3 Dime If I Know by Maggie Toussaint Page A

out of harm’s way, but I couldn’t stay away tonight.”
    “I’m glad you came. It means a lot to me. And Jonette. She wants your money, of course.”
    “Of course.” He pulled a check from his pocket and stuffed it in the donation box. “Done.”
    “Thanks. Jonette’s doing great tonight. I’m proud of her.”
    He nodded, but his face clouded.
    “What? What is it?” I asked, sensitive to his darkening mood.
    He exhaled slowly, as if he didn’t want to say anything, which only made my trepidation worse. Terrible thoughts raced through my head. Had something happened to my girls? Was it his family? Did it pertain to Starr’s murder? What was it?
    “Please tell me,” I said. “I’m going nuts imagining things.”
    He studied my face. “Starr’s sister called me this afternoon. Said you were at the funeral today. You and a cop.”
    I hastened to explain. “I didn’t go with Britt. We went separately and happened to sit together.”
    “I don’t want you connected to Starr.”
    “I want to clear your name,” I countered. “I want to know about your relationship with her.”
    “Starr is poison.”
    I set my wineglass down. “She’s dead, and Britt thinks you shot her. Unless another suspect comes to his attention, you’re all he’s got.”
    “Good thing my girlfriend got me a lawyer.” He edged closer, his lips nuzzling my neck as he spoke. “I don’t want to argue about this. I’ve missed being with you. Can’t we focus on us tonight? Come home with me. I need your strength and your loving.”
    I needed the physical release of lovemaking as much as the next person. More, maybe, because I was worried about Rafe going to jail.
    Sex would be nice.
    Sex wouldn’t solve anything.
    I hovered in that breathless void of uncertainty. Wanting everything to be open and honest between us. It aggravated me that I was torn between my physical desire and my need to know the truth. Was sex with a murder suspect right or wrong?
    While my thoughts warred, a fracas started at the door. I glanced over to see Jonette’s boyfriend, Dean, jostling with a white-haired man. “Damn. What’s he doing here?”
    “Who?” my boyfriend asked, craning his neck around to see.
    “Darnell’s here.”
    Rafe’s arm cinched around my waist, and he turned to study the disaster in the making. “That can’t be good.”
    Darnell faked right and lunged left, a move no doubt left over from his glory days on the high school football field. In any event, he outfoxed Dean and climbed up on a table. He raised his hands and shouted, “People! People!”
    He clapped his hands loudly when it wasn’t quiet enough to suit him. “Listen to me. Don’t give a dime of your money to this pretender. You know what side of town she’s from. There’s nothing she can do for you that I can’t.”
    I hid my face, embarrassed for the mayor. He’d been my client for years, and I knew when he got spun up about something, he couldn’t back down. By taking him on, Jonette had threatened his power base. I prayed he hadn’t stopped taking his meds.
    A low rumble of masculine frustration filled the crowded room, sending waves of dread through me. Uh-oh. Roger Dalton. Jonette’s third ex-husband. “Got that wrong, boy-o,” Roger drawled in a dangerous voice. “There’s nothing about you I want. But, Johnsy, she’s one hot chick.”
    The entire room burst into laughter. Dean stepped between Jonette and the incumbent mayor, hands fisted at his side. “Get out of here, Darnell.”
    “Exactly my point,” the mayor went on as if Dean hadn’t spoken. “Hot chicks aren’t mayors. Half the men in this room have sampled her wares. She’s not mayor material. Never was. Never will be.”
    That was a low blow, even for a worm like Darnell. I wanted to squash him like a bug, but Rafe held me tight. “Let me go,” I muttered in his ear. “I need to kill Darnell.”
    “Wait,” Rafe said. “Let it play out. I know a thing or two about