Brownies & Betrayal (Sweet Bites Mysteries, Book 1) (25 page)

We arrived back at Honey’s in time to meet Lidia and Dahlia, who had come by for another play date.

“How’s everything going?” I asked Lidia when she had released her niece into the fray. Honey’s girls pulled Dahlia into their games right away.

Lidia pushed the hair back from her eyes, which had dark circles under them despite her makeup. “Good. I’m starting to make headway on clearing out Valerie’s apartment. I’m not sure if I’m going to get through it all before the funeral, and my husband is supposed to be home from the Philippines next week. I’m anxious for him and Dahlia to get to know each other better.”

“How does he feel about gaining a daughter?” Honey asked. I could tell she was choosing her words with care.

A smile lit Lidia’s face. “He’s excited. We’ve never been able to have children together, and we’ve talked about adoption a few times.” She turned to Dahlia, who was walking a Bratz figure alongside Madison’s doll as if the two of them were out for a stroll in the park. “Sometimes wonderful things can happen in the midst of tragedy.”

I agreed with her. If Dahlia started receiving the kind of love and support rumor had it she didn’t get from her mother, it would have some silver linings for the little girl. And for Lidia and her husband.

Chance ran over with a blue three-ring binder and shoved it at me. “Hey, you want to see what I did for my project?”

“Sure.” I took the book from the eager boy and paged through it. Each plastic sleeve held pictures. The middle picture on each page was one of his parents or sibling. The other photos were of relatives with information about the trait the main person had inherited from them. These included talents and physical characteristics, so it was clear his mother had lent a hand. I wondered when she’d had time to help him with everything else going on.

After his family, there were pictures of me with my parents and grandparents and the qualities I’d gotten from them. Following my page was one with photos of Dahlia with shots of Lidia and Valerie on the sides. The picture of Dahlia was of her in Tad’s arms as they laughed together—probably one of the few taken of Dahlia the night of the murder. The comments on the page were strictly about the characteristics she’d gotten from her mother and aunt. I found my eyes drawn back to the picture in the middle, studying both faces. Valerie wasn’t the only person Dahlia resembled. My mind started to race.

I needed to think this over before sharing it with anyone, so I flipped the page again and finding nothing else, handed it back to Chance. “That’s awesome. You did a great job. I bet your teacher loves it.”

He beamed at me and rattled on about the science fair and how excited he was. While I tried to focus on him, I kept finding myself looking back to Dahlia. Could it be a coincidence? Something told me it wasn’t, and I needed to make another trip to Prescott to chat with Tad.

When Honey redirected Chance to the table to finish his homework, I caught Lidia’s eye. She seemed to be watching me, but I pushed back my suspicions and changed the subject. After a few more minutes I looked at my watch. “I need to head home. I’m supposed to meet Shawn to go to the Silver Spur tonight. I have less than an hour until he comes to get me.” And a ton of stuff to unload from my vehicle.

“Have fun.” Honey winked. “I expect a full report.”

“I’ll call you in the morning,” I promised and said goodbye to Lidia and the kids.

On the way home, I thought about the dynamics of the situation. The bank account was getting low, so Valerie would have been looking for another cash infusion. I could imagine Analesa’s feelings if she found out on her wedding day that Dahlia was Tad’s child. I wasn’t sure what she would do—try to convince Tad not to take responsibility? Or would she decide it was okay to take her in if Dahlia was her step-daughter? It was a moot point, since I didn’t think Analesa knew the truth. And now Lidia seemed so excited about taking her niece home—would there be a big court battle? Wouldn’t father’s rights trump the aunt’s in court?

A few minutes after I returned home, I answered my ringing doorbell to find Detective Tingey on my stairs. He was the last person I wanted to see right then. “Hello, can I help you?” I asked. The way things were going, I’d be lucky if he didn’t arrest me.

“I wanted you to know that we have Millie in custody for Valerie’s murder, so you’ll be safe from here on out.”

“She really did it? I thought for sure she had just taken advantage of the situation.” Once again, I was having a problem reading people lately. I thought I was a better judge of character than that.

“Oh, that’s the story she’s telling right now.” Detective Tingey shook his head. “Sometimes criminals amaze me with their stupid excuses.”

I thought he was being a bit naïve, considering he was a police detective—no doubt there were worse excuses. But he’d said Silver Springs didn’t see many murders. “Thanks for letting me know. I appreciate it.” Strangely, I didn’t feel all that reassured about my safety.

“No problem, ma’am. I’ll let you know when we hear more about the problems you’ve been having.”

That reminded me. “Right. I meant to call you, but today has been rather overfilled with events. I found out who spray painted my window and I’ve taken care of it, so you can close the case.”

His eyes narrowed and grew wary. “You’ve taken care of it? Miss Crawford, you
taking care
of things is why your window was vandalized in the first place.”

As he wasn’t entirely wrong on that point—no matter how much I wished to deny it—I decided he deserved an explanation. “It was my ex-finance, Bronson. Marge’s gift shop across the street caught him on a surveillance camera. I gave him the option of cleaning it up and going home, or me pressing charges. He chose the former—which was my preference, as it got rid of him. Anyway, it’s over.”

“Good.” He lifted a hand in farewell. “You have a nice day, and I look forward to your store opening.”

“Thanks.” I felt confused when I shut the door behind him. He could be right. Maybe Millie had enough of the high and mighty routine Valerie had been pulling. Maybe she and Valerie got into a fight—but it didn’t feel right to me. I couldn’t decide what to think, so I turned my thoughts back to my date.

I really liked Shawn. He had integrity, he was fun and intelligent, willing to help out and man, was he a good kisser! But I wasn’t ready to become serious in another relationship right now. It wasn’t a problem, I reminded myself. We were having fun, and that was it.

I hurried to get ready, even pulling out an old pair of red boots I’d carried around with me for years—the same pair I’d purchased when I was sixteen. They had been worn many times over the years, though mostly when I came to visit my grandma. I wondered why I hadn’t worn them before now.

As I slid them on, touching the red leather, dusting the contours with my index finger, I remembered the way I’d felt when I bought them. Grandma had taken me to the store for a pair of
real boots
, she said. I was going to do some horseback riding with a guy I had a major crush on, and she said if I was going to spend much time around horses, I’d need the right footwear.

Though I’d balked at first—they didn’t fit into my idea of fashion—I found them super comfortable. They were so, so much better than the tight and uncomfortable high heels I now wore at every opportunity—though not nearly as cute. Eventually the boots were my favorite footwear, so much that I’d nearly taken them back to New York with me, but I could still hear the taunts I’d imagined from my friends. Being labeled a hick was not on my to-do list at the time, so I’d set them side-by-side on the closet floor and mourned them from New York. It wasn’t until after my apprenticeship in France that I’d finally taken them with me.

Amazingly, after all these years, they still fit well and I slid the legs of my jeans down over them. Good thing we’d popped into a store to pick up some boot-cut jeans, as I’d forgotten to bring my only pair with me when I left Chicago. These were not designer, but I liked the way they fit over my rear end and the slimming look they gave my legs. I wasn’t the skinniest person on the planet, but they made me look good.

I topped the outfit with a soft red shirt that buttoned up the front and a beaded necklace with a big silver amulet at the bottom. It was heavy, so it wouldn’t fly around too much when I danced.

I heard the clomp of boots on the stairs just before the knock on the door. Shawn stood on the other side, a single tulip, no doubt filched from someone’s yard, twisting in his fingers.

He was such a strange mixture of contrasts. His eyes slid down me appreciatively, stopped on the boots and his brow furrowed before he lifted his gaze to my face again. “Those boots are scuffed.”

“Very observant of you. That’s what happens when you wear them,” I answered as I accepted the flower.

“Who did you borrow them from? Honey?”

I turned my back on him and moved to the kitchen for a vase, smiling at his surprise. At the last minute, I detoured to the cupboard and pulled out an old pint jam jar. Somehow it seemed more fitting than my slim crystal bud vase. “Nope, I didn’t borrow them. I’ve owned them for years. I just haven’t had a reason to put them on since I got back.”

Shawn came up behind me, took the jar from my hand and set it on the counter. He turned me to face him. “You’re so different than I expected.” His hand lifted to my face, and his thumb ran along my bottom lip. “You intrigue me.”

My heart rate picked up, despite everything I’d told myself about the non-future of our relationship. I allowed my mouth to slide into a teasing smile. “Good. I wouldn’t want to become predictable.”

His mouth covered mine in a sweet, lingering kiss. I felt goose bumps rise across my arms and a yearning for something more enter my chest. Shawn made me feel good about myself and I loved being with him, wanted more of it. He moved back and took my hand, pulling me toward the door. “Do you need a purse or anything?”

“Nope, I’ve got what I need in my pocket.” My emergency stash included lipstick, cell phone, a twenty dollar bill, my ID and the key to the apartment.

“I thought it was against a woman’s genetic makeup to go around without a purse.”

I followed him down the last of the outside stairs before responding. “If we were going dancing somewhere that required a slinky dress, I’d have a purse. Thankfully, these jeans have pockets.”

He scanned me again as we approached his car. “Though I like the way you look right now, I admit that the thought of you in a slinky dress interests me.”

“Too bad Nogales calls, isn’t it? I have several dresses that would qualify.” Okay, so they were all in my closet in Chicago, but they’d be in Silver Springs soon.

Shawn opened the car door and watched me sit, letting his eyes linger for a long moment. “It sure is a shame.” He shut the door and rounded the front of the car to the driver’s side.

I loved the way he made me feel special and beautiful.

When he’d pulled the car onto the road, he slid me a sidelong glance. “I admit, I think of you as more of a symphony and Broadway musical type of gal than as a cowboy bar woman.”

“No reason I can’t be both,” I pointed out. “Diversity is the joy of life.”

“True.” He squeezed my fingers. “Any info about your vandal? I’ve been poking around, but haven’t turned up anything useful.”

We pulled up to the bar a while later. I’d spent the drive telling him what I’d learned about Bronson and what I did about it.

He parked the truck, then came around to my side to let me out. “I think you might scare me a little,” Shawn said as he took my hand to help me out of the vehicle. Yes, he actually gave me his hand and helped me up—not that I needed assistance, but it was a sweet gesture.

“You don’t act scared.”

“I have a really good brave face. It comes in handy with my job.” He shut the door, locking it with his keychain fob. We headed for the bar, and he didn’t release my hand.

“I see. I’ll remember that I can be scary, and hold that in reserve for when someone earns my wrath.” Of course, Bronson had more than deserved what little I had dished out to him that morning, so I didn’t feel guilty about it.

Shawn led me inside, we ordered food and he pulled me toward the dance floor as a fast song started. “Do you know how to swing dance?” he asked as he led me away from the group line dancing on one side of the floor.

I grinned. “It’s been a while, but if you can be a little patient, I’ll pick it up again.”

The dancing was fun, the chicken strips and fries I ordered were delicious and Shawn kept me dancing until midnight with water breaks in between to stay hydrated. Not only was he a fantastic swing dancer, but he showed off smooth moves on the slow dances as well.

“Not much of a beer drinker, are you?” he asked as we pulled out of the parking lot at the end of the evening.

“You’re one to talk. You didn’t have one either.”

“I was driving tonight, and I don’t drink much anyway. Do you avoid alcohol on principle, or was this an exception?” His question was light, curious.

“It dulls the senses, and I was having too much fun for that. Besides, I think I need to keep my wits about me where you’re concerned.” It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Shawn, because I had no reason to think he’d take advantage, but keeping a clear head had definite benefits. Since I’d recently learned I wasn’t nearly as good a judge of character as I’d thought, a clear head was a good thing. I had long-ago vowed to stay away from the stuff—my family history of alcoholism went back many generations.