by Tawna Fenske
“I didn’t mean to,” Lori said. “I was just so touched that he still used the bag, that he obviously cared about it a lot, and he even noticed the stars on the lining and how that’s my trademark thing. It was just really sweet, you know?”
“Sure, sure.”
“And we talked a lot about my business and how things are going.”
“Of course.”
“And then he offered it to me – his bag. He saw how happy I was to see it, and he thought I might want it back for sentimental reasons.”
“And as it turns out, you want him back for sentimental reasons?”
Lori was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess I’m not totally over him, but I’m really confused. I mean he did cheat, and he said all those horrible things—”
“It was seven years ago, Lori. People change.”
“Maybe.”
“So he went home already?”
“No,” she murmured, lowering her voice. “He’s sleeping. He always had this thing where he fell asleep right after—”
“Um, too much information, Lori,” I said. “And really, should you be phoning me with this news the second his head hits the pillow?”
I gave Pete a virtuous smile, pretending I would never do something as gauche as phoning my sister the moment my new lover fell asleep.
“You’ve got a guy there?” she guessed.
“Pete.”
“Really? Am I interrupting something?”
“As a matter of fact—”
“Gotcha. Say no more.”
“If you need to talk though—”
“No, I should probably go. I guess I just freaked out a little, you know?”
“I know. Really, I do.”
“Tell me it’s going to be okay.”
“It’s going to be okay. He’s a good guy, Lori. I really think he’s changed.”
She sighed. “You might be right.”
“Get back to bed. Go wake him up for round two or something.”
Lori giggled. “Careful. You might give poor Pete performance anxiety.”
“Goodnight, Lori.”
“’Night.”
I clicked off the phone and looked at Pete. He smiled.
“Interesting night you ladies are having,” he said.
“Right. Any chance you didn’t hear any of that?”
“You’re sitting on my leg. I could hear every word she said, too.”
I reached over and set the phone on the coffee table before meeting Pete’s eyes again. “Lori’s a little freaked out.”
Pete nodded. “Adam’s a good guy.”
“I know. She’s never really gotten over him, even though she’s dated plenty of other guys the last seven years. But she’s been so angry all this time—”
“You sure it’s not just a cover?”
“Oh, I’m sure it is. He really hurt her. I know she plays tough, but they really were close – even for high school. You should have seen how crushed she was when he left.”
“People change,” Pete said, looking thoughtful. “And guys say stupid things sometimes. Do stupid things. Especially when they’re young and dumb and full of testosterone.”
I looked down at my hands. “I’m not sure age changes them much.”
“True,” Pete agreed cheerfully. “We’re pretty much pigs until we die.”
I looked up to see him smiling at me, and I wondered if we were going to kiss again.
He studied my face for a moment before reaching down and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I felt my pulse begin to gallop, and wondered if I should sit on my hands or sit on his lap.
“I should probably be going,” Pete said finally. “As much as I was enjoying—”
“Snogging?”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Right. I know you’ve had a long evening and you probably need a little time to digest things. So, I’d probably better leave before we start to get carried away again.”
“Oh,” I said, my face heating up. “That would be bad.”
“No, it would actually be pretty good.” Pete’s grin widened. “But we probably ought to take it slow.”
Take it slow. I felt a quick stab of guilt and wondered if making out with someone else had crossed some sort of line in my agreement with Daniel.
Pete stood and brushed the cracker crumbs off his jeans. Then he reached back down and hoisted me to my feet.
“So thanks for the snack,” he said. “It almost makes up for the pepper spray.”
“Right. Well, thanks for the tongue wrestling. It almost makes up for the fake girlfriend.”
Pete bent down and gave me a chaste kiss on the forehead. “Let’s just call it even.”
“Sure,” I said, steering him toward the door. “And, uh, let me know if you hear anything else about who trashed your car the other night.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “And let me know if you hear from Lori’s intern.”
I winced as I felt my heart sink low and heavy in my chest. “I can’t help but think that’s at the center of this whole thing, you know? The stuff with the handbags.”
“The cops took your statements last night,” Pete said. “If there’s something going on, they’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Pete reached down and grabbed the doorknob, then turned back toward me. He held my eyes for a moment, hesitating. I waited, wondering if there was another confession coming.
But instead, Pete bent down and kissed me again, slowly this time. His lips were so soft, so gentle, that I almost couldn’t believe this was the same guy I’d passionately clacked teeth with just a few minutes earlier.
When Pete broke the kiss, he brushed the back of his hand over my cheek and smiled.
“Just making sure you know there’s more than rage fueling this. For me, anyway.”
Then he turned and walked out the door.
THE FOLLOWING DAY, I was feeling pretty good as I shut down Shirley’s engine and climbed down from the cab for my lunch break. Despite my worries about Macy and the counterfeit handbags, work had a therapeutic effect on me. It was only noon, but I had already crushed an old outhouse and been ogled by the hottest guy ever to man a secretary station. So far, it was a good day.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee, JJ?” Pete called as I made my way toward the break room, his eyes seemingly focused on boring through my orange safety vest and pink flannel shirt to the black lace bra I was wearing underneath.
His sister’s picture was missing from his desk, but I hadn’t heard any workplace gossip yet about a fake breakup with his fake girlfriend. I’d let him be in charge of that.
“Can I take a rain check on the coffee?” I asked, trying not to blush. “Maybe after dinner some night this week?”
Pete beamed as he reached out to grab the ringing phone. “It’s a date.”
I walked through a side door and headed down the hallway that led to Collin’s office. I hesitated for a moment before knocking.
“Yes?” he called from inside.
I pushed through the door and stopped short at the sight of a female ass lifted high in the air.
Green Barbie was rummaging through the recycling, moving empty Coke cans from one bin to another. I paused for a moment to wonder if her skirt had actually been manufactured that short, or if she altered it somehow. Then I considered whether her lady bits ever got chilly.
Collin was staring at his computer screen, seemingly oblivious to the x-rated show taking place on the other side of his desk.
He glanced up at me. The faintest hint of a smile played across his face. “Hullo, JJ. Did you need something?”
“Burt told me you have a new program for my GPS unit. He said I could just bring you the memory card and you’d swap it out for a new one.”
“Right. Yes, jolly good.”
He reached out to take the memory card and his hand brushed mine. We both froze for a second, our fingers touching, our eyes locked. A jolt
of something warm and electric sizzled its way up my arm, and I couldn’t have pulled my hand back if I’d wanted to.
Collin took a breath, and I watched his pupils dilate in those pools of amber light. The room felt very warm.
“Does anyone, like, care if I swap out this bin for a new one?” Green Barbie asked. “There’s, like, something gross and sticky in here.”
Collin swallowed and pulled his hand away from mine.
“Go right ahead.” He turned and placed the old memory card on his desk, then grabbed another one from a little box beside his computer. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Here’s the new card. You know what to do with it?”
“I stick it in my slot, right?”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Er, right. That’s it exactly.”
I felt my cheeks heat up as I realized what I said. I had a sudden urge to flee the room.
“Okay, so I’ll see you around, Collin.”
I practically ran from his office, down the hall and to the break room. Burt was already inside, seated at the table and happily munching on something. He dug his hand into a big plastic bag of Bing cherries and shoved one in his mouth.
“The guy from the farmer’s market just brought ‘em in,” he said proudly, popping a cherry into his mouth. “He was gonna dump this whole truckload of stuff, but these looked pretty good to me. Nice and ripe. Still in the bag and everything.”
I watched as he spit the pit into his palm and stuffed it in his pocket before flicking something black off another cherry and popping it in his mouth. A swarm of fruit flies hovered hesitantly around the bag, clearly contemplating the hygiene implications of eating food from the dump.
Burt scooped up another fistful.
“Want one?” he offered, giving the bag a little shake.
“Um, no. Thank you,” I said, eyeing the fruit flies. I looked down at the Tupperware container I’d just rinsed out. “Actually, would you mind if I grabbed one of those fruit flies from you?”
“Sure, sure, help yourself,” he said, holding out the bag, not the least bit alarmed by my request.
It took a few tries, but pretty soon I had a particularly large specimen humming around in my Tupperware. I added smushed cherry, just to keep him occupied, and then poked a few tiny holes in the lid. I admired my handiwork as I headed for my locker, blushing a little as Pete ogled me again when I walked past his desk.
As soon as my shift was over, I drove down to the police station with the bug flitting around unhappily inside the container.
Petty wasn’t at the front desk when I arrived, but after explaining my situation to the receptionist and displaying the fruit fly, I was escorted back to Officer Frank’s desk.
He perked right up when I handed over the Tupperware. He held it up to the light, turning it from side to side.
“A Rhagoletis indifferens, very nice,” he said, getting out his tweezers and another tiny plastic container filled with cotton. “The Western cherry fruit fly. Very common. Of course, I’ve never found a specimen quite this large.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve gotta know the right people,” I said, dropping into an empty chair in front of the desk. I watched him work for a moment, wondering if he really thought this was the sole reason for my visit. He took out a small vial of some sort of solution and busied himself with preparing the fruit fly.
I watched for as long as I could, but finally couldn’t take it anymore.
“Any suspects in the case of who trashed Pete Wilco’s car?”
Frank glanced up at me. “We’re looking into some things,” he said cautiously.
“Sure, sure. How about the situation with the threatening note and handbag on my doorstep? I’m assuming the cop who came out the other night gave you some sort of briefing about that?”
Frank set down his tweezers and folded his hands on his desk. “We’re pursuing that case as well.”
“Aggressively?”
He sighed. “Miss Shultz, you need to leave the police work to us. If there’s a connection between what happened to Mr. Wilco’s car and those threatening notes – which I highly doubt – we’ll certainly get to the bottom of it.”
“I’m sure you will,” I said, watching him screw the top onto his fruit fly container. “Right after you deal with all the robberies and homicides and other important police work.”
He folded his hands together and gave me a stern look. “Miss Shultz, I can assure you we’re giving the matter our undivided attention. Destruction of personal property is a significant crime, and the threatening note left on your doorstep is certainly a concern to us as well. We’re looking into the matter. But like I keep telling you, it’s not our top priority.”
“So what about the fabric scraps?”
“Fabric scraps?”
“The ones I showed you the other day. The ones that indicate someone is manufacturing fake handbags.”
“Right,” he said, glancing down at his fruit fly. “That’s on the priority list, too.”
“It is?”
“I didn’t say it was very high.”
I sighed. “I had martinis last night with a former colleague who dumped mustard in her co-worker’s fake Chanel tote.”
He frowned. “Do you want to report that as a crime? Because I’ve got to tell you, even in light of the ketchup incident with Mr. Wilco’s car, I’m highly skeptical that there’s a connection with the mustard—”
“That’s not what I’m suggesting. It’s just – I’m thinking if I could find out where the fake Chanel came from, maybe we could uncover a bigger operation. And maybe that could lead us to my sister’s missing intern.”
Officer Frank gave me a tired look. “Tell you what. You let us handle the vandalism and the threatening notes, and you can feel free to investigate the authenticity of your girlfriends’ handbags.”
I gritted my teeth, wondering how tough it would be to yank the arm off my chair and beat him with it.
On the other hand, he had just given official permission for me to continue to investigate my counterfeit handbag suspicions. I could tolerate a bit of patronizing.
I stood up and retrieved my empty Tupperware container from his desk. “Thank you, Officer Frank,” I told him, pasting on a smile. “You’ve been very helpful.”
He gave me a puzzled look, probably wondering what I might have mistaken for helpfulness. “Sure, sure, no problem,” he said. “Thanks for the Rhagoletis indifferens, by the way.”
“That’s what all the boys say.”
IT WAS STILL early evening by the time I got home and made a scrumptious shrimp fettuccine for two and set the table while my sister chattered breathlessly about her evening with Adam. It was only 5 p.m., but Lori had closed up shop early and we were both starving for comfort food and the chance to gab about her unexpected reunion with her high school sweetheart.
We wound the pasta sloppily around our fork tines and grabbed salad right out of the bowl, not bothering with the tongs.
“So are you going to see him again?” I asked when she finally paused long enough to sip her wine.
She nodded, looking a little embarrassed. “There’s a band I like playing at Albright Brewery at eight. I’m meeting him there.”
“So do you think it’s serious?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”
“Trust your heart, Lor.”
She rolled her eyes. “There are several palpitating organs involved here. Tough to know which one’s my heart. Speaking of which, how’s Pete? Or Collin? Or Daniel?”
“Good,” I said primly, averting my eyes as I twirled my fork through the pasta.
“Do you think it’s serious?” she parroted, grinning at me.
“You’re asking me about three different guys. Does that sound serious to you?”
She laughed and reached over to refill our wine glasses. “For you, that’s practically an engagement. So which one do you like best?”
I forked the pa
sta into my mouth, giving it some thought while I chewed. “Collin is smart and sexy and mysterious and we have this really crazy head-butting chemistry. When he’s not accusing me of being a spy, that is. Pete is gorgeous and sweet and has this whole warrior/protector thing going on. Really hot, when he’s not lying to me about having a girlfriend. And Daniel is successful and charming and an amazing kisser. Totally great, when he’s not forgetting to mention that the company policy on co-worker dating has changed.”
“So jump them all,” Lori suggested, spearing a shrimp and reaching down to feed Blue Cat.
“Thanks, Lori. It seems wise for me to take romantic advice from a woman who just fell into bed with the man she’s been wishing dead for seven years.”
Lori began shoveling bits of sundried tomato around her plate, not looking particularly offended.
“Did I tell you I went back to see Officer Frank today?”
“Oh?”
“I told him the latest on the handbag stuff.”
“Which isn’t much.”
“Nope. But he didn’t seem to mind if we keep investigating things on our own. That seemed like a plus.”
I stood up to grab more bread and had just made it to the kitchen when my phone rang. I peered around the corner to see Lori glance at the caller ID.
“Who’s Gretchen McVeigh?” she called.
“Mindy’s co-worker with the fake Chanel, remember?” I hustled over to grab the phone. “I left her a message this afternoon.”
Lori went back to eating while I flipped the phone open, balancing a loaf of French bread in my other hand.
“Hey, Gretchen, thanks for getting back to me,” I said, dropping into my friendly PR voice.
“No problem, it’s great to hear from you,” Gretchen replied, breathing heavy in my ear. “I heard you aren’t working for the county anymore.”
“Not exactly. Just took a job with another department.”
“Oh?” she huffed, her breath coming in strange, rhythmic bursts. “Where are you working now?”
“I’m actually with the Department of Solid Waste,” I said, holding the phone away from my ear a little.
“Really?” she panted. “I didn’t know they had a PR department.”
