Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  “If you’re late for something, you don’t have to wait,” I finally said.

  “Nah,” he said, “I finished my hearing this morning. I have a teleconference at four, but that’s about it. Hearing was supposed to take all day and maybe tomorrow, but we settled before 10:00 a.m. Almost got everything we asked for, which was more than I expected. And I don’t have to write a brief, which my client doesn’t care about but is a huge time saver for me.”

  “Sounds like you really enjoy your job.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “It has its moments.” Like this. “There are moments when I miss being on the force.”

  “I’d think it has some of the same elements.”

  “Not really. We rarely work with governmental agencies.”

  The last time I had, Robert had volunteered my services for a witness gone underground, like I was some glorified Dog the Bounty Hunter. I can still picture one of Robby’s cop buddies giving me a slightly patronizing look. I’m glad you’ve found something to do, he’d said. As if when you hand in your badge, you’re supposed to do the world a favor, shrivel up and die.

  “You must get some interesting work.”

  “We do. Child custody. Alimony. Marital property disputes. Surveillance. Skip traces. It’s a lot less glamorous than people think.”

  “No disguises? Funny hats and noses?”

  “I actually do have disguises,” I admitted. “A bag of them in my truck. Just uniforms and props, really. Drew says I just have a flare for the dramatic, but I think they’re necessary.”

  He laughed. “Maybe a little of both.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Here. This will help your headache.” His arm was propped up on the chair close to mine, and I almost had a girly swooning moment when his hand dropped down to my neck.

  “How’d you know?” I managed.

  “Your eyes were all squinty. And you had major attitude. Even for you,” he teased, and I growled.

  I wasn’t sure if he was aware that his arm was pretty much across the back of my chair now. The guy sitting a few chairs down managed to shoot us a dirty look before going back to his magazine. I was unmoved. He could wave a rebel flag and threaten to burn my truck, but if he interrupted Jordan playing with my hair and digging strong thumbs into my neck, I’d pull out my Sig Sauer and neutralize him.

  As if he’d realized what he was doing, suddenly the massage stopped. I growled. “Jordan, what’s your damage?”

  His gaze dropped to the floor, and a blush crept across his cheeks. “I don’t know,” he managed.

  “Ugh.” I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell. I wanted to make him admit he was feeling some of the same things I was. “Well, don’t come near me until you’ve figured it out. I’ve already been there, done that.”

  “Mackenzie….” His phone went off, superloud in my sensitive ears, and suddenly my headache was back full force. I moved one chair over and snapped open a three-month-old National Geographic. I could feel the heat of his gaze on my neck, and it took all I had in me to remain still.

  “Hello,” he finally snapped into the phone.

  “Jordie!” I could hear Rachel even one chair over. “Where are you? We’ve been waiting an hour. We’re going to be late for the meeting. Greeves and Wales both want an explanation for the settlement this morning.”

  “Rache, I’m kind of busy,” he murmured into the phone, trying to be discreet.

  As she began going on about the traffic on the highway and why he had to leave right now, I moseyed on over to the soda machine. The neon Coke sign made my eyeballs shrink in my head a little more, and I hoped caffeine would help. It didn’t appear that I’d be getting any more of Jordan’s massages. I stuck in a dollar, and the thing ate it whole.

  “Damn it,” I groused. I barely refrained from giving it a swift kick.

  “Here.” An arm went by my nose and stuffed some quarters in the slot. “Which one?”

  “Diet Coke,” I said. “But I can push the buttons all by myself, Pa.” Wow, you are feeling bitchy.

  The smiling mechanic—Joey, according to his name patch—didn’t seem to mind as he tossed me the cola. “On me.”

  “Least you can do,” I said archly. “Your tires cost an arm and a leg.”

  He grinned, and I smiled back. See? This was easy. The way it was supposed to be. Good to know my flirting was back on track with everyone except Jordan.

  “If you follow me, I can show you how to change your own tire.”

  “I’m sure Mac knows how to change a tire,” Jordan said, somewhere close by, and I jumped. I hadn’t heard him get off the phone. He rolled his eyes at the guy’s blatant come-on.

  I did know how to change a tire. But wasn’t this part of being healthy? Moving on to someone available, who might actually be a good match for me? The old me would have agreed with Jordan, flirted with him a little more, maybe even guilted him into another neck massage. My eyebrows slashed down. If Jordan wanted to play, he was going to have to adjust his antennae. I wasn’t into mixed signals.

  “I’d love to learn,” I announced.

  “Come on back through here when you’re ready,” Joey said, giving me one last flippant grin before disappearing through a scarred gray door.

  “You shouldn’t wait,” I said into the uncomfortable silence.

  He looked at me, those blue eyes narrowed and still oh so pretty. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he said lightly, but there was anger there too.

  I decided to get him back for yo-yoing me around. “Oh, I plan to do a lot of things you wouldn’t do.”

  I gave him a wave before starting through the door.

  “Mackenzie.”

  I turned back briefly. God, if he just said the word, I would— “Yeah?”

  He looked as if he might say something else, and then he sighed. “If you need a ride home, I want you to call.”

  My eyes held his for a moment too long, a moment I could only describe as strange. “Why?”

  “Can’t have my PI walking home in the dark,” he said lightly.

  I couldn’t resist one last dig. “Thanks… Jordie.”

  He gave me a look that promised retribution.

  What frustrated me the most was that no matter what I did that day with Joey, not the hand brushing as he “showed” me how to do it correctly, not the subtle sniffing my neck and hair as he stood behind me and I pretended to pay attention, not even the unsubtle grinding of his dick against my behind until I told him to back off… nothing matched that single look. Nothing. I had to admit the truth of it to myself. Whatever else was going on, I was clearly looking for more than a casual fuck. Fuck, my subconscious swore.

  I nodded grimly. My thoughts exactly.

  Chapter 10

  IF ANYONE had told me I’d miss sweating through my clothes in Drew’s car, I’d have called him a crazy loon. And yet here I was, baking in the relentless sun, patrolling a rectangular yard that had looked a lot smaller twenty minutes ago. My hat had a handy camera built neatly into the front visor, and I was free to push the ancient mower across stubborn grass.

  Thanks to a group of mischievous young fools decorating the neighborhood yards with toilet paper (kids still did that?), neighborhood watch had been hypervigilant lately. And if you think cops are bad, you haven’t seen a little old lady with a reflective vest and a flashlight the size of her own head. I’d been chased off by an octogenarian twice in the past week, so sitting in a random car was a nonstarter. My new ruse, if I did say so myself, was brilliant. On its surface. In reality, being hired as Mrs. Blake’s next door neighbor’s lawn man sucked big dick. Pro? I was able to get as close to the neighboring property line as I dared. I could finally catch an uninterrupted view of Blake’s backyard. Con? I had to actually cut the fucking grass.

  “Hey, stranger.”

  I cut the motor, choking and gasping as a cloud of dust and grass puttered out of the side of the machine and created nasty confetti. I glared at Drew, st
anding neat and stylish in Dockers and a white button-down shirt. He had the leash to a small, barking Pomeranian in one hand and an ice cream cone in the other. An actual ice cream cone.

  “Are you just going to eat that in front of me?”

  “Well, I would offer you a lick, but we’re being watched right now.”

  I growled.

  “Edith Brantworth, two doors down.” He jerked his head in her direction. “She ran you off on Monday.”

  “Don’t remind me. Isn’t there an episode of Price is Right on?”

  “Old folks don’t watch that anymore. Not since Bob Barker left.”

  “How would you know?” I ran a hand through my sweaty hair, wishing I’d remembered a bandana.

  He leaned down and gave the yappy dog a piece of waffle cone. “I know things.”

  “Where’d the dog come from?”

  “Borrowed, my dear. Only borrowed. As long as I have her back in one piece by five, my sister will have no reason to end my life.”

  I gave the mower a slight kick. “Drew, if this doesn’t make up for missing those meetings with the crotchety sisters, I don’t know what does.”

  “I have to admit, this takes dedication. Nice touch with the truck, by the way. Nice and dusty, wooden crate on the back, couple dents in the side? Just like a lawn truck.”

  I scowled. “I didn’t do anything to my truck.”

  He looked at me for a minute, slightly nonplussed. Then smiled brightly. “So, what’s the plan?”

  I had half a mind to swat his waffle cone right to the ground, but I had a feeling Edith Brantworth would have the cops here in five minutes flat. “I’m going to cut like a maniac and then lurk in his backyard. He has these incredible willows that are going to allow me to play ‘I spy’ for as long as I want.”

  “Good plan.”

  “We’ll finally be able to figure out what the hell she’s doing in the backyard so long every day.”

  “Smart money’s on gardening.”

  “Well, today we’ll know for sure.” I ran a hand through my damp hair to push it back from my face and jammed a cap over it. “Now beat it. I have work to do.”

  Drew took himself and his yappy dog off with a wave, and I yanked the crank on the lawnmower viciously. With the help of some high octane tunes in my Skullcandy headphones, I was able to demolish the front yard in a half hour flat. Stopping briefly to shed my shirt and toss it on a porch railing, I looked back at the long neat rows with something akin to satisfaction. It actually looked pretty great. If I ever got tired of PI work… a fresh wave of heat prickled my back, and I shook my head. No, never. I’d bag groceries instead.

  I dragged my mower over the driveway and through the side wooden gate, ready to tackle the backyard. I cut rows slowly, moving closer and closer to the fence. The trees would cover me peering into the Blakes’ yard, but I couldn’t quite figure out what to do about the person whose yard I was cutting. The back of the house had four windows, nice sized, facing my direction, and he’d been very clear about me not trimming his trees. I hemmed and hawed until, finally, he solved my problem for me.

  “Son,” he called from the gate, over the roar of the motor, “I’m running out for a while.”

  I let go of the handle of the mower, and suddenly blessed silence reigned over the yard. “Okay,” I said, probably smiling just a little too big. “I only have two more rows before I finish. I’ll probably rake, and trim that azalea too.”

  His arthritic hand trembled a bit as he struggled to pull money from his wallet, and I was suddenly glad I’d taken the job seriously. He stuffed a few crumpled bills into my sweaty palm. “You do darned fine work, Martin.”

  Now my smile was genuine. Mr. Nesbitt was actually a pretty nice guy. I stuffed his three twenties in my pocket. And sixty bucks would certainly look nice in my gas tank right now. I’d never worked so hard for sixty dollars in my life, but I shook his hand when he offered it. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’ll probably need you again in about a month. This grass grows like wildfire. Better not to let it get out of hand, you know.”

  “Yes, sir, you’re right.”

  “If you just do a little at a time, you won’t have such a big job when you finally get to it, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “Now, don’t trim those azaleas too close. They took a beating from the storm and haven’t been the same since. This is the healthiest I’ve seen them since Hurricane Wilma.” He ran two fingers over his quivering mustache, and I sighed inwardly. What the hell happened to his errand?

  I heard a bang next door, like a back door slamming closed, and I cursed inwardly. This was my window!

  “I like to go out to the Everglades and get my soil. Just a couple pots or two at a time, you understand, since I’m not really sure about the legality of it all. That soil is so rich and dark, Martin, you could probably grow an apple in Florida.” He laughed, at the impossibility of that I assume, and continued. “I mix a little o’ that with my yard dirt and a palm full of the Dynamite, and whoo-ee! You’ve got some real soil there!”

  “Huh?” Was that giggling? “Yeah, sure. Good soil.”

  “For a while I did try makin’ my own compost, but I could never quite get that mixture right. And damned if Beth didn’t hate that smell. ‘Stanley!’ she would yell, ‘Quit diggin’ through my garbage and creatin’ more garbage.’”

  A rustle and a soft laugh filtered through the trees, and I swore under my breath. No. I did not cut this yard for nothing. I put a hand to my ear and looked off distractedly.

  “Martin? Martin, are you all right?”

  “Shhh!” I continued looking around wildly and then tiptoed toward the unsuspecting azalea bush. “You hear that?”

  “Hear what?” He leaned in, even while proclaiming himself hard of hearing. “Damned timing of life, you know. Had perfect hearing for thirty years while my wife was alive. Perfect hearing through thirty years of ‘Do you think your laundry walks itself to the laundry basket?’ and other such, and now that I’m by myself, I can’t hear a thing!” He gave a great belly laugh that totally ruined the drama of my moment.

  I tried to recapture it by looking around wildly. “No, listen. You hear that?” He leaned in farther, casting a suspicious look at the bush.

  After a moment, he nodded sagely. “You know, I think I do hear little something.” He slanted squinty eyes at me. “What is it?”

  “I’d know that sound anywhere. Last time I heard such hissing, I was in for the fight of me life.” Okay, less Crocodile Dundee, more Steve Irwin, I scolded myself. “It’s a snake. A big one, from the sound of it.”

  Mr. Nesbitt showed me that eighty was still young as he sprang away from the bush as if it was mired in quicksand. “What kind of snake?”

  “Big one,” I said, thinking quickly. “Erhm, optimal priminius. But don’t worry, I’ll kill ’er. You should probably go, though.”

  He nodded quickly, running a hand through his shock of white hair and then over his face. “Of course. Do what you can. Just get rid of that snake!”

  When I heard his truck start in the drive, I dashed over to the fence. Hell, if he saw me near it now, I’d just claim that optimal priminius had slithered out of the bush and transformed into something real. My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I hit the Bluetooth button.

  “Yeah?”

  “You got what you need yet? I just saw Nesbitt take off as if his house was on fire.”

  “Just finished convincing him there was a big-ass snake in his yard.”

  Drew guffawed in my ear as I scaled the nearest tree with minimal effort. It was an old, sturdy tree with plenty of good footholds.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” he managed through his laughter.

  “He was gearing up for a nice long convo, and I heard something going on over here. Now I’m up in a big tree.” I grunted, heaving myself up to the highest branch.

  “With your eighty-year-old knee?”

  “Sh
ut it,” I murmured with little to no heat, weaseling my way through some of the tougher limbs until I had a prime spot. As I parted the leaves, I felt that eager feeling settling in my stomach, the one where the culmination of all your hard work comes together. Mrs. Blake had been a little harder than most to catch, but look at her now, shameless, in her backyard where her children played, for God’s sakes. Using the lawn furniture her family gathered on to… hold a Girl Scouts meeting?

  I looked on in disbelief as a circle of ten or so girls, all clad in blue vests, sat on various pieces of lawn furniture, their attention held rapt by Mrs. Blake. She was holding up some sort of brochure and displaying the glossy, lard-laden pictures within.

  “A Girl Scouts meeting?” I nearly shouted, and then stilled as a few girls nearest the gate looked around in the air. “A Girl Scouts meeting,” I repeated in an angry whisper to Drew as he died laughing. Hopefully died, anyway.

  “Okay, Mac. This mission will certainly go down in history. This is even better than if you’d found her with a rose bush and a sack of fertilizer in hand.”

  I sighed. “I can’t believe I cut Nesbitt’s yard for nothing.”

  “Not nothing. You got paid, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, it’ll go toward my skin graft fund after spending three hours on the surface of the sun.” The girl with brown pigtails tied with blue ribbons that matched her smock raised her hand quickly and then stood when she was acknowledged. I grinned. I knew a know-it-all from a mile away. She held up a box of Thin Mints that had come from God knows where, and my stomach rumbled.

  “Drew, I’ve found the Keebler tree,” I murmured. “I wonder if those cookies are for sale now.”

  “You know, now that you know she’s not cheating, you’re spying on a Girl Scouts meeting. Not a good look for a grown man. Hard to explain to cops,” he added helpfully.