Welcome to Blissville

by Walker, Aimee Nicole

  Dorchester called Whitworth and asked him to meet us at the station. By the time we arrived, he’d already printed off the list of stores and was sorting them by area. I sent him toward Columbus, Dorchester toward Dayton, and I took off toward the Cincinnati area. On my way out, I stopped by the desk of Sergeant Sonia Dawkins, who acted as our IT department. I asked her to run the call lists for all victims, besides Robertson since he didn’t have a phone, to see if we could flag any commonly dialed numbers between them. Once we identified the numbers, we could match them up to their owners and see if we could at least pinpoint the phone number Broadman might’ve been using. We would nail his ass if he fucked up one time and paid with a credit card.

  “I have the software to do it, but it might not happen as quickly as you’d like. It just depends on the volume of phone calls on their logs. It could take a few days,” Sonia said.

  “I know you’ll do your best,” I told her before I headed out.

  I decided to start at the furthest point and work my way back. I figured Broadman was smart enough not to buy the damn phone and prepaid minute cards close to home, but I wasn’t sure how far he’d go out of his way to cover his tracks. The other concern was hitting the right store at the right time, or I could end up at the same store he used but not know it because I talked to people working during the wrong shift.

  A few hours later, I hadn’t learned anything about Broadman’s cell phone purchasing habits, but I learned some other interesting things. Carver’s gas station on Old State Route 349 served the best hot dogs, Jackson’s out on Highway 92 had chocolate chip cookies that almost rivaled Josh’s, the Walmart on Higgins Road sold a larger variety of lube than I expected to see and nifty little vibrating finger sex toys. Most importantly I discovered that McCaskells on Route 548 sold heartburn tablets pretty cheap for when the things I ate earlier didn’t digest so well.

  I popped a few in my mouth and chased them down with a long drink from a bottle of water while I waited for Dorchester to answer his phone. “Any luck?” I asked when he answered.

  “Nope. You?” he inquired. I told him all about my findings, minus the sex toys and lube. “I can do you one better,” he said smugly. “The walking tacos at D’Angelos in Burtontown are the bomb. I ate three.”

  “What the hell is a walking taco?” I asked. My Hispanic mother never fed me anything of the sort, and I wanted to know if I missed out on something.

  “It’s a small bag of Doritos or Fritos mixed with taco meat, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and sour cream. They’re delicious,” he said. It did sound rather interesting, but I was confident that anything my mother made was far superior. Nonetheless, I thought it might be fun to eat walking tacos on a night where Josh worked late, and neither of us wanted a big meal.

  “Well, I know where you can get heartburn meds dirt cheap if you need them later,” I offered.

  “Iron stomach,” Dorchester replied. “I’m about to lose cell phone range in about a quarter of a mile. I’ll check in with you in a bit.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I hit the button on my steering wheel to disconnect the call just as a familiar teal convertible with silver racing stripes zoomed past the parking lot. Well, what do we have here? I put my car in drive and hit the switches to turn on my lights and siren as I pulled onto the road. The convertible top was down, so I easily saw Josh’s reflection in the rearview mirror when he looked into it in surprise. His sunglasses hid his eyes from me, but I saw his smile bloom across his face.

  He was laughing by the time he pulled over. I had a hard time keeping a serious expression on my face as I approached his vehicle. Hell, it had been years since I’d pulled someone over for a routine violation. I figured it was like riding a bike and was prepared to go through the normal routine until Josh lowered his sunglasses and I could see the orneriness shining in his hazel eyes.

  “Did I do something bad, Detective?” he asked breathily. “Are you going to break out your cuffs and dickstick?” He batted his eyes and licked his luscious lips.

  “Well, I hadn’t fucking planned on it, but I have to say I’m mightily tempted, young man,” I replied. “I think maybe you were driving a little fast on these back country roads. I’d like to see you slow it down a bit since you’re precious cargo.”

  “Awww, isn’t that sweet?” he replied. “What’s the likelihood I can talk you into coming home early and playing naughty cop with me?”

  “I’d say your chances look damn good,” I replied honestly. I had worked through all but my last ten stores. “I should be home in about an hour unless something breaks in this case.”

  “Great, I’ll get dinner started in about forty-five minutes then,” Josh replied.

  I braced my hands on the side of his car and leaned in for a quick kiss, not giving a shit what any onlookers might think when they drove past. “I got a surprise for you,” I said, thinking about the little vibrating fingers and lube.

  “I love surprises,” he said.

  “No you don’t,” I reminded him. Josh liked to be in control and absolutely hated surprises.

  “I do when they come from you,” he amended.

  “This one will bring us both pleasure,” I promised him.

  “Detective Dirty Talker, did you stop at a sex toy store?” he asked hopefully.

  “No, Walmart,” I responded.

  “Walmart?” Josh asked in disbelief.

  “Trust me; I found things there I never expected to find.” I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Slow it down, Sunshine.” I bumped my fist on his car door and took a step back. “I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  He zoomed off before I even made it back to my car. Knowing the fun time I had ahead of me at home helped me get through the last stores on my list. I came up empty at all my stops, but hoped that either Whitworth or Dorchester had better luck. I had just turned onto my street when a call came through my stereo system. I could tell by the number on the display that it was the police station.

  I hit the answer button and said, “Detective Wyatt.”

  “Detective Wyatt, I found something you need to see,” Sergeant Dawkins said. “It really can’t wait until the morning. I called Captain Reardon first, and he requested that you report to the station immediately.”

  “I’m on my way,” I said without hesitation. I decided to wait and call Josh once I knew how late I’d be home. Could be a long meeting or a short one; I wouldn’t know until I got there. Either way, I knew whatever Sonia discovered was huge if she called the captain back to the station.

  I had been nervous about returning to the news station. I was embarking on a solo career and, although my anxiety wasn’t at panic-inducing levels, I was a bit of a wreck. It didn’t help when the producer, Cindy Rollins, pulled me into her office the moment I arrived.

  “How was your vacation?” she asked.

  “Are you just making small talk before you lower the boom on me?” I asked suspiciously.

  “No, I’m asking how your vacation was after such a sweet and romantic proposal,” Cindy said patiently then added a reassuring smile.

  “Oh, okay then,” I said in relief. “We had an amazing trip, and I returned home to some very exciting news. I learned that my best friend is also a best-selling author.” I smiled when I thought about his budding relationship with Kyle and Meredith falling in love with Harley. “I can’t remember a time when all the people I love were so happy.”

  “Best-selling author, huh?” Cindy said, her brilliant dark eyes came alive as she thought of an idea. “You think he’d like to do an interview to promote his book?”

  “I doubt it, but I’ll ask him.” I was done making decisions for my friends. I’d overstepped with Chaz when I attempted to set him up with Dr. Delicious, and I wasn’t doing it again, even if I had only love and good intentions in my heart.

  Cindy nodded and said, “Let me know if he’s interested.” She placed her arms on top of her desk and smiled professionally. I co
uld tell that our niceties were over and it was time to get to work. Cindy proceeded to outline what she wanted to accomplish with my weekly segments that would air throughout the week. The goal was to film three segments every Monday that would air on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday of each week. Monday would be about health and fitness regimens for hair, skin, and nails. Wednesday would be about testing new products that were out on the market, and Friday would be fun stuff like makeovers. “As structured as it all sounds, I want you to run with it and be yourself. I want your honest thoughts on items you’re testing and have fun with the Friday makeovers. In fact, I want to be your first Friday makeover.”

  “Uhhhhh,” I said, not sure it was a good idea.

  “Stop, you’re going to be fine, and we’ll have fun. I’m not always so uptight,” Cindy said with an exaggerated eye roll.

  “I don’t think you’re uptight at all,” I assured her. “It’s just that you already know how to perfectly balance glam and business. You don’t need my help.” I wasn’t kissing ass either, Cindy knew her shit.

  “Okay, fine. You can do my hair and makeup as if I was about to get my groove on at the club. We’ll film it last, and you can paint my face like I’m about to paint the town. And who knows, maybe I will,” Cindy said.

  “Yeah, okay,” I agreed, getting excited about the prospect. “That will be fun. Are there any color schemes you don’t like?” I asked, making sure we didn’t waste the crew’s time later.

  “Yellow,” she replied.

  “Got it,” I responded, although I thought the color would look beautiful against her dark skin. “I’ll see you in a few hours then.”

  I left Cindy’s office feeling a little better than when I first arrived. I wasn’t sure about the source of my anxiety because everyone on the crew had been very welcoming to me—well, except the hair and makeup gal who got offended when I said I’d do my own for the show. I mean, hello¸ what is it that I do for a living? There was one other person, a very popular news anchor who gave off vibes that she didn’t like me very much.

  Her disdain for me brought out my inner bitch, and I acted extra campy when she was around in case her dislike was due to my sexuality. I thought that someone with that hair color should be a little less judgmental of everyone else. The orangey-red dye her stylist used made her skin look sallow. That color might work on someone else, or a restaurant clown, whose face wasn’t constantly screwed into insta-bitch the minute the camera panned away, but it didn’t work for her.

  Of course, it didn’t help my cause when I said her constant scowling would cause wrinkles and recommended a good rejuvenating cream. Imagine my surprise when the same woman threw open her arms to welcome me like a long lost relative she loved and hadn’t seen in decades. “Josh, honey, you’re back.”

  “Like a bad case of herpes, Joyce,” I told her.

  “Oh, you’re so damn funny.” She gripped my biceps when she pulled back from the hug and looked into my eyes. “We missed you while you were away. I didn’t know how dull it was around here until you came along. You’re so sparkly and vibrant in a room filled with boring gray people.”

  “Just call me Sparkles,” I said, then narrowed my eyes as a thought hit me. “You’ve been using the cream I told you about.”

  “Yeah,” Joyce said nodding happily. “It’s like a miracle cream!”

  “I’m glad you like it, Joyce.” I bit my tongue, wondering if I could press my luck a little further and tell her how wretched that hair color was for her complexion. “Can I be frank about something else?” I asked her.

  “You hate my hair,” she replied.

  “Well…”

  “I know, it’s terrible, but I’m not sure what to do,” Joyce said. “I go to the same hairstylist as my mother, and she uses the same color on both of us. I end up looking just like my mother, and although I love the woman dearly, that’s not a compliment. This hair color is awful on me,” she said, stating the obvious.

  “Do you want to be my makeover for next week? I have one scheduled for today already. We’d film it on Monday, and it would air on Friday. What do you think?” I asked her.

  “I think you’re a lifesaver and I was a horrible uptight bitch to you when you first arrived,” she replied. “Forgive me?”

  “Of course,” I said naturally. I saw the camera guy waving to get my attention and knew he was ready to film my first segment. “Can we talk about it later? Pete is ready to film.”

  “Sure, sweetie,” Joyce said then went on her merry way.

  We’ve all had days where we felt like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole. Sometimes what you found at the bottom was a wonderful thing and other times not. Luckily, my conversation with Joyce fell into the first category. The first segment wasn’t that exciting. I talked about vitamins, minerals, and the way our eating habits affected our skin, hair, and nails. I tried to jazz it up with my humor and sass to keep it from being a drab segment. It must’ve worked because Pete laughed at my antics behind the camera.

  We took a quick break, and I changed clothes. I didn’t want people to think I wore the same adorable ensemble three days a week. I chose a more relaxed, hip outfit for the second segment to review the products sent to the station.

  “What do we have here?” I asked excitedly. “I love this soft pink and black color scheme for the packaging and the font used for the lettering. It’s both elegant and edgy. Let’s take a look at what’s inside.” I pulled out a large contouring palette that offered four different highlighters and shades. “At first sight, this is a gorgeous palette with a great variety to use for all skin tones, which I think is important. Let’s check out the pigment for each color.”

  I got a few different brushes out of my kit and put a sample of each color on the back of one hand. “Gorgeous,” I said. Then on the back of the other hand. I used two complimentary shades and showed how well they blended. “They blend beautifully too. How much is this kit?” I picked up the box and saw the price. “Fifty dollars, folks. I know it sounds like a lot, but you can expect to pay double for bigger name brands and not get nearly as pigmented colors that blend this well. Besides, you get eight colors, so that’s a great bargain.”

  I tested a few other products for my segment—some were okay, but none wowed me as much as the contouring palette. In between filming the second and final segment, I had lunch and ordered a few of the palettes online to use in the salon because we received a lot of requests to do full makeup for weddings and other special events. In fact, since it was June we were already in full swing with weddings. Cindy told me I could keep the test palette and I planned to put it to use immediately.

  Cindy was a hell of a good sport, and we shared a lot of laughs while we changed her makeup from a day at the office to a night on the town. She literally let her hair down, and let me tell you; she was a show stopper!

  “Girl, you need to call your friends and go out tonight,” I said. “Don’t waste this hair and makeup.”

  “I agree,” Cindy replied, looping her arm around my neck. “I can see why Gabe calls you Sunshine, you know.” Her remark caught me off guard because even though she was always friendly, Cindy was the epitome of professionalism. She rarely remarked on anything too personal. “You light the world up around you.”

  “That’s what Gabe says,” I replied, then nibbled on my bottom lip like I did when I got nervous or emotional.

  “It’s true.” She gave me an extra squeeze then dropped her arm. “We’ll see you next week.”

  I put the top down on the way home and had my music blaring. I loved the feel of the wind whipping through my hair and the happiness of a great day humming through my body. The damn police siren going on behind me startled the shit out of me, but then I saw it was my man.

  Damn him for talking dirty to me and then not following me home right away to do the wicked things his eyes promised me. I wasn’t angry with him because I knew if he was saying “later” to sex that something serious was going on. Still, I e
xpected him home in the time frame he gave me. As often as I told myself not to borrow trouble, I found myself worrying when he wasn’t home on time or called to say he’d be late. Before Emory’s prediction, I would’ve handled the situation better.

  I couldn’t do a damn thing but wait unless I wanted to call and look like a nagging husband. Animals sense when their human is stressed, and that crazy-ass bird that I loved so much was no exception.

  “Sugartits! Sugartits!” he squawked while I was trying to do yoga to calm my frigging nerves. “Little Daddy! Sugartits!”

  “Dirty Bird!”

  “Sugartits!”

  I laughed so hard that I nearly fell out of my downward dog position. “Are you saying I’m getting man boobs?” I asked Savage.

  “Talking to the bird is one thing, but expecting him to answer back is another,” Gabe said, startling me.

  “Oh! I didn’t know you were home yet. I, um…”

  “Was laughing so hard at your ridiculous bird that you didn’t hear me come in,” he finished for me with a faint smile. It was then that I saw the stress lines surrounding his eyes and lips.

  “What happened, babe?” I rose to my feet and went to him. “You were supposed to be home a few hours ago. I was worried but didn’t want to look like a nag so I didn’t call you. What happened after Detective Dirty Talker walked away from me on the side of the road?”

  “I shouldn’t talk about it,” Gabe said, but I could tell that’s what he wanted to do.

  “You listen to me, Gabriel. I know I seem flighty at times and my salon is a hot den of gossip, but I would never betray your trust. Sit down, let me grab you a cold beer, and you can tell me what the hell happened. You always call me when you’re going to be late,” I said on my way to the refrigerator. “This must be a big deal.”