Bunco Babes Gone Wild

by Maria Geraci

  “Of course you’re not putting me out. You’re my sister. You’re always welcome. You know that.”

  “Thanks.”

  Frida studied Georgia’s face. “You’re sure there’s nothing wrong?”

  For a brief moment, Georgia thought about telling Frida everything. It had been a long time since they’d talked. About anything important, that is. But if she did, Frida would cancel her dinner with Ed, and Georgia didn’t want that. She put on a bright smile. “You’re always bragging about how great Whispering Bay is. I thought I’d take you up on a few days of sun and fun.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy that.” Frida narrowed her eyes at her. “For now.”

  2

  Georgia took a hot shower, unpacked her suitcase, then carefully folded her clothes into the empty bottom drawer of the pine armoire in the spare bedroom. The apartment consisted of a small living area, two bedrooms and a bath. There was also a large loft that Ed used as a studio. It was as big as the rest of the rooms combined and had a large window that overlooked the Gulf. Georgia didn’t understand why Ed didn’t use the spare bedroom to paint in. In her mind, the loft was the obvious choice for a living room.

  It was almost five and Frida and Ed hadn’t returned from their business dinner. It was too early to get dressed for this Bunco thing, plus there was the fact that it was hot in the apartment and she hadn’t brought clothes to just hang out and sweat in. Frida and Ed kept the thermostat at seventy-eight. Frida had explained to her that keeping the thermostat at a moderate setting not only saved on the electric bill, it was environmentally correct. It felt warmer than seventy-eight, though. Maybe because the building was old, and then of course, there was the whole “hot air rises” principle. Geor gia resisted the urge to reset the thermostat. When in Rome and all that.

  She rummaged through Frida’s drawers and found a pair of khaki shorts splattered with paint and an oversized T-shirt to wear. The T-shirt had a picture of a globe on it with blue lettering that read Every Day Is Earth Day. She was about to blow-dry her hair when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number on the screen.

  It was Spencer.

  Maybe she shouldn’t answer.

  But that was childish. She was going to have to talk to him sooner or later. He was her boss as well as her boyfriend. She could ignore her boyfriend, but she couldn’t ignore her boss.

  Spencer Moody was the epitome of Georgia’s perfect man. Tall, handsome, smart, and successful. He’d graduated from the University of Alabama, where his father had gone, and his father before him. He was blond, blue-eyed, dressed impeccably, and had a good ol’ boy southern charm that never failed to win over clients. The first time he’d laid his deep, slow drawl on her, Georgia had been lost. Just hearing Spencer’s voice gave her the shivers.

  She hit the accept button on her phone and braced herself. “Hi,” she answered coolly.

  “Where are you? I just got to your place and found a note saying you were going out of town. What the hell’s going on?”

  Hmmm . . . no shivers today.

  “Read the note, Spencer.”

  “This isn’t like you, Georgia. We have a staff meeting in the morning, for God’s sake.”

  “You can run the company for one day without me. Denise can fill in for me at the meeting.” Denise was Georgia’s assistant. She knew the Friday-morning drill almost as well as Georgia.

  “It’s two days. Not one.”

  “And your point is?”

  “My point is that you just can’t take off without telling me. I’m your boss, remember?”

  “I told Crystal.” Crystal was Spencer’s secretary. She could be a little ditzy sometimes, but Georgia had trouble believing she wouldn’t have given him the message.

  “She didn’t say you were going out of town.”

  “I haven’t taken a vacation in the five years I’ve worked for you. I think I’m entitled to a couple of days off. But if you think differently, then maybe it’s time I—”

  “Now, babycakes, don’t get all crazy on me. You know I would never begrudge you a few days off. Take a week. Hell, take two. Just don’t scare me like this.”

  She hadn’t thought that Spencer would worry about her. But then, after the scene last night, she hadn’t been thinking period. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I should have spoken to you.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At my sister’s place.”

  “You’re in Florida?”

  “I only have one sister, Spencer.” That I know of.

  “Why don’t you join me?” she asked. It was impetuous, but maybe that’s what they needed to shake up their relationship. She’d come down to Florida to think and regroup, but a romantic weekend getaway suddenly seemed like a good idea. Thinking was definitely overrated.

  “I’d love to, sugar, but you know the kids and I have plans this weekend.”

  “Am I ever going to come first in your life?”

  “This is exactly why our relationship hasn’t gone to the next level. It’s the same sort of emotional blackmail Big Leslie used to—”

  “Do not compare me to your ex-wife.”

  “Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. Is this about last night?”

  She could hear her voice rising, but she couldn’t help it. “Spencer, who gives their girlfriend a calculator for their five-year anniversary?”

  “I admit the calculator was a mistake. But in my defense it was top of the line. I asked you what you wanted. Remember? You told me to surprise you.”

  “That’s not the surprise I had in mind.”

  “I’m not ready for the kind of commitment you want from me. I’m sorry, but I’m just not. One of the things I love best about you, sugar, is your ability to see things logically. Look at it from my side.”

  Okay, she’d look at things logically. “You’re forty years old. Do you think you can tell me when you will be ready?”

  “This isn’t because of that timetable thing you have, is it? Babycakes, you’re young. There’s plenty of time for you to pop out a kid.”

  “I’m thirty-two!”

  “Exactly. You’re an infant and you don’t even know it. When I was thirty-two I was stuck in a loveless marriage. I have to be sure I don’t make another mistake. There’s Spencer Jr. and Little Leslie to think about.”

  “Your kids will adjust. Big Leslie remarried. They’ve adapted to that, haven’t they?

  “This selfish side of you is very unattractive, Georgia.”

  Selfish?

  Before she could think of a response, a dull rapping noise caught her attention. After a few seconds, it went away.

  Was it selfish to expect an engagement ring from the man she loved? Apparently, Spencer thought so. He thought she was being unreasonable. Georgia had always hated whiny, manipulative women. Maybe she’d acted too hastily. She’d stormed off like some petulant child instead of working their problems out like a mature, sensible adult.

  Oh, God. What had she done?

  “Georgia, are you still there?” he asked.

  “Spencer, you’re right. I’m—”

  The rapping started up again. Only this time it was louder, making it impossible to carry on a conversation.

  “Hold on,” she said into her cell.

  She padded barefoot across the small living room to the top of the staircase. The noise was coming from downstairs. Someone must be knocking on the door to the Bistro. Maybe Frida and Ed had forgotten their key. Or maybe it was another of Frida’s Bunco friends coming to show off their latest round with BOTOX.

  She went down to investigate.

  There was a man standing outside the glass door. He spotted her and waved.

  It must be a customer. One who couldn’t read. She pointed to the Closed sign hanging from the window.

  “It’ll just take a minute,” he said loud enough for her to hear through the door.

  Georgia thought about it. It couldn’t hurt to open the door a tad. Just to see what he wanted.
<
br />   On the other hand, the man was a complete stranger and she was all alone. He could be a killer. Or a robber. She could open the door and he could pull out a knife. Or a gun.

  She took a closer look at him. He had scraggly brown hair and a soul patch beneath his bottom lip. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes. He wore board shorts and a T-shirt, like he’d just stepped off the beach. There were no telltale signs of a hidden weapon. No suspicious bulges anywhere she could see. But he was a big guy—not fat—but definitely muscular. He probably outweighed her by at least seventy pounds. It wouldn’t take much for him to overpower her.

  She shook her head. “Come back in the morning.”

  She started back upstairs, but he rapped on the door again. This time he used his fist.

  What part of no didn’t this guy understand?

  She glanced through the window to the parking lot. There was a white pickup truck that hadn’t been there before. On the side of the truck was a sign with the logo Hernandez Construction.

  It would be pretty stupid of him to park a truck with a distinguishing sign like that in front of a place he was planning to rob. The Bistro was located on a busy street. Busy for Whispering Bay, that is. Too many potential witnesses would be able to identify that truck. She’d seen enough reruns of Law and Order to know how that went.

  Besides, she still had her cell phone in her hand. If he made any suspicious moves, she could always call for help.

  Her cell phone . . . She’d forgotten she had Spencer on hold. She put the phone to her ear. “Spencer?”

  There was silence. Crap. He must have hung up.

  She unbolted the door and inched it open. “Step back,” she ordered.

  He looked surprised by her command. “Hi, there. I’m missing my wallet,” he said. “I thought maybe I left it here.”

  “Stay right where you are.” She aimed her cell phone at him. “If you try anything funny, I’m dialing nine-one-one.”

  He grinned. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m serious as a heart attack, buddy. Now step back.”

  He put his hands up in the air. “Whoa, calm down.” He pointed to her cell phone. “You got a license for that thing?”

  “You got a license for that joke?”

  “Wow. Listen, I just want my wallet. You remember me, don’t you? You served me coffee this morning.”

  She served him coffee?

  She slammed the door shut and locked it as fast as her shaky fingers could turn the knob.

  “Hey! What was that for?” he demanded.

  “You’re lying,” she shouted. “I wasn’t here this morning.”

  “Sure you were. Look, lady, I just want my wallet. I sat at the table next to the window looking out at the water. Will you check? Please,” he added with a forced smile.

  Georgia thought about walking away and leaving him there, but something in his voice made her reconsider. He didn’t seem like a bad guy. Of course, appearances could be deceiving. Perhaps if she made an attempt to look for this wallet of his, he’d give up and go away.

  She kept her phone in the air where he could see it and made her way to the back table, searching the floor and the surrounding area, but there was no sign of a wallet or anything else. It looked like Frida had scoured the place.

  She walked back to the door. “Sorry. There’s no wallet.”

  “Maybe one of your employees found it. Do you have a Lost and Found? I really need my wallet.”

  He was persistent. She’d give him that.

  “Okay, I’ll look again, but just so you know, I’ve seen Silence of the Lambs and I know how you guys operate. You make one move toward that door and I—”

  “Yeah, I get it. You’ll shoot me with your phone.”

  She ignored his sarcasm and pushed the speed-dial button to Frida’s cell.

  For a second, he looked alarmed. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her like he was daring her to call the police.

  Frida picked up on the second ring. “What’s up?”

  “Sorry to interrupt your dinner, but there’s a guy here who says he might have left his wallet this morning and—”

  “I was hoping he’d come back for it. I found it while I was cleaning. It’s under the counter.”

  “Oh. Well, how do I know it’s the same guy? I mean, he could be an imposter or something.”

  Frida laughed. “Georgia, I think you’ve been living in the big city for too long. Tall, good-looking guy? Nice smile?”

  Georgia studied him through the glass door. He was definitely tall. And maybe some people would consider him good looking. But he was too rough, too . . . macho looking for her taste. As for the nice smile part. That was an indisputable no. His smile was way too smug to be described as nice. According to her scale, that was only one out of three.

  “I guess he might sort of fit that description. Okay, thanks.”

  She found the wallet where Frida said it would be and reluctantly unlocked the front door. He put his hand out to reach for it, but she shook her head. “Hold on. I’m not just handing this over to you until I know it’s really yours.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” He sighed. “Go ahead and do your thing, Kojak.”

  “You don’t have to get snippy about it.”

  She opened the worn brown leather wallet and looked inside to find a twenty-dollar bill and some ones. There were also a couple of credit cards, a Social Security card—

  “This is a big mistake, carrying your Social Security card inside your wallet,” she said. “You’re just begging to be a victim of identity theft.”

  “So you admit it’s my wallet?”

  “Not so fast.” She pulled out the driver’s license. “This wallet belongs to a David Hernandez.”

  “That’s me. Dave Hernandez.” He pointed to the white pickup truck. “And that’s my truck. See? My name’s even on the side.” He waved his hand impatiently. “Now hand it over.”

  She read the address. “You live in Tampa?”

  “That’s right.”

  She looked at the card again. Safe Driver was written at the bottom. “It says you’re a safe driver.”

  “That’s me, Mr. Safety.”

  “What does that mean exactly? That you’ve never been in an accident or that you’ve never gotten a ticket?”

  “No accidents.” Then he added, “That I know of.”

  Something in his tone made her pause. Was he making fun of her? She continued to study the card. He was also an organ donor. Which was kind of nice, actually.

  She mentally shook herself. Focus, Georgia. She scanned through the rest of the information. David Hernandez, six-two, brown hair, green eyes—

  “Can you take off your sunglasses?”

  She could tell he wanted to protest, but he whipped off his glasses anyway. “Satisfied?”

  His eyes were definitely green. They contrasted dramatically against his olive complexion. Maybe he was kind of good-looking. On second thought, his eyes were almost too green. He probably wore colored contact lenses.

  She read on.

  Birth date, August 20. According to the year, he was now thirty-seven. “When’s your birthday?”

  “I had a birthday two days ago.”

  Okay. She’d admit it. The guy standing in front of her was the owner of the wallet. “Happy birthday,” she said, feeling lame.

  He smiled, and she instantly wished she hadn’t asked him to take off the sunglasses. So maybe he was tall, good looking, and had a nice smile. But he was still too much of something she didn’t like. Not that it mattered. She was a pre-engaged woman.

  She handed Dave Hernandez his wallet. He shoved it into the back pocket of his board shorts. “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry about giving you a hard time, but you can never be too careful.”

  “Are you always this suspicious?”

  “It’s just, the bit about seeing me here today. That’s impossible, so I thought you were lying.”

  “
Sure you were here today. Don’t you remember me? I ordered a black coffee and a lemon poppy seed muffin. You told me you’d just run out so I got blueberry instead.”

  He thought she was Frida?

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “That wasn’t me.”

  “Then it must be your twin.”

  Her twin?

  “That was my sister, Frida. But you must need glasses because the two of us don’t look anything alike.” They weren’t even full-blooded sisters, but this guy didn’t have to know that.

  His gaze skimmed over her. “Same height, same blue eyes, same red hair—”

  “My hair isn’t red!”

  “Sure it is.”

  “You must be color blind.”

  He looked amused. “What do you call it?”

  “Brown.”

  “If it makes you happy,” he said with a shrug.

  “It doesn’t make me happy, it’s a fact.”

  “Whatever. I was just making an observation.” Now that he had his wallet, she assumed he would leave, but he stood there, lingering. “So, I’m Dave,” he said, expectantly.

  “Oh, yeah, I’m Georgia. Georgia Meyer.”

  “Pretty name. Like the state?”

  “No.”

  She didn’t elaborate and he finally got the message. “Thanks again,” he said, backing away from the door. “It would have been a bitch to replace all the stuff in my wallet.”

  She watched him get in his truck and drive off, then she locked the door and climbed the stairs to the apartment. She tried calling Spencer back, but his cell went directly to voice mail.

  Damn it. If it hadn’t been for Dave Hernandez, maybe she and Spencer could have resolved their argument.

  She glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hair had dried on its own and was doing some sort of weird curly thing. On a whim, she lifted a section off her shoulder and brought it up to the mirror under the bathroom light. Dave Hernandez was crazy. Her hair was brown.

  Okay, she’d admit there was a subtle cinnamon hue to it, but only if you looked closely enough.

  It most definitely wasn’t red.

  And she absolutely didn’t look anything like her sister.

  3

  Georgia smoothed down the pleats on her cream-colored slacks. She wore a lime green sleeveless silk top and her matching-colored Manolo Blahnik satin buckled sandals. She’d managed to salvage the hair disaster by scrunching it up with styling gel. In contrast, Frida wore a jean skirt with frayed edges, a plain white T-shirt, and flip-flops. “Am I overdressed for this Bunco thing?” Georgia asked.