It's Just a Little Crush Read online

  “That’s what people always say when they get interviewed on the news after they find out their neighbor is a violent criminal.” I say in my best drawling hick accent, “‘He was quiet, kept to himself.’”

  Blake laughs. “I think you watch too much TV.”

  “Just wait and see. I’m a pretty good judge of people.”

  “You thought the killer was me until yesterday,” Blake points out, slightly exasperated.

  “That was different.”

  “How so?”

  “I didn’t know you then.”

  “So you think you know me now,” Blake teases, smiling at me.

  “I know you well enough to know that you didn’t do it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Our office closes early today so that the staff can all go to Hannah’s visitation together. When I get to Weber Funeral Home, my cousin Becca Hart greets me at the door. I absolutely adore Becca—she is a couple of years older than me, and I’ve always looked up to her, kind of like a big sister. She’s tall and strikingly beautiful, with long, shiny brown hair. Becca’s best attributes, however, are her snarky sense of humor and scathing sarcasm. She taught me every snappy comeback I know. Becca is the third generation on her mother’s side to manage their family-owned funeral home, but I know it’s not what she wants to be doing with her life. She went to school to be a Medical Examiner, so she has her doctoral degree, but never was able to start her residency. Her mother, my Aunt Susan, was diagnosed with a degenerative disease that made it impossible for her to continue her job as funeral director. Instead of following through with the last of her ME training, Becca transferred her credits and got her mortuary science degree so she could come home to manage the family business.

  She hugs me. “How are you holding up, Liz? I heard you found the body.”

  I smile. “I’m doing okay, better every day. Did you, uh, work on Hannah?”

  “Yes, I embalmed her, Lizzie,” she corrects, rolling her eyes. “I think she looks good, considering.”

  I beckon her out of earshot of the other visitors and whisper, “Did you find anything odd about her body?”

  “Like did she have a Yosemite Sam tattoo on her ass? No,” Becca says, smirking.

  “Be-ccaaa!”

  “Sorry. Mortician humor.”

  “I think she could have been murdered. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “Murdered? No. It was your standard electrocution,” she says. “No signs of trauma or a struggle. Why would you think she was murdered?”

  “It’s a hellishly long story, but bottom line is that she pocket-dialed me on her phone as she was saying, ‘No! Help!’ I heard a thud and a splash, then the call disconnected. I ran over immediately and found her dead.”

  “That kind of sounds suspicious. Did you tell the police?”

  I sigh. “Yes, but they didn’t believe me. I think they only questioned one person.”

  “I’m sure they’re doing their jobs. They always do. You know, it’s not like they’re going to keep you in the loop of their investigation—they might be arresting someone right now for all you know.”

  “Fat chance,” I grumble. I can see both Jed and Paul through the doorway, and neither is being arrested at the moment.

  “Hey, if you need a shoulder, I’ll be here.” she says, giving me another hug.

  Blake walks up to us just then and puts his arm around me. “Are you ready for this?” he asks me nervously.

  Becca looks from him to me and smiles, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Seems that you already have a shoulder,” she observes, disappearing into her office.

  “Hey, Lizzie.”

  I turn around to find my ex, Lee, standing behind us, a dark expression clouding his usually cheerful face. “Hey,” I reply. His eyes still look hurt after all this time. I don’t know what I can say to change that.

  Lee flicks his eyes to Blake then back to me. He says quietly but angrily, “You seem to have moved on.”

  What do you say to something like that? And at a funeral home? There’s no way I’m doing this here. “Lee, I’m really upset about Hannah. Can we discuss this later?”

  “Yeah, ‘cause it’s always all about you, Lizzie,” he sneers, storming off out the door.

  Blake looks down at me and asks gently, “Do you need a minute?”

  “No. Let’s just get this over with,” I reply, happy to have anything to take Lee’s outburst off my mind.

  Blake and I move into the room where Hannah is being shown, and there we see Paul hovering nervously over a table covered with candid photos of Hannah with her family and friends. His hands look like he has the tremors, and he is sweating even though it’s always freezing inside the funeral home. He can’t hide the anguish on his face, a ghostly white except for the dark circles around his bloodshot eyes. Paul turns his gaze toward Hannah’s casket and sighs, trudging over to get in line to speak to the family. On the other end of the emotional spectrum is Jed, composed and dispassionate, laughing and talking with everyone like nothing had happened. Blake has spied Jed and seems to be getting angrier by the second. I can hear him breathing heavily through his nose. He’s ready to lose it.

  Turning to him, I say, “Calm down, Blake. You look like you’re about to pop.”

  He exhales sharply. “That smug bastard—look at him. I bet he went and screwed his secretary right after he murdered his wife,” he says through gritted teeth.

  Blake is being a little holier-than-thou about Jed cheating on Hannah, especially when he was helping Hannah cheat on Jed. I whisper, “Don’t forget you were a part of that whole bed-swapping thing, too.” I put my hand on his arm and look up at him with a placating smile. “Just don’t cause a scene, okay?”

  Blake glances down at me and seems to soften just a bit. “Fine. But soon, his ass is mine.”

  “Shush! We’re next.”

  We’re standing in line to give our condolences to Jed and to an older couple I assume are Hannah’s parents. I decide not to bring up the whole “we found her” conversation with them. I don’t know how they’re coping with the situation, and I don’t want to make anything worse for them. I also need to get Blake out of here before he blows a gasket. Besides, I can’t wait for my dinner with Blake and our slightly illegal errand. If he wasn’t joking, this evening ought to be a major rush.

  Once Blake and I finish speaking to Hannah’s parents, we turn to Jed. I grab Blake’s hand, thinking he wouldn’t be as able to pull off choking Jed with only one hand, because that’s what it looks like he’s about to do.

  “Jed,” I say soothingly, “we’re so sorry for your loss. We so enjoyed working with Hannah.” Normally, I wouldn’t speak for someone else, but afraid that Blake might address him as “you son of a bitch,” I take control over the conversation.

  “Thank you,” Jed replies graciously.

  Blake keeps increasing the pressure on my hand. If he doesn’t watch it, he’s going to snap one of my fingers off.

  “Since we got a chance to talk last night, I’ll let you get to the others who have come to see Hannah. I’m sure it’s going to be a long night for you.”

  I steer Blake away from Jed and straight out of the funeral home. Normally, at least around here, after speaking to the family you would sit down in the viewing room and talk with the other visitors. It’s considered rude funeral protocol to go pay your respects to the family and then bail. However, in this case, bailing is a necessity. Blake fumes all the way to his car, then turns to me and sweeps me up in a forceful hug.

  “Again, thank you,” he breathes into my hair.

  It’s lucky he’s got me in such a bone-crushing hold, because my legs have gone way past jelly and turned into liquid. Why did I pull away from his kiss last night? Oh, that’s right. Because I’m CRAZY!

  “Hart, how is it that you know me so well after just one day? I think I’ll have to keep you around,” he murmurs and gives me a kiss on top of my head.

  Ohhhh…

&nb
sp; He releases his grip on me and turns to get into his car. “What the hell?” he growls, weaving an impressive string of obscenities under his breath as he wipes his hand along the side of his car. There is a nasty scratch down the entire driver’s side.

  I gasp in disbelief, “Someone keyed your car? Who would do that at a funeral home?”

  The parking lot is full of cars, but we can’t see any people lurking around. Blake says through gritted teeth, “What about your ex-boyfriend? He went stomping out of there after you guys talked.”

  “How would he know what kind of car you drive?”

  “He could have asked someone,” he huffs, still trying in vain to wipe the scratch off his car.

  “Knowing Lee, he would have had too much respect for the car. If he had a beef with you, he would have just punched you in the face.”

  “So you’re saying he’s violent-tempered.”

  “No, I’m just saying he enjoys the occasional bar fight.”

  Blake stops staring at the scratch to give me a puzzled look. “Tell me again why you dated him?” I shoot him a “don’t go there” glare, and he changes the subject quickly. “I guess there’s nothing I can do about my car right now, so here’s the game plan. You go home and put on some dark clothes and running shoes. I’ll pick you up at sundown.”

  “You’re being very cryptic. What exactly will we be doing? And how much running will be involved?” I ask.

  “I’ll fill you in on the way. Oh, and you might want to bring something dressy to change into. I’m taking you someplace nice for dinner, that is, unless we end up spending the night in jail.” He gives me a sly smile and starts his car, the roar of the engine drowning out my objections.

  ***

  Just as the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, Blake shows up at my house. I get into his car and order, “Spill it. Now.”

  “Let me start from the beginning. Yesterday afternoon I made an appointment to meet with Stewart’s partner, Beth Campbell. I told her I needed some advice on handling my grandfather’s finances. For the same time, I made a bogus lunch appointment with Stewart so he would be away from the office. I excused myself from my meeting with Campbell, telling her I needed to use the restroom. Then I went into Stewart’s office and planted a little camera, kind of similar to a nanny cam.”

  I interrupt his story with a gasp. “That’s not a little illegal, that’s totally illegal!”

  “Well, that part isn’t nearly as illegal as what we’re going to have to do to retrieve it,” Blake says matter-of-factly. “How do you feel about breaking and entering?”

  By now you know that I’m not a babbler. I pride myself on being a woman of few words, generally well thought out (except around Blake, but I’m getting better), witty (at least to me), and to the point. However, there is one occasion where my latent verbal diarrhea will kick in—when my mind is blown, which is what just happened when Blake said “breaking and entering.”

  My mouth starts running before my poor brain can catch up. “Who’s we? You got a turd in your pocket? Breaking and entering? Holy crap, Blake! You can’t do that! I can’t do that! How can we do that without getting caught? And where, might I add, did you get a spy cam?”

  When I see Blake trying not to laugh, I break out of my rant and clap my hand over my mouth. Fabulous. Now he thinks I’m a scaredy-cat and a flake.

  “Which of those questions do you want me to answer first?” he asks, chuckling.

  My hand still over my mouth, I mumble sheepishly, “Um…the ‘where did you get the spy cam’ one.”

  “Double-oh-seven stuff dot com. You realize I’m an investigative reporter…”

  I take my hand off my mouth to gasp again. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

  “Guilty. You up for this, Hart?” he asks, a smile still playing at his lips.

  “No,” I reply, crossing my arms.

  “Why don’t you be my lookout, and I’ll do the breaking and the entering.”

  Being a lookout doesn’t sound nearly as illegal as doing the deed. “Fine,” I mutter.

  Blake parks his Porsche on a residential street packed with other cars, and we walk the last two blocks to Jed’s office. He’s so excited he’s practically skipping. I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s insane! We are so going to get caught. I can’t do anything without getting caught, especially in a town where everyone knows me. I’ve never seen the inside of the jail, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to get my chance tonight.

  Well, I guess I’ve been in the building itself before, but not since it became the jail. The old building used to be the town library before they built a new one when I was little. I can vaguely remember going in there with my mom—the place was always crammed full of musty old books and ornate furniture. I wonder if it still smells funny.

  Blake leads me into the shadow of an old elm tree a couple of houses away from Jed’s office. The office building is a large older home that has been renovated to accommodate a business, a practice popular in Liberty. It seems to be a great way to keep the character of the town while keeping costs down for small businesses. Evidently, it’s also a great way to get your business broken into, since a lot of these old places’ rickety doors and windows haven’t been replaced in fifty years, and in such a small, safe town, very few businesses have bothered to install security systems. Jed’s office is no different.

  As silently as possible, Blake and I dash across the backs of the neighboring houses and into the small yard behind Jed’s office. Luckily, the rear door is a walk down, so Blake is sheltered from view while he breaks and enters. Darting my eyes around wildly to make sure we’re not being watched, I press myself up against the wall, hoping to blend into the darkness. Blake looks up at me with a curious glance and puts a finger to his lips. Not realizing it until now, I’ve been panting and breathing rather loudly. Being the lookout is a lot of pressure! As I try to calm my breathing and my thudding heart, I watch Blake go to work on the lock. It won’t be hard for him to get into the doorknob’s lock, but if that old deadbolt is latched, he’s never getting in that way. Evidently Blake has figured that out too, so his Plan B is to break out one of the glass panes on the door. The sound of shattering glass pierces the stillness, but when I glance around, I don’t see anyone within earshot.

  Blake disappears into the building, and my heart starts racing again. I scramble for my phone, seeing that as my only way of communicating with Blake if something happens. By the time I scroll through my contacts and have his number ready to dial, he’s already jogging back up the steps.

  “Come on,” he hisses, dragging me back across the yard toward the trees.

  Once we’re halfway back down the block and safely in the shadows, Blake produces his spy camera. It is definitely small enough not to be noticed if placed correctly. “I got it!” he exclaims. He raises an eyebrow at me. “Wanna stay up tonight and watch some reality porn?”

  I groan, “Gross! You’re sick, you know that?”

  We were just starting to make our way back to where Blake had parked when he mutters, “Shit!” I feel him grabbing me and pulling me down to the ground on top of him. When I pop my head up I see what he’s freaking out about, I spy a police cruiser driving slowly down the street not fifteen feet from us. He whispers, “Get your head down,” and I obey. He abruptly takes my face in both hands and proceeds to kiss me passionately, for the second time in twenty-four hours. With his mouth pressed against mine, he mumbles, “Just go with it. This is our cover.” I’m not at all surprised that Blake’s first instinct in a given situation is to make out. And, after our nerve-wracking, horribly illegal “errand” tonight, I don’t have the strength to push him away this time, plus I’m having way too much fun. I let myself get caught up, and now it’s my turn to kiss him back. But before I can unleash the full force of my lust on him, through my closed eyes I can see a bright light being shined on us. The ear-piercing chirp of a police siren makes me jump.

  Oh, here it
comes. We are so busted. I knew it! Goodbye fancy dinner with Blake, goodbye staying up and watching reality porn, goodbye spotless record. Oh, and worse than all that, goodbye dignity. The Chronicle publishes a list of the arrests made each week—your full name and the crime you committed are public knowledge, and, once the paper comes out, public gossip. This week isn’t even halfway over and I’ve already found a murder victim, been stalked, been kissed (twice) by my unattainable crush, helped commit a felony, and now… Wait a minute, the cop getting out of the cruiser is William Johnson! He was so kind to me the night we found Hannah. If I play this right, maybe I can keep Blake and me both out of trouble.

  “What do we have here?” William drawls as he approaches us.

  Blake and I scramble to a standing position as I say brightly, “Hey, William. How’s it going?”

  From behind me, Blake wraps his arms around my waist. “Sorry, officer, we were out for a walk, and I just couldn’t help myself.”

  William chuckles. “I understand. Lizzie has always been popular with the fellas.”

  Son. Of. A. Bitch. He did not just say that. My old ‘friend’ William basically called me a skank in front of Blake. Nice. Blake is going to have a field day with this. I’m going to be teased mercilessly, and it’s not even true! Sure, I had my share of dates in high school, but I sure as hell never gave it up to any of them. Getting arrested wouldn’t have been this embarrassing.

  “So, you’re not working the fair tonight?” I ask, hoping to shift the conversation away from me and my questionable virtue.

  “Nope, just the usual tonight. And, speaking of that, I’m going to have to ask you to move it along. You’re on federal property,” he replies.

  I hadn’t really paid much attention to where we had stopped, especially since I was being kissed within an inch of my life. Turns out we’re standing right behind the post office. Oops. I think they frown on lurking on government property.

  “We’re on our way. Thanks.” I breathe a sigh of relief as William returns to his cruiser and drives away.