by N.L. Wilson
Also a surprise was the strong inclination I felt to pull towards Dylan.
I shifted away from Noel’s hand.
“Ready to go everyone?” Mrs. P was getting anxious. Bingo was a calling.
“Would you like this bill added to the previous night’s?” It was our waiter.
Oh shit. I’d assumed they’d already processed a credit card payment for last night’s meal. If the waiter added this night’s hefty, soup-sucking tab to last night’s and handed Noel the bill….
“Yes, Mrs. P,” I said. “Let’s go. Don’t want to keep those balls waiting!”
“What balls do you mean this time, Dix?”
Jesus, Dylan, wipe that grin off your face.
Mona laughed. “Got to be the bingo balls, Dylan.”
Just as the waiter was making a beeline for the table, we were waving goodbye and making a bee line for the door.
“There … there must be some mistake,” I heard Noel say as he looked at the bill. As the door swung slowly closed.
“Yeah, there was a mistake,” I mumbled as I walked to the waiting Lexus. “You pissed off Dix Dodd.”
But that wasn’t the only mistake made that evening. The second I can claim as my own. All my own. Yep. When I decided that surely I could play as many bingo cards as Mrs. P. After all, she was just a little old lady, right? So when I stood in line behind her, watched her buy her sheets of cards, handful of specials, breakopens, bonanzas and tickets for the various draws (including wild card, fifty-fifty, door prizes and a chance to spin the great big wheel), I said “I’ll have the same.”
No wonder Mrs. P had giggled.
By the time she’d set up her row of troll dolls and dabbers, I suspected I was dealing with a professional here. By the time the first game was in play, I knew it. I could barely keep up.
Thankfully by the time the big game — the one that everyone had come for — where ten bingo halls were linked via satellite with a grand prize of two hundred and fifty thousand for a full card in 45 numbers, I was ready. (Ready in that I knew enough to buy only one card for the special game when the floor seller came around.)
Mrs. P had her usual six in front of her. Dylan dared two. Mother and Mona (apparently old bingo pros themselves) each had six cards in front of them. Mrs. P had already bagged five hundred dollars on a sputnik game, Mom had won the chance to spin the big wheel (she’d won a free night of bingo, taken a deep bow and high-fived most everyone along the aisle on her way back to the seat). But, okay, these are long bingo nights.
Mona stifled a yawn.
I leaned over to mom just before the big game was to start. “Poor Mona. Of all the people who should win, she deserves it.”
“Night’s not over yet, Dix.”
“Close enough.”
Mother didn’t answer. The caller had begun with B4 and heads were down and dabbers were dabbing. This was it — the last game. And truthfully, I was glad the night was ending. It did kind of hit me how tired I was as I sat there dabbing. Number after number. B after I after N … you get the picture. Yep, dabbing away. Then … holy shit!
I looked up at the board and gave a gentle kick to Dylan under the table.
“Ouch!”
Okay, my gentle sucks.
I gave a don’t-look-now, tipped-eyed look to my cards. I was set.
Freakin’ set for a quarter of a million dollars!
I 18 was all I needed.
Dylan’s eyes grew round. His mouth dropped down.
We were at the 40th number. I had five numbers to get that I 18. The big screens not only displayed the number up and the one after it, but if a person looked really, really closely, you could see the next color up.
“I 17,” the caller called.
Oh boy. Oh boy! OHFREAKINBOY! There were three I s in a row coming up after that one. Three freakin’ I numbers. One of them had to be mine. My heart was pounding. Dylan was completely ignoring his own cards now and staring into mine.
“You’re going to win, Dix,” he murmured. We didn’t want to break the luck and let everyone know.
“As long as no one else calls in the meantime I—”
“BINGO!”
On I 17.
Everyone in the hall jumped amid the chorus of ‘oh shit’. Jumped up to see who’d won. Looked around in disbelief to see who was looking down at her cards in disbelief.
And that was Mona Roberts.
Mona held her breath as the floor worker called the card in to the caller.
The place erupted in applause as the caller announced. “That’s a good bingo. Pay that lucky lady one quarter of a million dollars.”
Mona was crying. Mother was crying. Mrs. Presley was clapping and laughing out loud. Hell, I might have had a tear in my eyes too.
“I won’t have to move now, Katt,” Mona said. “I won’t have to sell out to Tish. Oh, my God, I can tell her to pack up her ugly ass and get out of my condo! I … I’m going to be all right. I really am!”
I grabbed my mother’s arm as we headed out of the bingo hall. Not that she needed the help, but because, well, I wanted to. And no, I’m not going soft. I’m still a million miles away from being a touchy-feely person. But it was somehow okay to do right then. I stopped her by the exit, and looked out at Mona in the parking lot, clutching her huge check in her hands, hugging strangers, smiling for all she was worth, and even laughing out loud in her joy as Dylan opened the door of the rented Lexus for her.
“Pretty lucky, huh, Mom?”
Mother smiled at me through her Pinch-Me Pink lipstick. “You know better than that, Dix Dodd. Luck had nothing to do with it.” She took my arm again and we started walking around the car. “That was pure and simple magic. Now do you finally believe?”
Dylan opened the car door firstly for mother, and then for me. But he paused as his hand held on my door. He waited for me to look into his eyes. When I did, his gaze was warm, happy. A little hungry.
“What happened in Florida….” He pulled me close for a quick kiss that should not have stolen my breath so completely. “…was meant to happen in Florida.”
Oh, bingo.
He stepped back and opened the door for me.
Did I believe in magic? Did I dare?
I slid into the back seat beside my mother, who winked at me and grabbed my hand. Maybe, just maybe, I could.
Epilogue
I was kind of sad to leave my Florida nights. I caught myself sighing as I packed my suitcase (included in which were my newly purchased granny panties, turtleneck sweater, and that Florida Gators bobblehead collection that I just couldn’t resist). Yes, I would miss my mother, and Mona, but I knew they both were okay now.
Mona did kick Tish’s ass to the curb (literally!) and Mom did call Cotton Carson. They had a date for next Thursday. Frankie went a-wooing elsewhere. Big Eddie and Lance were guests of the Pinellas County Jail awaiting trial. Noel called my cell a dozen times. I let it ring.
And I’m delighted to report that Mrs. P thoroughly enjoyed her trip. The bingo was the highlight for her, of course. Not just winning the five hundred bucks, but seeing Mona’s life come back together the way it should be. Oh, she was anxious to get back to her boys (who by this time were calling twice a day to ask, snuffling, when she was coming home), but the vacation had done her good.
We were flying home, of course. Late night flight but direct to Marport City. Which was fine with me. More than fine. I was anxious to get home and back to business. I’d called my old landlord. Yep, my old suite was still available (no surprise there), and I’d be back in it the first of next month. Thank God I’d gone month-to-month on the new place and would only lose a month’s rent. Ah, but I’d miss those plush carpets in those chair tipping moments.
~*~
“Hey, Dix! Got a question for you.”
I sighed. Mrs. P had been doing this for a good half hour now. We were barely in the air and it was a hell of a long way yet to go. We’d done about twenty crossword clues so far. And my
patience was wearing thin. Yes, Dylan and I were competing again, and he was winning. Again. Twenty to zip, or thereabouts. So far, Mrs. Presley was keeping the clues clean (maybe that’s why I was so far behind Dylan?), and yeah, the competitive side of me was getting a wee bit … pissed.
Anxious even.
Irritated.
I really, really wanted to get one.
“Here’s one you might be able to get, Dix. I’ll say it real slow to give you a chance.”
“Gee, thanks Mrs. P,” I grated.
“What’s a five letter word for cock—”
“Penis!” I shouted. “Wohoo! I got one! I got one!”
Oh God. I more than shouted. Jumped up, and banged my head on the overhead compartment as I turned with a woot! to Mrs. P sitting behind me. To a smiling Mrs. P and a planeload of jaw-dropped, shocked passengers.
I sat down quickly. Three nuns in the row beside me crossed themselves at once. An irate mother covered her teenage son’s ears (while said grinning teen gave me the thumbs up; apparently, he had one too). A group of college-aged kids at the back of the plane broke into applause.
“Er … Dix,” Mrs. P said. “I was going to say cock-pit dweller.”
“Would that be a pilot, Mrs. P?” Dylan offered helpfully.
“Yeah, it fits right in. Thank you, Dylan.” Then in sterner tones for me: “Geez, Dix. Where’d you learn to talk like that?”
I couldn’t sink down far enough in the seat. Fortunately the flight attendant came by just then distributing blankets. I grabbed one from her and quickly disappeared beneath it. Better.
Better still, Dylan declined a blanket of his own and crawled underneath mine with me. Which I thought was very brave of him, considering I’d just informed my fellow passengers that I had a penis.
Eventually (like within ten minutes) the laughter died down. The nuns stopped praying. And soon thereafter, people actually started dozing off. Mrs. P herself began her gentle snoring behind us. The lights were dimmed except for a very few overhead reading lights. Dylan reached up and turned off both the lights above us.
Under the security of the blanket, I felt Dylan’s hands begin to move. Nothing that would get us arrested. Subtly. Discreetly. Sweetly, even.
But wow. Just … wow. I felt like a teenager — horny and anxious and dare I say … smitten?
Oh shit! Dare I?
After long, breathless moments, he found my hand, lifted it and grazed the back of my knuckles with his lips.
My pounding heart skipped a beat.
Then he leaned back in his seat, offering me his shoulder for a pillow.
I settled my head against him, placing my hand on his chest beneath the blanket. Under my palm, I felt the strong thudding of his heart gradually slowing.
Oh boy.
~~~~*~~~~
To read an exclusive excerpt from The Merzetti Effect by N.L. Wilson’s alter ego Norah Wilson, scroll down.
Also available from N.L. Wilson
THE CASE OF THE FLASHING FASHION QUEEN:
A DIX DODD MYSTERY
Available from Norah Wilson:
GUARDING SUZANNAH, Book 1 in the Serve and Protect Series
SAVING GRACE, Book 2 in the Serve and Protect Series
PROTECTING PAIGE, Book 3 in the Serve and Protect Series
NEEDING NITA, a free novella in the Serve and Protect Series
LAUREN’S EYES, Winner of the Dorchester New Voice in Romance Contest
THE MERZETTI EFFECT (excerpt below)
NIGHTFALL (coming soon)
Sensual vampire romances
As Wilson Doherty (a writing partnership with Heather Doherty)
THE SUMMONING: BOOK 1 IN THE GATEKEEPERS SERIES
ASHLYN’S RADIO
YA Paranormal and YA paranormal romance
About the Author
Norah Wilson lives in Fredericton, New Brunswick with her husband, two adult children, her beloved Lab-Rottweiler mix Chloe, and numerous rats (the pet kind). Norah has had three of her romantic suspense stories final in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart ® contest until she sold her first story in 2004. She was also the winner of Dorchester Publishing’s New Voice in Romance contest in 2003.
Norah loves to hear from readers!
Connect with Her Online:
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Wilson Doherty’s Website: http://www.writersgrimoire.com
An excerpt from The Merzetti Effect by award-winning author Norah Wilson
Copyright © Norah Wilson
“Be prepared to be riveted. The Merzetti Effect is a gripping, exhilarating read that carries you along at an electrifying pace until the very last page. Expertly plotted, with masterfully crafted characters and vivid, polished prose, this extraordinary novel launches Norah Wilson into the upper echelons of the vampire genre.”
— Julianne MacLean, USA Today Bestselling Author
Delano Bowen has been a medical doctor for a very long time. More than 170 years, in fact. For much of that time, he’s been searching for a way to reverse the curse foisted on him by a vampress who sought to own him. With the emergence of medical technology, he now also aims to develop a vaccine to protect the vulnerable from predation by rogue vampires. After a century of searching, he thinks he's found the key to his vaccine � a surviving descendent of the Merzetti family. The Merzettis were virtually hunted to extinction over the years by rogue vampires who feared the anti-vampirism properties in their blood.
A foundling, nurse Ainsley Crawford has no idea that she carries a genetic gift, and Delano aims to keep it that way. He must keep her close, and ignorant, for he can leave nothing to chance. He manipulates events to ensure her unwitting cooperation. But when Delano's arch enemy Radak Janecek mounts an all-out assault to destroy Delano and the fruits of his research, Delano is forced to draw Ainsley even closer to protect her. Inevitably, the attraction that has sparked between them from the first flares hot and urgent. Ainsley sees no reason why that attraction shouldn't be consummated, but Delano knows succumbing to it is not just ill-advised; it could literally be the death of him.
Excerpt
Ainsley Crawford steered her 1993 Crown Vic to the empty curb, wincing at the ugly crunching sounds her power steering made as she cranked the wheel. Great. Fluid must be leaking again. She needed another repair bill like she needed a bladder infection.
What she should do is dump the old boat and get something smaller, something easier on gas and maybe with a bit of warranty left so she wouldn’t have to pour money into it so regularly. Of course, if she ever wanted a new car, she was going to have to learn to keep her mouth shut.
Right. Like that was gonna happen. She’d pretty much sabotaged her prospects when she’d reported that handsome anesthetist who was dipping into the anesthetic agent, shortchanging patients in the process. Although the situation was dealt with promptly and appropriately, it turned out no one liked a whistle blower.
Well, at least she had a lead on a new job. A better paying one, even, and God knew she needed the money. Lucy and Devon were depending on her, maybe for their very lives.
Which was why she was here. Except here looked pretty creepy. She glanced around, reluctant to kill her engine or release her door locks.
Okay, not creepy, exactly. It was a respectable enough commercial zone; not a slum by any stretch of the imagination. And she’d lived here in St. Cloud, New Brunswick long enough to know she was less than three or four blocks from the club district, which would be hopping even on a Wednesday night, so it wasn’t like she was in the middle of nowhere. But the quiet buildings gave off a different vibe once they were abandoned for the night. Beneath the streetlights, the empty avenue shone after the warm August rain.
Ainsley turned of
f the ignition and the engine stuttered and coughed to a stop. The tic-tic-tic of her cooling motor sounded overly loud in the ensuing silence. Then the rain started up again, drowning out other sounds. Raindrops pattered on the car’s roof and smeared her view of the urban landscape, intensifying her sense of isolation.
Before the cast of her thoughts could get gloomier, she grabbed her umbrella from the passenger seat and shouldered her door open. She fumbled with the umbrella a moment to get it open, then stepped out into the night. Closing the Crown Vic’s door, she peered around. Not a soul moved on the street. Though lights burned in the office building windows, she knew they were deserted.
Well, mostly deserted. Her prospective employer, Dr. Delano Bowen, waited for her in one of them.
She’d balked when he’d asked for an evening interview, and his warm-whiskey voice had cooled over the telephone line. He had a conference to attend in San Francisco, he’d informed her, and he intended to fill the position before he left, one way or another. Desperate as she was for the job, she’d agreed to the nighttime interview.
Of course, that hadn’t stopped her from checking him out. If the research sponsor, a major bio-medical company, hadn’t confirmed his claims, she’d have cancelled. But he had checked out. According to Bio-Sys Genomix, he was analyzing the DNA of individuals afflicted with a particular blood disorder in the hopes of unlocking a cure.
What he needed, he’d said, was a cross between a phlebotomist to draw blood, a research assistant to help with his investigations, and a secretary to deal with the paperwork.
She stood there a moment, rain spattering up on her legs as she contemplated her utter lack of experience in the foregoing areas. But dammit, eight years as an OR nurse in a Level 1 Trauma Center had to count for something.
