NEVER EXPLAIN
Gabe’s voice climbed up from silky death to baffled when he said, “Stepping-stone? You are a stepping-stone?”
I had no choice but to turn back to Gabe. He looked like the words didn’t fit in his mouth.
“Stepping-stone. Stopover. Rebound. The one you bang while your heart heals, then you move on. Come on, stud, this should all be old news to you.” My face burned hot enough to fry an egg on.
He rolled his eyes. “This is what I get for falling in love with a woman who reads romance novels. I should be shot.”
“You have been shot,” I pointed out. I didn’t like thinking about it, so I turned to his romance novel comment. “Don’t be so smug. I’ve seen you read one or two of my books.”
He leaned his head down. “I read them for the sex.”
A Samantha Shaw Mystery
Batteries Required
Jennifer Apodaca
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
NEVER EXPLAIN
Title Page
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
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17
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19
THRILLED TO DEATH,
Copyright Page
1
The slot machine tricked me. I dumped in my money, believing I’d win the big prize. The Daystar Indian Casino in Temecula, California, gleefully sucked up my last twenty-dollar bill and suggested, in that innocent way of machines, that I try again.
Probably I would have if I’d had any more cash on me. Since all I had remaining was my pride, I left the gambling area, swept past a long bar, and went into the Nova Room. I looked past the bathroom-size wooden dance floor in the center of the bar to see the band playing onstage, the Silky Men.
They were a group of men who cross-dressed and sang in a comic routine. One of them, Rick Mesa, was the head soccer coach for the Soccer Club of Lake Elsinore. I had found out about his secret life as a cross-dressing entertainer while working on a case earlier that year.
I’m not actually a private detective. I’m a romance expert. I own the Heart Mates Dating Service, which is what brought me to the Daystar Indian Casino that night. My best friend, Angel Crimson, had provided the lingerie for the Silky Men, and she promised to pass out flyers for the open house I was having for Heart Mates on Wednesday night.
We figured lonely people go to the casino looking for love and companionship, so maybe we could interest them in my dating service in Lake Elsinore. It was only about thirty miles or so from the casino. That’s not too far to travel for love, now is it?
But Angel had forgotten to pick up the flyers I’d had made to take to the casino. That meant I had to bring them to her at the casino after work on a Friday night. I found Angel and joined her at one of the small tables ringing the dance floor. Her long red hair was shiny straight, and she wore a green satin top that matched her emerald-colored eyes. Underneath the table, her black micromini skirt showed off her long legs. Angel looked like she could model lingerie for Victoria’s Secret, but she’d rather sell lingerie than model it.
She was there to get bookings for her Tempt-an-Angel Lingerie line, which she sold through home parties. Sort of like Tupperware, only a hell of a lot more fun. At some point during their set, the lead singer for the Silky Men, Rick, would mention that their lingerie was provided by Tempt-an-Angel Lingerie. I don’t know how, given that the band was men dressed up as women, but several women usually booked parties off that sales pitch. Go figure.
After ordering a glass of water, I pulled the stack of brochures promoting my open house out of my purse and slid them across the table. Then I asked, “Are you coming back here tomorrow night? Don’t forget, I’m coming over to your house Sunday morning to pick up the couch.” Angel was giving me a brown leather couch for the waiting area in Heart Mates. That couch would be a big step up from the metal folding chairs that I currently used.
Angel glanced down at the brochures. “I decided to get a room and stay the night, instead of driving back and forth.” Then she looked up. “Why don’t you stay with me? It’ll be fun!”
Tempting, but. . . “I’m going to paint Heart Mates tomorrow, so I have to get up early. I want to have it all ready for the open house Wednesday night.”
Angel ran her fingers down the length of her Cosmopolitan glass. “Damn, we could have heated up the place and set off the sprinklers.” She grinned. “There’s a rumor that a promoter might be here tonight or Saturday night, so I might be really late getting home tomorrow night. Make it ten or so on Sunday morning to pick up the couch.”
Leaning forward, I said, “A promoter? To see Rick’s group? That’s great for them! And who knows, maybe it’ll be good for your lingerie line, too.” I shook my head at the way things were turning out for us. “When we made our pact to find our careers, I didn’t quite imagine this for you.” Angel and I had had a little party one night a couple of years ago, fueled by margaritas, where we acknowledged that we’d both married losers and had no lives. We had vowed to change that. I had found my career in Heart Mates. Angel had taken a little longer, but now she was working hard to build her lingerie line.
“Good evening, ladies.”
Angel and I both looked to my right to see a doppel-gänger for Richard Gere. Thin silver streaks ran through his wavy dark hair. Shaped brows over brown eyes, elegant face, and nicely draped suit—this man should have been on a private European island. He carried an expensive-looking briefcase.
Angel recovered before me. “Hello,” she held out her hand, “I’m Angel.”
He reached for her hand, and I swear to God, I thought he was going to kiss it. But instead, he smiled, revealing a row of white teeth. “Ah, the very woman I was searching for. I have been hearing very good things about you and your business venture. My name is Mitch St. Claire.”
Angel took her hand back. “Really? And where would you have heard about me?”
“In the high-stakes gaming room. It appears you have made quite an impression on several future clients.”
When had I become invisible? “Ahem.”
Angel glanced at me. “This is Sam.” She picked up a flyer from the stack in front of her. “Sam owns the Heart Mates Dating Service. You might be interested in attending the open house Wednesday night. She’ll be serving wines from the Temecula wineries.”
He turned to fix the full weight of his gaze on me. “Sam? Short for Samantha? Quite a lovely name.”
I held out my hand. “I usually go by Sam.” I just have a need to be contrary.
He wrapped his fingers around my palm. “I believe I may have heard of you. Perhaps you’ve been in the newspaper?”
Every time I stumbled onto a dead body, I ended up in the newspaper. Usually it wasn’t a flattering article. I decided not to mention that. “Perhaps you’ve heard of my dating service, Heart Mates?” I glanced down at the flyer Angel had slid over to him.
He let go of my hand. “Perhaps. May I join you ladies?”
“Sure,” Angel said.
I stifled a yawn. It had been a long week, and I wanted to get home to have ice cream with my two sons, TJ and Joel. I’d had a fast dinner with them, but there was never enough time.
Mitch pulled over a c
hair from another table and sat between us. He set down his briefcase and fixed his gaze on Angel. “I wanted to meet with you, Angel, to discuss a business proposition.”
Angel sipped her Cosmopolitan and said, “What would that be, Mitch?”
She was mildly flirting. I wondered if she was interested in Mitch the man, his business proposition, or both? It had been a while since Angel had had a boyfriend. Stalking her ex-husband tended to cut down on her time for a social life.
“I’m in distribution and thought you might be interested in offering some of my merchandise through your home parties.”
Trent Shaw popped into my head. “My dead husband was in distribution. He sold condoms.” He had also sold coke sealed up in those condoms.
Mitch cut his brown eyes toward me. “Condoms have their place, certainly. But these products are of a more . . . ah . . . personal nature.”
“More personal than condoms?” He had my interest now. Highly curious, I leaned forward.
“Actually, a little more embarrassing for some people to buy.” Mitch turned to look at Angel. “That’s why you sell your lingerie through home parties, right? To make it a fun, nonjudgmental atmosphere. A woman might not be comfortable buying overtly sexy lingerie at the mall, but at a home party where she can make her selections privately, she’s more comfortable.”
Angel flashed her brilliant smile. “I see you’ve done your homework, Mitch.”
He nodded. “So why not take it a step further? What are the chances of these women going to the mall to buy sex toys?”
I blinked and took a drink of my water. Sex toys? “You mean like fur-lined handcuffs and vibrators?” That was the full extent of my knowledge of sex toys. And none of that was from personal experience. I’d read about the fur-lined handcuffs in a romance book I reviewed for Romance Rocks magazine.
“Precisely. I can offer a very nice selection at wholesale prices. But today, what I’d like to do is give you a sample kit and a catalogue so that you can see for yourself what I have to offer.”
I choked and had to slap my hand over my nose to keep water from spewing out. Tears filled my eyes. Mitch looked over at me. “Does this make you uncomfortable, Sam?”
His slightly condescending tone sparked my instant denial. Through my fingers, I said, “Of course not.” Liar! If I had taken my hand off my nose, it would have grown two inches. Vibrators! Omigod! What would my boyfriend, Gabe, say about that?
Like I didn’t know.
Angel looked as calm and cool as if she were discussing vacuum cleaners or stock prices. “So you have a sample kit of your merchandise? Is it with you or would you like to send it to me?”
“I have it with me.” He lifted his leather briefcase off the floor.
Oh boy, he wasn’t going to, like, pull a big vibrator out and set it on the table, was he?
“Sam, is that you?” A familiar voice called out.
I whipped my head around. Uh-oh. “Linda, hello. What brings you out here tonight?” Linda Simpkins! The president of the PTA. My arms started to itch with hot, burning hives. I could just see it all over the PTA: Samantha Shaw Investigating Sex Toys at the Daystar Casino. As if I didn’t get talked about enough, what with having myself augmented to a perky C cup, buying a dating service, and dating a hot PI five years younger than I was.
Linda stopped at my right shoulder. “It’s our anniversary. Archie and I are staying here for the weekend. Angel, we ran into your ex-husband in the bar. Didn’t see his wife anywhere.”
Angel drained her glass. “Any chance he was dead when you saw him?”
Linda’s eyes widened. “No, of course not.”
“Then I’m not interested.” Angel signaled for another drink.
I watched her for a second. Something had happened between Angel and Hugh. I’d find out what that was later. I looked over at Linda to see her studying Mitch. Oh crap, the sex toys! But thankfully, Mitch had set his briefcase back on the floor. Quickly, I said, “Linda, this is Mitch St. Claire. He and Angel are discussing some business.”
Linda turned and smiled. “You do find the most interesting company, Sam. Well, I’d better be going! Bye now.”
My hives calmed as she walked away. That had been really close. About the only person that could show up who would be more embarrassing than Linda would be my mother. But she and Angel’s mom were safely tucked away on a cruise ship.
“As I was saying, I have this sample kit,” Mitch leaned down and opened his briefcase.
I looked at Angel.
She shrugged.
We both turned back to watch Mitch pull out what looked like an oversize cigar box. It was covered in a blue velvet material with a white satin bow on top.
I breathed a huge sigh. OK. I could deal with this just as long as he didn’t open that box.
Mitch slid the box to Angel. “I have placed a catalogue inside that has all my contact information printed on it. Once you’ve had a chance to examine the items, let me know if you are interested.”
I stared at the blue velvet box with its creamy white ribbon. Now, when he said “examined,” did he mean “Look at”? “Touch”? “Test”? Oh boy, I was losing it.
Angel pulled her hand-painted straw purse into her lap, opened it, and dug inside. She came up with a business card and handed it to Mitch. “You can contact me at that phone number if you require your sample kit back before I call you.”
Mitch took the card, then smiled. The smile reached his eyes. “The sample kit is yours to keep.” He slipped the card into his briefcase and stood up. “I look forward to hearing from you, Angel.” Then he made a point of picking up the flyer for the open house and studying it before looking at me. “Sam, very nice to meet you. I’m quite intrigued by your dating service.”
Hmm, did he think I’d sell sex toys at Heart Mates? I fought hard to work a controlled smile onto my face. “Nice to meet you, Mitch.”
Angel and I waited until he was out of sight before we broke into laughter. Finally, I managed to say, “Sex toys? What do you think is in there?” I stared at the box.
Her green eyes sparkled. “One way to find out.” She reached for the box.
“Don’t open it here!”
She laughed and slid the box across the table. “I’m not going to. You’re going to take it home and not open it. Bring it over on Sunday when you come to get the couch. Once the guys get the couch loaded up and leave, we’ll open it.
I looked down at the box and noticed that there was a paper seal that would be broken once it was opened. Well, I guess that was some kind of sanitary thing, like the paper they put over toilets in hotel rooms to assure the incoming patron the toilet had been cleaned. What the heck, it’d be fun. Reaching for the box, I said, “It’s a date.”
I wondered if painting was a fat-burning exercise. Because if it was, I must have burned off five pounds painting my office. What a way to spend a Saturday. I stepped back to the middle of the small reception area of Heart Mates to take a look. I had rag-painted a pale cinnamon color over the vanilla base that my two teenage sons and my assistant, Blaine, had rolled onto the walls.
It looked good. Painting over the blue-speckled cubical wall, which gave me the illusion of an office, had turned out better than I had thought. As long as I didn’t look up to the water-stained ceiling tiles or down to the wafer-thin, worn shiny, steel gray carpet, the place was looking good. Professional even.
Looking back to the reception area, I thought of the empty suite on the other side of that wall. If only I could afford to lease that suite and remove the wall. That’d be progress! But Heart Mates wasn’t that big yet. I could barely afford the lease on this small, run-down suite. Still, the paint was an improvement and the open house was going to help fill out my client list.
“Painting, huh?”
Startled, I whirled around. In the open doorway of Heart Mates stood a woman holding a large box of See’s candy. I recognized the sleek black box—truffles. I loved truffles. I tore my
gaze from the candy and headed toward her. “Uh, yes. Heart Mates is closed today.” I fixed a professional smile on my paint-splattered face. My old shorts and tight black T-shirt probably didn’t convey a real businesslike impression.
She stepped into the office, meeting me halfway. “I can see you are busy, but I’ll just take a moment. I wanted to give you these.” She held out the box of truffles.
I felt my thighs thicken just from looking at the candy box. Trying to ignore the chocolates, I studied her face and thought there might be some Cuban ancestors swimming in her gene pool. Large brown eyes set deep into a strong face and lots of black hair. She wasn’t pretty, exactly. My impression was, forceful. As much as I loved chocolate truffles, I couldn’t think of a reason why a woman I didn’t know was giving them to me. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“I’m Zoë Cash. I read your reviews in Romance Rocks magazine all the time. You mention chocolate truffles sometimes, so I guessed you liked them.”
Surreal weirdness mixed with the paint fumes. It was true that I wrote reviews of romance novels for Romance Rocks magazine. Occasionally I got mail, either telling me what a no-taste bonehead I was or agreeing with my reviews. But so far, no one had ever tracked me down and brought me chocolates. I dropped my gaze to the box she held out. What if . . . they were poisoned? What if she was a writer I wrote a less than glowing review for and she was trying to kill me?
Stop it, I told myself. My husband, Trent, had died of a peanut allergy from eating peanut-butter-laced chocolate candy his mistress had made for him. So I was a little skittish about unexplainable gifts of chocolate. But murder seemed unlikely. “Zoë, nice to meet you. That’s very kind of you to bring me chocolates, but I’m not supposed to accept gifts like this for reviews that I write.” That sounded good. Who knew if it was true; I’d never been in this situation before.
“Oh well, this isn’t for a review you wrote.” Zoë held the box in one hand, and gestured with the other. “I just knew that you’d understand.”
Jennifer Apodaca - Samantha Shaw 04 - Batteries Required Page 1
