by Norah Wilson
Dylan and I stared at each other. Then did a double take back to the cabinet. It was padlocked.
“Got the combination?” I asked, not even trying to keep the please please please out of my voice.
Dylan frowned. Obviously the answer was no. Then that I’m-so-smart look crossed his handsome face. He grabbed a screwdriver and started working on the cabinet’s hinges.
“I would have thought of that,” I said.
I wouldn’t have thought of that. If I’d picked up a screwdriver, it would have been for leverage to pry the damned door off. Or a chisel and hammer to beat the lock off it. But leaving the cabinet and lock intact made so much more sense.
“Were you present when Almond’s team searched in here?” I asked him.
“I was in the room, but not over here. Had my ears open. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary. It’s just sand, after all.”
Sixty seconds later, the left side of the cabinet door was off. Among the expected stuff — the pile of girlie mags, the florescent paint (presumably for the magic golf balls), duct tape, more duct tape, six rolls of quarters and two rolls of dimes — there was something else. Filled half way with fine sand, was a child’s plastic beach bucket.
“Didn’t the bucket of sand strike anyone as off when they searched in here?”
“Apparently not. Of course, lots of places use sand in their outdoor ashtrays. Probably no one would have given it a second look.”
Not even Noel Almond?
Dylan stuck his hands in and began sifting through the sand.
“What the hell?” Dylan mused. We both felt it … the anticipation … like when you’re a kid and plowing through the Styrofoam popcorn to find the Christmas gift hidden inside the big box. “Nothing.”
“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why keep sand under lock and key.”
I didn’t have the answer.
But I knew this was the question.
Oh, and then there was another question in the room. “What the hell are you two doing?” Big Eddie Baskin asked.
“Boss!” Dylan said, reverting to his security guy persona. He pulled his hands from the sand as if he’d been caught with them in the proverbial cookie jar and wiped them on his pants.
How much had Big Eddie Baskin heard?
“I didn’t expect you back so early, Boss,” Dylan said. “How’d you make out playing golf at the lake? Get a hole in one?”
Golf balls pinged and bounced on the floor like angry white punctuation marks as Big Eddie threw the bag down.
“What the fuck’s going on here?” He growled.
Dylan spoke quickly. “Miss Dodd here,” he gestured to me as if Eddie needed direction as to which Miss Dodd he was talking about, “bet me I couldn’t get into the cabinet.” He smiled widely. “Guess I showed her, huh?” He turned to me again. “Pay up, lady!”
I didn’t have my purse with me, but pulled a folded twenty from my pants pocket and put it in his hand. “Guess you were right, Dylan.” I looked to Big Eddie, smiling to piss him off all the more.
He was thinking things over. Wondering how much I knew … just what I’d figured out so far by my access to the cabinet. His eyes shifted from Dylan to me, and back to Dylan again. But he wasn’t jumping down Dylan’s throat, so apparently he believed him.
Dylan was still grinning like a fool. “Twenty bucks!” He turned to Big Eddie. “It was only supposed to be ten, but when she found out I didn’t know the combination, she doubled it! Guess I showed her,” he repeated, pocketing the money, still grinning.
The guy deserved an Oscar.
If I was reading Eddie’s glare correctly, it was me he wanted to tear to shreds.
He said. “You’ll find no jewels in there. Don’t you think you’d be better off hunting to see where your mother stashed the ring?”
“What’s the sand for, Eddie?” I asked.
“Building castles.”
“That ring meant the world to my mother.”
“Then she shouldn’t have lost it, Dodd.”
“I know you took it.”
“Prove it.”
“Oh, I will.”
He chewed on that a moment. Then he kicked me out — out of the maintenance room, out of Complex C. And I could hear the reaming out he was giving his poor, simple “security guard” even as I walked away from the building. But I wasn’t worried about Dylan. He could handle Big Eddie.
The sand. I clutched tightly the handful I had in my pocket. Sand is sand? Well, I’d seen enough CSI shows to know things aren’t always as they appeared.
I didn’t yet know who Eddie’s accomplice was, but I was getting closer to fingering him. I didn’t yet know what the sand was for.
But soon enough I would.
Chapter 15
The rest of the day was uneventful. (Note here I say the rest of the DAY. The evening was significantly eventful, thank you very much.)
After Big Eddie kicked me out of the complex, I resumed snooping and talking to the Wildoh residents. Or rather, trying to talk to them. I was, after all, on the proverbial shit list, so it was not an easy task. When I walked into the common rec room, a wave of people cleared out around me. And, yes I carefully guarded my water bottle at all times. Just as carefully guarded my reactions and interactions.
But more than anything, it was a figuring day. I was close. Very close. But how did the sand fit in? How did Big Eddie stash the jewels so very confidently? So very thoroughly without worrying about a thing? Who the hell was his accomplice?
And the frustrating as hell part was that I knew the answers to these questions were all right in front of me somehow. Sticking right out there for me to grab a hold of. Red flag waving!
What the hell was I missing?
I have faith in my skills. And given enough time, I knew I could answer all these questions, figure this all out. But that was the problem. Time was the problem.
Too damn many questions.
And here’s another question.
Why did everyone at the Wildoh still believe I was Dix Dodd, erotica writer? Almond could have given me up on that, but clearly he hadn’t, as I soon ascertained from those I tried to converse with. No one at the Wildoh was any the wiser about my PI status.
Not saying that anyone was overly friendly to me. The only time I didn’t have to wring words out of people was when I asked about Lance-a-Lot and his pool cleaning, Beth Mary piped up with “He’ll be here tomorrow!”, but quieted when she realized she was supposed to be ostracizing me.
Group mentality. I’d seen it before. Confronted it before. Everyone (with the notable exception of Mona Roberts) was on the Dodd sucks bandwagon. T-shirts, bumper stickers, banners. Okay, no one had gone that far yet, but how far off could bumper stickers be?
Give me time. Oh, Lord, give me time.
~*~
“So have you got things figured out yet, Dix?”
Mother wasn’t quizzing me. Certainly she wasn’t fretting (much). She was simply asking. She didn’t seem terribly worried. Why? Mountain dew and cupcakes will do that to you I guess. It was as if Mother had relinquished worry over to me.
Kind of cool.
Yes, she’d be glad when these things were resolved. Yes, she’d be glad when the jewels were returned to their rightful owners. (Especially her diamond to herself). And yes, she’d even be glad to know where Frankie Morrell was. Though, as more and more time passed, I believed the latter was the least of her concerns.
She and Mrs. P were dressing up for a night on the town. Cotton Carson, though he couldn’t attend with the two ladies himself this evening, had gotten tickets for Mother and Mrs. P to dinner theater, live band, five course meal — the works.
That male attention was helping Mom become her old self again. Not that she needed the male attention, but, well, it was kind of nice. Kind of fun.
I was staying in this evening. Dinner was microwaved macaroni and cheese. No live band unless I broke out the musical spoons. As for male attention
… well, Dylan was on his way over. But we’d be white boarding it all the way.
I had on hand enough dry erase markers to make even the most industrious kindergarten teacher green with envy. We’d be working our asses off this night.
He’d have to sneak past Big Eddie, who would wonder what his security guard was doing there after hours. But at least I didn’t have to sneak him in past my mother.
I was glad she knew. And in a dumb, giddy way I wouldn’t admit to under threat of death, I kind of wanted Dylan to get there tonight before Mother and Mrs. P left for their evening out.
Mother had confronted me with my interest in Dylan/his interest in me.
“I know things, Dix,” she’d said.
I’d responded appropriately with another chin-spraying ‘pfffft’ (quickly becoming my trade-marked move), but Katt Dodd smiled anyway.
And smiled all the more when Dylan did show up at the door before she and Mrs. Presley left.
It wasn’t the coffee he bore (though that set my own heart just a jumping). It wasn’t the stack of notes he had tucked under his arm. Nor was it even the circle-a-word book he dropped off to Mrs. P just to be … well, just to be Dylan. It was the way he looked at me. That’s what put a smile on my mother’s face. Okay, maybe it was also the way her tough-as-shoe-leather daughter looked at Dylan. Maybe that made her smile a bit, too.
Well, it was good to see him.
“Hello, Dylan,” Mother said.
Dylan shook her offered hand.
“I never did get to thank you for Cotton Carson’s attendance at court the other day. Dix tells me you arranged it. And I’m very, very grateful for that.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Dodd.”
“Katt. Call me Katt. Dix has told me so much about you, I feel as if I know you already.”
For the record, I’d not told my mother ‘so much’ about Dylan already. She was one to tease.
“Did Dix tell you how good looking he was, Katt?” Mrs. P asked.
“Why, she did, Jane. And she was right.”
“Did she mention tall? Handsome?”
“Oh, yes.”
Dylan wasn’t blushing. But he was grinning ear to ear.
Me? Well, I didn’t blush but….
“How come your cheeks are turning red, Dix?” Mrs. P asked.
“Just hot in here, Mrs. Presley,” I answered.
“Hormones,” she said. “Gotta watch out for those hormones.”
Did I mention I couldn’t wait for Mother and Mrs. P to get out the door?
~*~
Dylan and I did get down to work as soon as they left. Well, once I had coffee in hand and cupcakes (Mother made more, bless her heart) passed out. Now, with caffeine and sugar sufficiently perking our systems, we were ready.
We had to crack this thing wide open before the family jewels ended up in a pawn shop somewhere. Yes, the police were surveying those dens of iniquity carefully, not just for mom’s ring but for the other missing items. Still, the longer that diamond was missing, the slimmer the chances of getting it back.
I swallowed down a bite of cupcake remembering my promise. Mom had such faith in me. I’d find that ring if it took forever.
So Dylan and I brainstormed. We charted. We looked at this from every angle until my head pounded. But be damned if I could figure out just how Big Eddie was dumping the stuff. Damned if we could figure out who his accomplice was.
Around ten, Dylan and I took a break. Not a wine break. And we sure as hell didn’t need another coffee break. The cupcakes were gone. But we just had to break to clear our heads a bit.
While we’d been working, Dylan had started the evening sitting across from me. Then he’d moved beside me on the pulled out sofa bed, and then well … closer beside me.
Planned? Hell no. We’d just been that into what we were doing.
But as we took our much-needed break, it was then that I realized how close I actually was to Dylan Foreman. And damned if I didn’t see it in his eyes, he was realizing it, too.
“Dix, about the other night….”
He didn’t have to explain which night. It was there in those gorgeous liquid brown eyes of his. As we sat there on the very same sofa bed, close, alone, it was all coming back to the both of us.
It happens sometimes when the stakes are high, and you’re with someone you’ve been completely open with. Scarily open.
Briefly I wondered if he was trying to hedge his way out of the situation. Make excuses why it shouldn’t have happened, and why it would never happen again. This wasn’t just me letting him off the hook. This was me jumping the hell off it. If Dylan was looking for a way out, then a way out I would give him.
“Really Dylan, you don’t have to say anything.”
So he didn’t.
He didn’t say one word as he pulled me into his arms.
Wordlessly — oh, Lord, breathlessly — I went.
Just like that, we were prone again, body to body in the sagging center of my mother’s sofa bed.
His kiss was exquisite. Slow and unhurried, lush and luxuriously sensual, like that time months ago when he’d kissed me for the first time. He kissed me like only a man who truly enjoys kissing can kiss a woman. He kissed me like every woman dreams about being kissed, slow and thorough and sweetly arousing. And I tried to be easy and unhurried, too. To enjoy the slow build. I really did. For all of about fifteen seconds. Because, God help me, I was sooooo far beyond needing a slow build. My poor, sex-deprived hormones were clamoring to get on to the main event.
Unable to do anything else, I answered his sensual invitation with ferocious sexual urgency. To my undying gratitude — which I expressed with an approving moan — he came back at me with a rough and ragged passion that matched my own. His mouth was suddenly hard on mine, demanding that I accept the invasion of his tongue. And oh, God, did I! I accepted the thrust of his tongue as avidly as my body was aching to accept another invasion. Meanwhile — yes! — his hands swept over my body with unmistakable carnal purpose. Like he owned it. Like it was his to control.
With no warning, he rolled me under him (God, yes!), and I almost came. And this despite the fact that neither of us had shed a single article of clothing. The feel of his weight pressing me into the mattress, the heavy pounding of his heart against mine….
Then he raised himself on his arms, causing his lower body to press into mine, at the juncture of my parted thighs. And no way was that a flashlight I was feeling. I moaned and arched against him.
Dylan groaned. “It’s the uniform, isn’t it, Dix?” His words were teasing, but his voice was satisfyingly hoarse, the gaze that roamed my face gratifyingly intense. “Go on, admit it. The security guard getup makes you hot, doesn’t it?”
Giddy, I laughed. “Oh, yeah, baby, that’s it. The uniform. As far as I’m concerned, you can be Dylan ‘heavy on the har’ Hardy forever.”
He surged against me in a thrust that all but had my eyes rolling up into my head. Inside, my hormones broke into a praise-Jesus-Dix-is-gonna-get-laid-RIGHT-NOW hallelujah chorus.
“Make that heavy on the ‘hard’,” he said.
At his words, something broke loose in my brain, started rolling and tumbling in there.
Nooooooo! my hormones screamed. Stay with it. Stay right damned here! Get us laid, damn it!
My brain wouldn’t listen.
Heavy on the hard. Heavy on the hard. Dylan’s words kept echoing in my head. I strained to catch the significance. Heavy on the hard….
He bent to press his mouth to my neck, skimmed up my throat to my chin, my temple, my forehead, but I was all but oblivious. The tumblers in my head kept rolling, rolling…. Then stopped as everything clicked home.
My arms tightened around Dylan reflexively, and I cried out. “Omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod!”
Dylan froze for a second, then groaned and lifted his head to look at me. “What are the chances I just discovered a new G-spot, and that string of omigods was not about the case?�
��
“I know what happened! I know who did it! I know who the accomplice is. And oh, shit, I know where Mother’s diamond is!”
He rested his forehead on mine and exhaled. “Of course you do.”
His frustration was palpable. Poor guy. He might have reached for me first, but I was the one who’d fired the starter pistol. I was the one who shot us from zero to sixty in ten seconds, and here I was calling a screeching halt to our lovemaking. “Oh, Dylan, I’m sorry….”
“Nothing to be sorry about.” His breath fanned my forehead. “Just give me a second.”
True to his word, he collected himself quickly. With a sigh, he rolled off me.
I leapt out of bed. “It was the damned hormones!”
“I have no idea what you mean by that, but I presume you’re going to explain.” Dylan said, adjusting himself in his jeans. “So, what did I miss?”
“Oh, it’s not what you missed. It’s what I missed. It’s been out there all along. And I … I just couldn’t see it.” I looked at him sheepishly. “Hormones.”
His brow furrowed. “If this is one of those female things that I really don’t want to know about….”
I smiled. This would take some explaining to Dylan. And explain I would. Leisurely. We had time now. Not all the time in the world, but more than enough.
I knew what to do.
And oh, the pleasure I would have doing it!
Chapter 16
Dylan was just leaving when Mother and Mrs. P rolled in at two in the morning. Not intoxicated, but both ladies had had a wonderful time. So Dylan turned himself around and sat back down for a little bit while we explained to Mother and Mrs. P all we had surmised. Mother was disappointed as I told her what I’d deduced. She conceded that it made strange but perfect sense, but I caught the look of deep, deep disappointment in her eyes.
“You going to be okay?” I asked.
Of course she would. She was a woman, after all.
Dylan and I talked it over and agreed we should keep the Dylan Hardy persona a few more hours, if for no other reason than to keep Big Eddie feeling comfortable.
