Cattitude (24 page)

She clapped her hands together. “A knockout
drug! That’s how we’ll do it.”

Brenda looked at her with admiration and
pride. “You’re brilliant. Just brilliant!”

“They call them date rape drugs, but I don’t
plan to rape Max. Just marry him.” Caroline stood, too excited to
sit. Nothing could go wrong with this plan. It couldn’t. This might
be her last chance to snag Max.

“Andy Marshall!” Brenda laughed like a young
girl. “That’s his name. The one who sold me the pills.”

“You know where to reach him? It’s been ten
years since we were on the circuit.” Ten years of watching herself
age, her skin showing its pores and the freshness on her face
spoiling, like a tomato left too long in the sun.

“I’ll find him.” Brenda got to her feet,
hurled herself at Caroline and enfolded her in a hug. “You can
count on me.”

“Of course.” Who else was always there for
her?

“We need a plan of action.” Brenda stepped
back, her breaths shallow and fast, her eyes bright. “This is like
old times.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Not all good times.
Caroline had lost too often to girls less worthy, despite Brenda’s
successes in eliminating the competition.

After she snared Max, her losing days would
be over. “I’ll wait for a night when Ted’s working at the bar. Then
I’ll stay for dinner. Max always invites me to stay when I work
late.” She nodded, liking the way it was coming together. “I’ll
give him the drug in his food or a drink. When he passes out, I’ll
drag him to his bedroom and rip off his clothes.”

Brenda frowned. “I thought you were going to
take the drug. How is this going to make Max feel like he
compromised you?”

“This plan is better. I’ll take off my
clothes and crawl into bed with him. In the morning, I’ll tell him
I love him as much as he loves me and I’m so happy he
proposed.”

“Perfect! But what about Sorcha and
Tory?”

“Tell Andy to get enough for three
people.”

“Bravo, my brave darling.” Brenda clapped.
“Bravo!”

Caroline whirled around to look at herself in
the mirror again. Was this the face of a winner? Was her luck
finally changing?

Standing behind Caroline, Brenda’s hand
curved over her shoulder. Then she poked out her head so she could
gaze at Caroline’s reflection in the mirrored panels too. From
where Caroline stood, it looked as if Brenda’s head and neck were a
growth on her upper arm.

“Max will be so lucky to have such a
beautiful wife,” Brenda said.

Caroline watched Brenda’s eyes glisten with
pride. If Emery had ever looked at her with half Brenda’s
adoration, he’d be alive today.

Then she thought of all the money he’d lost,
of his stupidity and his arrogance. Her teeth set and her muscles
tightened and darkness gathered in her head, thickening,
congealing. She wished with her whole being he was in front of her
for one purpose.

So she could kill him again.

***

Phil’s cell phone rang and he jumped off the
bed in his hotel room. He grabbed the phone too fast and it tumbled
out of his hand. Bending to catch it, he conked his head against
the table next to the bed. He swore and snatched the phone, his
other hand on his head. It rang once more before he raised it to
his ear and pressed the Go button.

“Is it done?” Bob demanded.

“Not yet.” Not ever, perhaps, but he couldn’t
tell Bob about his overactive conscience. “She rarely leaves the
house.”

“Are you camped out watching it?”

He looked out the motel window at the parking
lot, a couple getting out of the car two rooms down, the man
scratching his butt. “Yes.” Another lie, another twist in his
belly.

Muffled voices came from the other end of the
phone. Bob’s voice ebbed and he said, “Okay, I’m coming.” When he
spoke next, his voice rose and fell, and Phil guessed he was
walking. “I have to board the plane. Melanie and I are off to a
golf tournament in Palm Springs. I hate to leave the kids but it’s
for charity. I’ll be back in a couple days.”

“Nice,” Phil said glumly. “I suppose there’ll
be celebrities there.”

“Clint Eastwood,” Bob said, “Kelsey Grammer
and...”

Phil tuned Bob out, unable to envy him. The
last time he was at Bob’s house, Melanie felt up his buns. He’d met
Bob’s father twice, and the man had a tongue like a machete. Not a
life to be envied, despite all Bob’s money.

“I’ll be back the day after tomorrow,” Bob
said. “I hope you’ll have this taken care of by then. And don’t get
caught. You know I’d hate to have anything happen to you.”

He clicked off before Phil could reply. In
pain and miserable, Phil punched in a number.

“Hansford Sheriff’s Department,” a bored
voice said.

Instantly the pain in his stomach eased.
Maybe that was his sign. All along, God had been speaking to him
through his stomach.

***

Where was Max? Kneeling on the couch, Belle
stared out the front window, then glanced at her pink fingernails
resting on the top of the couch back. Tory had painted them and her
toenails an hour ago, ignoring Belle’s protests. Saying no to Tory
was like saying no to sunlight. No matter what you said, the rays
shone down anyway.

Hearing Tory walk into the great room, she
shifted.

“Are you looking for your fiancé?” Tory’s
mouth smirked like Ted’s often did. “Or Max?”

Belle crossed her legs, wiggling her pink
toenails. “I don’t have a fiancé.”

“That’s not what he says. And he’s not the
one who can’t remember anything.”

Belle bit her lower lip. If Sorcha loved her
fiancé, why wasn’t she hanging around, trying to get her body back
so she could see him and hold him? Do all the things Belle wanted
to do with Max but knew she shouldn’t.

“Max should be home soon.” Tory slumped in
the chair across from the couch. “I called and he and Ted are
looking at some of Max’s properties. You want pizza again?”

Belle shook her head. Today she’d discovered
something better than tuna. A human delicacy so wonderful it must
taste like a piece of heaven.

“I’ll have a peanut butter and jelly
sandwich.”

“For supper?”

Belle lifted her head and looked down her
nose at Tory—just like Sophia on
The Love Chronicles
. Being
a human was easy with the help of her favorite TV show. “Yes, for
supper. Is something wrong with that?”

“Hey.” Tory hunched her shoulders and shrank
further in the chair, knees up to her chest, bare feet on the
cushion. “I don’t care if you eat cereal for supper.”

“I don’t want cereal. I want peanut butter
and jelly.”

“Fine. Go eat your sandwich.” Tory stayed
where she was, not moving a muscle.

Belle sighed. It looked as if she’d have to
get up and make her own. Except for painting Belle’s fingers and
toenails, Tory hadn’t done anything all day. Well, besides trying
on clothes and throwing them on the floor.

As a cat, Belle hadn’t noticed Tory’s sloppy
habits.

Did that mean she was becoming less of a cat?
She frowned. The thought wasn’t welcome, but for the first time it
didn’t want to make her yowl.

A sound came to her ears from the driveway,
the hum of a car engine, its cadence familiar. She swung around,
her hair whipping out.

“It’s him,” she said, her voice low and
tense.

“Him who?”

Belle rose to her knees, her arms on top of
the couch back, sticking her face against the window. “Max,” she
said, her breath puffing against the glass.

Tory’s chair squeaked as she leapt off it. A
second later, Tory knelt beside Belle, her elbow poking
Belle’s.

“Ted’s with him,” Tory said. The car glided
into the garage, and Tory and Belle were left looking at the shade
tree in front.

Belle twisted away from the window and jumped
off the couch.

“Don’t be so eager,” Tory said. “Wear your
heart on your sleeve and it’ll get ripped off.”

Belle turned her head. Tory watched her, her
mouth turned down, her eyes radiating sympathy. Belle didn’t
understand Tory. What was wrong with letting Max know she was glad
to see him? When she was a cat, he liked it when she rubbed against
his leg and allowed him to pet her. Why should that be different
just because she was human now?

Did it have something to do with sex?

Everything about being a human seemed to be
about sex.

Her body shivered in a good way, a delightful
ice cream sandwich way. Sex with Max didn’t seem horrid either.

But to never be a cat again... Her shivers
stopped abruptly. That wasn’t something she cared to think about
anymore than she wanted to think about leaving her home.

She heard the sound of the back door opening.
Muffled male voices trickled into the great room. Belle hurried to
the kitchen.

A second after Max sat, the white bag with
the sub sandwiches on the table in front of him, Belle swept into
the kitchen. He felt a lift inside him and tried to tamp it down.
Pulling soda cans from the fridge, Ted asked Belle if she wanted
one. She told him no, still walking up to Max, who gazed at her
warily. Her back was straight, her hips swaying, her slender body
radiating a compelling combination of sensuality and vibrancy.

Max braced himself for her nearness. He’d
never known a woman like Sorcha. Sometimes she had the innocence of
a child, other times the erotic charms of a goddess. She could
sleep half the day then wake up as energetic as a kitten. She had
more contradictions than the English language.

“You were gone all day,” she said, her tone
not accusing, just stating a fact.

“We had a lot to do.” Max shuddered to think
what her life might have been like growing up under that
joy-sucking banner of fanaticism.

He pulled a wrapped sub sandwich out of a bag
before she could ask about her parents. “Want a sub? It’s
turkey.”

She bent forward, her nose almost touching
the sub, and sniffed. “I can’t tell.”

He tore off the wrapping. She reminded him of
Belle sniffing anything new before she condescended to eat it—or
not.

“Okay.” She sat next to him, grabbed it from
his hands and stuffed the end into her mouth. Bits of lettuce fell
to the table and she ignored them.

Max wanted to laugh. Ted did.

“Sometimes I think you can’t be for real.”
Ted sat and took a sub from the bag. He pulled off the wrapping,
checking to see what kind of meat was inside.

Belle didn’t answer, too busy chewing with
her mouth screwed up and her forehead puckered, as if she were
testing the sub to see if it were up to the gastronomical delight
of canned tuna. Then her brows rose and she chewed faster. Her
eyelids lowered, an expression of bliss flushing her pretty
face.

A tightness in Max’s belly eased and he
realized how much he liked seeing her happy. That wasn’t good, not
when he was leaving. Not with the mystery surrounding her life.

Tory strolled into the room. She was dressed
in black slacks and a red top, her ankle-high red boots tapping on
the wood floor.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“Just shopping. But let’s not talk about me.
What did you find—”

The front doorbell rang and she swiveled
toward the front of the house.

“I’ll get it.” Max stood.

“No, I’ll get it,” Tory said.

“I’ll get it,” he snapped.

She gave him a dirty look. “Who do you think
you are? King Max?”

He marched past her. Let her think what she
wanted. Someone killed Sorcha’s fiancé and might be after her. His
house couldn’t be a fortress, but at least he could answer the
door.

At the front door, he peered out the spy
hole. Phil stood there, his hands in his pocket, his mouth turned
down as if his thoughts weren’t pleasant, his shoulders slumped.
The image of a man on the edge of defeat.

Max jerked open the door. “What do you want?”
he demanded.

A muscle in Phil’s cheek twitched. “I’m here
to see my fiancé. You got a problem with that?”

“A big problem. Sorcha’s fiancé is lying in a
Milwaukee morgue. So who the hell are you? Is Phil Hern even your
name?”

The younger man froze. Max stilled, sensing
danger. Then Phil started to slide his hand into his back
pocket.

And Max wondered why he’d thought it was a
good idea not to call the police.

***

His defenses up, Max started to close the
door.

Phil pulled out a badge. “I’m an FBI
agent.”

Max laughed. This guy was incredible. One
damned lie after another. “Why should I believe you now?”

“I’m investigating a murder.” Phil’s
shoulders firmed, his legs braced, still holding up the badge.

For the second time, Max started to slam the
door shut.

“Wait!” Tory called behind him.

Shit. He turned to give Tory a look that
should have glued her stylish boot heels to the floor—but she
stepped past him, smiling at Phil like he was a producer with the
role of her life.

“You’re
not
engaged to Sorcha?” she
asked.

He shook his head. He smiled at her with his
mouth, but his eyes remained sad. The look they shared lasted a
couple seconds too long.

Max swallowed a groan. Sweet Jesus, not this.
“Tory, you can’t believe this bozo. He could be a murderer.”

She looked at Max, her lips pulled back, her
hands fisted at her sides. “He has a badge.”

“I can buy a badge at the party store. He
lied before. Why the hell do you think he’s telling the truth
now?”

“He’s a good man.” She thumped her left
breast. “I know it here.”

“How simplistic can you get?” Max ran his
hand through his hair. What could he say to get through to her?
“Does your heart know someone killed Sorcha’s real fiancé?”

Her mouth opened but nothing came out. Max
nodded. She was finally seeing the warts on her frog prince.