Clark stared out the window, absently studying the magnolia trees swaying in the early evening breeze across the street. Dusk settled over Mystique. A sweet fragrance drifted on the wind, swirling through the open space and filling his house.

Thank You, Lord, for showing me I needed to get away. For giving me such an enormous wake-up call.

He’d noticed things sure were slower down in the South—the people, the business, the way everyone talked, the entire town seemed to live by a slower pace.

Clark glanced at his watch—seven-twenty. Just forty more minutes until he could leave to pick up Gabby for their date. He’d already showered, shaved and dressed, but needed to cool his heels. He refused to be early for their date.

Wasn’t timing everything?

In the corporate world, timing was everything. But here, in sleepy little Mystique, and with his heart…was timing important?

Sad, but he had nothing to compare his emotions to. No woman had ever made him break out in cold sweats before. Not like Gabby did, effortlessly.

Clark tossed the pen onto the desk and let his thoughts drift. Eventually, he glanced at his watch again—seven-forty. He grabbed his suit jacket from the coatrack, slung it over his shoulder and rushed out the door into the humid evening. While he didn’t want to be early, it wouldn’t do for him to be late.

He drove toward her apartment, stopping at a red light. He glanced over at the florist shop on the corner. If the delivered roses had made an impression, what would one more being hand-delivered mean? When the light turned green, Clark jerked his car into the florist’s parking lot.

The clerk called out a greeting as the little bell over the door twinkled, then her eyes widened when she recognized him. Her hands stilled at the arrangement in front of her. “Mr. McKay. Were the roses satisfactory?”

“Perfectly.”

The relief showed in the woman’s smile. “Good. Good.” She wiped her hands on her green apron. “What else may I help you with?”

“Do you happen to have a single red rose?”

She laughed. “We’re a florist—of course I have red roses. What kind?”

“Do you have a red Confederate rose?”

“I believe I do.” She moved toward the refrigerator case. “Would you like it in a vase, with greenery?”

He closed his eyes and conjured up Gabby’s image. “No, just the rose wrapped in paper, please.”

Why did Murphy’s Law always have to apply? The phone rang when Gabby was in the bathroom.

She hopped from the shower in a cloud of steam, wrapped the fluffy terry-cloth robe around her and then scrambled to the bedroom. Her wet feet lost traction and she slipped, slamming her knee against the nightstand and knocking the phone off the hook. “Ouch.”

Breathless, she grabbed the receiver and pressed it to her ear. “Hello.”

“Did I interrupt something, sistah?” Tonna’s laughing words held a hint of mischievousness.

“Yeah, my shower. I fell and bumped my knee, and it’s all your fault.” Gabby giggled as she perched on the edge of the mattress, rubbing her tender kneecap. “What’s up?”

“Oh, sorry ’bout that. Listen, girl, you won’t believe what I just heard.”

“Tonna, you know how I feel about gossip.” Gabby plucked a loose thread from the robe and let it drift to the floor.

“I thought you said you wanted me to keep my ears open about Robert.” Her tone came out sounding hurt.

“Oh. Right. Okay.”

Tonna’s laugh rumbled from her throat. “I love ya, you little hypocrite.”

That stung, even if said in jest. “It’s for the greater good, Tonna.” At least she believed that. Lord, please help me keep my motives pure.

“I know, honey. I’m just joshin’ with ya anyway. So, Ms. LouAnn and Ms. Roberta were in the shop this morning, getting dye jobs. Can you imagine someone wanting their hair to look burgundy? I declare, I think when senility sets in a lack of taste creeps over your common sense.”

“Ton-na.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Anyways, the two ladies had breakfast over at Ms. Minnie’s this morning—sat across from Sam Wood. And lo and behold, guess what his favorite topic of the morning was?”

“Robert?”

“Bingo!” Tonna lowered her voice. “According to Ms. LouAnn, Sam Wood slapped down the morning paper, his face all in smiles, and said, ‘Serves him right.’ Then, as Ms. Roberta tells it, Ms. Minnie asked Sam what had stuck in his craw so early in the morning. And Sam tells her, loud as can be, so Ms. LouAnn says, that he’s glad Robert Ellison’s gonna be behind bars and hopes he rots there until his dyin’ day. Can you believe?”

“Oh my.” Gabby didn’t know Sam Wood very well, but it had been obvious for years that there was no love lost between him and Robert. She’d never wondered why before, just blew it off as none of her business. Maybe she should have asked a couple of questions. “What else did you hear?”

“Well, Ms. Roberta says Ms. Minnie went into her lecture about not wishing ill of anyone, but says that Sam just guffawed at her—can you imagine anyone guffawing at Ms. Minnie?—and said, and I quote, ‘Robert deserves every ounce of hardship he gets.’”

Sam’s dislike of Robert ran so deep that he’d be happy about another’s misfortune? “What else?”

“Ms. LouAnn says Ms. Minnie ’bout had a tizzy right there in the middle of the diner. Said she pulled out that handkerchief from her dress, dabbed at her forehead, then put those hands on her hips and told Sam Wood that she wouldn’t tolerate any bad lip about any of the citizens of Mystique and if he couldn’t keep civil, he could go somewhere else for his coffee.”

“Oh, my soul and body. Not a good idea to tick off Ms. Minnie.”

“Ms. Roberta says Ms. Minnie’s admonishment didn’t matter a lick to ol’ Sam. He just gave a big belly laugh, tossed some bills on the table and sauntered out as nice as you please.”

What was happening to their town? Mystique hadn’t seen this much excitement since LindaMae had lost her Ms. Mystique title after being found rolling around in the hay with Bubba behind the church. “My, my, my. Anything else?”

“Nope. Ms. LouAnn and Ms. Roberta finished their coffee and headed over this way.” Tonna took in a deep breath. “What do you think of all that, Gab? Could Mr. Sam have something to do with Howard’s murder?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll look into it.” Gabby ran a hand through her wet and matted hair. Everything about the situation was getting curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say.

“I gotta go. My next client is here.”

“Thanks, Tonna.”

Gabby rolled over the conversation in her mind. Ms. LouAnn and Ms. Roberta might have misheard some of that conversation, but probably not much. Well into their late sixties, neither of them was hard of hearing, nor were there any black holes bumping around in their brains. So why did Sam Wood have such a beef with Robert?

More importantly, did it have anything to do with Howard’s murder?

She rushed through putting on makeup and getting dressed, still pondering what Tonna had told her. Nothing made sense. Gabby struggled to secure her long hair back with pins, just as the doorbell buzzed. Her hair won the battle.

Her heart went aflutter as she grabbed her purse. This was silly, to be such a nervous ninny. She’d had plenty of dates and none of them caused her to spin into such a dither. Then again, none of them had been with Clark McKay.

She tossed a glance in the mirror. Not too bad. The purple sundress was not only flattering to her coloring and shape, but wore quite comfortably. She needed to be at ease in her clothes.

Buzz!

“Just a minute,” she hollered into the hall as she jerked up a tube and spread the color shine across her lips. She blotted twice, dabbed the edges, then rushed to the front door. Gabby stopped with her hand on the knob, took in a deep breath and then pulled the door open.

Her heart did a triple backflip. She fought for air.

Clark McKay was a vision of suaveness, pure and simple. His dark hair with gray strands just beginning to streak out at the temples was cut short enough that the evening breeze didn’t muss his style. He wore a loose pair of khaki pants and a plain button-down cream shirt, which just enhanced his strong build. And then there were his eyes—those intense, gold-flecked eyes, lined with such lush lashes that all the girls had probably hated him growing up—even now, a stab of jealousy ripped through Gabby over the feature. He peered down at her with such intensity, heat spread up the back of her neck.

“You look lovely,” he breathed against her as he leaned forward and planted a soft, feathery kiss on her temple.

Funny how her headache evaporated in a snap as his lips teased her forehead.

Her heart went pitter-patter, pitter-patter before she gave herself a mental shake. “Thank you.” She lifted her gaze to his and grabbed her purse from the foyer table. “You look downright dashing yourself.” She reined in her traitorous heart.

“This is for you.” He handed her a rose in green paper. A single red rose. A Confederate rose.

She took it, holding it to her nose and inhaling deeply. My, but the man sure had a way about him. A way of washing in under her defenses. “Thank you.” She pulled it from its wrapping and stuck it in the middle of the arrangement of white roses on the dinette table. Right in the center. It looked perfect.

He glanced around. “You have a nice place here.”

“Thank you.” But the knot in her stomach tightened. Not as nice as her house. The one he’d bought. No, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know. But the little imp sitting on her shoulder asked if he had known, would it have made any difference?

“Shouldn’t we be going?” Gabby asked, slipping her purse’s strap over her shoulder and striding toward the door.

His light touch at her elbow sent sparklers off inside her. She smiled as she pulled the door closed and let him lead her down the stairs to his car.

What a car. It wasn’t merely an automobile, it was…an entity. A pristine, cherry-red convertible Mercedes-Benz. The old style SL600, not those new little coupe numbers. Wow, what a ride. How’d she miss noticing when he’d driven her home?

“Where’d you get this?”

“This is my pride and joy.” Clark hesitated. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? What’s not to like? I love it.” She rushed forward, inspecting the beauty and running her hand lovingly down the hood. The metal was still warm from Clark’s drive over. “Sweet.”

His deep chuckle caused her to stare at him. “What?”

He shook his head. “I’ve just never known a woman who appreciates cars as much as you obviously do.”

Heat fanned up the back of her neck and marched across her face. She ducked her head and mumbled, “My older brother’s into cars.”

Clark laid his arm across her shoulders. The warmth seeped through the cotton material of his shirt, making her nerves tingle. She glanced at him, the butterflies doing aerobics in her midsection.

“I like a woman who can appreciate a fine vehicle.” Those tawny specks sparkled in his eyes, and the air froze in her lungs.

“Shall we go?”

Gabby nodded. Her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth all of a sudden. She slipped into the warm leather seat, then locked her seat belt after he shut the door with a gentle thump. When he turned over the engine, a blast of cool air splayed across her face. She leaned toward the vents, praying the coolness would equalize her fair and telling complexion. The fresh scent of leather and coolant tickled her senses.

“How was your day?” he asked.

She pressed her lips together. How was her day? At least it wasn’t as bad as discussing the weather. “It was just a normal day.” Well, normal except for Tonna’s tidbit about Sam Wood. She filled him in.

“I don’t know him. Maybe I can ask Aunt Beulah if she knows anything.”

“That’d be helpful. I just can’t figure out what’s happening here.”

He smiled. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Anything interesting happen with you?”

“Nothing.” Clark cleared his throat. “Nice weather today, huh?”

The abrupt shift of topic caught her off guard. She burst out laughing. He obviously was desperate for topics of conversation.

His eyes darted from the road to her face. “What?” He looked like some poor little puppy left abandoned on the side of the road.

The giggles kept coming. The confusion swimming in his eyes was her final undoing. Her giggles made way for the fit of laughter bubbling in her chest. Gabby held her stomach and bent over, but it was a losing battle—she laughed so hard tears spilled from her eyes and she cackled.

“Gabby, are you okay?”

She held up a hand and fought to compose herself. The nervousness worked its way into the giggle fit, and it took all of her self-control to stop her outburst. Just when she thought she had her chuckles aptly managed, she glanced at him. At the sight of his sincere, concerned expression, she lost her tenuous hold on her control again, doubling over and shaking with laughter.

“Gabby?”

“Oh, C-Clark.” She straightened and bit down on her bottom lip as she faced him. “Th-th-the…w-weather?”

The corners of his mouth shot up, then the car filled with his booming laughter. The two of them chuckled until he whipped the little sports car into the lot of Sam’s Steakhouse and parked.

“Milady,” he said as he opened her car door and bent into a low bow.

“Thank you kindly, sir.” She curtseyed and laughed again. Oh, it was so nice to be with a man and just laugh at life, revel in the silliness. Blake had never laughed with her—at her, maybe, but never with her and certainly never at his own expense.

Once seated at a window table, they perused the menus the waiter placed in their hands before whipping away to fetch their drinks. The restaurant had small round tables covered in white linen cloths. Each setting boasted a single candle in the center of the table, surrounded by greenery. The candlelight cast a romantic ambience over the room.

Clark’s gaze met hers over the leather-bound menu. “What’s good here?”

“The steak, of course.” She let her eyes scan down the menu. “The fried shrimp is good, too. Oh, and the jambalaya is to die for.” Gabby let out a soft sigh and closed the menu, already tasting the spicy rice and chicken entrée. “That’s what I’m going to have.”

“If it’s that good, then I’ll have it, as well.” He laid his menu down atop hers, and took her hand in his. “Now, tell me everything there is to know about Gabby Rogillio.”

How could she think when his thumb caressed her knuckles? She licked her lips. “Um, I thought we’d already covered all these bases.”

“There’s more to you than just those facts.” He leaned forward, his eyes hypnotizing her. “Tell me why you love cars.”

Good. Safe subject. “My brother, Antonio, loves refurbishing classics.” She shrugged. “Growing up, he always had a heap of junk, as Mama called them, parked in the yard. Always planning on fixing them up and selling them.” Her lips curled up at the memories. “I guess it rubbed off on me a little.”

The waiter appeared with a basket of bread and their drinks. Gabby pulled her hand back into her lap as Clark gave their orders. She reached for a piece of bread and lifted the butter knife. “What about you?”

He slipped her an easy smile. “What about me?”

“Tell me about your life before Mystique.” She took a bite of the warm bread, savoring the yeasty taste.

Clark blinked, then his eyes stayed in a wide, caught-in-headlights kind of look. “Not much to tell.”

Why the panic flashing across his face like a neon sign? He stared into her eyes. “I think I’m going to love being in Mystique, though.”

The bread felt like lead in her stomach. “How do you like your new house?” The words nearly choked her. She should tell him it was her dream house. She should, but it was too close to her heart. Too personal. How could she share with him when he wouldn’t open up with her? She took a deep breath and remembered her talk with Immy. Maybe he just needed more time.

“The place needs some minor repairs and updating, but I’m looking forward to the work.”

“It’s a beautiful place.” She blinked back the stinging tears.

“I’d love for you to see what I’m doing with it. I want to restore it to its full, original glory.”

Words wouldn’t form. She shoved another piece of bread into her mouth and nodded.

Didn’t he see this was ripping her heart out? “Sure.” Was she stupid?

The waiter stopped by their table, took their order, refilled their drink glasses, then faded into the background.

“Are you and your brother close?”

She took a sip. “We are. I love Antonio, don’t get me wrong, but it’s nice to be out from under his watchful eyes.”

“A bit overprotective?”

Gabby laughed. “He’s an Italian big brother—what do you think?”

“So, it might be a good thing he’s not here. Now.” His eyes turned serious.

If she didn’t blink, she’d swear she could see her future in his shiny orbs. She swallowed, then reached for her glass. Frissons of fear mingled with excitement spidered up her spine.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” His voice hitched.

No, but he did. Only because her emotions were as traitorous as Benedict Arnold.

Before Clark could say any more, Sheriff McGruder ambled up alongside their table. Gabby let out a silent sigh. Couldn’t she just enjoy a nice evening with a gentleman without someone intruding?

“Gabby. Mr. McKay,” the sheriff interrupted with a nod to each of them. “Sorry to disturb you.”

Clark made a movement of pushing back his chair.

“Don’t bother to get up, Mr. McKay,” Sheriff McGruder said in his gruff voice as he gestured for Clark to remain seated. “I just had a question I needed to ask you.”

Leaning back into his chair, Clark ran a hand over his chin. “Okay.”

The sheriff jammed his thumb through his belt loop. “When we uncovered the note yesterday threatening you and—” he looked over at Gabby “—someone else, why didn’t you tell me about the threats made on your life back in Philadelphia? That you were told they’d get you—no matter where you ran.”

Gabby’s throat tightened. Someone had threatened him and her? Why hadn’t he said anything? Surely he wouldn’t keep something like that from her. McGruder had to be mistaken.

There was no mistake. Clark’s expression, with hooded eyes and guilty flushing, told her there wasn’t any mistake. He looked like…like…Blake. Her heart slithered to her toes as she pushed to her feet. Her chair tilted precariously for a moment, then toppled backward to the plush burgundy carpeting.

Clark shoved to his feet, as well.

“Don’t bother,” she snapped with all the iciness she could muster into her voice. With knees that threatened to give way, Gabby turned and stomped determinedly out the door of the restaurant.

The salt-filled breeze kissed her face, but she ignored it. This could be the key to finding the killer, yet all Gabby could think of was that Clark hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her the truth. Something fishy was going on here, and it had nothing to do with the Gulf nestled several hundred yards away.

Gabby didn’t know exactly what was going on, but as long as there was breath left in her body, she intended to find out.

If only her heart didn’t shatter at the realization that another man she’d started to care for had betrayed her trust.

Just like Blake.