Chirp(70)

“Yes.” She couldn’t imagine a better lover than Rance. Maybe someday she’d want another man, but not now.

Mrs. Fontaine fingered the beads of her necklace. “I had a lover like him once. I still shiver when I recall our time together.”

Blaze’s chest tightened. “Did you marry him?”

She chuckled. “No. He was already married. I’ve had countless lovers, but he was the best. Perhaps it was because he was younger. So virile. So insatiable. I bring this up so you will understand you, too, will have many, if you choose. That is the thing with women. We are the ones who set the rules of lovemaking.” She laid the key on the counter. “I’m sure you noticed the market down the street. And I hear the coffee shop is good. However, I have breakfast each morning at eight, and I would be happy for you to join me. I would welcome the company. My housekeeper stays until noon each day, but she is too busy to provide companionship.”

“Okay.” Blaze reached into her bag and pulled out six stacks of bills banded together. “Here’s the rent.”

“You were convinced I would accept your application?”

“No. But I wanted to be prepared.”





Rance


Rance disconnected, threw his phone onto the bed, and cursed. He didn’t care if he’d called Hanna a thousand times; he needed to find out if Chirp was all right. Why in hell hadn’t she contacted her friend like she’d promised?

It had been a week, and during that time he hadn’t slept more than two hours a night. Hanna’s old Toyota wasn’t dependable. Chirp was alone, and according to Hanna, had no plan. Who strikes out with no idea of where they’re going? She could have had car trouble and ended up with a serial killer. Okay, he was letting his imagination get the best of him. Sleep deprivation did that.

But still, she had no right to leave without talking to him. Coffee. Caffeine would make him feel better. That or whiskey, and it was too early for the hard stuff. He stomped to the pantry and eyed the cans arranged in perfect order. He didn’t need this shit, or her. Grabbing peas in one hand and chili in the other, he moved everything around like playing a game of checkers. Alphabetical order my ass.

Busywork. That’s what he wanted. Something to keep his mind off her and drinking. He still had scrap lumber to clean up, so that should do the trick. He was tired of worrying. And his damn nightmares were back. In full force.

He got the wheelbarrow and tossed blocks of two-by-fours into it. After he rolled the first load to the burn pile, he came back for more. Every way he turned, something reminded him of her. The overgrown garden. Wildflowers across the road. Bluebirds darting in and out of their houses.

He pitched more wood into the cart and thought of Tom Fraser. Rance had expected the PI to come back, but he hadn’t. And what about the stepmother? Guess the detective figured his warning worked, because only a fool would have hung around, and Chirp was no idiot. She’d been smart enough to cover her tracks for three years; she could do it again. That’s what bothered him. He’d never find her unless she wanted to be found.

One hint. That’s all Rance needed. Something to point him in the right direction.

He stared into space. Desperate times called for desperate measures. He didn’t know who said that, but it was true. He palmed his phone and punched in Hanna’s number again. She answered on the first ring.

“Look, Rance. I told you I’ll let you know when I hear from her.”

“That’s not why I’m calling. I want you to report your car stolen.”





32


Blaze


With her phone camera app, Blaze waited for the perfect shot of Ethan as he trimmed shrubs in the courtyard. He came each Thursday, quickly removed his shirt and tied a bandanna around his head like an Indian warrior. More than once, Odette had tried her best to get Blaze interested in the gardener, and he was nice to look at. Lean planes, hard muscles, and a light dusting of hair on his tanned chest. From an artist’s standpoint, Blaze wanted to capture his image on canvas, but figured she’d come across as creepy if she asked him to pose.

A photo would be enough. She waited until he fired up the hedge trimmer again, then framed his image within the screen, and clicked several times. Across the way, Odette watched through binoculars. Blaze understood she wasn’t a dirty old woman; the artist in her couldn’t resist a beautiful body.

The male form fascinated Blaze. Powerful hips. Bulging biceps. Defined abs—and his manhood. She found it most beautiful. Sculptors and artists had admired the human physique since time began. Not that she couldn’t appreciate females, but they didn’t captivate her in the same way.

She strolled back inside and finished the bowl of grapes and strawberries she’d brought home from breakfast with Odette. Funny. That sounded like a movie title. She popped a grape into her mouth.

Hard to believe it was almost the end of July. She painted every day, and other than two portraits of Muttly and one of Noah, she’d been obsessed with Rance. Canvas after canvas leaned against the walls of her bedroom, all in different phases, but none completed. Torso. Backside. Frontal view. Half-naked. Nude. She should toss them out. Build a bonfire. See if she could burn out her burning desire. Funny. Not funny. Looking at his image was torture. She didn’t understand why she did it. He’d lied to her. She should never want to see him again. Maybe that’s why she’d avoided adding his face to any of the paintings.