In a Fix

by Linda Grimes

  “Yes, but—” Click. “… what about Trey, you asshole?” I finished in a whisper, impotently, and jabbed the end-cal button

  with my thumb.

  The Good Samaritan cleared her throat. I glanced up and saw her mouth twitching a smile into submission. Guess she heard

  me. “The authorities wil want to speak with you soon. Perhaps you’d care to come to my cottage afterward and clean up a bit?

  It’s right over there, and I may have something you could wear until you have an opportunity to shop. I doubt your own clothes

  are salvageable.”

  I looked down at myself. Blushed. Adjusted my top. There wasn’t much I could do about the bottoms. “Thanks.”

  “You sit there while I see if I can expedite the matter.” She strode off, posture perfect, straw hat riding atop her head like a

  crown.

  That was it. I knew who she reminded me of—she was a dead ringer for Queen Elizabeth. Which could only mean one thing.

  My cousin Bily was spying on me.

  *

  I waited until we were in the Queen’s cottage before I turned on her. Two policemen and three insurance adjusters had just griled

  me, and I wasn’t in the mood to put up with any nonsense. “What the hel are you doing here?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I know it’s you, so you can cut the innocent act.”

  She backed half a step away, like she thought perhaps I had a screw loose. Crap. Maybe it wasn’t Bily. Maybe the blast had

  addled my brain. “I, uh, I’m sorry. I thought for a minute you might be … I mean, you look like somebody I know.”

  “I’m quite certain we’ve never met, my dear. By the way, my name is Edith Hathaway. How do you do?” She extended her

  hand hesitantly. I took it, stil not entirely certain of her, but deciding it was better to take her at face value until I was thinking

  more clearly.

  “I’m Mina Worthington. Please, cal me Mina.”

  Her hand was warm and dry, softly wrinkled. “So nice to meet you, Mina. Shal I show you to the lavatory? You can have a

  good wash while I find you something to wear.” She led off briskly.

  Her bathroom was a lot like ours had been before it was blown to smithereens. A stack of plush, sea-green towels waited on a

  stand between the glass-enclosed shower and the soaking tub, along with an assortment of flowery-scented soaps.

  “You go ahead and start, dear. Take your time. I’l find some clothes for you and leave them on the vanity.”

  After she left I reached into the shower stal and turned on the water. While it warmed up I slipped off the bathing suit.

  Regardless of the skimpy garment’s sex appeal, I can’t say I was sorry to get rid of the wedgie. My envy of Mina’s lifestyle was

  rapidly ebbing.

  I grabbed a rosebud-shaped soap and stepped under the hot spray. Aaah … bliss. I lathered quickly, top to toe. Rinsed.

  Looked for some shampoo. There was none at hand, so I assumed it must be in the little guest basket on the vanity, and stepped

  out to reach for it.

  Queen Elizabeth was leaning casualy against the sink, ankles crossed, shampoo bottle in hand, enjoying the show. “Looking for

  this, dear?” There was no mistaking the leer.

  I snatched the bottle and leapt back into the shower. “You are such an ass.”

  “Why, whatever do you mean? And wouldn’t you like a little help washing your back? I’m wonderful with a loofah, you

  know.”

  “Bily Doyle, get out now or I swear I’l knock that phony aura right off your sorry carcass. Wait for me in the living room.”

  “Aw, come on, cuz. Let me have another peek. This is some of your best work yet—a true masterpiece.”

  I squeezed a blob of shampoo onto my head and started scrubbing. “Go away, you pervert.”

  “Sorority sisters, Ciel,” he reminded me for the umpteenth time. True enough. We weren’t actualy cousins. Our mothers were

  both Tri-Delts. Couple that with being BFFs ever since their respective adaptor parents put them in the same preschool, and it

  was natural they’d be honorary aunts to each other’s offspring. “Technicaly, that’s not pervy. And don’t forget I’m a bastard.

  There’s that, too,” he added, just to bolster his argument. Also true. Bily was Uncle Liam’s son from a prior relationship. He

  seemed to think that gave him license to behave as family or not-family, according to whim.

  “Trust me, I could never forget that! Now leave, before I squirt shampoo in your eyes.”

  He left, chortling a queenly chortle. I was going to kil him.

  *

  “Why are you here?”

  I was dressed in elastic-waist, aqua polyester capris and a shapeless, floral-print blouse. Al I needed was a huge handbag and

  some orthopedic sandals, and I could make my reservations for Leisure World.

  My interfering cousin eyed me with approval. “Oh, you look lovely, my dear. Simply lovely.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Answer the question.”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Mark just asked me to check on you.” Mark was my oldest brother’s closest

  friend, practicaly a part of the family. (People with aura-adapting capabilities are a relatively smal population, and tend to stick

  together.) He was also the object of my unrequited childhood passion.

  “Why would Mark ask you to do that?”

  Bily cocked his head and shrugged, his mannerisms sitting oddly on the Queen’s frame. “Why does the spook do anything?

  Overdeveloped sense of protectiveness, maybe? Either that or the sadistic pleasure of making me watch you fawn al over a dumb

  piece of meat.”

  “Trey isn’t dumb!”

  He wagged a regal finger at me. “Ah-ah-ah, my dear. Remember your professional detachment.”

  I looked at the ceiling. No guidance there. “You’re such an idiot. I don’t believe Mark sent you at al. And didn’t he warn you

  to stop caling him a spook?”

  “As I recal, we both got that warning. Besides, semantics. He’s the spookiest spook they have, the very wet dream of

  spookdom, and you know it. They would kil to have more like him.”

  “Apparently they have you,” I said, stil cross.

  “No, they don’t. Every now and then I do a favor for Mark, that’s al.”

  “Favor, is it?”

  “A compensated favor, yes,” he said with a cheeky grin. “One does have to pay the rent.”

  “Yeah, right. Like you ever have any trouble coming up with cash. Why are you realy here?”

  “Like I said, to keep my eagle eye on you. Seems Mark’s afraid you might slip up with your little homegrown business, and

  give yourself away. I’m here to help make sure that doesn’t happen. Think of me as a business tool.”

  I snorted. “Don’t know about ‘business,’ but ‘tool’ fits.” Then it hit me. “He pays you to spy on me?” I couldn’t keep the

  shock out of my voice. Making money by helping Mark on his assignments was one thing, but turning me into a business

  transaction? That was going a little far, even for Bily.

  “What’d you think? That I can’t tear myself away from you?”

  “No,” I said sincerely, though of course it was exactly what I’d been thinking. I’d noticed him in the background on previous

  jobs—which I never could’ve done if he hadn’t intended it—and had assumed he was just indulging his inborn urge to bug me.

  He shrugged. “I’d do it for free if I could, but I gotta make a living. Mark knows watching you keeps me from pursuing more

  lucrative endeavors, so he tosses something extra my way to make up for it, that’s al.”

  “Lucrative? Huh. You sure ‘ilegal’ isn’t the word you�
�re searching for?”

  “Eh. Potato, potahto.”

  No point in getting into a morality discussion with Bily. He lived by his own code. “Look, I’m careful, al right? Anyway, I think

  you just enjoy tormenting me with your presence. Can’t I have one job without you showing your face?”

  “Wel, technicaly, I don’t show my face.”

  True. On my last job, he’d appeared as Brad Pitt, only with buck teeth. The one before, he was George Clooney with a pot

  gut. He got a kick out of adding a twist. I was surprised he hadn’t given poor Liz leprosy, but maybe he thought being old and a

  Windsor was bad enough.

  “You know what I mean. You’re worse now than when we were kids. At least then you only puled my hair and pinched me

  when our mothers weren’t looking. Now you’re trying to ruin my career.”

  He drew himself up with a look of injured innocence. Exasperated, I turned my back—never a smart move where Bily is

  concerned, but it’s hard not to trust the Queen. The yank and pinch were simultaneous. I whirled on him, but the bugger was too

  fast. He’d already made it across the room.

  “Feel better now?” he taunted.

  “You … you…” I took off after him. “You never grow up, do you?” I grabbed a bright yelow pilow off a club chair and threw

  it at his head.

  He caught it effortlessly as he danced around the couch. “Look who’s talking.” If the Queen could have seen her doppelgänger,

  she would not have been amused. But I was.

  Oh, hel. I never could keep a good mad going with Bily. Giving in to laughter, I plopped down on the sofa. He sat next to me

  and took my hand. “I keep teling you, just come work with me. My jobs are way more fun than this boring stuff you do. Plus, I

  hardly ever get blown up.” (I huffed. He winked.) “The pay is better, too. What do you say? Shal we ditch this place for greener

  —and I do mean greener—pastures?”

  “Tempting, but Mom made me swear never to work with you. She even got out the Bible.”

  “What? I can’t believe she doesn’t love me anymore! My own aunt.”

  “Oh, she loves you to pieces. She just doesn’t trust you as far as she can spit. And, yes, that’s a direct quote.”

  Bily laughed and squeezed my hand. “Smart woman, your mother.” The ghost of masculinity beneath the smal, elderly persona

  he was projecting comforted me in spite of myself.

  “God, Bily, what’s going on here? Trey disappeared between the bistro and the bungalow. I waited—”

  “Al alone,” he interrupted. “Worried. Distressed. So very horny.” This said in a proper, upper-class British accent.

  I broke up again. “Stop. I’m trying to explain things to you.” I told him about Trey caling, and the guy with the weird accent.

  “I gather you don’t want to tel the cops about the phone cals. Do you think that’s wise?”

  “I don’t know! Al I could think about was Trey getting kiled if I said the wrong thing. Maybe the police could rescue him,

  but…” I dropped my head to my lap and hid behind a sheet of black hair.

  He patted my back. “Yeah. But.” I felt him leave, and when he returned he had two beers. He popped both cans open and

  handed one to me. “The odd-accent guy didn’t give you any idea what he wanted?”

  “Not a clue. I’m waiting for the next cal. I assume there wil be instructions.” I sipped gratefuly. My throat was stil sore from

  al the dust. “Gee, Your Majesty, shouldn’t we at least pour these into glasses?”

  The Queen chugged her beer and folowed it with an openmouthed belch. Most unregal. “Nah. Liz is a common girl at heart.

  Word in the palace corridors has it she sneaks down to the local and knocks back tequila shots on her birthday. Oh, wait—

  maybe that’s just when I’m there.”

  I looked at him sideways, doubting the real Queen had ever grinned so impishly. “Does Mark know you snatched a reigning

  monarch’s energy? I don’t imagine he’d approve.”

  “Pish. He doesn’t care, as long as I don’t cause an international incident. No one here recognizes Liz, anyway, not when she’s

  out of context.”

  “No one?” I raised my eyebrows and took another, much longer, drink. Mina’s burp was barely a whisper compared to the

  Queen’s.

  “I suppose it’s possible the management is under the impression they have a member of the royal family here incognito.”

  “And might one assume you are getting the royal treatment while you are here?”

  “Cal it a perk,” he said with a twinkle.

  “Wel, as long as you are here, make yourself useful and help me figure out what to do. Should I cal Mina and tel her what

  happened?”

  “Is she the sort to take bombing and kidnapping in her stride?”

  “She’s more the sort who wants everything taken care of and presented to her in a neat package. Like the engagement she

  contracted with me to deliver—” I vaulted to my feet. “Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit!”

  The Queen rose, too. “What? What’s the matter now?”

  “The ring! Mina’s engagement ring—I left it in the bungalow, and now it’s … it’s…”

  “Relax. Diamonds are hard. They’l probably find it when they sift through the debris.”

  I tried to calm down. “Yeah … yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry. It’s just that this whole job centers around getting that ring.

  I’d hate to disappoint Mina.” Not to mention see my business go down the tubes. But there was no need for Bily to know how

  imminent failure was.

  “Heaven forbid. So, you squeezed the proposal out of him?” He gave me a congratulatory clap on the shoulder. “Good for

  you, cuz. But when did you manage it?”

  “Wel, he hasn’t exactly popped the question yet. While I was waiting for him earlier, I just sort of … um, came across the

  ring.”

  “Snooping, were you?” he said, happy as a frat boy at a kegger to catch me admitting to something naughty.

  “I was just looking for some clue as to where he might have gone,” I said, chin up. “I don’t make a practice of it.”

  “Right. I know that.” His eyes said otherwise.

  “Look, it was part of the job. It’s not like I snoop in regular life.”

  “Oh, no. You’re an absolute angel. Angels don’t snoop.”

  “You are not helping.” Glaring, I grabbed his beer can and squashed it one-handed. Did the same to mine. His, at least, had

  been empty. I stomped into the kitchen to look for the recycling bin, my hand dripping.

  “You know what your problem is?” he caled after me. “You’re tense. If al this had happened after you’d boinked Trey, you’d

  be a lot more relaxed right now. And that, my love, is something I can help you with.”

  Uh-oh.

  Chapter 3

  I dropped the cans on the counter and ran back to the living room, wiping my hand on the seat of my pants as I went. Too late.

  There was Trey, every spectacular inch of him. He ditched his old-lady shirt—and bra—and was about to drop his pants when I

  caught his arm.

  “Bily, you can’t just assume Trey’s—”

  “I can and did.” Trey’s voice, the very pitch and tone. He maneuvered me into his arms and kissed my neck.

  Geez, he smeled good. Al beachy and manly. How had he gotten rid of the Queen’s perfume so fast? My knees started to

  buckle—only a little, I swear—so I puled away fast, to give him a piece of my mind. Only then I saw his lips, and he smiled the

  non-Chiclets smile, and I forgot what I was going to say. I think my mouth fel open.

  He stopped and let me go. Two seconds later
he was Bily, the real Bily, and he didn’t look pleased. Handsome as hel, yes,

  but not happy.

  Truth is, Bily in his natural state is nothing to sneeze at. It was hard for me to be objective, having known him al through his

  snotty grade school and awkward teenage years, but adulthood had been good to him. He had dark brown hair, which he kept

  fairly short because of its tendency to curl, and inky blue eyes, fringed with lashes so black and thick they would make any woman

  —not just me—green with envy. When we were six, I told him he had girly lashes, and he promptly took his mother’s manicure

  scissors and cut them off. Which was a realy dumb thing for him to do, and I stil don’t know why I got the spanking for it.

  Add tal to the equation. Six-foot-one, tennis-player trim. Oh, and dimples when he smiled. Shirtless was a good look for him,

  too—a smattering of dark chest hair, and muscles that showed but didn’t bulge like a gym rat. I halfway suspected he liked to

  spend time behind odd auras just to get a break from the hordes of wiling women who tended to accumulate in his wake like

  sharks after chum. Frankly, his good looks annoyed me.

  Once my post-exposure-to-Trey wits returned, something occurred to me. “Hey, when did you get close enough to Trey to

  pinch his aura? And why?”

  He shrugged. “Clumsy old Liz almost slipped on the steps to the boardwalk right as Trey was on his way down to the beach

  this afternoon. He did the gentlemanly thing and steadied me. Some energy must’ve accidentaly rubbed off.”

  Yeah, right. Like anything was ever accidental with Bily. He stil looked a little grumpy, though, so I let it slide with “Oh.”

  “You shouldn’t get personaly involved in your jobs. It only leads to trouble,” he said, a little too autocraticaly for my taste.

  “Excuse me? You are teling me not to get involved? Mr. Nail-It-If-It-Wears-A-Skirt?”

  “It’s different with men. We’re built for meaningless sex. You’re not equipped to deal with it.”

  “What?” I narrowed my eyes at him. I only hoped it worked as wel with Mina’s face as I knew it did with mine. “Of al the

  sexist, chauvinistic, paternalistic, patronizing—” I sputtered, increasing the volume with each word, “egotistical, idiotic, asinine…”

  The amusement was building in his eyes with every new adjective I threw at him, and it wasn’t long before it dripped down into