In Shining Whatever (Three Magic Words Trilogy #2)(5)

She parked in the backyard and went in through the kitchen. She fished cold tamales from the refrigerator and ate them with her fingers on the way to the bedroom. She locked her gun in a small safe sitting on the dresser, spun the combination dial a few times, and yanked on the door to make sure it was secure.

Her starched uniform went back into the closet, all the way to the back. She wasn't so much the fool as to think she'd be called again. That job was finished. She slipped a pair of jeans up over her slim hips and chose a bright red, long-sleeved T-shirt to go with them. She tucked the shirt in and laced a black leather belt with silver conchos through the loops. She added loopy silver earrings and her favorite silver cross necklace. She put on a pair of comfortable Nikes and headed out the door.

By the time she got to the restaurant, the first of the coffeebreak crew were already there. Her mother handed her an apron, which she tied below her belt, and an order pad to slip into the pocket.

"So was he worth it?" Mary asked.

"Momma!" Kate blushed.

"You've let a lot of good men slip through your fingers because you had Hart Ducaine on a pedestal above the angels, so was he worth losing your chance at a career with the police department? You know they'll never call you now," she said.

Talk stopped and silence filled the restaurant dining room when she stepped out of the kitchen with a coffeepot in her hand. A few hushed whispers and a few stares, and then it went right back to normal. She filled orders and thought she'd gotten past the rough part until the lunch crowd appeared, and Slim and Bobby, the two officers who had arrested Hart, rushed in out of the cold.

"What're you havin' today, guys? Special is taco salad and a drink for four ninety-five," she said, pad in her hand and pencil ready.

She took their orders and was halfway back to the kitchen when Hart pushed the front door open. She bristled but didn't stop her long stride. "The special is taco salad and a drink for four ninety-five," she repeated, without looking into his palegreen eyes.

He hung his black cowboy hat on the row of hooks just inside the door and took a seat next to the window. "That's fine. Sweet tea."

She took the order to the back and brought out two red plastic bowls of chips and two of salsa on a tray. She stopped at Slim and Bobby's table first and unloaded one of each.

"You be careful with that one, kid. Hart Ducaine has a reputation as a playboy," Slim whispered.

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself," she said.

She set the chips and salsa in front of Hart.

He reached out and gently touched her hand. "I want to talk to you," he said.

"You may be wanting a long time, Jethro"

His brows drew together in a frown. "You know how much I hate that name."

"And I'm not real fond of the name that I have in this town this morning, so it's only fair that you be Jethro."

His mouth set in a firm line. That woman could rattle his cage. She'd been able to make him mad enough to spit tacks when they weren't anything but kids, and she hadn't changed a bit since then.

"Can we talk?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"When St. Peter trades in his white robes for a devil's pitchfork."

"I'll talk to him about that tonight. Call me when you are ready to talk," he said.

"Don't hold your breath," she snapped.





Kate tugged the jacket of her basic go-everywhere black suit tightly around her chest and shivered, as she trotted as fast as her three-inch heels would allow into the church. She signed her name on the register and opened the doors into the sanctuary to find no one there. It was at two o'clock, wasn't it? She checked her watch: a quarter to the hour. When Momma Lita, her Mexican grandmother, was alive, she'd preached that a person always showed up at a wedding or a funeral fifteen minutes before the hour. It showed respect for the living or the marrying. Being late was not an option in Momma Lita's world.

Flowers surrounded the white casket at the front of the church: roses, tulips, carnations, lilies, gladioli, and every kind of green plant available at the florists' shops. A huge arrangement of pink roses lay in a bed of fern on the bottom half of the casket. Evidently Stephanie was well remembered, but where were the people?

Kate checked her watch again. Ten minutes to the hour. She looked at the memorial folder in her hand. Pink with a spray of lilies printed on the front. The Twenty-third Psalm on the back. The information about Stephanie and the schedule for the service on the inside. Time: two thirty. That explained it.

She didn't have enough time to go back home or even run to McDonald's for a cup of coffee, so she settled in the back pew and waited. Stephanie's photo sat on a pedestal at the head of the casket. She'd been a vivacious, petite blond. The one who was always at the top of the pyramid of cheerleaders. The one who walked Hart Ducaine off the field after every football game.

Kate stood up and went to the front of the church for a better look at the picture sitting on an easel beside the casket. It was taken when Stephanie was a senior in high school, and she wore a pink sweater and had perfectly styled blond hair, with makeup done by a professional just for the picture.

In death, she wore a pink suit with a white rose corsage pinned to the lapel. Her blond hair had been styled and fanned around her face just right. Her hands were folded across her waist and she wore an enormous diamond wedding ring on her left hand. So she'd been married? Why had she asked Hart Ducaine to her hotel room?