The Art of Love and Murder (9 page)

“I beg your pardon.”

“Take a drink or risk bad luck.” He sipped his wine and quirked a brow at her.

“I’ve never heard that one.” She sipped. “So, tell me more, Sheriff Meadowlark, which by the way, you might have mentioned.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because.”

“Ah, good reasoning.” He teased and nodded his head.

Laura returned with the appetizers. “I think you’ll really like the grilled flatbread.” She handed her the miniature spatula. “Enjoy.”

“I don’t know what
you
do when you’re not researching family history in Flagstaff.” Chance continued as if Laura hadn’t interrupted. “Can’t recall we’ve had much of a conversation.”

“Touché.” She tilted her head. “We’ll swap stories. Okay?”

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?”

She laughed. “Something like that. Tell me, who are the Meadowlarks?” She scooped a piece of flatbread and offered it to him.

“Thanks. That would be my daughter, Jenny, and me. She’s an art student at NAU. She’s nineteen going on thirty.” He smiled, obviously fond of his daughter. “Who are the Dahls?”

“I have a son, Dylan, who’s in Paris studying to be a chef. My daughter, August, lives in Tucson. She owns an art gallery, and it’s her fault I’m here.” She thumped the table. “My turn. How long have you been the sheriff?”

“I’m in my second term.”

“What—”

“Hold up.” He waved a piece of flatbread in the air. “I believe it’s my turn. How long have you been...what do you do?”

She laughed. “Okay. Mmm. This flatbread is delicious. I own a coffee café called the Lacy Latte. I bought it a few months after Conrad, my husband, died And what did you do before you were sheriff?”

“Flagstaff policeman.”

Laura stopped at their table to take their dinner orders.

“So, you’ve always been a lawman.” She jumped in as soon as the waitress walked away, not waiting for him to think of a question for her.

“I prefer to think of myself as a peace keeper. Maybe it’s my Hopi heritage.”

“How’s that?” She bit into an asparagus appetizer.

“The word Hopi is a shortened version of the original tribal name, which translates to peaceful people.”

“That’s beautiful.” She’d felt his peaceful side last night, taking charge and calming her. “My mother was Hopi.”

He assessed her face. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“What made you leave the police force to become the sheriff?”

“I needed...a change.” Chance stared into his wine, his chest swelled with a breath.

His tone intrigued her. There was more to this story, and she’d only scratched the surface. But before she came up with another question to draw him out, he raised a hand to stop her.

“I seem to remember a promise of a story you were going to tell me.”

A change of subject. He seemed determined to keep his distance. Maybe the man did possess a dark streak. A secret. She didn’t need secrets or men with secrets. Her chest tightened, and with a deep breath, she forced herself to relax and forget. Or at least set it aside.

She ran a finger around the edge of her wine glass. Without knowing how deep his connection to the Katz family went, she needed to be diplomatic relating the meeting she’d had with Carol.

“Although I hadn’t met Kitty before, I met her mother earlier today.” She related the events of how she came to Flagstaff and the visit with the only relatives who could tie her to her birth mother.

“Truth is, I didn’t do much preparation, as far as family history, before I drove up. Since my parents, birth parents that is, died when I was quite young, I know very little about them. My main purpose was to find out if the sketches that belonged to my mother had any value—for my daughter. In my search, I’ve learned some things about my mother, Kaya, that are interesting. For one thing, I didn’t know the brother Carol and Kaya shared had piloted the plane that crashed, killing my parents. He died, too. I was the only survivor.”

She paused a beat to judge if she’d babbled on too long, but his eyes showed only interest in her tale.

“There’s a great deal of animosity in that family toward my grandfather and Kaya. I guess I can understand some of it toward my grandfather. Kaya may have carried the burden of their hate because of her father. And he favored her. But then, I don’t really know all the reasons without knowing her.” Carol had her reasons to carry a grudge against Kaya, and, unreasonably, hold that grudge against her. “I’ve decided I’d like to know my mother better.”

“That makes Kitty your cousin. Sort of.” He quirked a brow.

“I don’t see her claiming me, do you?”

“Small world, as they say.”

He ran a hand through his hair, and she figured his thoughts ran to how closely she had ties with his friend, Kitty, although he gave nothing away with his expression. She suppressed a smile. It was difficult to tell if this news made him uncomfortable, but the new twist amused her.

Laura returned with their dinners, and Lacy studied his face during the interruption. She’d have loved to ask him about his involvement with the voluptuous, pushy Kitty Katz. The woman clearly marked her territory for Lacy’s sake. The sheriff hadn’t seemed to recognize those boundaries. His dark streak didn’t tame so easy, she guessed.

“Certainly is a small world.” She couldn’t help renewing the line of discussion once Laura moved away.

“Getting smaller.” He took a sip of wine. “Laura, our waitress, is also your cousin.”

“How? Is she Kitty’s daughter?”

“No. Her jerk husband, Clark, is Kitty’s son.”

Her mouth fell open, and she shook her head. “That cute thing is married to Clark?”

“You’ve met him?” His glass stopped in route to his mouth.

“Yes, and I would never have guessed he’d be married to someone like Laura.”

“She’s cute, but,” he glanced in her direction and smiled, “she’s a little tiger, so I wouldn’t be too concerned. And I doubt that marriage will last.” He cocked his head. “How do you know Clark?”

“I think he tried to break into my car today. Or at least tampered with it, right in front of Carol’s house.”

“Can’t say that surprises me.”

“Really?”

“He’s had minor infractions of the law in the past.”

“What a fam—” She bit her lip. His relationship with Kitty didn’t come across as all that tight, but without knowing the extent of his involvement, she should keep her opinions to herself. “What I’ve found out is that my mother is somehow tied to a sculptor named Muuyaw whose work is highly coveted in this area. I’m beginning to think—”

“Muuyaw?” Chance’s fork stilled on his plate; his face lost some color.

“Yes, you know the artist?”

“I only know of her because of a case about eight years ago, when I was on the Flagstaff police force.” He pushed a piece of salmon around his plate.

“And?” An anxious ripple tightened her stomach at his discomfort.

“A couple of sculptures by an artist named Muuyaw were stolen.”

“Oh, yes, I heard about that today from Justine Watts.” Lacy leaned forward. “But no details. Were you involved with the case?”

He settled back in his chair, still pushing the same piece of salmon around his plate.

“Two women were shot.” He swallowed, his eyes squinted.

She stilled at the fierce glare directed in the air above her head.

“And one died.”

“Oh, my gosh. Did they catch the thief?”

Chance’s nostrils flared, and he glanced around as if avoiding her interest. He pitched forward and sat his fork down, wiped his mouth with his napkin. “He was killed in another incident.”

She didn’t know what to say. The incident had some personal meaning and more questioning on her part seemed intrusive. His forearms leaned heavily on the table, and he swirled his wine, his food forgotten. She ate a bite in silence, watching him stare into his wine. When the color came back to his face, he lifted his gaze to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. The urge to reach across the table and stroke his cheek moved her. “I’ve totally monopolized our dinner conversation. And probably bored you to death.”

“Hardly. I did ask.”

He studied her a moment, a squirm producing look.

“And I enjoy a good mystery.”

Chance Meadowlark the man might be a good mystery. Her mother’s arcane past consumed her, yet the man on the other side of the table had a mysterious side she couldn’t ignore. As much as she wanted to squash the growing attraction, something about him begged her attention.

And now this—an incident involving him and Muuyaw. Considering his initial reaction, questioning him seemed a daunting task. Still, she had to follow any connection she could find to her mother, intrusive or not.

Her cell rang. “Oh jeez, I meant to turn that off.” Her daughter’s number lit up the screen, giving her pause.

“Answer it if you need to.”

“Thanks. I wouldn’t, but it’s my daughter.” She’d never been able to ignore a call from either of her children. “Hi, August.”

“Hi, Mom. How are you?”

“Well, actually I’m at a restaurant eating. Can I call you back later?”

“Sure, but real quick—I Googled and tried Wikipedia. I can’t find much of anything on Muuyaw beyond a mention of a theft eight years ago.”

“Doesn’t really surprise me.” Lacy sighed. “It was worth a try.”

“Did you know about the theft? Maybe you could talk to the police about it. Find out what happened to the stolen art.”

“I’ve...talked to the police—well the sheriff.” She glanced at Chance, whose eyes smiled over his wine glass. “Maybe my visit to the museum tomorrow will produce more information. I’ll call you.”

“Great. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you back, kiddo.”

Lacy returned her attention to the dinner conversation and plunged ahead. “So, when the theft happened, do you remember Kaya’s name coming up?”

“No, not that I remember. How is she connected to the artist?”

She told him about the sketches, the half-carved wolf and the art gallery visit.

“If the sketches are Muuyaw’s...or the sculpture...be careful, Lacy. We never found out what happened to the stolen pieces. The case raised more questions than answers.”

“Well, as far as I know, they’re not my mother’s artwork. But there’s a connection. Maybe...” A collaboration? Then who was Muuyaw really? “If Muuyaw had another identity...” She waved a hand through the air. “I don’t know.” It was way too early to be guessing.

Chance dug a business card out of his pocket. “These are my numbers if you need anything.” He held it out over the table.

She took the card, her fingers grazing his. “I doubt I’ll have any trouble.” Though, maybe a little trouble would be worth needing to contact him.

“Always good to have an emergency number when you’re in a town and don’t know anyone.”

It would be easy to be taken in by his warm copper gaze, but she assumed his peacekeeper motives were at play, nothing more.

Laura appeared beside the table offering dessert and coffee. They both declined. She set the bill on the table. “Tell Jenny to call me, Sheriff, before she gets too wrapped up in finals.”

“I’ll do that, Laura.”

She smiled at Lacy. “And so nice to meet you...with the sheriff.” She winked at Chance and moved on to the next table.

He shook his head, embarrassed mirth in his eyes.

Lacy snorted. “That was subtle.” Laura must not care much for her mother-in-law.

She reached for the bill, but his hand had already grabbed the leather case. Her hand closed over his. “My treat, remember?” She barely got the words out, the contact stirring her more than she expected. Neither moved.

“I don’t remember agreeing to that. You’re a guest in my city, and a guest doesn’t pay.”

His skin against her palm and his serious—seriously sexy—face left her speechless.

“Finish your wine. I’ve got this one.” His voice, deep and low, rose above the restaurant chatter.

Or perhaps her shock rendered her numb to all noise and movement beyond their table.

He slid his hand from hers, slipped cash between the leather covers and lifted his wine glass.

With a shaky hand, she grasped her glass and finished the last of her merlot. Their eyes played some sort of cat and mouse game as they glanced at each other then away.

They rose, neither speaking until he took her sweater from the back of her chair. “You might want this. When the sun goes down, it’ll be cooler outside.”

His fingers touched her shoulders as she shrugged into the cardigan, sending chills along her arms, chills that had nothing to do with the air temperature. She stared into his unreadable face, looking for some indication he felt the same. His eyes avoided hers, and the spark she’d caught a glimpse of as they’d finished their wine vanished before she could be sure.

Chance opened the door of the Brie and waited for Lacy to glide past him. He set a meandering pace toward the Grand View in no hurry for the evening to end.

“Thank you once again, Chance.”

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’m glad for the company. And the food wasn’t too bad.” He wanted to touch her, put his hand to her skin that warmed the air between them and filled his senses with an exotic scent.

“It was fantastic.”

“On equal par with the valley?”

She laughed. “Every bit as good as.” She hugged herself against the chill. “And the scenery creates an ambience beyond comparison.”

The peaks rose above the buildings. The sky, crowded with stars and a bright moon, lit the tips of the mountains still boasting snow. Voices rang out, drifting beyond the lights of the patio on the restaurant across from the Brie. The town had transitioned from day to night while they’d eaten.

A train whistle sounded as they neared the track. “Oh, let’s wait for it.” She leaned into him briefly. “Watch it go by.”

“Sure. Are you a train fancier?”

“When I was young, maybe eight or nine, we took a train trip to Colorado. I’ve loved trains ever since. The whistle of a train is so...comforting.”

He couldn’t help but study her face as it lit up like a child’s when the engine neared. The train, running through the heart of Flagstaff, qualified as one of the best things he liked about the town.