by Katie Ashley
“Of course.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“I appreciate it.”
With Randy’s Emergency Card in my hand, I threw my bag and purse over my shoulder and headed out of the bedroom with Catcher close behind me. After pounding down the front stairs, I walked over to Catcher’s standard issue G-Man car. I was immediately assaulted by a flashback of seeing the car the night before when it was in the parking lot of the Rusty Ho. Not to mention the Holiday Inn.
As I buckled my seatbelt, Catcher cranked up and started down Randy’s drive. “Poor fucker. He sure did have a nice house and land,” he mused.
I peered curiously at him. “You like this?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Interesting.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who likes roughing it out in the boonies.”
Catcher chuckled. “Exactly what kind of guy would you say I was?”
“For starters, you seem much more urban.”
“Do I?”
I nodded.
“And that’s where you would be wrong, Miss Sullivan. I’m sure it’ll surprise you that I live on two acres in Dahlonega.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do. Since I work out of the eighth district, our regional office is in Cleveland, so I wanted somewhere relatively close by.” He smiled. “Not to mention that’s where my family is from.”
“So you have a house and not a condo?”
“Even better than having a house is the fact my brother and I built it.”
My eyes widened as this news was certainly unexpected. “How interesting.”
“Yeah, I can’t take all the credit. My younger brother, Jem, is a contractor.”
“Jem? As in Jeremy Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird?”
Catcher grinned and bobbed his head. “Yep. Another one of my parents’ favorite books.”
“It’s mine, too. My father was a huge fan. He always kept a copy in his desk drawer at the funeral home. Whenever business was slow, he would take it out and reread it. It was the only book I ever saw him reread. Well, except for the Bible.”
“He was a huge fan?”
I bobbed my head. “He passed away five years ago. Pancreatic Cancer.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Our once easy-flowing conversation became strained, like so many times whenever grief or loss was mentioned. Although the great equalizer, death was always the pink elephant in the room—the one sure-fire mood and conversation killer. Pun intended.
“So…” Catcher said breaking silence.
“So what?”
“Are you finally going to answer my question?”
I furrowed my brows in confusion. “What question?”
“Why did you run out on me this morning?”
I shifted in my seat. “Not that again.”
“Oh yeah, that. And since we have at least half an hour in the car, I’m not going to let you avoid it again.”
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” I grumbled.
Catcher turned to grin at me. “Come on, Liv. The truth shall set you free.”
“Fine. If you must know, I was embarrassed.”
“Of fabulous sex?”
With a roll of my eyes, I replied, “Last night was unchartered territory for me. I’ve never done anything sexual with someone outside of a relationship. Well, at least, several dates.” I shook my head. “In the light of day, I realized what a mistake last night was.”
“You seriously need to get your head checked if you think mind-blowing sex is a mistake.” When I started to protest, Catcher held up one of his fingers. “So what if you didn’t know me that well. You can get to know me before the next time.”
“Next time? I think you’re the one who needs his head checked if you think we’re having sex again.”
“Trust me, babe. It’ll be on like Donkey Kong the minute I have you alone again.”
“Did you honestly just compare our sex life to a video game?”
“Maybe.” He turned and pinned me with his gorgeous baby blues. “Seriously, Olivia, I meant what I said about last night being special. I really do want to see you again and not just for sex.”
I stared at him for a moment, waiting for the punch line or for him to say, “Psych!” But he didn’t. I desperately tried to find a reason to tell him no. But I couldn’t. My heart, mind, and vagina all pleaded with me to give Catcher a chance. Of course, I think my vagina was putting up the greatest argument.
My mind convinced me that the man was intelligent, driven, quick-witted, and pretty freakin’ phenomenal in bed. My heart recalled his moments of absolute kindness and empathy, his defense of me at the bar. Those things were emotional kryptonite to a female heart. Especially one who had been through a dating wasteland.
And my vagina? That greedy little bitch had found the best piece in the candy store and definitely wanted another lick, suck, and swallow.
“So what do you say?” Catcher asked.
“Okay. Why not.”
A pleased smirk curved on his lips. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to say no to me.”
Rolling my eyes, I shook my head at him. “You sure make a girl second guess herself.”
He laughed. “My apologies, Miss Sullivan.”
The GPS instructed us to turn off the main highway. After we drove down a secluded road for half a mile, Catcher mused, “It seems one thing Randy and Patricia had in common is living in the sticks.”
When we turned a curve, a guard shack loomed in the distance. “Hmm, a gated community. The plot thickens.”
“Maybe it’s some kind of resort.”
“Maybe it’s some kind of commune for genital freaks. Like there’s women with three tits or something.”
I rolled my eyes. “You have got to stop calling Randy a freak. He was a really nice man who deserves better than to be made fun of because of his special endowments.”
Catcher held up his hand. “Fine, fine. I’ll try to be more respectful.”
“Thank you.”
As he drove the car up to the guard shack, Catcher eased the window down and then reached into his jacket for his badge.
“Can I help you?” a man’s voice asked.
“Yes, I’m Agent Mains of the GBI. We’re here to speak with one of your residents—a Patricia Crandall.”
When Catcher turned to flash his badge to the guard, he jumped in the seat. “What the fuck, man?”
I leaned forward to get a better look out the window. “Oh my God!”
For the second time in the last twenty-four hours, I had the privilege of seeing a man’s junk. Well, the third time if you considered that I’d also seen Catcher’s. Or was it the fourth since Randy had two dicks? Whatever the exact number, it had turned into an all-out penis-palooza.
The naked man held up his hands. “I’m sorry to shock you both. My apologies you were unaware that Bare Haven is a clothing optional resort.”
“Excuse me?” Catcher asked
“You mean this is a nudist colony?” I questioned incredulously.
The man, who looked like he was wearing one of those fur vests from the sixties with all his chest and back hair, shook his head. “We really prefer you don’t use the word ‘colony’. It has such a derogatory feel. You know like a cult or something.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” I mumbled in reply.
Catcher was handed a sheet of paper. “This is your guest parking pass. I’ll radio the clubhouse and let them know you’re coming. Ms. Crandall is one of our full-time residents. If she’s home, they can have her meet you there.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your help.”
“No problem. Have a nice day.”
“Same to you,” Catcher replied before the car screeched away from the guard shack.
“Oh. My. God,” I muttered.
Catcher snickered beside me.
“Looks like we’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. We’ve entered the Bucknekkid City of Oz.”
“Siri, play Bad Moon Iby Creedance Clearwater Revival,” Catcher instructed.
“I see a bad moon risin’. I see trouble on the way.”
I turned my head to cock my brows at him. “You really had to go there, didn’t you?”
Catcher chuckled. “Of course I did.”
As Jim Fogerty sang, we drove down the winding road leading into the resort. At the sight of two naked landscaping guys with leaf blowers on their backs, I shook my head. “I seriously cannot believe this.”
Catcher cut his eyes over to me. “That places like this exist, or that Randy patronized them?”
“If I’m honest, I’d have to say both. I mean, I knew places like this existed. I just never imagined one practically in my backyard.” I grimaced. “Right now, I cannot possibly fathom the idea of seemingly shy Randy Dickinson frolicking around here with his naked fanny showing.”
“Don’t forget his two dicks flapping in the wind.”
I covered my face in my hands. “Ugh. Thanks for reminding me. I’m going to be haunted by that the rest of my life.”
With a grin, Catcher replied, “Me too, babe.”
“Babe?”
Catcher’s brows popped up. “What? Are you one of those chicks who doesn’t like terms of endearment?”
“No, no. I like terms of endearment.”
“Let me guess. You’re just not a big fan of ‘babe.’”
I shrugged. “It’s okay.” What I wasn’t able to say is that he continued to take me off guard by using terms of endearment so soon. I mean, we were just one day off a one-night-stand. I didn’t imagine that sort of thing usually happened. At least he wasn’t using the word in a demeaning way.
With a grin, Catcher said, “All righty then. Babe.”
I turned my attention away from him and back to the road. Bare Haven’s actual complex was about a mile down the road. It made sense that it was far off the beaten path to keep prying eyes away. When we came to a roundabout, we went to the right, which took us a sprawling clubhouse. I blinked a few times in disbelief because it resembled something you might see at a country club.
As I reached for the door handle, I drew in a few deep, cleansing breaths. After the crazy events of the past twenty-four hours, I could’ve used a Xanax the size of my head. It seemed wise to gird my strength for what further insanity I was about to be subjected to.
When we started down the sidewalk, a tall, lanky man with all his naked twig and berries glory came striding toward us. He thrust out his hand to Catcher. “Hello. I’m Barry Gideons—the day manager here at Bare Haven.”
Catcher shook Barry’s hand. “Holden Mains. GBI.” He motioned to me. “This is Olivia Sullivan, Merriam County coroner.”
Barry’s smile faded slightly. “What brings you here, Agent Mains? Surely, we’re not in violation of anything.”
“No, no. It’s nothing like that. I’m actually here as part of a homicide investigation.”
Barry’s gray eyes widened. “You are?”
Catcher nodded. “We need to speak to Patricia Crandall. She seems to be the victim’s next of kin.”
Barry swept a hand over his heart. “Oh poor Patty. How terrible. I’ve already sent someone out to her condo to get her. Considering the news, let me go and meet her.”
“If you don’t mind, we would like to tell her the news ourselves.” When Barry gave Catcher an odd look, he replied, “Just following procedure.”
“Yes, of course. I totally understand.”
When we reached the front door, a naked bellhop opened it for us. Considering he was young and incredibly built, I couldn’t help staring at him as I passed by. Catcher snorted at what must’ve been my blatant ogling.
“Bite me,” I muttered under my breath.
“With pleasure,” he replied.
I shot him a murderous glare as Barry led us across the lobby and over to the bar. “Why don’t you wait here for Patty?”
Catcher nodded. “Sure.”
“And please have a drink on the house.”
Catcher smiled. “Thank you for the hospitality, but I’m afraid I have to refuse since I’m on the clock.”
I nodded in agreement. “But yes, thank you.”
The phone he was holding in his hand rang. “Excuse me,” he said before answering it. He grimaced. “Okay. I’ll be right there.” He hung up and gave us an apologetic look. “There’s something I have to take care of in my office. But I’ll be back just as soon as I can to check on Patty.”
“We appreciate your help,” Catcher replied before shaking Barry’s hand again.
After he shook my hand, Barry headed barefoot and bare-assed down the plush carpeting to his office. While Catcher quickly hopped up on one of the bar stools, I wrinkled my nose. “What is it?”
“I have two words for you: slug trail.”
Catcher snickered. “I’m pretty sure they clean and disinfect the fabric.”
Although he made a good point, I still took one of the linen napkins off the bar and draped it across the top of the stool. Once I was seated, I looked up to find the bartender staring at me. While he didn’t look like he was judging me, I still managed to blurt, “Sorry. I’m just a bit of an OCD clean freak.”
“Actually, we have a towel rule here at Bare Haven.”
“A towel rule?” Catcher questioned.
“You have to place one down before you sit.”
“Ah, I see,” I murmured.
“Would you like something to drink?” the bartender asked.
“Water would be wonderful. Thank you,” I replied.
Catcher shook his head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
When the bartender went to fill my request, Catcher grinned at me. “Throat run dry from staring at all the naked men? Or nekkid as we say in the South.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh please. It’s not like I haven’t seen a bunch of dicks in my day. When you’ve seen one, you’ve seen…” My voice trailed off at the sight of a twenty-something man coming toward us.
Catcher leaned forward and craned his neck to see where I was looking. “Well fuck me,” he murmured.
“Not without a gallon of lube,” I replied absently.
At the man’s combined length and girth, I’m pretty sure my cervix shriveled up and died. Kinda like the scene in Wizard of Oz when the Wicked Witch of the East’s feet curl up and go under Dorothy’s house. I swallowed hard as I tried to fathom the logistics of how you would even begin to give him a blow job. Talk about “just the tip.”
If the man realized we were staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he didn’t let on. He just kept on walking. However that was even possible when he was weighed down with such a meatstick. “I wonder how he fits that into a pair of jeans?” Catcher questioned.
“Maybe that’s why he lives here at the nudist colony. I mean, resort.”
Our conversation was interrupted by an attractive, fifty-something woman walking up to the bar. Her chestnut hair was streaked with silver and reached the top of her breasts, which were remarkably perky for a woman her age. Of course, my attention was naturally drawn to the seventies porn bush she was sporting. Ladyscaping must not have been big around here. Guess they spent a fortune on vacuum cleaners to suck up the stray pubes.
She extended her hand. “Hello. I’m Patricia Crandall. Barry called and said you were looking for me.”
Catcher shot off his stool and shook her hand. “I’m Holden Mains with GBI.” I noticed he always used his given name of Holden, rather than his nickname, when he was doing business. Jerking his thumb at me, Catcher added, “And this is Olivia Sullivan, she’s the coroner for Merriam County.”
Patricia frowned as she shook my hand. “Isn’t Taylorsville in Merriam County?”
“Yes, it is,” I replied.
After sucking in a harsh breath, Patricia glanced between Catcher and me. “Has something happened to Randy?�
�
Sensing I was the one best to handle this, Catcher nodded his head at me. I cleared my throat. “Ms. Crandall, I’m very sorry to have to tell you that Randy was found dead this morning at his home. It appears to be a homicide.”
Patricia swept one hand to her heart and the other went over her mouth. She shook her head furiously back and forth. “No, it can’t be true. I just talked to him last night. We made plans for this weekend.”
“I’m so very sorry.” I motioned to one of the couches across from the bar. “Why don’t you sit down?” I suggested.
Patricia’s response was to burst into tears. I glanced around for some way to comfort her. “Catcher—erm, Agent Mains, why don’t you grab Ms. Crandall a water?”
“Coming right up,” Catcher replied before waving the bartender over.
Taking Patricia by the elbow, I led her over to the couch. Once she was settled, I reached into my purse for a handkerchief. Not only was carrying an embroidered handkerchief part of working in the death industry, but it had also been impressed upon me by my very manners-conscious Southern mother.
“Thank you,” Patricia said when she took the handkerchief from me. She dabbed her eyes before staring mournfully at me. “I can’t believe I just broke down like that.”
“Please don’t apologize. It’s only natural when you’ve lost someone you love.”
Tears once again overran her eyes. “I did love Randy. Very much. He’s been a part of my life since I was eighteen years old.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Yes, it is,” she replied wistfully.
Catcher returned with a water for both Patricia and himself. After handing one to Patricia, he eyed one of the chairs beside the couch before sitting down.
“I have to be honest with you, Ms. Crandall—” I began.
“Please call me, Patricia.”
I smiled. “Okay, Patricia. I’ve known Randy for twenty years, but since his death, it seems like I didn’t know him at all.”
A bark of a laugh came from her lips. “I’m assuming you mean you didn’t know he had a—” she made air quotes with her fingers, “freaky side to him?”
“Um, well, I wouldn’t exactly call it freaky,” I answered.
“I would,” Catcher replied, before winking at Patricia.
