Murder on the Hoof: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) (9 page)

Her boots clunked as she descended the stairs, entered the kitchen, retrieved the corsage from the refrigerator, where she had been storing it to keep it fresh, and crossed to the hall bathroom to attempt pinning it on so that Pinky wouldn’t have to. She flipped on the light and, after poking herself twice, managed to get the corsage situated reasonably well on her dress.

She stared at her reflection. It had been a long time since she had worn makeup. The sight of her with pink lipstick, blush, and mascara took her back to middle school days, when her mother would come home with makeup samples from the department store. On those days, she would invite friends for a slumber party and they would attempt applying bloodred lipstick, pink rouge, blue eye shadow, and mascara. Their application had always been a little too thick, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that they all had the beauty of youth, they would have looked like clowns. Maybe the lipstick is too much, she thought, and was about to wipe it off with a tissue, when the doorbell rang.

She checked the time on the clock in the living room as she crossed through the foyer to the front door. She hoped it wasn’t a solicitation. She really did need to leave soon if she was going to make it to her meeting on time. She opened the door and her jaw dropped.

“Pinky,” she squeaked.

“Yeehaw,” Pinky said, giving her an appreciative once-over. “I see you got the corsage.”

“Yes. What are you doing here?”

“Picking you up.” He gestured to the limo behind him. “Your chariot awaits.”

He didn’t just say that, she thought. “I thought we were meeting at the restaurant.”

“Won’t it be nicer to take the limo? That way, you can enjoy the wine without having to worry about driving. Shall we?”

“Let me grab my wallet and phone,” she said, and left him standing on the porch as she darted into the kitchen. Once out of sight, she leaned against the counter and took a deep breath. If the guys at the station got wind of this, she’d never hear the end of it. She scooped up her wallet, phone, and keys, put on a smile, and rejoined Pinky. “Ready.”

He descended the steps and opened the limousine door for her. She had to admit that he was rather dashing in his perfectly tailored linen suit. And he smelled good, too. She slid into the limo, careful to keep her skirt down. He got in next to her and closed the door. What I won’t do for my job, she thought, and inspected the limousine’s interior as they began their trip.

“Champagne?” he asked, gesturing toward a bottle chilling in an ice bucket positioned on the seat opposite them.

“No, thank you,” she said. “You know, this is the first time I’ve been in a limo.”

“What do you think?”

“Not bad,” she said, honestly impressed.

He beamed. They rode south on Route 12 toward Duck in silence, which both surprised and relieved her. She had been worried that Pinky might make a romantic advance in the vehicle, but, thus far, he was being a perfect gentleman.

“Thank you for the corsage,” she said, deciding maybe she could handle this strange date-meeting after all.

“I thought freesia and baby’s breath quite appropriate,” he said, proud of his selection.

She glanced at the corsage. “So that’s what the pink flower is—freesia. Smells nice.”

He shifted in the seat to face her. “Freesia is known for its citrus fragrance. It’s thought to symbolize friendship, trust, high-spiritedness, and perseverance. You can decide which one I was thinking of for you.”

“Friendship?”

“If you say so,” he said with a mischievous twinkle.

“How do you know so much about flowers?”

“Mama worked at a florist shop. She used to tell me all about flowers as a boy. The knowledge came in handy with the ladies later.”

Ah, there’s the Pinky I know, she thought.

“She would have approved of my choice for you.”

“Since you won’t tell me why you made the choice, I’ll have to take your word for it.”

He gave her a sly smile. “Grace under pressure.”

“What?”

“Mama used to recommend freesia for someone who demonstrates grace under pressure.”

“Oh,” she said, uncertain how she should take the compliment. “Thanks.”

“Freesia is also given for seven-year wedding anniversaries.”

“Obviously, that’s not us,” she said with a chuckle.

“Indeed it is.”

“Really?” she said, now turning in the seat to face him with raised brows. “You and I married?”

“Is that a proposal?” he asked with a wink.

“I think you know me better.”

“Indeed I do.” He was clearly enjoying himself. “We may not be married, but this is an anniversary of sorts for us. We met seven years ago this month … and it had nothing to do with my business.”

She tried to recall when she had first met Pinky. As far back as she could recall, her interactions with him had always concerned his development company and his habit of burning debris. When had they met before? Could it have been at a community event? Had it been for some official opening of a local business? Nothing came to mind.

“You don’t remember.”

“And you’re not going to tell me.”

“Nope,” Pinky said, pleased.

Fine. Don’t tell me, she thought. But the seed had been planted, and she spent the remainder of the ride trying, unsuccessfully, to recall her first meeting with Antonio Salvatore.

They reached the restaurant and the chauffeur dropped them off near the bookstore. Shoppers stopped to stare as she and Pinky alighted from the vehicle. She had temporarily forgotten about her outrageous attire and was suddenly self-conscious again as they walked to the restaurant’s front door. The sooner they got inside and out of the public eye, the better.

Colleen hadn’t dined at Elizabeth’s Café since attending an engagement party for a friend several years ago, but as far as she could tell, nothing had changed. An impeccably trained woman ushered them past the wine-tasting gallery to a table in the corner near the fireplace and informed them their server would be with them shortly. A votive candle burned brightly atop the lace tablecloth and the light bounced off the polished silverware and Riedel wineglasses. The owner and staff at Elizabeth’s clearly took fine dining seriously. Colleen placed her phone at the corner of the table and checked the time. They were perfectly punctual for the restaurant’s second seating at 8:15.

“You best hide that,” Pinky said, indicating her phone.

“They have something against phones here?” she asked, thinking he was being silly.

“No, but it is frowned upon.”

She scanned the tables of the other patrons. No phones in sight. She switched off the ringer, slipped the phone into her lap, and covered it with her napkin.

The server arrived and explained the unique filtration system that was used for the water as she poured them each a glass. Colleen smiled absently as the server described the evening’s menu and discussed wine selections with Pinky. This isn’t a bad first date, she thought, if you want to be on a date with Antonio Salvatore. From the looks Pinky had received as they had entered the restaurant, a lot of women would have traded places with her. But the heart wants what the heart wants, and right now her heart wanted Bill. Besides, she thought, it would be hard to imagine two people more different than me and Pinky.

“So,” she said once the server had departed. “Should we talk about the house you’re donating to the station?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Everything I’ve seen looks fine. My only concern is the lumber on the deck.”

“You want me to have it removed?”

“For the safety of my guys … yes. I can’t risk arsenic gas or ash exposure, not to mention the illness it could cause if anything blew down the beach.”

“Consider it done,” he said. “That’s actually one of the reasons I’m giving it to you. Once I bought the property, I realized I wasn’t going to renovate. My decks are made of recycled plastics. It may be more expensive, but it’s safer and better for the environment.”

“I’m impressed. Most people don’t realize how dangerous it is to burn pressure-treated wood.”

“It’s part of my job to know.”

“Yes, well, with all due respect, you and I have had conversations before about burning debris—something that isn’t good for the environment.”

Pinky’s cheeks flushed pink. It was the first time she had seen him blush.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” he said, gesturing to the interior of the restaurant, “I’m trying a new approach to spending time with you.”

“Also better for the environment,” she said with a smile, and took a sip of her water. “So, are you going to give me a clue?”

“A clue?”

“About when we first met.”

He grinned. “I’ll give you this much: It was a festive occasion.”

“So it was a community event,” she said, trying to get him to reveal more.

“My lips are sealed,” he replied, and took a sip of water.

Her phone buzzed in her lap. It was Jimmy.

“Will you excuse me? It’s the station.”

“Of course,” he said, and rose as she left the table.

She hurried the length of the restaurant and out the front door. “Hey, Jimmy,” she said, descending the steps of the restaurant’s porch. “Everything okay?”

“Call came in. Possible gas leak at Rich Bailey’s house.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, instantly suspicious of the timing so soon after Rich’s death.

“A neighbor noticed Rich’s window was broken. Looks like a B and E.”

“And the leak?”

“Sheriff’s Department called it in. We’re on our way.”

Colleen was already heading back into the restaurant. “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” she said, hung up, and returned to the table.

“Bad news,” Pinky said, knowing from her expression their date was over.

“A possible gas leak. I’m sorry, but—”

“I already took care of the bill,” he said, interrupting. “The limo is waiting.”

“Thanks,” she said. The two exited the restaurant and hurried to the waiting car.

She impatiently watched the scenery roll by as the limo traveled north on Route 12. Summer evenings were always busy and the traffic rarely allowed opportunities for passing slower cars on the two-lane road. The chauffeur was trying his best, but there really wasn’t anything he could do. If Pinky hadn’t showed up unexpectedly at her house to take her to the restaurant, she would have had her SUV and been able to clear the road with the emergency lights and siren. In anticipation of arriving at the scene, she reached back to pull her hair up, as was her habit when out on calls. She tugged at her sleeves uncomfortably, and it was only then that she remembered what she was wearing. She exhaled loudly.

“Everything okay?” Pinky asked.

Not only would the guys at the station tease her about her attire but they’d actually see her out with Pinky. Maybe she could get him to drop her at the scene and leave … or, better yet, drop her down the block and she could walk. No, Pinky would never leave her on the side of the road. He enjoyed playing the role of gentleman too much. She was going to have to face her guys. There was no escaping it.

“I’m fine,” she said, resigned to her fate. “I just wish I wasn’t dressed like this.”

“I like it. I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress before.”

“That’s because I don’t wear them unless I have to—no offense.”

“On the contrary, I’m flattered,” he said. “You clean up rather nicely, by the way. Wait until Sheriff Dorman sees you.”

She slumped in the seat and hung her head. How was she going to explain this to Bill?

Chapter 8

The second Colleen’s
bedazzled fuchsia cowboy boot emerged from Pinky’s limo and hit the pavement, she knew she was in trouble. She had prepared for the whistles, the comments, and the looks. What she hadn’t prepared for was the stunned silence. She stood and waited, still as a statue, and braced herself for … nothing. After a few seconds, she took a breath. Maybe my outfit isn’t that outrageous, she thought, and crossed to the engine, where her men were waiting.

“What’s the status?” she asked as Jimmy turned from speaking with Bobby and Chip.

Jimmy’s eyes widened, seeing her for the first time in the bridesmaid’s getup. He cleared his throat. “We’ve been inside. No gas. Ran the detector throughout. Bill swears he smelled it, though, so I don’t know.”

She surveyed the house. “Any possibility there are chemicals from Rich’s business inside?”

“We tested. Nothing like that.”

“I’ll have a look around. If it checks out, you all can head back,” she said, and marched toward the house.

“Everything okay?” Pinky asked from where he was standing by the limo.

She realized she’d better send Pinky on his way, especially since Bill was around. “Sorry. I need to check this out. The guys will give me a lift back to the station.”

“Of course,” he said, disappointed. “Perhaps another time.”

“Perhaps. And thanks for making those changes to the house.”

“Always happy to help the fire department,” he said with a wink.

She waited for the limo to leave before heading into Rich’s house to see what she could find out about the possible leak. She noted the broken foyer glass as she crossed the threshold. Whoever broke in must have reached through the window and unlocked the door. She wasn’t surprised Rich didn’t have an alarm. Few of the year-round residents did. Alarms were mostly installed on the vacation homes and typically succeeded only in inadvertently locking the renters out.

Her first stop was the kitchen. Most often when a gas leak was reported, a blown-out pilot light on the stove was to blame. She didn’t think she’d find anything—her guys were thorough, particularly after the incident with Myrtle’s house earlier in the summer—but she wanted to be sure. She surveyed the cheerful kitchen with its white cabinets and stainless-steel appliances. The tile counter, sink, coffeemaker, toaster—all were spotless. She wondered if Rich’s background and work with bodies had made him particularly conscious of cleanliness. She checked the stove burners and the oven, but there was no evidence of a leak and the room was missing the smell of natural gas.