That Touch of Ink (11 page)

SIXTEEN

I whipped around and pressed my back against the door to keep it shut.

“Get out of here!” I yelled.

“Have you lost your mind?” he asked. “This is private property.”

“Yes, it is private property. It’s
my
private property. What about you? Who asked you to water my garden?”

“Your garden?”

“My garden.”

“I knew there was a reason I wanted to water it.”

“Go away, Lieutenant.”

“I don’t think so, Night.”

“Then be a gentleman and get away from the front door so I can pick up my towel.”

“Consider it done.”

I turned my head to the side and watched Tex walk down the three concrete stairs out front. When I could no longer see him, I turned my head to the other side. He disappeared around the side of the house. I scooped up the faded towel from the floor and wrapped it around my torso, securing the end under my left arm. I went upstairs.

I put the damp pajamas on and looked out the bathroom window. Tex stood, hands on hips, assessing the condition of the flower beds. His apparent interest in gardening was unexpected.

“Wait there,” I called out the window. “I have to talk to you about something.” I went back downstairs and out the front door. Tex hadn’t moved. I felt about as naked in my pajamas as I had when I was naked.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Terry Johnson left me this house. There were a couple thousand dollars in back taxes due, but I thought what the heck, so I paid them. Right now, nobody knows I own this place except me, you, and the real estate agent who made it all happen. I want to keep it that way.”

“Where’s your car?”

“In the garage.”

“You’re trying to lay low,” he said. “Avoiding someone.”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Detective?” I said, forgetting for a moment that Tex actually was a detective. “Care to elaborate on why you’re here at the house once owned by the mother of your ex-girlfriend from twenty years ago? That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that there’s trouble in police paradise, would it? I’m guessing she wouldn’t like knowing you’re here tending my garden.”

“Night, if you want me to take you seriously, you’re going to have to stop talking about your untended garden.” He smiled a half smile and turned around. “Okay, okay,” he said, hands up like he was surrendering. “I’ll leave.”

“Wait—” I said, throwing a hand out to catch his arm. “I don’t have anything here. Phone, wallet, clothes. I don’t have Rocky.”

“Where is he?”

“Effie’s apartment. The center unit across the hall from mine.”

“This is the second time you asked me to go to your apartment and pick up stuff for you.”

I didn’t answer at first. If Brad was up to something, it would be good for Tex to show up unannounced. See things for himself instead of taking my word for anything. I pulled my apartment keys from my key ring and handed them to him. “Meet me at my studio and we’ll talk.”

Tex looked up at the blue sky over the roof of Thelma Johnson’s house and squinted at the sun. He rested one arm on the roof of his car and the other on the open car door.

“Let me give you some advice, Night. This thing with Turlington is a chance for you to get resolution. So get it and move on.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I’m just saying, don’t ignore your garden so long that the weeds choke out whatever’s trying to survive. If you do, you’ll end up with nothing.” He lowered himself into his car and pulled the door shut.

I was tired of double talk and of things not being what they seemed. I pounded on the driver’s side window before he pulled away. He rolled it down halfway.

“What do you want from me?” I asked before he could say a word.

“I want you to acknowledge the truth.”

“About what?”

“About your relationship with your boyfriend, for starters.”

“What gives you the right to say that? Besides, you’re in a relationship too. We are the same, Lieutenant.”

He got out of the car and slammed the door. “You’re right, we are the same. Only you won’t see it.” He moved toward me, and I stepped backward.

“I take it back, we’re not the same. I asked you for a favor, but I never used you. You’re using me now, just like you used me when you thought I could help you with the pillow stalkings. And as soon as it was over, after all of your attention, you dropped out of my life.”

We were face to face. My eyes went from his eyes to his mouth. I closed the gap between us and kissed him.

His hands were like irons on my arms, searing through the flannel pajamas. I was shocked by my forwardness. As suddenly as I’d started the kiss, I stopped.

Tex’s woodsy cologne mingled with the scent of the social garlic plant blooming by the foundation of the house.

“What do you want, Madison?” he asked in a husky voice.

“I want everybody to realize I’m an adult with a perfectly good life all by myself.”

I could feel myself breathing deeply, could see the rise and fall of my own chest. I only partially knew what I was saying. Tex let go of my arms and stepped backward.

“Madison, my job is to protect the citizens of Dallas. You’re a citizen of Dallas. But let me be clear. Ever since I saw you in that fluffy yellow nightgown, my thoughts about you are definitely of the adult variety.”

I closed my eyes, afraid of the emotions I’d see in Tex’s face. When I opened them, he wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was looking at a Dallas Police patrol car that was driving past us.

I stepped back. I couldn’t believe I’d kissed Tex in front of Thelma Johnson’s house, or that we’d been spied by someone on the force. I was forty-seven years old, and I felt like I was fourteen.

I turned around and stormed back into the house. A part of me expected Tex to follow. He didn’t.

I splashed cool water on my face and wrists and tried to ignore what just happened. Despite every single thing wrong with the way Tex and I interacted, there was a shred of attraction that I’d have to acknowledge, sooner rather than later.

What was it I’d said to Tex that he’d repeated to me? When people are in a relationship, they’re supposed to want to spend time together.

So why was I spending more time with him than with Brad, or even with Hudson?  And why was Tex spending time with me instead of Nasty?

I was not the type to juggle multiple men. I also wasn’t the type to encourage cheating. Brad knew that. That’s why, back when he was trying to get away from the people who he claimed were after him, he told me he was married. He knew it was the only way to get me to steer clear of him. But even before I had evidence that the reason for Brad’s return was less than romantic, I hadn’t been willing to open back up to him.

And there was Hudson, too. Why did I make excuses for not accepting his invitation or advances? Why did I go out of my way to only encourage our professional relationship?

And why, oh why, of all people in the world, did I end up kissing Lieutenant Tex Allen, the most annoying man this side of the Mississippi?

I gave Tex a fifteen minute head start before leaving for the studio. I didn’t know if I could count on him to bring me anything, but I couldn’t run about in my pajamas all day.

I drove to the studio and tried to read emails, but I was too tired to concentrate. I lay my head on top of folded arms and closed my eyes. It was the shrill ring of the donut phone that woke me up.

“Mad for Mod,” I said into the receiver after knocking the base off the desk.

“Unlock your back door,” commanded Tex through the phone. In the background I heard a small, excited yip.

I raced to the back in my wrinkled pajamas. I hadn’t expected Tex to come through for me. When I opened the door, Rocky charged. Tex stood against his cop car with Rocky’s leash in his hand. I ignored the leash and scooped up Rocky.

“I suppose I owe you a thank you,” I said as Rocky licked the side of my face.

“Not now, Night,” he answered.

Before I could think of a comeback, Officer Nast got out of the driver’s side of the cruiser. Her eyes dropped to my pajamas and slippers, jumped to Tex for a moment, then settled on my face. Immediately, things changed.

“What’s up, officers?” I asked.

“Donna has to use your restroom,” Tex said.

I looked at his face, then hers, then back at his. She looked as annoyed with the situation as I felt. I didn’t think for a second that they were there for a bathroom break, but I couldn’t figure out anything else to say or do. I crossed the lot to the back door and unlocked it, then held it open for her to enter.

“My office is to the right. To the left of the cork wall is a small door. Inside is the powder room. Go crazy.”

She pushed past me without saying thank you. I wasn’t surprised.

As soon as I heard the sound of the door closing inside the office, Tex grabbed a bag from the back seat of his car and tossed it on the ground in front of me. He grabbed my upper arm and pulled me away from the building.

“We’ve got about three minutes. I did what you asked, now it’s your turn.”

“For what?”

“You know what I want, Night. You were holding out on me earlier, but I’m not a patient man.”

“I don’t think now is the time or place to talk about what that kiss meant.” I looked past him at the back door. “Nasty is—Officer Nast is going to be back any second.”

“Stop stalling, Night. You know what I’m talking about. Tell me what you know about the money.”

SEVENTEEN

I searched Tex’s face. His hand was still on my arm, biting into my flesh. I wasn’t sure what he expected me to say or how I could possibly tell him my concerns in three minutes. Two and a half, really, since I had already wasted so much time thinking about our kiss.

“No,” I said.

“There’s no time for you to be stubborn.”

“I’m not being stubborn. If you want to know what I know, you’re going to have to figure out a way to be alone with me for more than three minutes.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“That’s not what I meant.”

His crystal blue eyes bored into mine like drill bits piercing concrete, but I stood my ground. Despite what I’d said, I was being stubborn, but not for the reasons Tex thought.

He dropped his hand from my arm and tucked his thumbs into his front pockets, fingers dangling loosely.

“Fine. I’ll figure out a way for us to be alone together.”

The back door opened and Officer Nast walked out. The air smelled vaguely like the soap I keep on the sink. I couldn’t tell if she had heard what Tex said or not, but the look on her face said she wasn’t happy. I wondered, briefly, if I’d run out of toilet paper. As the two of them climbed into the car, Nasty behind the wheel, I picked up the handles of the duffle bag and backed away from the car. Nasty backed it around in a wide arc, then changed gears. Tex rolled down his window and pointed his index finger at me like a gun.

“I’ll be in touch.” The wheels spun across the gravel and they drove away.

I headed inside the studio and threw the bag on my desk. The scent of fried food wafted out from inside. I opened the industrial zipper and found a white Styrofoam takeout container nested on top of an ivory cashmere dress with tiny pearl buttons by the neckline. Onion rings and a knit dress? Tex’s idea of thoughtful was to be questioned.

I wanted to focus on business, but I couldn’t. Tex knew about the money. How? When? What had he discovered by going to my apartment? Something. His entire tone had changed in the span of an hour. I wanted to know what he knew, only I’d been down that path before. Tex was investigating a homicide. He might want to know what I knew, but that didn’t mean he’d share anything with me.

The last few hours that I’d slept on the floor of Thelma Johnson’s house had been a poor substitute for quality rest, and too many unfamiliar elements had crept into my life to allow me to be completely comfortable, even in my own home. My studio was more than simply a home away from home. I left the Closed sign on the front door, the lights off in the display area, and ducked into my office to try to figure things out.

The file on the fake Archie Leach sat open on the corner of my desk. I scanned everything I had on the man to try to figure out who he really was. Problem was, I ran an interior decorating business, not a crime lab. I couldn’t dust his file for fingerprints or run it through a database of known criminals. There wasn’t a whole lot I could do with the notes in the file. He filled out a questionnaire, let me know brief details about his living quarters, and given me an address I now knew not to be his.

Only, it was his address. Even the real Art had told me the white car that left the parking lot belonged to a long time tenant, Mrs. Bonneville, and that her son was staying with her. He did live there, even if he wasn’t who he said he was. It would be easy enough to find him, if I enlisted the help of the valet attendant who had been robbed of his name. The only problem was the element of surprise.

The fake Archie Leach knew my car.

I rooted around on my desk for a different folder and the phone rang.

“Madison? You’ve been holding out on me!” said Connie.

“Good morning to you too,” I said.

“That boyfriend of yours is a babe. You should have said something.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Connie, where are you?”

“The question is, where are you? I show up at your apartment with two cups of coffee and a file of ideas for my kitchen, and I’m greeted at your door by a tall, dark stranger with a serious case of bed head. Then he tells me he’s your boyfriend. I thought you said you guys were on the outs?”

My concerns about Brad seemed fictional, like I’d fabricated a reason not to trust him. If I hadn’t woken up in the middle of Thelma Johnson’s bedroom floor, I might have believed I’d dreamt the rendezvous behind my building. But I hadn’t.

“This is serious, Con. Where are you right now?” I repeated.

“I just told you I’m at your place.”

“Get out of there. Now. Come to my studio. I’m here.”

“I can’t leave. Ned and Brad just went to the auto store. I said I’d wait here in case you got back.”

“So you’re alone?”

“Yes.”

“And you brought a file of ideas for your kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“And Brad and Ned are out somewhere?”

“Shopping for spark plugs, I think.”

“Okay. Stay put. I’ll be there before you can say ‘Sputnik lamp.’”

I didn’t comment on the fact that regular male bonding rituals transcended the cliques of hipsters. Ned and Brad probably did have a lot in common. The fact that Connie wasn’t alone calmed me. In the cold light of day, I had to accept that I had nothing to back up my concerns.

I had no proof of what I’d seen in Brad’s trunk. A briefcase filled with uncut James Madison five thousand dollar bills, lifted from the trunk of Brad’s car by a man in a mask in the middle of the night? It was crazy, like a dream. Nobody would believe me.

I grabbed my copy of
The Glass Bottom Boat
and drove home. Maybe my life was a mess, but the least I could do was design Connie and Ned the kitchen of their dreams.

It took about ten minutes to get home. Connie was sitting out back. A purple bandana was tied over her head with the point jutting out in the back. Oversized white sunglasses hid half of her face. The two style elements made her look like a mod hillbilly. Not what she intended, I’d bet.

“You could have waited in the apartment,” I said.

“I think I saw a cat out here. I was trying to make friends with it.”

“You’d have better luck making friends with the resident skunk. Let’s go inside.”

I didn’t tell her about my night or my morning. She didn’t know me all that well outside of the decorating business. She didn’t know me all that well inside of the decorating business either, I realized, and it hit me that here was my target client, a woman who had hired me legitimately. She didn’t deserve to get caught up in my problems. What she deserved was a super-awesome atomic kitchen.

I popped the DVD into the player and cued up the kitchen scene. “I want you to see something,” I said.

Connie sat transfixed while a small robot appeared on screen and cleaned up a mess that Doris Day’s character had made. The six minute scene finished, and I paused the movie. I considered the possibility that I’d gone too far with the inspiration point and took a deep breath to start backpedaling. I’d play off the scene from the movie as a joke.

“Can you do that?” Connie asked in a quiet voice.

The breath was still full in my lungs. My eyes flickered to the TV screen for a second before I looked back at her.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?” I asked tentatively.

She squealed with delight and clapped her hands twice. “Wait till I tell Ned. Oh, snap! That’s so beyond anything I could have imagined! Do you mind if I call him now?” She pulled her phone out of her handbag and punched a couple of buttons.

Connie walked into the kitchen to make the call, and her voice trailed away. I grabbed a sketch pad from the desk and flipped to a blank page. I made a few quick notes. Computer programs for interior design abounded, but I’d always enjoyed the feeling of the pencil on the rough white paper.

I started a list of ideas down the right-hand side: remote control appliances, hidden trash cans, metal cabinets, magnets, Virden lighting, more remote control appliances, yellow CorningWare.

“Ned is stoked,” Connie said. She set her phone on the coffee table and sat in the chair across from me. “They’re planning a cookout, and he wants to know if you can bring the file over later.”

“They—?”

“Ned and Brad. They’re having a bromance. “

I didn’t like that Brad was including Connie and Ned in his temporary Dallas circle. I stood from the desk and sat in the chair opposite Connie.

“Listen to me. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you or Ned to get too attached to him. We’re not 100 percent a couple.”

“He said that. But he said you’re at about 85 percent, and I totally get 85 percent. That last 15 percent is what makes a relationship have sizzle.”

“Connie, I need you to trust me on this.”

“What did he do?” she asked.

Ignoring everything I’d learned or suspected about Brad since he arrived, I went with the truth.

“Connie, Brad lied to me about something pretty big. He wants me to forgive him, but a lot has happened since then.”

“I don’t know what happened, but he really cares about you, Madison. He told Ned that he came to Dallas to make big money, but I got the feeling that he dropped everything for you. When you weren’t here this morning, he was worried.”

“We’ve got some baggage.”

“No offense Madison, but after twenty-five, everybody has baggage. Did I ever tell you about how I met Ned?”

I shook my head.

“It was at a lame karaoke bar where I worked. He was there with a whole crowd of people from work. I had never, ever sung at the bar even though my boss always wanted me to. Something about connecting with the customers. This girl Ned was with sang something stupid, some Joan Jett number. So I got up there and sang “The Ballad of Billie Jo.” Knocked it out of the park too. I had five date requests by the end of the night but not one from him.”

“So?”

“So instead of totaling his tab, I took a blank receipt and wrote ‘Are you going to ask me out or what?’ on it. He left enough money on the table to cover the tab and left. I couldn’t believe it. I was on such a high and he squashed it.”

“Nice story.”

“He came to the bar four days later. He said he thought the right thing to do was to break up with his girlfriend first.”

“So Ned’s a stand-up guy.”

“Ish. It wasn’t until later that I found out that he hadn’t even been dating the woman. It was all a story to keep me from feeling like I had that much control over him.”

“Doesn’t that make you mad? The fact that he basically lied and made up a story? That the foundation of your entire relationship was based on playing games?”

“No, I thought it was pretty cool. I love that story.”

I’m the first to admit that I have not had the same romantic experiences as other women my age. There’s a narrow pool of men who can justify the Doris Day appearance with the Gloria Steinem attitude. I’ve never been married, never been engaged. Most of my relationships bottomed out somewhere between six months and a year, thanks to the inevitable compatibility/control issues. Brad had been the one who changed all of that.

“You’re coming to the cookout, right?” She turned toward the door.

“I don’t know. I have a lot to do today.” I bit my lower lip and thought for a second.

Connie’s face fell. “Okay, sure. If you want to come, you should, but I’m not going to make you do something you don’t want to do.” She pulled the mod white sunglasses back down on her face and left out the back door.

I gave her a ten minute head start and called a cab. I had two hours to decide what to do about the cookout. The same two hours I had to go undercover. Half an hour later, driving a rented Ford Explorer, I was on my way to the Turtle Creek Luxury Apartments.