Capturing Cleo

“When did you see them last?”

“A few days ago,” Cleo said. “Maybe last week.”

“Don’t touch anything else,” he ordered, glancing up at her. “I’m going to have the office dusted for prints.”

Cleo grinned. “Do you have any idea how many people are in and out of this place? And I haven’t polished this desk in…okay, I’ve never polished this desk. It’s got to be covered with prints.”

“It’s a long shot, I know,” Malone said as he stood. “But right now, it’s all we’ve got.” He offered his hand to help Cleo to her feet. “Except you.”

For a split second he had thought she was lying. How did a woman who looked like this one go so long without a date? He could see guys lining up to date Cleo, and he could see her going through them the way a normal woman went through tissues. Use one and toss it away. Grab another.

But that thought hadn’t lasted long. The man-eater toughness was a part of her act; it was the way she kept men away. Thanks to Jack, he imagined.

Luther sat at a table near the center of the room. From here he could see everything. Lizzy, her long brown ponytail swaying as she leaned against the bar, Edgar barely mouthing the words to the song Cleo was singing, customers scattered about the room with drinks before them and their eyes and attention on the stage.

And Mikey sitting in the corner. Once he’d come in and made himself comfortable, he’d started hitting on Lizzy. And quite successfully, too. In his jeans and denim shirt, and wearing that devil-may-care smile, Russell looked nothing like a cop.

Right this minute, Russell behaved just the way all the other customers did. He stared at Cleo and listened closely. The place was so quiet as she sang. No one so much as whispered. Luther had scanned the room for a potential obsessed secret admirer, for a potential killer, but had seen nothing suspicious. So now he listened like the others.

She sang old forties tunes, mostly, in a resonant voice that filled the room and seeped beneath his skin. Cleo Tanner was a smart-mouthed, tough broad, but when she sang…when she sang there was nothing else. He could see it in her eyes, in her relaxed posture. She didn’t care if anyone listened, if the room was full or empty. She sang from the heart.

Of course she had secret admirers. There were probably a dozen men who came to listen to her sing and dreamed of being the one to break through her tough facade to find and claim that heart she sang so beautifully from.

Was one of them a killer? Would one of them kill Cleo’s ex-husband because he was a thorn in her side? Or was someone trying to point the finger in her direction to lead Luther away from the real killer? That supposition made just as much sense as anything else.

She was singing a heartrending version of “Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans,” when the couple arrived. Cretins, they talked to one another in normal voices and broke the spell that filled the room. Luther turned to watch them walk to the bar, removing their coats as they went, talking loudly even though they received a number of sharp glares.

The woman was tall, reed thin, and had her dark blond hair cut in a chin-length bob. Her coat was expensive. So were the diamonds in her ears and on her fingers. Money. The big fella who walked beside her carried himself like a man who was accustomed to being waited on. His well-cut suit downplayed his size. The watch on his wrist was gold. More money.

Edgar shushed the noisy couple when they reached the bar, and in turn they both pursed their mouths in disapproval. But they did shut up. The others in the room returned their attention to the stage.

Luther listened to Cleo, but he kept his eyes on the newly arrived couple. They didn’t belong here. They were country club people who held themselves stiffly, as if to touch anything in this place would dirty them. Eventually they laid their eyes on Cleo, and he could have sworn the woman sighed and shook her head just slightly.

Cleo was finishing up with “Do Nothin’ Till You Hear from Me,” when a cell phone rang. The patrons knew where that noise came from, and several turned to glare at the well-dressed man who dug in his jacket pocket to retrieve his phone. One customer, a small, elderly fellow, tossed a balled-up napkin in the couple’s direction as the man answered and stepped toward the corner of the room, one hand to his ear so he could hear.

Cleo left the stage to a hearty round of applause. God, half the men in the room were in love with her, Mikey included. And she didn’t know it, Luther realized as she left the stage. She had no idea how her voice and her appearance sucked a man in.

If she’d known where his mind had taken him this afternoon when she’d started talking about “oral fixation,” she would’ve kicked him out of her place by now.

Cleo walked to the bar, where Edgar had a glass of water waiting. Luther headed in the same direction, hoping to arrive about the same time she did. The sight of the tall blond waiting at the bar caused Cleo’s step to falter.

“Thea,” Cleo said as she reached the bar. “What are you doing here?”

The woman Cleo called Thea sighed. It seemed well-practiced. “We heard about Jack, and Palmer and I are here to offer our support.”

Cleo’s eyes flickered to the man in the corner. He had his back to them and was still talking on the phone. Was that panic he saw in Cleo’s eyes? Maybe. It was gone too quickly for him to be sure.

Luther stepped to the bar so he stood behind Cleo and could see everything that happened. He leaned there and nodded to Edgar, asking for another cup of coffee.

“Thank you,” Cleo said to the blonde. “But I really don’t need any support. I’m fine.”

“Cleo, your ex-husband was murdered,” Thea said, lowering her voice.

“I know that,” Cleo answered. “I appreciate you coming, but there’s nothing you can do.”

Thea, who had obviously hoped for a warmer welcome, squared her shoulders. “Well, we will at least stay for the funeral. Someone should represent the family. When will it be held?”

Cleo turned slightly and tilted her head back to look at Luther. “Do you know when the funeral is?”

“Friday.”

Cleo dropped her eyes and returned her attention to Thea, who leaned to one side to get a glimpse of the man Cleo had spoken to.

“I wish I had a guest room so you could stay with me,” Cleo said, not very convincingly.

Thea looked properly horrified. “Oh, we have a suite at the Marriott. We wouldn’t think of putting you out.” She straightened her spine again. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

“Thank you,” Cleo said, her voice turning kinder. “But I’m fine. Really.”

Thea held out stiff arms. “Don’t you have a hug for your big sister?”

Sister? Luther digested this information while he watched the women engage in a perfunctory embrace.

When they parted, Thea kept her hands on Cleo’s shoulders. “I won’t leave you to go through this alone,” she said in a strict, schoolteacher-like tone.

“I’m not alone,” Cleo insisted. “I have Edgar, and Eric and Syd…” she looked over her shoulder and a wicked gleam lit her amber eyes. “And Malone.”

Thea cast him a wary glance. “Malone?”

“Detective Luther Malone,” Cleo said with a smile. “He’s a new…friend.”

A woman like Cleo had a way of saying a simple word like friend that gave it all sorts of meaning.

Thea paled. The man who had arrived with her, Palmer, ended his conversation and joined them.

One good look at Palmer was enough for Luther. His gut instinct had served him well over the years, and he never ignored it. He did not like Palmer. Most importantly, he didn’t like the way Palmer looked at Cleo.

The big man opened his arms and offered Cleo a hug and a smile. Cleo extended one hand, signaling that she’d prefer a shake. Palmer moved in for a hug, anyway, and Luther stepped to her side to get in the way.

Palmer’s gaze snapped up. He was no fool. He saw the warning on Luther’s face and dropped one hand. The handshake he pressed on Cleo was brief.

“Palmer, darling,” Thea said tersely, “this is Detective Luther Malone, Cleo’s new friend.”

“Detective,” Palmer muttered, and then he swallowed. Hard.

They had come to their own conclusions, and Cleo was doing nothing to dissuade the notion. Luther figured she must have a reason. So he didn’t move. He stayed beside her. He smiled tightly. And then some demon within him forced him to drape his arm around her shoulder.

He looked down at Cleo. She looked up. “This is your sister?”

“Yes,” Cleo said, not attempting to move away or toss his arm off her shoulder, as she surely would if they were alone. “And her husband, Palmer.”

Luther look back at the couple. “I’ve heard a lot about you two.”

Palmer went a little pale. Oh, Cleo definitely had some explaining to do!

Cleo glanced up at him. “The funeral’s Friday?”

“Yes. The coroner has promised to release the body by tomorrow afternoon. He expects to be finished with his tests by then. Miss Rayner has made all the arrangements for the funeral.”

“I don’t know if I should go or not,” Cleo said, not sounding nearly as confident as usual.

“I’ll go with you,” Luther said. “It’ll be okay.”

“Wait a minute,” Palmer injected. “If you two are friends, surely you’re not investigating the case. I mean, Cleo is sure to be a suspect.”

Luther gave Palmer his darkest glare. “Why on earth would you say that?”

For a big man, Palmer squirmed too much. “It just seems a little out of the ordinary, that’s all. She was the victim’s ex-wife.”

“Cleo is not a suspect,” Luther said. “My involvement in this case might be considered unusual—” and it was getting more unusual by the minute “—but we haven’t broken any law.” Yet.

Luther glanced around the room. No one was paying what might be called an inordinate amount of attention to their conversation. Not even Russell, who was proving to be damn good at undercover work. But if the secret admirer were here, he’d be incensed to see another man with his arm around Cleo, wouldn’t he?

Luther shifted his arm and settled his hand at the back of Cleo’s neck, beneath a wealth of curling black hair and against her warm skin. She flinched just a little, but not so that anyone would notice her reaction. He felt it, but no one would see.

“I’m taking you home,” he said, sounding possessive and commanding.

“But…” Cleo began.

“No buts. You can’t go back into your office until the crime scene techs are finished, and they won’t even get started until morning.” Luther glanced at Edgar. “There’s crime scene tape across the door to her office. No one goes in.” Russell would see to that, up until closing time, and Luther himself would be here in the morning when the crime scene techs arrived. “The door’s locked,” he added, “and I have the key.”

“Why?” Thea asked brightly. “What happened in there?”

Cleo opened her mouth to answer, but Luther was quicker. “We can’t discuss that. Sorry.”

Again, Cleo looked up at him. Her eyes were so wide, her skin so flawless, her mouth so tempting. He could very easily kiss her, here and now. It would cement this ridiculous charade, and besides…he would never get another chance. God, what a great oral fixation she’d be.

“All right,” she said, oddly subservient. “You can take me home.”

He smiled, but didn’t give in to the urge to kiss her.

“Lunch tomorrow,” Thea said, as Edgar handed Cleo her purse from under the bar. “We’re at the Marriott. Call me in the morning.”

“Sure,” Cleo said lifelessly. “Lunch.” Edgar handed her coat over the bar. They’d cleared everything she might need out of the office when he’d taped it off, and Cleo had locked the door and handed him the key.

Before Cleo could grab her coat, Luther took it and draped the black wool over her shoulders. He even allowed his hands to linger on her shoulders. She didn’t seem to mind. If he didn’t know better, he might even think she liked the way he rested his hands there, just for a moment. He might even think that gentle touch calmed her. The trembling she hid from everyone else seemed to subside.

He led Cleo toward the door. Thea and Palmer followed, slipping on their own coats as they went. “Don’t forget lunch,” Thea said breathlessly.

“We won’t forget,” Luther answered, including himself in the invitation.

Chapter 5

Cleo unlocked her door and stepped inside to be greeted by a prancing Rambo, who was more enthusiastic than usual tonight.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Cleo said lowly, leaning down to gently scratch the top of the dog’s golden head.

Behind her, Malone closed the door soundly. Rambo, the traitor, loped to Malone and lifted those big brown eyes to beg silently for adoration. The detective obediently scratched behind Rambo’s ears.

“Okay,” Malone said as he followed Cleo into the living room, Rambo at his heels. “You have some explaining to do.”

“I told you in the car—”

“You have nothing to say. I know. Indulge me.”

Cleo slipped off her coat and headed for the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

Malone hesitated. “I know you don’t have coffee.”

“Orange juice, water and flat diet soda.”

“I’ll pass.”

Cleo stepped into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of juice before walking to the living room to join Malone. Like it or not, she would have to explain a thing or two.

Malone stood over the roses her secret admirer had sent. “Where’s the card?”

“There was no card this time,” Cleo said as she dropped into her favorite chair.

“Is there usually?”

“At first,” she said, as Malone crossed the room and sat on the couch, facing her. “They were usually just simple notes. ‘Great set last night. I love that red dress.’ Stuff like that. Lately they’ve been delivered without a card. Since it was red roses like before, and came from the same florist, I just assumed they were from the same guy.”

“What florist?”

“I can’t remember the name, but it’s the one in the mall.”

Malone nodded his head, apparently satisfied. “I’ll get someone on that right away. Always red roses, you say?”

Cleo nodded. “One dozen, delivered to the club. Usually on a Saturday. Friday night is when we have our biggest crowd, so it was impossible for me to come up with a face in the crowd that might fit the notes and the flowers.”

Malone leaned forward. “Tell me about Palmer.”

Cleo felt her cheeks go cold. “He’s my sister’s husband. What’s to tell?”

“Come on, Cleo. Give me a little credit.”

Rambo padded over to Malone and rested her chin on his knee. He didn’t seem to mind, but began to absently pat the dog’s head.

“She’ll shed all over your suit.”

“It’ll brush off,” Malone said tersely. “Palmer.”

Might as well tell all. She had a feeling hiding anything from Luther Malone was hard work. And she didn’t have the heart for it at the moment.

“Thea is everything my mother ever wanted in a daughter. Tall, slender, refined. I think she was born with the desire to join the Junior League. She’s an interior decorator, and is very choosy about the jobs she takes. Hers is a suitable profession. Mine is not.”

“Palmer,” Malone said, urging her to move forward.

“I’m getting there.” She took a sip of juice, and Malone visibly relaxed. Rambo, sufficiently scratched, laid down at the detective’s feet and rested her chin on his shoe. “All my life, I had to deal with the sad fact that I’m not enough like Thea to make my mother happy. I’m short, I am most definitely not thin, and if you made me join the Junior League, I’d probably turn into a serial killer or something.” She didn’t mention the fact that her mother had been horrified when she’d gotten breasts at an early age. Her mother’s people were not voluptuous.

Malone smiled.

“When I decided I wanted to sing, when I realized that I needed to sing, my mother was quite distressed. A daughter of hers in a public profession? Making a spectacle of herself on stage?” Cleo studied Malone’s hard, expressionless face, and wished, momentarily, for a hint of softness. She didn’t get her wish. “In my family, making a spectacle of oneself is the worst possible crime.”

When had she started actually trying to make a spectacle of herself? Early on, though she couldn’t remember the exact moment. She hadn’t been able to win her mother over, so she’d learned to fight the only way she knew how. After her father had passed on, things had only gotten worse.

“So all my life I’m compared to this perfect daughter. I tried for a while, but finally accepted that I could never live up to that standard. I’m not like Thea, and by God, I don’t want to be.” She didn’t want to admit, not out loud, that it still hurt. She was too old to be hurt because her mother loved big sister best. “When Thea married Palmer, it was just icing on the cake. His family has old money and a long string of car dealerships, he played football at the University of Alabama, he’s a handicap golfer and he runs in all the right circles.”

“The ideal husband.”

“Yeah,” she said tightly, “except for the fact that he’ll screw any woman who has the misfortune to wander into his line of vision.”

Malone’s jaw tensed, his eyes narrowed. For a moment all was silent. Well, she had wished for a show of emotion, hadn’t she? Malone was angry.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Cleo answered quickly. “He just…makes a pass at me every time we’re alone.” In the kitchen, in the driveway, in the hallway of the family home. The man knew no shame.

“What kind of a pass?” Malone asked tersely.

“He likes to grab.”

“He likes to grab what?”

If she had taken any of her mother’s teachings on decorum to heart, she wouldn’t answer that question. But so few of her mother’s teachings had taken. “He likes to sneak up on me and grab what my flat-chested sister doesn’t have.”

A muscle in Malone’s right eye twitched. “He’s plenty strong enough to be our guy. Do you think he’d—”

“No,” Cleo interrupted. “To commit murder, you have to care a little bit, right? You have to have some kind of passion to commit a crime of passion.”

“I suppose.”

“Palmer has no true passion. He grabs me and makes passes because I’m not a notch on his belt. If I ever did get desperate enough to agree to sleep with him, he’d lose interest. That’s how he treats all his women.”

Malone shook his head. “Doesn’t anyone else know about this guy?”

“They all know,” she said softly. “But they look past it because he has money and the right social standing, and he is a real and true football hero. Disgusting, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m the bad guy, here. If Palmer makes a pass at me it’s because I’ve tempted him somehow. It’s because I insist on making a spectacle of myself.”

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