Deadly Valentine (Special Releases) Read Free Page A

only newspaper—not like Oliver Sanders’s new expensive condo development.
    Mitzy pushed herself up from a plump velvet couch, but appeared uncertain what to do next. Running into his arms seemed somehow inappropriate, he thought. So did shaking hands, but he held his hand out to her.
    ‘‘Mrs. Sanders,’’ he said in his cop voice, amazed how much she looked like she had in high school. He’d almost forgotten how partial she was to pink. She wore a pale pink suit with matching high heels and a white silk blouse, all expensive and carefully chosen for effect rather than comfort, just like the decor of this place.
    Her sculpted blond hair curled at her suit jacket collar and framed her doll-adorable face, accenting her big baby blues in a way that told him it hadn’t been unwittingly. Her still very nicely rounded body had fitness center written all over it.
    She took his hand almost coyly, something Jack was sure Oliver hadn’t missed. Some things just didn’t change.
    ‘‘Oh, Jack,’’ Mitzy said in that breathy voice of hers. ‘‘Sheriff? In River’s Edge?’’ She seemed to find humor in that. Or pity. With Mitzy it was hard to tell.
    Jack’s gaze moved past Mitzy to the third person in the room.
    A slim woman stood silhouetted against the bank of windows looking out over the town and the mountains. It wasn’t until she turned that he realized he knew her. That is, had known her. He fought to hide his surprise as she moved toward him, hand outstretched, amusement in her dark eyes.
    ‘‘Tempest Bailey,’’ she said, as if he wouldn’t remember her.
    Not a chance. ‘‘Tempest,’’ he said, wondering what she was doing here.
    She nodded as if seeing him wondering. She didn’t miss much. ‘‘I’m The Riverside’s version of a house detective—at least temporarily,’’ she said, making him remember her voice. Soft and deep with a hint of humor. It was one of the sexy things about her, although she hid the rest well. She wore khakis, a white blouse under a navy-blue sweater and cross-trainers. Her hair was long and dark, pulled back into a braid that hung to the center of her back. She wore no makeup, her face lightly freckled. There was something about the privileged. No matter how much they dressed down, they couldn’t hide the fact that they’d come from money.
    He realized he was staring at her. ‘‘Temporarily?’’ he asked when her words finally registered.
    ‘‘I’ve been offered the undersheriff job,’’ she said, tilting her head a little, her eyes glinting.
    T. J. Bailey. My God, he’d never dreamed the T. J. Bailey, the applicant the town council had offered the undersheriff position to, was Tempest. He tried to think of something to say to cover his shock and discomfort, but it was impossible with his foot stuck in his mouth.
    ‘‘Congratulations,’’ he finally managed.
    She cocked her head. ‘‘It’s a little premature for that. I haven’t accepted.’’ She met his gaze, her eyes as dark as an abyss.
    ‘‘Jack!’’ Mitzy cried, reminding him she had to be the center of attention. ‘‘I have a dead woman in my foyer!’’
    ‘‘Yes.’’ It didn’t surprise him that she wouldn’t refer to Peggy Kane by name. ‘‘That’s why I’m here. I’ll need to get statements from all of you.’’
    ‘‘Statements?’’ Mitzy looked horrified. ‘‘She choked to death on one of my chocolates. What more is there to say?’’
    ‘‘We won’t know what killed her until the coroner—’’
    ‘‘Of course, she choked,’’ Mitzy interrupted. ‘‘What else could it have been? Unless it was a heart attack. She did carry a lot of weight for a lot of years.’’ She must have seen his expression. ‘‘I’m not speaking ill of the dead. You all know it’s the truth. She was huge. ’’
    Jack pulled the tape recorder from his pocket as Oliver pushed a large martini into his wife’s hand.
    ‘‘I’d offer you a drink, Jack,’’ Oliver said,