by D. A. Bale
Or slaving away for one’s father. “It took all of two seconds for me to realize I wasn’t cut out for the corporate world.”
“What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”
I chewed pizza while weighing my words carefully. “Let’s just say my dad had made plans for my career without asking for my input.”
“Ah, didn’t want to go into the family business?”
The pizza wedge almost stuck in my throat. “You know about my family’s business?”
“Not per se, but isn’t that usually the case when parents plan their children’s lives? Expect them to run the family business someday?”
I calmed after guzzling half of the fresh glass of wine in one sip. “I suppose you’re right. Is that how you ended up in radio? Daddy own the station?”
He laughed. “Hardly. My father had designs on me achieving his position, not something as lowly as a radio personality.”
“Doctor?” Yeah, I’d volunteer to let him examine me.
“Nah, lawyer,” Radioman said before draining half his glass. “Wanted me to become the managing partner in his firm someday.”
“A family legacy of lawyers, huh?” Which meant he’d come from money too. Which meant his dad might know my dad.
“Now it’s up to either my younger brother or sister.”
“Oldest child breaks the cycle. Why Mr. Radioman, you have successfully surprised me tonight.”
He leaned forward, his eyelids at half-mast. “I’m full of surprises.”
Check please? I wanted to yell, but somehow restrained myself. “So I take it that’s how you and Seth became friends.”
Radioman nodded. “Roommates freshman year. We were both on the poly-sci undergrad track until I took a mass comm class just for fun my sophomore year. Required to spend at least one hour a week hosting the college’s radio show. After that I was hooked, and took every available timeslot the remainder of the semester before changing my major.”
“And the rest, as they say, was history,” I interjected.
“Something like that. Created a few hard feelings with my dad for awhile, but things have settled.”
“Wish I could say the same,” I muttered. No need to devolve into self-pity. Besides, I had another itch I wanted to scratch tonight – no matter how badly Grady would kill me. “So then how did you and Seth bump into the third musketeer? Don’t tell me Banker Boy was also pre-law.”
For a second, I just knew I was gonna get sprayed with a mouthful of wine. But unlike me, Radioman had some self-control – and manners. He swallowed the drink with a cough before addressing me. “Banker Boy? That’s the best you could come up with for Doug?”
The guy’s name was Doug? That brought on a whole slew of other moniker possibilities like Doofus Doug, Nickel and Dime Doug, Doughboy Doug – wait, that was perfect.
“Doug?” I finally asked, leaving off the Doughboy part.
“It’s a family name, I think,” Radioman said. “Short for Douglas.”
Or maybe Druggie Doug. The guy did sweat a lot – kinda like a certain detective I knew. But I think in Duncan’s case, it was more due to a glandular condition – or from eating too many donuts.
“So how then did you and Seth end up friends with Doug?” I prodded.
“Fraternity drinking games,” he offered. “Doug and Seth were almost always the last two standing in the rivalry between our houses.”
Reminded me of the alcohol X-games at Grady’s, another continuation of the college party scene for adults. “I never pictured you for a frat boy.”
He waved off my concern. “Only my first two years, and only because of my father’s wishes. I dropped the association when I changed majors.”
“But you kept the friends.”
Radioman contemplated my statement with a tilt of his head as he signaled the waiter for a refill. “Actually Seth’s my friend in the triangle. He and Doug became friends after I left the Greek system. So I guess you could say Doug’s the third wheel when it comes to my friendship with Seth.”
“You’re not close with Doug then,” I said, poking the subject a little more.
“Nope. Never have been, and never will be.”
Hmm. Me thinks there might be something a little more juicy in that statement, but I was done with prodding and poking around the periphery of friendships. With that pronouncement, I figured Grady could rest easy about my involvement with Radioman. Undercover dating just wasn’t my style. I was more the straightforward and out-in-the-open type when it came to relationships – except when it came to that special time of under-the-covers.
“So what kind of business does your family have?” Radioman asked, returning to more comfortable topics – for him, at least. “Real estate? Law firm? Evil oilman?” Eyes narrowed as he smirked.
“If you only knew,” I mumbled.
“I know,” he said, rattling the table with a slap. “Private detectives.”
“Where’d you get that?”
“You know…after your little tryst with that guy earlier this summer?”
“Zeke?” I sputtered.
“I thought his name was Bud,” Radioman returned with a frown.
“Bud?”
“The guy you worked with who killed that pregnant woman.”
“Oh, right…Bud. Sure. I get it.”
“So the family business...some PI firm?”
“Nah, nothing like that. My dad’s just your average, everyday, small businessman.”
I may be short on virtues, but at least I was honest. Mostly. With my vague businessman reference, the family background remained a nice, safe little secret – chained and anchored like a mob hit to the dark recesses of the depths of my life.
Now the PI firm quip? Previous investigative entanglements hadn’t gone over well with any of the other men in my life, so I saw no reason to muddy the waters with the new man in my life. I determined it best to conceal and keep the amateur investigator issue to myself.
Anyway, who needed a PI license when you were simply assisting a friend? Okay, two friends. After all, this was Texas, where a license to carry was anything but concealed.
***
A guy who uses his lips all day on the radio could sure kiss. You know, after all of that mandible muscle exercise to communicate to the world – or at least all of Dallas. The way the heat enveloped us, I half expected the cool walls of the apartment hallway to drip with perspiration. Or maybe just the area where my bare back pressed against it.
The nightcap had barely started when Radioman tugged full lips away and leaned his forehead against mine. “If I don’t leave now, I might never.”
My nether regions kicked into full bloom with his words. “I wouldn’t mind,” I said as I pressed my lips to his again and fumbled for the apartment doorknob.
Warmth trailed down my neck and to my ear. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
“Chivalry is vastly overrated,” I whispered and succeeded in blindly popping open the door.
Before I dragged him inside, Radioman pressed his hands against the doorframe with a groan. “What about the game next Sunday?”
My sexually charged brain got stuck between a rock and a hard, hard, hard place. On the one hand, he was asking for a second date which meant he wanted to see me again. On the other hand, he didn’t want to see all of me. Right now. In my apartment. In ways that only passion could satisfy.
I traced his cheek with my finger. “I’m not sure if I should feel flattered or frustrated right about now.”
“If you’re feeling anything like I am,” Radioman muttered, “I’d say we’re both a bit frustrated.”
“Then come inside,” I said grabbing a hand.
Eyes full of desire conflicted with his body’s lack of movement. He didn’t stir from the doorway, his arms remaining stiff – er, uh, immobile.
“I want more than just a roll in bed with you, Vicki.”
“Well you’re in luck, because I don’t have a bed.”
“Just mattresses,” I confirmed. “Until the bedroom set gets delivered.”
Observation swept past me to take in my apartment. “Recent remodel?”
“Something like that.”
“You must make good tips.”
“It was sorta a gift from my mom,” I admitted.
“Wow.” He whistled in appreciation. Radioman apparently had an eye for details – and expensive taste. “Some gift.”
“Yeah. Long story though.”
He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead without letting go of the doorframe. “Tell me all about it next Sunday.”
With that he was gone, taking the unrequited wind right out of my…
Aw, forget it.
Chapter Eighteen
Being awakened by an early morning phone call after tossing and turning all night with fevered dreams of what didn’t transpire with my date never started the day off on my good side. The moment I cleared the grit from my eyes, Slinky shoved his mug in my face with a caterwaul from Hell.
I’m not sure which was worse – the constant drone of my phone or my hungry and demanding kitty.
“Hello,” I barked into the phone.
Reggie’s voice came through loud and clear. “Good morning, mein liebchen. A better day is on the horizon for you, no?”
Before I verbally abused my friend, Mom’s little reminder flitted past my fogged brain – a lady never loses her temper. Good thing I no longer considered myself a lady.
“You better have a good reason for calling me at…” I glanced at the glowing clock readout. “Eight AM? What the hell, Reggie?” I growled.
“Ah yes, the perpetual night owl. But Reggie always has good reasons for his calls,” he quipped in that high pitched voice that made dogs howl.
Just call me Fido.
“Thirty seconds, Reggie, and then I pull the plug.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Did Reggie interrupt an early-morning rendezvous?”
I could just picture the wagging caterpillar eyebrows on his dark face. But now I was dreaming of a certain well-exercised mouth placed just about… “You’re down to twenty-five seconds.”
“Remind me never to call you before ten.”
“Twenty seconds.”
“You’ll never guess what this morning has wrought.”
“Reggie!”
“A little birdie arrived to let me know your bedroom furniture has shipped,” he practically squealed.
“Have we reverted back to carrier pigeons instead of texts now?” I asked.
“There’s the Victoria I know and love.”
I groaned and sat up, sleep drifting far into the lusty recesses of my mind – until I remembered that bedroom furniture meant a higher probability of breaking it in sooner rather than later with a certain radio personality. This time I was talking reality instead of fantasy.
“When will it arrive?” I asked more fully awake.
“It’s coming freight, so I’m anticipating seeing it no later than Thursday,” Reggie promised. “If everything is in order, we could make final set-up for Friday or Saturday if that works for you.”
“Just in time for Sunday.”
“What is Sunday?”
Did I say that out loud? “Uh…so I can watch preseason football in bed.”
A low chuckle then Reggie reverted to his manly voice sans the false accent. “The Cowboys preseason home opener is next Sunday. Why aren’t you going?”
“Hey, I’m impressed you know that.”
“Another one of my many secrets.”
“It just so happens I may be going, but that’s not important right now.” I really didn’t want to think anymore about what might have been last night. There was also the fact that I had to wait a whole freaking week to try again.
His voice lost the playfulness. “Listen, I’m sorry about the early morning call, but I wanted to talk to you before any of the staff showed up. Have you discovered anything on your end?”
Besides virtually nothing? I dragged my sorry carcass from the mattress with a sigh and stumbled to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Tracking down a blackmailer proved to be a hell of a lot harder than what I’d gone through to discover a murderer – well, except for the whole almost-getting-killed thing. “First off, I should probably tell you that I brought my best friend in on this to help me.”
“Janine De’Laruse?” His voice returned to the rafters. “Are you crazy?”
“Hey,” I retorted. “Janine wouldn’t betray a flea to a can of Raid. Besides, I didn’t exactly tell her who I was helping.”
However, I sure as hell wasn’t going to explain that I probably gave her just enough information for a woman of her intelligence to figure it out faster than she could choose a dress for Sunday services. But Janine could be discreet when she tried. Sort of. Maybe. At least as long as her mother didn’t get ahold of her with the look.
“But that doesn’t change the fact she’s still a De’Laruse,” Reggie argued.
“Exactly,” I said, dumping two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into a mug. “She’s involved in the elitist of the elite circles. All I asked her to do is listen in on the local chatter about anything to do with money and blackmail.”
“That covers pretty much everyone in that particular class of the population.”
Ouch! But I had to give Reggie that one, especially when calculating in my own emotional blackmail of the sperm donor after discovering his phallic photographic portfolio.
Ew. Not something I wanted to contemplate at this too-early hour.
Then there was also Janine’s arm-twisting to get me to help her with Bobby’s church fundraiser Sunday morning. Hmm. I guess when it came to that particular class, blackmail could come in many forms.
“Don’t worry about Janine,” I reassured, then took a sip of soothing and caffeinated nectar.
“If only.”
“On another note, I had a run-in with Lorraine Padget down at the post office. Seems she was returning some pillows.”
“Padget…” Reggie mused aloud. “Oh yes, the Summers account. She’s his new buyer or something.”
“Fiancé,” I corrected.
I pictured the hinges of his jaw swinging loose in shock and surprise as the dead silence dragged on for all of ten seconds. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Now that they’ve set a date, it seems Mr. Summers has opened up his pocketbook.”
“Curious pairing,” Reggie said. “Isn’t he like a hundred?”
“From what I’ve heard, he’s younger than he appears. Probably somewhere closer to seventy when you factor in all those years of smoking.”
“That’s still a huge age gap.”
“But not unheard of in today’s meat market. And when you add money to the mix, you can attract all sorts of flies.”
Flies like former beauty queens fluttering around a piece of sausage left out in the sun too long. Or in Lorraine’s case it was the has-been beauty queen looking like an overstuffed sausage casing. Okay, maybe that was a little mean.
Nah.
“Mr. Summers is an old-school oilman,” Reggie said. “Which means he’s looking to cash in on something. If it’s not love, what do you think he’s getting in return for his investment?”
Reality said a man only opened his wallet after getting one thing, but I still had a difficult time imagining those two tangled in the throes of intimacy. If I couldn’t imagine it, how could I speak it aloud?
“Well,” I offered, “the coffers were opened probably shortly after she opened her legs.”
There. I’d said it. Couldn’t take it back. But now I felt like I had breath like Slinky after a thorough butt licking. I needed something to wash away the taste. Oreos for breakfast coming right up.
Reggie chuckled. Then he descended into a downright belly laugh that soon subsided into a sigh. “Returning to my conundrum, the money
was in the post office box when I checked it last night.”
That little informational tidbit could’ve dropped Lorraine to second place on my short list – if I didn’t know her better. Just because she hadn’t picked up the cash yesterday didn’t mean she hadn’t intended to, which kept her firmly entrenched in the number one suspect category.
With Lorraine’s devious personality and temperament – emphasis on the temper – it’d be like her to use blackmail to get what she wanted. Might go a long way in explaining her relationship with Mr. Summers too. Since Janine and I had interrupted her gone-postal moment, she’d need another excuse to return to the post office. In the meantime, there was still one person I’d yet to approach.
“There’s still Switch,” I said around cookie crumbs.
Reggie went all silent on me again. I could almost hear his knees knocking before he finally spoke up. “In all likelihood, he’s dead.”
“My sources say he’s still alive.”
The other end of the line quieted. A couple of bites later, Reggie responded. “Are these sources reliable?”
“This particular one is,” I assured. “I even have a phone number.”
Another hesitation. “Have you called it?”
“Not yet, but it’s on my list of things to do today.”
“On second thought, Victoria,” Reggie whispered. “Don’t.”
***
Following commands, demands, and orders isn’t one of my strong suits. I’d have made one lousy excuse as a member of the military. With that foot-in-mouth disease plaguing me into adulthood, I’d have been court-martialed on the first day of boot camp after complaining about the uniform. Olive drab does nothing for me, not to mention those hideous and clunky boots.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m a big supporter of the military and good ol’ American might. I’d be first in line to welcome our boys home from overseas – pucker up boys and let me lay it on you. It’s just those early morning bugle calls, bad food, being told what to do, when to do it, and where to go would not only have my superiors constantly dishing it out but me shoveling it right back at ‘em. Knowing my luck, I’d be stationed somewhere like the Sahara where I’d be certain to shrivel up and die from heat stroke.
