The Lovebirds. B.J. DanielsЧитать онлайн книгу.
who’d taken the piece of candy.
Mitzy would make a big deal out of it. Peggy could just hear her, ‘‘Poor Piggy Kane, had to steal Valentine’s Day chocolate because it wasn’t like anyone was going to give her chocolate. That would be like giving tequila to an alcoholic.’’
But that wasn’t the worst part. Mitzy wouldn’t want the chocolates, not after Piggy Kane had been in them. Oliver would be furious. Didn’t Peggy know how important it was for tonight to be perfect?
She stared down at the box of candy. Smooth pale milk chocolates. Dark rich bittersweet chocolates. All filled with heavenly cremes, mouth-melting caramels and buttery nuts.
She watched her hand as if seeing it from a great distance away. Watched her finger and thumb gently lift one of the milk chocolate cremes from its foil nest as if lifting out a priceless jewel. Watched the chocolate approach her mouth, the sight of it making her dizzy, the intoxicating scent of it making her weak with anticipation.
The forbidden chocolate brushed her lips as lightly as a kiss and then it was on her tongue. She closed her warm mouth around it, sucking it in, lips parting slightly as she released a cocoa-scented sigh. Her breath caught in her throat as the chocolate slowly, achingly began to melt.
She had never tasted anything so smooth, so rich. She deserved this. She deserved so...much...more. Then the warm chocolate seemed to burst and the sweet, incredible creme oozed out, filling her mouth. She groaned from the pleasure of it, licking her lips as she closed her eyes, willing herself to fight the urge and hold it in her mouth as long as she could, knowing how quickly the sensation would be gone once she swallowed.
This was heaven. Unfortunately, she knew from experience, it never lasted long enough.
Her hand was already reaching for another chocolate, her mind already crumpling the empty incriminating red foil into her coat pocket and rearranging the chocolates, already convincing herself that no one would ever have to know, especially Oliver. That was when the poison hit.
She had only enough time to pull the Valentine from her pocket before she hit the floor.
‘‘WHO FOUND THE BODY?’’ Sheriff Jack McAllister asked the deputy as he rode up the elevator to The Riverside penthouse. He couldn’t believe it. He’d been sheriff for less than twenty-four hours and he already had a dead body on his hands. Just his luck, since he’d come home to River’s Edge to get away from this very thing.
‘‘Mrs. Sanders found her.’’
He shot a look at the deputy and realized the only Mrs. Sanders he knew would be hugging eighty by now—if she was still alive. He hadn’t thought about which Sanders lived in the hotel penthouse. ‘‘Ellie Sanders, old man Sanders’s wife?’’
Deputy Reed, whom Jack had just met that morning, shook his head, his expression suspiciously closed. ‘‘Mrs. Oliver Sanders. Old man—Mr. Otto Sanders is deceased. His wife, Ellie, resides in Hawaii now.’’
Good for Ellie. Jack hoped she was having a great time, spending the old man’s money.
‘‘Who’d Oliver marry?’’ he had to ask. Keeping track of the comings and goings in River’s Edge had been the last thing on his mind. He’d left pretty soon after high school, taking the best of River’s Edge with him, and had never looked back, never planned to come back. As he rode up the elevator, he was starting to remember why.
‘‘Oliver married Mitzy Baxter,’’ Reed said and had to clear his throat.
Jack let out a low whistle. Mitzy Baxter Sanders. Mitzy. Oh, boy.
The elevator door opened onto a slab of white marble floor complete with a dead body and a hysterical woman. He recognized the loud high-pitched complaining voice in the background as Mitzy’s. Some things did not change.
A second deputy stood next to the elevator door, protecting the possible crime scene just as Jack had asked. But the poor man looked as if he’d rather be anywhere than here. Jack understood perfectly.
‘‘Mrs. Sanders is a little upset,’’ Deputy Dodson said. ‘‘As would be expected,’’ he added quickly.
Jack had to smile. ‘‘Yes, as would be expected.’’ He looked from the deputy to the foyer table covered in gifts and the body of a woman lying on the floor beside it. A box of spilled chocolates dotted the marble floor around the body like thrown dirt clods.
Under the table was a woman’s large black leather purse with a shopping bag next to it. Against the opposite foyer wall were two more shopping bags and another purse, this one pink and dainty.
Jack bent down, and without touching anything, took a look at the murder victim.
‘‘She’s Mr. Sanders’s secretary,’’ Dodson informed him. ‘‘Her name is Peggy Kane.’’
That news startled him. Both seemed implausible. He’d gone to school with Peggy Kane. Knew her relationship with not only Oliver, but Mitzy. At least he thought he did. It seemed a number of things had changed since he’d been gone—and Peggy Kane had changed the most.
This woman looked nothing like the one he remembered even if her face hadn’t been blue. Peggy Kane had lost a lot of weight, but it was more than that, he realized. It was the way she was dressed, the expensive jewelry, the hair, the whole look. It made him wonder what Oliver paid her.
In River’s Edge, there were two classes of families. The ones with money who owned the condos, huge seasonal homes and the businesses that thrived because of them. And the ones who worked for the businesses. The Kane family fell into the latter group, just as the McAllisters had.
Peggy had a piece of chocolate gripped in her right hand. It had melted down to just the nut. On closer inspection, in her other hand was what appeared to be a crumpled piece of white paper. He didn’t touch it and wondered if anyone else had noticed it.
‘‘I took down everyone’s statement, just as you instructed,’’ Dobson said. ‘‘I’m also the crime photographer. I shot the elevator, all of the rooms in the penthouse and the possible crime scene.’’ Standard procedure in a sudden death of this nature. ‘‘I’ve sent the photos to the lab. You should have them within the hour.’’
‘‘Good work,’’ Jack said, pushing himself to his feet again. He asked both deputies to remain at the elevator door and protect the scene until the coroner arrived to tell them whether or not a crime had actually been committed. Then bracing himself, he followed the irritating sound of Mitzy’s voice into the living room.
Mitzy actually stopped talking when she saw him. Her mouth remained open, but thankfully nothing came out. Her husband, Oliver Sanders, was at the bar making drinks, his back to Jack. Jack caught his own reflection in the mirror over the bar, seeing himself the way Mitzy must. Older. His dark blond hair still thick although graying at the temples. His blue eyes faded like old denim and lined from the sun. Just seeing how life had weathered and aged him, he remembered with a jolt his real reason for coming back here.
Oliver turned at the sudden quiet, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the new sheriff.
‘‘Well, I’ll be damned,’’ was all Oliver said, but he seemed to tense as if expecting a blow.
Jack knew that one of the town councilmen had voted against hiring him as sheriff and figured it had been Oliver Sanders. He told himself that Oliver’s obvious anxiety at seeing him could be nothing more than having a dead woman in his foyer. Or it could be the past. Considering his and Jack’s past, it could easily have been that alone.
‘‘Jack?’’ Mitzy cried, finding her voice too soon. ‘‘Jack McAllister?’’
She’d remembered his name. But he’d have hoped as much considering how...intimate they’d been for