Truly, Madly, Dangerously. Linda Winstead Jones

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СКАЧАТЬ found on the door knob. Not that there would be many fingerprints lifted from any other surface. Sadie—who had been wearing gloves to clean—had scrubbed every surface in the motel room.

      She hadn’t touched the bathroom, though, and that was a good sign. And the discovery of the body had obviously disturbed her. Either that, or she had turned into a great actress.

      She had definitely turned into a beautiful woman. Sadie wasn’t traditionally pretty, like her cousin. But she was the kind of woman who would always make heads turn, and he was certain that when she walked into a room men between the ages of fifteen and ninety muttered a drawn-out, appreciative damn.

      His study of Sadie was interrupted by occasional bouts of hysteria from Lillian Banks. She’d lose it for a moment, then rein herself in and settle into silence. Was that fear in her eyes? Or plain old horror at knowing that a man had been killed in her motel and her niece was—for the moment at least—a suspect.

      Logic aside, he didn’t think Sadie was guilty. Not of murdering Hearn, at least. But one thing was clear.

      Women like Sadie Harlow weren’t content to stay in a place like Garth. She was here to help her family, but as soon as she was able she’d be gone.

      “Be back by ten,” Jennifer said as she plopped down on the end of Sadie’s bed. “I’m supposed to work the front desk since Conrad still hasn’t shown up, but I have plans. I figured since you’re here you can do me a favor and fill in for me.”

      Sadie didn’t argue that what she really needed was a good night’s sleep, or that it was entirely possible Conrad would show up late. It wouldn’t be the first time, from what she heard. “It’s Tuesday,” she said as she applied a bit of mascara. “What sort of plans could you possibly have?”

      “Just…plans.”

      Sadie sighed. She’d probably be home by nine. Still, it galled her a little that her flighty cousin had such an active social life, while she had none. Thirty wasn’t all that old. Why did she feel ancient?

      No, she wouldn’t be thirty for two more weeks. Would she officially become a spinster over a cake with too many candles? Sitting alone in her small apartment, with her girlie things around her and the television on and… What was she thinking? The day’s excitement had addled her brain. Since a social life usually included men in some form or another, she was definitely better off without one. Bring on the spinsterhood.

      Not that she wanted to look like a spinster…

      It was strange, to be getting ready for her first date in ages when just this afternoon she’d stumbled across a dead body. Jen had commented on the tragedy and the smell, and then she’d shuddered and changed the subject. Unpleasant things did not deter Jennifer Banks. She ignored them completely so they barely slowed her down.

      “I’ll be home before ten,” Sadie promised, wondering if she could even stay awake that long.

      “Nice dress,” Jennifer said, relieved and smiling once again. “It looks expensive.”

      “It is,” Sadie said. The classic little black dress was her favorite. True, it made concealing her revolver a problem, but in this instance she’d deal with the discomfort of a thigh holster.

      “If it was a couple sizes smaller, I might ask if I could borrow it.”

      Sadie sighed, but did not growl or even turn to glare at her skinny cousin.

      “Can I borrow those earrings sometime?” Jennifer asked, leaning to the side to get a better look at the diamond studs.

      “Not on your life.”

      In the mirror, Sadie watched as Jen stuck out her tongue. Some things never changed.

      Sadie applied a little bit of hairspray to her curling dark hair, and then she dabbed some perfume behind her ears, just in case any of the day’s excitement had left a lingering odor that hadn’t scrubbed out in the shower. Eggs and grits, cheese, ammonia…and other things she’d rather not think of right now.

      “You’re going to give poor old Truman a heart attack.”

      “Why’s that?” Sadie asked absently.

      “You look great, that’s why,” Jennifer said. “Makeup, sexy dress, perfume. The whole works. Trust me, no one around here looks like this. Are you guys, you know…”

      “No,” Sadie said forcefully. “We’re just friends. There is no ‘you know.’ I’m not getting dressed up for Truman,” she added in a sensible voice. “I’m dressing for myself. I like to look nice now and then.” She’d had enough of bubble-gum-pink uniforms and maid’s aprons for one day.

      “Yeah, right,” Jennifer said, a wicked smile on her face and in her voice. When Sadie stepped into her black heels, Jennifer whistled. “You can’t tell me you’re wearing those monsters for yourself. They look great, but that heel is a killer. Those shoes,” Jennifer said with a wag of her fingers, “say, Take me Truman, take me now. Why don’t you just go naked and save yourself all this trouble? Ten o’clock, Sadie. I swear, if you’re not home by ten, I’ll…I’ll…”

      “Send the sheriff after us?”

      “Not a bad idea.”

      Sadie walked across the room. Okay, so she hadn’t worn these heels in ages. They were not comfortable, not at all. But they did look great, she knew that. Maybe she wasn’t tiny like Jennifer, but she was tall, and she had long legs and decent breasts, and when she put some effort into it she could look good.

      Not for Truman, she insisted silently, but for herself. Her first full day in Garth had been a kicker, and she needed to turn her mind in a new direction. Just for tonight. Tomorrow she’d be back to being desk clerk, maid and waitress. But not for long. Hearn must’ve been involved in something nasty to get killed the way he had. Evans would find the evidence and the murderer, and he’d send Sadie on her way with an insincere apology.

      Sadie didn’t belong here any more now that she had at the age of eleven.

      Sadie was overdressed for Bob’s Steak and Fixin’s, but then she was probably overdressed for anything this side of Birmingham. Since Truman had worn jeans and a nice cotton button-up shirt, she was definitely overdressed for him. She’d done this to get back at him, he imagined, to repay him for telling her not to leave town or for sticking her tip in her bra.

      Truman tried not to let on that he was at all affected by the red lips, the black dress, the long legs or the way she walked in those heels. When had Sadie Harlow gotten so gorgeous? She’d always been cute, his best friend’s little cousin who had a crush on him. Back in those days she’d had a tendency to show up wherever he and Johnny happened to be. He hadn’t minded her tagging along now and then, not the way Johnny had. He’d always thought she was kinda sweet. But he’d been caught up in the high-school-jock thing and she’d seemed so young. Plus she’d never had this effect on him. And if she had, Johnny would have killed him.

      It was a cruel form of punishment, he imagined. Sadie’s way of waving a red flag in his face. Look what you could have had. Look what you’ll never have. Look, but do not touch. He should have accepted his mother’s invitation to go home for a nice, safe dinner of chicken and dumplings and left Sadie alone.

      His motives СКАЧАТЬ