Blue Smoke (13 page)

“So, it's looking like he lit the place up, trying to cash in on the insurance, got trapped inside.”

“Looking that way, Captain. The ME didn't find any signs of foul play, no wounds or injuries. We're still waiting for tox,” Reena added, “but nothing's popping that indicates somebody wanted him dead. He has a small life insurance policy. Five thousand, and it goes to the ex-wife. He never changed the beneficiary. She's remarried, got full-time employment, so does her husband. She doesn't look good for it.”

“Wrap it up. Quick work,” he added.

“I'll write the report,” she offered when she and O'Donnell walked into the squad room.

“Have at it. I've got some other paperwork to catch up on.”

He sat. His desk faced hers. “It your birthday or something?”

“No. Why? Oh, the flowers.” She settled in front of her keyboard with her notes. “Guy I'm seeing was a bit of a jerk last night. I get the bennies.”

“Classy.”

“Yeah, he's got that going for him.”

“This a serious deal?”

“Haven't decided. Why, you hitting on me?”

He grinned, and the tips of his ears reddened. “My sister's got this kid who's done some work for her. Carpenter. Does good work. Nice kid, she tells me. She's trying to fix him up.”

“And what, you think I'll go on a blind date with your sister's carpenter?”

“Said I'd ask.” He lifted his hands. “Nice-looking boy, she says.”

“Then let him find his own girl,” Reena suggested, and began to write her report.

Bo scarfed down the last peanut butter cookie, washed it down with cold milk. Then, sitting at the breakfast counter he'd built himself, gave an exaggerated sigh.

“If you'd ditch that husband of yours, Mrs. M., I'd build you the home of your dreams. All I'd ask in return would be your peanut butter cookies.”

She grinned, and flicked her dish towel at him. “Last time it was my apple pie. What you need's a nice young girl to take care of you.”

“I've got one. I've got you.”

She laughed. He really liked the way she laughed, with her head thrown back so the big boom of it hit the ceiling. She had a round, comfortable body and so would he if she kept feeding him cookies. Her hair was red as a stoplight and all fuzzy curls.

She was old enough to be his mother, and a hell of a lot more fun than the one nature had given him.

“Need a girl your own age.” She poked a finger at him. “Handsome boy like you.”

“It's just that there are so many to choose from. And none of them hold my heart like you, Mrs. M.”

“Go on. You've got more blarney than my old grandda did. And he was Irish as Paddy's pig.”

“There was a girl once, but I lost her. Twice.”

“How?”

“Just a vision across a crowded room.” He lifted his hands, flicked his fingers. “Evaporated. You into love at first sight?”

“Of course I am.”

“Maybe this was, and I'm just wandering aimlessly until I find her again. Thought I did once, but she poofed on me that time, too. Now, I've got to get going.”

He unfolded himself from the stool, six feet two inches of lean muscle. The years of physical labor had built him up, toughened him.

She might have been twice his age, but she was still female, and Bridgett Malloy appreciated the view.

She had a soft spot for this handsome boy, that was the truth. But she was too practical to have continued to throw work his way over the past six months if he wasn't skilled and honest.

“I'm going to find you a girl yet. Mark my words.”

“Make sure she knows how to bake.” He bent down, kissed her cheek. “Say hi to Mr. M. for me,” he added as he pulled on his coat. “And just give me a call if you need anything.”

She handed him a bag of cookies. “I've got your number, Bowen, in more ways than one.”

He headed out to his truck. Could it get any colder? he wondered, and stuck to the path he'd dug out for her from steps to driveway. The ground was white with snow that had melted to ice, refrozen. And the sky above was a heavy gray that promised more of the white stuff.

He decided he'd stop at the market on his way home. Man didn't live by peanut butter cookies alone. Maybe he wouldn't have minded finding a woman who knew her way around the kitchen, but he'd gotten to be a good hand in there himself.

He had his own business now. He patted the wheel of the truck as he got in. Goodnight's Custom Carpentry. And together, he and Brad had bought, rehabbed and turned over a couple of small houses.

He could still remember talking Brad into that first investment, pitching the sagging wreck of a house as a diamond in the rough. He had to give Brad credit for vision—or utter faith.

He had to give his grandmother credit for trusting him enough to front some of the money. Which reminded him to call her when he got home, see if she needed him to fix anything around her house.

He and Brad had worked like dogs, rehabbing that first house. They'd turned a good profit, repaid his grandmother plus interest. And reinvested the rest.

When he took the time to think about it, to really think back, he had a dead boy to thank for where he was today. Why that event, the death of a virtual stranger, had changed his life he couldn't be sure. But it had motivated him to stop drifting, to get moving.

Josh, he thought now as he drove away from the Malloy house in Owen's Mill. Mandy had been really broken up about it. And oddly enough, the fire and the kid's death had been some of the elements that had cemented their friendship.

Brad and . . . what the hell was her name? The little blonde who'd been the object of his friend's intense desire back in those days. Carrie? Cathie? Shit, it didn't matter. That hadn't gone anywhere.

Right now, Brad's object was a spicy brunette who liked to salsa dance.

But his own blonde—the one glimpsed at a party a lifetime ago—still cropped up in his mind now and then. He could still see that face, the tumble of curls, the little mole near her mouth.

Gone, long gone, he reminded himself. He'd never known her name, the sound of her voice, her scent. Which was probably what made that memory, that
feeling
all the sweeter. She was whatever he wanted her to be.

He streamed into traffic, decided everybody in Baltimore had opted to go to the grocery store after work. All it took was dire whispers of snow, and every mother's son and daughter jammed the aisles. Maybe he could skip it, make due with what he had.

Or just order in a pizza.

He had to go over his drawings for another job, and the supply list for the house he and Brad had just settled on.

His time was better spent . . .

He glanced idly to his left as the traffic in his lane stopped.

At first all he saw was a woman, a really pretty woman driving a dark blue Chevy Blazer. Lots of hair, curling hair the color of light caramel, springing out from under a black watch cap. She was tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in a way that told him she was keeping time to something on the radio. His was rocking with Springsteen's “Growin' Up.” And from the rhythm of her fingers, he thought she had the same station going.

Funny.

Entertained at the thought, he angled so he could get a better look at her face.

And there she was. Dream Girl. The cheekbones, the curve of lips, the little mole.

His mouth dropped open, and shock had him jerking, stalling his truck. She flicked a glance in his direction, and for a moment—a kind of breathless moment—those long, tawny eyes met his.

And once again, the music stopped.

He thought, Holy shit!, then she frowned, turned her head away. Drove off.

“But, but, but—” His own stutter brought him back. He cursed himself, turned on the engine. But his lane was stuck, and hers was moving right along. Horns blasted irritably as he dragged off his seat belt, shoved open his door.

He actually had the wild idea of running after her car. Just running down the street like a mental patient. But she was too far ahead. Too far, he thought, furious with himself, for him to even read her plate.

“There you go again,” he murmured, and simply stood, horns blaring around him, as the first flakes of snow fell.

A
nyway, it was weird.” Reena leaned on the counter in the kitchen at Sirico's, where her mother was back, manning the stove. “I mean he was really good-looking, if you discount the fact that his mouth was hanging open wide enough to catch a swarm of flies, and his eyes were bugged out like somebody'd just rammed a stick up his butt. I mean I could
feel
him staring at me, you know? And when I looked over, he's like this.”

Reena mimed the look.

“Maybe he was having a heart attack.”

“Mama.” With a laugh, Reena leaned over to kiss her cheek. “He was just weird.”

“You keep your doors locked?”

“Mama, I'm a cop. Speaking of which, I caught another case today. Couple of kids broke into their school, set fires in a couple of classrooms. Didn't do a good job of it, lucky for them.”

“Where are the parents?”

“They're not all you. Fire-setting like this is a big problem with kids. Nobody was hurt, which was a godsend, and the property damage was minimal. O'Donnell and I rounded them up, but one of them—I've got a bad feeling about him. I think the psych eval's going to back me up. Ten years old, and he's got that look in his eyes. Remember Joey Pastorelli? That look.”

“Then it's good you caught him.”

“This time. Well, I've got to go spruce myself up for my date.”

“Where are you going tonight?”

“I don't know. Luke's being very mysterious about it. I'm ordered to wear something fantastic, which is why I was hitting the mall for a new dress and had my weird-guy sighting.”

“Luke. Is he the one?”

“He's the one right now.” She rubbed a hand down her mother's back. He wasn't the long-haul guy, she knew that already. “You've got Bella and Fran tucked in and giving you grandbabies.”

“I don't say you have to be married and having babies. I just want you happy.”

“Me, too. I am.”

H
e'd chosen upscale and French, so Reena was glad she'd sprung for the deep blue velvet. And the way his eyes had warmed when he saw her in it took the sting out of the price tag.

But when he ordered a bottle of Dom Pérignon and caviar, she stared.

“What
is
going on. What's the occasion?”

“I'm having dinner with a beautiful woman. My beautiful woman,” he added, taking her hand, kissing her fingers in a way that softened every muscle in her body. “You look amazing tonight, Cat.”

“Thanks.” She'd certainly worked at it. “But there's something going on. I can see it.”

“You know me too well. Let's wait for the champagne. If they ever get it to the table.”

“No hurry. You can pass the time by telling me again how amazing I look.”

“Every inch. I love when you wear your hair that way. All straight and sleek.”

Which took endless time, made her arms ache from fighting the curls away with the round brush and the hair dryer. But since it was the look he favored, she didn't mind indulging him now and then. He nodded to the waiter who brought the bottle to the table, revealed the label. And tapped his own glass to indicate he'd do the tasting.

When it was approved, poured, Luke lifted his glass. “To my delicious, delectable Cat.”

“I'm willing to be on the menu, when I'm served with this.” She tapped her glass to his, sipped. “Mmmm. Sure beats the hell out of the house sparkling at Sirico's.”

“The wine cellar there doesn't exactly run deep. The one here's extraordinary. An exceptional French like this doesn't go with pepperoni pizza.”

“I don't know.” She chose to be amused. “I think it'd be a nice complement to both. Now, we've got our wine, had our toast. What's going on?”

“Nosy, aren't you?” He tapped his finger to his nose. “I got a promotion. A big one.”

“Luke! That's great, that's wonderful! Congratulations. Wow, here's to you.” She lifted her glass again and drank.

“Thanks.” He beamed at her. “I don't mind saying I worked for it. The Laurder account was the last card in the deck. When I sewed that
up, I had it. Would have been smoother if you'd helped me schmooze them, but . . .”

“You managed it yourself. I'm really proud of you.” She reached over to lay her hand on his. “So, do you get a new title, another office? Let me have all the details.”

“Fat raise in salary.”

“Goes without saying.” She set her glass down, and the waiter appeared like magic to top it off.

“If you're ready to order—”

Reena's hand squeezed Luke's as his tensed. “Why don't we? I'm starved, and then you can tell me every tiny detail while we eat.”

“If that's the way you want it.”

She waited until they'd given their choices—and maybe it was a little pretentious for Luke to order in French. But it was cute, and he was entitled to a little leeway tonight.

“When did it happen anyway?” she asked him.

“Day before yesterday. I wanted to set tonight up before I told you. Reservations here can be hard to come by.”

“And what do we call you now? The king of financial planning?”

The pleased grin spread over his face. “That's next. For now, I've settled for a VP slot.”

“Vice president. Wow. We should have a party.”

“Oh, I've got some plans. You know, Cat, you might put a bug in your sister's ear again. Now that I'm in this position, maybe she can convince her husband to throw his account my way.”

“Vince seems satisfied where he is,” she began, and saw his eyes cloud. “But I'll mention it. I'll see her on Sunday, for Sophia's birthday party. You never told me if you were going to be able to make that.”

“Cat, you know how I feel about those big family things, and a kid's birthday on top of it.” His eyes aimed toward the ceiling. “Spare me.”

“I know, it can be overwhelming. That's fine. I just wanted you to know you're welcome.”

“If you think it would help sway your brother-in-law . . .”

This time she tensed, then deliberately relaxed again. “Let's keep family and business separate, okay? I'll see if I can talk to Vince about meeting with you, but it's, well, it's tacky to try to scoop his account at his daughter's party.”

“Tacky? Now I'm tacky for trying to do my job and give your brother-in-law good financial advice?”

She let him stew while their first course was served. “No. But I can tell you Vince wouldn't appreciate you talking business at a family event.”

“I've been to some of your family events,” he reminded her. “There's plenty of business discussion. Pizza business.”

“Sirico's
is
family. I'll do what I can.”

“I'm sorry.” He waved a hand, then patted it on hers. “You know I get wound up when it comes to my work. We're here to celebrate, not to argue. I know you'll try a little harder to bring your brother-in-law around.”

Had she said that? she wondered. She didn't think so, but it was smarter to let it go. Otherwise they'd just go in circles, and she'd lose her appetite.

“So, tell me more, Mr. Vice President. Will you be heading a department?”