Truly, Madly, Dangerously Read online

  “Send the sheriff after us?”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  Sadie walked across the room. Okay, so she hadn’t worn these heels in ages. They were not comfortable, not at all. But they did look great, she knew that. Maybe she wasn’t tiny like Jennifer, but she was tall, and she had long legs and decent breasts, and when she put some effort into it she could look good.

  Not for Truman, she insisted silently, but for herself. Her first full day in Garth had been a kicker, and she needed to turn her mind in a new direction. Just for tonight. Tomorrow she’d be back to being desk clerk, maid and waitress. But not for long. Hearn must’ve been involved in something nasty to get killed the way he had. Evans would find the evidence and the murderer, and he’d send Sadie on her way with an insincere apology.

  Sadie didn’t belong here any more now that she had at the age of eleven.

  Sadie was overdressed for Bob’s Steak and Fixin’s, but then she was probably overdressed for anything this side of Birmingham. Since Truman had worn jeans and a nice cotton button-up shirt, she was definitely overdressed for him. She’d done this to get back at him, he imagined, to repay him for telling her not to leave town or for sticking her tip in her bra.

  Truman tried not to let on that he was at all affected by the red lips, the black dress, the long legs or the way she walked in those heels. When had Sadie Harlow gotten so gorgeous? She’d always been cute, his best friend’s little cousin who had a crush on him. Back in those days she’d had a tendency to show up wherever he and Johnny happened to be. He hadn’t minded her tagging along now and then, not the way Johnny had. He’d always thought she was kinda sweet. But he’d been caught up in the high-school-jock thing and she’d seemed so young. Plus she’d never had this effect on him. And if she had, Johnny would have killed him.

  It was a cruel form of punishment, he imagined. Sadie’s way of waving a red flag in his face. Look what you could have had. Look what you’ll never have. Look, but do not touch. He should have accepted his mother’s invitation to go home for a nice, safe dinner of chicken and dumplings and left Sadie alone.

  His motives had been honorable. She was exhausted and needed a couple of hours away from the motel. A friendly meal and conversation, that’s all he’d had in mind when he’d suggested dinner. Really.

  He hadn’t known she’d stumble across a dead body minutes after grudgingly accepting his invitation. And he definitely hadn’t expected this. He was on edge, wound so tight every muscle in his body had tensed. He looked at Sadie sitting there, all dolled up and grown up, and all he could think about was getting her naked. It had been a long time since he’d wanted any woman this way.

  “Are you sure we should be doing this?” she asked. “Having dinner together doesn’t seem at all ethical, given the circumstances.”

  “Why not? I’m not investigating the murder.”

  “We’re just old friends sharing a meal, and the fact that we found a dead man a few hours ago means nothing,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  She played with the food on her plate, and her eyes scanned the restaurant almost casually. Almost.

  Truman gladly studied the full red lips, the curve of her cheek, the fire in her eyes. Yeah, naked would be good. “So, how long have you been a PI?”

  Sadie didn’t drop her fork, but her head snapped around. She glared at him, dark eyes flashing. He’d managed to surprise her. Good.

  “You’ve been poking around in my life? You said you didn’t have anything to do with investigating the murder.”

  “Actually, I did a quick search on you this morning, after breakfast and before you found that body.”

  Sadie pursed her lips and lifted her chin. She wasn’t the same little girl who’d followed him and Johnny around. She’d gotten tough.

  “Lillian likes to tell everyone that I’m a receptionist in Birmingham.”

  “I know. Where’s the gun?” he asked.

  She did her best to look innocent.

  “I know you have a permit. This afternoon you were wearing it under your jacket, neatly concealed. Where is it now?”

  She didn’t bother to deny that she was carrying. “In a place where you’ll never have the chance to find it.”

  He grinned. Yeah, he liked her tough. He liked her all grown-up. “So, how did you end up a PI? Seems like nasty work for a pretty girl.”

  Sadie smiled. “I’m not pretty, I’m not a girl, and the work is only occasionally nasty.”

  Truman wasn’t looking for a fight, so he didn’t bother to argue about the pretty thing. Surely Sadie knew how gorgeous she was. Pretty women, they always knew. “Okay. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  She relaxed a little, and leaned forward. “I fell into it. I was supposed to get married, but it didn’t work out. I was tired of knocking around college without knowing what I wanted to do with my life, and I needed a way to pay the bills.” She smiled. “I found a job working as a receptionist for a small PI agency. Strictly temporary, of course.” Something in her smile changed, turned more genuine. “I’d been there three months when a displeased client came barging in with a gun in his hand. He used me as a shield, and I spent the better part of an afternoon wondering if I was about to die.”

  Nothing to smile about. “And you didn’t quit then and there?”

  Sadie shook her head. “You know me, Truman. I got mad, and I decided I was never going to be helpless again. My boss, Larry Myrick, saw that I got training. Basic self-defense first, then firearms, knife-work, karate. I liked it. I got good. And Larry offered me a job as an investigator.”

  “Why have I never heard any of this?”

  “Because Aunt Lillian thinks my chosen career is scandalous.” Her eyebrows danced. “Chasing bad guys is not at all ladylike.”

  “You’re still working for Myrick?” He knew she wasn’t, but he did wonder how she’d answer. The Benning Agency was miles away from a small PI office in Birmingham. Literally and figuratively.

  She shook her head. “No. I was recruited by a larger agency a few years back.”

  That out of the way, they passed the time eating and talking about Johnny and his kids, Jennifer and her troubles, and Aunt Lillian’s restaurant. When Sadie asked, Truman told her about his older brother Kennedy and Kennedy’s three boys. They avoided all talk of the body Sadie had found that afternoon.

  As their waitress placed dessert on the table, cheesecake and coffee, an awkward silence fell. They’d run out of safe things to talk about.

  “So,” Sadie said, flicking a fork at the strawberry topping on her cheesecake. “How’s your knee?”

  Truman’s jaw tightened. A tiny muscle in his eyelid twitched. Talk about a mood killer. Murder was a more pleasant subject. He didn’t talk about the old injury, not anymore. No one mentioned the limp, not even on those damp mornings when he couldn’t hide the pain. No one asked him about the old days. And he didn’t much like thinking about what might have been. What a waste of time that was.

  “It’s fine,” he said, his voice low.

  Sadie wasn’t going to take fine for an answer, she wasn’t going to let him off that easy. “What bullshit,” she said succinctly.

  “Language, Sadie Mae.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject by calling me Sadie Mae and getting me all riled up. It won’t work this time.”

  He looked her in the eye. He hadn’t done that often, this evening. “You want to know how my knee is? Hamburger. My freakin’ knee is hamburger. I can’t run, climbing stairs is a bitch and some mornings it hurts like hell just to get out of bed.” She wanted to know, he might as well tell her everything. “I’m a thirty-three-year-old gimp whose glory days came and went before he was twenty-five. A divorced gimp, whose wife left because when she married him she had her sights set on the money and fame that came with being married to a professional quarterback. A small-town deputy wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. She wanted Joe Montana and ended up with a gimpy Barney Fife.
That’s how my damn knee is.”

  Sadie didn’t look away, as he’d suspected she might. She didn’t glance down and break the hold his eyes had on hers and start mumbling about something safe, like the weather. “I knew it wasn’t fine,” she said.

  “I don’t want to talk about my knee,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about myself at all. Your life is much more interesting than mine.”

  She dumped a pack of sugar into her coffee and stirred absently. With a tilt of her head and a sigh, she looked a little bit like the girl he remembered. Not so tough, after all. “Let’s change the subject,” she said softly.

  “Gladly.”

  “What do you know about Aidan Hearn? Was he into anything dirty, like drugs or money laundering?”

  “We can’t be having this conversation, Sadie.”

  “I’m not asking about anything that might’ve come up in the investigation. I’m interested in gossip, that’s all. I could ask anyone else in town.”

  “But you’re asking me.”

  “You’re here,” she said softly, and the way her mouth wrapped around the words… Yeah, she was definitely messing with his head.

  “Far as I know, Hearn was clean as a whistle. No drugs, no money laundering.” He almost snorted. Had she forgotten what Garth was like? “I have heard rumors over the years that he was a bit of a ladies’ man, but…”

  “I thought he was married.”

  “He is.”

  Sadie’s eyes positively sparkled. “Why did Evans even bother talking to me? The wife, a girlfriend, an ex-girlfriend…if Hearn wasn’t into something dirty, then the murder was personal.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “So…”

  “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this,” Truman interrupted.

  She looked him in the eye, smiled and shrugged. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

  Why did he know in his gut that this woman was trouble? That she found or created trouble wherever she went? She settled back in her chair for a moment and again let her gaze travel about the room. This time her mind was definitely elsewhere. More trouble.

  He insisted on paying for dinner, and while Sadie argued, she eventually backed off. A rarity for her, he imagined.

  “How about a short drive before I take you back to the motel?” he asked as he opened the door of his pickup truck for her.

  “I don’t know,” she said, stepping onto the runner, pulling her great legs into the truck. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I have a quick errand to run. Won’t take but a few minutes,” he promised.

  “Okay.”

  Miranda Lake. How many babies had been conceived in cars parked along the edge of the lake? Plenty, Sadie suspected. In Garth and the surrounding area, there was an unnatural number of baby girls named Miranda born every year.

  “What are we doing here?” she asked suspiciously. She’d specifically told Truman she wasn’t interested in sleeping with him, and even if she were…she was a little old to get lucky in a pickup truck.

  “Nightly patrol,” he said. “I’m off duty, but since I live close by I usually make a nightly drive through. There are half a dozen or so spots where the teenagers park, and every night I hit one or two of them. Keeps the kiddies on their toes.” He turned a corner, and sure enough, there were four cars parked in the gravel lot that looked over Miranda Lake. He pulled into a parking space of his own, smiled at Sadie and told her he’d be right back then stepped out of the truck. Almost immediately, three engines came to life. Truman smiled and waved at the teenagers who made their escape, and walked toward the one remaining car. The occupants were obviously too engrossed to know they’d been caught.

  Sadie watched Truman walk away. Yeah, maybe there was a little bit of a hitch in his step, but he was far from a gimp. That ex-wife of his was a real bitch, to leave him when he needed her most, to run out when he was already hurting. She’d never met the woman, but she had seen pictures. Even then, from a mere photograph, Sadie had known the woman Truman married right out of college wasn’t good enough for him. Then again, maybe she would have thought the same about any woman Truman married.

  Why did Truman stay in Garth? Sure, his mother was here, and he had old friends in town, but… She had always known Truman McCain was meant for greater things, that he was meant for greater places than Garth, Alabama. She hated to think that he might be hiding here, staying because it was safe, because he would always be a hero to the locals for getting out and making it big; even if his escape and his fame hadn’t lasted.

  He leaned down and tapped on a steamed-up window. After a moment where all was still and quiet, the window rolled down. Truman said a few soft words, and the engine revved to life. He stepped back, and the last car made a quick getaway.

  After the kids were gone, Truman headed back to the pickup where Sadie waited.

  “What a job,” she said with a grin.

  “When the mayor found out his daughter had been coming out here with her new boyfriend, we had to step up patrols.” He settled into the driver’s seat and looked out over the water. “It is a beautiful place,” he added softly.

  “You said you live close by,” Sadie said.

  Truman rested his arm on the steering wheel and pointed to the other side of the lake. “I have a cabin over there. Small, but nice, and it looks out over the water. What else does a man need?”

  The question hung in the air, unanswered.

  Sadie rested her head on the seat and stared out over the water. Moonlight sparkled there, gentle waves lapped. “Did you ever wonder if the story was true?” she asked, her voice soft to match the mood and the night.

  “What story?”

  “About Miranda Fairchild and Samuel Garth.”

  “The ghosts,” Truman deadpanned. “Some old tale about a couple of ancient people who killed themselves. I don’t know what it is chicks like about that story.”

  Sadie sighed. “You never got laid out here, did you?”

  “I got laid out here plenty, and I never had to resort to ghost stories to get what I wanted.”

  Of course he hadn’t. Gorgeous football hero with a killer smile, all Truman had to do was grin, and he got whatever he wanted. It was so unfair.

  “It’s a beautiful story.” Heavens, she was tired. But this was nice, resting her head against the seat, looking out over the water, talking to Truman.

  “Okay, convince me. What happened, exactly?” Truman prodded.

  Sadie took her eyes from the moonlit water, for a moment. No, he wasn’t teasing her. At least, he looked serious. Maybe it was a fanciful story, more legend than fact, but there was something mesmerizing about the tale. At least, there once had been. Living with Spencer had killed most of Sadie’s fanciful notions about love and happily ever after. There was no forever. A man would always get tired of a woman. He’d get bored and go elsewhere looking for love, no matter how hard she tried to make him happy.

  Reality was harsh. No wonder a touch of fantasy, a tale of romance, seemed so attractive at the moment.

  “When Samuel was called to the war with those nasty Yankees, he and Miranda wanted to get married.” Not a wise choice, in Sadie’s estimation, but she tried to push away her own bad experience and just enjoy the story. “They wanted to be together before he left, but Miranda’s father said she was too young. She was sixteen. Samuel was a couple of years older. Eighteen or nineteen, maybe. Since her father refused to allow them to marry, Miranda swore she’d wait for Samuel. She said she’d wait forever, if she had to.”

  Truman shook his head in disbelief, and Sadie returned her gaze to the water. “So Samuel went to war,” she said softly. “You know how it was. They all thought the unpleasantness with the Yankees would last weeks. Months, maybe. But Samuel was gone for years. When word came that he’d died in battle, Miranda very calmly left her house, walked to the lake, and drowned herself.”

  “Stupid,” Truman muttered.

  “You do not have
a romantic bone in your body.”

  “Only the one.”

  Sadie sighed, holding in a laugh. “You’re hopeless.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Anyway,” Sadie continued, determined to finish. “Grieving and desolate, Miranda drowned. A year to the day later, Samuel comes home expecting to find his love waiting for him. He hadn’t been killed in battle after all.”

  “Obviously.”

  Sadie cleared her throat to chastise him for interrupting. “When he discovers what happened to Miranda he walks to the lake, swims out as far as he can, and then goes under, never to be seen again.”

  “He killed himself, just like she did. I still say that’s not…”

  “Would you hush,” Sadie said, laughing lightly. “You’re ruining the story.”

  “Excuse me,” he said insincerely.

  “After that night, it was said that sometimes when there was a full moon people would see them in the lake and on the shore, making love at last, together forever.”

  Forever. Nice idea. Too bad it was a crock.

  “And this ridiculous story actually gets people laid.” Truman shook his head.

  “Oh, you know that tale as well as I do.”

  “Yeah, I just wanted to hear you tell it.” He smiled softly. “So, who told it to you?”

  Sadie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Jason Davenport. Prom night, thirteen years ago.”

  “Jason Davenport?”

  Jason Davenport. Running back for the high-school football team. First baseman for the baseball team. Black hair, green eyes, and oh, he had a really great voice. She could still hear him telling that story to her, reminding her that there wouldn’t always be a tomorrow, that they’d better take what they wanted tonight. “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t even know you dated that guy.”

  “Just a couple of times. Then he dumped me.” The fuzzy memories faded. As soon as Jason realized he wasn’t going to get what he wanted, he’d quit calling. Jerk. She should have learned her lesson then.

  “He’s still around, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, he’s some kind of artist or something,” Truman said grudgingly. “You actually…” he stopped, choked on the word.