After we’re settled in the car on the way to my cottage, I give Desi a brief encapsulation of the night’s events, though I gloss over a few items knowing that, despite their attempts to appear disinterested, the kids are hanging on my every word. They always do, something I’ve learned the hard way more than once. Tonight they give themselves away when I mention Rubbish.
“You have a cat?” Erika says.
“When did you get a cat?” Ethan asks at the same instant, though there is nary a pause in the bleeps and whistles coming from his game.
“I got him a few days ago. He’s only a kitten. I think he’s about twelve weeks old.”
“Cool.” Coming from Erika, this is high praise indeed.
“I found him in a Dumpster,” I tell them.
“Way cool,” Ethan judges. “Is that why you named him Rubbish?”
“Yep.”
“And he ran away?” Erika says, suspicion lacing her voice.
“I hope not, but when I tried to find him, I couldn’t. Will you guys help me look for him when we get home?” Both kids answer with an enthusiastic “Sure!” though I can’t help but wonder how much help Ethan will be if he doesn’t take his eyes off that game.
As Desi pulls into my driveway and parks in front of the cottage, I see that the power is still out. But the cottage isn’t totally dark. The light from several candles glows through the front windows, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise since I know I only lit one and I distinctly remember extinguishing it before heading to the ER. I also remember that, once again, I didn’t bother to lock the front door.
Then I see one of the candles move across the room as if it’s floating on air, and I gasp. Either my cottage is haunted or someone is inside.
Chapter 21
I’m about to freak out and tell Desi to turn around and hightail it out of there when the floating candle approaches a window and I see Hurley’s face behind it. Belatedly, I look around and see his car parked over near Izzy’s garage.
The kids are out of the car in a flash, intrigued by the chance to peruse my new digs and eager to look for Rubbish. I climb out after them, not sure if I am glad to see Hurley or mad as hell that he is prowling around inside my cottage. Was that why he left me in the clutches of that policewoman? So he could come and search my house?
Feeling confused and betrayed, I stomp up the stairs to my porch and prepare for yet another confrontation. But as soon as I open the door my anger is gone. On the floor in front of the couch is a damp and bedraggled-looking Rubbish, contentedly lapping at a bowl of milk.
“Oh, thank God!” I say. I look over at Hurley. “He came home?”
“Hmph! Hardly. He was up in a tree about halfway between here and your ex’s house. Wasn’t too hard to find him; he was squalling like the storm itself. And he wouldn’t come down either. I had to climb up there and get him.”
Erika and Ethan surge toward the kitten, settling on the floor beside him, stroking, petting, oohing, and aahing. I, meanwhile, stand stunned as I consider what Hurley has just told me. Not two days earlier he was standing in my bedroom looking petrified at the thought of just being in the same room with the kitten. Now he’s telling me he went out during one of the worst storms of the year and not only looked for the cat, but climbed a tree to rescue him and carried him back to my house.
“I thought you hated my cat.”
“I don’t hate it. I just don’t like cats in general. And this one certainly hasn’t given me any reason to think differently.”
“Then why did you come back and look for him?”
Hurley shrugs. “I knew you were worried. So I thought I’d come back while you were at the ER to see if I could find him.”
With this revelation I begin to think I might be totally, completely, head-over-heels in love with this man.
“Thank you so much,” I tell him, giving him a warm smile. “You didn’t have to do that but I’m certainly glad you did.” I glance over at Desi, seeking confirmation that this is really happening, that I’m not simply dreaming. And then I realize that I haven’t made any introductions.
“I’m sorry. Steve Hurley, this is my sister, Des—”
“Desiree Colter,” Hurley says before I can finish. “Pleasure to meet you. And I assume those two are Erika and Ethan,” he adds, nodding toward the kids.
“Have you met before?” I ask, looking at Desi, who shakes her head and shrugs.
Hurley says, “You know how small towns are. Everyone knows everyone else.”
I narrow my eyes at him and he flashes me a cockeyed grin.
“I need to be going,” he says then. “But I’d like a word with you first, if you don’t mind.” He gestures toward the porch and I understand that he wants to speak with me alone, though if I know Desi, she’ll find a way to hear every word. Despite the disparity in our looks, we do have a few things in common, nosiness being one of them.
I follow Hurley out to the porch, pulling the front door closed behind me.
“Here,” he says, and he hands me back my driver’s license.
“Oh, thanks. I’d forgotten about it.” I shove it into the pocket of my jeans, a stalling move while I muster up the courage to say what’s on my mind. “You didn’t know who Desi was because this is a small town. You’ve been investigating me, haven’t you?”
“It’s my job,” he says with no hesitation and no hint of apology. “I have a murder to solve. You are someone who knew the victim and you have a motive. Plus you have no alibi for when she was killed.”
My hackles rear up immediately and now I know how David must feel whenever I question his innocence. Assuming, of course, that he is innocent.
“Am I still a suspect?”
“Technically, yes. At least until I can prove otherwise. But—”
“Oh, that’s just great,” I snap, not waiting to hear what his “but” might be. The realization that he considers me a potential killer not only pisses me off, it puts a definite damper on the romantic designs I have on him. “I guess my word carries no weight whatsoever with you.”
“Pardon me, but your word has proven to be pretty suspect, wouldn’t you say?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you calling me a liar?” I get up in his face, forcing him to look me in the eye when he answers.
“If the shoe fits,” he comes back, not retreating an inch.
“What bullshit!”
“Oh, really? Did you not lie to me about what you did and what you saw the night of the murder?”
“I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you everything right away. I didn’t think it was important.”
“Oh, okay,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You didn’t think it was important for me to know that you witnessed your ex and the dead woman together just hours before she was killed. And you didn’t think it was important for me to know that they were fighting, or that you were spying on them at the time.”
“I told you before, I wasn’t spying. I was just trying to see who was there before I went inside.”
“Then why didn’t you go in? Were you afraid of Karen Owenby?”
“No, I wasn’t afraid of her. What a ridiculous suggestion.”
“Then it was your husband you were afraid of, perhaps?”
“No, not that either.”
Hurley shakes his head in disgust. “Face it, Mattie. Honesty isn’t your strongest suit.”
“That’s not true! I’m a very honest person.”
“Oh, really? Then how come your driver’s license says you weigh 130?” He steps back, eyeing me from head to toe. “Are you going to tell me that’s not a lie? You’re 150 if you’re a pound.”