his pen poised over the battered, reporter’s notebook he’d pulled from his jacket pocket. “And have the charges officially been upgraded to murder since Truman Kellogg died in that fire two months ago?”
Deciding he’d better concentrate on his answers before he slipped up and said something stupid, Dan pushed thoughts of Lindsey to the back of his mind and gave his full attention to Riley, reminding him that there was no proof yet that the Kellogg fire was linked to the others. Riley would let him get away with that—Lindsey would have kept pushing. Dan couldn’t help smiling wryly at the thought…and realizing again that he would miss her when—if—she left.
Holding the tip of her tongue between her teeth, Lindsey leaned close to the lit makeup mirror, an eyeliner gripped in her right hand. She swore when her hand twitched, smearing liner across her right cheek. “I can’t do this.”
Connie Peterson laughed and handed Lindsey a moistened makeup-remover pad. “Of course you can do it. It just takes a little practice—something most women do before they reach your age, by the way.”
Lindsey scowled, making it more difficult to remove the smudge. “I haven’t had time to mess with makeup. I’ve just slapped on mascara and blusher and lip gloss, and that always seemed like enough.”
“So why have you decided to change that now?” the makeup consultant, whom Lindsey had known since high school, asked curiously.
“Oh, you know…getting older. Trying not to show it.” Lindsey hoped her answer was suitably vague and believable.
Connie’s laugh came perilously close to a snort. “Yeah, right. You hardly look old enough to drive legally. I bet you still get carded every time you order a drink.”
Keeping her eyes fixed on the mirror, Lindsey painstakingly followed the directions Connie had given her for applying the eyeliner. The effort was a bit more successful this time. “So maybe I’d like to look my age.”
“It’s a guy, isn’t it?”
Lindsey’s hand jerked again, resulting in a matching liner smudge on her other cheek. She reached for the remover again. “Why does everyone assume I’m changing my appearance for a guy?”
“Because we’ve all done it,” Connie replied with a smirk. “You’ve got a great new hairstyle, and now you’re investing in war paint. Definitely a guy.”
“You’ve changed your appearance to try to attract a guy?” Lindsey eyed the brown-haired, brown-eyed woman curiously. Attractive and extroverted, Connie had always seemed so comfortable around men, always having a date for local events, and rumored to have bruised a few hearts during the years. Lately she’d been deeply involved with a man from a neighboring town, and there was broad speculation that this time it was starting to look permanent.
“Oh, sure. Remember when I tried bleaching my hair my senior year in high school? Major mistake—but I did it because Curtis Hooper said he liked blondes.”
Lindsey couldn’t help laughing. “Curtis Hooper? No kidding? I didn’t know you ever had a thing for Curtis.”
“Yeah, well, how was I to know he meant he liked blond men?” Connie shook her head in self-derision. “He really was cute. But maybe I should have gotten a clue, when the only thing he and I really had in common was that we both enjoyed putting on makeup?”
“You think?” The shared humor relaxing her, Lindsey decided Connie’s feminine insight might come in handy, as long as Lindsey was careful about how she worded her questions. “So, have you ever seen it work? A woman changing her appearance to get a man’s attention, I mean.”
“Oh, sure. Lots of times. A guy gets used to seeing someone a certain way, you know? Then when she makes a change, he starts looking at her in a different way—sometimes as if for the first time.”
Which, of course, was exactly what Lindsey was hoping for, though she had no intention of admitting that at the moment. “It doesn’t seem…well, a little desperate to you?”
Connie laughed. “Heck, no. Sometimes you just gotta hit ’em over the head, girl. Men just don’t get subtlety.”
“I heard that,” Lindsey muttered with a sigh, remembering all the subtle messages she’d sent Dan in past months. Messages that had apparently gone right past his thick male head.
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me who it is you’re trying to catch?”
Lindsey shook her head and answered gruffly. “Never mind about my reasons. Just teach me how to use this war paint, will you?”
“That’s my job.” Connie reached cheerfully for a mascara wand. “By the time I get through with you, you’re going to knock that guy—whoever he is—right off his feet.”
Lindsey was beginning to believe this entire day had been an exercise in humiliation. But she wasn’t a quitter. She’d started this, she might as well finish it. “What color lip liner should I use? And why the heck do my lips need lining, anyway?”
At six o’clock Friday evening Dan was helping two of his officers subdue a couple of angry and belligerent drunks in the parking lot at Gaylord’s, a bar-and-Cajun-food establishment on the seamier side of town. It was earlier than usual for this type of altercation. He’d gotten in on it only because he often dined at Gaylord’s on Fridays, and he had arrived just in time to see a drunk take a swing at one of his officers. His presence signaled a quick end to the commotion, and he watched in satisfaction as the two brawlers were subdued and hauled away.
He was greeted the moment he walked into Gaylord’s by the burly owner who worked behind the bar. “Hey, Chief, how you doing?” Chuck shouted over the manic zydeco music blaring from numerous speakers.
“Fine, thanks, Chuck. How’s the gumbo tonight?”
“Same’s always. Best you ever put in yo’ mouth. Find yourself a chair and I’ll send Gary over with a bowl. You want a beer with that?”
“Better make it water. I’m still on duty.”
“You always on duty, eh, Chief? I’ll send some corn fritters with your gumbo. Save room for dessert now, you hear? Mama’s been baking all afternoon, and I’ll make you a pot of fresh chicory coffee.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm.” Looking forward to the first hot meal he’d taken time for in several days, Dan crossed the scarred hardwood floor to his favorite booth, a small one in the back just big enough for two. He intended to dine there alone, as he usually did.
He certainly didn’t expect to be joined almost immediately by Lindsey Gray.
It took him a moment to realize it was Lindsey. She looked different somehow…and it had little to do with the red glow from the strings of chili-pepper-shaped plastic lights hanging over their heads. She’d changed her hair—it looked softer, a bit curlier. And she was wearing more makeup than usual. She didn’t need it, of course—but he had to admit she looked great.
Only then did he notice what she was wearing. It was a long-sleeved knit dress—unusual in itself for Lindsey—and it was cut up to here and down to there. Not a lot up top to flaunt, but what was showing looked good. And her legs—well, who’d have thought a woman so short could have legs that long?
“Hi,
