Truly, Madly, Dangerously

Truman took his time with his breakfast, watching the sun come up. It would be another slow day, he imagined. Most of his days as a deputy for this small Alabama county were. There was crime here, there just wasn’t much of it. And it was minor stuff, usually. Some days he felt more like an errand boy than a deputy. He changed tires, picked up prescriptions for a couple of the old folks who didn’t—or shouldn’t—drive, and kept kids out of trouble. He broke up the occasional fight, and had driven home more than his share of drunks. It wasn’t the life he’d planned for himself, but he liked it. Most days.

Breakfast finished, he slid out of the booth, taking care with his right leg as he always did. His limp had improved so it was barely noticeable. Or maybe he was just getting used to it. He dropped a bill on the table.

As he approached the counter, his check and a five-dollar bill in hand, Lillian gave him a wide smile. “’Morning, Deputy Truman,” she said brightly. “Was everything all right?”

“Wonderful as usual,” he said as he handed over his check, waiting as she opened the register and counted out his change. Behind Lillian, Sadie wiped furiously at the counter and kept her head down—and her back to him. On purpose? Surely not. While Lillian placed his change in the palm of his hand Sadie escaped, taking the long way around the counter and wiping down recently vacated tables. She put an awful lot of energy into cleaning those tables, Truman noticed as he headed for the door.

“Have a nice day, Miz Lillian.” Truman pushed against the glass door and glanced over his shoulder. “You, too, Sadie Mae,” he said, casting a grin at her back.

He was still grinning when she flew out the door, not ten seconds behind him. “What is this?” she asked.

He turned around to find Sadie waving a five-dollar bill in his face. She didn’t look so tired and worn-out anymore. There was color in her cheeks, fire in her eyes, and instead of being simply tangled, her dark hair looked sexy and wild. He liked it. It struck him at that moment that Sadie Harlow had grown up quite nicely.

“Your tip?”

“Your entire breakfast didn’t cost five dollars,” she said, still thrusting the bill in his direction. “And I didn’t even refill your coffee!”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

“Take it back,” she ordered.

“No.” Truman leaned against the fender of his patrol car.

Sadie took a single step toward him. “I’m warning you, McCain.”

“Are you threatening an officer of the law?” he teased.

“Just take it!” She took another step forward. “And don’t you ever, ever, call me Sadie Mae.”

“Let’s make a deal,” he said. “I call you whatever you want me to, and you keep the tip.”

“I don’t want you to call me anything,” she said, her voice softer as she came closer. “And I certainly don’t want your…your pity tip!”

He couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Pity tip?”

“Well, what else would you call it? I gave you lousy service.”

On purpose, he was sure. “Yeah, but I figure you have potential. One day you’re going to be a great waitress.”

“Bite me,” she said, stepping forward to slip the five-dollar bill into his breast pocket.

“When did you get back?” he asked before she could make a quick escape.

“Yesterday.”

“How long are you going to stay?”

He saw the not very long in her dark eyes, but she answered, “A few days. The family just, you know, needed some help.”

“Johnny couldn’t make it?”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “My hot-shot cousin is much too busy to be bothered. Since I was available…” She shrugged. “Here I am.”

Sadie was surly, she was not happy to be here…and still there was something about her that made Truman want to smile. “Working lunch today?”

“Not if I can help it. Sorry if I was rude,” she added, turning around slowly to return to the coffee shop.

Truman took the five from his pocket and rolled it up tight between his fingers. “Sadie?”

She obediently turned around, and he stepped forward to drop the bill down the front of her too-big uniform. If his aim was even halfway decent, it would get caught in her bra. “Have a nice day.”

Sadie sputtered and went in after the five, but by the time she had it in her hand Truman was behind the wheel and backing out of the parking lot.

Things could not possibly get any worse. All she wanted was a nap. Half an hour. Maybe forty-five minutes. Jennifer leaned over the bed. “I am not cleaning up that mess,” she whined.

Sadie didn’t bother to argue with her cousin. Arguing with Jennifer was always a waste of breath. No matter how logical the argument, Jen refused to lose. “I thought this was your regular job,” Sadie said as she left the bed.

“Yeah, but I have to draw the line somewhere,” Jennifer whined. “Room 119 is a mess.”

“You already said that,” Sadie grumbled.

“And it stinks.”

Jennifer was an apparent afterthought, eight years younger than Sadie, a full eleven years younger than her brother, Johnny. Lillian had always claimed that she’d been too old when she’d had Jennifer. She hadn’t had the energy to handle a difficult child. From the outside it had always looked to Sadie as if it had become easier for Lillian and Jimmy to let Jennifer have her way than to discipline the brat.

At the moment, Sadie couldn’t even remember what it was like to be twenty-two. And she had never been spoiled the way Jennifer had.

Johnny was the only Banks son, the eldest, the responsible one. He was a real-estate bigwig in Dallas, and made it to Garth only slightly more often than Sadie did. Jennifer was the baby, pretty and pampered, coddled by the entire family. Why should she leave? She had it made here. Sadie was still the oddball, caught in the middle and never quite feeling like she was part of the family, even though they had all done their best to make her feel like one of them.

“You’ll do it?” Jennifer practically wailed.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” Sadie said. At least she had traded in her pink waitress uniform for something more palatable—jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Of course, over this she added an apron with several pockets, deep pockets that held cleansers, plastic bags and rags for wiping down counters and desktops. Not exactly her dream outfit.

“You’ll help, right?” she asked, just as Jennifer turned in the opposite direction.

“No way,” Jen yelled. “That room stinks.”

“Great. It stinks.” Sadie glanced across the parking lot to the busy Lillian’s Café. A county patrol car was parked near the door. Truman’s? Surely not. There were other places in Garth to eat lunch. Not many, but a few.

If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he’d been flirting with her this morning. Ha. Even if he had been, it was a waste of time. He’d had his chance, and he’d blown it. She took some small measure of comfort in knowing that she could kick his ass, if she wanted to.

Not quite fourteen years ago she’d offered her virginity to Truman, and he’d turned her down. In retrospect, she’d been a kid and he probably hadn’t wanted to go to jail, but still…he shouldn’t have laughed. The rejection had been humiliating enough, but for him to laugh at her when she’d been so in love and decidedly serious about seducing him, that was just wrong.

She wasn’t sixteen any more, and she wasn’t a lost little girl clinging to what she thought was love. But the truth of the matter was, she still found Truman just a little bit too attractive. Her childish infatuation had died a long time ago, but she still had a soft spot for the guy. The last thing she needed was to get involved with a man from Garth. She’d never escape. She’d be effectively and completely sucked in. Instead of quick trips where she stayed a couple of hours, tops, she’d be forced to remain here for days at a time.

Like now.

Best to avoid Truman as much as possible, Sadie decided stoically. Aunt Lillian would just have to find someone else to take the morning shift if Mary Beth called in sick again. Sadie was desperate. If she had to spill coffee on some poor unsuspecting customer to get out of waitress duty, so be it.

Even better, she’d hire a new waitress ASAP.

The cart laden with towels, toilet paper and cleaning supplies was still parked outside room 119. Sadie knocked, shouted, and then used her key to open the door. The room was, as Jennifer had said, a mess. The covers on the bed had been torn off, drawers were opened and one was even on the floor. A bottle of wine had been emptied…all over the floor and the bed. Crackers had been crushed and scattered, too, and so had what looked to be cubes of cheese.

And Jen hadn’t been kidding when she said it smelled. Oh, what was that? The cheese? Sadie leaned over the bed and sniffed at a cube. Yikes, that was part of it.

She snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Trash can in one hand, she walked around the room picking up offensive garbage. Food, mostly, along with the occasional wrapper or empty bottle. She couldn’t believe that there were people out there who didn’t pick up after themselves in the most basic way. What slobs.

A bottle of spray cleaner and a soft rag worked wonders on the nasty surfaces. Still, there was only so much a good scrubbing could do. She stripped off the sheets, being very careful that only the latex gloves came into contact with the linens. Yikes. No matter how bad her life got from here on out, she could always be assured that there were women out there who had it worse.

Linens stripped, Sadie snagged her trash can once again. As she neared the bathroom, the smell that had hit her as she’d walked into the room got worse. Holding her breath, she leaned over a small trash can just outside the bathroom, expecting to find a stack of nasty diapers. Nothing.

A knock on the open door made Sadie jump and turn. She squinted. A shadow filled the doorway, cutting off the sunlight. A tall, broad-shouldered shadow.

Truman leaned against the door jamb and grinned. “A woman of many talents,” he teased.

Sadie walked toward the door. She was in no mood…“What are you doing here?”

Truman stepped back as she exited 119. Fresh air had never smelled so sweet.

“I thought I saw you head into this room,” Truman said.

“Please tell me you’re not stalking me,” she responded casually, not looking him in the eye.

“Of course not. That would be illegal.”

She’d had enough. “Truman McCain, what the hell do you want?”

Most men would take the hint and retreat. Sadie had gotten very good at telling a man to back off with nothing more than a look. Most of them didn’t just back off, they slunk away with their gaze pinned to their shoes. But not Truman. He held his ground. His smile didn’t go away. Not completely. “Dinner,” he finally said.

A date. He was actually asking her out on a date. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope. I never kid about such serious matters.”

Sadie didn’t beat around the bush, not anymore. She didn’t give lame excuses, she didn’t worry about hurting any man’s feelings. Did they have feelings? She thought not.

“You want to feed me?” she said sharply. “Fine. But I am not sleeping with you. Not now, not ever. So if this is your slick country-boy way of trying to worm your way into my bed, forget it. You had your shot, and you blew it.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Truman didn’t seem at all offended or dismayed. “I thought we could have dinner and catch up. That’s all.” He leaned slightly toward her. “I don’t want to sleep with you, either, Sadie. You’re a lousy waitress, and you smell like something nasty I stepped in down by Ted Felton’s farm last week.” His smile never wavered. “Literally. Seven o’clock? I’ll pick you up.”

Oh, she was going to regret this. Quickly, she reasoned that if she was out for a few hours, she couldn’t watch the desk, field phone calls, or dish up grits and coffee. Besides, deep inside she was not entirely opposed to dinner with Truman.

“Seven-thirty,” she said.

Business done, she turned and walked away from Truman McCain. No, that was not a little bubble of excitement in her chest. There was nothing to get excited about. They’d eat, she’d ask questions about what had happened to him in the past eleven years—like she didn’t already know—and if Truman did dare to make a move she’d put him in his place so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him.

Sadie was actually smiling when she opened the bathroom door, but the smile didn’t last. The stench hit her so hard she reeled back a split second before she realized what she was seeing in the bathtub.

She backed away from the half-open door, her eyes on the body in the tub. A part of her mind logically catalogued the details. Male. Naked. Definitely dead, probably for hours. She didn’t recognize him, but then…would she, even if she knew who the man had once been? The face was distorted, and the neck…what was left of it…was…oh…

Another part of her mind screamed silently. Run.

After a few seconds, Sadie listened to that command. She turned and ran to the door. Truman wasn’t even halfway across the parking lot.

“McCain!” she shouted.

He stopped and turned, a half grin on his face. “You didn’t change your mind already, did you?” His smile faded, and he walked toward her with that slight limp that still surprised her, even though she knew what had happened. “What’s wrong?”

Sadie moved back, clearing the doorway so Truman could step into the room. “You need to call somebody,” she said softly. “There’s a dead man in the bathtub.”

His eyes snapped in that direction, and he moved past her. “Stay here,” he ordered in a soft voice.

As if she had to be told. She’d seen enough, thank you very much.

A glance was all Truman needed. He backed away, took Sadie’s arm, and led her outside. Grabbing the two-way radio that hung from his belt, he alerted dispatch of the situation. That done, he looked down at her without a smile, without even a speck of that McCain charm.

“Did you disturb anything?”

“Hell, Truman, I cleaned the room. All but the bathroom. I disturbed just about everything.”

He muttered the word that was very much on Sadie’s mind, a word that would have shocked Aunt Lillian out of her orthopedic shoes.

“I didn’t vacuum,” Sadie said. “And all the garbage I collected is in one bag.”

“Good.”

“Did you recognize him?” Sadie asked, curiosity pushing aside her early revulsion.

“No, but then I didn’t take a really close look.”

“I understand completely,” Sadie said honestly. Already she heard approaching sirens.

People didn’t get murdered in Garth, and from what little she’d seen she was pretty sure the man in room 119’s bathtub had not committed suicide. He’d been murdered, in a very ugly way.

Truman leaned slightly forward as the first patrol car pulled wildly into the parking lot. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he whispered.

“What?” she snapped.

“Sadie Mae Harlow, don’t leave town.”

Chapter 2

After stripping out of the outfit she’d been wearing when she’d found the body and then showering vigorously, Sadie had gladly changed into clothing she was more comfortable in. A pair of black pants that had a little stretch in them, sturdy boots, a leather jacket and a shoulder holster, where her pistol now rested. After what she’d seen today, she needed her weapon close.

She was still tempted to head down to the bank and insist on seeing Hearn. Two days was a ridiculous amount of time to wait to see a loan officer at a small town bank. There had been a framed photo of the man hanging in the outer office, where Sadie had done battle with the receptionist. Hearn was sixtyish, with a full head of gray hair and pale-blue eyes. Not bad looking for an older man, but he had that cocky smile that men who consider themselves better than everyone else can’t seem to wipe from their faces, no matter how hard they try. He was a VP, or some such, which didn’t mean much in such a small bank. He couldn’t possibly be booked until Thursday afternoon.

Besides, she needed something to take her mind off finding the body. She’d seen a lot of bad stuff, working for the PI agency in Birmingham and then for Benning, but she’d never run across a body that had been stewing for hours. She would never forget that smell, or the complete and utter deadness of the man in the tub. There had been no life left, not even a hint that he had been a living breathing man not so long ago. She shuddered and pushed the feeling aside. She couldn’t afford weakness of any kind, not in her profession.

She still had no idea who the man in Room 119 might be. Conrad Hudson, who had checked the man in late last night, had already left for the day when the body was discovered. The sheriff had sent a deputy—not Truman, but some horribly young and enthusiastic boy—to Conrad’s house to speak with him, but no one was home. Since Conrad spent every spare moment fishing, he was probably on the lake somewhere. He’d be found. Eventually.

The name in the register was a suspicious ‘Joe Smith,’ and the man had paid for the room in cash.

Drugs, probably, Sadie reasoned. A drug deal had gone bad and Smith, or whoever he was, had been murdered because of it. She would have to have a talk with Lillian about renting her rooms to just anyone who came along. Lillian was so naive, she probably never considered that anything illegal might go on at her motel. It was a family place, a simple motel that had seen good years and lean. Once a bad element moved in, it would be tough to save the Yellow Rose Motel.

Truman had taken a brief statement from Sadie at the scene and he’d taken control of the evidence, basically keeping everyone out until the proper team arrived to catalog everything. The Alabama Bureau of Investigation would be called in, since neither the city of Garth nor the county had the resources to investigate a murder. Those investigators would want to question her soon, but while she waited she might as well see about getting the reason for her trip out of the way.

Maybe Hearn would agree to allow Sadie to repay her aunt’s loan without letting Lillian know. It would take Sadie a few days to get her hands on that much cash, but it could be done.

“Sadie!” Jennifer ran up the stairs, shouting as she entered the living quarters.

Sadie stepped into the hallway. “What’s wrong now?” There was always a crisis of some sort around here. As long as it wasn’t another body…

“The ABI investigator, he wants to talk to you,” Jennifer said breathlessly.

“He’s here?”

Jen nodded. “And he does not look very happy.”

Sadie headed for the stairs. “Murder isn’t happy business.”

“Yeah, but he looks really pissed.”

“He probably got called in off the golf course.” Sadie pushed into the lobby, to find that it was quite crowded. Truman stood back a ways, positioned near the door, and a red-eyed Aunt Lillian sat in a rickety chair near the front desk. She’d been upset when Sadie had gone upstairs to dress, but now she was obviously shaken.

The man standing between Sadie and Truman eyed her suspiciously. “I was working a cold case, actually. I don’t golf.”

Sadie saw no reason to respond.

“Investigator Wilson Evans.” The stocky brown-haired man didn’t offer his hand.

“Sadie Harlow.” Instinctively, she looked toward Truman, who remained stony-faced as he fixed his gaze on her.

“We’ve identified the victim,” Evans said, his voice even and cool.

“That’s good.”

In the moment of silence that followed Sadie’s response, she automatically looked to Truman McCain. For a reason she refused to explore, she was glad he’d stayed.

“Aren’t you curious?” Evans looked Sadie up and down with suspicious eyes. She suspected he was sharper than he looked.

Aunt Lillian’s breath hitched and she made an odd noise that caught in her throat, as if she stifled a cry.

“Not really,” Sadie said honestly. “I don’t know many people in Garth anymore, and I seriously doubt…”

“Do you know Aidan Hearn?”

The mention of the banker’s name startled Sadie so much she blinked hard and leaned slightly back. “Hearn? Not really. Was that…” She tried to envision the possibility that the smiling man in the photo at the bank and the grotesque thing she’d found might be one and the same.

“I understand you made a bit of a scene in his office yesterday afternoon.”

Sadie’s eyes cut to Truman again. He didn’t smile, he didn’t offer silent comfort. At the moment he looked as cold as Evans. “I would hardly call it a scene,” she answered.

The detective flipped open his notebook and read from the small page. “You called him a tyrant…”

“He wasn’t there,” Sadie explained.

Evans didn’t so much as slow down. “And you intimated that if he didn’t see you immediately, he’d be sorry.”

“I had an appointment for Thursday.”

“You called his secretary a bimbo…”

“She is,” Sadie said beneath her breath.

“And on your way out of the room you kicked over a small trash can.”

“It had been a long day and the trash can was empty. Mostly.”

Evans flipped the notebook shut. “Do you have an uncontrollable temper, Miss Harlow?”

“Of course not!” she shouted.

Truman crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head, a little, and suddenly Sadie was eleven again, out of place and alone and feeling as if the world was conspiring against her.

“It’s my fault,” Lillian said softly.

All eyes turned her way. “What?” Sadie asked.

“I sent her there to speak to Mr. Hearn. He refused to even listen to my pleas, and I was afraid I’d lose the motel and the café if I didn’t get an extension on the loan. I called Sadie because I couldn’t think of another way.” Lillian lifted her head and looked squarely at Evans. “Sadie might lose her temper, and she might kick over a garbage can or say something she doesn’t mean on occasion. That mouth of hers has gotten her into trouble all her life.”

“Aunt Lillian…” Sadie began. This kind of “help” wasn’t going to help matters at all.

“But she would never hurt a living soul.”

Lillian had no idea how many living souls her niece had hurt. But they had all been bad guys who deserved what they got, and Sadie had never killed anyone in cold blood. Actually, she’d never killed anyone, not even bad guys. But she had wounded more than her share…

It took only a few minutes for Evans to take Sadie’s statement, while Lillian and Truman looked on. It was an oddly informal interview, allowable due to the unusual circumstances. From a certain vantage point in the office, Sadie could look through the window and see the investigators and deputies gathered around room 119. They used crime-scene tape to cordon off the area, and it wasn’t long before an ambulance arrived. They wouldn’t be allowed to move the body until Evans gave the okay, but they were ready. And curious.

Sadie moved to the counter where Conrad would’ve been standing last night. The door to 119 was clearly visible.

“Conrad must’ve seen whoever went into that room with Hearn,” Sadie said. “There’s a street lamp almost directly overhead.”

“We’ve got deputies and ABI agents searching for him,” Evans snapped.

Sadie’s stomach roiled, a little. She had learned always to listen to that gut reaction. “I think maybe you’d better find him quick. I have a feeling that whoever murdered Hearn won’t hesitate to take out anyone they think might be a witness.”

She recognized the new surge of emotion as outrage. Maybe she couldn’t wait to get out of Garth all over again. But by God, it just wasn’t right for people to get murdered here.

Sadie in tight black pants, her hair combed and her cheeks flushed pink, painted an entirely different picture than the tired woman in the ill-fitting pink uniform who’d made such a poor waitress that very morning.

Truman really did want to believe that Lillian was right and Sadie didn’t have it in her to murder anyone. But she did have a temper, and to be honest he didn’t know her anymore. She’d left home a girl and come home a woman, and who knows what had happened to her during the years in-between?