Her housekeeper, Gert, was sitting on the porch when she arrived. Finished for the day, and enjoying a cherry-flavored cigarette with the mai tai she habitually prepared before she moseyed down the road.
“Gators are singing, darling.” She smiled like Bette Davis and gave a rusty laugh. “Maybe we should try and capture one—a young one. We could make it a watchdog. Two of the Brewer boys were throwing blueberries at the house this afternoon. I chased them off with a broom, but an hour later they were back and they had their older brothers in tow.”
“That’s because you chased the younger ones off with a broom. I give them apples and they all go home.”
“I gave them apples once. They threw them at me.”
Melia deposited her medical bag inside the front door and glanced at the road leading to the house. “Did you shout at them?” she asked.
Gert blew a stream of smoke at the yellow bug light. “Might have, darling. I can’t remember. Hooligans, all of them. I vote we tame an alligator.”
“Mmm.” It was a thought, Melia reflected as Johnny’s headlights came into view, though not for the reasons Gert believed. “We’ve got a guest for the night. His name’s Johnny Hunt.”
“Really?” Her curiosity instantly piqued, the housekeeper sat up in anticipation. “Is he a friend of yours like the sheriff?”
“No.”
“Ahh.” She raised the cigarette holder. “An old flame.”
“A long extinguished one.”
“Handsome?”
“Maybe.”
“Better than handsome.” Chuckling, Gert sipped her mai tai. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
Melia didn’t know if she was talking to Bette or Gert, and frankly, she didn’t care. Johnny parked and climbed from the truck, pocketing his keys while he scoped out the front yard, with its trio of huge cypress trees and enough Spanish moss to wrap around the property five or six times.
“Oh my… yes …” Gert drawled. “He is a bit of something dreamy.”
Or nightmarish. Melia supposed it depended on a person’s point of view. Her own was so screwed up at this point she didn’t know what to think. Or feel. Or want.
Even from her conflicted perspective, she could understand why Gert might salivate. Females of all ages did that when Johnny came into full view. A bit Bohemian, a bit lean and lanky, he had a smooth gait, a hot body, and an aura of bad boy danger that made women want to grab him by the belt and yank him straight into the bedroom.
His dark brown hair with its sun-kissed tips had grown much longer than usual, his killer eyes were the color of melted chocolate, and his features were, well, absolutely incredible. Not pretty, but definitely on the plus side of gorgeous.
“Your trees are too big, Mel,” he said as he approached. Almost as an afterthought, he glanced in Gert’s direction. “Hi.”
At fifty-eight—she claimed forty-eight—and far from sexually dead, the housekeeper stood to extend a graceful hand. “Delighted.” Her brows went up. “Johnny, isn’t it? Dr. Rose’s old flame.”
Johnny’s dark eyes glinted. “That was quick.”
Melia leaned a shoulder on the doorjamb. “Gert’s my housekeeper. She lives in the guesthouse a few hundred yards from here. I told her you were visiting for the night.”
“And are welcome to sleep in the guesthouse with her if you prefer,” Gert said.
“Johnny’s going to sleep in the boathouse for the short time he’s here. Sorry, Gert.” Melia watched him through wary eyes. “I’m not sure if he’ll be alone or not. Pretty sure I heard Laidlaw’s name mentioned earlier tonight.”
Johnny’s lips curved into a faint smile. He was still scanning the area. “You remember him, huh?”
“Big, heavy, daddy was a gorilla, mother had beautiful blue eyes that he inherited. I remember him very well.”
Gert regarded Johnny in open speculation. “Do you have brothers?” she asked him.
“Not that I know of.” Johnny surveyed the upper portion of the house. “But probably.”
It said a lot. Try as she might not to relent, the remark softened her heart. Melia knew his childhood had been more terrible than most, and going there brought a lump of sympathy to her throat.
“You can come in for a few minutes,” she told him. “Gert. I wanted to ask you about the new school teacher. You’re related to him, aren’t you?”
“He’s my cousin’s boy. Poor dear. He’s only been here two days and his mama’s already up and called him back home to Alabama because she’s got a bleeding ulcer, and she doesn’t want to be alone. He’s such a good son. Left yesterday afternoon to tend to her.”
Melia looked at Johnny. “That’s one off the list. Thank you, Gert and/or Bette. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You most certainly will.” It had to be Bette who ran a finger along Johnny’s arm and offered him a seductive parting smile.
“She reminds me of one of the Golden Girls.” After testing the strength of the wraparound porch rail, Johnny joined Melia at the top of the stairs. “The floozy.”
Melia grinned. “Blanche Devereaux. I suppose she does, a little. Personality wise, she’s quite a bit like Blanche when she’s entirely herself. Unfortunately, most days she’s herself coupled with Bette Davis. And no, she’s not crazy. She just suffers from a harmless delusion.”
“Does she do her job well?”
“Yes.”
“Then I like her. I dug the bullet out, Mel. Give me a place to do what I have to do with it and something might turn up.”
She pushed off from the jamb. “You need another bullet to compare it to, don’t you?”
“You’re talking about forensics. I can’t do that here. I’ll ship it off to McCabe and see what he can make of it. We might get lucky.”
“Only with the bullet.” She slapped his hand away when he reached for her. She simply wasn’t ready for any physical contact.
His gaze met hers. “I was just going to open the door wider, have a look inside.”
Well now she felt bitchy—but with good reason to be so, she reminded herself. “One night,” she said firmly. “Do what you have to do, see what McCabe can come up with, and go. I’m still wrapping my head around what you did. I don’t know how far past it I’ll be able to get, but right now I’m stuck on really pissed off. There’s such a word as trust, Johnny. I’d rather have known and lived with the pain than hate myself for three years.”
He caught her by the arm. “It damn near killed me to sign the papers, Mel.”
For a moment, her mind went blank. Then, like a knife through her heart, the pain of that memory sliced through her. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I wanted you to know how hard all of this was for me. I think your anger is blinding you to what I feel for you. To what I’ve always felt for you.”
She closed her eyes. “Johnny, don’t…”
“Hey, if you want to punch me again, go ahead. You’re entitled.”
No, she didn’t want to punch him. Well, yes, she did, but not for the same reason as before. Maybe the day would end and she’d wake up the next morning to find the whole thing had been a really horrible dream. “I wonder if Gert left any of her mai tai mix,” she said softly. “I need a drink.”
Johnny took another quick look around. “We shouldn’t be talking out here.”
“Seriously? First you get me all wound up, and now you’re thinking spies and eavesdroppers? Or are you trying to frighten me so I’ll let you sleep in my guest bedroom?”
A grin tugged on his lips. “There is that,” he agreed. “Why don’t you give me the tour while you digest? I promise not to touch you. I’ll get my gear and— ”
The rest of his sentence was cut off by a sudden barrage of popping noises. Gert screamed. A second later, Melia found herself inside the house on her butt. The door was closed and Johnny, as usual, had vanished.
…
He didn’t expect the closed door to stop her for long, but he figured shutting her in would give him the precious seconds needed to determine what the sounds were, where they’d come from, and whether or not Melia’s housekeeper was injured or simply reacting.