Murder Mansion Page 10

  At her silence, Taber wiggled both items. “Maybe things have changed. Wine and flowers are no longer acceptable gifts?”

  “Oh, they are. Sorry.” She backed up, bumping into her dog, who peered around her legs checking out the visitor. “Back, Jasper.”

  “Ah, I see you have a guard dog. Good.” He stepped into the foyer, handed her the flowers and closed the door with a single push.

  Typically, she locked the door, but Taber stood in her way. If she turned the lock would it seem as if she were locking him in? Before she could decide what to do, the detective turned and shot the deadbolt into place. “Always keep your door locked. Keeps out opportunistic robbers who simply try doors as opposed to breaking in.”

  “Thanks.” It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but exactly what a polite B and B host would. Would she lock the inn eventually? How would the visitors get in after a long day of antiquing or wine tasting?

  Taber laughed as he followed her into the kitchen. “Ah, that’s not what you really meant. Might as well have grumbled something about you know enough to lock your doors. I know you do. Guess it’s habit more than anything else. I walk into residences where doors and windows are unlocked and they’re unsure how the intruder gained access to their home.”

  She pivoted as she entered the kitchen, catching the detective looking confounded at the stupidity of people. A point they both could agree on. “I do lock my doors and windows. Plus, I have this excellent guard dog.” The canine protector trembled by her legs, unsure of how to act around a man who had managed to gain entrance to the house. Fed Ex, UPS, mail carrier, even the neighbors she greeted at the door but never allowed them to come into the house.

  Instead of laughter, silence greeted her remark as the man squatted on the floor, placing the wine bottle on the floor and holding out his hand. Jasper left the shelter of her legs and cautiously sniffed at the hand. “You’re a good boy watching out for your owner. Dogs are always an excellent deterrent since they not only alert the owners of a possible intrusion but their unpredictability to a potential intruder.”

  Donna watched the man and dog together, unsure if he was talking to her or the canine. Jasper’s tail flicked side to side rapidly, indicating Taber passed the smell test. “What’s up with their unpredictability?”

  “Oh, that…” Taber grimaced as he used a nearby chair to pull himself up. “The unpredictability I mean is a burglar would never know if a dog would bark or attack. Even small dogs attack out of fear as opposed to bravery.” He turned to reach for the wine, but Donna grabbed it before he could.

  “I could get the wine you know. I’m not decrepit. Just a little stiff since I took a spill on my motorcycle in loose gravel this past weekend.”

  “You have a motorcycle?” Her eyebrows went up with her voice.

  Before answering, he unbuttoned his jacket and hung it over the chair. He had on a different shirt. “Do you live close by?”

  He angled his head, giving her a narrowed eye glance. “Are you asking because you want a ride on a motorcycle or some other reason?”

  “No, of course not.” Her refusal dried up in her mouth as she considered the idea. Apparently, he didn’t think he was too old to ride. She’d wondered about older couples on Honda Goldwings when she idled at traffic stops and caught sight of them. Were they touring the country, fulfilling some lifelong dream or just out for a bit of fun? “I figured you bought flowers, changed your shirt and arrived shortly after me, which means you either shamelessly used your police privilege to speed or you live close by.”

  “Excellent work, Sherlock. You’re observant. I do live close by. Off Moontown Road in the Calumet subdivision. I went back into the mall, which has a flower shop. I may have driven faster than I should, but I didn’t use a siren. I changed shirts at home and grabbed a bottle of wine from my wine rack. I figured a red would go with meatloaf.”

  Should she consider his proximity a plus or a minus? The flowers needed water so she scoured her cabinets in search of a vase. Donna liked fresh flowers, but hadn’t had any in a while and couldn’t remember where she had put her one and only vase. While filling an oversized glass instead of using the missing vase, she answered the wine question. “Any wine works as a hostess gift. The wine is usually not served with the meal since the hostess has already decided on the wine beforehand.”

  She pivoted with the impromptu flower vase in hand and noticed Taber’s slightly open mouth. He’d expected the wine on the table tonight. Donna chuckled. “Well, that’s normal. I had no big plans about wine tonight or otherwise. In fact, you’ll have to wait a little for dinner to cook, but we could open your wine.”

  His mouth closed and his lips tugged up at her suggestion. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll need a corkscrew. You get the glasses.”

  “It’s in the top drawer by the sink.”

  Her frustration at her impulsive invite faded away as she reached for the crystal goblets. It had been awhile since she had a man in the house. It was hard to say when the last time was, not counting when she had asked the UPS man to bring in her Royal Doulton China for twelve she’d bought online. No men ever mysteriously materialized inside her house. Not too surprising since she didn’t invite anyone over. She never had any reason to. Donna avoided romantic relationships and all the troublesome consequences they represented. Her last brush with romance left her with a non-returnable designer dress, a four-tier cake and two hundred guests who RSVP’d to a wedding that never happened.

  Ancient history. No reason to go there and it wasn’t exactly as if they were on a date. Taber filled the glasses she sat on the table. After setting the bottle down, he lifted a glass. “A toast to an enjoyable meal.”

  “I’ll toast to that. I’ll also guarantee it will be delicious.” The glasses hit with a delicate clink. A silence hung between the two of them as they drank. The full-bodied red slid across her tongue, unveiling layers of velvety flavor in its wake, reminiscent of sunlit days, early morning mists and oaken barrels stored in a cool, dark cellar. “Excellent choice.”

  “Hmm.” He took another sip before answering. “Yeah, I’m surprised myself. Not sure where I picked it up.”

  The microwave timer pinged, stopping her reply. The meal Mark expected had her pivoting in the direction of the oven. Her stove chirped as she set the temperature. “How do you feel about a baked potato and salad?”

  “I would feel euphoric.” His countenance mirrored his words.

  “Glad to hear it.” Two freshly scrubbed potatoes went into the microwave. She preferred a conventional oven for baking potatoes, but the already cooked meatloaf only needed some warming up. The ingredients for a salad landed next to her cutting board. A whim to use her newly purchased china nibbled at her as she diced a red bell pepper for the salad. After all, she planned the china for everyday use at her inn. It deserved a test run if only to see how the food looked on it. She hoped it looked delicious since the set was non-returnable.

  Okay. She had exhausted the potential dinner conversation. What now? The provocative questions dealt with her house. When would she get back into it and what about the identity of the stranger? Be casual. “Hmm, heard anything else about the stiff found on my property?”

  A masculine chuckle sounded closer than she expected. “Wondered when you’d ask. You lasted longer than I thought you would. Can I give you a hand with those?” He motioned to the filled salad plates.

  “Sure.” Was she so transparent that he had anticipated her actions? Her mouth twisted to one side as she realized he hadn’t answered her question. She gathered the remnants of her salad makings and stored them in the fridge, which gave her an opportunity for pinpointing his position. Salad plates sat on the table across from one another while Taber leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and a slightly mischievous expression. It reminded her of the one the Cheshire cat had in her childhood edition of Alice in Wonderland.

  With the fridge door opened, she bent, putting away veggies, but very aware
of his eyes possibly on her backside. The thought had her straightening abruptly and quickly grabbing a couple of bottles of salad dressing, she whirled around only to discover the detective fingering paint chips. Why did she think for a moment that he had ogled her rear?

  Crazy. “Those exterior colors are period authentic for the inn. I’m trying to decide what to go with, whether I should be subtly traditional or flamboyant.”

  “Are you trying to decide how much you can rile your neighbors after jumpstarting a crime wave in the neighborhood?”

  That thought had occurred to her. Initially, she wanted the color to pop. She’d be able to describe the house as the lavender Victorian with the lemon and ecru trim. There’d be no doubt which one was the inn and it’d look great in photos, especially if she enhanced them. Not too much though, or her potential guests would never find her. In her research, she had visited her share of B and B’s in the tristate area. Most had great websites featuring majestic manors with rooms that appeared huge. A fish eye lens gave the tiny rooms width they didn’t possess, even turning a full-size bed into a king. As for the exteriors, none of the inns looked as good as their ads. The pics were more like online dating profile photos for inns in the building’s younger, firmer years.

  “I haven’t decided yet. I didn’t lure the man into the house and kill him. They can’t possibly blame me for that. It wouldn’t be logical.”

  “Now, Donna.”

  He remembered her name. How nice. The thought pleased her for the briefest second before another thought rushed up and stomped the joy out of the moment. Of course, he knew her name due to working the case. Her insistence on calling him by his last name would sound stupid now.

  Mark kept talking, unaware of the mental dialogue going on in her head. “You’ve been around people enough to know logic seldom occurs in the real world.”

  That sounded like a crack about her age. If she had feathers, they’d be puffed up by now, alerting him of the offense. Instead, she returned to the fridge for a canister of ready-made crescent rolls. Maybe he didn’t deserve buttery, soft bread, but then again, she sure deserved some. Another lull in conversation; she should say something.

  “You never told me about the inn. Skipped over it entirely.”

  “Ah, yes, I did.”

  Was that a smirk on his face? Crescent rolls in hand, she placed a cookie sheet on the stove, sprayed it and unwrapped the cylinder. She slammed the edge of the container on the curve of her counter, releasing the dough and relieving her frustration.

  “Okay, no reason to get violent about it.”

  Donna composed her face into what she regarded as her serene look before glancing back at Mark. “I’m not upset, just making dinner.”

  “Yeah, yeah and I’m the Pope. Don’t think I’m unaware you invited me over just to get facts out of me about the case. Didn’t think for a moment that you had any interest in my humble self.” His opened hand landed on his chest dramatizing his statement.

  Not true. The information angle would come later. “No, no, not really.” The protestation came readily to her lips, but she stopped just in time. Getting information out of him. Let him think that was her reason. It was certainly better than admitting he inspired pity from her. A silent glee rushed through her veins knowing she wasn’t as transparent as he insisted she was. No one would refer to her as a con artist, but she could apparently keep some secrets to herself.

  An errant thought pierced her balloon of smug contemplation. So far, he had read her fairly well. What if he understood her motives and his question was actually a decoy? She’d not give him the confirmation he wanted. Her fingers pressed into the soft triangle of dough, rolling it into a crescent form. Ideally, she’d make these on her own, adding rosemary or cheese. Impromptu guests had to take what they got. Perhaps her detective friend might be more forthcoming with information after he ate.

  Most women thought men became all warm and loving after sex. Could be they did, when the demand exceeded the supply. Nowadays, with so many single females on the prowl, knocking boots was easy, too easy in her opinion. A delicious home-cooked meal ranked up there with a billionaire girlfriend. Well, maybe not that high, but close to it. Dessert would be the crowning touch.

  In her freezer, she had blonde brownies with macadamia nuts, fig bars, bourbon balls and a praline cheesecake. Her lips twisted to one side as she considered her options. Both the brownies and fig bars would create a casual effect. The bourbon balls would melt if she tried to defrost them in the microwave. The cheesecake would warm well enough as they ate. Still, the man could be lactose intolerant.

  “Um, Mark,” she said, hesitating on the name. It felt odd on her tongue. A cross between spitting it out as if it were something that didn’t belong in her mouth or wanting to hold it on her tongue, similar to one of her prime bourbon balls. Good solid name, one she hadn’t heard in quite a while. “Do you like cheesecake?”

  “Do I like cheesecake?” He pushed off the wall with a huge grin that answered the question. His smile slipped as his forehead beetled and he slowly shook his head. “You fight dirty, bringing out the heavy artillery in the form of cream cheese and sugar.”

  It was as she thought. Sly like a fox, the man knew her intentions. Distract. Being honest to the point of abruptness, distraction didn’t come easy. Instead, she channeled Suzanne, the lazy nurse on second shift. Thank goodness, she never had to work with the woman much, but vacations, sick children and the occasional weather emergency threw them together. Less than ten minutes together allowed Donna to discover that the woman managed as little work as possible. She never impaired the health of the patients in an immediate way, but definitely let the record keeping slip.

  When doctors asked about the lack of records or the status of a particular task, she’d looked up at them with widened eyes and ask in whispery little girl voice, “Oh, did you mean today?” Her expression mirrored an apologetic puppy so well none of the male doctors called her on it. Her double D cups didn’t hurt, either. If a female doctor were on the case, especially Dr. Stedman, she disappeared aware her standard methods had no effect on the woman.

  Facing toward the wall, Donna composed her face. Eyes wide and surprised, but not terrified. Okay, she had it. She pivoted on her heel, striking a pose with one hip jutting out. She went with hips since she didn’t have Suzanne’s girls to do the work. She fluttered her eyelashes once before purring in a husky timber. “Mercy, you’d think I’d do such a dastardly deed as preparing mouth-watering dishes to lure you into a sense of complacency? Where you’d then babble out any information you may have gained regarding the unknown deceased?”

  Mark’s intense gaze stayed on her face, not her hips. Her hands landed dramatically on her chest. Did it take? Did he believe her? A silence lengthened between them as she evaluated her performance. Finally, the man winked at her. Winked.

  “You’re an excellent nurse,” he started, his expression giving nothing away.

  Yes, she was. “How would you know?”

  He lifted his bushy eyebrows, questioning her need to ask. Oh yeah, he was a detective and all that. The man had investigated her. Donna continued, “Hmft. I told you I never saw the man before. I certainly didn’t murder him. That would be asinine, even if I did know him and heartily disliked him. I wouldn’t be so stupid as to leave a body in a building I owned, then call the police and try to brazen it out. Oh no, I would.”

  Mark put up his flat palm. “Stop now. I don’t want to know how you’d kill someone and dispose of the body. I’m sure you’d have a foolproof plan. Currently, I like my image of a hardworking nurse who’d like to try her hand at innkeeping. I’d prefer no murderous possibilities attached to you.”

  Goodness. Her mouth ran off as if skipping school on a near-summer day leaving her common sense behind. “Uh, what were you saying?”

  His long legs stretched out in front of him as he settled into a chair. He folded his arms without speaking, once again falling silent. Familiar
with the method, she remained speechless too. Finally, he grinned. “The gist of my conversation is you’d never make a good actress.”

  Her brother Daniel had shared similar sentiments on more than one occasion. Still the remark rankled. Shouldn’t she be able to do anything she set her mind out to do? “Why?”

  His fingers stroked his chin as he contemplated his answer. Could be the man might even be searching for a tactful reply to guarantee he still received his dinner. Her opinion of his intelligence doubled. No wonder he saw through her pitiful acting attempt. Most men would rush in with their answer in a bid to prove their superiority.

  “Ah.” He hesitated on the word, drawing it out. “We haven’t spent more than an hour or two together at the most. Still, you struck me as a strong, motivated woman who believed in hard work and plain speaking. No way you’d resort to a bimbo act.”

  She opened her mouth ready to respond, but the man held up a finger as he spoke.

  “If you were a bimbo, you would have acted the part when you found the body. Instead, you started CPR and called the police. When you were hustled out of the house, you went over and questioned the nosy neighbors.” He angled his head slightly as if inviting her rebuttal.

  Stall. She stepped over to the freezer and opened it. After a few seconds of moving around finger-numbing packages, she unearthed a circular plastic container deep enough to hold a pie. Grabbing it, she hip-checked her side-by-side freezer door close. A beautiful swirl of color across the creamy cheesecake’s frozen surface greeted her as she pulled off the lid. The dessert gently smoked in the heated kitchen. She carried it over to Mark and held it at chest level for inspection.

  “Looks delicious. My stomach will think it’s died and gone to food heaven.”

  His words appeased her somewhat. The microwave chimed, indicating the potatoes were ready. She positioned the cheesecake on top of the stove after removing it from its plastic container. The residual warmth from the oven would warm it. After the meatloaf finished, she’d turn off the oven and place the sweet in the still toasty oven. “By the way, I was only getting to know my neighbors. Not the best circumstances, but I wanted them to know my intentions of being an excellent neighbor. A few were probably already miffed; unaware their neighborhood was zoned for both residence and business.”