So had she. “Ooh.” She almost stamped her foot like a child, caught herself in time. “Didn’t you even think about the coincidence here? I see a murder in a vision. You try to arrest me. I see another murder. Now your mother lives next door to a third victim. And what about the address? 452 Garden Street. Didn’t you even notice the significance of that address number before?”
“Never paid that much attention. You know your neighbor’s address?” He gave her that look, that male look that said go ahead, try to top that one.
Max didn’t try. “I don’t even know my neighbors, let alone their address.”
He smiled.
She socked him lightly in the arm for good measure.
“Calm down, sweetheart.”
One more stab of her finger in the air. “Don’t”—she took a deep breath—“and I mean ever, call me sweetheart.”
“How about honey?”
“That isn’t funny.”
“Dumpling?”
“Don’t try to make me laugh.” A smile twitched on her lips.
“Hot pants?”
She slugged him once more and turned back to the car so he wouldn’t see her smile. God, how was she supposed to keep the guy at arm’s length when he was constantly bowling her over with a new and ever more ... adorable side of himself?
Adorable. There it was again. She was sure that word came from Bethany Spring. She’d never use a word like that. She’d use irritating, smug, and supercilious, but never adorable.
Leaning down and across the seat, she grabbed her purse, then straightened to find Witt staring at her butt where her new skirt had pulled tight.
Smack. Her voluminous purse caught him across the biceps. Not hard, but enough to garner attention. A burst of inappropriate laughter sparked the air; from Officer Harmon, who stood at the edge of the walk, keeping back the swelled crowd of spectators who looked like they’d swarm over the lawn if they could. Max tipped her head in his direction. “You know him?”
Witt shrugged. “Know all the guys in town. Mom lives here.”
Ridiculously obvious. “And cops watch out for each other.”
“Yep.” He tipped his head to one side, crossed his big arms, and regarded her. “Afraid to meet Mom?”
“Not.” More words threatened to sputter out. She cut them off before they could scorch her lips and give him an inkling of the appalling truth. She was utterly terrified. Somewhere she heard Cameron snort and scented his sweet peppermint candy close by.
Witt’s mouth quirked. He extended a hand in the direction of the modest house with the immaculate lawn. “Shall we?”
She turned with a resignation befitting execution. “Sure.”
He walked ahead of her and held the short white gate open to usher her through. The lawn was immaculate, and green despite the end of summer heat. Too green, an oddly unreal shade of green. The path was flanked by neatly trimmed bushes and small colorful pansies dotting the earth between the shrubs. Something strange about those bushes, too. The leaves looked almost ... faded. Covered with dust? Maybe ... why, they weren’t even real. They were plastic, the flowers beneath made of the same thick material. The lawn was, by golly, Astro-turf.
“I thought you said your mom needed to have the gardener in before I could come over for dinner.”
“Did have him in.”
“But ... but ...” She stopped, spread her arms, and turned in a circle. “This is all fake.”
Witt smiled at her as if she were an idiot. “Needs washing once in a while. Mom likes the garden this way. Stuff doesn’t die in the summertime, and her water bill stays the same.”
“Why on earth would she pay a gardener to do that?”
“Doesn’t.” He put a hand to his chest. “I’m the gardener.”
She stared at him wide-eyed. “You wash the shrubs?”
“Leaf by leaf. Can’t use the hose, you know.”
Oh my God, he was insane. Or he loved his mother. She couldn’t decide which thought was more threatening.
“Stalling, Max?”
She narrowed her gaze on him. “Lead the way. I can’t wait.”
He did, putting his hand on her elbow with an electric shock, and pulling her to the front porch. Plastic begonias filled clay pots along the edge of the concrete. Only the earth they were planted in was real. At least, she assumed the dirt was authentic. They didn’t make fake dirt, did they? More than enough of the real stuff to go around.
Witt didn’t knock. He merely opened the door and pushed her inside as if he were afraid she’d bolt without his assistance. “All done next door,” he called out.
“Mom” entered the front hallway from what Max could only presume was the kitchen.
“I’ve just put dinner in the oven,” said the blue lady, with a smile that bore a hint of Witt.
Max’s stomach growled with embarrassing vigor. Mrs. Long had only just put the turkey in? God. Max was sure she’d shrivel away to nothing by the time the bird was done.
Dammit, another Bethany thought creeping in.
The woman came forward, grabbed Max’s hand, and held it in her bird-like grasp before Witt could even introduce them. “Max, it’s so good to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. Tell me, do you prefer a white wedding?”