1 Carpe Bead'em

by Tonya Kappes

  Carpe Bead ‘Em

  a novel

  Tonya Kappes

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the permission in writing from the author or publisher.

  Edition: May 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Tonya Kappes

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art designed by Laura Morrigan

  Also by Tonya Kappes

  Something Spooky This Way Comes

  Believe Christmas Anthology

  The Tricked-Out Toolbox~Promotional and Marketing Tools Every Writer Needs

  For my Eddy.

  The man who always has my back, and my heart.

  Acknowledgments

  Even though writing is a journey writers take alone, there are people along the way that make it

  an enjoyable one.

  First and foremost, I’d like to thank the three reasons I get up in the morning—my boys, Jack, Austin, and Brady. They encourage me with their strength, positive attitude, and unconditional love.

  Much gratitude to my writing buddies who help me brainstorm, help me through my growing pains as a writer, and encourages me to keep going: Cathy Liggett, Heather Webber, Hilda Lindner Knepp, Shelley Shepard Gray, and Renee Vincent.

  To my dear friends at The Naked Hero grog, Dee Dee Scott, Lee Lopez, Heather Webber, and Misa Ramirez for hanging out with me each week. Keeping this career real.

  Jane Porter, thank you for being a great role model and strength of inspiration.

  Without my family, Linda and John Lowry, Tracy, David, Ben and Maddie Darlington, Ann and Don Bedson, I wouldn’t be the person I am today with the drive I have.

  This book wouldn’t have gotten completed if it weren’t for Doctor Alyssa Wood, who took special care of my sick pup, Charlie, and fixing him. I have to have Scooter and Charlie at my feet during the writing process.

  Lisa Mediate Dare, my dearest friend who has been with me through thick and thin. I love you, girl.

  Also a big shout out to Cincinnati news anchor, Sheila Gray, for letting me use her cool jewelry for inspiration.

  Finally, to my dear Aunt Grace, who made my life full of amusement and special memories. I hope everyone has an Aunt Grace in their family.

  Week One

  Families are like fudge, mostly sweet with a few nuts.

  Author Unknown

  Chapter One

  Groaning, I squeeze the pillow over my ears. Please…even that doesn’t muffle the ringing phone. Blinking into the darkness, I heave the pillow across the room and grab my clock.

  What the hell?

  I shake it to make sure I’m seeing the real time.

  Two-fifteen. In the morning.

  Are you kidding me?

  The ringing stops for a few seconds and I think, pray, that it's over. But then it starts again.

  Argh…no. I squint trying to focus on the Caller ID without messing up my cocoon of blankets.

  Aunt Grace.

  Enough said.

  I reach for the phone, but stop. Does she really need me this time? My fingers stretch closer. What if it is an emergency? My fingers retract. No. What…what if it’s just like every other time? All the times she called to shoot the breeze in the middle of the night?

  One more ring and the answering machine picks up. I can’t do it. I can’t ignore her call. I close my eyes, pick up and press on.

  “Hello, Aunt Grace.” Three words in, and I am already exhausted with this conversation.

  “You are psychic just like your mother. I swear you even sound like her.” Aunt Grace said.

  Well, Great Aunt Grace, really. Ninety-two years old. I swear she’s going to outlive all her relatives—if I don’t kill her first. Not that there are many of us left. After my parents died it was just me and her. I guess I owe her.

  “I wanted to tell you about this fine young man I think you’ll like.” She acts like it’s three in the afternoon. Doesn’t she realize it is in the middle of the night? I can tell where this is going.

  “Aunt Grace, can’t this wait until the morning? Better yet, why don’t I come visit?” I plead.

  I try to see her every six or eight weeks. It’s the least I can do. Well, the least I can do for myself. I live almost five hours from Cincinnati, in Chicago, and she still continues to call in the middle of the night. Distance and time are irrelevant when it strikes her fancy to call me. At least I can control my trips back to Cincinnati.

  “It can’t wait until tomorrow, and I don’t want you to drive here this time of the night.”

  “That’s good. At least you know what time it is. I’ll call you tomorrow about this guy.” I’m afraid her mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be. Not that it was ever that sharp.

  “Of course I know the time. I just finished playing cards with the girls down the hall.”

  “Down the hall?” Aunt Grace owns an apartment building in one of the seedier areas of downtown Cincinnati.

  “You know. The girls who rent from me. Besides aren’t you in Chicago?”

  A calm but eerie feeling comes over me. Thank God she remembers where I live. Some nights she calls and thinks I’m dodging her when I try to explain how I can’t just pop over to visit.

  “Besides, aren’t you in Chicago?” She repeats.

  “Yes, Aunt Grace. I still live in Chicago. I have a long run in the morning. I need all the sleep I can get.” Across the room, the door knob turns. My eyes bulge. With the phone cradled between my shoulder and ear, I clap my hands.

  Nothing better than The Clapper for someone who is scared of the dark. Someone like me. If someone is going to rob me or kill me, I want to see them or at least be able to say, “Here Mr. Robber Killer, take whatever you want. I don’t need it.”

  Aunt Grace is rambling on about Inas winning the first round of gin rummy. I hardly register it.

  “Who’s there?” I hiss towards my bedroom door.

  “Hallie,” she says to me, “we live on the fifty-first floor. Who do you think it is?”

  I practically faint from relief. The intruder happens to be Lucy, my roommate and best friend. She claps after she opens the door, turning the lights off.

  I groan. Lucy still looks good in the middle of the night with her ash blonde hair pulled back. Her turquoise eyes stand out even more without make-up on.

  “Getting robbed is virtually impossible unless someone freaks out in our building.” Lucy snickers.

  “Clap them back on!” I scream into the dark.

  I don’t give a shit that it’s Lucy and not Freddy Freaking Nightmare On Elm Street. If I lived in Fort Knox, I would still be afraid of the dark. Lucy and I continue to clap my lights on and off until the room feels like a disco.

  Finally, her long lean legs carry her five foot nine frame out my bedroom, ending the clapping feud.

  “What’s going on, Hallie?” Aunt Grace croons through the phone.

  My head spins in confusion. Aunt Grace is humming a tune from the musical Chicago.

  Another one of her quirks. She just breaks out in tune. Not song, but tune.

  “If Aunt Grace wakes me up with her calls, then I want to make sure you stay up.” Lucy continues to clap.

  “Hallie? What’s going on? Do I need to kick some…?”

  “No, no, Aunt Grace.” I have to interrupt her because if she starts cursing, she doesn’t stop. “It’s only Lucy.”

  I put my pillow over my head.

  “That crazy superstit
ious girl you met in college?”

  “Yes, Aunt Grace. The same Lucy that was my college roommate and is still my roommate.”

  My patience is running thin. “Goodnight.”

  “Hallie, wait. I still haven’t told you about the young man.” There is pride in her voice. “He’s Italian.”

  Here we go. I roll my eyes as she talks. She is always doing this to me. I admit that being single at twenty-eight isn’t in my plan, but I don’t need Aunt Grace playing Cupid.

  “He lives in Chicago, and I gave him your number to look you up.”

  My heart pounds a mile a minute. I hate when she does this. I can just imagine it’s one of her loony friend’s cuckoo relative who’s probably a loon like all the others.

  “You what?” I sat straight up in bed. “Aunt Grace you can’t do that in today’s age. What if he’s crazy and tries to track me down and kill me?”

  Thank God I live in a building with a doorman that has to buzz up any visitors. And double Thank God I have The Clapper.

  “Good Italian family,” she says, ignoring me.

  Here we go again.

  “Don’t you know most people my age are waiting well into their thirties to get married?” I inform her.

  “Just keep an open mind. In my day if you weren’t married by twenty, you were considered an old maid.”

  “Lucky for us we aren’t in your day.”

  “Good Italian family,” she repeats before she hangs up. Aunt Grace always gets the last word.

  Needless to say, my nerves are shot, and it takes me over an hour to calm down. I must’ve turned my alarm off because I didn’t wake up for my run.

  Chapter Two

  My alarm! Not the physical alarm, but my internal alarm clock, propels me out of bed. I lunge for my real clock and shake the life out of it.

  The damn thing.

  I need to invest in a new clock because this happens several times a week. And Shaken Clock Syndrome has just about done the thing in. I own up to the fact it could be operator rather than mechanical error.

  My hair hangs in front of my eyes like a dark waterfall. I try to blow it out of the way, but it’s too heavy to move. Instinctively I take the rubber band from my wrist and pull my hair up in a high pony.

  The entire apartment is extremely quiet. Obviously Lucy isn’t awake, and I’m not about to flick her lights on and off to wake her up, like she did last night. Granted, she didn’t wake me up—Aunt Grace did—but I could’ve lain there while Aunt Grace talked and slept through most of it. Lucy had to make drama out of it, just as she does with everything.

  Seven o’clock.

  I have two options. One, I can throw on some clothes and meet my running group, even if I’m late, as I do every morning. Or two, I can chuck training all together and stay in my comfortable bed.

  But if I stay in bed I won’t be able to see him. And seeing him is worth getting out of bed.

  I throw on my light gray Adidas shirt and my light blue Nike running shorts, then lace up my kickers. And make sure my pony is staying put.

  I have always wanted to cut my hair short to see if I would like it. If I didn’t like it, the hair fairy could put it all back for me.

  Everyone tells me how beautiful my long black hair is. “Silk,” they say. My bold dark facial features scream “Italian” while my skinny five foot eight inch body screams something far different. My family always told me if I stand sideways with my tongue sticking out, I would look like a zipper. Somehow, changing my hair feels like it would change me, so I never summon the courage to actually do it.

  Luckily, the elevator isn’t busy and I hop right on.

  Downstairs the doorman holds the door open before I pass by.

  “Thanks, Sam!”

  “Running late?” He’s cracking up at my expense. “Get it? Running late. You’re running.”

  “Funny, Sam. Don’t quit your day job.” I point to his hat.

  Sam has his nose in all the comings and goings of the people in the joint. And he has his finger on the button to open the door when he hears the elevator. Sam is good at his job.

  It’s a beautiful summer morning. The sun is already over the lake and dogs are out walking their owners. I set my radar east.

  I shouldn’t have a hard time finding the group if I head up Superior, right on Lakeshore, and head south towards the Park District. We always start along the lake from Buckingham Fountain.

  It’s a gorgeous day for a run. The city is already buzzing with tourists. The retail workers are getting ready for the day, which is good for me since I am the manager at the Gucci store on Michigan Avenue. I try to surround myself with things I love, and I love Gucci.

  A vision of beauty runs towards me. No, not Gucci. I would know that five-foot-eleven frame from miles away.

  “Please, knees stay under me,” I whisper under my breath. The last thing I need is to pass out and have to explain to him—or anyone—that his awesomeness was why.

  I watch the way his muscles contract with each stride. His strong jaw is locked in place just below his dark hair, and the way his muscles protrude from his sleeveless blue Under Armor send chills up my legs. His hazel eyes look into mine.

  “Cold, Hallie?” Bo Pompillio points to my legs just as I pass him. “Get going and you’ll warm up.”

  Little did he know the chills came from looking at him. I fall into line with the rest of the running pack. We have been training for the Chicago Marathon going on two years. We all met at the gym with the same goal in mind. Marathon.

  Okay, I really never wanted to run a marathon. I wanted Bo. He’s on my mind, and when I heard that it takes a long time to train for a marathon, a long time with him sounded pretty good. Only one thing, he has never seemed to notice me other than as a running partner.

  Damn it.

  “What happened to you today?” he asks.

  “Late night call.” I make the crazy sign with my finger outlining my ear like I did when I was a kid.

  I fall in step beside Bo. We seem to have the same stride and keep in sync with each other. Mmmm…In my mind, Bo’s name rolls off my tongue like a hot knife in butter.

  “Crazy aunt again?”

  “Yep,” I confirm.

  Not that I talk about Aunt Grace all the time. He’s referring to the time the running group

  went out for dinner and drinks. Aunt Grace decided to call before I left. I knew better than to answer the phone, and by the time the three-hour conversation was over, the dinner party was too.

  Even so, that was a phone call that I’m glad I took. She was about to kill Uncle Jimmy, her husband, with an electric knife. Thank God the cord wasn’t long enough, although she sure was trying to make it stretch.

  “She’s lucky she has you.” Bo glances over, smiles. “And she can’t be all that bad. She did a fine job raising you.”

  All smiles from here on out. I can run all day now. Well all day next to Bo.

  Silence took its place as we all worked on our breathing techniques, and strides.

  If you had told me two years ago that I’d be running for over two hours at a time, I would’ve told you that you were crazy. But here I am.

  Bo stops and turns to the group. There is barely a trickle of sweat on his brow. Oh how I would kill to dab that one trickle.

  “Tonight we’re having a new band at the club, so stop by.” He is looking at me. At me! “Starts about nine. It should be fun.” His lip curls up, melting my heart.

  Secretly I wish he’s making an exclusive invitation, but everyone is eagerly accepting his offer.

  Bo co-owns an up-and-coming blues bar, and has invited me and my girlfriends to come by several times. Each time I have been dressed to the nines, but he has never shown up. Finally, my friends got tired of going and paying for all their drinks. Not that we were expecting free drinks, but one free drink would’ve been nice that considering we were there to support his bar.

  Maybe tonight will be different.

 
Chapter Three

  Lucy and I lucked out on our condo. It is prime real estate belonging to the family of a girl we met in college. They didn’t want to sell it and just by chance she was talking about it when we were looking to rent. Lucy and I loved visiting Chicago and took the plunge. The lease is a little steep, the view is well worth it. Plus our building is located on One West Superior and State Street which is in the heart of downtown. What more could two fun single girls want?

  Lucy meanders down the hall, scratching her head and yawning. I fill her in on the latest Bo news, and try not to sound the least bit excited.

  “Can’t go. Georgia’s.” Lucy reminds me.

  A little disappointment sweeps over me. But nothing will ever replace girls’ night in with our two best friends Georgia and Prudence.

  “Oh, I forgot. I’ll be there.” My eyebrows lift. “I might sneak over to the club for a little while.”

  “He doesn’t know what he’s missing, I can tell you that.” She pushes the button on the coffee maker.

  “There’s a secret meeting today at Gucci today.” I can’t help but be a tad-bit nervous. “I’ve got to get ready.”

  “What do you mean a meeting?” Lucy follows me back to my bedroom, and sits on the bench at the foot of my bed.

  “You know how retail is.” I didn’t want to alarm her too much. “One day it’s up and the next day it’s down. You never know, do you?”

  Lucy isn’t buying it. “First, I don’t like how you’re acting,” she said. “If you aren’t concerned, you wouldn’t have brought it up. Secondly, you’re the manager and they didn’t tell you about it. I’d be a little curious.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you all about it tonight.” I reassure her, knowing full well she is going to be as nervous as me until she hears that we worried for nothing. She’s my best friend for a reason. “Now get out of here. I need to get ready.”