Tombs of Endearments (12 page)

A preemptive strike was in order. I asked questions before he could. “You taking up a new hobby? Or do you just like hanging around with the geek crowd?”

“You mean them?” Dan tipped his head toward where the ghost hunters were plotting strategy. “Just being friendly. Thought I’d give them a few pointers.”

“Because you know how to hunt ghosts.”

“If you’re asking, does that mean you believe in ghosts?”

“If I’m asking, it’s because I’d like to know what you’re up to. Do you know a lot about ghosts?”

“I know a lot about a lot of things.” There was a twinkle in Dan’s eyes that I would have found irresistible. If I was in the mood.

Maybe he sensed it. Or maybe he just put two and two together and realized that bloodstains on a girl’s pant leg tend to blunt her good humor.

Before he got daring and decided to broach the subject anyway, I turned to head into the building.

“I could offer you a few pointers, too.”

Dan’s words stopped me in my tracks. I rolled my eyes. Which he didn’t see since I didn’t bother to turn around. “Let me guess, dark prophecies and vague warnings. Ghosts that go bump in the night. Been there, done that today, thanks very much.”

“I’m not talking about ghosts. I’m talking about
that cop who’s waiting for you in your office.”

Just like he knew I would, I spun around.

Just like I knew he would, Dan didn’t stick around to elaborate. He was already walking away, and I wasn’t about to run after him. It was less humiliating and far more satisfying to grumble a word that shouldn’t have been used where the dead are supposed to be resting in peace. Childish? Sure, but it made me feel better and a little more ready to deal with the suburban cop who I knew was going to grill me about Vinnie.

The second I stepped into my office, I knew I was right about the grilling.

And wrong about the cop.

“For a woman who’s supposed to work here, you don’t spend a lot of time in your office.”

Quinn Harrison, looking like a million bucks in a charcoal suit, a crisp shirt, and silk tie the same impossible green as his eyes, was perched on the edge of my desk. Since Quinn didn’t have a politically correct bone in his body, he wasn’t embarrassed to have some of the papers from my desk in his hands. Even as I stood there, he thumbed through them one more time.

“Doesn’t your boss ever call you on the carpet for not being more industrious?” he asked.

Like the rest of the junk on my desk, the papers were nothing important, but I had my standards. I plucked the papers out of Quinn’s hands and tossed them back where they came from. “Don’t they teach you guys civility at the Police Academy?”

His thousand-watt smile lit up my office. “I missed that day.”

“And today?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and stepped back. Not that I was afraid of Quinn or anything, but when he stood, I didn’t want to be too close.

He stood.

I didn’t want to be too close. I took another step back.

“Today I got an interesting phone call,” he said. “It was from a buddy of mine. We’re supposed to play racquetball tonight and we needed to double-check. You know, to make sure one of us reserved a court.”

“Fascinating.” Everything about Quinn was fascinating, from the aroma of his expensive aftershave to the lock of coal black hair that fell over his forehead. And because I couldn’t let him know I thought so, I made sure I packed all the tartness I could into the word. “So you came all the way here to tell me that you’re as fit as a fiddle. It makes me feel guilty for eating that pint of Chunky Monkey last night.”

One corner of Quinn’s mouth pulled into what was almost a smile. “I like Cherry Garcia myself. And I didn’t tell you about the racquetball because I think you care. I told you because the guy I’m playing with is a friend of mine. Another cop.”

“If you’re looking to fix him up, I’m not interested. I don’t date cops.”

“A fact you’ve made perfectly clear.”

“Have I?” Is that what this was really all about? Was Quinn here about another date? Knowing Quinn, it seemed unlikely, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I tried for a sexy smile and hoped it wasn’t coy. “Maybe you just haven’t asked at the right time.”

“Maybe you’ve got blood on the leg of your pants.”

My hopes melted along with my patience. “You’re a pain in the ass.” I pushed past Quinn, opened my bottom desk drawer, and tossed my purse inside. When I was done, I sat in my desk chair, pulled the papers Quinn had been looking through closer, and tapped them into a neat pile. If he wanted to talk, he’d have to turn around.

He did. “My buddy was on a call today. There was a homicide. In Lakewood. Unusual for a suburb as nice and quiet as that.”

My hands stilled over the papers.

“He said he interviewed a woman at the scene. A stunning redhead, that’s how he described her. Call me an incurable romantic, I heard the words
stunning
,
redhead
, and
murder
in the same sentence and I just knew it was you.”

“No one has ever accused you of being an incurable romantic.”

“You got that right.” Quinn laughed. “I am incurably curious, though. Professional hazard. And right now, I’m wondering about this Vinnie Pal guy. Is he the one you stood me up for the night I called you about the ball game?”

So we weren’t talking about murder. We were back to talking about sex.

I didn’t want Quinn to see me breathe a sigh of relief, so I kept busy with the papers. “You came here in the middle of the day to ask about my love life?” I asked Quinn.

“I came here in the middle of the day because it looks like your love life and a murder might be
connected. It’s that whole incurable romantic thing again. I can’t help myself. I’m worried.”

“You’re nosy.”

“I’m nosy and worried.”

“Vinnie and I weren’t involved, if that’s what you’re being nosy about. I took his class down at the Rock Hall, and he loaned me a CD. I was returning it. That’s when I found him.” It was the story I’d told the Lakewood police, and I was sticking to it.

The least Quinn could have done is pretend he believed me. He pursed his lips and tipped his head back, thinking. “It’s funny how you’re always around when people are dying,” he said.

“Not technically true. This is the first time I’ve actually been around someone who was dying. All the rest of them were dead by the time I got to them. As for me being there when Vinnie died, that was nothing more than a coincidence.”

I was saved from elaborating when Quinn’s cell rang. He listened for a moment, barked a quick “I’ll be right there,” and flipped it closed.

“Coincidence, huh?” Quinn started for the door. “Then maybe what just happened down at the Rock Hall is a coincidence, too. Alistair Cromwell, the Mind at Large drummer, he was down there and one of the spotlights on the stage fell. Practically took his head off.”

“I can come with you, can’t I?”

Since I’d followed Quinn out of my office and down the hall to the main door, he shouldn’t have been surprised by my request.

Just like I shouldn’t have been surprised by his answer.

“No.”

“But I’m going to go anyway. You know I am. Since we’re both going to the same place—”

“No.” When he punched through the door and walked into the parking lot, I was right behind him. I stayed there while he unlocked the door of his unmarked police car.

“But you’ve got this whole car to yourself,” I said. I wanted to be in on the investigation and I knew that wasn’t going to happen unless I walked into the Rock Hall with Quinn, so I didn’t curl my upper lip when I peered inside the car. Utilitarian black vinyl seats, stripped-down dashboard…this was not the kind of ride I pictured for him. Then again, I suppose the car was standard issue for public servants. And since I was one of the public, it was time for Quinn to start serving.

“There’s no reason you can’t give me a ride,” I told him.

He yanked open the door and slid behind the wheel. “I don’t need a reason. The answer’s still no.”

I stabbed a finger toward where my Mustang was parked. “It’s not like you can keep me away. If you don’t take me, I’m just going to get in my car and drive to the Rock Hall myself. And have you seen the price of gas?”

I can’t say for sure because the sun reflected off his windshield and just about blinded me, but I think Quinn smiled. Then again, maybe it was a sneer. “Take the bus.”

“In this outfit?” Honestly, I’m amazed at men. They can miss the most obvious things. I sidestepped around the open driver’s-side door. Quinn couldn’t close it while I was in the way, so like it or not, he was in for a lesson in high style. “The sweater’s from White House Black Market. The pants are Nanette Lepore, from Saks, and good thing they were on sale, since I’m going to have to toss them. The shirt…” I fingered the collar of my white cotton blouse. “Well, I can’t remember where I bought it, but I know it cost me plenty. I’m much too well-dressed for the bus-riding crowd.”

Quinn stuck his key in the ignition. “Don’t worry about it. Mingling with the masses builds character. Believe me, I mingle all the time, and I’ve got plenty of character.”

“Which is exactly why you’re going to let me come with you.”

“Which is exactly why I know better than to let you.” He gave me a level look and I don’t think he
was sizing up my outfit. He wanted me to move.

I planted my feet. “Think about it…I was with Vinnie when he died. Your friend, that other cop, he told you that, didn’t he?”

“So?”

“So, don’t you get it? Vinnie’s murder and the attack on Alistair…they might be related.”

While Quinn thought about this, I beefed up my position.

“Something Vinnie said to me before he died might be important. Only you’ll never know unless you talk to me about it. And I’m not going to talk to you about it unless you let me go with you. That means you’ll do it, right?”

When Quinn didn’t cut me off at the knees, I knew I was finally getting somewhere. He sat back and took his hands off the steering wheel. “You didn’t kill Vinnie, did you?”

Did the police really suspect me?

My heart lurched into my throat. My blood ran cold. “Is that what your friend said?” My voice wobbled. So did my knees. One Martin in prison was one too many, and Dad already had that slot all to himself. Besides the food (less than first-rate, I imagined), the girl gangs (I was so not into following the crowd), and the shared showers (need I say more?), I couldn’t picture myself in an orange jumpsuit.

I blurted out the same explanation I gave Quinn’s friend when he questioned me back at the condo. “I told your friend the whole story. The door to Vinnie’s apartment was open when I got there, and I walked in. That’s when I found Vinnie.” The memory of the knife sticking out of Vinnie’s chest,
rising and falling with every labored breath, caught me off guard. I’d been pretty good about the whole thing. Up until that moment. Suddenly my stomach went wonky, my head spun. If I didn’t grab on to the door of the unmarked police car, I would have toppled right over.

“You don’t really think I could kill someone, do you?” I asked Quinn. My voice was as breathy as Vinnie’s when he breathed his last. “Your friend, he doesn’t think—”

I was obviously upset, and I expected that a little understanding was in order. Laughter was not.

Quinn grinned up at me. “My friend knew Vinnie Pal was staying there. And he knew all about Vinnie’s lifestyle and his reputation. He took one look at you and decided right then and there that you were a high-priced call girl who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

A new kind of horror gripped me. “You set him straight, didn’t you?”

“About the wrong time, wrong place thing? Or about the call girl thing?”

I wasn’t about to dignify the question with an answer, so I stuck to the matter at hand. “None of it changes a thing. Quinn…” Still hanging on to the door of the car, I bent to look him in the eye. “I was the last one to see Vinnie alive. And now Alistair’s been attacked. Two Mind at Large band members in one day? Even I can see that it’s a little weird. And suspicious, too.”

He didn’t agree or disagree. He just leaned over and opened the passenger door.

Before he could change his mind, I hurried around to the other side of the car and climbed in.
We were on our way to the Rock Hall in no time.

Good thing it wasn’t too far away.

The vinyl seats were lumpy and uncomfortable, and the police car smelled like…

I sniffed, and this time I couldn’t have controlled my reaction if I tried. I made a face.

Quinn wasn’t a detective for nothing. He slid me a sidelong look. “Cigarettes. The guy who uses this car on night shift. He says he’s going to quit, but you know how it is.”

“You should get one of those air freshener things. You know, the kind you hang off your rearview mirror.”

“A hula dancer, what do you think?” Quinn’s smile was wicked. “That would send my lieutenant into a state of feminist-induced furor.”

“At least the car would smell better.”

He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Smells better already. But then, you don’t smell like stale cigarettes.”

I was glad he noticed. Happy Heart isn’t cheap, and I’m not rolling in dough. “You see, giving me a ride is a good thing. I’ve already made your day better. So, what’s our strategy when we get there?”

“My
strategy…” He made sure he paused so I didn’t miss the emphasis, “is to check out what happened and talk to everyone involved. Your strategy is to look inconspicuous and stay out of the way. Then again…” He sighed, and, call me egotistical (or maybe it was just hopeful), but I swear he didn’t sound nearly as annoyed as he had earlier.
Wistful
was too poetic a word. Maybe
hopeful
worked for Quinn, too. “You couldn’t look inconspicuous if you tried.”

Now we were getting somewhere! More comfortable flirting than I was when we were at each other’s throats, I settled myself as best I could against the stiff vinyl. “What you’re saying is that I could be mistaken for a high-priced call girl. Is that such a bad thing?”

Quinn pursed his lips. “Not that I can see.” We were nearly to the Rock Hall, and he stopped at a red light and raised a hand in greeting to the cop who was directing traffic there before he looked my way. His eyes sparked, and maybe it was my weakened condition that made me susceptible. When he looked at me that way, I felt as if I was about to melt.

Quinn’s left hand was on the steering wheel. He moved his right hand across the seat until the tips of his fingers were just barely touching my thigh.

The melting factor rose a few degrees.

He kept his eyes on the road, and I did, too. That didn’t mean I wasn’t keenly aware of the heat of his skin and the touch that was almost not a touch. My insides quivered and my outsides…well, let’s just say it was too bad Quinn was clocked in on the payroll. I could think of better things to do with our time.

He pulled up in front of the Rock Hall, and unlike the rest of us mortals, he didn’t have to wait for an open meter. He angled his car right behind an ambulance with its lights spinning.

Once he had the car in park, he turned to me. “So…” He moved his fingers a fraction of an inch. A feeling like liquid fire spread up my thigh. “What
did
Vinnie say to you before he died?”

The whole touch-but-don’t-touch thing? It was a
dirty trick and Quinn knew it. That’s why he grinned when I shot daggers at him. “You’re underhanded,” I said, and I didn’t wait for him to deny it. I got out of the car.

“No more underhanded than you.” Who the hell would have the nerve to steal a cop car, I didn’t know, but when Quinn got out, he locked the door. He tossed the keys in the air, caught them in one hand, and shoved them into his pocket. “You played me for a sucker. That’s how you got a ride out of me. So I figured—”

“You’d play me,” I snarled.

He didn’t notice. He was busy flashing his badge at the uniformed cop stationed outside the revolving doors that led into the lobby. I breezed in on his coattails, so to speak, and nearly ran smack into him when he stopped just a couple of feet inside the lobby.

“Keep quiet and stay out of the way,” Quinn instructed me, and before I could remind him that I was always quiet and I was never in the way, he was striding across the lobby toward the makeshift stage set up outside the gift shop and the crowd gathered there.

“He’s really into you.”

It had been a long day. And it wasn’t even three. When Damon popped up right next to me, I jumped and pressed a hand to my heart.

I didn’t lose my cool, though. Before I said a word, I made sure I turned my back on the action. With everyone focused on the stage area, nobody was going to pay attention to the lone woman over by the front doors who was clutching her chest and talking to herself.

My smile was sour. “He’s a jerk.”

“Maybe, but he’s crazy about you.”

I grunted. “He’s got a funny way of showing it.”

Damon laughed. “All guys have a funny way of showing it. You should have figured that out by now.”

First Grandma Panhorst and now Damon. Did every dead person within a hundred-mile radius have an opinion about my love life?

I crossed my arms over my chest. “So now you’re an expert? From what I’ve heard, you weren’t exactly Mr. Commitment.”

“You got that right, baby!” Damon’s grin was as dazzling as the sunshine that streamed through the glass lobby. “I had a thousand chicks and a thousand good times and I’ll tell you what, I wouldn’t trade a minute of it. But I’ve also had nearly forty years to do nothing but think. And thinking about it…”

Damon’s eyes lost their luster. “Back then,” he said, “it was a game, and the name of the game was having them all. Young, old. Short, tall. Fat, skinny. I didn’t care. I preferred my women young and gorgeous, like you…” He gave me a wink. “And it was always easier if there wasn’t some jealous boyfriend or husband who wasn’t getting all bent out of shape because I was screwing his old lady. But I’ll tell you what, I wasn’t particular, and stealing some other guy’s chick, well, that was all part of the fun. I wanted any woman any other guy had. When I had her, I had the time of my life. But once I had her, I didn’t want her anymore. Now…” He scraped a hand over his jaw and glanced across the lobby to where Quinn was talk
ing to one of the dozen or so uniformed officers who had responded to the emergency call.

“That cop of yours, he’s gonna get what I can never have, and I’m not just talking about the sex. It’s you, Pepper. It’s everything you are.” Damon’s voice sizzled with emotion. His eyes glimmered, not just with reflected sunlight, but with a heat that came from within. He leaned closer, and okay, I knew better. I knew I couldn’t make contact with a ghost. Not without turning into a female frosty.

Try and tell that to my hormones.

When Damon stepped nearer to look into my eyes, I tipped my head back.

When he got even closer, my eyes fluttered shut.

When he brought his mouth down on mine—

“Ouch!”

Good thing there was such a hubbub going on in the lobby. When I yelped, nobody heard me. When I jumped back and away from the icy cold touch of Damon’s lips, nobody noticed.

My mouth stung. Like I’d smooched an icy piece of metal, my lips were raw.

“I’m sorry.” Damon raised a hand to touch a finger to my mouth, but hey, it was the old once-burned, twice-shy thing. Only burning wasn’t what I was worried about. I ducked out of the way, and then I was sorry I did; Damon looked as if I’d slapped him.

“I couldn’t help myself, Pepper,” he said. “I’ve never felt this way before! Not about any woman. Man, can you believe it? This is a first! Damon Curtis is jealous!” He looked back to where Quinn was talking to one of the paramedics, and I looked that way, too. “Jealous of a cop!”

There was a time I thought a broken heart was nothing but a metaphor. Or was it a simile? No matter, I swear I felt mine crack in two. There wasn’t anything I could do, and nothing I could say. No worries. When I turned back to Damon, he was nowhere in sight.

And wonder of wonder, when I looked around to see where he went, I saw Quinn instead, just as he raised a hand to wave me over. I moved fast. Before he could change his mind.

I’d been so busy concentrating on Damon, I’d pretty much blocked out everything going on around me, but as I crossed the spacious and wide-open lobby, the commotion got louder and the crowds got thicker.

I stepped around a group of Rock Hall employees watching the action. And a couple of paramedics standing around wondering what to do with the empty stretcher they were carrying.

The acoustics in the lobby were great for music, but they amplified the uproar of voices and the crackle of police radios until it all blended into one giant nightmare of noise. Still, through it all, one voice rose above the racket. Alistair Cromwell was sitting on the top stair of the steps that led up to the stage. He was dangling his smashed glasses in one hand, and there was a gash across the bridge of his nose. One of the paramedics was trying to dab a gauze to the wound, but Alistair would have none of it.