Round Two
BILLY
“Maggie Sava?” I grind her name through tight teeth, my nose barely six inches from Ramone’s while Magnolia Maggie Sava uses a dustpan and broom to clean up the mess she made now that the lights are on. “But she left.”
“Now she’s back.” He’s too fucking smug.
Too happy. Too appreciative. “She looks good, huh?” He bounces his brows, grinning the way he does that always pisses me off, especially as he admires her ass in a pair of tight jeans.
“It’s been twenty years since you were last in Plainview, huh? Longer even?”
“About that.” Straightening, she tucks long brown locks behind her ear and wanders to the trash can, stepping on the pedal opener and depositing shattered shards of ceramic inside.
“Do Plainview police always turn up on private property, intimidate women in the dark, and almost arrest them even when they’re legally allowed to be where they are?
” She releases the lid and hits me with an unkind glower. “Or am I just lucky?”
“You were skulking around in the dark, and Mrs. Sava died in July.”
“I know when she died,” she bites right back.
“She was my grandmother, after all. I was searching for the fuse box, but seeing as how I haven’t been inside this house since I was a kid, I’d say my skulking was entirely appropriate.
” She tosses her dustpan to the small round kitchen table and sets her hands on her hips.
“If anyone was in the wrong place, I’d say that person was…
” She tilts her head my way, burning me with her beautiful golden eyes.
“You. Why were you trespassing on my property, Detective Caster?”
Ramone giggles. He fucking giggles, and smacks my arm. “She might be a lawyer. Did you go and get yourself a fancy law degree, Maggie?”
“No.” And still, her fiery glare remains firm. “I didn’t. But do you need to see my grandmother’s will, Detectives, or am I free to walk inside my own home again?”
“Aww. You shouldn’t be so hard on my boy, Billy, here.” Ramone slaps me on the back. “He’s the best neighborhood watchdog you’ll ever get, and he’s got like, a ninety-eight percent accuracy rate.”
Unimpressed, Maggie’s glower turns more severe.
“This place has been empty for a while now, which makes it an easy target. He saw you in here, and I guess he reacted.”
“Yeah, he reacted. Poorly.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Whatever happened to knocking on a door and asking if a person needed help?”
“I—”
“I could’ve done without the gun pointed at my face,” she seethes. “And the shouting. The pat down. The sirens and lights.” She slides her scathing glare to Ramone. “I’d say this was an overreaction of epic proportions.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “Dispatch says we got a possible armed intruder, means I respond accordingly until we know different. Seeing that the incident was right next door to my buddy’s house, I figured I ought to move fast, ya know?”
“Right next door?” Not yet willing to forgive, she swings those wide eyes back to mine. “You live next door?”
“Well—”
“The house next door belongs to Mr. Goomer,” she cuts in savagely. “Did you arrest that poor man and take his house through intimidation?”
Snickering, Ramone drops his hands and wanders across Mrs. Sava’s chaotic kitchen.
The place bursts with teapots and doilies.
Family photos, unopened mail, a stack of dusty laundry not yet put away from months ago, empty coffee cans on the counter, and cabinet doors, two-thirds of which need to be rehung and the screws tightened.
This house is older than the deceased Mrs. Sava herself, built by Patrice’s great-grandfather back in…
fuck, I don’t even know. Eighteen-seventy or so.
It needs work, since Patrice hasn’t maintained a damn thing besides the garden in at least fifteen years, and it needs a clean, too, considering the three-month-old laundry and a fridge I’m not game enough to open… just in case.
“Well?” Maggie bites out impatiently. “Did you steal Mr. Goomer’s house because it’s the prettiest on the street and you lack appropriate communication skills?”
“Jaysus,” Ramone whistles. “You sure you’re not a lawyer?”
“I bought Goomer’s house during an estate sale a while back.” I flatten my lips and look the woman up and down. Shit sure changes on a woman’s body when she’s thirty-two compared to… what? Seven? Eight? “You left in second grade, right?”
“Mr. Goomer died?” Her harsh glare turns to one of sympathy. “But he was so sweet.”
“Sweet people die all the time,” Ramone quips, stopping in front of the sink and turning to lean against the counter.
“Your grandma included.” Finally, he loses his smile.
“I was real sorry to hear she passed away. Guess I figured you’d be back for the funeral, so when you didn’t come…
” He lifts his shoulders. “Kinda wondered if you’d died, too. ”
“I didn’t know.” Snatching up her dustpan and broom again, she crouches and picks up more of what was once a floral teapot.
“When my dad died and me and my mom moved away, my dad’s side of the family just…
” She pauses for a beat, frowning down at her work.
“They cut us off. Other than a birthday card once a year, I never heard from my grandma ever again.” She carefully brushes dusty shards into the pan.
“I wrote letters to her over the years… a million of them. But she never replied. If not for those once-a-year cards, I would’ve assumed she’d died twenty-five years ago. ”
“And you… what?” Ramone questions. “Inherited her house now she’s gone?”
She shrugs. “Guess so. She only had one child, my dad, and my parents only had one child, me. So here we are…”
“Here you are, indeed.” Fuck Ramone and his hungry stare. His smug grin. His flexing biceps. He’s doing that on purpose! “I gotta say, you look good, Maggie. Twenty-sum years were kind to you.”
She peeks over her shoulder and offers him a small smile. “Thanks. You too.” Then she brings her gaze to me. The instant our eyes meet, her friendliness drops away and her glare returns.
That’s it. That’s all she gives me.
Ramone guffaws, loud and entirely too entertained.
“Are we done here?” She straightens long, trim legs and turns toward the trash.
Stomp on the pedal. Empty the pan. “I’ve broken no laws, and though I’m tempted to file a complaint with the local police department regarding a certain detective’s heavy-handed treatment, I’ve decided I’d rather save my energy.
Also, I’m pretty sure I saw a little boy next door who looks exactly like the Billy Caster I remember from elementary school.
” She releases the lid pedal and sets a hand on her hip.
“Cute. But it’s nearly midnight. Are kids his age even allowed outside at this time of the night without adult supervision? ”
“He’s fine,” I grit out. “Tania’s with him.”
“Great. So everything’s sorted, then. Feel free to exit the way you came, Detectives. I take comfort in this town’s speedy response from first responders. If, in the future, I need such services, I’ll be glad to know help is never far away.”
“Sounds like we’ve been dismissed.” Ramone pushes away from the sink, swaggering across the kitchen and stopping by Maggie’s side. He sets his hand on her shoulder—why does he get to touch?—then he winks.
Winks!
“I’m sorry about the circumstances of your return, but I’m happy as a pig in shit to see you again.
” He squeezes her shoulder. “No one really knew what happened back in the day. You were here, and then you were gone. Patrice wasn’t talking, and your old place had for rent signs in the yard before the summer was over.
You were a topic of discussion for the entire rest of the year after school got back in. ”
“Of course I was. Believe it or not, but there are towns beyond Plainview’s borders that boast the best baker.
Or for growing famous sports stars. Or musical legends.
” She shrugs. “Whatever. Then there’s this place, where its rigorously functional gossip mill is as good as things get. Is that still the case?”
He flattens his lips. Nods.
She sighs. “Yippee. So tomorrow, I’ll hear all about how I was a criminal breaking into poor Mrs. Sava’s house late at night.
The cops had to swing by, arrests were made, and that troublemaking interloper met the harshest extent of the law.
” She balls her fist and makes a show of shaking it toward the sky.
“Those out-of-towners, always making a mess of things.”
“Naw…” Ramone grins. “The fact that you were born in that decrepit hospital up the road makes you a townie like the rest of us.”
“Sure. But the one thing folks around here hate more than out-of-towners waltzing through are townies who left.” She clicks her tongue.
“I was manhandled, had a gun pointed at my face, shouted at, and almost arrested, all within twenty minutes of crossing the railroad tracks.” She whistles under her breath.
“I just knew Plainview would welcome me back with open arms.”