The Eleventh Hour Page 7

  And even more, I didn’t want him to see that he and his nastiness had affected me that much. I wasn’t some weepy little thing he could just dismiss without even the pretense of respect or kindness. I was a grown woman who had dug her heels in and fought to get her life back together after having it all fall apart around me more than once.

  I was someone who wanted to find the truth and was tough enough to do whatever was necessary.

  This case was far more than the simple one Derek thought it was. If Alexander didn’t want to help me prove that, then fine. I’d do it on my own.

  As I sat in my car with my hands gripping the steering wheel in anger at how he’d acted, I was more resolved than ever to see this case through to the end. Damn him and his anti-social bullshit. I’d work on this case alone, just like I would have if I never met him.

  Wiping the tears from my eyes, I started my Jeep and drove away from Alexander Montero and his unwelcoming house. By the time I got home, I’d cursed him up and down three ways to Sunday and felt much better for it.

  This girl didn’t need him anyway. If he wanted to stay secluded and alone all closed up out there in his dark house, then he was welcome to it. I didn’t need his help, and I wouldn’t ask again.

  Too keyed up to even attempt to sit in my house, I headed over to my father’s bar for a good stiff drink and the hope of finding something to take my mind off my troubles. I found him behind the bar waiting on customers instead of his usual weeknight bartender, Josie.

  Plopping myself down on a barstool, I blew the air out of my lungs and ordered a drink. “Give me a shot, please.”

  My father’s eyebrows shot up in a look of surprise. I rarely drank anything stronger than beer, and when I did, it never failed to make me even chattier than I normally was. I didn’t care, though. I was in a mood and I wanted a drink that would make me forget how rotten Alexander Montero had been.

  “Something wrong, honey?”

  He placed the shot glass full of whisky in front of me and watched as I tossed it back. Wincing as the alcohol burned my throat the whole way down, I put the empty glass down on the bar.

  “Another, please.”

  He poured the second shot of whisky and positioned the glass on the bar in front of me again but without repeating his question. I drank the shot down as fast as I had the first one, thankful it didn’t burn as much this time.

  Feeling better or at least looser, I leaned back and pushed the shot glass away from me. “Thanks, Dad. I’m good now.”

  “Want to talk about what’s on your mind before that whisky really hits you and I have to carry you upstairs so you can sleep it off?”

  “It’s two shots. I’m not a total lightweight, so I think I can handle that much alcohol. Anyway, my anger level will probably just negate any really great effects from it, so you don’t have to worry.”

  Curious at my mention of being angry, he leaned against the bar and asked, “Who’s got you this mad at them?”

  I didn’t want to talk about Alexander and how rude he’d been, so I dodged the question with one of my own. “How do you know it’s a person? Maybe it’s work. Maybe it’s the case.”

  My father leveled his gaze on me for a long moment and then shook his head. “Nope. I know you. It’s a person.”

  As the whisky began to hit me, I had to fight the urge to talk more than I should, so I waved him off, dismissing his claim. “That’s crazy. Anger is the same whether it’s at a person or at some inanimate thing.”

  “It’s anything but crazy. I know my daughter, so what’s going on that’s got you so furious tonight?”

  He wasn’t going to let me off the hook on this, so I took a deep breath in and attempted to be as vague as possible. I didn’t want to admit that a near perfect stranger, a person I’d only met twice, had such an effect on me.

  “I’m just frustrated with this case and hoped to get some help with it, but the person I wanted to help me doesn’t want to. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Looks like a pretty big deal to me. Maybe they had something else to do and couldn’t help,” he said in that steady voice that told me he felt he needed to talk me down.

  But his unknowing defense of Alexander only served to irritate me more.

  “He was just sitting out there at that house of his all alone. I doubt he had anything else to do. He just didn’t want to help.”

  A quizzical look settled into his face, and he narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Who are we talking about, Poppy? I thought you meant Derek.”

  I shook my head, and the room swam around me. “No, not Derek. Derek’s fine. Derek’s just as he’s always been. He’s Derek.”

  “Well, I’m glad we got that straightened out. So if it’s not Derek who’s gotten your Irish up, who is the poor soul on the receiving end of your wrath?”

  Muttering, I said his name. “Alexander Montero.”

  My father’s eyes lit up. “The retired Baltimore detective?”

  “How do you know about him?” I asked, confused as to whether I’d missed something of the conversation because of the two shots of whisky I’d drank entirely too fast.

  “He’s come in here a couple times to have a drink. Likes to drink single malt scotch. Much better than the stuff you just gulped down.”

  “When did he come in here?”

  My father thought about my question for a moment and said, “The first time was two nights ago, and he was back last night. He doesn’t say much, though, but he’s pleasant enough. He’s got a ’69 Mustang Boss I’d practically kill to get my hands on. Did you see it when you went out to his house?”

  “Yeah, it’s nice. You spoke to him?”

  Shaking his head, my father poured me a cup of coffee behind the bar and set it down in front of me. “Not really, but Derek and Dominick were here and we got to talking about old times and your mother, so he didn’t really have much to add to the conversation.”

  Taking a sip of coffee, I let the warmth ease my throat and said, “Well, I’m glad you got the nice version of him because I got the cranky guy who points a gun at people.”

  My father’s eyes opened wide. “He pointed a gun at you? If I had known he was that kind of person, I wouldn’t have bought him a drink that first night. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a shrug. “He didn’t shoot me. He just pointed a gun at me because he found me in the back of his house.”

  “He found you sneaking around his house and pointed a gun at you. Sounds like he might have had good reason to do that, Poppy.”

  I took another sip of my coffee and felt my whisky buzz begin to fade away. “Whose side are you on, Dad? I wasn’t sneaking anywhere.”

  “I didn’t realize there were sides, and you know I’m always on yours when there are any to be taken. I’m just saying that you might have given him a start and as a former cop, his first reaction would be to reach for his gun if he found a stranger on his property.”

  I always hated when my father made sense and it could be used against me. I didn’t want to argue with him about Alexander and how I may have been out of line walking around his house without asking, so I kept my mouth shut and merely gave him the smile that told him I knew he was right but I didn’t want to admit it.

  Thankfully, my father knew me well and didn’t force the issue. I loved that about him. I didn’t need a lecture to make me see I may have messed up with Alexander when I went out to his place.

  Finishing my coffee, I leaned over the bar and gave my father a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for everything, Dad. I’m sober enough to walk home, so you don’t have to let me stay upstairs.”

  “There’s a murderer on the loose in Sunset Ridge, Poppy. Do you think it’s a good idea to walk alone in the dark, even if it is only a couple blocks? Let me walk you home.”

  “Geneva’s murderer isn’t going to come after me, Dad. He or she had a relationship with her that made them want to kill her. I’ll be perfectly fine walking to my house. Don’t worry.
I bet my life on it.”

  His face twisted into a horrified grimace, and he shook his head. “Not funny, Elizabeth. Not funny.”

  I winked at him and stepped down off the barstool. “It was a little funny, but seriously, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  As I walked toward the door to leave, he yelled, “Call me when you get home.”

  I spun around and laughed at his protective father act. “Seriously?”

  “Humor me. If you don’t, then I’ll have to close the bar and come over to make sure you’re okay.”

  A few people at the bar booed at his suggestion, and swiveling my head back and forth to look at the ten or so customers he had that night, I smiled. “I will, Dad. Don’t worry, though. It’ll be okay.”

  Chapter Seven

  My alarm woke me out of a sound sleep, and rolling over to shut it off, I opened my eyes to see it was nearly eight in the morning. Confused because my alarm was always set for an hour earlier, I focused and saw I’d hit snooze four times already.

  Two shots of whisky had never hit me that hard. I must have been exhausted to sleep through my alarm. Fully rested, I set my mind to working on the Geneva Woodward case and headed off to the shower to start my day. An hour later, I was ready to begin truly figuring out who the murderer was.

  I heard a knock on my kitchen door and expected to find my father standing there to check up on me. Ready with a snappy comeback to his jokes about me being hung over, I opened the door to see not my father but Alexander standing there with a coffee from The Grounds in his hand.

  “Good morning. I come bringing a peace offering,” he said with a smile that looked genuine and made snapping at him impossible.

  “Good morning. You’re the last person I expected to see when I opened the door.”

  “May I come in?”

  I considered the idea of grabbing the coffee out of his hand since I could smell it was my favorite dark roast blend and then slamming the door in his face, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t that kind of person, even if I still didn’t like how he’d acted toward me on the two occasions we’d been around one another.

  “Sure. Please come in,” I said as I opened the door wide and stepped back to allow him to pass.

  Closing the door, I turned to see him offering me my coffee. “I thought you might like this.”

  I inhaled the delicious smell of my favorite coffee. The man certainly knew how to come bearing gifts first thing in the morning. But then it dawned on me. We’d never had coffee together, so how did he know this was my favorite? Lucky guess?

  Taking it from him, I asked, “How did you know how to get it?”

  Alexander gave me a sly smile that somehow made him even more attractive. “I’m a detective. It’s my job to know things like that.”

  Oh, he was entirely too confident.

  I offered him a seat at my kitchen table and took a drink of the dark roast coffee made exactly as I liked it—two sugars, three creamers, and ice. In fact, the temperature told me he’d gotten the number of ice cubes right too. Three. But how?

  “So Mr. I’m a Detective, how did you know to get it just the right temperature and exactly the way I take it? I’m a pretty particular coffee drinker.”

  Another smile, but this one was slow to spread across his face and so charming I almost looked away, worried I might blush at any moment. Almost. I didn’t look away, though, because I wanted the answer to my question.

  “I pay attention to what goes on around me. I was sitting in The Grounds one morning when you came in and ordered that very particular cup of coffee. It stayed with me from that day.”

  Still quite shocked at his even being there in my kitchen, I leveled my gaze on him and tried to determine if he was telling the truth or just trying to charm me. “So you’re telling me that you remembered the exact way I take my coffee, even though you didn’t know me from a can of paint…when did you hear this anyway?”

  “A week or so ago.”

  “From a week ago, when I was a perfect stranger to you and simply some person ordering a coffee, you remembered that this morning and got me my coffee just like I like it?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, and the girl behind the counter knew how you took your coffee when I told her it was for you. I’d forgotten how many ice cubes, if we’re being honest.”

  I took another sip of coffee and couldn’t help but smile. He probably charmed the pants off Jennie. And he probably didn’t have to remember anything about how I took my coffee because he just told her it was for me.

  Detective indeed.

  “So what are you doing here, Alexander?”

  The smile slowly faded, and after taking a drink from his cup, he lowered his head slightly and looked me directly in the eyes. “I came to apologize for what happened last night.”

  This guy had the most delicious brown eyes I’d ever seen. Brown like expensive milk chocolate, and at that moment, I felt myself getting lost in those eyes.

  Snap out of it, Poppy! This isn’t some high school date. If he’s willing to make peace, maybe you can get his help on the case, so get your head out of the clouds and say something!

  I turned away to break our shared gaze and then looked back at him. “I guess I should apologize too. I should have handled that differently. I’m sorry.”

  “I am too. I shouldn’t have pulled my gun on you, and for that, I’m truly sorry. I have no excuse.”

  Something in those eyes of his told me he did have an excuse but he wasn’t going to tell me. All the better because I sensed hurt lay behind how he acted.

  Extending my hand, I offered my own olive branch. “No harm, no foul. Maybe if we pretend like we’re meeting for the first time we can put those other times behind us. Hi, I’m Poppy. Nice to meet you.”

  That slow smile returned, and he took my hand in his to shake it. “Hi, Poppy. I’m Alexander, but my friends call me Alex.”

  “Hi, Alex.”

  And with those two words, everything between us changed. I didn’t know why or how, but suddenly I had a feeling that he would become one of the most important people in my life. At the same time, I felt like I’d known him my entire life, even though I’d just met him days before and this was the first time we’d ever spoken more than a handful of civil words to each other.

  Strangely, our conversation came to an abrupt halt after reintroducing ourselves to one another. He seemed content to sit there next to me and drink his coffee in silence, so I took the opportunity to study him as he seemed to have studied me already.

  He was definitely a good looking man. I didn’t need to spend much time studying him to see that. Dark, thick hair and those delicious brown eyes that told anyone who looked into them that there was a story in his past gave him an exotic feel. With the last name Montero, he was likely Italian or maybe Greek. Sunset Ridge didn’t have many citizens with those ethnic backgrounds, which made him stand out even more.

  I let my gaze drift over him as he sat there silently and couldn’t help notice his hands. Strong looking, they were bigger than even my father’s working class hands and had long fingers. I’d noted that he wasn’t married the first time we’d met because of the lack of a wedding band, but now that I sat right next to him, I could see the lighter skin where it had sat on his ring finger until recently.

  So where was Mrs. Montero? Was she the woman I’d read about in the obituary from nearly five years ago? Possibly, but if that was the case, why was the mark where the wedding band had been still so clear? Five years was a long time to wear a wedding band for a wife who’d died.

  I wanted to ask about his wife, if only to say I was sorry because it seemed like I should and if that wedding band mark was any indication, he still hurt. But I didn’t. Alex and I were practically strangers, and strangers didn’t pry like that.

  At least this stranger didn’t.

  If he was sitting with one of those committee ladies and they had any inkling of a wife in his past, the poor man would now be dodging question
s left and right about her. Those Founders’ Day ladies were nothing if not nosy.

  The thought of Alex stuck in a room with those four made me smile, and I looked up from staring at his hands to see he had seen where I was looking. Quickly, I turned away to avoid his gaze, feeling oddly embarrassed.

  “You have a nice house here. Very cozy.”

  I turned back to see him scanning my kitchen, as if he were studying it like I’d been studying him. “Thank you. I like it.”

  “It’s a big house for just one person.”

  I wanted to ask how he was so sure I lived alone, but he didn’t even have to be a half-way decent detective to know that. A few minutes with my father the other night at the bar and he likely had my entire life story.

  “I guess,” I mumbled, sort of hating how awkward things had gotten between us already.

  He didn’t continue the conversation, but that seemed to be the type of person he was. Talk about opposites. I was what my father had always called a Chatty Cathy, but Alex parsed out words like they cost him money every time one came out of his mouth.

  Sitting quietly for a few more minutes, the question that had been on my mind earlier before I got lost in those eyes of his and the idea that his past was some kind of tragedy came back to me.

  Why was he here?

  Breaking the uncomfortable silence, I asked, “Alex, why did you come here today? I mean, you could have just apologized and then left or simply called me to say you were sorry. Instead you come here and say you’re sorry and then say little else. What are you doing here?”

  I cringed at how blunt that sounded. I never meant to phrase things so succinctly. They just came out that way. Before I could apologize, though, he nodded and began to speak again.

  “I like how forthright you are, Poppy. That kind of frankness is refreshing, so I’ll return the favor. I’ve heard a number of things about you, and all of them point to someone who’s smart. You’re different than everyone else I’ve met in this town. I also know this is the first time you’re working with Derek on one of his cases. To be honest, I know why he likes to have you around, but I have to believe you want to work with him on this Geneva Woodward case because you’re a detective in your heart and not because you have some secret love for the brother of our police chief.”