If his living room was a pit, I really didn’t want to know what condition his bedroom was in. Knowing that all that stood between me and some Santee Alley bargain shopping was this bedroom, I opened the door, took all of one step in and...screamed.
It wasn’t a frustrated scream.
It wasn’t even a this-guy-is-such-a-pig sort of scream.
No, it was more like a there’s-a-bloody-dead-body-on-the-bed sort of scream.
Loud, long and more than a little crazed.
I wanted to keep screaming and run right out of the house, but I managed to get myself under control. The killer had to be long gone, or else he—or she—would have attacked me as I cleaned. I was safe. I couldn’t say the same for poor Mr. Banning.
I reached in my back pocket, pulled out my cell phone and called 911.
“You’ve reached Los Angles emergency dispatch.”
“I need help,” I blurted out.
“What is the nature of your emergency?” the man on the other end of the phone asked.
“Mr. Banning’s dead. There’s blood on his head and his eyes are open.”
Those eyes were going to give me nightmares for the rest of my life.
“Your address ma’am?”
“I’m at, he’s at—” I had to think a moment, but then I somehow pulled his address from the fog that was my mind and blurted it out.
“Who are you?” the operator asked.
“I’m the maid. Quincy Mac.”
Now, some people prefer the term domestic engineer, or some fancy title. I call it like I see it. I’m a maid.
I had no idea why I thought of what to call myself at that moment. Maybe it was nerves. After all it’s not every day I find a dead client.
Thinking about my job description was easier than thinking about those eyes and all that blood.
“Ma’am are you sure he’s dead?”
“I don’t think there’s any way someone could look that bloody and blue and still be breathing.”
This was the ultimate topper to my day from hell.
A dead man in the bedroom.
As I talked to the operator, I walked outside. Not really walked, trotted. I moved fast. I mean, no way was I staying in a house with a dead guy.
I was thankful for my cell phone as I stepped out onto the bright sidewalk.
Perfect.
All that LA sunshine made it hard to believe that someone was dead a short distance away.
The emergency operator continued asking me questions. The company’s name, my name and address, etc...
Personally, I sort of zoned out. I think I answered him all right but couldn’t be sure.
Actually, I didn’t want to be sure.
I just wanted to go home.
The police arrived, followed by an ambulance. They stopped and talked to me a minute, then hurried off to check on Mr. Banning.
I wondered how long I had to wait around.
I wanted to go home now.
I mean, I didn’t even want to hunt for the perfect pair of bargain shoes or stop for Ben and Jerry’s. That just shows how hard I’d been hit by this.
Anytime a woman passes up Ben and Jerry’s or new shoes...well, it’s moved beyond a bad day and turned into a found-a-dead-body-on-the-bed sort of day.
I was wondering if I could just sneak out. The authorities had my information already, so they didn’t need me. But then He walked up to me.
He was tall, lean and oh-so-yummy. Dark hair with just a touch of grey at the temples.
Not one of LA’s boy-toys who are a dime a dozen.
No, this was a real man walking toward me like some hero out of a movie.
Maybe he was here to take me away from all this.
Maybe he’d seen me from across the street looking fragile, yet still beautiful.
Okay, so beautiful was a bit unattainable. I’d settle for fragile and cute. Yeah, I could pull off cute on a good day and I felt very, very fragile at the moment.
Ah, my hero.
I sucked in my baby-pooch, pulled out my old acting class skills and concentrated on looking even more fragile and cute. It worked. He walked right up to me, shot me a concerned look, then...he flashed a badge.
I realized that his concerned look was more of an assessing look.
My hero was a cop.
Okay, so maybe He was a cop who was concerned because I looked so fragile?
“Ma’am? You’re,” he flipped open his little notepad in a very Adam-12 sort of way, and that particular mental-analogy really dated me I realized morosely as he finished, “Quincy Mac?”
“Yes.” I thought about fluttering my eyelashes but decided to give up before I embarrassed myself.
“You’re the one who found Mr. Banning and called 911?”
“Yes.” I wanted to say more, so much more. But even a gorgeous knockout cop couldn’t make me forget I’d just found a dead body, at least not for long. And thoughts of Mr. Banning, sitting on his bed, covered in blood with his eyes open, well, that sort of froze the words in my throat.
“The officer over there said that the house has been pretty much wiped clean.”
I had professional pride in my job well done. “Not pretty much, all the way. Other than the bedroom, which I didn’t clean for obvious reasons.”
The cop quirked his eyebrow. “He said the bedroom was wiped clean as well.”
I think the hunky cop just called me a liar.
Actually, I didn’t just think it, I could see it in his eyes. The man actually thought I’d gone into a room with a dead body in it and cleaned it up?
My attraction to him slipped more than just a notch. It evaporated.
“Not by me,” I assured him. “I took one look at the body on the bed, called 911 as I got the heck out of there. I guarantee that I didn’t stop to clean the room first.”
“But you admit you cleaned the rest of the house?” the cop asked.
“Of course I admit it. I’m the maid. That’s what they pay me to do. Don’t you think that if I’d have known someone had died, I’d have simply called the cops first? If you’d seen what a state the house was in when I arrived, you’d know I’d have welcomed an excuse not to clean it. But I did clean it and I did a fine job of it.”
Cleaning houses is an honest profession. I might have been a bit befuddled, but even in my present state I wasn’t going to let some cop make me feel less than the professional that I am.
He didn’t answer my question. He simply asked, “And the other officers said there were footprints you steamed off the carpet?”
“Yes. I’m good at what I do. When Mac’Cleaners cleans a house, it’s totally clean.”
“Ma’am, the coroner says that Mr. Banning probably died sometime last night.” He paused a moment and sort of gave me a hard stare with his charcoal grey eyes.
That stare did things to me...my knees felt rather weak and my heart rate sped up. I don’t think it was shock.
Lust.
That’s what it felt like.
I hadn’t had a good case of lust in a while. But I was pretty sure that I remembered how if felt and this was it.
“Quincy,” he said, soft and low.
Yes, I wanted to say.
Oh, yes.
I’ve read that when someone experiences death they want to make love just to prove they’re still alive, to prove that they can still feel something.
I think my lust for this cop went deeper than just a need to prove I was alive. It might have been a need to prove I still had a libido, but mainly I think it had something to do with a long, hard orgasm.
I was almost forty and I’d read enough magazine articles to know that meant I was reaching my sexual prime.
Only it had been a long time since I’d been primed.
This guy was making remember how much I enjoyed a good priming.
“Yes,” I said out loud. Hoping he’d say, let’s forget about the dead body and get you home to bed.
Oh, yeah. I wanted hi
m to tuck me in, then tuck himself right next to me.
Naked.
“Quincy,” he said again, “by any chance you have an alibi for last night?”
“An alibi?” I squeaked, all lust-filled thoughts fleeing from my head.
Alibi?
Rats.
I knew what that meant.
I watch Law and Order, Law and Order SVU, and Law and Order Criminal Intent. Is that all? I might be forgetting one, but that’s understandable, given my circumstances.
Oh, and I watch CSI.
All that television meant I knew that cops didn’t ask witnesses for alibis.
They asked suspects for them.
I was a murder suspect.
And watch for Book #3, Spruced Up: A Maid in LA (Holiday) Mystery Novella this holiday season!
BIO
Holly Jacobs leads a life full of romance and adventure. From skydiving to jet-setting around Europe, from snorkeling in coral reefs to writing while wearing beautiful silk peignoir sets and popping chocolate bonbons, Holly Jacobs leads a life that is the epitome of romance.
Well, my fictional life sounds more interesting, but not better than my real life. Really, I'm the happily married mother of four. I write for Harlequin and Montlake Romance.
You can visit me at http://www.HollyJacobs.com.
Other Kindle Books by Holly Jacobs:
Maid in LA Series:
Book #1 Steamed: A Maid in LA Mystery
Book#2 Dusted: A Maid in LA Mystery
Book #3 Spruced Up: A Maid in LA Holiday Novella
Book #4 Swept Up: A Maid in LA Mystery
Everything But… Series:
Everything But a Groom
Everything But a Bride
Everything But a Wedding
Everything But a Christmas Eve
Everything But a Mother
Everything But a Dog
WLVH Series:
Pickup Lines
Lovehandles
Night Calls
Laugh Lines
Nothing But Short Story Series:
Nothing But Love
Nothing But Heart
Nothing But Luck
Whedon Series:
Unexpected Gifts
A One-of-a-Kind Family
Homecoming Day
A Father’s Name
Valley Ridge Series:
You Are Invited… A Valley Ridge Wedding
April Showers, A Valley Ridge Wedding
A Walk Down the Aisle, A Valley Ridge Wedding
A Valley Ridge Christmas
American Dads:
Once Upon a Thanksgiving
Once Upon a Christmas
Once Upon a Valentine’s
Wedding Mishaps:
How to Catch a Groom
How to Hunt a Husband
Also available:
Found and Lost (working title: Can’t Find NoBody)
The House on Briar Hill Road
Same Time Next Summer
Confessions of a Party Crasher
The 100-Year Itch
Dusted (A Maid in LA Mystery) Page 15
