In Deep Shitake (A Humorous Romantic Suspense)

by Patricia Mason

  No. There had to be a way to prove she and Ross were meant to be together. Maybe, if she wrote the names on a piece of paper, as she had done in fifth grade, the combination with the requisite cuteness would emerge and prove their “rightness” as a couple.

  Mo eased herself off the bed and then groped around for her purse. She finally found the bag in the corner near Talley’s carrier. There must be a piece of paper and pen she could use in that huge monstrosity. She quickly found a pen. However, a thorough rummage inside the bag did not turn up any paper. Not even a tiny piece.

  There was probably a pad of paper in the room. Most motels had complimentary paper. In fact, as she thought about it, Mo was certain she had seen one near the phone earlier.

  Mo inched her way carefully toward the bedside table in the shadows…but not carefully enough. Her shin rammed into a pointy edge on the vacant bed.

  “Ow,” she hissed. She slapped her hand over her mouth. She didn’t want to wake Ross or Talley.

  She limped the rest of the way to the table only to find there was no pad of paper beside or under the phone.

  “Shitake,” she mouthed to herself.

  Mo was momentarily at a loss as to where to look next. She glanced around the floor. Maybe Ross would have a piece of paper in his pants pocket. Something he wouldn’t miss. A receipt for the Bubbaland t-shirt, perhaps? After all, didn’t every man walk around with scraps of paper stuffed in his pockets?

  As she reached for the jeans that had been tossed across the unused bed earlier, Mo pushed away a twinkle of rationality which warned her it was a mistake to poke around in Ross’s things. She was on a mission though. Stupid, but a mission nonetheless.

  Nothing in one pocket. In the other was… eureka, a folded piece of notepaper. She unfolded the square paper. The motel’s logo sprawled across the top with some handwriting below it. Mo leaned so the light from the bathroom fell directly across the surface of the paper. Now she could read the handwriting. The name Heather had been written in block letters. Then the words appeared surrounded by exclamation points. Mo read with surprise: Wedding planner. Contact.

  What was this? Ross had obviously written a note about contacting a wedding planner. Ross had vehemently denied his engagement to Heather. Had he lied? Mo struggled to beat back the thought. Ross had said he wasn’t marrying Heather. She had to believe him. If she didn’t have faith in Ross…

  “What are you doing?” Ross asked, leaning toward her on one elbow. “Why are you searching my jeans?” he asked suspiciously. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

  Mo realized she stood awkwardly holding the note in one hand and the jeans in the other. “No.” She sounded guilty to her own ears. Would he believe her? “Yes,” she backtracked. “I was looking for a piece of paper to write on.”

  His eyebrow arched.

  “I searched my purse and there was a pen and a bunch of other junk, but I couldn’t find any paper and then I thought the motel must have a pad of paper, but I hit my leg on the bed.” She stopped to take a deep breath and quickly let it back out.

  Not wanting him to respond until her story was out, she continued, “There wasn’t a pad by the phone and then I saw the jeans. I thought you might have a receipt for the t-shirt so I… And I really was trying to be quiet, but I jammed my leg into the bedside table… So I must’ve been too loud and I woke you… but I…” She knew she was babbling.

  “Why were you looking for a piece of paper?” he asked.

  “I couldn’t sleep so I started playing this game in my head and I suddenly—it was stupid really. I thought it would be better if I wrote things down.” Heat rose over her cheeks. “It was this game where I was trying to combine our names together.”

  The game really sounded absurd when discussed out loud. But at least his face had relaxed into a smile and he didn’t look at her with suspicion anymore.

  “The game was something to do. Anyway, I already told you it was stupid,” she finished with embarrassment.

  “So, what combinations did you come up with?”

  Mo proceeded to recite the entire sorry list.

  “This might be fun,” Ross said as he sat up in the bed. “I want in on this game. Let’s see now. Oh I know. How about combining a first name with a last name? Ruttle. TuttRo. GranMo. ImoGrant—”

  “Stop. They’re all horrible. You’re teasing me now,” Mo said, covering her ears with both hands.

  Chuckling, Ross threw back the sheet and jumped up. As he crossed to her, the florescent light spilling through the bathroom door fell across his flawlessly sculpted body. When he reached her side, he pulled her hands away from her ears and wrapped his arms around her.

  “I think they’re fantastic,” Ross said. “I particularly like RoMo.”

  “You would. You get top billing in that one.”

  “That’s right and don’t you forget it.” He laughed and hugged her tighter.

  “You know,” he said before dropping a tantalizing kiss against her lips. “As brilliant as that game is, a much more enjoyable game comes to mind with you being as undressed as you are.”

  “Oh? What game would that be?” Mo allowed her hands to caress the smooth skin over his powerful shoulders.

  “Come back to bed and I’ll show you,” he urged.

  “Will you want top billing in this game?”

  “No. I think it would be amusing if you’re on top this time.”

  * * * * *

  “I can’t get it out,” Mo said.

  “Stop saying that. You’re trying to frighten me,” Ross replied.

  “No really. I can’t get it out,” Mo insisted looking down. “It’s firmly fixed in there and won’t budge.”

  “You’ve got to try harder,” Ross said with mock desperation.

  Mo met his eyes in a level gaze. “I’ve tried as hard as I can,” she said in an equally mocking tone.

  “Does that mean? No. Please, say it isn’t true.”

  “I’m afraid it is,” Mo continued morosely. “Since I can’t get the hot wings stain to come out of the dress shirt, you’re going to have to wear this t-shirt again today.”

  Mo looked down at herself. Although it fell to Mo’s mid-thigh, the Bubbaland shirt was the only thing covering her at the moment.

  “Noooooooo,” Ross cried as he lifted his arms heavenward toward the motel room ceiling in exaggerated theatricality. “Not another day in Bubbaland.”

  Mo tossed the stained shirt back in the motel bathroom sink. She strolled over to Ross who was dressed only in his low-slung jeans. She wound her arms around him, reveling in the feel of the smooth skin stretched over serious muscle.

  “That performance showed real talent,” Mo taunted before kissing his stubbled cheek. “You should think about acting as a career choice.”

  “Cheeky tart,” Ross grumbled. His hands caressed the top of her bare thighs. Clutching her bottom with both hands, he pulled her hips into tight contact with his. Ross nuzzled her neck.

  “Ooooh. You are an actor.” Mo stroked his left pec. “I recognize you now. I can feel that big gun in your pocket,” she teased.

  Ross caressed the tender cord that stretched from behind her lobe to her shoulder with his teeth as if nibbling on an ear of corn before lifting his head. “I do not have a big gun in my pocket, I’m just happy to see you,” he said, his breath hot against her neck. He bit down gently.

  “Ow,” Mo said. “I thought you were a super spy, not a vampire.”

  “Sorry,” he said, sucking the offended spot, and then laving it with his tongue.

  Oh, she’d have a hickey now. Mo couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a hickey. Maybe at age sixteen?

  “There’s more good news.” Mo gasped as he turned his attentions to the other side of her neck.

  “You’re going to remove the Bubbaland shirt?” He asked eagerly.

  “Well, yes.” She laughed. “But what I was going to tell you is that the phantom costume pants are a total lo
ss. They’re torn and stained. You’ll have to wear the jeans. At least the Tuxedo jacket from the costume is wearable. Although I prefer you wearing nothing at all,” she whispered in his ear.

  “Hmmm. Tuxedo jacket over t-shirt and jeans. Maybe I’ll create a new fashion trend? ‘Bubbaland After Six’ wear.”

  Ross stepped away with obvious reluctance. “I suppose all this talk about my wardrobe means we have to get dressed and leave this wonderful love nest.”

  Mo grasped the waistband of his jeans to pull him to her. Her soft parts made glorious contact with his hard ones. “Not just yet,” she rasped.

  The fire of desire burned in his eyes as Ross bent toward her for a lingering kiss. “That is the absolute best news you’ve given me all morning.”

  * * * * *

  An extremely bad development had occurred. Actually, “bad” wasn’t a strong enough word. This development endangered all of Ross’s careful planning against acquiring these unexpected feelings for Ms. Imogene Tuttle. How could he single-mindedly pursue his film with this…this… disastrous, shambolic distraction of catastrophic proportions?

  Ross hadn’t fully analyzed his feelings, but one certain sign that they were uncontrollable was the fact that he couldn’t stop himself from touching Mo. At even the most inexplicable times, he found himself taking any excuse to reach out to her. A piece of lint, a stray hair, an errant crumb of food, he’d used them all. He and Mo sat side by side on a bench in a small room annexed to the lobby of the seedy motel, eating what the motel euphemistically called the complimentary breakfast.

  At least Mo appeared to be enjoying her breakfast. Ross had yet to find anything at the buffet piled on a rickety table in the corner that he could take more than one bite of without gagging.

  Hell! Had he been petting her hair? Ross jerked his hand away, hoping she hadn’t noticed. Mo reacted with a smile so dazzling Ross couldn’t help his sharp intake of breath.

  “This is so good,” Mo purred.

  “What?” He asked defensively.

  “This doughnut,” she said as she took another bite of a fried concoction that appeared to have about an inch of glaze slathering every surface. “Mmmmm. Have some.” Mo tore off a hunk and then held it up to his lips.

  Ross hesitated. “No thank you,” he said, pushing her hand away. “I don’t care for fried breading in the morning." Ross grabbed for the mug on the table, lifted it to his lips, and then gulped a mouthful of coffee. He choked. “Ughhh.”

  Mo’s eyes twinkled as she smiled. “Don’t you like your coffee?”

  “Coffee? Foul sludge is more like it.” The place wasn’t sophisticated enough to offer tea with their complimentary breakfast.

  “Come on,” Mo said, holding up the bit of doughnut again. “It’s really good. It’ll improve the taste of the coffee.”

  “Oh all right,” Ross groused and then dipped his head to close his mouth over the glazed morsel. He couldn’t help but capture the tips of her fingers in his mouth as well.

  The sensation had an uncomfortable effect that made Ross glad for the cover provided by the vinyl breakfast table. Pulling back quickly, he gulped the hunk of doughnut. It lodged stubbornly midway down his throat.

  “Yup,” he said, swallowing down a swig of coffee and nodding. “Excellent quality.”

  “Want some more?” Mo asked, wide-eyed as she held up another piece.

  “Uh. No. I think I’ll try some of this other stuff. What did you say it was?”

  “Grits.”

  “Oh yes. I’ve heard of those, but never tried them.” Ross took up a spoon to scoop some of the pasty white substance and then hurriedly pushed it into his mouth.

  He tasted. “Uh,” he choked, bringing his napkin up to his lips as he tried to swallow the stuff down with partial success. He spit the rest into the napkin. “I suppose they’re an acquired taste. One has to become a grit connoisseur to appreciate them.”

  Mo’s laughter trilled. “No, I think everyone who wasn’t born in the South thinks they taste pretty bad.”

  “We didn’t have to stay here for breakfast,” Ross said. “In fact, I think we should go back to my hotel. Surely, Gigantor isn’t back there. And even if he is, it’s a public place. What can he do to us there?”

  “He could probably do plenty to us before the police arrived,” Mo warned. “But I guess your right about going back this morning.” Mo popped the last of the doughnut into her mouth and then chewed sensuously. “Mmmmm.” She licked the bits of glaze that clung to her lips, accentuating their redness.

  She swallowed and Ross had to look away. Since he’d be standing soon, getting his body under control was imperative.

  “I’d like to swing by my house and drop off Talley. I talked to Leo and he said he’s there with friends, putting things back in order. He’s having an alarm company in later to install a system. I think Talley will be safe there now.”

  “When did you talk to Leo? I didn’t hear you on the phone.”

  “You were in the shower.”

  “But you were in the shower with me.”

  “I talked to him before I was in the shower with you,” Mo said, running her hand up his arm.

  This brought back vivid memories of all the things they’d done together in the shower. Bloody hell. That didn’t help his condition at all. Better change the subject. “It doesn’t really matter when you spoke to him. I’m glad he has got things under control.”

  Mo swigged down more coffee before hopping up from the table. “I’m going back to the room to get Talley so I can load him in your car. Are you coming?” Mo waited in expectant silence.

  “No.” He dug the car keys out of his jeans pocket and then handed them to her. “I’ll stay here and handle the checkout.”

  * * * * *

  When she got outside, Mo saw a rat in the motel parking lot. The rat’s name was Milton. He hunched behind the steering wheel of a car rusting in the last space at the lot’s far end. She knew him instantly by the morning sun glinting off the surface of his signature heavyweight eyeglasses.

  As Mo stormed toward the rattletrap, Milton flinched and then disappeared in the direction of the car floorboards before re-emerging with a newspaper opened in front of his face. Milton bobbed up, peeking over the top of the newspaper, and then sank back down again. The newspaper took on a slight tremble.

  Approaching from the driver’s side, Mo hammered a fist on the window. Milton turned toward her, the newspaper an opaque veil over his face.

  “Hey.” She continued pounding on the window.

  The trembling of the paper increased. Milton turned away to face the passenger side, keeping his back to Mo.

  “I can still see you.”

  Milton turned back toward her in his seat with a lame waive and a stilted smile. He rolled down the window slowly. “Oh, hi. I didn’t see you.”

  “Yeah sure.” Mo stood, arms crossed over her chest, glowering at him.

  “Fine. I admit it. I did see you,” he said with a sheepish grimace. He opened the car door and Mo stepped back to let him climb out. As he straightened, he thrust a recorder in her face. “Care to comment on what you are doing at this sleazy motel with Ross Grant?” His voice had a weasely nasal quality as he made the demand.

  “That’s none of your business. Just what the jalapeño pepper are you doing here?”

  “There are people who will pay good money for some dirt on Ross Grant. Even if he is a ‘has-been’ actor, he’s still famous.”

  Mo silently restrained herself from throttling him. He apparently read her lack of response as encouragement because he continued. “You should do yourself a favor. We could make a nice tidy sum of money together. The National Star will pay you for the inside story of your illicit motel tryst. It’s particularly saleable since it looks like you were able to, shall we say, steal Mr. Grant’s affections from his fiancé on the eve of their fabulously expensive Hollywood wedding.”

  “Why you little—” Mo stepped forward and the n
erd cowered away, bumping into his car.

  “Be careful, Mo. I make a good friend but a bad enemy.”

  “That road goes both ways, little man, so you’d better think twice before you mess with me. How did you find us here, anyway?”

  A hearty laugh burst from Milton. “Now you know I can’t tell you that. I always protect my sources.” Milton pushed the recorder into her face again. “Come on, Mo, give me a good quote. Has the love investigator thoroughly investigated the heartthrob?”

  “You sleazy little—,” Mo stepped toward him and Milton scuttled back behind the steering wheel of the car and then pulled the door shut behind him. He hurriedly twisted the key. The car started with a grinding sound and the engine whined.

  He cleared his throat and pushed the heavy glasses up his nose before speaking. “You act as if this is my fault. My morals aren’t in question here. Mr. Grant is a cheater. Like it or not, that’s news.”

  “I’ll give you a quote if you want a quote.” Mo choked on the blackish smoke coming from the car exhaust before she could continue. “Ross Grant is a courageous, wonderful man. He’s not cheating on Heather Davies because he isn’t engaged to Heather Davies.”

  “How do you know, Mo? How do you really know for sure?”

  “I know because he told me. He wouldn’t have made love with me last night if he was engaged. He has complete moral integrity. You’d understand that if you didn’t suffer from a complete lack of integrity and have morals that couldn’t stand upright under a toadstool.”

  Milton shot her a sly smile and put the car in gear.

  “Thanks, Mo.”

  Tires that were probably already bald became balder as the car screeched into reverse. The grinding of the car gears had Mo wincing. The car sped forward through the parking lot. It careened into a right turn, sped along the street, and then disappeared from sight.

  Fudge. What had he been thanking her for? What had she said?

  Chapter Fourteen