Hot Mail

by Maynard, Janice

  Ethan knew Sherry missed having Christmas with her daughter this year, but his sister had seemed fine when he had dinner with her earlier in the week. He sighed. “What happened?”

  Sherry fished a tissue from the pocket of her robe and blew her nose. “She wants to live with Barry and enroll at the University of South Florida. Says she’ll finish her undergraduate degree and then enter the college of marine science to get her master’s.” The last word ended on a hiccupped sob. “I’ll never see her again.”

  The tears came in earnest now, and Ethan scooted over to hug her. Though she was older than he was, he’d always felt protective of his slender, petite sister. It hurt to see her so distraught.

  He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “You can’t be too surprised, honey.” Debra had worked minimum-wage jobs for a couple of years after high school, because she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. She finally enrolled in the local community college, and even then she’d seemed bored. But during the past summer while in Tampa, she had suddenly developed a passion for sea life. It was all she talked about when she came home.

  Sherry regained her composure and blew her nose again. Now her expression was more resigned than tragic. “I know. I think I knew back in August, but I tried to ignore it. She says that U of SF is culturally diverse and offers things she can’t get here.”

  “True.” He was trying not to take sides.

  Sherry smiled wryly. “You’re not going to give me that speech about letting little birds fly, are you?”

  He grinned, moving back to his own end of the sofa. “Do I need to?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m going to miss her so much.” The chin wobble returned, and Ethan pretended not to notice. He’d miss his funny, outgoing niece as well, and it was hard to imagine a parent’s struggle to let go.

  Sherry reached for her half-empty glass of wine. “Do you want anything to drink?”

  He shook his head. “I’m still technically on duty for another half hour. And besides, I’m wiped out. All I want to do is go home and crash.”

  She frowned at him. “You should have had a date tonight, Ethan. This is five years in a row you’ve worked New Year’s Eve.”

  He shrugged. “Are you keeping count?” His immediate boss, the chief of police, was a hundred pounds overweight and ten months away from retirement. He could barely walk from his car to the building without wheezing. Ethan was pretty sure the most exercise he got was handing his paycheck to the teller at the drive-through window.

  Which made Ethan the de facto guy in charge. He didn’t waste time being resentful of the fact that he did his job and eighty percent of his boss’s as well. It would all be worth it in the end.

  Sherry still wore her big-sister face. “Don’t try to be cute. And I’m not blaming this on anyone else. You volunteered, didn’t you?”

  He shrugged, far happier to discuss Sherry’s life than his own. “It’s no big deal.”

  Her expression gentled. “You can’t let one broken engagement make you give up on women.”

  He stiffened. Sherry had the damnedest ability to hit a nerve. “I haven’t given up on women. I date.”

  She took a sip of wine and eyed him accusingly over the rim. “Maybe twice in six months. For God’s sake, Ethan, you’re a healthy, virile man in his prime. You should be married and having babies by now.”

  He peeled out of his coat. “I love you, Sherry, but I’d rather not take romantic advice from my big sister, if you don’t mind.”

  She paled. “You mean because I screwed up my own life so badly?”

  He gaped. “Good Lord, no. Don’t be ridiculous.” He curled a fist on his knee. “You made one mistake as a teenager—one that isn’t all that uncommon, by the way. And you’ve spent every waking moment since trying to make up for it.”

  “I can’t regret having Debra.”

  “Of course not. And I happen to know you did everything you could to make things work with Barry. But all of that is in the past. You’ve got to quit beating yourself up over it. You deserve to be happy. More than anyone I know.”

  Her smile was lopsided, her eyes moist. “Thanks, little brother. Right back atcha.”

  He handed her a handkerchief from his back pocket. “Your nose is getting red.”

  She managed a small laugh. “Okay, okay. I get it. I need to suck it up and quit moping.”

  He touched her cheek briefly. “Everyone has a right to be maudlin on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Even you?”

  He leaned back and spread both arms along the back of the sofa, yawning. “Nah, not me. I’m fine.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You are so not fine. You need a woman. What about Jane? You guys used to be glued at the hip. Whatever happened there?”

  He moved uneasily. “Jane and I were buddies, that’s all. Besides, she’s not my type.”

  “What is your type?” Sherry tucked her feet beneath the hem of her robe and settled in for the inquisition.

  Now he was wishing he’d taken the drink she offered. “I don’t know. Small and blond and cuddly, I guess.”

  Sherry didn’t say a word. She merely raised a very expressive eyebrow as if to say, Just like your ex-fiancée? Your wacko, drama-queen, duplicitous ex-fiancée?

  The unspoken words hung between them, but Sherry didn’t force the point. She took another tack. “So you and Jane were never romantic?”

  “I told you—no. We were pals.”

  “Explain that to me.”

  “You know. We hung out, played basketball together. Watched movies.”

  “Sounds a lot like dating.”

  “Well, it wasn’t,” he said stubbornly. “Jane was more like a sister.”

  “You have a sister,” she pointed out, rather acerbically in his opinion. “Are you telling me you felt about Jane the way you do about me?”

  Whoa. That was a weird thought. He loved Sherry. But Jane had always had a knack for making him feel like a man. She’d cheered his successes and comforted him on bad days. But romance . . . he didn’t think so. There might have been times when the thought of kissing her had crossed his mind, but Jane’s cheerful, uncomplicated personality had convinced him it was a stupid idea.

  She was like one of the guys. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup and gunk on her face. She could almost look him in the eye. Definitely not small and cuddly. But on the other hand . . .

  Hell, it was pointless to rehash old friendships. That ship had sailed. But he knew Sherry would gnaw at the subject like a dog with a favorite bone if Ethan didn’t distract her. Fortunately, he had a legitimate way to change the subject. He hoped.

  He ran a hand over the back of his neck and squashed the tiny voice that told him his sister might be on to something. “No,” he said slowly. “It wasn’t the same at all. You are my sister. Jane was just . . . Jane. Can we please leave it at that?”

  Sherry wanted to argue. He could tell. But perhaps her emotional meltdown earlier had taken a lot out of her, because she nodded slowly. “Fine.” She mimicked zipping her lip and tossing the key.

  He chuckled. “Actually, there’s one more thing I want to talk to you about. I know it’s late, so you don’t have to give me an answer tonight. But I was wondering if you might be interested in catering lunches for the police station a couple or three days a week.”

  “Are you serious?” She looked completely dumfounded, and Ethan shook his head in amazement. She really didn’t appreciate her own strengths.

  He leaned forward, smelling the wood smoke and wishing he had such a cozy home. “You’re a fabulous cook, Sherry. I know you’ve worked only part-time at the animal shelter because you’ve wanted to be available for Debra. She wasn’t an easy teen to raise, Lord knows. But now with her being on Barry’s turf, you’ll have some extra time on your hands.”

  She bit her lip. “You don’t have to find things for me to do, Ethan.”

  He shook his head. “I’d already been kicking this idea around, but now it s
eems perfect. Most of the guys don’t take time to bring a lunch from home, so they end up going out for fast food every day. And you know what happens then, even to the young ones. They start packing on the pounds.”

  “So you want me to fix diet food?” Her expression was skeptical.

  “No. Just healthy, satisfying meals that will be good for all of us. I want to institute some fitness standards, but . . .”

  She caught on immediately. “But until the big guy retires, your hands are tied.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. So in the meantime, healthy eating, especially if it’s homemade food they don’t have to prepare themselves, sounds like a win-win situation. They’ll all pay cash on the spot, and you could determine cost. What do you think?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and he could see a flicker of interest on her face. “I do love to cook.”

  He smirked. “Well, there you go. Problem solved. I’ll keep you so busy you won’t have time to miss Debra.”

  Her tears and the wobbly chin returned, and he cursed under his breath. “Hell, I’m sorry, Sherry.” He pulled her close for one last hug before he got to his feet and retrieved his coat. He’d love to crash on her couch until morning, but he needed to stop back by the station.

  She had risen to her feet as well, and he chucked her under the chin. “Don’t worry, sis. It will get easier, I promise.”

  She sniffed and handed him back his handkerchief. He took it gingerly and stuffed it in his pocket.

  When she rose up on tiptoe to give him a buss on the cheek, she smiled slyly. “I’ll make you a deal, Ethan.”

  He didn’t trust her sudden smile. It made him nervous. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll take on your catering project if you’ll swear to me that you’ll start dating again.”

  “I told you,” he said, sidling toward the front door for a clean escape, “I date.”

  “You can’t con me, baby brother. I’m talking about a meaningful relationship with an available woman.”

  He felt the noose tighten about his neck, but he was too proud and stubborn to retract his culinary offer. Surely he could find someone to have dinner with a few times . . . long enough to get his sister off his back.

  He realized that he had another weapon in his emotional arsenal. “The same goes for you, then.”

  Sherry looked blank. “What do you mean? I was married. I have a kid.”

  He grinned at her with genuine affection. “You’re also still young and very eligible.” The sheer apprehension on her face made him laugh, entirely without sympathy. “Kind of scary, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not the same thing at all,” she said, practically choking on the words.

  “Think about it,” he said, his hand on the door. “If you’re going to push me out of the nest into the cold cruel dating world, then I’m sure as hell dragging you with me.”

  Two

  Jane had one entire day to procrastinate. After all, there was no mail pickup on January first. But the following morning, her nagging subconscious started demanding that she mail the valentine that lay on the antique bureau in her bedroom.

  Actually, the lavender envelope looked so pretty against her embroidered dresser scarf that she almost hated to send it on its way. The words inside were emblazoned in her memory. She’d finished off the five-stanza poem with a carefully disguised signature.

  It was doubtful that Ethan would recognize her handwriting after all this time, but just in case, she had used block letters and signed the card, Your devoted admirer.

  Was that a bit over-the-top? Or in the world of erotic love notes, were there actually no rules at all?

  She’d found a feminine-looking postage stamp in her desk and carefully stuck it in the upper-right-hand corner of the scented envelope. Which left the other corner empty. Well, poop. The USPS frowned on mail with no return address. Already she was feeling guilty, and she hadn’t even sent the darn thing yet.

  She thought about inventing a return address to make it look more official. But what if falsifying a return address was a federal offense? And if sending pornography through the mail could get you thrown in jail, where did things stand in terms of erotic valentines?

  She carried the not so innocent missive downstairs with her and hid it under a large book in the office. Thirty minutes later, she opened the front door at ten sharp and was pleasantly surprised when morning business started off at a brisk pace.

  She specialized in stationery, gifts, and supplies for dedicated scrapbookers—archival paper and albums, scissors that cut decorative edges, themed stickers and borders . . . you name it. And if a customer wanted something she didn’t have in stock, she was always happy to order it.

  The woman who helped out part-time from eleven to three every day was still out of town for the holidays visiting relatives in California. So at lunchtime, Jane put her pretty BE BACK SOON sign in the front window and walked the block and a half to the post office. The naughty valentine lay safely hidden in a pocket of her oversize black leather purse.

  She bypassed the box near the street and climbed the shallow stairs to the entrance. All the mail from the boxes around town, even the one just outside, was collected and taken for sorting to a main facility in Knoxville. But inside this local branch, it was possible to deposit a letter in the slot marked STATLERVILLE. That mail was handled locally, postmarked, and then delivered in town without ever leaving the city limits. Which was perfect for Jane’s planned seduction.

  Barring unseen complications, she could always be sure that the notes she mailed on Thursdays would be safely in Ethan’s possession the following day. Each of the six Fridays between now and February fourteenth.

  She waited until a little burst of activity cleared out. She perused the wanted posters, faintly surprised that such things still existed. She picked up an express-mail box and studied it intently. Then finally, the last of the customers loitering in the lobby exited.

  With her stomach churning, her heart knocking in her chest, and her hands clammy, she withdrew the valentine from her purse and thrust it in the mail slot before she could change her mind.

  Ethan greeted Friday with the wonderful realization that he had Saturday off, and not one damn thing he absolutely had to do other than sleep late, be a couch potato all day, and relax. It sounded too good to be true, and consequently, Friday dragged on and on.

  He was working another long evening shift, thanks to his boss. The big cheese claimed to have come down with the flu. But Ethan had a strong suspicion that the man wanted to stay home and watch the last of the bowl games.

  Ethan yawned and squinted at the numbers on the page he had just printed out. He was working on an end-of-year report about prisoner statistics that was due in to the state by the fifteenth. He still had plenty of time, but he hated this kind of task and wanted to get it over with.

  Just after midnight, he wandered out of his office to get some fresh coffee. He happened to be standing near the dispatcher when the 911 call came in, and his blood ran cold when he recognized not only the address but the voice as well. He grabbed one of his officers, and they set off with sirens blazing.

  Ethan jammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt four minutes later. Paper Pleasures was dark and showed no signs of activity, but when Ethan and the officer jumped out of the car to investigate, they found that a side window facing the alley had been smashed in. Glass littered the ground, and just inside the window, a display case had been knocked over, presumably when the intruder entered.

  Ethan’s heart in his throat, he made contact with the dispatcher, who had stayed on the line with Jane. “Tell her we’re here,” he croaked. “It’s okay to come out.” The 911 employee had cautioned Jane to lock herself in the office and stay put.

  The young officer pulled out his kit and began collecting evidence while Ethan went around to the front and waited. He shifted anxiously from foot to foot until Jane turned on the outside light and opened the door. Her eyes were huge and dark in her pal
e face.

  She seemed shocked to see him, but she backed up and allowed him to enter. “Ethan?” There was a quaver in her voice. “I didn’t expect you to show up. Should I be honored to warrant a visit from the assistant police chief?” The transparent attempt at levity fell flat. Her arms were wrapped around her waist as though she was trying to hold herself together.

  He wanted to hug her, but he felt the awkwardness of their long separation between them. So he contented himself with studying her face. “Are you okay?”

  She was wearing a long, fuzzy bathrobe in baby blue. It matched her eyes, and he remembered that blue was her favorite color. The random thought made him uneasy, so he cleared his throat. “Jane?” She still hadn’t answered him.

  She clutched the lapels of the robe in one hand and nodded jerkily. “I’m fine.”

  Her pupils were dilated, and even her lips were pale. He smiled reassuringly. “Why don’t we go sit down and you can tell me what happened?”

  It took her a moment to process his request, and he realized she might be a bit shocky. In her crowded office he forced her gently into a chair and draped his jacket around her shoulders. On the long, scarred wooden worktable, Jane had a microwave and tea bags, so in barely more than a minute, Ethan was able to hand her a warm mug and watch as she cradled it in her palms before finally taking a sip. He’d loaded the drink with sugar, and he saw her wince at the first taste.

  When she had downed half the contents and had a bit of color back in her cheeks, he finally questioned her. “Okay, Jane. Tell me what happened. Everything you can remember. Even if it seems insignificant.”

  She licked her lips and brushed her hair away from her face. The style was shorter than he remembered, barely brushing her shoulders, but it was the same lovely caramel color, struck through with highlights of cinnamon and pale honey. She swallowed. “I couldn’t sleep. So I came downstairs around eleven thirty to look over some orders and invoices. I lost track of time, but I think it was about thirty minutes later. . . .”