C is for Coochy Coo (Malibu Mystery Book 3)

by Sean Black

  Sofia held up an open palm. It was her turn to be grossed out. “Can’t you just say it, rather than doing that thing with your finger?”

  Gray looked down at his hands as if they were foreign bodies that had been accidentally attached to his body. “Sorry. But, the whole hetero thing kind of freaks me out. I was thinking more along the lines of us using a surrogate. I mean, you don’t want to do the whole pregnancy thing, do you? Throwing up and hemorrhoids.”

  “I hadn’t given it much thought.” She really hadn’t. Kids were still way down her list of things to do. She wasn’t even sure they had their own entry yet.

  “All I’m saying is . . . the offer’s there.”

  “Thanks,” said Sofia.

  * * *

  AFTER GRAY HAD GONE, Sofia cleared up the last of the takeout food. She went back out onto the porch, wiped down the table and finished the last of the expensive wine in her glass.

  Fred swooped down and settled in close to her. He ruffled his feathers in the breeze and eyed her, tilting his head from side to side.

  “What about you, Fred? Did you get to know your dad before you flew the nest?”

  Flew the nest? She cracked herself up.

  Fred squawked a reply. She wasn’t sure if it was a yes or a no. She knew some bird fathers stuck around when chicks were hatched. She couldn’t remember whether seagulls were included in that group or not.

  Her eyes fell to the bottle Gray had brought and left behind. Genetically speaking she could do a lot worse. That was kind of an understatement. Genetically no one could do much better. And she wasn’t exactly chopped liver herself. Not in the looks department anyway. She wasn’t a supermodel, but she had to be a solid seven (to borrow Aidan’s scoring system). Maybe an eight with make-up and good lighting. So at least the kid would probably have looks, which, in the superficial world they inhabited, was definitely a help. And money, because Gray was loaded. So why did she still find the idea weird?

  It couldn’t be because she was opposed to the idea of a gay man having a child. Or to the idea of using modern science to create a baby. Or, for that matter, of hiring a surrogate. She wasn’t opposed to any of it in principle. But . . .

  Children to Sofia meant family. She wasn’t sure that agreeing to share her eggs with Gray’s swimmers was the same thing. Family meant more. Being a mom, or a dad, was about a lot more than producing a baby. It was what they did after that was the part that counted.

  Sofia startled as a neon-yellow Lycra outfit flashed past her porch. It was Tex, her elderly neighbor, out for one of her late-night runs.

  “Honey,” said Tex, as she breezed past. “If the sun’s gone down, your wine bottle is empty, and you’re talking to a seagull, it’s probably time to hit the hay.”

  As always, Tex was correct. “Thanks, Tex.”

  “You’re welcome, honey. Good night.”

  “Good night, Tex.”

  Sofia lifted the last of the debris from the table and headed back inside. She watched from the door as Fred hopped down onto the deck and began to search for scraps of discarded gourmet sushi. Sofia guessed wherever he had started his life, it hadn’t turned out too badly. Neither, for that matter, had hers.

  CHAPTER 18

  T he next morning, Sofia drove down Pacific Coast Highway, sipping gingerly at her water until she turned off at Cross Creek. Before she faced the office, and Aidan, she had to get some breakfast and she knew just the place. When her tummy was a little delicate and she had to get some really healthy food, SunLife Organics was the answer.

  She ordered the Dragon Bowl and a Malibu Sunrise juice. As she waited, a cute blond surfer dude came in with an Old English Sheepdog. Sofia bent down to pet it.

  “I think he likes you,” said Surfer Dude, as the dog shoved its nose into her crotch.

  “Um, yeah,” said Sofia, gently pushing the animal away. “Is he always this friendly?”

  Surfer Dude took his time answering. He mulled it over like it was one of the great philosophical questions, on the same level as ‘Do we really have free will or is our path pre-determined?” and whether morality was absolute or relative.

  “Not all the time,” he said at last. “He just really likes to sniff the puss.”

  At first Sofia wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

  “He really likes to get his nose all up in ladies’ junk.”

  “Dragon Bowl and a Malibu Sunrise!”

  Saved by the server. Sofia raced to the counter, grabbed her order, and headed outside to one of the benches far away from the dog. She sat down and forced herself to eat as Aidan pulled his yellow Porsche into a spot in front and got out. He was looking pretty sharp in a charcoal grey pinstripe Hugo Boss suit, white shirt with a blue tie, and black oxfords.

  He headed over to where she was. “You look like shit,” he said, as he blew past her, yanked the door open and shouted, “Bulletproof Coffee to go, please, Samantha.”

  “Good morning to you too,” said Sofia. She guessed Samantha was the perky blonde girl jockeying the register.

  Aidan headed back to Sofia’s bench and sat opposite her. “Aren’t mornings like this why women invented make-up?”

  “Why are you being such an asshat?”

  “Oh, like you don’t break my balls when I tie one on,” Aidan countered. “And at least I have an excuse.”

  “And what would that be?”

  Aidan shrugged. “I’m Irish.”

  Sofia suppressed an eye-roll. “You grew up in Woodland Hills.”

  “Irish blood.”

  The door opened and Samantha walked over with Aidan’s Bulletproof Coffee. “Thanks, sweetie,” said Aidan, taking it. “Put it on my tab.”

  “No problem, Aidan. Say hi to your dad for me.”

  Sofia watched Samantha totter back inside. For reasons that weren’t clear, she was wearing high heels and cut-off denim Daisy Duke shorts while the rest of the staff were in sneakers and a uniform.

  “You’re not hitting that, are you?” Sofia asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Aidan. “She’s like nineteen or something.”

  “Didn’t think that’d stop you.”

  It was Aidan’s turn to roll his eyes.

  “So what’s in that stuff?” Sofia pointed to Aidan’s special order of coffee.

  “Coffee, MCT oil, and grass-fed butter.”

  It sounded disgusting. “Butter? In coffee? That’s just wrong.”

  “No one’s asking you to drink it.” Aidan sounded predictably huffy at having his choice criticized. “So, this morning, I want you to head down to UCLA. Daniel’s in for more treatment and Candy will be there. I want you to speak to her, find out if there are any penises she forgot to mention.”

  “Penises? Really?”

  Aidan took a sip of his weird-ass coffee and gave an unapologetic shrug. “Hey, we got twelve possibles from her and that took some prompting. When a woman gets to that number of bangs they’re understandably reticent about revealing any more guys that may have slipped their mind.”

  Classic Aidan. Sofia could already feel her hackles rise and it wasn’t even nine o’clock. “Yeah, because of attitudes like yours.”

  “Like mine? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, come off it, Aidan. Guys like you want women to be sexually available, but when they are, they’re sluts.”

  “When did I ever say that I think women should be sexually available?”

  “You don’t have to,” Sofia said.

  “So if I don’t say it, how come you know that’s what I think?”

  “You really want me to spell it out for you?”

  Aidan leaned back and ran a hand through his thick dark curls. He grinned. “Go ahead. This should be good.”

  “Okay, how many women have you slept with in the past six months?”

  “The last six months?”

  That seemed to stop him in his tracks. Now it was Sofia’s turn to lean back. She watched him squi
rm. He must be having trouble counting that high so early in the day.

  “Hmm, let me see.” He took another sip. Clearly buying himself some time.

  That coffee had better be bulletproof, she thought.

  “Six months?” Aidan asked again.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “And what are we counting as sex?”

  “You really need me to spell it out?”

  “Please do.”

  He was definitely stalling.

  “Sexual intercourse. You know, when a man puts his―”

  Aidan cut her off. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

  “So what’s your number?”

  “Six months?”

  Sofia nodded.

  “One,” said Aidan.

  Sofia’s mouth dropped open. She was fairly sure her jaw was resting on her chest. “One?”

  Aidan folded his arms, with a self-satisfied smirk. “Yup. One.”

  “You’re lying,” Sofia protested.

  “Want me to take a polygraph? I’d be happy to. I can call our guy Alejandro and get him to come over to the office.”

  Alejandro was one of a couple of people the agency used to administer polygraph tests.

  “One? Really?” said Sofia. “How is that possible? You have, like, three dates a week. At least.”

  “Sofia, I know it’s hard for people to understand, but I date so I can find someone special. If they’re not that special, and I don’t see it leading to anything, why would I sleep with them?”

  “Because you’re a guy?” Sofia said.

  “Yeah, but I’m not one of those guys,” said Aidan.

  * * *

  SOFIA DROVE the short distance back to the office in a bit of a daze. Finding out that Aidan had slept with only one woman in the past six months had been a shock. That must have been what it was like for people when Galileo showed up to tell them the Earth wasn’t flat. Pretty much everything she had assumed about the world had just been proved totally wrong.

  She sat in the Tesla and repeated the same word over and over: “One?”

  * * *

  WHEN SHE GOT into the office, Aidan was hunched over the gun safe in Brendan’s room. He had taken off his jacket and was wearing a shoulder holster, which explained the suit.

  “I thought you were going to speak with some of the potential fathers?” Sofia asked him.

  “I am,” Aidan said, placing his gun in the holster and putting his jacket back on.

  “So what’s with the gun?”

  “You ever told some guy he might have a kid he didn’t know about? No way of knowing how the dude is going to react.”

  “Okay, but just make sure that if you shoot them you don’t aim anywhere near their kidneys.”

  “Head shots only, and I’ll pack a cooler with extra ice just in case.”

  CHAPTER 19

  A fter ten minutes at the UCLA Medical Center, Sofia was starting to wonder whether there was a gene for hitting on anything with a pulse. If there was, Daniel had a good excuse for greeting her with “Hey, gorgeous,” and a leer that looked all wrong on his teenaged face. Sofia knew kids grew up fast these days, but that was over the top.

  She had passed Candice in the corridor on the way in. Daniel’s mother had been busy asking a young doctor whether he got time to date, and whether he liked more mature women. She had acknowledged Sofia with a wave and gone right back to flirting with the young resident, whom she had practically pinned against the wall. Like mother, like son.

  Daniel pulled the sheets back over himself. His head sank into the pillows with a moan as his mom walked back into the room. Candice rushed over to him. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  “Just a little tired, Mom,” said Daniel, who seemed to have suddenly transformed into a character in a Disease of the Week made-for-TV movie in a matter of seconds.

  “Can I get you anything?” Candice asked him.

  “Maybe some water,” Daniel croaked.

  “Sofia, honey, would you mind getting Danny some water? There’s a sweetheart.”

  “No problem,” said Sofia.

  There was a jug of water and a glass on his bedside locker, easily within his reach. But Sofia could hardly tell the kid to get it himself as he lay there moaning. Still, she was suspicious.

  She walked round to the side of the bed, poured some water into the glass, and tried to hand it to him. Daniel’s hands stayed under the covers.

  “I don’t have the strength. Could you?” he asked, struggling to raise his head from the pillow. “Would you mind?”

  He sounded truly pathetic. Maybe since his kidneys weren’t working he could actually take a funny turn that rendered him weak.

  Sofia stepped in closer and raised the glass to Daniel’s lips. His lifted his head and took a sip of water, looking straight down her top.

  She let the glass full of water slip from her hand. It fell onto the sheets, soaking them. “Whoops!” she said.

  “Oh, my goodness, you’re drenched, Danny,” said Candice. “Here, let me take those sheets and get them changed before you catch a cold.”

  “No, it’s okay, Mom,” said Daniel, grasping at the sheets for dear life.

  “Your mom’s right. We should change them,” said Sofia.

  “It’s okay. I’ll do it myself,” said Daniel.

  Sofia grabbed a fistful of sheet and yanked. Daniel scrambled to cover his boxer shorts with his hands, and blushed furiously.

  “It’s really no trouble,” Sofia told him.

  “Everything okay in here?”

  Sofia turned to see a good-looking guy in his late twenties wearing a white coat standing in the doorway. His name badge identified him as Dr. Mark Sitzen. He had piercing blue eyes, thick black hair, and was wearing glasses that would normally make someone look like a dweeb but in his case made him even hotter, like Clark Kent.

  “We just had a little accident. Only water, so it’s not like the sheets will be stained or anything,” Sofia said, with a glare at Daniel. Perhaps shame would put a stop to the harassment.

  Daniel grabbed a corner of the sheet from Sofia’s hand and pulled it back over himself.

  Dr. Mark walked to the end of the bed. “How are you feeling today, Daniel?”

  “Okay, I guess. A little tired.”

  “That’s to be expected.”

  Dr. Mark lasered his baby blues on Sofia. She definitely felt a disturbance in the force. She wondered if he was single. Guys like him were usually taken or gay. Her gaydar wasn’t going off, but that didn’t mean Dr. Mark wasn’t batting for Gray Cole’s team.

  “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” Dr. Mark said to her.

  Before Sofia could introduce herself, Candice walked over to him, slid an arm around his waist, just like she’d done with Brendan, and asked, “How are you, Doctor? You look kind of tired. All work and no play, maybe.”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” he said, gently extricating himself from her grasp, and putting his hand out to Sofia. “Mark Sitzen. I’m Daniel’s nephrologist.”

  Sofia was grateful she had done some reading so she had a vague idea of what a nephrologist did. Unsurprisingly, they specialized in kidney function. “Sofia Salgado. I’m with Maloney Investigations in Malibu. We’re trying to locate some of Daniel’s other family members to see if they might be a match for a possible transplant.”

  She thought she’d skirted the dozen-possible-fathers issue pretty well.

  “Welcome aboard, Sofia. Don’t think we’ve had a private investigator on the transplant team before but whatever helps us get a match has to be a good thing,” said Dr. Mark.

  Sofia smiled. “That reminds me. Candice, could I speak with you privately?”

  “Oh, sure, honey,” said Candice, a little nonplussed that Dr. Mark seemed to be more interested in Sofia than in her. She obviously wasn’t used to the all-over-him-like-a-rash approach failing.

  “Great,” said Dr. Mark. “I need to check Daniel out anyway. Good to meet you, Sofia.
Oh . . . before I forget.” He dug into his coat pocket and handed her a business card. “In case you or your colleagues have any questions, or you need to contact me about anything.”

  She took his card. His eyes lingered on her a second longer than seemed normal. Damn! He was cute.

  Stay professional, Sofia.

  “Great. Thanks.” She dug in her purse, then handed him her card.

  Dr. Mark took it and turned it over in his hand, like a Vegas card dealer. He looked confused. “Erm, this is for a dog groomer.”

  Oh, yeah, real smooth Sofia. The card was from a previous investigation. She really had to remember to clean out her handbag more often than once every six months, whether it needed it or not.

  “Sorry. Wrong card.” She snatched it back and continued hunting in the dark bowels of her bag.

  “What kind of dog do you have?” Dr. Mark said, filling the awkward silence.

  Damn. She had found pretty much everything apart from a business card. Pen. Tampon. Gum. Totally distracted by the search, she blurted out, “Seagull.”

  “That’s a weird kind of dog,” said Dr. Mark.

  “Sorry, I meant I have a pet seagull, not a dog. I mean, he’s not a pet so much as someone who hangs out at my place. Mostly for the food.”

  “Like a teenager,” said Candice.

  Finally! She had found a card. It looked like it had a smear of ketchup on the corner, but it was better than nothing. She scribbled her cell number on the back and handed it over.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing it to him. “Call us if there’s anything you think we need to know.”

  * * *

  “HE’S PRETTY MUCH the most fuckable man I’ve met this year.”

  Sofia and Candice were sitting in one of the UCLA Medical Center’s many dining rooms, sipping coffee. Candice had just offered her blunt assessment of Dr. Mark. Sofia found it hard to disagree.

  “I think he liked you,” Candice offered.

  “You think?”

  That was not what Sofia had planned on saying. She was there for work, not to chase hot young doctors. The ‘You think?’ had just slipped out. Maybe no longer having José as a booty call had had more of an effect on her than she’d suspected.