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The Mutt and the Matchmaker
A Matchmaker Mystery Novella
Book 1
by
JB Lynn
When private investigator Tom Hanlon agrees to help out his elderly neighbor by taking her Maltese to the dog park, he has no idea he’s about to meet semi-psychic, wanna-be-matchmaker Armani Vasquez.
Or that the pushy woman will insist on setting him up with quirky dog walker Jane Bly—his main suspect in a string of home burglaries—and her high-strung, foster mutt, Calamity.
Or that he’ll fall head-over-heels for one of them.
Will Tom catch the thief, or will it be his heart that’s stolen?
Chapter 1
“Bly. Jane Bly.”
“Is that like Bond, James Bond?” The woman on the other end of the phone call chuckled at her own joke.
Jane grinned. “We’re cousins.”
Calling her insurance company to report someone had sideswiped her car in the middle of night, leaving the driver’s door inoperable, was not her idea of a fun time, but she’d lucked out with the cheery woman who’d answered her call.
“Attitude is everything,” her grandmother used to say.
The insurance company representative certainly had it in spades. Still, she managed to make a task Jane had dreaded an adventure. Especially toward the end of the call when the woman had asked oh-so-casually, “How do you feel about matchmakers?”
“Matchmakers?” Jane asked trying to figure out what that had to do with her car.
“Because I am one,” the woman told her. “And I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to match you up.”
* * *
Tom Hanlon’s life was going to the dogs.
Or at least one dog in particular.
There was only one woman in the world who could get him to do something that would make him look like a fool. With her twinkling eyes and tinkling laughter, she had him wrapped around her little finger and she knew it. He’d do just about anything for Aunt Ruby.
Which was how he found himself striding down the street, trying to ignore the stares and titters of everyone he encountered. He held his head high, his chest out. He had nothing to be ashamed of.
There was nothing wrong with helping out an old lady who’d fallen on hard times. He’d agreed to Ruby’s request immediately when she’d told him about Mrs. Ciaffone’s dilemma. He was that kind of guy. The kind who helped out damsels in distress, no matter how old they happened to be.
But he wasn’t the kind of guy who could carry around a little white Maltese named Marshmallow complete with hot pink bows and a blinged-out rhinestone collar and leash without attracting attention. At least they couldn’t tell she smelled like honeysuckle.
Even when he wasn’t toting around the incongruous little dog, he attracted attention. Being six-four and a CrossFit enthusiast pretty much guaranteed him second glances, most of which were appreciative, but some were jealous, and a few were downright lascivious.
But he wasn’t getting those kinds of looks. Most people were amused, some snickered, and a few laughed outright or said something along the lines of, “Macho dog, dude.”
Finally reaching the dog park Mrs. Ciaffone had insisted Marshmallow needed to go to for socialization, Tom entered through the double gate system and gently placed the white ball of fluff on the ground and took off her leash.
She looked up at him quizzically as if unsure what he expected of her next.
“Go play.” He made a shooing motion. “Have fun.”
Slowly she shuffled away, sniffing the ground.
“There you are,” a woman called happily. “I’ve been waiting for you, handsome.”
Tom was pretty sure she was talking to a dog, but he surreptitiously swept the area with his gaze, searching for the source of the voice.
He spotted her sitting on a bench, a dark-haired Latina beauty who seemed to possess some sort of internal sparkle.
She stared at him unabashedly. “Join me.”
He glanced over his shoulder to ascertain she was really talking to him. When he looked back, she patted the bench seat beside her. She flashed a coy, beguiling smile.
Suddenly the trip to the dog park didn’t feel quite so bad.
He strolled over. “Hello.”
“Hi. Do you come here often?”
He blinked, taken aback by the cheesy pick-up line. “It’s my first time.”
“Oh yeah. You’re definitely the right one.” She sounded extremely pleased with herself. She extended her hand. “I’m Armani Vasquez.”
It was then that Tom realized the woman’s left hand and leg were misshapen and hung limply at her side. If he had to guess, he’d say her injuries were the result of some sort of accident.
With the recent stinging memory of being laughed at because of how he’d looked carrying Marshmallow, he was quick to meet her gaze and smile warmly, even though his “crazy chick” radar was going off. “Armani like the designer? I’m Tom.” He shook her good hand.
“A man of culture,” she teased. “I’ve been waiting for you.” She patted the seat next to her again.
Not wanting to hurt her feelings, he settled onto the bench. “Waiting for me?”
“I had the distinct feeling I was missing a message. I’m a psychic, you know,” she explained matter-of-factly.
Tom did his best to maintain a polite smile as he tried to figure out how to extricate himself from the bizarre conversation.
“I pulled seven Scrabble tiles earlier and they spelled out dog park…that or god krap,” Armani continued. “I figured dog park made more sense. I borrowed a dog, just in case I needed one, and came and waited. Then, when I saw you, I knew you were the one.”
“The one?” Tom asked, despite his better judgment.
She nodded. “You’re looking for someone. Hunting for them, really.”
He looked at her sharply, wondering how she knew that. He’d done his best to act with secrecy and discretion.
“I can help you.”
“Oh yeah?”
She nodded. “I’ve—”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tom spotted a Doberman Pinscher headed straight toward the Maltese in his care. “Marshmallow!”
Startled, the little white dog froze in place.
“Look out!” Tom leapt to his feet, rushing to throw himself between the two dogs.
He was too late.
The Doberman reached her before Tom could. The big dog sniffed the little one.
Marshmallow barked at it.
“Don’t antagonize it,” Tom warned, moving slowly toward the dogs only inches apart. His only plan at that point was to snatch up the fluffball and make a run for it. As plans went, it sucked.
“She,” Armani called from her bench. “That’s DeeDee. She’s with me.”
“There are rules about big dogs and little dogs interacting. Didn’t you see the sign? Call her off.”
“What for? She’s harmless. Look at her, she only wants to play.”
Tom peered at the big, brown dog. She didn’t seem to be exhibiting any aggressive behavior. In fact, she’d sprawled out on the grass and put her head on the ground between her paws as though to prove she was harmless.
“At home she plays with a cat and a lizard.”
“A lizard?” Tom asked incredulously.
“I don’t get it either, but it seems to work for them. Come back, Tom. Like I said I’m here to help you.”
Tom looked from one dog to the other. Marshmallow didn’t look scared.
“Trust me. I know these things,” the beautiful woman on the bench assured him. “I’m a psychic.”
Tom shook his head. Crazy chick through-and-through. “Come here, Marshmallow
. We’re leaving.”
Instead of obeying, the Maltese scooted past him, marched up to the Doberman, and licked her cheek. The big dog took off with the little dog chasing after her, nipping at her heels, in a joyous game of doggie tag.
“See?” Armani struggled to her feet and slowly limped to where Tom stood watching the dogs play. “They’re a perfect pair.” She patted his shoulder. “Lucky for you I’m a matchmaker and I’m going to find you your perfect match since that’s who you’re looking for.”
“Actually it’s not,” Tom informed her testily. The person he was hunting was a burglar who’d ransacked a bunch of local homes.
His Aunt Ruby had roped him into that too.
Chapter 2
Catching herself chewing on the straw sticking out of her lemonade, Jane Bly frowned. It was a habit she’d developed as a child, which manifested itself when she was nervous.
Not that she had anything to be nervous about, she reminded herself. Sure, meeting a total stranger she’d “met” by calling her insurance company was a little unusual. And telling the woman, who claimed to be a psychic matchmaker, that she’d meet with her was outside of her usual comfort zone, but she was in a public place in the middle of the afternoon. So why was she chomping on a piece of plastic like a masticating cow?
She scoped out the front door of the café she sat in, waiting for the mysterious Armani to arrive. The other woman had said she’d know her immediately. Jane wondered how. Maybe insurance companies had access to driver’s licenses and she’d seen her picture.
The man at the next table laughed loudly. Jane glanced over at him and the woman he sat with. An older couple, obviously in love, held hands across the table. Jane watched as they grudgingly broke their bond so the waitress could place their sandwich-laden plates down. Even before she walked away, the woman took her pickle and placed it on her partner’s plate. With a mischievous wink, he stole one of her French fries. Playfully she swatted at his thieving hand and they both chuckled.
Tears pricking the back of her eyes, Jane sighed and looked away. That’s what she wanted. Someone to share life with. Someone to laugh with. Someone to share a consuming passion with, just like her parents had shared until the end.
She wanted it so badly that she’d agreed to meet a psychic matchmaker.
The waitress, a heavyset woman with an easy smile, sauntered over. “They make you believe in love, don’t they?” She jutted her chin in the direction of the older couple.
Swallowing hard, not trusting herself to speak, Jane nodded.
“Course I’ve been with my man for twenty years and he never held my hand. Not even when we were courting, but he’s got other good qualities.” She winked at Jane. “You still waiting for your other party?”
“Yes.”
“You want a refill on your drink?”
“Please.”
“I’ll bring you a fresh straw too,” the waitress teased gently with a wide smile.
“That would probably be a good idea.” As the waitress moved away, Jane glanced at her watch.
Armani was more than fifteen minutes late. She’d been the one to choose the location, saying it was close to where she worked. Perhaps she’d decided not to come. Maybe she didn’t think she could help Jane after all. Jane couldn’t blame her. No matter how much she wanted to find love, it always seemed to elude her.
“Hey there, Jane Bly.” A beautiful Latina with dark hair and a huge grin toppled into the seat opposite Jane. “Sorry I’m late. I got stuck taking this claim where this bear ate this guy’s seats.” Looking up, she waved to someone across the café. “Hey, Sharon! Hey, Robert!”
Jane gaped at the human dynamo.
“Did you order yet?” Armani brushed her hair out of her face.
It was then Jane realized one of her hands was misshapen. She tried not to stare, but the other woman caught her looking.
“Zamboni.”
Jane blinked. “Excuse me?”
Armani waved her injured hand. “I ignored Vanilla Ice.”
“Sorry?”
“I ignored a premonition, Ice, Ice, Baby and ended up in an accident with a Zamboni. That’s what messed up my hand and leg.”
“I’m sorry,” Jane murmured. As bizarre as the story was, at least she’d been able to follow it.
Armani shrugged. “It taught me an important lesson. I should never ignore my gift. Which is why we’re here.”
“Lemonade for you.” The waitress bellied up to our table. “Iced coffee with cola for you, right, Armani?”
“You know me too well.” Armani grinned as the waitress put the odd drink combo down on the table.
“What’ll you have?” the waitress asked.
“BLT on French toast with mustard,” Armani rattled off without hesitation.
Jane’s stomach roiled traitorously at the mere suggestion of the disgusting combination.
“And for you, honey?”
“What did she have?” Jane tilted her head toward the woman sitting alone at another table, enraptured by whatever she was reading on her cell phone. “It smelled good when you brought it past.”
“Moussaka.”
“I’ll have that.”
The waitress nodded her approval. “Anything else?”
Jane shook her head.
“Back in a jiffy.” The waitress moved off, teasing another patron.
“You have a pretty aura,” Armani stated.
“Um…thanks?”
“Lots of pastels, but with some bright bits too.”
Jane fiddled with her fork, unsure of how to respond. “Is that a good thing?”
Armani shrugged. “Except for the loneliness, yeah.”
Jane opened her mouth to ask how she could tell she was lonely, then snapped it shut, thinking that of course it was obvious she felt unloved. Otherwise why would she meet with a matchmaker?
“Cheer up, Chiquita. I’m going to fix you up.”
“About that,” Jane said slowly.
“Don’t chicken out on me now.” Armani wagged a finger at her. “I already scoped out the guy.”
“But you don’t even know anything about me.”
The corners of her mouth listed and an all-knowing expression shined in her eyes. “I knew over the phone you needed my help, and I bet that some part of you, maybe a small part, or a part you don’t even want to admit to, knows you need me too. Otherwise you wouldn’t have showed up here.”
“Maybe I’m just desperate,” Jane countered.
Armani shook her head slightly. “When’s the last time you had a date?”
Jane picked up her lemonade, drank a sip, and bit down on the fresh straw. The glass, cool and damp with condensation, felt heavier than it should have. “I dunno, three or four months ago?”
Armani raised her eyebrows, making it clear she didn’t believe her.
Jane glanced at the older, in-love couple. The woman dabbed at the corner of the man’s mouth with her napkin. Without transferring her gaze back to Armani, she admitted, “Seven or eight months ago.”
“Doesn’t sound like a desperate woman to me.”
Jane focused on putting her glass down. She might not act like a desperate woman, but there was nothing more she desired than to find someone who’d love her. “But you don’t know what I’m looking for in a man.”
Armani leaned forward and covered Jane’s hand with her own. “If you knew what you were looking for, you’d have found him. I know what you need in a man.”
Jane raised her chin defiantly. “And what’s that.”
“Solid.”
“Solid?” Jane wrinkled her nose, thinking of the CPA she’d wasted months of her life with and lost her life savings to. “I’ve done solid, and trust me, it doesn’t work.”
Releasing her hand, Armani sat back in her seat and eyed her thoughtfully. “Why not?”
“It’s dull. It’s boring,” Jane said lightly with a fake grin.
Armani narrowed her gaze. “And…?”
Jane’s pretense of a smile slipped away. “And it’s judgmental, wanting me to conform or meet some expectations that I just can’t.”
“I think you’re confusing solid with stiff.” Armani tossed her hair. “Trust me, there’s a difference. The guy I’m setting you up with is solid. Solid mind. Solid heart. And oh”—she fluttered her eyelids dreamily—“oh so solid body.”
Chapter 3
Brady was laughing at him. Not that Tom could blame him. The story about the psychic matchmaker was ridiculous. The fact that she’d somehow finagled a promise out of him to “meet his match” was absurd.
Still, Brady’s laughter, echoing off the gym walls, mocking him, set Tom’s teeth on edge. He might be one of his oldest friends, but that didn’t mean Tom wouldn’t take a swing at him with the kettleball he held.
“So where’s this soul mate meeting taking place?” Brady picked up a towel from where he’d left it on a weight bench and draped it over his neck.
“Next door.”
Brady frowned. “At the drycleaner?”
“The Pudding Place.”
“Your powers of observation are slipping, buddy. That’s three doors down.”
“Close enough.”
“When?”
Tom glanced at the clock on they gym’s wall. “Half an hour.”
Brady laughed again. “Guess you’re going all out to impress the woman you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.”
Tom answered with a grunt as he rhythmically swung the kettleball through the air.
“You’re at least going to shower first, aren’t you?” Brady ribbed.
“Probably.”
Shaking his head, Brady walked toward the locker room, chuckling.
* * *
Jane stood outside The Pudding Place reading the menu painted on the plate glass window. It seemed all they sold was various flavors of pudding, which made sense considering its name, but seemed like a very limited business model.
