Hometown Honey

Chapter Two

Deputy Luke Rheems looked at first one, then the other of the two women seated in his office. They were both attractive, but beyond their blond hair, they were complete opposites. Sonya Patterson was the epitome of wealth and sophistication. Tall and slim with an elegant, aristocratic face, she wore an ivory linen suit, sheer stockings that looked like silk and cream-colored leather pumps with a medium heel. Her nails were long, probably acrylic, and salon fresh with a coating of pale pink-frosted polish. Her artfully highlighted hair was piled atop her head in a complicated twist, not a strand out of place.

Brenna Thompson was petite, with a pleasantly curvaceous figure, and she looked as if she belonged in an artist’s loft in SoHo. Her platinum-frosted hair was short and spiky, sticking out of her head like a porcupine’s quills, and her eye shadow was a particularly virulent shade of purple. Her left ear was graced with five piercings, each with a distinctly unique silver earring.

The rest of her jewelry was just as interesting, and she wore a lot of it—rings on almost every finger, bracelets jangling with every movement of her arms, a handful of chains around her neck from which dangled charms in whimsical animal shapes, their eyes winking with colored stones. Her snug, tie-dyed T-shirt didn’t quite meet up with her faded hip-hugger jeans, leaving a couple of inches of strategically exposed flesh at her midriff. Though she was categorically not his type, she exuded healthy sex appeal.

“We’re starting to get worried about her,” Sonya was saying. “After we broke the news to her that her supposed fiancée was—”

“Lying, thieving pond scum,” Brenna supplied.

“Yes, exactly. After that, she got the news that her restaurant had been sold out from under her.”

“It must have been too much,” Brenna said. “She’s gone into hiding.”

“We understand she hasn’t come out of her house in days,” Sonya continued. “Now, we hardly know Cindy, but we know what it feels like to have the rug pulled out from underneath you. We figured she needed some time to grieve and we’ve left her alone. But, Deputy Rheems, it’s been almost a week and she hasn’t come out of her house. She won’t answer the phone or the doorbell. We’re worried about her.”

Luke had been worried about Cindy, too. He’d left the Miracle Café just minutes before Ed LaRue’s dramatic arrival, so he hadn’t witnessed it. But he’d heard through the grapevine about it—and that it was all true. Dexter Shalimar, aka Marvin Carter, had sold the Miracle Café, and the sale was more or less legal because Cindy had signed some power-of-attorney paper giving her fiancé the right to conduct all sorts of business for her.

Every suspicion he’d harbored about Cindy’s boyfriend had been right on the money. The man was a liar, a thief, a con man, a snake. The only thing Luke had missed was that Shalimar wasn’t Shalimar at all. He’d borrowed the reclusive real-estate tycoon’s identity. Luke should have suspected that. But when his initial inquiries into Shalimar’s background had checked out, he’d had no legitimate reason to snoop any further, so he hadn’t.

After the manure hit the fan, Luke had tried to call Cindy a couple of times to see if she wanted to press charges. He’d managed to get her on the phone once; she’d brushed him off with a quick, insincere assurance that she was fine, everything was fine—it was all a misunderstanding.

But as his visitors had pointed out, no one had seen her or Adam in almost a week.

“I’ll go to her house, see how she’s doing,” Luke said.

“Please tell her we need to meet with her,” Brenna said. “We need her help if we’re going to catch this guy.”

“Now, ladies, I understand your anger and frustration, but I think you’d better let the law-enforcement authorities handle—”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Brenna interrupted. “If Marvin happens to walk into the House of Donuts and identify himself, maybe the cops’ll stop him. But I wouldn’t count on even that. So far they sent out a couple of faxes, put his name on a list somewhere and went back to sleep.”

“The law-enforcement people don’t care,” Sonya agreed. “Marvin hasn’t murdered anyone. He’s not a bigamist, since he doesn’t actually marry his victims. He’s small potatoes to them. But not to us, and not to the next woman he’ll go after. And believe me, he isn’t going to stop. It might be too late to get our money back, but we’re going to make him pay in ways he never dreamed of.”

“Never underestimate the power of a woman scorned,” Brenna added, sharing a look of solidarity with Sonya.

Luke decided he’d rather have Bubba the Bounty Hunter on his trail than these two. They suddenly seemed a little scary to him.

AS LUKE DROVE HIS SUV DOWN Cindy’s street, his stomach did a little flutter. It was the same little flutter he got every time he walked into the Miracle Café for his morning coffee and biscuit. And it was Cindy Lefler who did it to him.

He’d been crazy in love with her at one time. Cindy’s naive adoration of him, her pure, uncomplicated emotions, her gentle ways, had gone a long way toward healing the abandoned little boy inside him, and he’d never forgotten it. But she’d been appalled when, just after high school graduation he’d suggested they get married and settle down. That was before he’d realized settle down were dirty words to Cindy.

It wasn’t long after that when long-haul trucker Jim Lefler had stopped for lunch at the Miracle Café and had become entranced with his young waitress, and she with him. Three weeks later, they’d eloped.

When Adam had come along and they’d bought a house in Cottonwood, Jim had fit right in, and everyone agreed that they made a terrific family.

Even Luke came to like Jim Lefler. His unexpected death was an awful thing, and Luke had mourned the passing of a friend and an essential member of the community.

But then there was Cindy, alone again and apparently here in Cottonwood to stay. Luke had promised himself he would wait at least a year before even flirting with Cindy. Then that jerk Dexter Shalimar—Marvin Carter, he reminded himself—had shown up, taking advantage of a woman not only grieving for her husband but her mother, who’d passed not long after Jim. Luke’s timing had always been bad when it came to Cindy.

Luke pulled in to the driveway of the tidy little three-bedroom house Jim and Cindy had bought. The grass needed mowing, he noted, and the flower beds were full of weeds. The blinds were drawn.

Before going to the front door, he peeked through a window into the garage. Cindy’s car was there. He felt a prickle of unease.

He climbed the three stairs to the front porch and rang the bell. He could hear a TV inside, then a child’s babble. Adam was okay, at least. But Cindy didn’t answer the door.

He knocked loudly. “Cindy? It’s me, Luke. I know you’re in there, so open the door.”

“I’m busy, Luke,” she finally called through the door. “You’ll have to come back another time.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Would you just for heaven’s sake open the door?”

He heard her unfasten the chain, then crack the door. “What is it?”

He could see only half her face. Her wavy, honey-colored hair hung limply to her shoulders. Her complexion was too pale.

He couldn’t see much of the rest of her, just her shoulder and arm and one leg. She wore faded gray sweatpants and a T-shirt with the Red Dog Saloon logo on it.

She was allowed to look a little grubby, he told himself. But her lack of grooming bothered him.

“How are you doing?” he asked gently. “Everyone’s worried about you.”

“Why? I’m…I’m fine. I’m just very busy. Making wedding plans, you know. I have to pack—”

“Cindy, give it a rest. You’re not getting married. Dexter or Marvin or whoever he is isn’t coming back now that he’s got your money. You’ve been had by a very slick, very convincing con man. The best thing is for you to face what’s happened head-on.”

“Does everyone know?” she asked in a whisper.

“Everyone knows, and everyone wants to help any way they can.”

“Oh, my God.” She turned away from the door but left it open. Luke took the opportunity to follow her inside.

The sight that greeted him was alarming, to say the least. The living room was a wreck, littered with empty pizza boxes, dirty dishes, toys, blankets and stacks of videotapes. The sofa cushions were on the floor. It looked as if Cindy had been sleeping in front of the TV.

He would never have classified Cindy as compulsively neat, but normally she wasn’t slovenly, either.

“Looks like you’ve been in some kind of funk, girl.”

CINDY DID NOT WANT TO SEE Luke Rheems, of all people. He’d warned her about Dex. His lawman’s instincts had picked up on qualities Cindy had missed because of her stupid, blind adoration of a man who had pretended to be everything she was looking for. Seeing Luke made her feel even worse, if that was possible.

She wished he would just go away. If everyone would leave her alone, she would be fine.

“I’m merely taking this opportunity to spend some quiet time with my son,” she said, mustering as much dignity as she could.