Page 44 of Christmas in Whitehorn
“Darcy, youdohave a secret life. You won’t talk about your past in any reasonable way, then you disappeared for an entire day.”
“So the obvious explanation is that I’m a criminal? Is that it? I don’t spill my guts about every aspect of my life, so what? I launder money? Or maybe it’s bigger than that. Have you thought of having my baked goods tested? Isn’t it possible that I’m secretly distributing drugs to all my clients? How clever. Illegal substances in the pumpkin bread. I’m making gingerbread houses right now. Imagine what I could fill them with.”
“Darcy—”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Shut up and eat. You have to take a pill and you can’t do that on an empty stomach.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Eat.”
He took a bite of the spaghetti. Even a couple of days old, it was better than anything he’d had all week. He swallowed.
She nodded, as if satisfied he was going to follow instructions, then she headed for the door. “Don’t forget your pills,” she called over her shoulder and disappeared. The door slammed shut behind her.
Mark forced himself to eat a couple more forkfuls before popping a painkiller. Then he set the food on the coffee table and muttered several curses.
He’d blown it. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he’d destroyed whatever fragile bond had been established between himself and Darcy. He’d acted like a jerk. He’d hurt her feelings and he didn’t have anyone to blame but himself. All because of Sylvia.
He pictured his ex-fiancée. While Darcy was all soft curves and Midwest down-to-earth beauty, Sylvia had been slick, chic and very much in control. Looking back, he wondered what had affected him so. Had it been some kind of chemistry? Had he been so ready to fall for someone? Or had it been her supposed interest in him. She’d smiled as if she’d been waiting for him all her life, and had hung on every word. He hated to think he’d fallen for a great acting job, but he had a bad feeling that’s what it all had been.
None of which was Darcy’s fault. So why was he taking it out on her? Why was he making her pay for Sylvia’s sins? He and Darcy weren’t in love. They were friends who happened to be lovers. If anything he should be grateful. She’d reminded him that he was still alive and capable of sexual feeling. Being with her was better than being with anyone—even Sylvia. He’d—
The front door opened. Darcy stormed in, her arms holding a large brown paper bag. She kicked the door shut behind her and stalked to the coffee table where she shoved aside his half-eaten dinner.
Color stained her cheeks. Her curls were wild and there was still pain lurking in her eyes.
“I don’t owe you this,” she told him. “You’ve been stupid and insensitive from the start. If you had questions, you should have come to me with them. But no. You had to go your own macho way, assuming the worst. What did I ever do to you to make you think I’m a horrible person? I’m so angry, Mark. I trusted you with my friendship and with my body. You betrayed me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Sorry is a weasel word. I wish there was a sword in here. I’d make you fall on it.”
He was grateful she didn’t mention his service revolver. “Darcy, if I don’t tell you I’m sorry, what do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. I want you to listen.”
She began emptying the paper bag. First she pulled out the music box, followed by a ledger and a folder. She handed him the music box.
“Count it,” she said.
“Darcy…”
Her eyes turned to slits. “Count it.”
He did as she requested. The bills were mostly fifties, with a few twenties and a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Three thousand one hundred and twenty dollars,” he said.
She shoved the ledger at him. “If you remember, oh great detective, I have a side business. I sell baked goods.”
A bad feeling swelled in the pit of his stomach. Damn. “But you’re not up and running yet. You said you didn’t have a contract with the Hip Hop.”
“They’re not the only place in town. I’ve catered several kids’ parties, a volunteer luncheon and Ernie buys cookies from me to sell at his gas station.” She leaned over the coffee table and flipped open the ledger. “This is my receivables list. An accounting of all the invoices I’ve issued and in this column is a list of the money I’ve received. Nearly everyone is paying me in cash, which I’ve noted here.”
He followed the columns down to the bottom, where she’d totaled her invoices for the month of August. He turned to the next page and found listings for the next month, all the way through November.
She slapped the folder on top of the ledger. “These are my receipts for expenses. It just so happens that I total them for each month. If you subtract the expenses from the invoices, you’ll find that in the past three months, my profits have been darned close to three thousand dollars.”
The sinking feeling got worse. “Why didn’t you put the money in the bank?”
