The Art of Love and Murder (23 page)

“No, you’ll be staying with me tonight.”

Chapter Fourteen

“So, why am I going to your house?” Lacy pulled at the seat belt across her chest as if the restraint was there for more than her driving safety.

Chance gripped the steering wheel tighter than needed. When he saw his white knuckles, he eased up, cleared his throat. He’d been wound tight ever since he’d heard about the curator’s death and Lacy’s detainment. If she’d been in possession of the chest when the thief made his move,
she
would be the one lying on a slab at the morgue. The burn of anxiety sent prickly tentacles up the back of his skull.

“Am I under house arrest?”

She smiled, but he had the feeling she only half-joked.

“You’re not under arrest. Although, you are considered a person of interest.” That meant something entirely different to the investigating officers than it did to him. “Didn’t Owens explain that to you?”

She nodded. “Are you in the habit of boarding persons of interest?”

Earlier today, she might have been flirting. Now he couldn’t read her tone.

“I thought it’d be better than another hotel. Do you mind?” Although unreasonable to think she was in any kind of danger, he’d sleep better with her close.

“Oh, so this is for
my
benefit?” Again the forced smile. “Are you sure of that?”

“Yes, Lacy, why else?” Hell, what did she want from him? He only wanted to protect her, if she’d let him.

She shook her head, ran a hand through her hair and turned her head away. They rode in silence, the muffled sounds of traffic filling the space between them.

He turned off the highway and glanced at her. Her elbow rested on the door, chin propped on her fist as she stared out the window. She’d been through a lot in the last couple of hours.

“Is a diner okay? It’s quiet, and they have good food.” A stab at conversation might ease the tension.

She nodded but didn’t look at him. “If Archibald was murdered, I just don’t think it was the chest they were after.”

“I don’t suppose we’ll know until the museum manager inventories the curator’s office.” He pulled into the Kopper Kettle, a few blocks from his house. The engine quieted and the light from the restaurant sign mingled with the shadows surrounding them. “You might not want to believe it, Lacy, but you said it yourself; technically, he stole the chest in the first place.” He killed the engine. “And if he hid it, then he expected someone to come looking without his blessing.” He released his grip on the wheel and laid an arm along the top of the seatback.

“Who?” She leaned her head back in the shadows. “If he wasn’t already dead, I’d think
he
had stolen the sketches.”

“We can’t be sure he didn’t. He would’ve had time.” Her eyes were in the shadows, but he studied the line of her chin, down the curve of her neck and along her graceful collarbone. Concentrating on the mystery of the murder became increasingly difficult. He diverted his attention to the blinking kettle on the front of the restaurant.

“I don’t see how he would’ve known where they were.” She shook her head.

“Unless he was working with someone else.”

“Someone who double-crossed him and wanted the chest, too?”

Chance shrugged. It seemed an unlikely scenario, although possible.

“And then there’s the Katz family. The ever-loving stepfamily.”

“I think they’ll come under investigation.” They were definitely on his short list.

“I think if Carol can profit from her stepsister she will, but attack Chief and murder the curator? Chance, how would she—”

“I don’t know, Lacy.” His fingers drifted from the back of the seat to nudge her shoulder. She could speculate herself into a frenzy. “You need to calm down and let the police handle it.”

“I don’t see how Carol would accomplish it, plus know about the sketches being at Chief’s. There’s something we’re missing.”

Without a doubt. A tremor of suspicion rose from the pit of his stomach. Only one man in town had more investment in Muuyaw than anyone. One man who hoarded her art and who had known her as something more. His lover? His obsession? Lacy’s father?

She pushed her hair back from her face, the picture of frustration. He let his arm fall from the seatback to her shoulder.

“No more playing detective right now, Lacy.”

He couldn’t help caress the warm flesh beneath the blouse. A subtle quiver met his touch, and the tenseness beneath his hand relaxed. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and smiled, a real smile, when her lids fluttered open.

He wanted to kiss her. Hold her here in the shadows and not let her out of his sight. Protect her. But he could do that only one way—at a distance while maintaining an impersonal relationship.

The knot in his stomach tightened, and he withdrew his arm. “Let’s eat.” Ignoring her smile that turned into a question, he opened his door and got out.

Lacy walked beside Chance to the door of the restaurant. She wanted his arm around her again, to feel his support, but he remained aloof. She’d mistaken his friendly sheriff role for what she really needed—Chance the man.

When he opened the door for her, she purposely brushed against him, making sure her hip grazed across the zipper of his jeans. He wasn’t going to keep her at a distance that easy. She hadn’t met a man that suited her so well since Conrad. Her husband had been able to accept her independent streak, her self-confidence and her passion. As a successful surgeon with an ardent nature for life, love and lust, they’d been well suited. Or so she thought.

Doubt crept in, threatening to bring on those old feelings of mistrust. She took a deep breath, steeping herself in his mountain air scent. He was different. Every man she’d met had paled in comparison to the Conrad she thought she knew, until she’d met Chance. He had all of those qualities she’d first admired in her husband...and so much more. His little streak of dark mystery only intensified her desire to get closer, unlock him, release his passions.

He led her to a booth in a back corner of this cozy neighborhood diner. They each slid onto the vinyl seats, opposite sides, and he grabbed a menu without looking at her.

“How hungry are you?”

“Not very.” Actually, her stomach gnawed on itself, but she had no desire to appease the hunger and couldn’t be sure she could bite, chew, swallow. Fatigue washed over her as she leaned against the bench back. Cold vinyl instead of the warm man on the other side.

“How ’bout we get a couple of burgers and see if you get your appetite back?”

“Fine.”

The waitress stopped at their table to take their orders.

“Coke? Coffee?” He addressed Lacy.

“Water.” She looked at the waitress. “Do you have any herbal teas?”

“I’ll bring you a selection of teabags.”

She leaned on the table once they were alone. He relaxed against the booth, not giving any indication of the warmth she craved.

“Can I go home Wednesday?”

“Why Wednesday?”

“I’m going to keep my lunch date with Professor Sheffield tomorrow; I want to know more about my mother. I guess I could leave tomorrow afternoon. Or Wednesday. If I can.”

The waitress set a Coke in front of Chance. Lacy studied him as the waitress slid her pot of hot water and a ceramic bowl filled with tea bags off her tray. He tapped his thumb on the table and stared at her, frowning. Even his frowns were attractive. The scar on his chin had a bit of sheen to it. His copper eyes looked dark and brooding when he frowned. A day’s growth of beard shadowed his face, and she wanted to rub her cheek against it, feel his roughness.

She’d stay longer if he asked. She needed him to ask.

The waitress moved on.

“You should cancel your meeting with the professor.”

“Why?”

“Lacy, he’s...he’s so closely linked to Muuyaw. Really the only one we know who is. Until the police are finished investigating Chief’s assault and the death of the curator, you should back off your research.”

“I don’t
have
anything more to steal.” Her face grew hot.

“The professor doesn’t know the sketches have been stolen or the chest is in police lockup. At least we don’t know that he knows.”

“You think Professor Sheffield has something to do with all of this?” He had his cop face on again, and she couldn’t read where this came from. “Why would he have to stoop to these means? He thinks we can come to an agreement on the sketches. He’s a respected professor, for Pete’s sake and—”

“You’re Muuyaw’s daughter.”

“Exactly.” She leaned forward and slapped her palm on the tabletop. “And I want more information.”

He stared at her. She imagined her face easy enough to read.

“Chance, the professor can provide me with that information.”

“I thought you came to find the artist of the sketches and half-carved wolf.”

“Yes—”

“And you found your answers.”

His tough cop exterior cracked, but only a minor fissure. She read worry in his eyes. At least that was something.

“I have more questions.” She touched his hand. “I don’t expect you to understand. I’m not sure I do.” Her fingers traced his knuckles. His hand twitched and she traced the path again. “I never cared to find out anything about my birth parents. They were dead, and I had a great mom and dad in Sarah and Arlo. Now, they’re gone and I...I need to know more about Kaya, and Hartmut. Maybe he’s not my father.”

The waitress cleared her throat as she set their burgers and fries on the table. “Anything more I can get you two?”

Lacy drew back, continuing to stare across the table. When Chance didn’t move, she smiled at the waitress. “I think I’m set. Chance?”

He glanced at the table, paused on the bottle of catsup. “Looks like I have what I need. Thanks.”

The smell of the burger and fries engulfed her. Her stomach let her know she had no option but to eat. She picked a fry from the heap and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm...good idea, Chance.” He concentrated on adding catsup to his burger, but his tight jaw told her his mind had other thoughts. “Let’s just eat, okay? Tomorrow is, well, tomorrow.”

He nodded and took a bite of his burger. She smiled at him. His face remained neutral. She canted toward him slightly and smiled wider. He relented with a shake of his head and smiled back.

They ate in silence for a while until she asked, “What will your daughter think about you bringing home a possibly wanted criminal?”

“She’s not home tonight.”

Lacy nearly sputtered her sip of tea. A tremor rippled across her chest. Maybe Chance the man lurked under the good sheriff disguise after all.

“I totally forgot. She doesn’t have classes tomorrow so she’s spending the night at Laura’s. The jerk won’t be home for some reason.”

“Oh.”
He forgot?

He didn’t meet her eyes but continued to take great interest in his meal. “They’ve been best friends since grade school. Too bad Laura’s life didn’t go the way of Jenny’s. As far as school, I mean. Laura at least has both her parents.”

“Well, sometimes one is all there is, and we do what we can.”

“We do, don’t we?” He finally met her gaze.

“And it’s enough, Chance.” What little she knew about him so far told her his fathering skills probably were enough and more.

“Jenny will like you.”

“I hope I get to meet her.”

But not tonight. She couldn’t take another bite. A night at the good sheriff’s home, no one but the two of them there—her appetite immediately abandoned her at the thought. Who would lead her across the threshold of his house? The good Sheriff Meadowlark or Chance the man?

Judas Priest
.
What would Phoebe do?

****

Chance glanced at her as he parallel parked on the street in front of the Grand View Hotel. Lacy wasn’t a casual affair. No matter how she might pretend otherwise.

“Take only what you need for tonight. Disturb as little as possible. I think they’ll be looking for clues that might include last night’s rummaging in your room, too.”

“Was that just last night?” She tossed her hair and sighed, opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

He followed her into the lobby. He wanted to put his arm around her, give her a shoulder to lean on, but, in spite of her statement, she had smiled and walked with energy. Lacy was no wilting flower.

Penny looked up from the front desk, her black-rimmed eyes wide. “Hi, Sheriff. How are you, Ms. Dahl?”

“I’m not too bad, Penny. I’m taking Ms. Dahl to get a few of her things from her room. We won’t be long.”

Lacy passed him to climb the narrow stairwell. He didn’t mind following her. A low-slung stirring rose with each stair she climbed. She shot him a glance over her shoulder and smiled when she caught the drift of his attention. He’d been baited, and responded to her obvious flirtation. He needed to quit kidding himself. Resisting her, trying to protect her without involvement, would be near impossible.

They walked in silence to her door. Lacy slipped the key in, turned the knob and gasped. He clutched her arm and yanked her around behind him as he planted his feet in the doorway.

Clark froze before them.

“Don’t move, Clark.” Chance scanned his body without breaking eye contact.

“Why, hi, Sheriff.” The boy’s head darted side to side. “I think maybe I’m in the wrong room.”

“Is that so?” He stepped forward, motioning to Lacy to stand still. “Turn around slowly. You know the drill.”

Clark followed his order and rested his hands on the dresser. He patted him down. His fingers felt a large key in his pocket.

“Going to take the key out.” As he did, he pulled his cell out of his own pocket. “Did you have a room here tonight?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“And your key worked on this room?” He punched the button for the Flagstaff Police Department and put the phone to his ear.

“Uh, I guess so.”

“And you’re going through the drawers for what reason?” He held up a hand and spoke into the phone. “This is Sheriff Meadowlark. Send a car to the Grand View Hotel, room two one eight. We’ve got a possible four five nine. Suspect is contained.”

“I...I don’t think I should say anything else.”