Most Wanted Woman

Josh scratched behind one furry ear, and was rewarded with a purr. “You named her after coal?”

“Scotty did,” Etta said, referring to her youngest grandson. “When he saw the kitten, he decided she looked like the coal he’d learned about in science class.”

“Good call.” Leaving the kitten sharpening its claws on the recliner, Josh followed Etta along a hallway. When they neared the kitchen, he raised his chin. “Do I smell apple pie?”

“You do. I decided to bake tonight and just took the last of the pies out of the oven. Could be I had a premonition you’d show up, looking too thin for your own good.”

Blame that on his suspension, he thought.

He followed her into the kitchen, painted in soft yellow, its white-tiled countertops sparkling beneath the bright overhead light. “Have I told you I’m crazy about you?”

“Every time you want pie.” She waved him to the small metal table. “Have a seat and I’ll cut us some.”

“You sit.” Placing a hand on her bony shoulder, he nudged her to a chair. “Everything still in the same place?”

“Nothing’s changed.” Etta shifted a stack of mail to one corner of the table. “There’s tea in the refrigerator.”

Minutes later, he had slices of pie and glasses of iced tea on the table. Josh settled into the chair across from hers, lifted his fork and dug in. The warm pie tasted like heaven.

“How’s the family?” Etta asked before taking her first bite.

“Mom and Dad are rocking along. Everybody’s married now, except Nate and myself. He’s fallen for a gorgeous ex-cop from Dallas. He and Paige just moved in together.” Feeling a tug on his sock, Josh looked down in time to see Anthracite attack his shoe. Chuckling, he scooped her up, settled her onto his lap and went back to his pie. “I figure it’s only a matter of time before Nate calls and tells me to rent a wedding tux.”

Etta regarded him over the rim of her glass. “Think it’s time you found a girl of your own?”

“I got tons of ’em,” he drawled.

“You’ll settle down when you find the right woman.”

“She’ll have to find me because I’m not looking for her.” The simple fact was his life had always run more efficiently solo. After Nate moved out of the house they’d shared, Josh had discovered how much he savored living alone. Made things less complicated. Just like women whose idea of the perfect relationship was a good time, a fast ride and a friendly parting.

As he popped the last bite of pie into his mouth, his gaze settled on the stack of mail on the corner of the table. “Is that a digital recorder?” he asked, plucking up the long silver piece of metal that sat on top of the stack.

“Michael bought me that gadget,” Etta said, referring to her eldest son. “I use it to record reminders. Like when to take my medicine. I call it my memory box.”

“Smart.”

“The thing tends to startle me when my own voice comes out of the blue, telling me to take my pills. There’s already enough going on around Sundown to make a person nervous.”

Josh set the recorder aside. “I heard about the prowler.”

“Whoever it is has been peeping in windows for months now. Chief Decker hasn’t had any luck catching him.”

Josh frowned. From working sex crimes, he knew that prowlers sometimes turned out to be Peeping Toms, who had the potential of escalating to indecent exposure, then more serious sex crimes. Like rape. His own career problems had been due to one man’s zeal to take down the six-time rapist.

“How were things at my tavern tonight?”

Etta’s question diverted his thoughts. “The place was packed.” Leaning back, he watched the kitten climb up his chest, wincing when her razor-sharp claws stabbed through his shirt. “Howie’s burgers are still gold. Deni’s as big a flirt as ever. Your new bartender is…interesting.”

“Regan’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? All that dark hair and those big brown eyes.”

Cat’s eyes, he thought again. Watching and waiting. For what?

“I baked an extra pie for her,” Etta added, sliding her plate aside. “The girl’s way too thin. She hardly ever sits still and she eats like a bird.”

“And brings to mind a raw nerve.”

“How so?”

“Cops get used to people getting fidgety around them—goes with the job. But what I do for a living didn’t come up, so it wasn’t that.” He sipped his tea. “I can’t put my finger on why I made Regan nervous. Yet.”

Chuckling, Etta patted his hand. “Joshua, men who are all rakish charm and promise of trouble to come have given women the jitters since the beginning of time. You’re no exception.”

“You think that’s it? My charm made Regan itchy?”

“What else could it be?”

“Yeah, what else?” He thought about how effectively she had evaded his questions, divulging next to nothing about herself. “Does Regan have a last name?”

“Doesn’t everyone? Hers is Ford.”

“Regan Ford,” he said, trying it out. Regan Ford, hailing from no particular place, yet sounding to him more like the deep South than anywhere else. “I take it you checked her employment record and references before you hired her?”

“I didn’t need to. My instincts told me to take a chance on her. She’s living in the apartment over the tavern.”

With the kitten now propped on his shoulder, Josh crossed his forearms on the table. “You gave her a job and a place to live without running a background check? That’s not wise, Etta.”

“My late husband had a philosophy about the tavern business. Never water down the whiskey and, when it comes to employees, follow your heart.” She raised a shoulder. “I had a good feeling about Regan, so I offered her the job. The apartment over the tavern was empty, so why not let her live there?”

“Why not check her out first?”

“Like I said, I had a good feeling about her. Anyway, I had her work the same shift I did the first month she was here. Time has proven me right about Regan. She works like a trooper. The register has never come up short on her shift. Now that I’m stove up, Regan adds up all the receipts, makes the bank deposits and balances the books. She handles the ordering. You think either Howie or Deni, or any of my day workers could do that without making a mess of things?”

“I doubt it.” Like most cops, he had a healthy distrust of all mankind. Knowing that Etta had turned over her bank account to a woman she hadn’t checked out didn’t sit well. At all.

“Regan’s got a caring soul,” Etta continued. “The day cook makes me lunch and Regan brings it here. She takes the time to sit with me on the porch and visit. She runs the vacuum and dusts. Does my marketing. And cooks dinner for A.C. and me here every Sunday on her night off.”

“You ever ask Mystery Woman where she’s from? Where she’s worked?”

“No.”

He settled his hand on Etta’s. “You’re letting a woman you know nothing about handle your money and basically run your business. Who’s to say she won’t empty your bank account and disappear? Let me look into her background. Check her references. I can call Nate, have him run her through the national crime database.”

Etta’s blue eyes met his squarely. “Joshua McCall, do you own a part interest in my tavern?”

He sighed. “No, ma’am.”

“Then leave my business to me. I may not know everything about Regan, but I know what matters.”