Marilyn Pappano - Criminal Deception

Her gut clenched and her hand developed a fine tremor. Excitement, she told herself, because the last couple months’ work might pay off. Not disappointment at all. Hadn’t she told Mika that she didn’t believe Joe’s claim about not knowing where Josh was? Hadn’t she thought he was lying?

But thinking and knowing were two different things.

With her pleasure in the coffee gone, she set the cup on the table. “So you do know.”

He opened one eye to look at her, then both. His gaze was steady, nothing in its blue depths. No guilt, no regret, no shame. Just a cool, even, unwavering look. “No, I don’t.”

“But you said-”

He shook his head. “It would be easier to lie to you than to convince you that I’m not lying.”

Relief and irritation and the faint niggling suspicion that he was still lying made her scowl. “Do you really expect me to believe that your identical twin brother who has relied on you to save his ass all your lives hasn’t been in touch with you for more than two years?”

The bell announced two customers, and he glanced their way, greeting them with a nod, before turning his attention back to her. “See, that’s the problem, Liz.” He stood, scooted the chair back up to the table and picked up his glass before he leaned close. “I don’t care what you believe.”

She breathed in, catching a whiff of his cologne beneath the scent of sweetened coffee, and resorted to a shallower, insufficient breath as he walked away. He moved easily, comfortably, giving no hint to his customers that he had recently been the least bit flustered.

Proved he was a good liar, didn’t it?

Business picked up, giving Joe a legitimate reason to keep his distance from her. She finished her drink and considered ordering another, weighing a few more minutes of coffee heaven against the workout required to keep the calories from going straight to her hips, and regretfully decided against it.

Instead, she stood, left a tip anchored under the cup, and strolled across the dining room to the door, outside onto the sidewalk and out of sight.

When Liz got home, Mrs. Wyndham was kneeling near the flower beds that marked the border between the main house and the cottages. Shading her eyes against the sun in spite of the floppy hat she wore, she gave Liz half a second to get out of the car, then called to her. “Don’t you look pretty today?”

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Wyndham.” Liz headed her way, pausing to kick off her shoes once she reached the grass. As she passed the pink cottage, movement inside caught her eye-a shadow at the screen door, flanked by two smaller shadows. She wiggled her fingers in greeting, though she couldn’t see if Natalia responded.

The color surrounding the old lady was provided by flats of flowers awaiting planting, at least a dozen or more. Wiggling her toes in the lush, sun-warmed grass, Liz said, “You’ve got almost enough flowers here to make my mother happy.”

“Is your mother a gardener?”

“Only part-time, but she has a very green thumb, which I didn’t inherit. I’m lucky to keep a cactus alive.”

“I don’t believe in green thumbs,” Mrs. Wyndham said seriously. “Gardening is a science. Plants have certain requirements, and if you meet them, they flourish. If you don’t, they die.”

“Oh, but it’s an art, too. Shaping the beds, mixing colors, knowing what looks good where…and you’re a master artist, Mrs. Wyndham.”

“I’d better be. I’m one of the cofounders of the horticultural society in town.” Removing one dirt-encrusted glove, the old lady lifted a flat of zinnias from a cart that doubled as a bench and shoved it in her direction. “How’s Joe?”

Liz obediently sat, laying her shoes on the grass beside her. “The last time I saw him, he was fine.”

“That’s what all the girls think. They all like him, but you know, I can’t recall him going out on a single date the whole time he’s lived here. He danced once with Sophy Marchand at the Halloween festival last year, but I think that’s as far as it went. You don’t suppose he’s gay, do you?”

If Liz had been standing in her heels, she would have toppled out of them. “No,” she said hastily, breathlessly. Then she gave herself a mental shake. “Not dating doesn’t mean a person doesn’t like the opposite sex. I mean, I like guys, but I don’t date much. It’s been more than two years since I went out with anyone.”

Mrs. Wyndham’s hands stilled, a clump of yellow-and-orange lantana dangling from them, and she fixed her gaze on Liz. “That’s a shame. Did he break your heart?”

“Who?”

“Joe. It’s obvious, isn’t it? You two used to know each other, he’s been here nearly two years and hasn’t gone out with a single woman, you haven’t gone out with another man in two years, you come looking for him…”

“No,” Liz said with a bit too much emphasis even to her own ears. “The timing is just coincidence. We weren’t involved.”

Who was lying now? That night in Josh’s kitchen…She’d been cleaning up after dinner; Joe had come in to get a beer. She had just shut off the lights and turned, and there he was, near and handsome and strong and decent and everything his brother wasn’t. And the sizzle…Damn that sizzle. From the first time they’d met, it had been there, skipping along her veins, dancing upon her nerves, tempting her to forget her job and her case and everything she was for just the chance, the smallest chance, to explore the attraction to him.

They’d stood there in the dimly lit room, everything else faded, mere inches from touching, and everything in her had ached for that touch. She’d wanted it so much and so badly, and so had he; she’d seen it in his face, had felt it in the tension radiating off him in waves. It had taken every bit of strength she possessed to remember why they couldn’t have that touch.

Remember Josh.

The words had been for herself, but they’d had the right effect on Joe. He’d looked stunned.

And an instant later, Josh had barged down the hall.

“Tommy-that’s my grandnephew by marriage-he’s a detective for the local police-says there’s no such thing as coincidence.” Finally, Mrs. Wyndham plunged the lantana into the soft dirt and patted the soil around it.

In the moment the woman’s attention was on the plant, Liz seized the opportunity to send the conversation on a tangent. “I thought maybe Joe and Natalia were involved.”

Mrs. Wyndham pursed her lips in thought. “I don’t think so. I think she’s more like the sister he never had. She’s an odd girl. I never met anyone who seemed more alone. I don’t even know why she stays here. She keeps to herself except for Joe. And now she’s brought home those strays. I think she identifies with them. Someone threw them out, and someone threw her out, and now Joe’s taking care of all three of them.”

Liz resisted the urge to point out that, so far, Natalia had done most of the taking care of the dogs. Joe had bought food and given them a place to spend the night, but Natalia did the actual feeding, the walking, the playing, the loving.

“Where is she from?” Liz asked instead.

“She’s never said.” Mrs. Wyndham pulled another clump of lantana from the plastic flat and dug a hole for it a few inches from the first.

“I don’t use typical standards for renting the cottages,” Mrs. Wyndham went on. “I don’t ask for driver’s licenses or credit or personal references. I’ve known Pete all his life. Credit references couldn’t tell me anything about him that I don’t already know. And Joe…well, you can just look at Joe and know that he’s a good guy. Everyone in town adores him. Half of his friends are cops or lawyers, the churchy people like him a lot and the kids love him.”