Playing Dead in Dixie (13 page)

She hesitated long enough for him to turn his questioning gaze toward her.  "Richard Stockton University.  In New Jersey.  I worked the whole time I was attending, so I graduated only a couple of years ago.  But I do have a degree."

"Which I can't check on, since I don't know your real name."  Wes gave her a wry look.

Carly said nothing.  She wasn't about to tell Wes her real name.  If he started nosing around in her background, Manning would hear about it.  He wouldn't hesitate to send a goon squad down to Bangor to mop up his mess.

And if that happened, she had a feeling she wouldn't be the only one to end up dead.

"From what you told me, you sound like you know what you're doing," Wes admitted.  "I think you should be able to finish your preliminary investigation.  I'll talk to Floyd."

"I don't think you should."

Wes's eyes narrowed.  "Why not?"

Carly spoke carefully.  "I'm not sure Sherry's done anything wrong.  I want to make that clear."

"Understood."

"But she has the access to the books.  If there's fraud going on, she's our main suspect.  And that's the problem.  Even if we're subtle about how we approach him, there's no way Floyd won't realize that we're looking into Sherry's activities."

"He'd hate thinking Sherry had betrayed him that way."

Carly nodded.  "Exactly.  That's why I tried to check the books without anyone knowing it.  It wouldn't be fair to Floyd or to Sherry to put that kind of suspicion in his mind.  Not until we have evidence."

Wes frowned a moment, nodding slowly.  Suddenly, he met her gaze, a smile flirting with his lips.  "You know, Floyd and Bonnie have an anniversary coming up."

She cocked her head, not following.  "Good for them."

"Floyd always takes her to Savannah for dinner.  Maybe this time, I could pay for an overnight stay at one of the bed-and-breakfast places they have there and give it to them for their anniversary.  That would give us all night at the store.  Floyd wouldn't have to know."

"Us?" 
All night?

"I think I should be there."

Carly's stomach coiled.  "You don't trust me."

"Should I?"

He had a point.  "Okay.  We'll do it your way.  What day?"

"Next Monday.  Try to make sure you're on the schedule for that day."  Wes pocketed the car keys and opened his door.  "So, you ever eaten possum?"

HE'D BEEN TEASING HER about the opossum.  But Melba's menu included a couple of items Carly had never heard of.  "Pot Likker?" she asked, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the raucous laughter of their fellow diners and the live country band covering an old Creedence Clearwater Revival standard with more enthusiasm than musicality.

"It's the liquid from stewed greens, in this case, turnip greens.  Melba says collard greens stink up the place too much."

"Okay, I'll pass on the Pot Likker and cornbread.  What's good here?"

"The hot wings are good, if you can stand a little heat."

She grinned.  "Bring it on, Bubba."

He smiled at her over the stained, tattered-edged menu.  "I'd suggest beer with that, but unless you can come up with a photo I.D., they won't serve you."

"Sorry, fresh out of those.  But thanks for thinking I could pass for twenty."  She laid down the menu.  "Of course, you can't drink, either, because you have to drive."

He shook his head.  "Great.  We'll be the only two sober people in the place."

Probably better that way, she thought.  He was hard enough to resist when she
wasn't
all liquored up.  "So, do you come here often?"

"Not too often.  I thought it might be an interesting experience for you.  You know, a trip to a genuine south Georgia honky-tonk."  He pronounced it "gen-yu-wine," making her smile.

"It's not a genuine honky-tonk if they serve food," she countered, mimicking his pronunciation.

He arched one eyebrow.

"You think we don't have honky-tonks in New Jersey?  Not that we call them that.  But believe me, the only difference is that you guys talk funny and even your drunks are more polite."

He laughed aloud.  It was a nice sound, deep and rumbling.  He didn't laugh enough, she decided.  She was going to have to find a way to remedy that.

He waved over the plump, bleached-blond waitress.  "Hey there, Tammy, you havin' a good night?"

"Always a good 'un when you show up, darlin'."  Tammy bent over the table, giving Wes a good view of her tanned cleavage.  "Want your usual?"

"No, I think we'll be having the hot wings."

"Nuclear option.  Got it.  Whatcha drinkin'?"

"Water for me, and lots of it.  Carly?"

"Same.  Can I get it with lemon?"

Tammy looked at her oddly.  "In the water?"

Carly nodded.

"You ain't from around here, are you?"  Tammy didn't wait for an answer, heading toward the back to place their order.

"I don't know why everyone asks you that," Wes murmured.

"No one puts lemon in their water down here?"

"Of course they do.  Just not in places like this."

"So, I've gotta know, what's your usual, darlin'?"  Carly shot him a grin.

"They have a great cheeseburger here, but I had beef last night.  I'm trying to limit my red meat.  I'm not a kid anymore."

She made a face.  "Yeah, you're decrepit."

In the corner, the band finished their cover of an Eagles song and settled into something soft and slow.

"Want to dance?" Wes asked.

Carly looked up at him sharply.  "Think that's a good idea?"

"No.  But do you wanna?"

Why not?  It wasn't like this was a date.  It was more of a business dinner.

In a bar.  Slow dancing.

Wes took her hand and led her to the small dance floor, where a handful of other couples were swaying to the band's crooning ballad.  He pulled her into his arms, tucking her left hand against his chest and resting his cheek against her hair.

They fit, she realized as her body molded perfectly against his, soft to his hard.  Enfolded in his warmth, she breathed deeply, filling her lungs with his clean, male scent.

She wanted to stay this way forever.  His arms around her, his breath warm against her temple.  For the first time since she left Atlantic City—perhaps for the first time in her life—she felt safe.

It was an illusion, of course.  Deep in her pragmatic soul, she knew there was nowhere safe on earth, nowhere that Dominick Manning couldn't find her.  Especially if she made a mistake like throwing away a lifetime's worth of lessons about the folly of getting involved.

But just this one night, was it really so foolish to wish away the world outside this badly-lit little bar in the middle of nowheresville?

"Floyd's going to be so hurt if Sherry's the one who's messing with the books."  Wes's voice rumbled in her ear.  "He was good friends with her daddy most of his life.  He thinks of her like family."

Carly closed her eyes, not wanting to talk about Floyd or Sherry or the hardware store.  Maybe if she just stayed quiet, he'd drop the subject and she could get back to pretending she was on an ordinary date with a great-looking guy who had no reason for being with her tonight other than a passion that neither of them could deny.

Was that so wrong?

"Do you really think it's her?"

She sighed against his neck.  "She has the best access to the books.  She'd be my top suspect."

Wes fell silent.  She felt tension bunching in his shoulders.

She knew he had more to say.  "Why do you ask?"

"I've been trying to convince myself it's got to be someone else.  I mean, I've known Sherry since we were kids.  I'd hate to think she could hurt Floyd that way.  But the more I think about it, the stranger it is that she'd come to me about finding that paper in the files.  A normal person would have assumed there was probably a simple explanation.  And even if she was suspicious, she'd have gone to Floyd first, not the police."

"Sherry's not a normal person," Carly countered wryly.  "And I get the feeling she'd love an excuse to see you anytime, anywhere."

Wes drew his head back.  "Does that bother you?"

Carly arched her eyebrow at him.

"But why wouldn't she tell Floyd?" he continued after a moment or two of silence.  "Unless—"

"Unless she didn't want Floyd to look too closely at the books."

Wes nodded.  "She wanted me to talk Floyd into keeping you from closing the store anymore.  But she didn't want the suggestion to come from her."

Carly pressed her cheek against his shoulder.  "Why would she take money from Floyd?  She doesn't need money, if her clothes are anything to go by."

"I don't know.  She went through a divorce a little over a year ago, but as far as I know, she got a good settlement."

"Well, let's not assume anything yet.  She's a good suspect, but there are a lot of ways to commit fraud."  Carly nuzzled against his collar.  He smelled good.  He felt good.  The rumble of his voice against her ear sounded good.  She closed her eyes again, willing him to drop the subject of the hardware store and Sherry Clayton and get back to the business of driving her mad with the slow, sensual brush of his hips against hers in time to the music.

"You're not dozing off, are you?" he murmured in her ear.

"No, but only because you keep talking."

He laughed, the sound rippling up from his chest and flowing over her like liquid warmth.

She nuzzled closer to him.  "You should laugh more.  It sounds nice."

He ran his hand lightly over the curve of her spine.  "I have to say, I do like your new outfit."

"I'm sure Shannon will be happy to make one for you," she said, hoping to evoke another laugh.

He rewarded her with another rumbling chuckle.  It faded too quickly.  "Did Shannon look okay to you?"

"She seemed tired, and her back was hurting her.  She's only a couple of weeks from her due date; I guess that comes with the territory."  She'd been the youngest of her mother's three children, so she hadn't had much personal experience with pregnancies, but the few times she'd worked with pregnant co-workers, they'd all been tired and cranky near their due dates.

"I suppose that's it."

To Carly's disappointment, the slow song came to an end, and the band immediately went into a Charlie Daniels standard.  Wes took her hand and led her back to the table, where they found two glasses of iced water waiting.

Carly took the slice of lemon sitting on a napkin by her glass and squeezed it into the water.   "It must be hard for Shannon, having to face her baby's delivery without her husband with her."

"How much has she told you about Jimmy Wayne?"

Carly frowned, sensing an odd undercurrent of darkness in the question.  "Just that they were high school sweethearts and that he died in a car accident a couple of weeks before their eleventh anniversary."

Wes looked intently at his water, circling his fingertip around the rim of the glass.

"Why do you ask?" she added when it became clear he wasn't going to say anything more.

"No reason."

"No, there's definitely a reason.  Is it something about Jimmy Wayne?"  Her stomach tightened.  "Was he bad to her?"

Wes looked at her, his eyes narrowing.  "Not bad.  Not the way you're thinking.  He just never quite graduated from high school, if you know what I mean."

She knew exactly what he meant.  Her father had been the same sort of guy, living off the short, glorious days when he'd been the most popular young stud in Little Italy and managed to steal the heart of a pretty Irish girl who'd had her own choice of suitors.  "Did that have anything to do with his accident?"

"He and a kid from the next county over decided to drag race down a stretch of highway just east of here.  Jimmy lost control and rolled his truck down an embankment."  Wes pressed his lips together.  "Idiot wasn't even wearing a seat belt."

Carly shuddered.  "Poor Shannon."

"She loved him.  But she wasn't blind to his faults.  When I broke the news to her, she didn't even look surprised."  Wes took a drink.  "She deserves better."

Carly cocked her head, swallowing a sharp pang of jealousy.  "You seem really fond of her."

He made a face.  "If you're matchmaking, you're way off."

She hid her relief.  "Not me.  I'm not the meddling kind."

"Yeah, you're a real hands off sort."  He gave her a pointed look.  "Wouldn't dream of, oh, let's say, sneaking a look at your employer's ledgers, would you?"

Tammy arrived with their orders, saving Carly from having to respond.

"I CAN'T FEEL MY TONGUE."  Carly took another mouthful of crushed ice.

"That's why they give you the cup of ice to go."  Wes's own mouth was on fire, though he wasn't about to admit it.  The ice Carly was crunching looked damned tempting at the moment.

"The wings were great, though," she mumbled around the ice.  "And I think I'd have enjoyed the peach cobbler if I had any taste buds left."

He couldn't contain a grin.  If only she weren't a mysterious, secretive stranger with a hidden agenda he had yet to discover, the evening would have been the best date he'd had in a long time.  If nothing else, Carly was entertaining.  She had a quirky sense of humor and loved to laugh.  He liked hearing her laugh, liked the way the sound burst from her lungs in full-throat, uninhibited and unalloyed.

He'd also liked the way she'd felt in his arms when they were dancing, warm and small and curvy, her hair soft and fragrant against his cheek.

She . . . fit.  Her curves nestled perfectly against his body, her head reaching just high enough to rest against his shoulder when they danced.

What he was beginning to feel for her was all sorts of dangerous.  And short of staying away from her altogether, he didn't know how to stop it from happening.  Even when he tried to avoid her, fate intervened to keep him involved.  Look at tonight.  He'd gone to his aunt's house to blow the whistle on Carly for poking around in her uncle's business and ended up taking her out to dinner and plotting how to sneak another look at his uncle's book.

She was a very bad influence.