Jodie's Little Secrets Read online

  Not that she needed a reminder. The man who’d eaten, drunk, slept, laughed and loved in her apartment for a week two years ago was alive and well, and had crept back into her life. And either he was as crazy about her as she was about him or he did the best imitation she’d ever witnessed.

  But no matter how he felt about her, it didn’t alter facts. When he finished helping her and his dad out of their respective jams, he’d walk away again just like he had before.

  Marriage, commitment, family life, they simply weren’t part of his future. Neither were two of life’s most wonderful blessings. She reached down and picked up Blake, hugging his lively body to her before letting him wriggle out of her clutches.

  Her babies needed a father, a willing father, one who loved them unconditionally. The way love had surrounded her growing up, constant and reinforcing, a buffer for all of life’s blows. And when the small plane had gone down robbing her of her parents, her grandmother had stepped in, opening her arms so wide, Jodie had become lost in their comfort. So lost, she was able to find herself again, secure in knowing that was what her parents would have wanted.

  She leaned back on her elbows and watched the boys, one of them half crawling, half scooting across the carpet, the other tasting a plastic link to see if it could measure up to ice cream. Both totally adorable.

  Her stomach churned, the familiar tension-induced indigestion that didn’t respond to antacids. She’d tried to tell Ray about his sons when she’d learned she was pregnant. He’d refused to return her phone calls, breaking her heart in the process. She’d tried again when they were born, and again the night the stalker had laid his murderous hands on Blake.

  When she’d finally found the courage to tell him outright that he was the father of her sons, he’d refused to believe her, preferring to think she’d lie than to believe he had fathered two magnificent boys.

  The pain stabbed at her again, a dull knife pricking at an old wound. When Ray was with her, holding her in his arms, she saw only what she wanted to see, only what her heart would let her see. And that was the greatest tragedy of all, that she could love so completely a man who could only play at love.

  But life wasn’t a steak you could order prepared to your taste. She didn’t want a stalker either, but nonetheless a madman was wrecking her life. Grams didn’t want to lose her memory and her vitality, but the years were still taking their toll.

  She and Grams were measuring up when they had to. Maybe, underneath the facade of money and glory, Ray had enough strength to do what was right, too.

  “Jodie, honey, would you mind giving that pot of vegetable soup on the burner a stir? And add a little salt and pepper to it. I haven’t put the seasonings in yet. Selda and I’ll keep an eye on the boys.”

  This time Jodie heard the request. “I’ll be happy to,” she said, standing up and starting for the door. She padded down the carpeted hall in her stockinged feet.

  The aroma hit her as she lifted the lid of the big stew pot, mouthwatering odors that took her back to being ten and ravenous, visiting Grams’s house for summer vacation, running in from playing ball or jumping rope. Corn, okra, green beans, carrots, all picked in the summer from the vegetable patch Ben tended behind the house and frozen or canned by Selda and Grams.

  She took a soupspoon and ran it across the top, scooping up a sampling of the bubbling liquid and blowing across it to keep it from burning her mouth. It was always better to taste Grams’s concoctions before adding seasonings. Sometimes she forgot salt and pepper altogether, sometimes she gave it a double dose.

  The hot juices washed over her tongue, a medley of flavors. And seasoned just right.

  The doorbell jangled loudly, and Jodie jumped nearly from her skin, dropping the lid back onto the pot with an unmelodic clang. Grams hadn’t mentioned expecting company. Her fingers stroked the walkie-talkie at her waist, caution running along every nerve. Better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Ben, are you there?” The seconds of silence seemed like minutes.

  “I’m here, Miss Jodie. Do you need me?”

  “No. Someone’s at the door, but I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. I just wanted to make sure this thing works.”

  “It’s working just fine. I’m out at the boathouse washing up, but if you need me, just give a holler.”

  “I will. Thanks, Ben.”

  “No trouble, Miss Jodie. Nothing I do for you is a mite of trouble.”

  Jodie headed for the door, but Grams beat her to it. She was already ushering in Butch Deaton, making a fuss over him the way she did anyone who stopped by, her southern hospitality in top form.

  “Well, of course you’re not inconveniencing us. You just come right on in. Selda and I were just having a cup of tea. Could I get you one?”

  “No, ma’am. I just stopped in to talk to Jodie for a few…”

  He’d spotted her coming down the hall before he finished his sentence.

  “Anything new?” she asked, not daring to hope for much.

  “A few developments. Can we talk in private?”

  “I’ll stay here and help Emily with the boys. You talk as long as you need to,” Selda offered without waiting to be asked.

  Jodie thanked her and led Butch out to the back porch, although she wasn’t sure how private it was. Selda’s tenant might be perched at his upstairs window doing his voyeurism routine. But unless Butch planned on yelling, he wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation.

  “We don’t have a match back on the prints taken from the dresser,” Butch said as the screen door closed behind them. “But they were all small, probably yours or Grams’s.”

  “So we’re nowhere.”

  “Pretty much. I talked to Cappan this afternoon. It seems like he’s been doing a lot of conversing with Ray Kostner.” A frown pulled at his lips, and his eyebrows bunched.

  “Ray said they’ve talked. I’m sure Cappan will tell you the same things he tells him.”

  “I don’t know why he’s telling Kostner anything. He’s a lawyer, not an officer of the law. He doesn’t have a damn bit of authority. Pardon my French, Jodie, but it makes me madder than hell. The man’s not even a local lawyer. He’s just here on a little vacation, helping his dad out in an emergency.”

  She put her hand up to silence his tirade. “Look, Butch, if you have a fight with Cappan or Kostner, take it up with them. I have enough problems.”

  “I’m sorry, Jodie. You’re right. But you know how Kostner is. Ever since he substituted for me and took you to your senior prom, he acts like he owns you. I’m tired of his trying to hog the ball.”

  “Well, I guess you’ll just have to take it away from him and run with it yourself,” she said, her patience so thin she considered breaking all of Grams’s hospitality rules and throwing him out. “To tell you the truth, Butch, I don’t care who runs with it. I just don’t want it dropped. I have too much at stake. Do you understand?”

  “Of course, I understand. I’m the detective in charge here. But I don’t want Kostner messing things up.”

  “They’re already messed up.” She bit her tongue. Jumping down Butch’s throat wouldn’t help matters. Still, at times like this, she longed for the anonymity she’d had in New York. A world where she hadn’t dated the cop in charge of the investigation. A town where she’d never slept with the lawyer who’d decided to name himself as her public defender and bodyguard.

  “Let’s start over, Butch. Hello, it’s good to see you. Now, is there anything else I need to know?”

  “I’m afraid so. I hate to be the one to have to tell you.”

  Right. That’s why he’d rushed right over. “Just tell me, Butch. I can take it.”

  “They picked up the man who hocked the watch. A young good-looking actor wanna-be who lives in the area around the pawnshop. Problem is, he’s not our guy.”

  “But he had Max’s watch.”

  “He told them he was walking home near daybreak and just happened on the body. According to
him, your friend Max was already dead. He couldn’t do anything to help him, so he gave in to temptation. Grabbed a plastic bag from the comer trash bin and helped himself to the watch and a ring. He still had the ring when the police apprehended him.”

  “What makes them think he’s telling the truth?”

  “He passed the lie detector test.”

  “That can’t be one hundred percent reliable.” Frustration drained her spirits until she felt as if she’d been washed and wrung into twisted knots. “How can they be sure he’s not the man who’s been stalking me, that he’s not the one who killed Max?”

  “You’re not his type.”

  “I’m a woman.”

  “Bingo.”

  She dropped into a chair, too limp to stand. Her best hope had just collapsed at her feet. Butch hooked a chair with one foot and dragged it next to hers. He sat down, too close, invading her space.

  “He’s not off the hook yet, but chances are slim he’s the man. Cappan’s not giving up, though. They’re still watching the area around the apartment you moved out of. I don’t know how they’d notice anybody new there, though. The place is crawling with strangers, some a lot stranger than others.”

  She nudged the toe of her shoe against a splinter that had split away from the porch floorboards. “How do you know about the area around my apartment?”

  “You really know how to deflate a guy. I was there, last summer. I’d hoped you’d remember.”

  She blew a rush of hot air out of her mouth. Goofed again. “Sorry, Butch. I do remember. We went to dinner at Sardi’s.”

  “Yeah. All my life I’d heard of that place. You wore a black dress, with little cutouts at the waist, and a neckline that cut clear down to here.” He reached over and ran a finger from her neck to the swell of her breasts.

  The movement came from nowhere, and she jumped up tipping her chair over backward. It clattered across the porch, bouncing off a small table.

  “I’m sorry. I just got carried away, talking with my hands, you know. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “You didn’t frighten me. You touched me. Inappropriately. Don’t let it happen again. Not if you want to continue to be friends.”

  “At one time we were a lot more than friends.”

  “We dated. In high school. And even then everything below the neck was off-limits. Just so we both know the rules. Touch now is relegated to handshakes. That’s the way I conduct business.”

  “I’d like to do more than work together, Jodie. I’ve always liked you. You know that. If I hadn’t upset you by getting in that fight and breaking my nose the day before your prom, we might have kept dating after you graduated from high school. You might have been the one I married instead of that two-timing hussy I got hung up with.”

  This absolutely could not be happening. She had known Butch ever since she moved to Natchitoches. They had dated a few times during high school. If they’d even kissed, she didn’t remember it. Now he was acting as if they’d been partners in some torrid fling. They obviously shared a different set of memories.

  “Look, Butch, let’s just forget today happened.”

  “I’m sorry. I was out of line. How about letting me take you to dinner, to make up for it. Hands to myself. I promise.” His lips split in an easy smile.

  “Not now, Butch. I’m terrible company. I will be until the stalker is stopped.”

  He picked up the chair she’d sent careening across the porch and set it upright. “I understand. You just be careful. And it’s none of my business, but I’d watch out for Ray Kostner if I were you.”

  The screech of the side gate sliding on its hinges caught them by surprise. Jodie swung around in time to see Ray rounding the side of the house. She wondered if he ever used front doors.

  He walked up and put a possessive arm around her waist “Why should she watch out for me, Butch?”

  Jodie stepped back, watching the interplay of fiery emotion that crackled between the two men. For a minute she thought they might come to blows. The idea of grown men fighting over her would have been hilarious if the situation weren’t so serious.

  Butch backed down first, the muscles in his face and arms relaxing, the fake smile finding his lips again. “She should watch out for you because you’re a big-city boy now. We hometown folks always keep our women home and our money in our pockets when you guys come around.”

  “Good idea. Only Jodie’s not your woman. The truth is, you don’t have anything I want, Butch, so you can quit worrying.”

  “I’m not worried, Kostner. Count on it. And I can handle my own business. So, unless you’re planning on running for chief of police, I expect you to leave the criminal investigating up to me. After I catch the criminals, you can go to court and try to get them off. That is what you do, isn’t it, put the killers back on the street so they can harass innocent people like Jodie?”

  “I like to think of my clients as innocent until proven guilty. And if I take their case, I believe they’re innocent.”

  “Good. You don’t interfere with my investigation, and I won’t try your case.”

  “Fair enough.”

  This time, Ray gave a few inches. Jodie excused herself while the two men shook hands and hopefully agreed to disagree more amiably. She had babies to feed and bathe, bedtime stories to read, and lullabies to sing.

  BEN PACED the narrow boathouse, glaring at his son, not trying to hide the anger that was twisting his gut into ragged steel. “I told you not to come out to Miss Emily’s house.”

  “Why not? I’m family, and this is where you’re shacking up now.”

  “I’m staying here to keep an eye on things.”

  “To keep an eye on Miss Jodie. I could handle that job for you. But then that was always a task you enjoyed taking care of yourself.”

  “Don’t smart mouth me, Grady. I don’t know why you came back home in the first place. You never liked it here. You only make trouble. Butch Deaton told you last time he wasn’t cutting you any more slack.”

  “I missed you, Dad. Besides, I don’t need any of Butch’s slack. My nose is clean. I just came back to Natchitoches to escape the New York winter. They’re brutal, not like the mint julep season down here. The only ice you get is in your drink glass.”

  Grady pushed back the shabby curtains and stared out the window. Ben watched him, knowing he hadn’t stopped by just to visit, but not sure what he wanted. He never knew with Grady. He’d thought the time he’d spent with him in Brooklyn might have drawn them closer. Instead it had only pushed them further apart.

  Grady had asked him to come, to stay with him while he recovered from stomach surgery. Medical complications had drawn the intended week into eight. Way too long to suit Ben. Grady took pain pills by the handful and drank way too much. Still, he was his son, and all the family he had left.

  “Look, son, I’ll give you a few dollars if you need it. But I want you to get out of here. I can’t afford any trouble with Miss Emily or with Jodie. They’ve taken care of me, and I’m going to take care of them.”

  “I don’t need your money. Not tonight. I’ve got a friend waiting for me in the car out front, and he’s got plenty of money. Zackery Lambkin, you remember him. You met him in New York, another one of my friends you didn’t like. Creepy, I think that’s how you described him.”

  “He’s trouble, that’s what he is. And he’s a long way from home.”

  “Nah. He’s originally from Shreveport. Disney has it right. It’s a small, small world. He wanted to know where my dad worked, so I thought I’d show him. He’s impressed.”

  “Where are you going when you leave here?”

  “Out”

  “No trouble, Grady. You know what happened last time you got mixed up with those buddies of yours.”

  “I spent a night in jail. No big deal. Not when my dad’s got friends like Miss Emily and Parker Kostner.” He sauntered to the mini fridge and yanked open the door. “Do you have any beer around here?”

/>   “No, just a couple of soft drinks.”

  “Soft drinks. You’re a good man, Dad. Too bad Mom didn’t see it that way.”

  Grady grabbed a cola and left, slamming the door behind him and not bothering to say goodbye. Ben didn’t take offense, not at his son’s lack of manners. He was used to that. Everything he’d tried to teach his son had backfired, and Grady had picked up the exact opposite traits. Evidently his mother had been the better teacher.

  Ben walked out of the boathouse. The night was still, but his joints ached. That meant either rain or trouble, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  JODIE FLICKED the switch on the tape recorder by the bed, filling the darkness with a recorded lullaby. Bending over, she tucked Blair in for the night, smoothing the light blanket over his backside. “Sweet dreams, darling,” she whispered, kissing his cheek lightly.

  Moving to Blake’s bed, she repeated the routine. So precious, in his blue jammies, his thumb stuck between his lips, a thin red curl flipping about his ear. Two. years ago, she’d been a career woman, thoughts of babies and diapers floating in the back of her subconscious only as a distant dream.

  Now they were the only things in her life that really mattered.

  She padded down the narrow hallway. The house was whisper quiet, and dark shadows climbed the walls of the narrow hall. From nowhere, the taste of fear pooled on her taste buds, and the smell of it choked her lungs. She stopped walking and leaned against the wall, her heart racing as an unexpected shot of adrenaline fueled her body.

  The fear was unfounded. She was safe. Grams was safe. Her boys were safe. Butch had a patrol car passing the house at regular intervals, ready to answer a 911 call in seconds. She sucked in a ragged breath and listened.

  An old English shepherd’s song seeped from under the crack of the boys’ door and wafted down the hallway. The sound of light snoring came from Grams’s room. And any minute Ray would be returning from his visit with his parents.

  Hands steady, she turned the knob on her bedroom door and slipped inside. A wisp of wind caught the gingham curtain, unfurling it like a sheet hanging out to dry. Funny, she didn’t remember leaving the window open. Perhaps the cleaning girl had.