by Melinda Metz
CHAPTER 7
Jamie groaned as she reached for a can of cat food. Yesterday’s surf lesson had been mind-blowing. She hadn’t realized until she got out of bed this morning that it had wrecked her body. Her ribs hurt, her arms hurt, even her toes hurt. Paddling didn’t sound like something that would take much exertion, but Jamie now knew how Kylie had gotten those biceps. She figured she must have been gripping the board with her toes, but she had no idea why her ribs were aching. She’d taken a few spills, but nothing too bad.
“I’m addicted now, though,” she told Mac, who was twining himself around her ankles. “I already signed up for another lesson. Maybe I should start a conditioning routine. A little weightlifting.” Playfully, she scooped Mac up and raised him over her head. He gave a yowl of disapproval, and she gave a groan of pain. “That was not a good idea,” she said as she put Mac down. He glared at her, but she knew how to get his forgiveness. She quickly filled his bowl with food that mixed venison with salmon.
Now that he was taken care of, she turned her attention to herself. What she wanted to do was soak in a tub of Epsom salts. Not that she had any. Would regular salt work? She’d just use bubble bath, she decided. She’d found a new kind in a little shop nearby, lavender and basil. Absolutely delicious. The woman who owned the place had given Jamie a tour of the back room and let her take some pictures. Jamie had loved the intensity of the woman’s expression when she talked about the properties of various plants.
Jamie started to fill the tub with the hottest water she could stand, then turned off the taps. She had to check the porch. If she didn’t, she would spend the whole time she was in the bath wondering if something had been left on the doormat.
Jamie hobbled to the door and opened it, then forced herself to look down. There was a man’s sandal that looked like it had a lot of wear left in it, a hairbrush, a Red Sox baseball cap, and a crumpled, moist-looking tissue. Who was doing this? What was it supposed to mean? Maybe she should put a note on the door saying that Desmond didn’t live here anymore. The stuff had to be for him. Or was it from kids goofing around? She should ask Ruby if she’d gotten anything other than the pony left on her doorstep.
What if it wasn’t kids? Could all the stuff be from the same guy? Could some guy be obsessed with her? Why? The town was full of models and actresses to stalk. The idea that someone had specifically targeted her was creepy. She tried to shove the thought away. Way, way too creepy. And the underwear was different sizes, so that meant—
“Morning, Toots.”
Jamie jerked her head up and saw Hud Martin heading up the walkway to her house. She rushed down the steps to meet him. If he saw the random pile of stuff on her porch, she knew he’d have questions, lots of questions. She wasn’t in the mood. She was in the mood for a bath and a book that would make her forget the creepiness for a while.
“Good morning,” she said, forcing a smile. “Going fishing?” He had on the vest again.
“That’s always the plan, but somehow something always comes along that requires my attention,” he answered. “Today it’s a missing shoe.” He pulled a little notebook out from one of the vest’s pockets. “Teva sandal. Size ten. Mosaic pattern. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Jamie’s heart started beating a little faster. She felt guilty, even though she had no reason to. Should she tell Hud that the shoe had shown up on her porch? She’d definitely be questioned. But if he saw the shoe, and she hadn’t said anything . . .
“In fact, I do,” she answered. Maybe he’d actually help and find out what was going on. From what Al said, he was always looking for a mystery to solve. “A shoe like that showed up on my doorstep this morning.” She stepped back and pointed. “That brush and baseball hat, too. Oh, and that tissue.”
“ ‘Showed up,’ you say.”
“ ‘Showed up,’ I said.” Jamie agreed. Hud made a note in his little book. “Do you think you could give the shoe back? Or tell me who to give it back to?” she asked.
“You’re saying this morning was the first time you saw it or the other items?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
He stared at her. She stared back.
If Ruby hadn’t shown up, who knew how long the stare-off would have lasted. Hud turned his attention to her. “Is there a reason you’re here this morning?”
“Do I need a reason?” Ruby asked. Hud gave her The Stare. He was almost as good at it as Mac was. Ruby sighed. “It seems like you really think I need a reason to be in my own neighborhood. I came over to visit my friend”—she nodded at Jamie—“and find out how her surfing lesson went.”
Hud turned his attention back to Jamie. “Surfing lesson. Kind of a pricey hobby, isn’t it?”
Jamie was getting tired of his intimations. “If I was financing it by selling stolen goods, don’t you think I would have taken both shoes?”
“Put some thought into what would be the most profitable, have you?” Hud asked.
“Help me,” Jamie said to Ruby. “Please just help me.”
“Interesting that the two of you are friends,” Hud said before Ruby could jump in. “Seeing as Tootsie Pop here also had a stolen object appear on her porch and claimed to have no knowledge of how it came to be there.”
“And you know what? I felt bad for the little girl, Riley, so I made her a barn for the pony. She loved it,” Ruby told Hud.
“Made you feel good, didn’t it?” Hud unclipped a small pair of scissors from the lanyard around his neck and began using one of the blades to clean his fingernails.
“Made me feel great. I’ve never seen anybody smile so wide,” Ruby answered.
“The criminal mind is a fascinating thing,” Hud commented. “We think of profit as a motive. We think of revenge. And many times, those are reasons a crime is committed. But for some, the brain’s wiring is stranger, more twisted. A criminal could, for instance, steal so that they could be seen as a hero by returning what they took.”
“So, you think I stole the pony so I could get gratitude from a little girl by bringing it back to her, and then making it a barn?” Ruby demanded.
“Did I say that?” Hud asked, all wide-eyed innocence. No wonder he’d never starred in another show, Jamie thought. His acting sucked.
“You pretty much did, yeah,” Ruby told him.
“And I’m supposed to get a thrill from the used tissue?” Jamie asked. “Do you really think anyone would be grateful to get a used tissue back?”
Hud continued working on his nails. “A clever criminal understands the value of misdirection.”
Jamie shook her head. “I’m going in. You coming?” she asked Ruby.
“Of course. We have a crime spree to plan,” Ruby said.
“There are times when criminals with a shared psychosis team up. It always ends badly,” Hud called after them.
“He’s very subtle, very Sherlock.” Jamie opened the door for Ruby.
“I almost confessed. I almost admitted we are the Thelma and Louise of Storybook Court,” Ruby said.
“I must have coffee. Do you want coffee?” Jamie asked, heading for the kitchen.
“Of course.” Ruby sat down at the kitchen table and Mac immediately leapt into her lap.
“Wow. Mac usually takes his time before he honors someone with his presence,” Jamie said. “Do you mind?”
“How could I mind?” Ruby tickled Mac under the chin, and his eyes drifted most of the way closed as he entered a pleasure trance.
“Have you gotten anything else on your porch?” Jamie asked as she poured two big mugs of coffee and set them on the table.
“Nope. Obviously you have.”
“Yeah. Since last time we talked, I’ve received a sweaty T-shirt, plus the stuff from this morning. I’m really struggling not to have a complete freak-out.” Jamie added two big spoonfuls of sugar to her coffee, then took a slug.
“It’s definitely weird. But it’s not necessarily malicious.” Ruby continued t
o work on Mac’s chin.
“What about the ex–TV detective? Is he going to turn us in?” Jamie asked.
Ruby laughed. “To who? Besides, he’s enjoying the mystery too much to want it to end. So how was the surfing?”
“I’m so glad you suggested it. It was amazing. I’m already hooked. I’m also ridiculously sore,” Jamie answered.
“I thought you’d go for it. And Kylie’s great.”
“Yeah, I loved how important it was to her to make it fun. And it really seemed like she was having fun, too. Look at these pics I took of her.” Jamie got her cell, brought up the photo gallery, and handed it to Ruby. “I think that’s something I want as part of my dream job. I want it to be fun—at least some of the time.”
“These are really great,” Ruby said, clicking through the pictures. “You caught her personality. I love the one of Bad Advice Guy, too.”
“Thanks.”
“Jamie! Marie says to come to dinner tomorrow tonight,” Al hollered.
“What does he do in the winter when people close their windows?” Jamie whispered to Ruby, then she yelled an answer. “That sounds great. What should I bring?”
“Nothing. But Marie says to wear a dress. Come at seven.”
“Uh-oh,” Ruby said.
“Dinner won’t be so bad. I actually like them,” Jamie answered.
“Me, too. I’ve gone to dinner there myself. But Marie has never made Al tell me what to wear.” Ruby took a sip of coffee and smiled. “My friend, I think tomorrow night you’re getting set up.”
“I told Marie and Helen I didn’t want that. I told them both!” Jamie exclaimed.
“You haven’t known Marie that long, but I bet you’ve already found out that she does whatever she wants to do.”
“If you’re right, she’s probably going to have her great-nephew over there. She keeps bringing him up. And then Helen brings up her godson. Can I just not go? Can I say I’m sick?” Jamie asked.
“Marie will be over here with ginger ale, soda crackers, and chicken soup, checking on you and your alibi,” Ruby predicted. “It’s going to happen. I say just get it over with.”
Jamie sighed. “You’re right. And it’s just dinner with Al and Marie there. How bad can it be?”
* * *
It’ll only be about a half an hour, David told himself. He’d expected to be a little nervous. It had been a long time—a long, long time—since he’d been on a date. He hadn’t expected sweat to be popping up between his fingers.
This wasn’t a date, anyway. They were going to meet quickly so they’d both have the chance to confirm who they were dealing with. He’d told Madison, the high school girl who worked behind the counter part-time, that a friend was dropping by. She didn’t need to know more than that, and she should be busy with customers. A lot of people stopped at the bakery on the way home. Next time, he’d choose a place where he didn’t know anyone.
He checked his watch. A couple minutes until six. He brought a plate with a couple of his boozy cupcakes on it over to a table by the window and sat down. He used a napkin to wipe between his fingers, while he mentally reviewed the possible conversation starters he’d come up with. Well, he’d come up with them with the help of some online articles. “What’s your dream job?” “Are you a dog or a cat person?” And the classic: “How was your day?” He was thinking of borrowing Ruby’s favorite getting-to-know-somebody question: “What would be the title of the movie of your life?” He didn’t usually have trouble talking to people, but this wasn’t usual.
He resisted the temptation to check Sabrina’s picture again, even though it wasn’t as if he’d forgotten what she looked like. They’d exchanged a few texts during the day, and he’d liked how she came across. She had a quick sense of humor, although she hadn’t picked up on his Pulp Fiction reference, and you had to be a little suspicious of people who didn’t appreciate Pulp Fiction.
The string of bells on the front door jangled, the door swung open, and there she was. She looked like her picture. Adam had warned him that she might not. But she really did—until she walked past the back of the booth by the door and he could see her from the waist down.
She was pregnant. Preg-nant. Eight months? More? He didn’t know. But really pregnant, possibly even rush-to-the-hospital pregnant. David’s brain started sending out instructions. Smile. Don’t stare at the belly. Introduce yourself.
He smiled. He stood. “Sabrina?”
She smiled back. A nice smile. “David?”
He nodded, gestured to the seat across from him. “Cocktail cupcakes, as promised.”
“Fabulous.” She sat down, took one of the cupcakes, and bit into it. “My boyfriend would have a fit if he saw me eating this. He was so worried about me gaining weight.”
“Boyfriend,” David repeated. Was his first counterpart.com meet-up actually a pregnant woman with a boyfriend?
“Ex-boyfriend,” she amended. “He acted like he didn’t want me to eat junk because he cared about my health and the baby’s. But, come on, he didn’t want me to get fat. He probably expects—expected—me to be in a bikini on the way home from the hospital.” She took another bite of the cupcake. “Amazing.”
It sounded to David like the guy hadn’t been her ex-boyfriend for long. What the hell was he supposed to do here? “Do you want some coffee or tea or anything?” he asked. Clearly what the hell he was supposed to do was act normal, have a coffee with her, say it had been great to meet her, and go on with his life.
“Coffee, please,” she said. “Another thing my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—didn’t want me having. The doctor said a little caffeine was fine, but that wasn’t enough for Patrick. He didn’t want me to have coffee for nine whole months. Not that he was willing to give up his two-shot-of-espresso Black Eyes as moral support. He kept saying he wasn’t pregnant and there was no way what he ingested would hurt the baby and that I was being unreasonable to expect him to give up anything.”
“Right back,” David said. He took his time getting coffee, cream, and sugar from behind the counter and returning to her.
“I guess I should have asked before,” Sabrina said when he sat back down. “There’s not too much alcohol in the cupcakes, right?”
“You’d probably have to eat about a dozen to get as much alcohol as in a beer,” David told her. “As long as you don’t squirt on anything from the pipettes.”
Sabrina swiped one finger across the top of a cupcake and licked off the icing. “I’m not asking how many calories. It’s been a long eight and a half months.”
“I bet,” David said. He wanted to look at the clock, but he didn’t let himself. He’d let her drink her coffee, and hopefully that wouldn’t take long, then he’d make an excuse for why he had to go.
Sabrina snorted. “Men always try to act sympathetic and understanding. But there’s no way any of you can understand, no possible way, so you shouldn’t even try.” Her voice had turned shrill, and her eyes had brightened with mania. Or maybe it was just a sugar high. She was already starting on a second cupcake.
“Okay, yeah, you’re right,” David answered, keeping his voice low and calm. “No man can know what it’s really like to be pregnant.”
She started chewing so hard he could hear her teeth clicking together. “And now you’re doing that thing where you make your voice all soothing, like I’m a rabid animal about to bite you.”
Got that right, David thought. It seemed like any reaction he gave would be the wrong one, so he turned his attention to stirring some sugar into his coffee.
“See? You expect me to give up sugar, but there you go, using it yourself, and right in front of me,” Sabrina accused.
“Hold up,” David said. “We’ve never even met before. I don’t expect anything.”
“So, you don’t care about the baby.” Sabrina finished the second cupcake and took the half-eaten one off his plate.
“Look, clearly this isn’t a good time to be starting up something new. I hope eve
rything goes—”
Sabrina didn’t let him finish. “You’re disgusted by me. You can’t have a baby without getting fat. It’s impossible.”
“Not gonna argue with you. Let me get you a few cupcakes for the road.” David stood up so quickly, he almost knocked over his chair. He returned behind the counter, mind racing as he boxed up a half dozen of the cupcakes. Was he going to be able to get her out of there without her having a complete meltdown? Could she get so upset she could bring on premature labor? Was that a possibility?
He glanced over at Madison. She goggled back at him. She wasn’t going to be any help.
“Here you go,” David said when he returned to the table. He set the cupcake box down in front of her without sitting back down. “There are two more of the cabernet ones. The rest are alcohol-free.”
“I can make my own choices, you know,” Sabrina cried. “I read four hundred books on being pregnant. I know what’s okay and what’s not.”
“Sure. Of course.” David took a step back, holding his hands up in surrender. A dog, friends, a job he liked, it was sounding pretty good. It was sounding very good.
The bells on the door tinkled, and a tall man with thinning red hair rushed in. “Sabrina! What the hell?” he shouted.
She jerked her chin up. “You caught me. I’m eating cupcakes—with booze in them. And I’m drinking coffee. If you cared about the baby, you wouldn’t be yelling. You’re always saying how bad stress is for her.”
“I’m not talking about the damn cupcakes,” the man whisper-yelled. “I’m talking about you being here on a date.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Sabrina asked. She opened the cupcake box, grabbed a cupcake, and shoved half of it into her mouth without even peeling away the paper. “You obviously don’t want to be with me. I’m way too fat and selfish and stupid to be with you.”
David took a few more steps back. Madison leaned forward, mouth falling open.
“You know that’s not true, sweetheart,” the man crooned. He knelt next to Sabrina and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
