Sugarplums and Scandal Page 14

  “If they’re in there, you might need me,” Berenger stated too quietly, and she knew who “they” were. She remembered the men’s looks, as if they were stripping her clothes away.

  “I’m okay. Please leave.” Cecilia shivered and hurried to her front porch. She dug into her bag and foraged for her house keys.

  He took them from her, unlocked the door and moved inside.

  “This is unnecessary,” she said, following him.

  When he stopped and seemed to listen, she ran into his back. His arm went out, nudging her against the entrance wall. He moved down the hallway. “Stay put. Do you usually leave windows open in winter?”

  “No, I—” Then she noticed how cold her snug home was, despite the furnace blowing warm air against her boots. A chilly breeze swept down the hallway, then it stopped. Berenger appeared, almost filling her hallway. He moved silently through the house, and into the garage.

  Someone had been in her house—again. She’d barely gotten her office back in shape and had just started reordering her bedroom closet and now… Cecilia hurried to her formerly organized home office and stood, frozen between fear and anger. Not a good place. Her shelves of supplies and books had been reordered; she didn’t want to think about her filing system.

  Berenger appeared at her office door. “Someone messed with your car. It’s okay now, but your bedroom is in a real mess. They left the window open—clothes everywhere. Looks like they were picking out outfits—jackets in one place, coats in another.”

  “I wasn’t finished yet. I was rearranging my closet.”

  He pushed back the hood of her coat and scanned her face. “You look—I can’t tell. Either you’re real mad, or you’re real scared.”

  “Don’t mess with me,” she managed between her teeth. Monroe really better not try to take this intimidation any further, or she’d make certain he paid dearly.

  “Are you threatening me?” Berenger leaned closer, peering at her as she took off her cap and mittens and started to unbutton her coat.

  Cecilia decided to leave it on, just in case he had ideas like the three men in the alley. “If he messed up my CD collection, I’ll kill him,” she muttered.

  “Lady, you could be in danger and you’re worried about that?”

  “It takes hours to redo a closet properly, the files and shelves in this office, and my CD collection—If he took out the CDs and put them in the wrong cases, I will—”

  Clearly confused, Berenger shook his head. His expression said he worried about being too close to her, that he could get caught in the explosion. “I think your home is safe now,” he stated cautiously.

  “Great. Just great. Look, if I give you some food, will you get out of here?”

  “I might,” he answered, evidently still cautious. “But I think I should hang around until morning—or you call the police.”

  “I told you, no police. Follow me.”

  In the kitchen, Berenger watched Cecilia warm the lasagna. “Aren’t you going to take your coat off? You’re starting to sweat.”

  She worked furiously, packed the lasagna into a thermal bag, added a plate and fork and another batch of cookies, and handed them to him. “You’ll like the shelter. Thanks. Good bye.”

  He looked at her closely, and in that moment, Cecilia’s fear and logic returned: She was alone in her home. No one would know if she were attacked now—She should have gone to Florida for the holidays. Damn her honorable traits and devotion to duty, to the club and to those who really needed their gifts replaced. “Please go,” she whispered unevenly.

  “Okay. Thanks. Just lock your door and think about calling the police.” Then he was gone. Too quickly. Perhaps to return when she was sleeping and—Cecilia watched him through the window, a big man disappearing into the snowy night. She hurried to her Christmas tree, stripped the bells from it, and hurried to place them around her windows as warnings—just in case.

  Chapter 2

  In the morning Joe Berenger emerged from his camper, which was parked in Cecilia Lattimer’s driveway. He yawned and stretched and noted her neighbors checking him out from behind their window blinds; he wanted everyone who might be interested in harming Ms. Cecilia Lattimer to know that she was now under his protection. Playing bodyguard to her wasn’t what he had planned for his holiday vacation away from the St. Louis undercover division, but since Monroe had asked for his help with the thefts occurring in Dewdrop, Berenger had complied.

  The cousins had grown up together, and Joe had unexpectedly found the person Monroe thought had the most access to what happened in town, Cecilia. She’d grown up there, married and divorced there, and from what Joe had already learned, Cecilia was appreciated, loved, but according to Monroe she could be a real pain in the butt when she started organizing. As a professional, she had access to homes, offices, and stores and the flow of Dewdrop’s hot gossip.

  Berenger leaned against the camper, hitched up his collar against the wind’s chill, and adjusted his sunglasses against the blinding glare of the snow and thought about Cecilia. She just reached his shoulder, had big green eyes that were either filled with fear—or flashed with anger. A few strands of reddish hair had escaped her knitted cap, and the rest of her had been too bundled in that coat to judge her figure.

  In his experience, a woman who could bake and cook like Cecilia probably was curved. Berenger’s curiosity deepened; he really wanted to see her out of that coat.

  She was complex—more than the female-usual—a woman who preferred sweltering beneath a winter coat rather than removing it. And she hadn’t reported the breakins. Why?

  Like others in town, Cecilia’s presents had been taken. Someone was out to get Cecilia, and they knew exactly how to unnerve her—that said, it was someone familiar with her; someone with a grudge that ran deep and personal. Joe had checked beneath her car’s hood and noted the pulled wires; someone had wanted her to be walking last night and they knew the route she was apt to take. And for some reason, Cecilia did not want to report her encounter with the three men, the theft of her presents, or the entry into her home.

  Apparently, Cecilia knew everyone in town, and she hadn’t used the three men’s names. Berenger had decided to let them go; he was after whoever had the brains to put together that potentially dangerous incident.

  Monroe had said she’d been acting “spooky” lately; she virtually ran when she saw him coming. Oh, yes, Cecilia definitely knew something, and Berenger was going to stick close to her.

  At her house window, she was furiously motioning for him to go away. Berenger reached inside his camper, retrieved her thermal bag and dishes, and walked to her house. She answered the front door on his third try, jerked it open and scowled up to him. She had covered her snowflake decorated pajamas with her long coat, and her bunny slippers had plastic eyes that stared up at him. He wondered what her toes would look like, probably little and naked and sexy; Cecilia didn’t seem like a woman who used polish or wiles. She looked like a lady.

  “Here’s your dishes,” he said as he noted how cute she looked, all cuddly and warm—okay, that flush was probably due to anger, because her eyes were doing that flashing-anger thing again. The boyish cut of that reddish brown hair emphasized her eyes and exposed those cute little ears.

  She grabbed the sack. “Thanks. Now get your camper and pickup out of my driveway.”

  “Can’t. I’m out of gas.”

  “I’ve got things to do. Some of us work for a living, you know. And I’ve got to go shopping… my car won’t start, and if it did, you’d be in my way.”

  “My mama always told me to work for my keep. I’m not much for handouts. Maybe I could shovel your walkway and help out—”

  “Please remove your camper and truck from my driveway,” she repeated, clearly digging in to evict him. Berenger couldn’t let her do that. He studied her carefully. “Not going to report the breakin last night, too, huh?”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  Despite her
firm tone, that quick shadow over her expression told him that she was really scared and had not a clue about how to proceed. Berenger was set to stick close and protect her. “If you’re going shopping, maybe I could carry things for you.”

  “No.” She closed the door, then opened it again, considering him with those green eyes. Berenger noted how the sunlight danced across the fringes of her eyelashes, how it gleamed on her soft mouth as she licked her tongue. “Well, okay. I’ll be just a minute. By the way, why do you think those three men left last night? I mean, there’s only one of you,” she said finally.

  “Not a clue.” Or maybe they didn’t like the .38 he was holding… “I’ll wait in my camper.”

  Minutes later, Berenger answered the rap on his door and Monroe entered the camper, closing the door behind him. “How’s it going?”

  “She’s plenty scared and someone is making a point with her. She was cornered in the alley last night—three men—here’s their descriptions.” Berenger handed his notes to his cousin. “What’s she done anyway?”

  “Nothing. People generally like her. But she likes to move into their lives and organize, which really irritates the hell out of people, because they can never find their stuff after she’s done her thing. I once lost a whole set of files down at the department, and she was just there a minute. Women seem to like her closet arrangements, though, space making and all that. Keeps the town handymen busy—unless she does their workshops and tools. She almost married the town’s biggest lawyer, but jilted him.”

  “He’s sworn to ruin her. Maybe—” Berenger answered another knock on the camper.

  Cecilia peered up at him. She glanced past Berenger to Monroe. “There’s a police car parked by my mailbox,” she stated too firmly.

  Berenger sensed that Cecilia had come to defend him from the authorities and he ran with that idea. “The chief here wants me to move on or he’s going to haul me into jail. Since I’m out of gas and broke, I guess—”

  Cecilia didn’t miss a beat; she owed Berenger a favor and she repaid it with: “He’s just fine where he is. He’s my guest. You may leave, Chief.”

  She held the door while Monroe exited. The men shared a look, and then Cecilia stepped into the camper. She stood in the center, studying the sagging couch-bed with his sleeping bag still opened, the magazines and books Berenger intended to read on his vacation, the clutter around his stove, the heap of dirty and clean clothing on the floor. “You actually live in this mess?” she asked incredulously.

  He’d taken months planning this trip and stocking his camper. It contained everything he wanted—just the way he wanted. It was a work of macho art. Then he remembered Monroe’s warning about Cecilia’s potential danger, and Berenger didn’t want one thing changed. He started nudging her back toward the door and when she was standing in the snow, trying to peer around him and into the camper, Berenger stepped outside and locked the door. “Let’s go.”

  “But I… that place really needs organization. It’s tiny, but you could have a lot more room if you’d—”

  He used his body to keep nudging her away from his camper. He blocked her view, because she was still turning around to look at the camper as they walked toward the house. “It’s fine the way it is.”

  “You could sort that clothing, fold it, and place it in an overhead rack. You could—”

  “Please don’t waste any time or energy on me. Thanks for keeping me out of jail, by the way. It sounded like you didn’t like the chief.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Any specific reason why?”

  Her lips closed tightly and Berenger made a mental note to ask his cousin why he was in disfavor with Cecilia.

  On the snowy street in front of the house, a woman was passing and waving at her. Cecilia smiled briefly; apparently friends, they exchanged Christmas cheer. Another woman came up the drive and hugged Cecilia; she cuddled a toddler. Then Cecilia turned to Berenger. “Have you eaten this morning? A good breakfast always starts a person out right. Let’s eat, shop, I’ll make a business call or two, and then this afternoon, I’ll help arrange your camper. It could do with some good organization, and then we’ll work on you—on your goals and—”

  She was looking at him critically, as if she were dissecting him. He saw her mouth move, but whatever else she was saying was lost in the fear tumbling through Berenger’s brain. A slight chill ran up his back. He began to see why someone who knew Cecilia well, and whose life she had rearranged, might want revenge.

  But cornered in an alley by three men was a little more dangerous than messing up a CD collection and file cabinets.

  “You need a shave and a bath,” she was saying when his mind cleared.

  “Huh?”

  Cecilia was already moving up her walkway; she turned to him. “My brother’s stuff is in my bathroom. You can use that. I try to keep the guest bathroom stocked. And you—well, cleaning up will do wonders for your self-esteem. It could start you off on a whole new direction.”

  Usually well shaven, Berenger scratched the beard he was thoroughly enjoying. He wanted more insights into the reason someone might be trying to unbalance this woman, and moving around her home would give him that. He watched the heavy coat sway in the area of her hips as she walked into the house, and remembered that he still hadn’t seen her without padding.

  She stopped at the front door, stared at him. “Well, come along. I’m already off schedule and I’ve got that shopping to do.”

  Chapter 3

  Cecilia tried to concentrate on the cafe’s floor layout: The nonsmoking section tables were placed erratically, which, if placed in a neat line, the waitresses would move easily through them.

  Smoky, the cook and owner, was glaring at her as she stood with Berenger behind her. With him at her back she now felt very safe—if only she hadn’t seen that big gun holstered across his chest. She’d noticed it wasn’t new. At the house, he only reluctantly removed it when she had pointed and started to stammer fearfully. “Are you wanted for any crime?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Why do you need it? I mean, is the mob after you? Are you on the run?”

  “Not now. I guess I just feel naked without it.”

  “But you were in the mob,” she had pressed fearfully. “Ah… were you ever a hit man?”

  “Never. But I’ve been in some tough places. Soup kitchens and shelters aren’t always sweet, you know.”

  His slow firm answer had had the ring of truth. In her brother’s clothes, Berenger looked big and hard; his expression amused as she studied his shaven face, the hard cut of his jaw, that firm mouth, those black eyes. Somehow, she’d ended up trimming his hair, and he’d held very still as she moved around him.

  Okay, she had motives for taking a stranger under her wing; she was devious. And scared, uncertain of what she should do, but she definitely wasn’t reporting anything to the police chief. Cleaned up, Berenger looked quite nice, she’d thought, in a woodsy outdoorsman sort of way. Despite his gun, he looked capable, and appearances counted. Just maybe she could turn his life around.

  Smoky the cook eyed Berenger. “He with you?”

  Smoky’s tone inferred that after an ex-husband and an ex-fiancé that no man would be interested in Cecilia. Her evil side perked up to defend her maligned man-catching ability. She hoped that gossip would carry that man-in-hand tidbit back to Tracy and John. “Very much so. We’ll want breakfast.”

  The owner’s hands were planted on his hips as he blocked her way to the nonsmoking section; he spoke over her head to Berenger. “You can’t rearrange anything here. We like it how it is.”

  “But I drew out a floor plan, free of charge. I can come down after hours and—” Cecilia found her elbow taken and Berenger’s tall body nudging her along to the line of booths. He seemed to like nudging her along, seating her in the booth, and then using his body to push her, making room for himself. She felt safe, despite the warning tingling of her senses.

  �
��Tell me about your ex-fiancé,” Berenger was saying as he dug into the cafe’s super big breakfast, “and your ex-husband.”

  Cecilia reached into her large shoulder bag and extracted her PDA. She ignored him and worked feverishly over her schedule.

  “Someone has it in for you. If I’m in this act, supposedly involved with you, I want to know right now why you’re not reporting your breakins.”

  “There have been burglaries all over town. I’m not the only one. And they only took things the first time.”

  He sat back to stare at her as if he wanted to see into her bones, to dig out the truth. She felt as if she were being interrogated, which was ridiculous. “You’re sweating,” he noted in an I’ve-got-you, amused tone.

  She had to confess and whispered, “I think the police chief is having an affair. I saw him, and I think he’s after me, trying to intimidate me.”

  Berenger seemed amused. “Is that right?”

  She leaned close to whisper and when he turned, their faces were very close. “Your eyes are very expressive,” he whispered.

  He smelled great—soap and man—and it had been such a long time… Cecilia took a heartbeat to recover. “I am a witness to his infidelity. He has a lot to protect—his position in town, and his wife is pregnant and she’s wealthy. They’ve only been here a year and I didn’t know who his mistress was, but she’s young and not from around here. I grew up here. I know everyone.”

  “I’ll just bet you do.”

  Cecilia dug out her business cards and placed one on the table; Smoky might have a change of mind. “Let’s go. We’ll have to go to Tracy’s gift shop.”

  “Problem?” His tone was back to the crisp, just-the-basics, his expression closed and piercing.