she was a lifelong
user.”

“Father?”

“Never knew him.”

While Zeke chewed on that thought, I signaled
a wine refill from the waiter. If my checkbook balance was going to
drop tonight, it might as well go down happy. Or at least make me
feel happy so I could wake up feeling like I got something out of
the night. After all, Zeke drove so I could drink all I wanted.

Then again, wine always did things to me.
Strange things. Made me feel all warm and gooey inside. Warm enough
to do something really stupid if I wasn’t careful. One more glass
wouldn’t hurt, but then I’d have to call it quits. I already had
Nick complicating my life. The boss too. Now Bobby, but in a
different way. Cross my heart.

Oh man. Maybe I am a slut riding the express
train straight to Hell. I dropped my fork into the manicotti and
sighed.

“What’s eatin’ you?” Zeke asked.

I glared. “Really poor choice of words right
about now.”

That got me a smirk and an intense – and
interested – stare from molten eyes edging toward ebony. Sent my
womb into a swoon. I clenched my thighs together with a firm mental
no
and reminded my wine-soaked brain of Zeke’s two-timing
ways with the pageanted Padget. Then there was that resolve to
stave off men.

Yeah, yeah, I know. It hadn’t worked with
Nick either. Don’t remind me.

Zeke continued with the questions. “Did Bobby
have any idea why Amy was at your building then?”

I shook my head. “Last thing he remembered
was hearing her get up that night, assuming she was going to the
bathroom. Pregnancy and all that, you know.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Zeke replied.

My turn to stare. “
Anyway
, he must’ve
gone right back to sleep since he didn’t hear the car start.”

“Where’s their bedroom in proximity to the
garage?”

“Haven’t a clue. Never been to their
house.”

Zeke cocked a brow in disbelief. What is it
with all the suspicion? I usually got it from the church crowd, but
I don’t think Zeke has sat in the family pew for a few years
either. Longer than me even.

“Garage doors cause quite a racket,” Zeke
said.

“They just moved in though. Maybe the car
wasn’t in the garage.”

“Do me a favor then. Surprise Bobby with a
visit to get the lay of the land.”

“That might work,” I mused. “What about your
end? Did you check the case file? See any good reason to poke your
nose in it?”

Zeke pushed his empty plate away before
tipping back the remainder of wine like throwing down a shot. His
tongue curled to capture a drop at the edge of his lip. My pulse
skipped its usual rhythm as I recalled the talents in that tongue –
and I ain’t talking syntax.

Had someone turned the air conditioning off
in here? I gulped ice water to temper my enflamed memories. Yeah,
I’d definitely had too much wine.

“The report is pretty straight-forward,” Zeke
stated. “No appearance of struggle on the rooftop. None of your
neighbors reported hearing anything out of the ordinary. By all
appearances, the scene suggests suicide.”

“What about toxicology?”

Zeke leaned forward and touched my
fingertips. “You were always good at talking my language.”

The right thing to do in that moment would’ve
been to remove my hand, but the familiar zing of his touch sent
luxuriating chills down my spine to my overactive nether regions.
My brain turned sluggish as I stared at my empty glass. How much
wine had I drunk?

“And?” It was the only answer I could get
past my thick tongue.

“An over-the-counter sedative was discovered
in her system.”

“Wouldn’t that be dangerous to take while
pregnant?”

“I called the M.E. It’s commonly used, even
during pregnancy.”

I finally succeeded in convincing my brain to
remove my hands from the table to my lap. “So you share the police
department’s conclusion?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So what are you saying, Ranger Taylor?”

“Something’s missing from the report.”

My turn to lean forward in breathless
anticipation, and it wasn’t because of Zeke’s musky scent. “What’s
missing?”

His nose was mere inches from mine.
“Footprints.”

Cars in the driveway? Check.

The question of vehicle location crossed off
my list as I rounded the corner onto Bobby’s tree-lined street and
saw the moving boxes crammed into the open garage. A few were piled
along the sidewalk for the sanitation crew, and Bobby added one
more as I parked along the curb with a wave – and received a
half-hearted one in return. Hmm. Rough day.

My day wasn’t shaping up much better. Mom had
acted none too thrilled when I’d cut our Tuesday luncheon short and
skipped out on afternoon shopping. You would’ve thought she’d be
happy with the credit card reprieve, but it didn’t stop the barrage
of questions she peppered my way.

Where’re you going?

Who will you be with?

Who will you really be with?

Why can’t you go another day?

This doesn’t have anything to do with Robert,
does it?

‘Course I expertly deflected all of the
questions. For the most part. Maybe. If Mom smelled any hint of my
true destination, she would’ve bashed me over the head and tossed
my carcass in her trunk faster than I could down a shot of Jack.
Actually she’d probably have had a waiter do it, but I digress.

Bobby squinted through the sunlight and
scowled at my gauzy, white dress. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna help
in that?”

I pulled a bag from the passenger’s seat and
slung the strap over my sore shoulders. Yesterday’s target practice
had already come back to haunt me. Helping Bobby move boxes today
was gonna be the final thing to send my muscles packing – or in
this case unpacking. Oh the things I do for friends.

“Brought a change of clothes,” I called.

“Well come on then.”

His jeans and t-shirt were coated with dust
and marred with sweat. Why is it that guys still look good even
when they’re grimy? I remember how sweaty Bobby and Zeke had
appeared after winning a high school basketball game – and I
would’ve still given my right arm to have had them hold me and lay
on a big one even then. But girls? We women were expected to look
picture perfect at all times. Our hair in place, makeup perfect,
and clothes neat even after playing a round of coed softball in the
middle of July. Or hitting the shooting range. It just wasn’t
fair.