Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 02 - Inn the Doghouse (20 page)

“
What?
” Paul shot a quick look in the rearview mirror and clenched the wheel tightly. “He did what?”

“And she told him she just wanted to be his friend.”

“That’s harsh,” he said.

Liz sighed. “Less talking and more driving, please.”

I touched her hand until she looked over at me. I said, “After you answer Paul’s questions, let’s watch a movie. A chick flick that Zach can complain about.”

Paul said, “Watch a prison movie and remember that you don’t want to be naughty again. City jail time is nothing. You do not want to end up in the
big house
.”

We ignored him. Liz said, “I feel really bad about DeWayne. I want to go home, clean up, answer Paul’s questions, and then find DeWayne and tell him what I really meant.”

Paul said, “What
did
you really mean?”

“Paul, if you want me to answer your questions when we get to the Inn, just shut up. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

He did, and we rode in silence the rest of the way. I pondered upon hearing my sister—for perhaps the first time ever—wanted to seek DeWayne out and make things better. I knew Liz needed time to work out her very conflicted feelings about her cheating husband, but this gave me renewed hope that there really might be a chance DeWayne would finally end up as my brother-in-law someday.

As we stopped in front of my own, much nicer
big house
, Paul sighed. “After I talk with Liz, I’ll pick up Zach from his friend’s house and take him to my house so you girls can look for DeWayne.”

“Thanks, Paul,” I said. “For such an oppressive cop, you can be pretty nice.”

~ ~ ~

My sister and I felt obligated to shower off any germs acquired from the jail’s concrete benches. After making ourselves presentable, she talked to Paul, answering all his questions. He told her the deputies would hold off for a few days before they interrogated her. Afterward, she surprised me by admitting she was too upset to drive and asked me to do the honors. Paul had already picked up my son from Germy’s
house and taken him back to his house for the night.

As I drove down Porter Mountain toward Silver City, Liz folded her arms and stared out the window over the valley. Finally, she said, “I’m not ready to pursue a relationship yet, but I’ve got to tell DeWayne that I do care for him and maybe there can be a relationship down the road a little. I don’t know what came over me. It was just all so sudden, and there he was, down on one knee, and what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t say yes. Not like that.”

“We’ll find him,” I reassured her, crossing Main Street and heading for DeWayne’s house.

“I just need more time to work through my feelings. I just buried Gene. How would it even look to accept a proposal of marriage from another man just days later? DeWayne should have waited.”

“I know.” It seemed having been relegated to the role of supporter, I didn’t dare say what I really thought—that it was about time for Liz to apologize to DeWayne, and not just for what she said in jail. She had always flirted and joked with him, even after she was married to Gene. She kept him in emotional limbo. Even after she chose someone else.

Approaching DeWayne’s house, I pulled to the curb. His oversized pickup wasn’t on the street, but he usually parked his four-wheeled baby in the garage. Being an upstanding member of the community, he had purchased his own home—three-thousand square feet of pretty and bare, just waiting for a woman’s touch to bring it to life and prepare it for a family. Since he chose the house that Liz once said she thought was pretty, and painted it in her favorite shades of pale cream paint, I knew whom he hoped that woman would be.

“Should I call?” Liz asked hesitantly.

I looked her in the eye. “Has he answered any of your calls so far?”

“No.” She shrank back into the seat.

“Then, no, you shouldn’t call him again. You should walk up to the door and ring the bell. Have courage. Be brave. Just do it.”

The sun had already slipped halfway down behind the mountain as we climbed out. Of course, Liz wanted me to go up with her. This whole murder made her so much more emotional than usual. I, of all people, knew how hard it was to regain your emotional footing after your spouse was killed, but I hoped Liz could do it in record time. For all our sakes. And her job.

We traipsed up the walk to the door where Liz sucked in a few ragged breaths before darting her finger out and ringing the bell.

As the sound faded, we waited. For a long time.

She rang again. Next, she knocked loudly. And still, there was no answer.

I shook my head. “I guess it’s time to try calling him again, Liz.”

Back in the Jeep, she did. She held the phone up to her ear. Redialed. Three times. Then dropped her phone into her lap. “No answer. And I’m not going to leave a message for this.”

“You could just say you’re sorry and would like to talk to him in person.”

She shook her head. “Not over the phone.”

“Oh, come on. At least one little
sorry
.”

“
Not over the phone
,” she repeated. “He deserves a face-to-face apology.”

“Okay.” I started the Jeep and pulled away from his house. “Where to next?”

“Drive by the station,” she instructed.

I did. The small parking lot was only partially filled, but DeWayne’s truck wasn’t there.

I glanced over at her. “Where else could he be?”

“Call his mother.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.
You
call her.”

“I can’t. Please, Vicki.”

So I did. What could I say? I pulled over along the curb on Main Street because I’m a pushover.

Ellen Smith reported that she hadn’t heard from him today, but she promised to let me know if he called or dropped by. I turned back to Liz and reported. “Okay. Now what?”

“Let’s call Paul. He should know where his own deputy is.” Liz turned her teary, Disney-princess eyes on me again. “Now will you call Paul for me?”

“Do you always get your way? I don’t remember you being quite so spoiled. And Paul didn’t know earlier.”

Paul answered with, “At least your cell phone doesn’t claim to be Liz’s,
Vicki
.” He still sounded torqued.

“It was childish of me and I’m sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me,” I groveled.

He made grumbling noises. Liz snorted.

“Paul, do you know where DeWayne is? We need to talk to him.”

“He called me a few minutes ago and asked for a few days off.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised. “Why?”

“I didn’t ask and he didn’t tell. He said it was important. I said okay.”

“Is that how men communicate? A few grunts and no questions?”

“Yup.”

Feeling let down, I said, “Would you call him and tell him Liz needs to apologize?”

“Liz is a big girl. She can call DeWayne all by herself.”

“He’s not answering her calls,” I admitted.

“But he is communicating with her.”

“How do you figure?”

“You now know that he doesn’t want to talk to her right now. When he does, he’ll answer or he’ll call her. He’s in his man cave, licking his wounds from the rejection. Back off, ladies.”

“All right. Thanks, Paul.”

“No problem, jailbird number one.”

I rolled my eyes. “Stop giving me crap unless you want me to sue you for wrongful imprisonment or whatever attorneys call it.”

“Legal crap,” my attorney sister said. “That’s what we call it.”

“You girls always were little tattletales.”

“When you get the next grunt or update from DeWayne, would you pass it on?”

Paul was silent for a second too long.

“Please? It’s important.”

I heard a deep sigh over the phone, and, “Maybe,” was the best I got before he said he had to go.

Pocketing my phone, I turned to Liz and passed on Paul’s side of the conversation.

Liz looked like she was going to cry again. “I really need to talk to him. I feel terrible for making him so upset. I don’t want him doing anything stupid.”

“He’s waited for you since high school; he’ll wait another twenty-four hours,” I said. “Why don’t you give him a day to cool down? Then we’ll find him and you can apologize. He’s never been one to hold a grudge.”

She wrapped her arms around herself again. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Or we can keep driving by, stalker-like,” I suggested helpfully.

“I’m tempted,” Liz said with a shaky laugh. “But take me home. You’re right. He’s never upset the next day. I’ll apologize tomorrow.”

Chapter Twelve

Sunday, November 13

RETURNING HOME AFTER CHURCH, I followed Liz and Zach into the Inn. We had half our rooms rented this weekend, and guests were outside, as well as scattered throughout the common areas: the exercise room, the Mayor’s Parlor, and the arboretum.

“I’ll fix us some dinner,” I quietly told Liz and Zach, because I didn’t intend to provide anything for the guests other than some cookies, milk, and fruit. I headed toward the main floor kitchen.

Liz waved and took Zach’s hand. “We’re going to the dungeon to change out of our church clothes.”

I rolled my eyes and said, for the hundredth time, “It’s not a dungeon.”

Zach called over his shoulder, “Mom, can I finish making the skeleton?” He meant the decoration I purchased a few weeks ago, which he just found again this morning.

“Sure, baby.”

I pushed through the saloon doors—surprised to find someone standing there! I jumped, my heart racing, before I realized it was David.

“Did I scare you?” he asked, stretching out a hand to steady me before I stumbled into the counter behind me.

“Yes,” I gasped, my hand to my heart, a nervous laugh bubbling up. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Because you are not included in my will.”

“No? That’s strange. Usually, women write me in within a couple of weeks. You must have extraordinary powers of resistance.” He smiled. “And don’t worry. If you did have a heart attack after going to church, I’m sure you’d go straight to heaven. How was church, anyway?”

“Uplifting. You should try it sometime instead of breaking and entering to cook unsuspecting people delicious dinners.” I lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t you ever go home anymore? To
your
home? Not mine, I mean.”

“Nah.” He grinned. “Your kitchen’s way cooler than mine.”

“Spoken like a true, trained chef, I suppose.”

“This place is incredible. And it belongs to a woman who barely knows what a colander is.” He tsked loudly and shook his head. “That is a real shame.”

David was teaching me how to prepare some delicious meals. The quality of my breakfasts had already picked up, and I was learning some dinner tricks, too. I still needed to hire a cook for the dinners, though. There were too many other tasks to add cooking for that many people twice a day. I’d be lucky to
get everything else done. “You are aware that you’re putting in lots more hours than I can afford to pay you for.”

“Helping you out pro bono is
my
way of getting into heaven.”

I laughed. “It will probably work. Your meals are definitely heavenly.”

He nodded smugly. “I know. Thanks.”

I laughed again. “What I like most about you is your incredible humility.”

“When you’ve got it, you’ve got it.” He cracked a grin.

“Thanks for the cooking lessons. For some strange reason, bed-and-breakfast guests expect good food.”

“Glad I could help you get beyond your obsession with eggs. You were like Forrest Gump. Scrambled egg. Omelets. Egg gumbo.”

“You have a recipe for egg gumbo?” I teased.

He grew serious as he studied my dress.

“What?” I looked down, wondering if I’d spilled something on it already.

“You look really nice today, Ms. Butler.”

“Why, thank you,” I said self-consciously, a blush heating my cheeks. “You do, too.”

“What? These old rags?” he teased as he motioned to his jeans and apron that again today demanded
Kiss the Cook
.

“You’re wearing the same one,” I teased back.

He held it up to read the words, as a slow grin appeared. “It’s my lucky apron.”

He took a step closer and his voice grew husky. “In fact, I’m feeling pretty lucky right now.”

My eyes widened as he stopped just inches away. I looked up into his warm eyes. My mouth went dry as I realized we were in the same positions we were in two weeks ago when we nearly kissed before getting interrupted. “Lucky?” I managed to get out.

“Very,” he whispered.