Death By a Dark Horse

The prospect of getting into a small car with a bunch of sweaty men had no appeal, but I attempted a polite smile.

'Thanks, but I think I'll walk. It's not far.'

Juliet rolled her eyes and Jorge laughed loudly.

'I don't think we smell very good,' Eric said.

'You always smell good,' Juliet purred.

Jeez.

Jorge punched Paul's shoulder. 'Hey man, I almost had you on that last play. You must've felt me breathing down your neck.'

The game-chatter started up again, drowning out Paul's comment to Jorge. All of them were still pumped, and it was obvious there'd be no getting Juliet away from Eric.

I wouldn't have minded talking to Paul longer, either, but with the post-game high still fueling their shared talk and laughter it didn't appear as though that was going to happen.

'Good game,' I said, and gave a little wave. 'It was fun. I'll have to come and watch you play again. Bye.'

No one responded. I walked away, mentally chalking up a point to my sister. The creativity Juliet used to avoid a chat – and have it appear as though circumstances intervened – never ceased to amaze. I'd pin her down eventually. She couldn't put me off forever.

I hadn't gone twenty yards when I heard my name called. Glancing back, I saw Paul jogging toward me. He appeared younger, his soaked hair hanging over his forehead. His usual confident expression was absent.

'I need to go home and have a shower and change first, but I was wondering… would you like to go out for a drink, or something?'

'Sure – yes, I'd like that.' The words fell out of my mouth.

His smile looked relieved. 'Good. I'll pick you up in forty minutes?'

I nodded, feeling giddy. He turned and loped back to join the others. I hardly noticed the walk home.

Chapter Thirteen

I hurried into my bedroom, shedding my old, boring t-shirt and jeans, and brushed my teeth while I dug through my closet and bureau drawers. Three changes of mind later I had on my best, skinny jeans, ballet flats, and the red cashmere sweater Juliet wished she was petite enough to wear. Paul's knock on my front door coincided with my last swipe of mascara. After one last check in the hall mirror to be sure my hair wasn't behaving oddly, I pulled the door open.

His smile didn't look as nervous as I felt. When he said, 'Your flower garden is really pretty – so are you.' he colored slightly.

I could've read him wrong.

'Thank you, you too – uh, I mean nice, you look nice, too.' My cheeks grew considerably warmer.

He did look good. The blue polo shirt matched the blue of his eyes, and his jeans fit… his jeans fit. I looked away quickly and reached for my purse.

He let my brainless remark pass. 'I thought we might go to The River's Bend.'

I smiled, too eager, and nodded, afraid to open my mouth and let something else idiotic fall out. We took Paul's car. Good thing it was such a short distance to the historical district where the bar was located because I couldn't think of a thing – intelligent or otherwise – to say. Amazing since I hadn't been able to shut up Saturday night. First dates are always such a trial, Thea. Omigod. This was a date. Why hadn't that occurred to me? Maybe it wasn't really a date. You know it is. Don't be naive. He asked, you said yes.

I tucked my hair behind my ears, then untucked it. Great, now you're fidgeting. For a panicked moment I contemplated asking Paul to take me home. I'd made a mistake. No. That would be rude. It was just drinks. What could happen? I could as easily go out for drinks with my sister. Or anyone. Right?

Now would be a good time to start a conversation.

Frantically, I rummaged through my mental archives, but came up with nothing to interrupt the silence. I flashed Paul a tentative smile, and discarded the weather as too obvious and desperate. The thought that kept surfacing was the one reminding me I hadn't actually broken up with Jonathan yet.

But Paul knew all about what happened last Saturday night. You told him. In detail. Minute detail, on the drive back to Snohomish. Because he asked. Because I needed to talk to someone about what happened. Someone? Right. Be honest. You didn't want him to think you were at McMurphy's with Greg.

Certainly, to him, this was not a date. Undoubtedly, to him, he was simply having a drink with his landlord's niece. Just to keep the peace. Yup, that was it. I was overreacting because of this teeny little crush I seemed to have on him. Nothing I couldn't handle. Well, that was a relief.

Then why did I still feel ready to bolt?

'I meant to ask how your appointment at the sheriff's office went,' Paul said as he pulled into a parking spot in front of The River's Bend.

Oh yes, that topic.

'But I didn't want to bring it up in front of your family.'

'Thanks,' I said, grateful for his perception. 'Everyone's been a little reactive. Detective Thurman told me they determined Blackie didn't kill Valerie.'

He turned off the ignition and we got out of the car. 'What else?'

My mouth went dry.

His eyebrow arched, ever so slightly, and was followed a couple of beats later by the beginnings of a smile.

I meant to sanitize my response but it had a life of its own. 'They, um, seem to think I'm a person of interest.'

You blurted that right out. How did he know you left out information, and what's he smiling about? This is amusing?

'That means they don't have any leads. I'd worry more about Greg. Are you filing a complaint?'

'No.' My tone meant to imply the subject was closed.

'I think you should consider it.' He held the door of the tavern open for me, but I stopped and faced him.

'I don't see the point. He's grieving. He didn't know what he was doing. It won't happen again.'

'Don't make excuses for him, Thea.'

He was issuing an order? I bristled. 'I'm not. I can't see how overreacting -' His frown stopped me. It wasn't anger. Something else. What did he know? 'Unless you think…'

But the expression on his face became neutral and he backed down. 'Do what you think is best. I'm probably being too cautious.' He broke eye contact.

Damn. I hadn't intended to sound so bossy. I chewed my lip and considered telling him about my visit from Frederick Parsons. No, bad idea. I didn't want to think about what he'd have to say if I brought that up. I'd handled it well enough, and I sure as heck didn't want a lecture.

'Mr. Rucker hasn't shown up again, has he?' he asked, motioning me through the door.

'No, but I saw him in the lobby at the sheriff's office.'

Paul shot me a concerned look. 'He talked to you?'

'Yeah. It was kind of one sided – on his part. But he was already mad when he came flying out of the inner office.'

'What did he say?' He stopped and looked around the tavern.

'Not much. He left in a hurry. I never did find out why he was there.' I could handle Randy. I wasn't helpless.

'Huh.' Paul slid me another brief look.

Damn. Had I said that out loud?

The waitress passed by and told Paul, with a flirty wink, to sit anywhere. He acknowledged her with a nod and