Her Lucky Catch

by Amie Denman

  Kurt propped both elbows on the counter, his face eye level with mine and so close I could smell the intoxicating combination of virile man mixed with fuel and exhaust. My new favorite scent.

  “I’ve been thinking about you, Jazz.”

  I looked into his deep blue eyes. My senses were on fire. “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

  “You have?” He looked puzzled but interested.

  I nodded.

  “I hope you recovered from the fire hose incident. No bruises?”

  “Oh.” That’s why he’d been thinking of me. He was a professional. Duh. “I’m fine. As you can see.”

  “You look fine.”

  He leaned over the counter. Too close. I wanted to show him my bruises. Just to make sure I wasn’t getting blood poisoning or Lyme disease or scarlet fever. He would know about those things.

  “So,” I said, stepping back and shuffling a pile of papers. “I didn’t know your department had a boat.”

  “We got a federal grant last year.”

  “It’s nice,” I said lamely. What do you say about a fireboat when you really want to talk about the man whose hands were toying with a pen on the counter and driving your imagination crazy?

  “I’ll be practically living here all summer.”

  “Is this marina that dangerous?”

  He paused and looked me over slowly. “Could be.”

  I would have come up with something clever, sassy and maybe even sexy to say next, but we were both spared by a horn honking like crazy in the parking lot.

  “That’s my ride.” He straightened up, never taking his eyes off me despite the continued honking. “Stay safe,” he said, and then he was gone.

  Stay safe? That must be a standard-issue public safety goodbye. Kind of like the nuns saying God bless. And seriously, what kind of motivation was there to stay safe when staying unsafe might bring out hottie fireman riding a jet stream of testosterone?

  I glanced at the clock. Almost dark. The day over, the only thing between me and a good night’s sleep was the potential disappointment of my tragic, decaying car. Maybe it would start tonight.

  I locked up and headed out the back door of the marina office with a sense of hope. The evening smelled like spring and happy hormones still coursed through my veins from my two minutes with Kurt. In the car, I turned the key with great enthusiasm. Nothing happened. Defeat settled over me in my ex-father-in-law’s musty, cast-off Honda. I cranked the window down, hoping the spring air might inspire the car too. Maybe if I waited a minute…

  I closed my eyes and leaned back. Out of the darkness I heard voices approaching. Male voices. Arguing. Goose bumps stood up on my neck and I slid down in my seat. A single lamppost lit the dark parking lot, which was deserted except for a black Lincoln Town Car three rows over. The walking argument would have to go right past my car.

  “Don’t forget what I saw that night,” one voice said. “You’d be in prison if it weren’t for me. You owe me.”

  The other man laughed. A barking laugh with no trace of humor. “I owe you? That’s a good one. There’s a million reasons why that’s hilarious, Ballard.”

  Ballard? I knew that name. The mayor of Bluegill. I’d never met him, but I’d seen him a few times over the past year. I slid down farther and carefully turned my head to try to get a good look.

  “Didn’t you ever wonder why I staked a small-town mayor a million bucks? Christ, you’re not any smarter than anyone else around here.”

  The two men were almost to the black car, directly under the one light. In the shadows on the edge of the lot, my heart thumped loudly in my ears. I didn’t have any idea what they were arguing over or why they were doing it here, but self-preservation told me I’d be better off if they didn’t see me. I could still hear raised voices, but no distinct words.

  The one called Ballard, taller with slightly stooped shoulders, opened the driver’s side of the Lincoln and got in. The other man, a complete stranger to me, was still talking as the car’s door slammed shut and it started to roll away.

  Alone in the parking lot with an angry man, I heard his footsteps as he passed my car and headed back toward the marina. But why? Maybe he was staying on a boat. I tried to remember which of the larger boats were in the marina tonight. I should have paid more attention. The only boat I’d noticed was a shiny yellow vessel with black lettering and lots of hoses.

  I waited in my car, afraid to make any noise. Once the coast was clear, I cranked the window up, slipped out of the car and gingerly closed the door. Only one way home tonight. Good thing I was a decent walker and my temporary home was only two miles away. I could have a guilt-free doughnut tomorrow.

  The road to my cousin’s house wound through two blocks of the village before taking a lonelier turn out of town. Harry’s lifestyle was a little over-the-top for Bluegill, and he spent nearly all his leisure time about twenty-five miles in the other direction. I could have mustered the courage to go back to the marina office and call him for a ride, but he was out tonight.

  I walked across the dark parking lot, resigned to a solitary walk home in my freaked-out state of mind. Just what kind of conversation had I stumbled onto? If it had been Mayor Ballard, who did he owe? What kind of a secret was the mystery man keeping?

  Though I tried to keep a low profile and stay out of trouble, ever since I was a little kid, I’ve always been the one most likely to accidentally step in the single pile of dog crap in the backyard. Twenty-five years of scraping poo off my shoes pretty much made me an expert in the great sloppiness of life. Maybe teaching kindergarten really was my calling. Five-year-olds are curious, accident-prone, lovable and messy as hell. Just like me.

  Headlights suddenly blinded me and I froze on the spot. The driver’s door opened and a man stepped out. I figured it was one of the men I’d eavesdropped on back to wipe out the accidental witness. After a year of incredibly clean living mixed with lots of prayer and hard work, my soul was about as pure as it was ever going to be. If I had to go, I deserved a quick and painless death. It was only right.

  “Miss Shepherd? Is that you?”

  I knew that voice. I squinted and tried to make out the car behind the headlights. Was there a light bar on top? And was that the familiar pear-shaped body of Wally Balcheski, police chief and father of one of my kindergarteners? My relatively clean soul would have to wait for its glorious deliverance.

  I sidestepped the headlight beams and walked closer. “Good evening, Chief.”

  He peered past me to the shadow of my lonely little car. “Need a ride home?”

  “Can I ride in your cruiser without people thinking I’m getting arrested?”

  “I’ll let you sit up front.”

  I slid into the front seat and buckled up. Balcheski got behind the wheel, but didn’t back out of the lot. Instead, he took a slow loop around and paused at the top of the hill over the dimly illuminated marina.

  “Watching for boat thieves?”

  He shook his head. “Just keeping an eye on things.”

  “It’s pretty lonely here tonight. Except for—” I stopped. Mayor Ballard was Balcheski’s boss. What was I supposed to say? That I thought I overheard the mayor arguing with some guy I’ve never seen before about a big secret and a million bucks? Right. The chief would probably pull his daughter out of my class and throw her to the wolves at public school.

  “Except for what?”

  “Just a few people, coming and going,” I said. It was weak. I didn’t even believe myself.

  Balcheski glanced at me and then back at the deserted Bluegill streets. “How long were you in that parking lot?”

  “Only a few minutes.”

  “See anyone specific coming or going?”

  Great. He knew I’d seen something and was asking direct questions. I was a bad liar.

  “Yes. I saw two men.”

  “Recognize ’em?”

  “One called the other Ballard.”

  Balcheski nodded, ne
ver taking his eyes from the road. “Off the record, Miss Shepherd, I’d appreciate it if you could tell me what else you heard.”

  I realized at that moment that I’d graduated from accidentally stepping in crap to tracking it all over someone’s white carpet.

  “I heard Ballard say the other guy owed him because of something he’d seen. The other guy laughed, said he staked Ballard a million bucks and then told him he wasn’t very smart. I don’t think they’re friends.”

  The chief blew out a long breath through his nose. Sort of like an angry animal, but probably a good technique for controlling his blood pressure.

  “Anything else?”

  “I didn’t hear the rest. The man called Ballard got in a black car and left.”

  “Lincoln Town Car.”

  “Yes.” I was about to compliment him on being a great guesser when I realized he wasn’t guessing. He probably knew the license plate number on that Town Car.

  Balcheski slowed down and pulled into Harry’s driveway. I never gave him my address. I wondered how much he knew about my cousin and his creative personal life. The chief stopped the car and turned it off.

  “Miss Shepherd, it would be best for everyone concerned if you didn’t mention any of this to anyone.”

  Like I hadn’t already figured that out. I opened the car door. “No argument from me.”

  I walked around the front and stopped by the chief’s open window. “Thanks for the ride home.”

  “Any time. Thanks for teaching my daughter to tie her shoes.” He grinned. “My wife was out of ideas.”

  I turned and rammed right into Harry. It’s great to have a big, protective cousin who also happens to let you live rent-free in his house. Harry isn’t just your average cousin, though. Tonight, he glowed in the moonlight, luminous in a full-length white gown with a halter neckline. His earrings picked up the light from the police car’s headlights and sparkled. He towered over me in his bare feet as he hugged me close. He must have kicked off the high heels I’d helped him pick out last weekend.

  “I was worried about you, Jazzy darling. Getting dropped off in a cop car. That hasn’t happened to me in almost two years.”

  “It was just…” I began.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Harry said loudly as he leaned toward Balcheski’s window. “You’re doing the right thing by releasing her to my custody.”

  I caught a fleeting glimpse of Balcheski’s face as Harry spun me around and we headed toward the house. The chief looked at us as if he’d just seen his mother in the shower and then backed quickly out of the driveway. I don’t even think he looked both ways first.

  Harry flipped on the kitchen light and opened two beers. Only about two years older, he and I were always close growing up. One of the few people who knew what he did with his mom’s Victoria’s Secret catalogs, I’d let him use the back of my closet for storage when we were teenagers. My mother had started to ask questions when she found all the sequins, boas and size twelve high heels. She downed a case and a half of liquor worrying about me for a month until Harry had finally fessed up to owning a wardrobe fit for a queen.

  “You’re home early,” I said.

  He snorted in disgust and pulled off his earrings. “The whole contest was rigged. Only the busty queens made it to the final five.”

  “Sorry. You better stuff one of my bras next time like I told you to. Guaranteed winner.”

  He clinked his beer bottle against mine and gestured toward my expertise in this area. “We’ll get ’em next time.”

  “Did you at least get to the talent round?”

  “Nope,” he said. “And it’s too bad. I would’ve cleaned house with my flaming batons.”

  “No one plays with fire like you, Harry.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said. “You’re the one who came home in a cop car.”

  Chapter Three

  I’ll admit it. I was tempted to call 9-1-1 every day solely for a glimpse of Kurt. I considered faking a grease fire on my stove, accidentally tripping down my front steps or flinging my neighbor’s new kitten into a tree just to have a good excuse. Of course, it wasn’t my stove, my steps or my neighbor. I couldn’t make a bogus 9-1-1 call from my cousin’s house, but I had to take action. If something didn’t happen to improve my love life pretty soon, I was afraid I’d start chasing fire trucks on my bike.

  The weekend after the safety fair, I settled into my usual spot in church and prepared to tough it out. As my bra strap made a crater in the middle of my back from leaning against the hard pew, I thought about other people’s claims that they loved the hour of peaceful reflection at Sunday mass. Reflecting on my life was about the last thing I wanted to do. Thinking about my ex-husband’s indiscretions and my impulsive decision to move to a new town and forget my messy past generally involved praying no one else would find out. Not that being a divorced Catholic makes you a card-carrying sinner, but the whole story didn’t exactly feature me in a flattering light. Not that Ron’s philandering was my fault. I was guilty only of being foolish enough to marry him in the first place.

  Communion time always found me looking appropriately somber and gazing ruefully at poor Jesus up on the cross. Usually, as soon as I staggered out of an hour-long reflection on my life, I headed straight to the nearest ice cream parlor to drown my sorrows in chocolate syrup.

  I had been making an appearance faithfully every Sunday at 10:30 mass and then hitting the Dairy Slide across the street since last August. Maybe I was hoping for some sort of miracle. The good Lord must have finally decided to cut me a break.

  One of my kindergarteners, Grace, bounced up and down on the seat ahead of me and alternately kicked the pew in front of her and dropped the heavy hymnal. Her parents, her older brother and sister and an ancient lady who I figured must be a visiting grandmother were enduring mass in the same row. During the really serious praying before communion while we were all on our knees, the grandmotherly lady suddenly let go of her prayer book and fell backward. Sensible shoes, fake pearls and one half of a set of dentures went flying, and the whole area was in a panic.

  I used the kneeler as a ladder and stepped over the pew so I could help out. This takes talent for a person with unfairly short legs, but I was motivated. I liked Grace—she was one of the few kids I could trust to feed the classroom fish without overstuffing him into a coma.

  I’d worn a nice white twinset that day, so I pulled off the cardigan and put it under the poor lady’s head. A lecherous man in the pew behind mine stared fixedly at my boobs. Damn. I’d forgotten the sleeveless shell was way too tight to wear alone, but it was too late now. I picked up the old gal’s feet, only one of which was still in a shoe, and put them up on the bench while Grace’s mom dialed 9-1-1 on her cell phone.

  About two seconds later, I sensed rather than saw him and knew who was bending over me to check the pulse and listen for breathing. The old lady’s, not mine. Pretty fast action from the fire department. I leaned over the unconscious woman with him right behind me, his arms touching my bare arms and shoulders, his breath on my neck, his package pressed against my ass. A wave of heat rushed over me. He smelled as good as he felt, but I tried to clear my head and think about Grace’s grandma. Since her mom was hardly off the phone with 9-1-1 and Kurt was wearing khakis and a polo shirt, he must have been in the church all along.

  How many masses had I let slip by without actually looking around? I’d squandered all of Advent, Lent and more than half the liturgical calendar with my single-minded moping. As far as I could tell, though, Kurt was in church with his wife and five beautiful children. What did I know about the guy?

  I slipped out from under him and backed away as discreetly as I could as he continued his assessment, paying close attention to a bracelet on the old lady’s wrist. Maybe I should get one of those. I wouldn’t mind some more hands-on attention from Kurt.

  Poor Grace stood in the middle of the aisle, open-mouthed, as Father John droned on without even mis
sing the name of one saint. I caught her mother’s eye to let her know what I was doing, then took Grace’s hand and walked her to the back of the church. I sat on the carpet with Grace on my lap watching the paramedics roll Grandma out the doors of the church while the rest of the congregation went solemnly up the aisle to communion. That’s Catholics for you; the show must go on.

  Grace’s mom looked worried about what to do with the little girl, so I told her I’d take Grace to the Dairy Slide across the street and entertain her for a while. What the heck? At least I wouldn’t have to indulge alone for once. You always look more respectable at an ice cream place if you have a kid with you.

  Mass still had about ten minutes to go, but I figured God would understand if Grace and I got a head start on the ice cream line. We crossed the street and I sent her to sit at a picnic table that didn’t look too sticky while I took my place in line.

  I ordered a chocolate sundae for myself and a kiddie cone with candy eyes, ears and mouth for Grace. The teenager at the counter knew the drill. She didn’t meet my eyes and just handed over the ice cream as usual. I think even an adolescent could see that I had to be handled carefully after church. Today, though, she glanced up and someone behind me caught her eye.

  “Can I help you, officer?” she asked.

  “No, thanks.”

  I picked up my sundae and kiddie cone and turned around slowly to face Chief Balcheski, who was obviously not in line for ice cream.

  “Miss Shepherd.”

  “Chief.”

  We were dancing around each other, as if playing chess with those giant life-size pieces. But I had an advantage. Both hands full of ice cream and a waiting kindergartener had to be the ultimate wall of defense. Our military should consider it.

  Balcheski noticed the kiddie cone and his gaze slanted over to Grace, bobbing in place on the bench seat of the red picnic table. It didn’t take a detective to figure out I wasn’t dining alone.