Carrie Alexander - Count on a Cop Page 12

  The guests applauded. Connie nodded and waved. As planned, she put her hand on the ribbon while Anders pretended to hold the other end. In the middle, Kay smiled brilliantly for a photographer from the local newspaper. She brandished the scissors, then snipped cleanly through the ribbon. Her husband pronounced the maze open.

  A group of children crowded near the entrance, ready to race pell-mell to the center. Connie made them wait while Kay and Anders—sharing not a word—worked their way through the twisting path. They would award prizes to the first arrivals.

  At their call, Connie brought down her arm. “Go!” She stepped aside to avoid the stampede. Several adults were almost as eager as the kids.

  When the crowd thinned, she spotted her daughter and Sean nearby. “I’m sorry you can’t compete, Pip. You know it wouldn’t be fair.”

  Pippa tried to look mature. “I know.”

  “Why don’t you go in now? You can still have fun. Some of the little ones might need your help getting to the center.”

  “Yeah, they might.” Pippa beamed. “Will you hold my notebook for me?” She thrust it at Connie and darted off, calling, “Don’t look inside!” over her shoulder.

  Connie tucked the book under her arm. “Didn’t I tell her to leave this at home?”

  “She insisted,” Sean said. “And she’s done lots of spying and note-taking. I’ve been following her from afar.”

  “Oh, dear.” Connie smiled, not particularly perturbed. “That can’t have been much fun for you. I didn’t intend for you to stick to her so tightly that you couldn’t enjoy the party yourself.”

  “I’m seeing it from Pippa’s perspective. She really gets around.”

  “I hope she’s not getting into too much mischief.”

  Connie heard herself speak, but she wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation. Sean was distracting. He’d dressed casually in jeans with the navy-blue sports coat he’d worn to the cocktail party. The collar of his pale blue button-down shirt was open, drawing her gaze down the column of his throat to a few stray strands of soft, dark hair.

  She forced her eyes upward, scarcely aware of the guests entering and exiting the maze. His temples were lightly peppered with gray. There was a small scar near his top lip. And he’d been married. He had a thirteen-year-old son. Perhaps that explained his gentle treatment of Pippa. She was amending her perception of him every day.

  She still thought that he was handsome, which wouldn’t ever change, no matter how gray or wrinkled he got.

  Her throat tightened. Once, she’d felt the same way about Phil.

  That’s right, you did. And you can handle remembering that without letting it crush you. No matter how ready she was to move on, there was going to be regret for what she’d lost.

  “Just kid stuff, like tasting the hard punch,” Sean said. Connie wondered what he saw when he looked at her. “I did lose sight of her a couple of times.”

  She licked her lips. Pippa. We’re talking about Pippa. The daughter you’ve promised all your attention to, after today. “I’m sure she was fine. My worries about her seem much less urgent in the light of day.”

  “Hmm.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling. Today they were the color of the sky. Again she looked at the tiny white scar by his lip. One day soon she’d ask him about that.

  She tore her gaze away. Party guests were strolling in and out of the maze. There was a lot of laughter and noise coming from inside the tall green walls. Several people came up and complimented her on the fine job. She thanked them, even handed out a few of the business cards she’d tucked into her pocket. And none of it seemed as real or important as the man standing beside her.

  “I’ve done some observing myself,” he said at one point. “Watching for suspicious characters.”

  “Discover anything alarming?” she asked lightly, keeping her eyes on the maze. Anders had emerged and walked briskly toward the house. A minute or two later, the curvaceous wife of one of his business associates followed, looking ruffled around the edges.

  “There’s talk among the guests about the Sheffields. They’ve been fighting a lot. I guess she lost a diamond.”

  “I heard that Anders gave one to another woman.” Connie shook her head. “Gossip.”

  “I’m keeping my ears open.”

  She gave Sean an arch look. “You’re serious?”

  “Let’s just say that my curiosity is piqued.”

  “Let’s don’t.” She seized his hand. “Let’s dance instead.”

  IT WAS COOLER under the tent, out of the dazzling sun. The orchestra played popular dance songs. Connie felt very good in his arms. Her cheek rested on his shoulder while they danced, but every now and then she would lift her head and ask him something.

  “When were you married?”

  “June first. I was twenty-six. Josh is going on fourteen, so you do the math.”

  “Have you ever sailed? Do you own a pair of Ray-Bans and Bermuda shorts?”

  “Toy boats. And no, but I’ll buy ’em if you like ’em.”

  “What’s your favorite color?”

  Though he said, “Blue,” he was thinking red. The burnished red-gold of an Irish setter’s coat, of the trees in the fall, of Connie’s head nestled near his as they danced.

  “Do I get to ask any questions?” he ventured when she’d been quiet for a long while and he’d become too aware of the soft pressure of her breasts against his ribs and the curve of her hip under his palm.

  She raised her head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m an open book. I’ve told you lots more about my life than you have about yours.”

  “It’s important for you to know that I sailed toy boats in the bathtub?”

  “Might be. These little details can be important, you never know.”

  “The name of my first crush? The date of my wedding?”

  “All part of the puzzle.”

  “Now I’m a puzzle.”

  “Everyone’s a puzzle when you first meet them. But you—you’re also a mystery wrapped in an enigma.”

  He tightened his embrace. “Right now, I prefer being wrapped in you.”

  “Mmm.” She returned her cheek to his shoulder, stroked his chest. “Five more minutes. Then I really have to get back to the party. There might be someone stranded in the maze.”

  “I’ve lost all sight of Pippa.”

  “I’m hoping that she’s playing with the other kids instead of making Curious Observations,” Connie murmured, her voice an indolent purr. An instant later she pulled out of his arms. “The notebook. What did I do with it?”

  He looked around. There were very few dancers. Most of the guests were still milling around the garden and maze. “I don’t know.”

  Connie flapped her arms and shimmied a little, as if she expected the notebook to drop out of her clothes. “Pippa will kill me if I’ve lost it.”

  He shoved his fists into his pockets. That shimmy had been damn sexy. “Where did you put it down?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I mean, where might you have put it down?”

  “The refreshment table. We stopped for glasses of punch, remember?”

  He remembered. She’d drunk hers straight down and turned very red in the face. Five minutes later, she’d been draped all over him while the orchestra played “My Funny Valentine.”

  They hurried to the table, where the once-pristine linen now sported pink stains under a plethora of sticky punch cups. The crystal bowls had been drained to puddles. Waterlogged slices of fruit stuck to the sides.

  “Here it is.” Connie snapped up the notebook. “Thank heaven.”

  Sean reached for it. “We should see what Pippa’s latest observations are. As keen as she is, I wouldn’t put it past her to have discovered an interesting rumor or three.”

  She batted him away. “Not a chance. Last night was an emergency, or at least I thought it might be. I won’t betray Pippa’s trust again. Ask her, if yo
u want to know. She might tell you, as her mentor of all things curi—”

  Pippa was standing beside them, her face blanched. “Mom?” she quavered. “You read my notebook?”

  “No,” Connie croaked. “That is, I took a glance. Just the last page. So we knew where to look.”

  “You read my notebook.”

  “It was my fault, Pippa.” Sean took a step toward her. “I did it.”

  The girl snatched it out of Connie’s hands and whirled away with her ponytail flying. “I’ll never trust either of you ever again,” she yelled, and ran sobbing from the tent.

  “SHE’S IN THE BUTLER’S PANTRY,” Rachel Wells said. “That’s the second time I’ve found her there.”

  “The second time?” Connie asked distractedly. After she’d regained her composure—like mother, like daughter—they’d followed Pippa into the house.

  “The first time, she was having a high old time listening to the kitchen gossip, just some nonsense between the maids. This time, I heard her crying. I gave her a glass of cold milk and a plateful of cookies and left her alone.”

  Rachel, wiping her hands on her apron, glanced doubtfully at Sean. “You’re the one that’s staying in Alice Potter’s cottage. It’s not like Alice to rent Pine Cone to a stranger.”

  “But she did.”

  “Ayuh. I reckon if Mrs. Bradford trusts you, I can, too.”

  “Well, you should. He’s a Massachusetts state troo—”

  “Let me talk to Pippa,” Sean interrupted. He hushed her when she started to protest. “I’ll appeal to her rational intellect.”

  Connie stepped aside, but she was skeptical. “Be my guest.”

  “You trust me.” He nodded at the housekeeper. “She told me so.”

  That pulled a wry smile out of Connie. “Housekeepers know best.” She gestured at Rachel. “Maybe we should send you in.”

  “Not me. Pippa says I remind her of some woman called Miss Trask. I haven’t decided whether she means that as a compliment.”

  Sean left the two of them as Connie began an explanation about Trixie Belden’s fictional world. He nudged open the swinging door and peered in at Pippa. She sat slumped on top of the counter, sniffling into a glass of milk. There were cookie crumbs on her chin and purple T-shirt.

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, like her mother.

  “You sure?”

  She swung her plump legs, not looking at him as she thudded her heels on the lower cabinets. “I guess you can if you want.”

  He hoisted himself onto the opposite cabinet. If someone came through unannounced, he’d take a door in his kneecaps. “It’s sort of nice in here,” he observed, considering the deep crown molding and vintage zinc countertops. On one side was a stainless steel sink with a shallow bowl, on the other a deep farm sink. Rows of barware neatly lined the open shelves above Pippa’s head. “Nearly as big as the kitchen in my condo.”

  Pippa didn’t respond.

  “What about yours?”

  She gripped the glass tighter, making fingerprints in the condensation. “We have a house.”

  “Big like this one?”

  “It’s small.”

  “But nice, I’ll bet.”

  She drank, then licked away a milk mustache. Her eyes flicked to Sean. “Just so you know, I’m never gonna move.”

  Josh had been only six when Jen had moved out, seven when she’d packed up and hauled him to California. How had Sean forgotten—or deliberately put out of his mind—the sad look on his little boy’s face when they’d said goodbye?

  He coughed to clear his throat. “I’m sorry about the notebook,” he said. She had it wedged under her thigh. “Your mom didn’t want to read it, even when I told her that we should.”

  “How come?” she said softly. “How come you wanted to read it?”

  “I guess I was thinking of my job. The troopers share their information. We write incident reports for public record.” He made a quick calculation, betting on Pippa’s fighting spirit. “But I forgot that you’re just a little girl.”

  “I’m ten. That’s not little.”

  “Right. Still, I shouldn’t be reading your diary.”

  “It’s not a diary! It’s my Book of Curious Observations.” Pippa’s mouth had taken on a stubborn set. “Diaries are stupid.”

  “I wish I’d thought to keep a Book of Curious Observations when I was a boy.” He shrugged. “So do you forgive me?”

  “S’pose.”

  “And your mother?”

  “Well, she’s not a state trooper. She didn’t have any reason to read it.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek. Boxed in by a ten-year-old. “But she’s your mom, and she was just worried about you. I think you should cut her some slack.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And you might think about sharing some of your observations with us.”

  “Like…putting our brain power together to solve the crime?”

  “Yes, just like that.” He reconsidered. “If there was actually a crime, that is.”

  “There was, or else there’s gonna be,” Pippa said with surprising vehemence.

  He heard a floorboard creak on the other side of the door and casually put his foot against it. “Why do you say that?”

  “’Cause of all the expensive stuff up here. I heard people talking. And somebody already stole a diamond ring.”

  “Whoa.” Sean laughed. “Slow down, Pippa.”

  “You said we could co—collab—”

  “Collaborate? I may have spoken too soon. What I meant was that I didn’t want you getting into a dangerous situation on your own.”

  “Oh. Like I’m a baby who has to have a babysitter.” She glared at him. “I bet my mom made you say that.”

  He heard a snort from the other side of the door and stifled his laugh. “Could be.”

  PUZZLES, MAZES AND JUMBLES weren’t Sean’s bag. He was a straightforward guy, a linear thinker, and even when roadblocks had thrown him off course—the divorce, the shooting—he kept on going. The two weeks on Osprey Island weren’t supposed to be a detour. They were meant as a breather, a time to lick his wounds. After the stay here was over and his leg was fully healed, he’d expected to continue much as before.

  He hadn’t expected the impending arrival of his son.

  And he hadn’t expected Connemara Bradford.

  He came to a juncture and stopped, looking down the green corridors, considering his choice. Normally he went with his first instinct, which was usually right, but Connie’s presence was throwing him off.

  “Give me a clue here,” he said.

  She wagged her head no.

  Right, he thought, but went left. The next turn brought him to a dead end. Glancing back, he caught Connie’s mouth twitching. “You think this is funny?”

  “I expected more from a big, strong state trooper,” she teased. “Do you get lost on the highways and byways of Massachusetts?”

  “I follow maps.” He grunted and retraced his steps.

  “Jeez, you guys,” Pippa called from a distance. “Hurry up.”

  Sean took the other path. Several turns and another dead end later, he stopped again and mopped his forehead with his sleeve. He took off his sports coat and slung it over his shoulder. “Hot in here.”

  “Without the sea breezes, these high hedges really hold the heat.” Connie smirked. “Then again, frustration makes you sweat.” She stooped to retrieve a crinkled candy bar wrapper from beneath the hedge.

  He clenched his thigh muscles and felt the tightening of the fresh scar. The walks he’d been taking every morning had gotten him into better shape, but it had been a long day. Connie had said he couldn’t go home without trying the maze first.

  He glanced at her. “You’re a little pink around the edges yourself.”

  She pushed her hair out of the way with the back of one wrist. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, I aske
d around about who all was on the Sheffield estate last night.”

  “What did you learn?”

  “That there’s no proof of anything.” In a low voice, she told him about her conversation with the housekeeper, naming the dearth of local suspects with the accent Pippa had indicated, and the surplus of rock formations on the island.

  “After applying my own keen abilities, I came to the same conclusion,” he admitted. “But there’s still the talk about the missing diamond.”

  “We’d better just forget it,” she said. “And encourage Pippa to do the same.”

  He agreed, with some misgiving. He might not be a creative thinker, but he sure as hell knew when one and one were making eleven instead of two. He wasn’t ready to dismiss Pippa’s “curious observations.”

  “Almost there,” Connie said a few minutes later, when Sean was ready to give up ever finding the center of the maze.

  “You’re a fiend,” he grumbled.

  “Ha.” She brushed one hand along the hedge as they walked, almost like petting an animal.

  “In ancient times,” she said, “it was believed that demons could only travel in straight lines. Thus the maze, to baffle the evil spirits.”

  He smiled. “Then how come it’s me who’s baffled?”

  “Perhaps because you haven’t figured out your life goal yet.” She caught his frown and quickly elaborated. “It’s also been said that mazes are symbolic of life and death. The entrance is birth, the center represents death. In between, we become lost, we are blinded, we face temptation and confront danger and change at every twist and turn. Finally, we reach our goal and we are redeemed.”

  “By the symbolic death?”

  “Salvation, I presume.” She made a face. “Never mind me. At the start of this project, I did a lot of reading on the history of mazes and labyrinths.”

  They had reached the center. Pippa sat on the ground near the splashing fountain, paging through her notebook. Sean greeted her with spread arms. “You are a sight for sore feet.”

  “Such a complainer,” Connie said with a laugh. “The kids ran the maze in no time flat. Even Graves seems to know his way around it pretty well, and he grumbles more than you.”