Passion to Die for Page 3

  Sprawled in the driver’s seat, head tilted back, he said, “Okay, listen up. This is me teaching. When you do surveillance, you park someplace where you’re not real noticeable, you settle in and you watch your target. If you’re real lucky, you’ll actually see something. Most of the time, you sit until your butt goes numb and you get nada. You don’t eat anything that smells offensive. You don’t get crumbs or wrappers in my car. You don’t drink more than your bladder will hold. You don’t fall asleep. And you don’t complain.” He turned his head so he could see her. “Oh, wait, I forgot who I was talking to. Kiki Isaacs, queen of complainers.”

  “That’s Detective Queen of Complainers to you.” She fluffed her brown hair, starting its inevitable frizz. “I don’t complain. I make my opinions known. Keeping things inside is bad for your health.”

  “Then you must be the healthiest person I’ve ever met. Be quiet now. You’re fogging up my windows.” He used a napkin to wipe the windshield, then leaned back again.

  The house they were watching sat isolated from its neighbors. A fire had taken out the house to the west, and the one to the east had been leveled by a tornado. That probably suited Steve Terrell just fine. His own lot was overgrown, and junk filled the yard. The screens on the windows were torn and rusted, patches of shingles were missing from the roof and the paint was a truly ugly shade of purple.

  An informant had told them that Terrell was expecting a shipment around nine that morning, but it was now one in the afternoon and there hadn’t been any movement on the street at all. Even the neighbors were either gone or staying home.

  Drifting on the damp air came the scent of wood smoke and Tommy breathed deeply. He’d given up smoking more than a year ago. It had taken him six months to get from five cigarettes a day to none. He’d think it was completely out of his system, and then he’d catch a whiff of smoke—even the sour stench of burning leaves—and want a cigarette so badly he could taste it. Kiki’s slow intake of breath, a signal that she was about to speak again, doubled the desire.

  “How long do we wait?”

  “The guy might have had car trouble. He might have gotten a late start, or the weather might have slowed him down.”

  “Or your informant might have given you bad information. He might have just liked the idea of us sitting out here in the rain waiting for something that was never going to happen in the first place.”

  “Maybe.”

  She repeated her question. “So how long do we wait?”

  “As long as it takes.” She was probably right. This bust was a bust. But just to keep her from thinking she’d nagged him into giving up, he waited another half hour before finally starting the engine. The Dodge Charger turned with a powerful rumble, and he pulled out of the trees and drove away from Terrell’s house.

  Kiki gave an exaggerated sigh of relief, then looked slyly at him. “I saw you at Ellie’s last night with Sophy.”

  “Yeah.” Tommy resisted the urge to fidget. His dating Sophy wasn’t a secret. He’d been seeing her for a month, though he’d never taken her to the deli. Though he’d been a regular since the doors opened, taking his current girlfriend to his ex-girlfriend’s restaurant seemed a really lousy idea. Last night the choice hadn’t been his. Anamaria had been craving prime rib, and Ellie’s was the best in town.

  He missed the food there. Almost as much as he missed Ellie.

  “Sophy and I are friends. If you break her heart, I’ll have to shoot you.”

  After turning onto Carolina Avenue, he gave Kiki a sharp look, then deliberately changed the subject. “I’m taking you back to the station. Then I’m going looking for my informant.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Come on, Maricci—”

  “He’s called a confidential informant for a reason. Besides, you wouldn’t like the places he hangs out.”

  “Tommy—”

  He pulled to a stop in front of the Copper Lake Police Department and waited pointedly for her to get out of the car. When she didn’t move, he said, “Go inside, Kiki. Do your nails or fix your hair or something. I’ll swing back after I’m done.”

  With a scowl, she climbed out, muttering something about macho jerks and pissants. Grinning, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back downtown. He did intend to go looking for his informant, but not until he’d gotten something to eat, along with a strong cup of coffee.

  He circled halfway around the square before finding a parking space near A Cuppa Joe. As he got out of the Charger, a figure crossing the street caught his attention. She wore a long coat that was too big, the hood pulled up over gray hair and a lined face, and trudged through the crosswalk with a plastic shopping bag clutched in each hand.

  It was the woman Ellie had been talking to on the porch last night, the out-of-towner who wanted something from her. Ellie hadn’t been happy to see her or to talk about her with him in the square…though these days she wasn’t happy talking about anything with him.

  On impulse, he met the woman as she stepped onto the curb. “Can I help you with your bags?”

  She drew up short and fixed a suspicious stare on him. “Do I look like I need help?”

  “No, ma’am. I just thought—”

  “Who are you?”

  “Tommy Maricci.” He gestured to the gold shield clipped onto his belt, and her gaze dropped, then returned to his face.

  “I haven’t done nothin’ wrong.”

  “I didn’t say you had. I just thought you might like some help. Maybe a ride to get out of this rain.” A blast of wind kicked up behind her, bringing with it the smell of stale smoke and liquor.

  Shifting the bags to one hand, she raised the other to tug her hood back enough to see him better. “You always offer innocent strangers rides?”

  “More often than you’d think.”

  “Huh. All right. I’ll take your ride.” She handed both bags to him, then shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “It is a bit chilly for this time of year. And I’m not going far. Just to the Jasmine.”

  Her blue eyes narrowed, clearly expecting some response from him, but he was good at hiding surprise. The Jasmine was a restored three-storied brick-and-plaster post-Civil War beauty on two prime acres east of downtown. Now a bed-and-breakfast, it was by far the most expensive place to stay in Copper Lake. Not what he would have expected for this woman.

  Though his job had taught him to expect the unexpected.

  “My car’s over there.” He gestured toward the Charger, and they’d walked a few yards when she inhaled deeply.

  “Nothing smells as good on a chilly day as a cup of strong coffee.”

  Especially with a little something extra in it to help warm a body, he thought, catching another whiff of alcohol. “I was just heading for a cup. Do you have time?”

  Her laughter was throaty and grating. “I have nothin’ but time. Are you treating?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, then, why don’t you put them bags up and I’ll wait inside out of the cold?” Without pausing for his agreement, she pivoted and walked into A Cuppa Joe.

  Tommy unlocked the car door and set the bags in the back. As the plastic sides sagged, he saw two cartons of cigarettes, a six-pack of beer, chips and three large bags of candy. Tucked between the beer and the Enquirer was a slim brown bag, the kind used at the local liquor stores. Booze, chocolate and a gossip rag…the basic requirements of life.

  After closing and locking the door, he strode down the sidewalk and into the coffee shop. The woman was standing at the counter, head tilted back, studying the menu on the wall. She’d pushed the hood off her head, leaving her hair sticking out like tufts of straw, and, like the night before, she gave off an air of watchfulness. “Does that offer go for plain coffee or the grande-mocha-latte-chino good stuff?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  A twenty-something girl with bottled black hair and deep purple lips waited idly for their order, tapping an o
range fingernail on the counter. A person could be forgiven for thinking she was already in the Halloween spirit, but she looked like that every day of the year. After the woman ordered a caramel-hazelnut something-or-other, Tommy asked for his usual—high-octane Brazilian blend with a slice of cream-cheese-filled pumpkin bread.

  “Make that two slices,” the woman said with a sly smile. “I’ll find a table.”

  Midafternoon, with only a couple of other customers, that was no hardship. She chose one near the front window but away from the draft of the door. By the time Tommy set down the tray with their food, she’d removed her coat and sat, legs crossed, hands clasped on the tabletop. Her fingers were short, stubby and nicotine stained, her nails blunt and unpolished. The skin on her hands, like on her face, was weathered and worn. Not by work, he suspected. She didn’t strike him as a woman who indulged in hard work.

  And she didn’t strike him as a woman who would have even the vaguest connection to Ellie. Ellie was so elegant and polished and…just different.

  “I didn’t get your name,” he said as he set a tall foamy cup and a saucer with bread in front of her.

  “I didn’t offer it.” She swiped a finger in the whipped cream that topped her drink, licked it clean, then shrugged. “Martha Dempsey.”

  “Are you here on vacation? Visiting friends? Just passing through?”

  Picking up her fork, she wagged it in his direction. “That’s the bad thing about cops. They’re always asking questions.”

  “We’re just curious people.” And he wasn’t asking even a fraction of the questions running through his mind. Who are you? Why are you here? How do you know Ellie? What do you want from her?

  “I seen you last night. At the restaurant down the street. With that pregnant black girl. Is she your girl?” There was an undertone of something—disapproval, bigotry—that made her voice coarse, ugly.

  “I like to think she could have been if my buddy hadn’t met her first.” He’d liked Anamaria from the first time they’d met, but Robbie, she insisted, had been her destiny. God knows, she’d certainly turned him around. The shallow Calloway brother, the irresponsible one, had taken to marriage and impending fatherhood as well as or better than any of his more responsible brothers.

  “She’s not your kind,” Martha said dismissively.

  Before he could ask just how she meant that, she shifted her gaze outside to a temporary sign in the square, announcing the date and time of the annual Halloween celebration. “This isn’t a bad little town. I’m thinking I could live out my last days here.”

  And what would Ellie think of that? “I’ve lived all my days here, except for four years in college. I like it.” He stirred sugar into his coffee, then took a careful sip before asking, “Where do you live now?”

  “Atlanta. Big place. You can stay twenty years in the same house and still not know your neighbor’s name.” She gave him another of those sly looks. “I bet you know pretty much everything about everyone in town. Or, at least, you think you do.”

  “I’m not sure you can ever know everything about a person.” He was probably the only one in town who didn’t have much in the way of secrets. The only major events in his life—his mother’s alcoholism, her leaving when he was five and abandoning him, his falling in love with Ellie and her not loving him back—were common knowledge. He had nothing to hide.

  “What do you know about Ellie Chase?”

  He stilled in the act of reaching for another bite of pumpkin bread. Laying his fork carefully on the plate, he folded his hands around his coffee cup instead. “She’s got the best restaurant in town. Everyone likes her. She’s good to work for. She’s active in the community.” He paused. “I know you know her.”

  Ellie hadn’t actually said that. Martha Dempsey was just someone who wanted something, she’d said. Someone from the past she never talked about, he’d inferred.

  Martha’s smile was crooked. “A long time ago,” she said. “I hadn’t seen her since she was a teenager.”

  “Is she the reason you came here?”

  She studied him a moment, then took a drink of coffee, slurping to get whipped cream, as well. With a drop clinging to her upper lip, she said, “What you call curiosity, Mr. Police Detective, some people consider plain old nosiness.”

  “Is she?”

  After another drink, she shook her head. “Her being here is just a happy coincidence.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence.” And Ellie certainly hadn’t seemed happy.

  That earned a sharp laugh from her. “I don’t believe in little green men from Mars, neither, but that don’t mean they aren’t out there. Now…tell me about this Halloween festival.”

  A shrill whistle startled Ellie, who’d been staring off into the distance. She shifted her gaze to the door of her office where Sherry, one of the waitresses, stood, a takeout bag in hand.

  “I called your name three times. You imagining yourself on some Caribbean beach with a hot cabana boy?”

  If only her mind had wandered someplace so pleasant…But no, she’d been distant in years, not so much in mileage. “You bet,” she lied, forcing a smile. “The sun was warm, the sand was endless and the rum never stopped flowing.”

  “Well, come back to reality, where the sky is gray, the temperature is cold and the rain hasn’t stopped falling.” Sherry held up the bag. “Joe’s order is ready.”

  Ellie looked blankly at the bag before remembering: Joe Saldana had called in an order to go, and she’d offered to deliver it to him. He’d promised her a tall chai tea, his own special blend, as a fee.

  “I can take it for you.”

  “You’re married, Sherry,” Ellie reminded her as she rose from the chair, then took her jacket from the coat tree in the corner.

  “But there’s no harm in looking.”

  The waitress handed over the bag, and the fragrant aromas of the day’s special—roasted chicken, dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, along with a piece of apple pie—drifted into the air. It was enough to remind Ellie that she had skipped lunch, and breakfast, as well. She hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of food.

  Not with the sour stenches of fear, bourbon and nicotine that had gripped her for the past fifteen hours or so.

  “I’ll tell Joe you send your regards,” she said as she squeezed past Sherry and started down the hall.

  “Oh, honey,” Sherry murmured behind her. “I want to give him a whole lot more than that.”

  Ellie’s faint smile faded before she reached the door. They’d had a busy lunch, and one of the staff had called in sick, so she’d had to pitch in and wait tables. Busy was good; it kept her from thinking about anything more than the task at hand.

  But busy couldn’t last forever, and once the lunch rush was over, she’d retreated to her office and brooded. She’d faced a lot of problems in her life, but there had always been solutions. This one had solutions, too—just none that she could face at the moment.

  The rain came in steady, small plops against her lemon-yellow slicker until she reached the protection of the awnings that fronted the other businesses on the block. There she pushed the hood back and drew in a deep breath of fresh, clean air. Speaking to the few people she passed on the sidewalk, Ellie realized with some measure of surprise that she would miss Copper Lake if she had to leave. She’d tried not to get overly attached to the town or the people in it. Home was a concept, not a place, and people let you down. From the day she’d come there, she’d wanted to be able to leave without regret.

  Tried. Wanted. Truth was, she was attached. She could own another dozen restaurants, and none of them would mean the same as the deli. She could make a hundred new friends, but they would never replace Anamaria and Jamie, the Calloways, Carmen and everyone else. She could have a thousand more affairs, but not one of them—

  Grimly she stopped herself midthought as the fragrance of fresh-roasted coffee drifted into her senses. A Cuppa Joe occupied the corner lot, a full block from her own
place. Ironically, Joe Saldana hadn’t named the gourmet shop. It was just coincidence that Joe now owned A Cuppa Joe.

  I don’t believe in coincidence.

  Scowling at the words she’d heard more than once from Tommy, she pushed open the plate-glass door and went inside. Louis Armstrong played softly on the stereo—Joe didn’t listen to anything recorded after 1960—and coffee scents perfumed the air.

  She was halfway across the shop, already anticipating the first sip of chai tea, when she realized that something was amiss. Slowing her steps, Ellie glanced over her shoulder, then came to an abrupt stop and turned.

  Martha was sitting at the front table farthest from the door.

  With Tommy.

  A chill shivered through her as she stared at them and they stared back. There was malice in Martha’s expression, speculation and something more in Tommy’s. A little longing. Maybe regret. Definitely curiosity.

  How had they wound up in the coffee shop together? Had it been Tommy’s doing, his way of finding out answers she hadn’t given him the night before? Or had Martha sought him out? Did she somehow know they’d been involved?

  Ellie couldn’t speak, couldn’t move or look away, until Joe’s voice broke the shock that held her.

  “Hey, Ellie. How much do I owe you?”

  Bit by bit, she forced her attention from Tommy and Martha to Joe, who was sliding his wallet from his hip pocket as he came out from behind the counter. She tried to remember how much the lunch special was, but couldn’t. Gratefully, though, she recognized the ticket nestled atop the foam container in the plastic bag and pulled it out, handing it over.

  “Nina’s getting your tea,” Joe said, offering her a ten-dollar bill in exchange for the bag. “Why don’t you come on back with me?”

  Ellie still felt Tommy’s and Martha’s gazes, though, prickling down her spine and into her somersaulting stomach as Joe took her arm, guiding her behind the counter. She numbly went along. As soon as they reached the rear space that served as both storeroom and office, he closed the door and the prickling went away.