One Foot in the Grove (25 page)

Less than five minutes later, Precious and I were waiting on the side of the road by my crushed BMW when the navy blue Hummer motored around the curve and pulled off the road. The driver stepped out.

I nearly fell over.

Wearing a rumpled white button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves tucked into a pair of faded denim jeans over cowboy boots, it was the mysterious man from my dream. My Scottish woodsman prince.

In the flesh.

“Oh! Mister Collier, we're so glad you're here!” Precious called over to her tall, dark, handsome boss.

“Are ye alright, Precious?” asked the familiar Gaelic voice as he clasped her hands.

“Yessir. I'm just fine. Didn't even smudge my makeup.”

“I'm happy to hear it,” he said to Precious as he held her shoulder. Then, he turned, and with big, sure steps, headed toward me.

My mouth gaped open as I stood in the road, unable to
move. Broad shouldered with a slender waist, at least six feet three inches, with intense green eyes, dark, wavy hair, and a ruggedly handsome face, my dream guy had come to life. My best dream—the one when my woodsman prince held me in his arms, carried me through the woods, and, eventually, stripped me of my clothes—wasn't a dream after all. The thought hammered me numb. The man was standing right there. My mind raced to try to sort reality from what I'd imagined. I must be dreaming now, I thought.

He stepped in close to me.

I froze.

“Eva, are ye alright, lass?”

I couldn't seem to answer. Suddenly, I felt hot and the ground was whirling. Ian took me by my shoulders and looked me up and down. His green eyes flashed as he leaned forward and cradled my face in his hands.

“Eva?” Ian said. He was speaking to me.

Yes. It was him. Same face. Same eyes. Same arms. Same voice. Same scent. Except it wasn't a dream. My knees felt weak. I needed to sit down. Fast.

“I . . . I . . .”

“Ooooh, Mister Collier,” shrieked Precious. “Lookit! Miss Eva don't look too good. She looks white as a ghost. I swear, she's gonna keel over!”

“Ahh, drookit! I should've known.” Ian's familiar arms were around my waist in a flash. “I gotcha, Eva. Just stay with us.” I couldn't seem to focus on anything that was going on.

“I think she's in shock, Mister Collier!”

“Precious, would ye open the door to the Hummer.”

I heard them talking, but it was like I was somewhere else.

In one quick motion, Ian Collier swept me up into his arms. I smelled the familiar woodsman scent from my “dream.” I felt Ian walk effortlessly as he carried me to the vehicle. Precious opened the passenger-side door. Ian slid
me into the seat before he gently pushed my head between my legs and told me to breathe as he rested his hand on the back of my neck. I heard them talking but couldn't make out what they were saying. Then, there were sirens.

I pulled up my head. A fire truck, an ambulance, and a bunch of other vehicles all rumbled up at once. As red and blue lights flashed, busy people in uniforms started poking me and asking me questions: Do you hurt? Where? How did it happen? Where did the other car come from? Where were you? How fast were you going? Did you see the other driver? Where is the other driver? Then, someone else in a different uniform said, “Do you want to go to the hospital? You should go get checked out.” Someone looked at my eyes and took my pulse. Another someone wrapped my arm and checked my blood pressure. They explained that I would bruise badly where the seat belts had been. And I'd be very sore for a couple of weeks. Then someone asked for my license, registration, and insurance card. I pretended to read something they handed me and scribbled my signature on a paper form. I heard them wondering why the air bag hadn't deployed, but all the same, if I was not seriously hurt, I was better off that it hadn't worked. Someone said I was lucky because when they'd pulled up, they'd been sure I was seriously hurt, or worse. I heard Precious loudly repeat what had happened over and over again. I heard Ian Collier's Gaelic tones. After a while, I put my head back on the headrest and closed my eyes. An EMT handed me a couple of ice packs.

“Here, hon,” she said. “Put one on your knee. The other one is for later. Please, reconsider going to the emergency room to get checked out.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, eyes still closed.

“That was quite a jolt you got,” she said. “Your body absorbed a lot of the impact because you were holding on to the steering wheel. And the fact that you hit your knee means you encountered a lot more force than you may realize. You're going to be sore.”

All in all, I have to say they were wonderful. All of them. Professional. Courteous. Attentive. But I really wasn't paying attention. I was grappling with the confusing realization the dreamiest guy in the world had taken my clothes off. And, more important, just minutes earlier on a backwoods country road, I'd been
this
close to death.

I handed a one-hundred-dollar bill to the young, pimply-faced pizza delivery guy. It was the last of my emergency cash. Thirteen dollars and ninety-nine cents of it was to pay for the medium veggie pizza I'd ordered. The rest was the pizza delivery guy's tip. His eyes had gotten real big when he'd recognized me as the runaway bride lady from the paper, and probably, like everyone else, he also thought I was a mob moll. Maybe even a murderer. I'd decided that if I were going to be known as a man-stealing, murdering mobster, folks in Abundance would know that I was a damn good tipper, too. That'd be my self-made gossip for the day, I decided. “Eva Knox, spendthrift.” Although, it would hardly overcome the stories I'd already generated that day.

At least, I thought, I wasn't wet and covered in stinking mud anymore. I smelled good after my lavender-scented bath. And I wore clean jeans and a pristine white V-neck tee shirt. Best of all, I'd cheated death. I was still alive.

Although I'd clearly been dazed after the accident, I'd
refused to go to the hospital for a checkup. I'd ridden silently in the Hummer as Ian and Precious had driven me home to the cottage, Precious babbling all the way. Then, before I could draw the water for my bath, Daphne and Pep had shown up and fluttered around for an hour or so, trying to assure themselves that I was alright. And Daphne's kids came over to deliver a big bowl of fresh fruit and some gourmet chocolates—they'd raided Daphne's stash of welcome treats for her guests. As I sat in my mud-covered dress, quite sure I reeked of wet, decayed leaves and the excrement of frogs and fish, the kids sang me a well-rehearsed feel-better song before they ran back across the yard, up to Daphne's bedroom in their big-house slumber party. As instructed, Meg called Daphne on the phone to report they'd all made it safely to the third floor.

Then, Daphne and Pep had me recount what had happened at the sheriff's department with Detective Gibbit, followed by what had happened at Benderman's Curve on the way home. Afterward, we speculated about where Loretta had been the past couple of days and why she'd run off after the accident.

“Well, I think it's obvious,” said Daphne. “She killed that poor man and she's been hiding from the law.”

“Daphne, that ‘poor man,' as y'all say, was a hit man for the mob,” said Pep. She rolled her eyes. “I'd hardly think that you need to be feeling sorry for him.” She yanked up her strapless top, popped a chocolate bonbon into her mouth, and tossed the wrapper on my glass coffee table.

“Well, yes. However, now that the poor fellow is dead, I can be more sympathetic toward him,” retorted Daphne, glaring at the offending wrapper on the table. “Poor Leonard,” Daphne sniffed. She ran her slender palm down her chiffon skirt.

“Poor ‘Doughboy,' you mean,” I said. “And he was Loretta's brother. Why would she kill her own brother?”

“I don't know. If I killed someone, I sure wouldn't hang around to get caught,” said Pep, her mouth full of chocolate. “Where's Loretta been hiding all this time, anyway?”

“Exactly,” said Daphne. “Pepper-Leigh, why would she hide at all if she didn't kill him?”

“Because we know there are other killers here,” I said softly. “Remember, Sal Malagutti admitted to me that he wanted our farm and that he was willing to kill for it. And Leonard—Lenny, ‘Doughboy,' whatever his name was—he was problematic for Sal. And now, Sal wants me to kill mob boss Tony the Baker back in Boston. Omigosh, am I really saying this? This is all completely nuts. I swear, life was easier back in New England.”

“Easier, maybe,” said Daphne as she patted me on the knee. “But y'all definitely weren't any happier.”

“Right,” said Pep. “So, my money is on the wise guys from New York, Sal and Guido, whacking our Leonard. Maybe Loretta was there when it happened. After all, if you'd been there when someone offed your brother, wouldn't you hide? I sure as heck would.” Pep grabbed another chocolate.

“No. I think this is a case of a quarrel gone bad,” said Daphne. “Loretta did it. Just because someone's a sibling doesn't mean you can't lose your temper with him. Pepper-Leigh, please leave some of the chocolates for Eva.”

I remembered the creepy way Sal had looked at me, the way he had run his thick, fat finger down my face and neck to my cleavage.

“Sal Malagutti or his goon, Guido, would kill someone in a heartbeat,” I said. “They are evil to the core. My money's on them. I just need to prove it. I owe them that much.”

“I agree,” said Pep. “And why, Daphne, are y'all tolerating them stayin' here? Just kick their fat mob asses out,” said Pep.

“Given the fact that they appear to be cold-blooded killers, I don't want to aggravate them,” said Daphne. “Besides, they'll be on their way back to New York in a few days. It would be foolish of them to harm any of us while they're stayin' on here, wouldn't it? If they are as bad to the bone as y'all say they are, then they'll surely not kill us while they're payin' guests here.”

“Unless they decide to kill us all by making it look like some kind of terrible accident,” I said. “Where are they now, by the way?”

“They went out to dinner in town. They should be back late this evening,” said Daphne.

“Has anyone seen the gun that Precious and I found under the bed in the Malaguttis' room? Why hide it in the first place unless it's the murder weapon?”

“After Pepper-Leigh and I talked about it, I had the twins case the joint,” said Daphne. “No gun.”

“Daphne, you had the twins ‘case the joint'? Why, I'm impressed!” laughed Pep. “Daphne the debutante detective.”

“Pepper-Leigh, I don't appreciate y'all makin' fun of me, just because my erudite and comprehensive terminology outshines your elementary parlance,” sniffed Daphne. “You, of all people, criticizing me—why, y'all talk about ‘whacking' people! Very crass, indeed. And, now that I think about it, since you've been working at that nasty Roadhouse place, your language—not to mention your demeanor in general—has deteriorated tremendously. I daresay, by the end of the year, your dearth of social graces may prove to be irreversible.”

“I'll be sure to turn in my library card,” said Pep as she popped another chocolate in her mouth, tossing the wrapper on the table again.

“Has anyone heard what caliber gun killed Leonard?” I asked.

“Actually,” said Pep as she chewed, “funny you ask that. One of the deputies was in the Roadhouse today, and I overheard him say something to his buddy about it bein' nine caliber. I think that's what he said, anyway. He got quiet when he saw me headin' their way.” She licked chocolate off her fingers.

“Pepper-Leigh, please,” mumbled Daphne. “Show a modicum of manners.”

“But the gun under the bed was a Glock 19, I think,” I said. “Or was it a seventeen? I'm sorry. My mind is all mush.”

“Isn't a Glock 19 a nine-millimeter-caliber weapon?” Daphne asked.

“Last time I heard,” said Pep, tossing another chocolate into her mouth.

“Omigosh, none of this makes sense,” I said, holding my achy head.

“It's alright, Eva dear,” said Daphne. “I still think it was Loretta who did it.” She patted me on the knee.

“Ow!”

“Oh, Eva, dear, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“C'mon, Daph, we need to leave now. Eva is fading.”

“Of course.” Daphne turned to me and smiled sweetly as she stood to leave. “Eva, dear, do be sure that you bathe tonight. I hesitate to tell you this, but you smell like a dirty fishbowl.” Daphne blew me a kiss before following Pep out the door.

After Daphne and Pep left, I'd drawn a bath and gone to soak in my warm, lavender-infused tub water. I'd closed my eyes, taken some deep breaths, and let my mind wander, listening to Dolly rhythmically chewing on her bone over on the rug.

As the night darkened outside, in my mind, I saw the black car racing toward us at Benderman's Curve over and over again. I remembered taking my foot off the gas. It'd been all I had time to do. Like a rocket, the car had sped toward us out from nowhere. Scary fast. I tried to remember how far into the curve the car had been when I'd first seen it. I must've replayed the scene a hundred times. It never changed. There'd been no warning. One moment the road had been clear. The next moment the car was screaming toward us. Half an instant later, I'd felt the jolt in my arms and back as I heard the terrible crunching. In the end, I was grateful that I'd slowed down to look at the deer carcass before I'd gotten to the turn. If I'd been going just a teeny bit faster, or hadn't looked up exactly when I did—the outcome would've been very, very different.

After my soak, I decided to splurge and order a veggie
pizza. And I'd ended up eating all of it, except for the crusts I'd shared with Dolly. I'd just tossed the empty pizza box into the trash and was washing my hands with a bar of Daphne's sage-scented olive oil soap when I heard a firm knock on the screen door out front. Dolly woofed once.