“Why Monday? Why not Saturday, if she wants a two-day weekend?”
“Because Saturday is our busiest day, and Monday is our slowest. I don’t know why, but it’s that way for beauty shops, too. Most of them are closed on Monday.”
He looked as if he didn’t know where to go with that bit of information. As a cop, you’d think he would see the value in knowing things like that. What if someday he had to arrest a mad hair stylist? He could save time by not going to the shop, if it was Monday.
“So,” I said, changing the subject, “why did I even bother to get dressed today if you’re chaining me in the bathroom? I hope you’ve thought this out, because besides the obvious benefit of being there, just how am I going to get something to eat?”
“I’ll make some sandwiches and put them in a cooler for you.” His eyes held a glint of laughter.
“Just for the record, I do not eat in the bathroom. Yuck. Just think of all the bathroom cooties waiting to jump all over your food.”
“I’ll make it a long chain so you can stand just outside the door.”
“You’re all heart. A warning, though: when I get bored, I get into trouble.”
“Now, what trouble could you get into in the bathroom?”
Right off the bat I could think of several things, but I didn’t share them with him. He must have read something in my face, though, because he shook his head. “It’s tempting, but no way would I leave you on your own all day.”
“So it’s back to your mother’s, right?”
“I’m afraid so. I’ve already called her this morning.”
“And apologized for being a sorehead, I hope.”
“Yes, I apologized,” he said wearily. “I think I might as well make a recording and give it to you so you can play it whenever you think it’s needed.”
I thought that totally missed out on the spirit of an apology, and told him so. “That’s the idea,” he replied, and I saw I hadn’t gained as much ground as I’d thought.
This time I helped him clean up the kitchen. I was very careful when I moved my arm, but it was time to start giving it some gentle movement and exercise. Then we went upstairs to get ready, and again it had that comfortable, intimate feeling, as if we’d been doing this together for years. He liked the yellow bra, and insisted on pulling down my shorts so he could see my matching yellow underpants. That was his excuse, anyway. The hand he slid inside my underpants gave away his true intentions, though. I swear, the man was a lech.
I quickly said, “No!”; and with a wink, a pinch, a pat, and a teasing probe of his finger that put me on my tiptoes, he withdrew his hand.
Oh, damn him. My heart was pounding and I felt flushed. Now I had to deal with being horny all day at his mother’s house.
I got back at him. I bent down and lovingly kissed my way down his zipper. He jerked, and threaded his hand through my hair. “Just think,” I purred, “how it would feel if these pants weren’t in my way.” His hand tightened, and he shuddered.
I straightened and said briskly, “But they are, and you need to get to work.”
“That’s dirty,” he growled, eyes hot.
“That’s payback. If I’m going to be horny all day, so are you.”
“Gonna be interesting tonight,” he mused as he restored my clothes to proper order.
“It might not. I’m getting better at heading you off,” I said with satisfaction.
“Then I’ll just have to get to your neck faster.”
I had another uneventful day at Mrs. Bloodsworth’s house. I talked to Lynn and she gave me an update on the computer situation, plus how many members had returned now that we were reopened. I was gratified when she told me, because I’d expected a slow couple of weeks. Evidently the weight room was full, the cardio machines were occupied, and almost everyone had asked if I was okay. The comments about Nicole’s murder ranged from “I didn’t care for her, but she didn’t deserve that” to “I’m not surprised.” One person asked for his membership to be extended because our facilities hadn’t been available for his use for three days. I told Lynn to give him a four-day extension. There’s an asshole in every crowd. When she told me who he was, I wasn’t surprised. He was one of the city bigwigs who thought he was privileged. What he was, was tolerated. Barely.
I called Mom, and brought her up to date. I didn’t tell her Dwayne Bailey’s name, just in case he was innocent. I did tell her about my computer woes, and she filled me in on hers. Mom’s in real estate, and she keeps all her records on a computer in her little office at home. Her electronics were evidently in a state of revolt against her. In less than a week, her printer had died, her copy machine had to be taken in for repairs, and her computer had experienced two mini-crashes. She was in the middle of preparing her quarterly taxes, and her frustration level was high. I hadn’t helped by getting shot.
I made soothing noises to her, and promised to keep her apprised of my situation. She asked after Wyatt, which I guess is normal, since he’d insisted on taking her daughter home with him. She liked him. She said he was a hottie. I thought about him naked, and agreed with her.
Business taken care of and the home front covered, Mrs. Bloodsworth and I settled in for another uneventful day. She worked in her flower garden for a while, and to be on the safe side, I didn’t. I doubted Nicole’s murderer was going to drive by Mrs. Bloodsworth’s house and spot me pulling weeds in her flower garden, but until Wyatt sounded the all clear, I wasn’t taking any chances. I had a very sore arm to remind me of how dangerous this guy was.
I read. I watched television. I watched the clock. I didn’t call Wyatt, though I was tempted. I knew he’d call when he had anything, so there wasn’t any point in harassing him.
I did some light yoga, to keep my muscles limber. Mrs. Bloodsworth came in while I was doing it, and was intrigued. She changed into less restrictive clothing, got her exercise mat, and got on the floor beside me. I showed her some basic yoga positions, and we stretched our muscles and entertained ourselves until it was time for lunch.
Around two, Wyatt called. “MacInnes and Forester interviewed Dwayne Bailey this morning, in the presence of his wife. Evidently she’d had some suspicions he was cheating on her, and the family scene got intense. Bailey broke down and confessed on the spot; his story is that Ms. Goodwin was threatening to tell his wife if he didn’t come through with some money she needed, so he shot her. He’s in custody.”
I went weak with relief, and collapsed back against the sofa. “Thank goodness! I don’t like this hiding-out stuff. So I can go home? And go back to Great Bods? It’s all over?”
“Looks like.”
“Was he the one who opened my gate?”
“He denies that. He also denies shooting you, which is smart on his part. A good lawyer can get him second-degree on Ms. Goodwin’s murder, but shooting you would be premeditated and automatically carry a longer sentence.”