The Art of Love and Murder (11 page)

Chance wrapped a hand around the doorknob. “Take it, Lacy. I’ll leave.”

“What’s going on? Whose voice is that?”

“Just a minute, Phoebe.”

“Chance?” She moved closer as he opened the door.

“You’ll be around tomorrow, right?” He dropped his chin and studied his boots, one foot in the hallway.

She waited for him to say more, but he only raised his eyes to her, so she said, “For round two?”

He smiled. “If I can get you anymore information, think of something, I will.”

“Chance...”

“You have my card. Goodnight, Lacy. Lock your door.”

The door closed behind him.

She let her forehead thump against the closed door. “Son of a bitch.” She flipped the lock.

“Judas Priest!” Phoebe’s voice carried into the silence of the room.

“Hello, Phoebe.” She hefted herself from the door and backed up to the bed, falling onto the messy covers.

“I heard some of that. Bunyan was in your room and you answered the phone? What the heck, Lacy?”

“He kissed me.”

“And I repeat, you answered the damned phone?”

“He insisted.” She tangled a lock of hair in the fingers of her free hand, remembering Chance’s fingers doing the same only moments before. “I think he welcomed the interruption. Maybe. Oh, I don’t know. He’s so hard to read. But then, I’m a total dunce.”

“I’m so sorry I called.”

“How would you know?” She rolled to her side. “Not my usual mode of operation. I’m glad you called. What the hell was I thinking?”

“Maybe for once, you weren’t thinking.”

“Phoebe—”

“Honestly, Lace, it’s about time you—”

“I know, I know.” And the way her heart still pounded, she thoroughly agreed with her friend. But he ran from her. And besides, she lacked better judgment when it came to men. “You said you knew something about him. What do you mean?”

“He’s the Coconino County sheriff.”

“I know.” She toyed with the lock of hair between her fingers, glanced at the window and imagined him climbing into his Cherokee and driving away. “Just found out tonight at dinner.”

“You had dinner with him?” Phoebe’s joy jumped through the phone.

“Mmm.” She ran the lock of hair across her chin.

“Dinner and a kiss. My little wallflower is blooming.”

Lacy couldn’t help but smile. “You remembered he was the sheriff. Didn’t know you were into state politics.”

“You know I’m not. The name rang a bell, and it bugged the hell out of me so I Googled him. And found a few tidbits.”

“What do you mean?” She rose up on one elbow.

“The reason the name stuck with me is because about eight years ago his wife was murdered in an art gallery robbery in Flagstaff.”

Lacy gasped and dropped her lock of hair.

“What?”

“He mentioned the incident, not his wife.” Lacy jerked up, sitting in the middle of the bed, legs crossed. “Go on.”

“He was a cop at the time. Anyway, a couple of weeks later, a tip came in, and your hunk arrived first on the scene. He shot and killed the guy. Made his name with the people up there and ended up sheriff. That’s why I remembered his name—murder and all.”

“He told me about the robbery and the thief getting killed. He neglected to mention the woman was his wife or that he was the cop who killed him.” He hadn’t lied; still, he hadn’t exactly, honestly shared. No wonder she’d seen a change in his demeanor.

“Hmmm...”

Hmmm indeed. The man held his feelings and his past close. What a night.

“Maybe murder and robbery don’t make good dinner conversation. But still...”

“Someone was in my room tonight. Made a mess, but didn’t take anything.”

“What? Judas Priest, Lacy! Did you call the cops? Oh wait, you were with the sheriff—your own personal law enforcement.”

“Yeah, but since nothing’s missing, I’m not sure I’m being taken seriously.” A quick glance around her messy room ended in a sigh.

“Sounds like Chance Meadowlark takes someone seriously.”

“Phoebe—”

“What about you, Lacy?”

“Yeah, what about me?” She rolled her shoulders as if to shed the lingering effects of Chance. With a huff, she scooted to the edge of the bed. “I’m going to the museum tomorrow. Then...” Her fingertips traced the memory of a kiss over her lips.

“Then?”

“Truth?”

“Truth.”

“I want to kiss Chance Meadowlark again.”

****

The sun invaded Lacy’s dreams like an alarm clock. She hit the snooze button by tugging a pillow over her head. In the gray territory of half-sleep, she wandered with Kaya and Sarah—Mother and Mom—Phoebe, August and Chance. When memories of the kiss floated into the fog, her mind gave up the quest for slumber, and she knocked the pillow from her face.

She stared at the gold ceiling, the fan blades whirring softly as a deterrent against nighttime hotel noise which might disturb sleep. Too bad they couldn’t block out the myriad of emotions that tossed inside her head while she tossed beneath the covers all night.

Why was everyone so secretive—first the gallery manager wouldn’t disclose the identity of the collector, Carol kept family secrets close to her breast and now, Chance? Not only inexplicably drawn to him, thoughts of him were threatening to overshadow her reason for being in Flagstaff. He had a connection to her mother; albeit a rather weak connection through a robbery and murder over Muuyaw’s sculptures, but a connection all the same. It wouldn’t matter. Even without the connection, she thought more about him than her quest for the truth about the art.

Her legs kicked at the covers, and she grabbed her robe off the end of the bed. Her fingers combed through her hair as she padded to the window and peeked out. Flagstaff yawned in the early morning light.

She picked up Chance’s card from the desk.
Coconino County Sheriff, Chance Meadowlark.
Her thumb ran over his cell number. She couldn’t think of one good reason to call him. He’d said call if she needed anything—an emergency number. He shouldn’t have added the emergency clause. She tucked it in the side pocket of her purse and sighed.

After brushing her teeth and clasping her hair in a ponytail, she donned running clothes. The room looked nearly as bad as it did last night. To hell with the mess. The maid could deal with it today. She tied her shoes and stood, tucked money, the room key and cell phone in the pocket of her hoodie and grabbed the canvas bag.

One young man manned the front desk, and he cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder while he punched keys on the computer. When Lacy approached, he looked up and asked the caller to hold.

“Could you put this bag in your safe?”

“Sure.” He took it from her, setting it by the computer.

“No. I mean now, before I leave on my run?”

He didn’t look at her, punched some keys and rose with the bag. He disappeared behind a door then peeked out again. “Room number?”

“Two one eight.”

The door closed for a few moments, and when he reappeared, he nodded at her. “Locked up tight.” He picked up the phone and continued his conversation.

She looked longingly at the Rendezvous as she passed by. Chai and muffin sounded better than a run. Had Chance been found within the bright café, her stomach might have won out. A twinge tweaked her chest at not seeing him; she chastised herself and continued out to the sidewalk. She’d run around the park, have some breakfast then head to the museum on the edge of town. She glanced both ways. No handsome Paul Bunyan type strolled the streets of Flagstaff. Apparently, Sheriff Meadowlark liked to kiss and run.

Why care? Care was the wrong word. He was hot, and it’d been a while so why not pursue the carnal longings?

Too bad Phoebe isn’t around to offer some advice.

****

Lacy.

First thing on his mind when Chance woke. The first enjoyable thought he’d awakened to in nearly eight years. Her eyes had warmed the coldness he lived in. Touching her had eroded the cocoon that protected him from recollections and actions best left forgotten. Forgetting, like a shield, served him best.

He stretched, arms flung out to the sides, spanning the width of his queen-sized bed. He brought hands to chest, rubbed his pecs and tucked his fingers into his armpits. “Lacy Dahl.” The whisper of her name touched his lips, reliving the kiss. And he needed to wipe her off his mind. Sensual, yes, but he sensed her timidity and inexperience. Three years widowed, and he’d bet she hadn’t gotten over the death of her husband, hadn’t had a man in her bed since. This would be no casual fling for her,
if
he followed his impulse. And that’s all he could offer.

“Hey, Dad.” Jenny’s voice on the other side of the closed door accompanied a knock. “I’m making omelets. Are you game?”

“Mushroom and cheese with a side of bacon? Fried potatoes and black coffee?”

The giggle and thump against the door signaled a bad omen. “Noooo. Asparagus and kale with turkey sausage, mango on the side and a cup of vanilla chai.”

“I’m not that game.” He pulled the covers higher to his chest. “Come on in.”

Her long legs curled beneath her as she crawled onto the foot of his bed. His daughter had his height, his coloring, eyes and mouth. Susan had been short and dark.

“What don’t you want: the asparagus, kale, sausage, mango or chai?” Her raised hand held up a finger as she ticked off the list until all five pointed in his direction.

Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, and eyes the color of cinnamon laughed at him. At times, he wished she’d looked more like Susan. Other times, not having a constant visual reminder of the woman he’d loved so much suited him. But once in a while, Jenny would tilt her head a certain way or say a phrase that reminded him so much of his wife, he ached.

“Yes, all of the above.” Lacy came to mind. “Except maybe the chai. I might try a cup of that.”

“Okay, I’ll make your omelet your way, but no fried potatoes. And I’ll put on a pot of coffee, just in case. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“So...” She clasped her hands together under her chin. “I heard you had a date last night with a new lady.”

“Someone’s spreading false rumors.” The thump in his chest told another story.

“Laura doesn’t lie. She leaves that to the no-account she married.”

“Why does sweet Laura put up with that guy?” He scratched at the stubble on his chin.

“The pregnancy connected them, but then she had the miscarriage. Still, she thought they could make a go of it. She’s about ready to leave him. She can manage to find two jobs, and that ass—sorry, idiot—can’t even find one.”

Chance stretched. “You better get the eggs going, and I’ll get dressed.”

“Wait a darn minute.” She grabbed his foot. “I want some details. Has a lady from the valley replaced Kitty?”

“Kitty?”

“I know you see her from time to time.” She had a mouse-eating smile on her face. “Clark seems to think it gives him clout if his mother keeps company with the sheriff, so he’s more than willing to shoot off his mouth around town. And besides, she’s a hottie, even if she has a worthless son. Now, who’s the new squeeze?”

“
New
squeeze?” Talking about women with his daughter was a novel experience. He adjusted the covers and ran a hand through his hair.

“Well, yeah. Last year the waitress at Jane’s had your fancy and now Kitty for, what now? The last six months.”

A sense of wonder puzzled him. When did she get old enough to pay attention to his activities? “I can’t keep anything from you, can I?”

“And why should you?” She wiggled the foot she still held onto. “I don’t mind, Dad. You need to have a life outside of me and your job.”

He couldn’t stop the flinch, knew he must have frowned for an instant.

“You need more in your life, that’s all.” Her grip on his toe tightened. “More to make you happy.”

“I don’t need anything else.” He crossed his arms on his chest and took on what he hoped came across as a fatherly-don’t-give-me-advice face.

“You sure as heck do. Now that I don’t let you track my every move—”

“I don’t track you, Jenny.” This had been a source for argument only a few years ago when, as a young teenager, she’d demanded her independence. A few years made a difference in how she viewed his concern. “I know. But you can’t be my protector twenty-four seven. And I think we’ve established that, right?”

“I only want to make sure you’re safe.” A slight twinge of fear reared its head. “You know that.”

“I know. And I forgive you.” She patted his foot. He gave her a slit-eyed grimace, but she continued with a giggle. “Now, back to your manly needs.”

“None of your business, young lady.” Unless they were talking about her and the birds and bees, she could leave
his
birds and bees alone.

“You don’t have to tell me anything.” She brought her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Good.”

“Dad! Come on. Who’s your new squeeze?”

“Since you seem to know so much, you must know she’s up from the valley and not a squeeze.”

“And?” She drew the single word out, leaned forward as if she’d pounce if he didn’t spill.

“I met her Friday night when she ran from phantom footsteps following her. We happened to meet up again at Chief’s yesterday and both needed to eat. So that’s what we did. Eat.” He strove for matter of fact. Her bright, laughing eyes made it difficult. “Nothing to it. Satisfied?”

“Laura says she’s gorgeous, and you two did some cross-candlelight flirting.”

“Laura better pay more attention to her job and less time snooping or she won’t have a job.” He fingered the covers and glanced away from his daughter. “Lacy will be heading back to the valley in a day or two. We ate dinner, that’s all.”

“You like her. You do. I can tell.”

“Jenny—”

“Dad, it’s been long enough. If you’ve found someone who means more to you than the waitresses or Kitty, why not let yourself go with it?”

Why couldn’t he? Fear. He could lose her, couldn’t protect her, could do unspeakable things in the name of love. “She lives in the valley.”

“Oh, whoopee, a two or three hour drive.”

“Yeah, I could’ve driven there, had breakfast and been back by now. Are you cooking or am I going to have to do it myself?”