Hometown Honey

“Is there anything I can do?” Manson asked. He was sixty, portly, round faced and had worked for the Miracle Café his whole adult life. “Can I send you home with some chicken soup?”

“I’ll be fine—just a headache.” She forced a smile and had almost made it out the back door when a booming voice from the dining room snagged her attention.

“I’m looking for Cindy Lefler!”

She considered escaping, then decided it might be important. With a heavy heart, she walked back through the kitchen and out the swinging doors into the dining room.

Standing in the middle of the dining room, looking something like King Henry VIII in madras shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops, was the man who’d spoken.

“Hi, I’m Cindy Lefler,” Cindy said, lacking her usual smiling hospitality. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Ed LaRue.”

She looked at him blankly. The name meant nothing to her.

“I’m the new owner of the Miracle Café,” he continued, still grinning. “Soon to be Ed’s Enchilada Emporium!”

Chapter Two

Deputy Luke Rheems looked at first one, then the other of the two women seated in his office. They were both attractive, but beyond their blond hair, they were complete opposites. Sonya Patterson was the epitome of wealth and sophistication. Tall and slim with an elegant, aristocratic face, she wore an ivory linen suit, sheer stockings that looked like silk and cream-colored leather pumps with a medium heel. Her nails were long, probably acrylic, and salon fresh with a coating of pale pink-frosted polish. Her artfully highlighted hair was piled atop her head in a complicated twist, not a strand out of place.

Brenna Thompson was petite, with a pleasantly curvaceous figure, and she looked as if she belonged in an artist’s loft in SoHo. Her platinum-frosted hair was short and spiky, sticking out of her head like a porcupine’s quills, and her eye shadow was a particularly virulent shade of purple. Her left ear was graced with five piercings, each with a distinctly unique silver earring.

The rest of her jewelry was just as interesting, and she wore a lot of it—rings on almost every finger, bracelets jangling with every movement of her arms, a handful of chains around her neck from which dangled charms in whimsical animal shapes, their eyes winking with colored stones. Her snug, tie-dyed T-shirt didn’t quite meet up with her faded hip-hugger jeans, leaving a couple of inches of strategically exposed flesh at her midriff. Though she was categorically not his type, she exuded healthy sex appeal.

“We’re starting to get worried about her,” Sonya was saying. “After we broke the news to her that her supposed fiancée was—”

“Lying, thieving pond scum,” Brenna supplied.

“Yes, exactly. After that, she got the news that her restaurant had been sold out from under her.”

“It must have been too much,” Brenna said. “She’s gone into hiding.”

“We understand she hasn’t come out of her house in days,” Sonya continued. “Now, we hardly know Cindy, but we know what it feels like to have the rug pulled out from underneath you. We figured she needed some time to grieve and we’ve left her alone. But, Deputy Rheems, it’s been almost a week and she hasn’t come out of her house. She won’t answer the phone or the doorbell. We’re worried about her.”

Luke had been worried about Cindy, too. He’d left the Miracle Café just minutes before Ed LaRue’s dramatic arrival, so he hadn’t witnessed it. But he’d heard through the grapevine about it—and that it was all true. Dexter Shalimar, aka Marvin Carter, had sold the Miracle Café, and the sale was more or less legal because Cindy had signed some power-of-attorney paper giving her fiancé the right to conduct all sorts of business for her.

Every suspicion he’d harbored about Cindy’s boyfriend had been right on the money. The man was a liar, a thief, a con man, a snake. The only thing Luke had missed was that Shalimar wasn’t Shalimar at all. He’d borrowed the reclusive real-estate tycoon’s identity. Luke should have suspected that. But when his initial inquiries into Shalimar’s background had checked out, he’d had no legitimate reason to snoop any further, so he hadn’t.

After the manure hit the fan, Luke had tried to call Cindy a couple of times to see if she wanted to press charges. He’d managed to get her on the phone once; she’d brushed him off with a quick, insincere assurance that she was fine, everything was fine—it was all a misunderstanding.

But as his visitors had pointed out, no one had seen her or Adam in almost a week.

“I’ll go to her house, see how she’s doing,” Luke said.

“Please tell her we need to meet with her,” Brenna said. “We need her help if we’re going to catch this guy.”

“Now, ladies, I understand your anger and frustration, but I think you’d better let the law-enforcement authorities handle—”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Brenna interrupted. “If Marvin happens to walk into the House of Donuts and identify himself, maybe the cops’ll stop him. But I wouldn’t count on even that. So far they sent out a couple of faxes, put his name on a list somewhere and went back to sleep.”

“The law-enforcement people don’t care,” Sonya agreed. “Marvin hasn’t murdered anyone. He’s not a bigamist, since he doesn’t actually marry his victims. He’s small potatoes to them. But not to us, and not to the next woman he’ll go after. And believe me, he isn’t going to stop. It might be too late to get our money back, but we’re going to make him pay in ways he never dreamed of.”

“Never underestimate the power of a woman scorned,” Brenna added, sharing a look of solidarity with Sonya.

Luke decided he’d rather have Bubba the Bounty Hunter on his trail than these two. They suddenly seemed a little scary to him.

AS LUKE DROVE HIS SUV DOWN Cindy’s street, his stomach did a little flutter. It was the same little flutter he got every time he walked into the Miracle Café for his morning coffee and biscuit. And it was Cindy Lefler who did it to him.

He’d been crazy in love with her at one time. Cindy’s naive adoration of him, her pure, uncomplicated emotions, her gentle ways, had gone a long way toward healing the abandoned little boy inside him, and he’d never forgotten it. But she’d been appalled when, just after high school graduation he’d suggested they get married and settle down. That was before he’d realized settle down were dirty words to Cindy.

It wasn’t long after that when long-haul trucker Jim Lefler had stopped for lunch at the Miracle Café and had become entranced with his young waitress, and she with him. Three weeks later, they’d eloped.

When Adam had come along and they’d bought a house in Cottonwood, Jim had fit right in, and everyone agreed that they made a terrific family.

Even Luke came to like Jim Lefler. His unexpected death was an awful thing, and Luke had mourned the passing of a friend and an essential member of the community.

But then there was Cindy, alone again and apparently here in Cottonwood to stay. Luke had promised himself he would wait at least a year before even flirting with Cindy. Then that jerk Dexter Shalimar—Marvin Carter, he reminded himself—had shown up, taking advantage of a woman not only grieving for her husband but her mother, who’d passed not long after Jim. Luke’s timing had always been bad when it came to Cindy.

Luke pulled in to the driveway of the tidy little three-bedroom house Jim and Cindy had bought. The grass needed mowing, he noted, and the flower beds were full of weeds. The blinds were drawn.

Before going to the front door, he peeked through a window into the garage. Cindy’s car was there. He felt a prickle of unease.

He climbed the three stairs to the front porch and rang the bell. He could hear a TV inside, then a child’s babble. Adam was okay, at least. But Cindy didn’t answer the door.

He knocked loudly. “Cindy? It’s me, Luke. I know you’re in there, so open the door.”

“I’m busy, Luke,” she finally called through the door. “You’ll have to come back another time.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Would you just for heaven’s sake open the door?”

He heard her unfasten the chain, then crack the door. “What is it?”

He could see only half her face. Her wavy, honey-colored hair hung limply to her shoulders. Her complexion was too pale.

He couldn’t see much of the rest of her, just her shoulder and arm and one leg. She wore faded gray sweatpants and a T-shirt with the Red Dog Saloon logo on it.

She was allowed to look a little grubby, he told himself. But her lack of grooming bothered him.

“How are you doing?” he asked gently. “Everyone’s worried about you.”

“Why? I’m…I’m fine. I’m just very busy. Making wedding plans, you know. I have to pack—”

“Cindy, give it a rest. You’re not getting married. Dexter or Marvin or whoever he is isn’t coming back now that he’s got your money. You’ve been had by a very slick, very convincing con man. The best thing is for you to face what’s happened head-on.”

“Does everyone know?” she asked in a whisper.

“Everyone knows, and everyone wants to help any way they can.”

“Oh, my God.” She turned away from the door but left it open. Luke took the opportunity to follow her inside.

The sight that greeted him was alarming, to say the least. The living room was a wreck, littered with empty pizza boxes, dirty dishes, toys, blankets and stacks of videotapes. The sofa cushions were on the floor. It looked as if Cindy had been sleeping in front of the TV.

He would never have classified Cindy as compulsively neat, but normally she wasn’t slovenly, either.

“Looks like you’ve been in some kind of funk, girl.”

CINDY DID NOT WANT TO SEE Luke Rheems, of all people. He’d warned her about Dex. His lawman’s instincts had picked up on qualities Cindy had missed because of her stupid, blind adoration of a man who had pretended to be everything she was looking for. Seeing Luke made her feel even worse, if that was possible.

She wished he would just go away. If everyone would leave her alone, she would be fine.

“I’m merely taking this opportunity to spend some quiet time with my son,” she said, mustering as much dignity as she could.

Luke went around the living room and dining room opening the blinds.

“It’s like a cave in here. And it doesn’t smell too good, either.” He opened a couple of windows. “There.”

“What sort of rumors have those two women been spreading?”

“They haven’t talked to anyone but me, as far as I know. But, Cindy, it’s obvious to everyone what’s happened. Ed LaRue is not a quiet man. Apparently Marvin Carter made up all kinds of lies about you, the town and the café. LaRue is repeating them.”

“Is the café still open?” Cindy asked. She’d been afraid to call or drive by.

“No. Ed closed it up and fired all the employees. He has an extended family he plans to give full employment to.”

“Oh, no. Poor Kate and Iris and Tonya—and Manson! What will they do?”

“What will you do?”

“I’m fine. I was going to sell the restaurant anyway. I’ll be happy not to ever bake another biscuit as long as I live.”

“You’re not fine, Cindy. If Marvin Carter followed his usual MO, he wiped you out.” He took her by the arms and looked straight into her eyes. “C’mon, honey, snap out of it. You have to do something. You have to take action. It’s not just you anymore. You have a child to support.”

“Adam is being well taken care of, thank you very much.” She shook off Luke’s touch, though in truth it was tempting to just fall into those strong arms, to lean against Luke’s muscular shoulder and cry her little eyes out. “Okay, maybe Dexter’s…unexpected and inappropriate actions have knocked me a little off balance. But I’m taking good care of Adam.” She’d bathed him every day, even if she’d been less scrupulous about her own grooming, and he always got clean clothes and three healthy meals a day.

Instead of believing her, Luke walked into her kitchen, past more piles of dirty dishes and empty cereal boxes and milk bottles, and opened the fridge.

“It looks a little meager.”

“I need to go to the store. Big deal.”

“And how will you pay for the groceries?”

“I have money.” But not as much as she’d thought. The seven hundred-plus dollars in her checking account had dwindled down to under two hundred once her last mortgage check had cleared. She’d figured she could afford another week’s worth of groceries—another week she could pretend that Dex was coming back.

Luke looked at her, his disbelief evident in those deep, knowing eyes of his.

“I’ve got lots of equity in my house. I can get an equity loan to tide me over while I regroup.”

“I hope you’re right.”

The chug-chugging of a diesel engine reverberated outside, coming to a pause in front of Cindy’s house. Curious, she returned to the living room and looked out the window. A huge Ryder truck was in the process of backing over her lawn, the rear headed directly for her front porch.

“Oh, my—” She ran out the front door and up to the truck’s cab, beating on the driver’s door.

The window slid down and Ed LaRue was behind the wheel, grinning ear to ear. “Well, hi, there, sweet thing. Thought you’d be long gone to your new house in San Francisco.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Cindy sputtered. But she knew. Oh, Lord, she knew. Dex—Marvin, dammit—had sold her house, too. She was not only penniless, she was homeless. Next thing she knew, the insufferable Ed LaRue would claim her car.

Luke convinced LaRue to give Cindy another twenty-four hours to clear out of her house. To seal the deal, he pulled out his wallet and handed Ed a wad of cash. “Dinner’s on me, okay?”

Slightly mollified, Ed took the money. “I’ll agree to this, you being a lawman and all. But this house by God, better be empty by tomorrow morning, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

He closed the window and the truck lumbered out of the front yard and down the street.

Cindy just looked at Luke. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I want to help. That’s the main reason I got this job, you know. To help people. To resolve conflicts.”

“How much did you give him? I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about that. The main thing is I bought you a little time, but not much. I get off at three and I can get a horse trailer from my brother’s place and help you move.”

Where? Where was she going to move? She’d sold her parents’ house. She had no other relatives in the area. She couldn’t possibly move in on Tonya or Kate or Iris—they had enough trouble, what with their sudden unemployment and all.

But she couldn’t admit her dire straits to Luke. He was the one who’d warned her about Dex—Marvin, dammit. She was so humiliated, felt so stupid, and she just couldn’t bear to rely on his kind, compassionate help a moment longer.

Plus, she was going to have an emotional crash. She’d been holding back a colossal crying jag for days, and she didn’t want him to witness that.

“I do have a place to go,” she said. “And I’m not going to worry about moving furniture. It’s all garage-sale stuff anyway—let Ed LaRue have it. I’ll take our clothes and a few personal items, nothing that won’t fit in my car trunk. I appreciate your offer to help, Luke—I really do. But I’ll be fine.”

He looked as if he didn’t believe her.

She forced a smile and made shooing motions with her hands. “Run along. Go catch some criminals. I have a little packing to do.”

“If I find out you’re lying about this, I’m coming after you,” he threatened. “Call me when you’re settled someplace.”

“Sure.” When hell froze over.

“Oh, and you need to contact those women—Brenna and Sonya?”

She sighed. “Why?” She didn’t want to wallow in shared stupidity with these other women, women who’d loved Dex or whatever name he’d given them, women who’d probably slept with him, who’d thought they were marrying him. “I want to move forward, not dwell on past mistakes.”

“Well, they want to catch Marvin and get their money back, or at least enjoy the satisfaction of putting him behind bars. I’ve agreed to help them. You have the most current information on Marvin. You could help a lot.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, though she hadn’t yet managed to summon up enough anger toward Dex/Marvin to want vengeance. She was still in disbelief with more than a hint of denial. Part of her expected Dex’s familiar lemon-yellow Porsche to come hauling up the street, the trunk full of presents for her and Adam.

“Just one more thing.” Without warning, he hauled her into his arms and hugged her fiercely.

“Luke!”

“Hush. You need this.”

The security of his embrace, the warmth of his body, felt way better than it should have. She knew she should end it, but for a few moments, all she wanted to do was empty her mind and drown in his warmth, his caring.

She’d always been able to count on his caring. Even when she’d treated him not so nicely, back in high school, he’d had a seemingly inexhaustible ability to forgive her, even if he couldn’t understand exactly what made her tick, what made her want to wander the world in search of new sights, new adventures.

After a few moments, it was Luke who loosened his arms first. She pulled back reluctantly, realizing as she did that hugging her might not be that pleasant given that she hadn’t bathed in two days. “Thanks, Luke,” she whispered, perilously close to tears again as she escaped inside her house.

Which wasn’t really her house any longer, she reminded herself. Cindy mentally shook off her lethargy. She couldn’t take refuge in inactivity any longer. She had to move, make decisions.

When she’d told Luke she had someplace to go, she’d thought she was lying. But maybe there was someplace.

Her parents had owned a boat, which was moored at Town Lake. It was an old, twenty-foot cuddy cruiser. Her father’s idea had been that they would fix it up, then take it to Lake Texoma. When Cindy was little, they used to close the restaurant on holidays and spend a day or two on the lake, floating aimlessly on the water while they sanded and painted and sewed curtains. But then their interest had waned. No one had used the boat for years and Cindy had been meaning to sell it.

She’d surely never mentioned the boat to Dex. It might be the one asset he’d overlooked. And though it was small, it had a sleeping cabin with a real bed and a tiny galley with a one-burner stove and a marine toilet. She’d recently paid for six months’ dock fees at the marina.

Maybe it wasn’t a great plan, but it beat sleeping in her car.

Cindy started packing. She found a few boxes and suitcases in the attic and filled them with clothes—she didn’t have many—toiletries and Adam’s favorite toys. She did laundry—no telling when she’d have her next chance. She loaded everything in her car, along with Adam’s collapsible playpen.

Lastly, she packed up her food—every crumb. It was enough to last her a few more days. She put the stuff from the fridge in a cooler, along with some ice.

“Well, baby,” she cooed to Adam, “I said I wanted adventure. Guess I should be careful what I wish for, huh?”

Adam laughed and made a grab for her earring. She was glad he was too young to understand, too young to share the insidious fear that had crept into every cell of her body.

Broke, homeless, jobless and with a child to support. What a mess she’d gotten herself into.

Chapter Three

Luke watched from a distance, lurking in the shadows at the marina behind a houseboat. He’d heard a rumor that Cindy and Adam were living here on her parents’ old boat, but he had to see for himself.

Sure enough, the canvas cover had been removed from the old cuddy, which was called the Cindy-Lou—Cindy’s childhood nickname. It looked as if someone had cleaned the worst of the grime off the boat. Carlo Bruno, the marina manager, had told Luke the boat had been docked here for years, with only the lightest routine maintenance to keep it from sinking.

He saw no other signs of life. He decided it was his official duty to check on Cindy again and to keep checking on her until he was sure she was okay. She’d been in a fragile state when he’d seen her a few days ago.

He remembered a time when his own mother had been in a similar fix. He’d been about four at the time, and his mom had been evicted from her grungy apartment in Tyler. They’d been forced to live in the car for a while. He remembered a highway-patrol officer shining a flashlight into the car, where they’d been parked in a parking lot trying to sleep, bundled up in blankets. And this upstanding law-enforcement officer, sworn to serve and protect, had told them without an ounce of concern that they would have to move on, that it was illegal to sleep there.

He wished someone had tried to help his mother back then, when she hadn’t yet been beyond help.

At any rate, he wasn’t going to be like that state trooper.

He stepped on board and knocked on the hatch. It suddenly occurred to him he’d spent a lot of his life knocking on doors, waiting for Cindy. Even when she’d been in love with him, she’d always kept him waiting.

Eventually the hatch opened. He was gratified to see that Cindy looked much better than she had a few days ago. No puffy eyes. Her hair was sparkling clean and pulled back in a loose braid, and she wore jeans and a pale pink T-shirt, the V-neck showing just a hint of cleavage. She’d put on a little weight, he noticed. And it was in all the right places.

“What are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously.

“I heard you and Adam were living here. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. You can tell that to all the town gossips. Man, they must be having a field day with this.”

“Cindy, if you think your friends and neighbors are getting enjoyment out of your bad luck, you’re wrong. Everyone who knows you is worried. Can I come in?”

With a careless shrug, she retreated down the short staircase and he followed. The boat wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. She’d obviously been cleaning, because the whole place smelled like oranges.

“You want some coffee?” she offered grudgingly. “It’s instant, not like what I serve at the café, but the caffeine still works.”

“Sure, I’ll have some. Where’s Adam?”

“Still asleep. We’ve been busy the last couple of days trying to get settled in here.”

She moved into the tiny galley, which was only a couple of steps away. In fact, nothing was more than two steps away. It was a cute and cozy boat, he’d give it that. The carpeting and upholstery all looked new, the paint surprisingly fresh. Everything was tidy and efficient—except for the stack of boxes shoved to one side of the living room.

Moments later, Cindy handed him a steaming cup of black coffee.

“What, no biscuit with honey?”

“You know, a few days ago I was complaining about all the biscuits I had to bake. Now I’d give anything to be back in that stifling kitchen with flour all over my hands.”

“Maybe you can get it back.”

“How? I don’t even know where to start.”

“To start, you need to talk with Sonya and Brenna.”

“You mean they’re still here?”

“They’re trying to pick up as much information as they can about Marvin, but they don’t have much without you.”

“I’m not sure what the point is.” She sank onto one of the miniature built-in sofas opposite him and sipped on her own coffee. “Everything I know about him is a lie, apparently.”

“But maybe not. Con men often use bits and pieces of the truth to make themselves sound more authentic. You might know more than you think. For instance, his car. You spent a lot of time in it. Do you recall the license plate or any distinguishing features like dents or scratches? We might be able to trace him that way.”

Cindy’s brow furrowed. “It all seems like a blur. But I’ll try to remember.”

“Talk to the ladies.”