D.B. Hayes, Detective

by Darlene Scalera; Dani Sinclair

  It was part of a grand conspiracy, of course. My entire family figured if I got married, I’d give up this silly nonsense of being a private investigator. And what their matchmaking lacked in subtlety, it made up for in sheer volume. Any male in the right age bracket was considered fair game.

  “Dee,” Aunt Lacy said in an urgent whisper. “There’s a man standing at the front door. I think it may be Mr. Russo’s, uh, person.”

  Her alarmed expression brought me around the counter in a hurry. The man standing on the other side of the glass door didn’t move. I had the sense he was prepared to stand there indefinitely, like the boulder he resembled. Solid, unmovable, timeworn yet sinister in a way I didn’t want to define.

  A craggy gray face perched over a gray silk tie on a gray silk shirt under a light gray pinstripe suit. If he had a neck, it wasn’t obvious, but then boulders rarely have necks. Central casting would have loved this guy. Even his hair was turning gray at the edges. The only part that looked alive was a pair of incongruous light brown eyes, and they didn’t miss a thing.

  He’d seen me, so there was nothing for it but to open the door and let all that sinister gray inside the colorful shop. He was going to look out of place. If that man had ever been inside a flower shop in his life, I’d eat the daisy in my hand.

  “Ms. Hayes,” he said when I unlocked the door, “I’m Hogan Delvecchi. Mr. Russo sent me.”

  A nervous giggle tried to break free. I suppressed the urge—barely. This was too much like some bad television show—a softly spoken gangster with an Italian last name. And Hogan? Was he kidding? No, I could see he wasn’t. There was certainly nothing humorous in his expression. And he seemed to have only the one—a blank stare that absorbed the details of everything around him without revealing his thoughts. I was pretty sure his face was incapable of smiling. Human boulders don’t have a sense of humor.

  Everything about the man gave me the creeping willies. I worked hard not to let it show.

  “Come in, Mr. Delvecchi. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Well, not him. No one in their right mind would expect him. And the thing was I wanted him gone as fast as possible. I would never doubt Trudy or my aunt’s sources again. If this guy didn’t have underworld connections, no one did.

  “I’ll just get my report.”

  My heart hammered its way up my throat when he followed me back to the office. He closed the door as I reached for the folder on the end of the desk. I caught him staring at the scratches on my hand.

  “Did you have any problems?” he asked.

  “N-no.”

  I was not going to explain about the cats, nor would I think about how the couple had left the motel when I wasn’t looking. It was all in the report. I knew it made me look bad, but what could I do? I wasn’t about to lie to a mobster. On the other hand, I wasn’t going to mention my failings to this guy if I didn’t have to.

  “Good. Mr. Russo would like to have the picture of his wife back.”

  That surprised me, but I pulled it from her file. Hogan Delvecchi reached a broad hand inside his suit jacket. My breath caught in the back of my throat. With slow deliberation he pulled out a slim piece of paper and extended it to me. A check, I realized in relief.

  I tried not to shake as I took it from his hand, but my legs were emulating gelatin just like my insides. He knew it, I was sure. It probably gave him some sort of salacious thrill to go around scaring people by being polite. Let it. I just wanted him gone.

  Less than a minute later he was.

  “Well,” Trudy said, coming to stand in the open doorway. “He wasn’t much for conversation, was he?”

  I sank down in the swivel chair and it tilted precariously until I readjusted my weight.

  “Is everything all right, dear?” Aunt Lacy asked, coming into view, as well.

  “Terrific. He even paid me.”

  Except, how had he known what to pay? For the first time I really looked at the check in my sweaty palm. Once again my heart began to pound.

  “He overpaid.”

  “That’s nice, dear.”

  “No it isn’t. It’s terrible. Now I have to call Mr. Russo and return the extra three hundred forty-seven dollars he overpaid.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, dear. A man like Mr. Russo can afford to tip generously.”

  “Tip? You think it’s a tip?” When he read my report and saw I’d lost them at the motel, he’d want more than his “tip” back.

  “At least he didn’t shoot anyone,” Trudy said glibly as the two of them moved out into the workroom.

  No. That would come after Mr. Russo read the report. I’d placed an itemized bill right on top. He’d know exactly how much he’d overpaid. I closed my eyes and groaned.

  “Dee?” Trudy called out. “There’s a young man up front to see you.”

  Now what? I wasn’t sure I could put on a friendly, professional face right now. I felt sick. It wasn’t wise to mess with gangsters. I should have listened to Aunt Lacy and Trudy right from the start and turned the job down.

  I stuffed the check inside the desk drawer and squared my shoulders before going out to meet the newcomer. Once again I had to look down before I spotted him.

  “Mickey!”

  He was dressed in green shorts and a striped top today, but other than that he looked exactly the same. The same amazing chocolate-brown eyes looked up at me with an expression of hope mixed with fear.

  “Did you find him?”

  “I think so,” I told him. “Actually I found two cats. I’m not sure which one is Mr. Sam.”

  “I gave you a picture,” he said, sounding disgusted.

  “Yeah,” I said trying not to be defensive, “but he’s gray. So are these two guys.”

  He looked around the shop and started toward the back. “Where are they?”

  “At my place. Come on, I’ll give you a ride over and take you home afterward.”

  Doubt filled his expression.

  “I’m not allowed to ride in cars with strangers.”

  Great. A kid who actually listened to his parents.

  “You’ll have to bring them here,” he told me, sounding extremely adult.

  I didn’t even have to think about that. The back of my hand was still smarting from the last set of scratches.

  “How old did you say you are?”

  “Ten.”

  Going on thirty, I decided uncharitably.

  “If you’re ten then you’re old enough to understand the difference between getting in a car with a stranger and getting in a car with me. I work for you, remember?”

  He thought about that before standing a little straighter.

  “Okay, but what about my bike?”

  “Trudy, would it be okay if I take the van over to my apartment for a few minutes? My client and I need to pick up a cat.”

  “No problem. We don’t have any deliveries until later this afternoon.”

  “Thanks. This will only take a few minutes.” To the boy I asked, “How were you going to get him home on your bike?” If those cats had seemed frantic in a car, I could just imagine their reaction to a bicycle.

  “I attached a basket to my handlebars and brought the cat carrier with me,” he explained.

  Reaching down, he picked up a small carrier that had been on the floor at his feet, out of my line of sight. Based on its size, Sam One was the missing cat. Sam Two would have needed a shoehorn.

  I secured the bike in the back of the van and drove the short distance to my apartment. I’d be glad to have those animals gone before the super realized they were inside the building.

  “What happened to your hand?” Mickey asked.

  “Mr. Sam. He doesn’t like cars.”

  “Most cats don’t,” the kid said philosophically. “I hope you put something on that. Cat scratches can be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous how?” I asked nervously.

  “You know, germs and stuff.”

  “Right.” Germs and stuff.
No good deed goes unpunished, as Trudy is fond of saying. In this case, I devoutly hoped she was wrong. If I got an infection because of that stupid cat, I was not going to be happy.

  Mickey tensed a little as we started walking into my building a few minutes later. I hated to go against the smart conditioning his parents had put on him, but I was not going to go up there and try to cage that little monster by myself. He’d had all the skin he was going to get off my body.

  I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door carefully. No blur of gray came running out to greet us.

  “Where is he?” Mickey demanded.

  “I’m not sure. One of them is in my bedroom. The other one was hiding behind the couch the last time I saw him.”

  The kid whipped out a bag of treats. I wouldn’t have thought he could have stuffed something that size into the pocket of those shorts.

  “Here, Sam. Here, Sammy.”

  He got down on the floor and rattled the bag. Nothing happened.

  “He always comes out for treats,” Mickey said plaintively.

  “He’s probably nervous. This is a strange place for him.”

  I walked over and tugged the couch out from the wall. A gray streak whipped past me to cower behind the potted palm frond near the window.

  “It’s okay, Sammy, it’s me.” Mickey walked over toward the plant, and the cat scooted around the chair and took off toward the kitchen.

  “That’s not Mr. Sam,” Mickey said.

  “How can you tell?”

  He gave me another of those disturbingly adult looks that said plainly what he thought of my inability to distinguish the difference between the picture he had given me and the cat now hiding somewhere in my kitchen.

  “Okay,” I said, “then it must be the one in the bedroom.”

  Mickey had to crawl under the bed with a flashlight to see Sam Two. He crawled back out in disgust.

  “That’s not Mr. Sam either.”

  My stomach churned. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am.”

  Of course he was. I remembered the other gray cat I’d seen as I was leaving the park and my heart plunged to meet my roiling stomach. I was going to have to go back to the park.

  “We’ve gotta find him. My uncle’s coming for dinner this week. We hav’ta find him before then.”

  Of course we did. The kid looked ready to cry. I had no idea what to do if he started crying. He looked so upset, I heard myself telling him about the other cat I’d seen and agreeing to help him try and find it.

  It was those darn eyes of his, I told myself half an hour later as we scoured the park for gray cats. I’m a sucker for soft eyes like those. But the word had gone out. Avoid the crazy lady at all costs. We didn’t even see a cat, let alone a gray one.

  “I hav’ta go home,” Mickey told me, looking pathetically discouraged. “My mom’s picking me up to go shopping.”

  He made it sound like a surgical ordeal.

  “All right. I’ll run you home and come back. I can keep looking for a little while longer.”

  Hope replaced his despair.

  “Thanks! You can keep the carrier. I’ll take my bike and come to the store as soon as I get back.”

  Wondering when my brain had turned to fuzz, I agreed and got his bike from the back of the van. “Where do you live, Mickey?”

  “On Broadhurst.”

  Two streets away.

  “Maybe I should concentrate on some of the side streets between here and there. He’s probably hiding in someone’s bushes.”

  “Okay. Just find him.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Only, after walking four blocks in both directions, I decided to call it quits. The cat could be anywhere. He was probably up some tree laughing at me as I trudged past making kissy noises at the bushes. The day was heating up in an effort to top yesterday, and I was wilting faster than cut flowers left out of water.

  As I crossed to my car, I spotted a little gray cat trotting across the parking lot. This one had four white paws. Looking at the picture Mickey had given me, I realized the paws didn’t show. I’d forgotten to ask the kid if the cat was all gray. How could I have forgotten something so basic?

  The little guy came willingly when I called him Mr. Sam. He was much smaller than the other two cats and his hair wasn’t as long, but he was mostly gray and that was good enough for me. He even went into the carrier without a fuss. Elated, I headed back to the shop with my prize.

  Trudy and Aunt Lacy had to hear the entire tale once I got back. They fussed over the small cat like a pair of broody hens. Mr. Sam seemed to enjoy all the attention—a refreshing change from the first two.

  Trudy and my aunt sent me down the street to pick up more cat food and litter, even though I explained we wouldn’t have him more than a few hours, but when I got back, they were looking at me with the same sort of expression I’d come to expect from Mickey.

  “Didn’t you say this cat was called Mr. Sam?” Aunt Lacy asked.

  “Wrong sex,” Trudy said.

  “What?”

  “She’s a she, and if she’s over a year old, it can’t be by much.”

  I groaned. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” my aunt told me. “You’ll need to make signs.”

  “Signs?”

  “Well, you can’t turn the poor little thing loose on the street,” she objected.

  “But that’s where I found her.”

  “Use your camera to take her picture and make some Found signs so we can find her owner,” Aunt Lacy insisted.

  There was no arguing with that tone of voice. I went and got my digital camera. I was printing the Found Cat signs when I heard a commotion out front.

  “I said you can’t go back there! Sir! You can’t go back there!”

  I didn’t even have time to get up before a large shape filled the office doorway. Elaine Russo’s lover stood framed there. His eyes were a brilliant blue, I discovered, and they could shoot invisible flames. Those flames ignited a heat that started low in my belly and spread outward at an alarming rate.

  “What did you do with her?” he demanded.

  Chapter Four

  Okay, my hormones were thrilled to have such a fantastic-looking man standing in my office, but no one is that good looking, and I’m not such a wimp that I cave to my body’s hormones. I put on an indignant face and started to get up. The stupid chair seized the moment of inattention and rolled backward. My head met the wall with an audible thunk.

  I lunged forward out of the miserable piece of junk to avoid falling flat on my back along with the chair. Somehow I managed to land on my feet and, with great restraint, kept my hand from rubbing the sore spot on the back of my head. Thank God he didn’t laugh.

  “Aunt Lacy, call the police.”

  He turned to give Aunt Lacy a cold look. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said with a quiet firmness that sort of scared even me.

  “Fine,” I said with false bravado. “I’ll call them.”

  His hand covered mine as I reached for the old black rotary-dial phone on my desk. Sexual chemistry was all well and good, but this was the sort of man I’d feel a whole lot safer adoring from afar. With that warm, firm hand swallowing mine, I felt the surge of attraction clear to my toes. A tingle worked its way up my arm from the point of contact and short-circuited my brain.

  “You followed us last night,” he stated.

  The closet-size office shrank away until there was nothing but him and me. My stomach did one of those quick roller-coaster dips, and somehow I found my voice even as I pulled my hand out from under his.

  “That’s quite an ego you carry around,” I managed. “But as a pickup line, it’s original.”

  I wouldn’t have thought his eyes could harden any further. I would have been wrong. Adrenaline was sending me all sorts of mixed messages. Chief among them was the urge to run.

  He rocked back on his heels to study me. I was suddenly all too conscious that my
hair was in its usual disarray and both my navy linen slacks and my light blue blouse could have used the help of an iron this morning.

  Not that I own an iron or would have been inclined to use it if I had one, but this man made me abruptly, stunningly aware that I was a woman facing the most fascinating man I’d ever seen.

  “You told Russo where she was,” he added without inflection.

  I wanted to deny that charge, but of course I couldn’t—any more than I could admit that I was both drawn to and intimidated by this gorgeous male.

  “Go away.”

  “How does it feel to know you conspired to murder someone?”

  That sent a punch of a whole new sort to my insides.

  “Whoa! What do you mean murder? Who’s been murdered?” My intestines did a quick roll while my heart rhythm went staccato.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  Maybe the bump on my head had scrambled my hearing. I shook my head and focused on his lips.

  “Okay, I think we need to back up here,” I told him. “Who are you?”

  He looked genuinely surprised. “You don’t even know that?”

  Now that really stung. “I didn’t bother to run your plate,” I admitted. “And that really is some ego you’ve got.”

  He might be great eye candy, but I’d about had it with him and his gibes. He shook his head.

  “Russo must have loved your report if you left my name out. Unless… Of course. You took her, didn’t you? Convinced her to go back with you as soon as I left.”

  He’d pushed all the right buttons. Now I was angry, as well.

  “Get out!”

  He placed his hands flat on the desk and leaned in toward me. “Not going to happen Ms. Hayes. You’re going to tell me exactly what you said to Elaine.”

  I came around the desk to get in his face. Unfortunately I hadn’t taken into consideration the difference in our height. He straightened up. At six feet, he towered over my five-foot-one-inch frame, giving him the advantage. Unfortunately I was angry enough now not to care. I jabbed a finger in his chest, taking him by surprise.