Free Cypress Nights by Stella Cameron Page A

“That’s really something,” he said. What were you supposed say about a set that belonged in an old diner?
    Her smile was filled with pleasure. “Thank you! I’m into forties and fifties funk and retro. It makes me feel free. I’m on my own, and now I can have whatever I like around me. I’ll gradually collect a few more pieces.”
    In other words, Bleu was newly independent, probably from a bad marriage.
    â€œI like old jukeboxes,” he said. “I’ve got a couple Max and Annie are storing for me. There isn’t room at Rosebank.” He told people he stayed at Rosebank because he hadn’t settled on whether to buy an old house and renovate, or build a new one. What he should say was that he was too comfortable to move.
    Bleu’s silence stopped him from talking. He considered her wide-open eyes and parted lips. He shouldn’t do that too often. “Did I say anything offensive?” he said.
    â€œOh.” Bleu took a big swallow of her coffee. “No. It’s just that one of my ambitions is to own a jukebox eventually. I collect pictures of them from auction offerings. I’ll show them to you sometime…. Sorry, I’m sure you’re not interested in pictures of old jukeboxes.”
    â€œAre you kidding me? I collect pictures myself, and I’m always on the hunt for a mint machine. Have you seen the one at Pappy’s?” He blew out. “Wow, if you haven’t we should take a close look. A Wurlitzer 1015. It’s the real thing, not a copy.”
    â€œI haven’t seen it,” Bleu said. “I’ll have to get over there again.”
    Roche couldn’t believe she was actually interested. And she was. This was no act.
    â€œI’ll definitely show you what I’ve got at Max and Annie’s. We’ll have dinner with them sometime. If I volunteer to barbeque, they’ll have us over anytime.”
    She still looked fresh, but the lightness and enthusiasm of a few moments ago had faded.
    â€œThank you,” she said. “That would be fun. If you like, I’ll have them back over here for—spaghetti, maybe? A simple Italian dinner.”
    She looked at her hands in her lap. Money was an issue for her, he was sure of it. Now she was ashamed of not being able to put on a big, fancy meal for Max and Annie.
    â€œItalian will be great. And I’ve got another idea. Do you like to dance?” Damn, he was thinking about her dancing again.
    â€œI really love it. Before I was married I used—” She closed her mouth.
    â€œGood,” he said quickly. Now he was certain she’d been married. Apparently she wasn’t anymore. No ring and no signs of a man around the house. “Let’s get up a party and go to Pappy’s for an evening. We could dance and eat until we can’t move. And we could ogle that Wurlitzer. How about that?”
    The smile in her eyes was soft. “We’ll see.”
    â€œDid something I say upset you?”
    â€œNo, no, Roche. Good heavens, no. I can’t get Jim Zachary out of my head, is all. I keep seeing him there. So helpless and vulnerable. How can someone do that to another human being?”
    â€œI’ve put in my time trying to figure that out,” he said, thinking of the murderers he’d treated. “The reasons are different. They even change with the same killer. Mostly they like talking about themselves, and some of them only want to brag about what they’ve done. Victims mean nothing to them except as ways to get pleasure.”
    â€œSick,” Bleu said. “I’m worried about Kate Harper, too. I haven’t even met her, but I can sympathize with a woman suddenly on her own. She’s lost her friend—and now they’re starting rumors about her. Jilly said Kate’s a widow. She and Jim got together for supper each evening. It gave them something to look forward to. She cooked meals for