Clarke recognized Bellamy Blake from the stack of pictures Miss Charamel kept in a leather box on the mantle. But he looked different in the flesh.
A little south of six feet, he wore faded jeans, topped with a fleece-lined jacket. Days worth of stubble surrounded full lips. Dark brown hair curled beneath the edge of a knit beanie while cold brown eyes stared back.
Clarke rose from the water, reached for the towel hanging on the rack next to him, and wrapped herself, tucking in the corner to secure it.
"Did you escape?"
He blinked like it was stupid question, but it wasn't. Newspaper clippings she'd read said he'd been denied parole twice because he wouldn't admit guilt.
He clenched his teeth. "I'm asking the questions. Who are you?"
"Clarke."
He half-grinned as if the name was a punch line, then snarled. "Clarke? I don't think so."
"Well, I don't care what you think. That's my name and I live here because Miss Charamel said I could."
"New owner. New rules. Get your shit and get out."
His lips barely moved, and she thought of all the villains she'd seen on Polis, but despite his demeanor, he didn't scare her.
She dried off, folded the towel and laid it on the commode, then pushed past him into the bedroom where she took panties from the dresser and stepped into them. Next, she pulled a Madonna tee-shirt over her head. "No."
"This is my house and you're trespassing."
His voice was low-pitched, and when she faced him, his mouth was clamped into a thin line. A muscle in his jaw worked. She reminded herself this was a man just out of prison, yet she still didn't feel threatened. She folded her arms under her breasts. "It's almost one o'clock. I have work tomorrow. We can talk about this in the morning."
At first, he didn't say anything, just scanned the full length of her body, and she felt more naked than she'd been minutes ago. He locked his eyes on hers, and his gaze darkened "I'm twice your size. You know I can throw your scrawny ass out the front door and you won't be able to do anything about it."
"I know. But you won't." Turning back the covers, she crawled into bed.
Too road weary to deal with conflict, Bellamy cursed under his breath and slammed the bathroom door. Where did she get off telling him what to do? Stubborn as Charamel, and his grandmother didn't take shit from anyone. He couldn't help but admire that quality. Yet, this little wisp surprised him. He could chew her up and spit her out, but she hadn't flinched. Hell, she wasn't even embarrassed to be naked in front of him. She'd taken her own sweet time drying off, then when she'd pulled on those black bikinis, he had to force himself to look away.
He drained the tub, refilled it, and spied the bottle sitting on the sink. He brought it to his nose and inhaled. Squeezing two squirts into the water, bubbles began to form. Damn. He sank into the foam leaving nothing but head and knees above water. He was too big for the claw-foot, but it felt good to lie back and let the heat loosen his bones.
His eyelids weighed heavy and a vision of stranger's curvy, naked body swam before his eyes. He dunked his head. Maybe the heat would melt the image away. A ridiculous name like Clarke didn't fit. There was something going on with her and he didn't need complications. She had to go. But this first encounter told him bullying wouldn't work, so he'd have to come up with a new tactic.
By the time Clarke left for work the next morning, Bellamy was snoring to high heaven. His arrival created a problem she'd have to face, but not yet. She had a year left in her plan and wasn't leaving without a fight.
He should still be locked up. If he escaped, he was crazy to come here. Polis episodes 42, 63, and 89 proved cops checked with relatives first.
As she backed out of the drive, she noticed the faded bumper sticker on his motorcycle. She squinted to make out the words.
It only seems kinky the first time.
Something in her chest fluttered, and she reminded herself how Charamel described Bellamy. A good boy. Last night, he'd not followed through with his threat of throwing her out, so maybe that was still true. Once he saw what a helpful housemate she was, he'd want her to stay. She'd already started making herself indispensable.
Fifteen minutes later, she wheeled into the funeral home parking lot. Myles' truck wasn't there, so that was a relief. Perhaps her refusal to his last invitation finally got through to him. She pulled her sweater tight around her to ward off the chill.
"Good morning, Mrs. Byrne."
"Good morning, Clarke. Here are the details for Lemkin, Ridley, and Pascal. All of their services are scheduled for tomorrow, with visitations this evening."
Clarke tucked the list in her jeans pocket. Since the only funeral home in the neighboring town of Breaux Bridge closed, business at Byrne had picked up. She wouldn't complain. She liked the extra hours.
Grabbing her cosmetic bag, she headed to Room One where Riana Lemkin waited. She glanced at the info sheet. Age thirty-six. Died during surgery. Her eyes widened. Riana used to be Reece. She strolled back to the office and poked her head inside. "Uh, Mrs. Byrne. I just want to double check on the Lemkin body. Am I supposed to do female makeup? I mean, Reece became Riana. Right?"
The secretary cupped her mouth and leaned forward. "Well, unfortunately he… she… didn't live long enough for the change to be made. They prepped him, but before they could remove the appendage, he suffered a massive heart attack. Physically, he's still male and must be listed that way on the paperwork, but his partner insisted he go out as a woman. Oh, and there shouldn't be a problem with facial hair. He'd been taking hormones for months."
"Okay."
Clarke remembered a television interview with Billy Graham where he'd described Heaven. He'd said it would be whatever made us happy. For him, beautiful golf courses. She didn't know if that was true, but he knew more about the subject than she did, so she'd take his word. Since Riana's funeral would be her girly debut for a lot of folks, Clarke wanted to make her as beautiful as possible. She figured Riana deserved to look like the woman she wanted to be upon arrival at the Pearly Gates.
"Riana, I want to do something really special for you." Clarke chose two bottles of nail polish and shook them. "I'm going to tessellate your nails. That's my word of the day. It means to form or arrange in a checkered pattern." An hour later, with the manicure finished, Clarke applied the lipstick shade, Peach Petal, then highlighted it with Silver Lights. She was always amazed at what the finishing touch did for a woman. Adding the right lip color made all the difference. She rolled her chair away and swept her eyes over the final results. Platinum-tipped blond hair. Warm Umber blended with Golden Mink eyeshadow. Coral Tango blush. As Harper would say, holy hell. Riana looked hot.
Clarke tore a page from her notebook and slipped it inside the woman's camisole. "If you meet Miss Charamel, give her this. She needs to know her grandson showed up last night. I think he broke out of prison, but don't tell her that part. Anyway, you have a nice trip and I hope you like what I've done with your makeup."
Rain pounded on the tin roof and woke Bellamy. He stretched, then burrowed deep into the down mattress. It was the best night's sleep he'd had in nine years. Even without liquor or sex, he'd had no nightmares. Then he remembered the kid and his attitude flared. Swinging his feet to the floor, he grabbed his watch from the side table. He wanted to settle the squatter situation ASAP. He focused on the dial. Almost noon. Dammit. She'd said she had work, but that couldn't be right. She should be in school.
He hated that he had to pass through her bedroom to get to the bathroom. Her bedroom. Hell no. He couldn't think of it that way. When he got to the door, he stopped and peeked in. The bed was made.
After he relieved himself, he went back to look for his clothes from last night. Nowhere to be found, he pulled a clean shirt and jeans from his bag and put them on. She must have taken them. But why? Easy answer. From the looks of the house, she didn't want anything out of place. Good. His messiness alone should be enough incentive for her to leave.
He strolled to the kitchen to make coffee and hoped he remembered how. On the counter lay a note.
Do not let the cats out of the laundry room.
Do not feed them.
Pancakes on stove. Microwave for 56 seconds. Syrup and honey on table.
Coffee ready. Push the on button.
When finished, please rinse your dirty dishes and load in dishwasher.
Wipe table off, careful to not get crumbs on floor.
Drape the dish cloth over the faucet to dry.
I'll run the dishwasher and clean the coffee pot when I get home.
You're welcome.
Clarke
He stared at the instructions. You're welcome? He needed a cigarette. And something stronger than coffee. But first, he'd eat breakfast. No need to let it waste. He warmed up the stack of pancakes per her instructions, enough to feed a small army, and damn if they weren't as good as his grandmother's. He could almost see the Charamel from his youth in her housecoat and slippers at the stove, her hair just starting to salt and pepper.
Finishing his coffee, he pushed back from the table. Whoever she was, she could cook. But that still wasn't enough reason to let her stay. He should check her room. As owner, it was his right. He sprinted down the hallway and turned first to her closet.
Depressing. Six pairs of jeans. A dozen tee-shirts. Three sets of shoes. Hell, she barely had more clothes than he did. He moved to the bureau and opened a drawer. Dangling a pair of bikinis from his finger, heat crawled up his neck. He dropped them and turned his attention to the side table.
After digging through every drawer, careful not to mess anything up, he found nothing. He folded his arms and stared at the scenery painted on the wall. She'd captured the view from the window. Trees. Shed. Garden spot. Charamel standing between a row of pole beans and tomatoes. His throat tightened. She had on the pink bonnet and flowered apron he'd seen her wear a thousand times. Beside her, two cats circled her ankles.
He got down on all fours to look under furniture. There were paint cans behind the chair. He rose and lifted them out. One didn't have a speck of drips and wasn't heavy. He took his army knife from his pocket and pried off the lid. Fuck. It was stuffed with cash and a few pictures. He dumped it onto the spread. All hundred-dollar bills. Had to be thousands here.
His mind raced. Thief? Drug dealer? He picked up the stack of photos. A couple with a baby. On the back, something had been written, but marked out. He held it up to the light, but couldn't make out any words.
Dammit.
He stuffed it all back and replaced it. No reason to speculate. Didn't matter. As soon as she got home, she was leaving and taking the cats with her. Right now, he had errands. Leisure time was over and he was ready to get started on the house. Arkadia didn't offer much in the way of building supplies, but neighboring city, Breaux Bridge had plenty. Before heading there, he'd stop in town for some smokes and a bottle of whiskey because he had a feeling he was going to need a drink.
One pass through town showed everything Arkadia offered, everything centered around boat names and Noah's Ark.
Bellamy thought they'd gone overboard on the theme, but Charamel had claimed it made them unique. Yeah, uniquely nuts. He wheeled a U-turn and he slid his bike into a spot near the entrance.
A small bell tinkled as he pushed open the door. There wasn't a clerk in sight, but someone yelled a greeting from the rear of the store. Bellamy strolled to the liquor section and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel's. Before he could return to the front, a woman came around the corner, and stopped in her tracks.
"Bellamy? When…what…how…?"
It took a second for him to recognize the dark-haired beauty. "Raven? Is that you? You've grown up." This was awkward. Did he hug her? Shake her hand? Pat her on the shoulder? Shit. It'd been so long since he'd seen someone he knew, especially a woman, he didn't know what to do. He waited for her to make a move.
She put her hand to her throat and drew a quick breath. "You, too. Did you get paroled?"
"No. I'm free and clear. Guilty party finally came forward."
She moved past him and stepped behind the counter. She remembered the devil-may-care Bellamy Blake of her childhood, but never thought it was him that burned The Dropship down. She had been friends with Octavia, and knew he would never be so reckless when he had his sister to think of. She'd be hard pressed to find anyone who loved their sister as much as Bellamy did. "Just getting into town?"
"Got here last night." He set his purchase next to the register. "Give me a carton of Marlboros." He tried to remember the last time he'd seen her. She'd been just a teenager. Beautiful even then, she'd only improved. He glanced at her hand. No ring.
She laid the box next to the liquor and took Bellamy's money. "Oh. You've been to the house?"
He accepted his change. "Yeah. Had a surprise waiting for me."
"You met Clarke."
Before he could answer, someone interrupted.
Raven looked over the new customer's shoulder and spoke to Bellamy. "I'm due for a break. Meet me out back at the picnic table."
He put the bottle in his saddlebag, moved the cycle around the building, lit a cigarette and took a long drag, then blew the smoke into the air. The breeze floated it into the bare limbs of a tall poplar tree. The mornings and evenings were chilly, but by noon each day, temps hovered in the low seventies.
A pair of birds flew to a nearby box nailed to a post. The male poked his head in the hole, then looked at the female. She fluttered to the fence wire and chattered. He went inside, joined her, then sailed back to the boat shaped house again as if coaxing her inside. Bellamy shook his head. Damn bird couldn't get the female to go in the house and Bellamy couldn't get one to leave.
Raven came around the end of the building pulling her jacket tighter. She stuck her hands in the pockets. "So, you don't look too bad. I guess you held your own in prison."
He sucked on his cigarette, then flicked ashes. "Oh yeah. It was a real party. Seven years. Non-stop."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to make light of it."
He smirked. "I know what you meant. Been out a year, and had time to gain weight and get over the beat-down persona. But enough about my exciting life, what about you? Don't see a ring. Thought you'd be married with babies by now."
"Not yet, but close."
"Don't see an engagement ring either."
Raven laughed. "Okay, here's the thing. I'm involved, and he's asked, but I haven't answered yet. Still considering it."
Bellamy sat next to her. "That tells me a lot."
"What does that mean?"
He wanted to tell it meant she must not love the guy or she wouldn't be hesitating. He remembered her being the same age as Octavia. That'd make her twenty-five. Old enough to settle down, and there couldn't be that many available dudes in Arkadia. But the way she pulled her brows together and frowned, Bellamy decided it was a subject she didn't want to discuss. "Forget it. None of my business."
"No, that's okay. Here's the Cliffsnotes of my life since I last saw you. Almost have my teaching degree via online courses. I work part-time here and substitute at the elementary school, while trying to get a bath and body products line off the ground. I'm dating Finn Collins. Did you ever meet him?"
Bellamy wanted to ask more, but from her tone, figured he'd pushed his luck. Bottom line, she wasn't available. "Don't think so."
"So, was Clarke surprised to see you?"
"Didn't seem to be. Who is she and why is she living at Charamel's?"
Raven plopped her butt onto the tabletop and planted her feet on the bench. "All I know is a few years ago, your grandmother told me a girl was coming to live with her. Asked me to make friends. So I did."
Bellamy cocked his head. "You don't know where she came from or how Charamel knew her?"
"Nope. But it was the best thing that could have happened. Six months after she moved in, Charamel got diagnosed with cancer. Had it not been for Clarke, your grandmother would have spent her last days in a nursing home. She would have hated that."
He pulled more nicotine into his lungs. "I don't get it. Charamel didn't say anything in her letters. Octavia never mentioned meeting a caretaker at the funeral."
"Clarke didn't go to the service. She works at the funeral home. Probably said her goodbye there because that's the only place she goes. She's practically a recluse."
"Where the hell did she come from, and why is she here?"
Raven shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know. Charamel told me about her a few days before she arrived and asked me to look out for her. I asked Charamel, but she wouldn't give me a straight answer, and Clarke just clams up at any personal questions."
"Why isn't she in school?"
"She's older than you think."
"How old?"
"Oh, shit! Today's her birthday. I totally forgot. She's twenty-four."
"Twenty-four? No way."
"She has her cosmetology license. Are you going to let her stay?"
"Hell, no. Something's not right about her, and when it all hits the fan, I don't need the grief."
She turned the full force of the Raven Reye's glare on him, one he recognized well from when Octavia would come home crying because someone made fun of her hand-me-downs. He had wanted to do something for her so badly, but he couldn't exactly knock out some seventh graders. Raven had no such qualms in bloodying up her classmates. "I know prison changes a person, but you aren't that much of an asshole, Bellamy. She may be odd, but she's a good person. Charamel loved her, and if she'd had any idea you'd get out this soon, I bet she would have wanted you to accept her."
Bellamy thought of the money he'd found. Wasn't like the kid didn't have the means to go somewhere else. "Well, I don't feel sorry for her," he grumbled. "She's freeloaded long enough. Time for her to find a new home."
Raven checked her watch and hopped off the table, leveling him up. "She isn't freeloading. Still deposits a rent payment into Charamel's bank account every month. A clear sign of integrity."
Bellamy dropped his cigarette and ground it into the dirt with the toe of his boot. "You don't want me to kick her out, do you?"
The breeze caught threads of Raven's hair and blew them across her face. She raked the strands behind her ear and looked up at him. "I understand your concern and I agree she's hiding. But if she had anyone else to depend on, I think she'd already be gone. Maybe you should give it a try. As private as she is, you might not even know she's there."
Bellamy stared until Raven disappeared. Damn. He hated she was taken. As small as the town was, there wouldn't be much to choose from. Most women his age were already married, or divorced, usually with children in tow. He didn't need the responsibility of raising another guy's kids. Hell, he wasn't sure if he wanted to produce any of his own.
At least the spot-in-the-road had a bar, and if he remembered right, the neighboring town had several. Since he was headed to Breaux Bridge, he'd find out. Just because he wasn't traveling anymore didn't mean he had to give up women. Another reason he needed to get rid of the problem houseguest.
Diana Sydney-Griffin held her desk phone to one ear and her cell to the other. "You listen to me, Nygel. I've been more than patient but you have no more information about my step-daughter than you did six months ago. You're fired and the check's in the mail." She slammed the receiver down and turned her attention to the mobile.
"Sorry, Mr. Jaha, but my nerves are stretched thin. If hired, you'll be my fourth P.I."
"Call me Wells, please. I've looked over all the files you sent me and I'm going to be honest. I'm not sure she's still alive. I know that's hard to hear, but when she disappeared, you reported it as a kidnapping, but no ransom demand was ever made. And since there was no sign of forced entry or a struggle, the cops labeled her a runaway. Her being an adult pretty much tied their hands."
Diana clicked a perfectly manicured nail against the receiver. "I understand, but either way, I need closure. Even though she's not my child, I love her and need to know what happened. I owe that to her father, and I can't bear the thought of my sweet girl's remains abandoned somewhere, with no proper burial." Diana took a staggering breath. "If she is…gone, I want to lay her to rest beside her dad. Only that will give me peace. Do you grasp what I'm saying?"
"Yes, ma'am. I just want you to understand the results might not be what you expect."
"Mr. Jaha… Wells, I've lived with this for a long time, and not given up hope of finding her alive, but I do realize there is a chance she won't be. You'll see from the previous reports, she's not a stable girl. If she did run away, and I'm not convinced she did, it's because she suffered some type of psychological break. She worshiped her father and his death devastated her. Can you promise me you'll find her no matter what?"
"Like I told you earlier, in all my years with the FBI, I never failed to close a case, and I don't intend to start now."
