Dead by Midnight Part 11

Chapter 9.

Lorie walked Paul Babc.o.c.k to the door. "I'm glad you found several new postcards to add to your collection. I'm expecting a s.h.i.+pment in sometime next week from the antique dealer in Memphis. I'll call you when it arrives."

"Sure do appreciate it, Lorie," Paul said, his wide smile deepening the dimples in his round, rosy cheeks.

When she followed him out onto the sidewalk, Mike came up beside her and slid his hand beneath her elbow. Startled by his touch, her stomach turning flip-flops, she barely managed to wave good-bye to Paul as he headed for his car.

Once Paul was out of earshot, Mike said, "You shouldn't be out here in the open like this. You're an easy target. Come back inside."

Before she had a chance to respond, a teenage boy carrying a large brown sack jaywalked across the street and came straight toward them. As he drew closer, she recognized him as one of Seth's buddies from school, but she couldn't recall his name.

"Y'all ordered lunch from the Ice Palace?" the kid asked.

"We did," Mike told him. "Bring it on in and I'll pay you."

Once back inside Treasures, Lorie went behind the counter, reached down, and lifted her purse from the bottom shelf. She pulled out her wallet. "Lunch is my treat." She looked at the delivery boy and asked, "How much?"

"Twenty-one fifty," he told her as he set the sack on the counter.

Lorie pulled out a twenty, a five, and a couple of ones, making sure to add a decent tip, and handed the bills to him.

"Thanks. Hope y'all enjoy your lunch," the boy said as Mike escorted him to the door.

"I'm sure we will," Mike replied and then added, "In the future, don't jaywalk. It's illegal, you know, even in Dunmore."

The kid's face turned bright red. "Yes, sir, Sheriff Birkett. I won't do it again."

Mike closed and locked the door. Lorie came out from behind the counter and turned the OPEN OPEN sign in the window so that it read sign in the window so that it read CLOSED CLOSED.

"I think you scared him half to death," Lorie said.

"I wouldn't have said anything to him since most of the people in Dunmore jaywalk all the time, but because I'm the sheriff, I felt I had to at least act like I uphold that particular law."

"I'm sure it'll be a good while before he jaywalks again."

Mike picked up the sack off the counter. "You've got a room in the back with a table and chairs, don't you?"

"I do. Table, chairs, microwave, and refrigerator," she said.

He followed her to the back of the shop and when she opened the door and flipped on the overhead light, he glanced around the small kitchenette. She and Cathy had painted the one-window room a bright, cheerful daffodil yellow and surrounded the old free-standing sink with a base draped in navy blue gingham. Navy gingham place mats at the yellow table for two added to the overall color scheme. The old unmatched wooden chairs had been painted white and Lorie had hand-painted yellow daffodils on the backs of each and added navy gingham cus.h.i.+ons.

"Hannah would love this room," Mike said. "Her bedroom is yellow. It's her favorite color."

"Yes, I know," Lorie admitted as she placed the lunch sack on the wooden counter between the sink and the refrigerator. "As you know, I see your children at the Interfaith Youth Council meetings that Patsy Floyd oversees. And before you chew me out, I know that once you learned I'd been talking to them, you ordered me to stay away from them. I promise you that I don't seek them out. But when Hannah and M.J. speak to me, I talk to them. Hannah told me all about how your mother helped her redo her room as a ninth birthday present."

"I shouldn't have reacted that way, telling you not to speak to my kids." Mike opened the refrigerator and removed the jug of iced tea. "It's not as if you're a threat to my children. Warning you to stay away from them was a knee-jerk reaction."

"Is that another apology?" she asked as she reached up and opened the single white cupboard over the counter and retrieved two tall gla.s.ses.

"Yeah, I guess it is."

"Hmm...apology accepted." She smiled at him and he smiled back at her. "There's ice in the freezer. You pour the tea and I'll set the table."

"Okay."

They worked together seamlessly, as if they'd been doing it for years. When everything was ready, sandwiches, chips, and pickles on bright yellow dinner plates, dessert on small navy blue plates, and forks for their pie placed atop white napkins, Mike pulled out a chair for Lorie. She had almost forgotten what a gentleman he had always been.

After they were seated, he looked across the table. "Why the sly smile and quiet little chuckle?"

"Oh, I was just remembering how you were always such a gentleman with the ladies despite having a reputation as a h.e.l.lion."

Mike grunted. "My mama expected me to be a h.e.l.lion when I was young, just like my daddy before me. But if I'd ever been anything less than a gentleman to a lady, she'd have beat the living daylights out of me."

"Miss Nell is certainly a real lady. I always thought the world of your mama."

"And she did of you." Mike looked down at his plate. "These sandwiches sure look good."

"I appreciate your treating me like a lady even if you don't think of me that way now."

"Let's not go there," he said as he picked up one half of the sliced roast beef sandwich. "It's best to leave that subject alone."

"You're right." She lifted her napkin, unfolded it, and laid it across her lap.

"You sure do set a fancy table. Everything's real pretty."

Oh, Mike. You're trying to be nice to me, trying so hard. Thank you. For whatever reason and for however long it lasts, I appreciate your kindness.

They ate in relative silence for a while, but when the quiet became blatantly obvious, Lorie racked her brain trying to think of something to say. There were so many subjects they needed to avoid.

"I don't guess you've heard anything from the newlyweds?" she asked. "Maleah talked to them briefly. They called to check on Seth."

"I haven't heard a word. Not that I expect to. If any two people deserve an uninterrupted, blissful honeymoon, Jack and Cathy do."

"I agree. Their getting back together after all these years was a minor miracle."

Mike grunted.

"Not many people get a second chance," Lorie said.

Mike nodded. "Nope, they don't."

Silence returned. Suddenly her delicious sandwich tasted like cardboard.

Mike picked up his dessert plate and set it in the middle of his empty dinner plate. "Look, Lorie, we need to get a few things straight."

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. "All right."

"I've been a real a.s.s to you since you came back to Dunmore. I'm sorry about that. And I hate that you're in danger now, that some crazy guy might show up at any time and try to kill you. As the sheriff, I and my staff will do whatever we can to protect you and to help the Powell Agency. But that's as far as it goes. Understand?" When she stared at him, confusion no doubt written plainly on her face, he said, "You and I can be acquaintances who are civil to one another, but we can't be friends. You have to know that. And there's no way in h.e.l.l we can ever be anything more to each other."

Don't cry. Oh, G.o.d, don't cry.

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath before replying. "Yes, of course. I understand."

Griff and Nic were returning to Griffin's Rest tomorrow evening, and by Monday morning, they would be in charge of the agency again. But until then, Sanders was handling everything, including notifying the FBI about the three almost identical murder cases that Powell's had been hired to investigate.

Derek checked the time on his wrist.w.a.tch-3:48 P.M P.M.

"I sure could use a cup of coffee," he said. "And something to eat since we both missed lunch."

"If you think I'm going to play servant to your lord of the manor, think again," Maleah said, her hackles raised and her fangs bared.

What was it with this woman? Why did she take almost everything he said the wrong way?

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?" he asked.

"I'm talking about your expecting me to prepare coffee and fix you something to eat. I'm not your servant. And just because I'm female and you're male does not make me any more capable of preparing food than you are."

Derek chuckled as he skimmed his gaze over her slightly flushed face, her bright, blue eyes glaring at him and her full lips moist and slightly parted. He didn't know what amused him more, her ridiculous reaction to a simple comment or the fact that he actually found her attractive, especially when she was p.i.s.sed at him. Every time she got upset with him, he thought the same d.a.m.n thing.

Wonder how she'd react if I actually told her that she was beautiful when she was angry?

She'd serve your head to you on a silver platter, that's what she'd do.

"As a matter of fact, I was about to suggest that I prepare coffee and a couple of sandwiches for us," Derek said, "while you download and print out the info that Sanders is e-mailing us."

"Oh." For half a second she looked as if she was on the verge of apologizing, but that moment pa.s.sed and instead she said, "Okay. That works for me. I don't want any mayo on my sandwich, only mustard, and I take my coffee-"

"With sugar," he finished her sentence. "Or rather a pack of Splenda now that you've cut back on your sugar intake."

She stared at him, a dumbfounded expression on her face.

"I notice little things," he explained. "I'm a highly skilled profiler, remember?"

"I know, but stop profiling me. I don't like your noticing anything about me."

"Yes, ma'am. As of right now, no more profiling, no more noticing things about you, like how you prefer your coffee."

She huffed. "I'll be in the den. When the coffee and sandwiches are ready, let me know."

Smiling, he nodded. She clamped her mouth tightly shut, turned and walked down the hall. Whistling softly, Derek headed for the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later, carrying a large serving tray, he breezed through the open den door. "Our afternoon snack is ready."

She glanced up from where she sat on the sofa, her lap covered with pages of info that Sanders had sent them concerning the most recent murder and how it connected to the two previous ones.

Derek placed the tray on the coffee table and sat down beside Maleah. She gathered up the papers, scooted over as far as she could away from him, and laid the neatly stacked sheets on the side table to her left.

He poured and prepared the coffee to her liking and handed her the cup.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." He glanced past her at the stack of papers. "Any new information we need to discuss about the case?"

"I don't know. I've only had a chance to quickly scan the info Sanders sent, and so far nothing jumps out at me."

"How do you feel about Sanders sending the two of us out into the field together?" Derek asked, knowing full well that she hated the very idea of spending so much time with him.

Their working closely together on this case should prove to be an interesting experience for both of them.

"I'd rather he sent someone else with you and left me here in Dunmore to act as Lorie's bodyguard. But considering my personal connection to Lorie, I understand why he thinks it's best to send in Sh.e.l.ley Gilbert."

"You should have told him that you could remain objective, that you could separate your personal feelings about Lorie from doing your job as her bodyguard."

"And if I had told him that, I'd have been lying." Sipping on the coffee, she glanced at him over the rim of the china cup. "But you knew that, didn't you?"

"Lorie's your sister-in-law's best friend. When Jack and Cathy return from their honeymoon, they're going to become deeply involved, thus making it practically impossible for this case not to be very personal for you."

"Tracking down everyone a.s.sociated with Midnight Masquerade Midnight Masquerade and finding out how many of them have received threatening letters is going to be a time-consuming b.i.t.c.h." and finding out how many of them have received threatening letters is going to be a time-consuming b.i.t.c.h."

"It's not just a matter of Powell's warning these people and finding out if they've received letters," Derek reminded her. "It's about evaluating each one of them to see if I-we-get even the slightest hint that one of them is our killer."

"That could wind up being a total waste since it's possible that the killer wasn't connected to the film's production." Maleah eyed the thick sandwiches on the tray atop the coffee table.

"Thin-sliced turkey," Derek told her, and when she gave him a questioning look, he explained. "The sandwiches are turkey. I added lettuce and tomato, but left off the onion. No mayo for you. Mustard only."

She picked up a halved piece of the sandwich and took a bite. "Delicious."

"We aim to please." He bit off a large chunk of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and reached for the iced tea gla.s.s.

"Sanders is having the office compile a list of p.o.r.no film crazies, guys who have stalked p.o.r.n stars or made threats against them."

"That could be a very long list. There's no way Powell's can check out all of them unless we're going to spend the next year tracking them down."

"We'll have to do some process-of-elimination work," she said. "See if any of them were obsessed with this one particular film or the stars."

"So, Powell's is starting with warning the actors while you and I branch out and interview everyone else a.s.sociated with Midnight Masquerade Midnight Masquerade, right?"

"Right. On Monday, we're going to interview the movie's producer, who was also the agent for a number of the actors, including Lorie. Travis Dillard's bio reads like a trashy erotica novel. The guy sounds like a real sleaze."