by Diane Kelly
“You all right?”
“Will be once I get some French fries.” And a lobotomy.
We made small talk while waiting for the waitress to take our order. Trey told me he’d graduated ten years ago from Texas Tech University with a master’s degree in computer science and gone to work for a high-tech company in Silicon Valley. “I’m on a medical leave from my job right now.”
My gaze roamed over him, looking for open sores, hair loss, any signs of disease.
“It’s not me,” Trey said. “It’s my dad.”
Guess I’d been a bit too obvious checking him out.
Before Trey could elaborate, the waitress stepped up to the booth to take our orders. “The usual?” she asked me.
“Yup.”
“Peach cobbler?”
“Not today, thanks.” The last time I’d stepped on the scale it registered well on the backside of one-fifty, and most of that one-fifty was on my backside. Even with my large-boned build and oversized breasts, that was pushing it. Better get some of this weight off, in case I had to chase down a stupid teenager again.
Trey ordered a burger with onion rings and a Coke. After the waitress left, we returned to our conversation.
“My dad had a minor stroke last month,” Trey said. “I came home to help out until he recovers.”
His words revealed three important things. One, like me, he was close to his family. Two, he still considered Hockerville home even after a decade living out of state. And three, he’d only be around temporarily. Just my luck. I finally meet a cute, smart, funny guy and he’ll be taking off soon. Fate was toying with me yet again.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing he’d be leaving. I could have a fling with Trey, then move on to the Ninja rider once Trey left town. Double my pleasure. No harm in that, right?
We talked for a few minutes about his family. Trey had an older sister who lived in Dallas and was busy with a family of her own. Just the segue I needed to find out more about his situation. Most people our age came with baggage. I was okay with that as long as the baggage was a small carry-on and not a deluxe five-piece hard-sided set.
“What about you?” I asked. “Ever been married?”
Trey shook his head. “Between my job and my God-awful commute, I don’t have much time to date. I’ve gone out with a few of the women from work, but it was more for convenience than any real connection. What about you?”
“Married my college sweetheart. Spent eight years together in Dallas before we realized we wanted different things out of life. Got an amicable divorce and moved back home.”
“Kids?”
“No.” Thank goodness. I didn’t need any more guilt than I already had. “Got a dog, though.”
“What kind?”
“Great Pyrenees.”
“Cool.”
I pointed at his badge. “Tell me about TreyTech.”
He shrugged. “I got bored sitting around my parents’ house so I figured I’d do some contract work. Upgrading software, installing wireless networks, that kind of thing. Maybe develop some websites while I’m in town.”
The guy clearly knew his way around computers. The most technologically challenging thing I knew how to do was download music to my phone. “We can use a guy like you around here.” Normally, computer techs were sent out from Dallas to take care of any major technical problems in the area and they charged a premium for the travel time. “How long you here for?”
“‘Nother month or so.”
We made small talk for a few minutes and I steered the conversation into a direction where I could ask about the driver of the Ninja. Since Trey was from Hockerville, he just might know the guy. “I’ve seen a new motorcycle in the area recently. A yellow and black Ninja ZX-14. Any idea who the bike might belong to?”
Trey’s gray eyes narrowed, looking pointedly into mine. “Why are you asking?”
A hot blush rushed up my neck to my freckled cheeks. I looked down at the table, pulled the salt shaker toward me, and twirled it between my fingers. Anything to avoid his pointed gaze. “Just curious. It’s a killer bike.”
I could feel his eyes still on me. “Sure there isn’t more to it?”
Am I that obvious? I forced myself to look at him. “What if there is?” After all, it wasn’t like Trey planned to stick around long term.
Trey sat back in the booth, stretching one arm along the top. “Yeah, I know the guy who owns it.”
My heart somersaulted in my chest. “What can you tell me about him?”
“I could tell you plenty.” That mischievous smile crept across his face again. “But I’m not going to.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re the most interesting woman I’ve met in years. Why would I screw that up?”
Me? Interesting? Suddenly, knowing who rode the Ninja seemed much less urgent.
Trey cocked his head. “This has already been my most exciting date ever. Never had one before that involved a wrestling match and handcuffs.”
“That’s just for starters.”
He raised a brow. “I like the sound of that.”
I began to think all kinds of exciting things could happen with Trey. Fun things. Enjoyable things. Naked, warm, sexy things . . .
The waitress plopped our food and drinks down on the table, along with a bottle of ketchup which, in my current state of mind, I’d describe as half full. She headed back to the kitchen without a word.
Trey picked up his thick burger, took a huge bite, and closed his eyes in ecstasy. “Man, this is good.”
“Told ya.” I snitched an onion ring off his plate and popped it into my mouth. He opened his eyes just in time to catch my act of thievery but didn’t seem to mind. Another point in his favor.
Over lunch, our conversation took an intellectual turn, and we found ourselves discussing the economics of the real estate markets in Texas and California, the pros and cons of the death penalty, the relative merits of western culture and our focus on technological advancement versus eastern philosophy that focused on achieving inner peace.
Trey listened intently when I spoke, seemingly interested in what I thought, what I had to say. In technological terms, we’d achieved connectivity, at least on a mental level. Maybe once we knew each other better we’d achieve it on a physical level, too. I was in dire need of some good lovin’.
After lunch, I drove Trey back to the elementary school and pulled up to the red-painted curb, leaving the engine idling. The storm had finally blown over, though a few puddles remained along the cracked, uneven walkway.
“Thanks for lunch,” I said.
“Any time.” He opened the door, climbed out onto the sidewalk, and bent down so he could make eye contact with me. “What’re you doing this weekend?”
I’d probably do the same thing I did every weekend, watch Wonder Woman re-runs on DVD with Bluebonnet while folding laundry. I shrugged. “Nothing special.”
“Good. Then I’m claiming your Friday night.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Something adventurous involving a small electronic device.”
I shot him my hell no look. “I don’t swing that way, Trey.”
“It’s not what you think. Trust me. It’ll be fun.”
His expression was so hopeful, how could I say no? Besides, I could use a diversion. Desperately. “Just know that if you don’t show me a really good time, I’ll beat the tar out of you with my nightstick.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?” He flashed a seductive grin.
I jotted my address down on the citation pad, ripped the page off, and handed it to him.
He took the paper. “Is seven good?”
“Yup.”
He closed the door to the cruiser and I watched as he strode up the sidewalk to the doors, looking trim and energetic. He was attractive for a computer geek. Heck, he was attractive, period. I wondered if the Ninja rider was as cute as Trey. Only time will tell.
; CHAPTER TWELVE
NO NANCY DREW HERE
Tires squealed behind me and I checked the rearview mirror to see Tiffany Tindall’s red Spyder careening into the school parking lot. Tiffany began to pull into the handicapped spot again, but she apparently noticed the cruiser sitting at the curb and yanked the steering wheel back. She drove past me and eased into a spot at the end of the lot. She climbed out, pushed a button on her keychain remote to lock the doors, and teetered toward the front doors on her heels. I rolled down the cruiser’s passenger window, waiting for her.
“Slow it down, Tiffy,” I called as she passed by, her cell phone once again glued to the side of her face. She acted as if she didn’t hear me.
Somebody needs to teach that girl some manners. And that somebody just might be me.
***
Late that afternoon, a loud rumble outside the station caught my attention. This one didn’t come from the sky, it came from the delivery truck pulling into the lot. Eric hopped down from the driver’s seat, rolled up the back door of the truck, and retrieved a large box from the cargo bay. The bell jingled as he came in the door. I met him at the counter.
“Hey, Eric. You remember delivering a package to a house on Renfro Road yesterday afternoon?”
Eric set the box on the floor and pulled his handheld electronic device from his pocket. He punched some buttons with the stylus. “Let’s see here. 612 Renfro. Yeah. Left a package there at 3:57 PM.”
“Who was the package addressed to?”
He jabbed more buttons. “Someone named Logan Mott.”
The last name sounded vaguely familiar.
“Who was it from?”
Eric consulted the screen. “Barneys New York.”
“Really?” Someone sure had splurged. Chet had once shopped there when he was on a business trip in Manhattan, came home with a pair of shoes that cost more than my wedding dress.
Eric cut me some side eye. “Is there a problem?”
I’d been in law enforcement long enough to know you provided information on a need-to-know basis only. For all I knew, Eric could be involved in something fishy. Then again, I could be making a mountain out of a molehill and someone in Barney’s mail order department could have simply screwed up the address. I shrugged. “I thought the house was empty, but I must be mistaken. Thanks.”
I headed back to my booth, leaving Selena and Eric to chat. I logged into my computer to search the DMV driver’s license records for a Logan Mott in Jacksburg. No Logan came up, but the listings showed a Hank Mott and a Rhonda Mott, both at 108-B Purdy Court. A married couple, most likely. Maybe they were related to Logan and could get me some contact information. What the heck. I’ve got nothing better to do.
I grabbed the keys to the cruiser and waved good-bye to Selena. “I’ll be out for a bit.”
Five minutes later I pulled to the curb in front of the Motts’ half of a small, rectangular duplex. The house was white with green trim, decently kept for a rental, but not the type of place you’d expect a Barney’s New York shopper to live in. On the covered porch sat a pink bicycle with training wheels and a white basket adorned with plastic daisies. A green garden hose coiled in the corner like a harmless garden snake.
A silver mini-van pulled into the court and stopped beside my patrol car. The side door slid open and a small, light-haired girl wearing a red rain slicker and carrying a ballerina lunchbox hopped down. She set her lunchbox on the ground and used both of her tiny hands on the handle to pull the door closed. She retrieved her lunchbox and headed straight inside the Mott’s half of the duplex. In Dallas, gated communities were all the rage. In Jacksburg, nobody locked their doors.
The mini-van circled the cul-de-sac and headed back onto the main road. The rain was again in mist mode, so I left my mangled umbrella in the car and made my way up the narrow sidewalk to the green-painted door. I rang the bell and a few seconds later heard muffled sounds from inside. In case someone was looking out, I smiled a friendly smile at the peephole.
The door opened to reveal a thirtyish woman, also light haired. She wore yellow latex gloves, and held a sponge in one hand and a green can of Comet in the other. She was still in her pajamas, the sure sign of a stay-at-home mom.
“Hi, there.” I stuck out my hand. “Captain Muckleroy, Jacksburg PD.”
She stuck the Comet into the crook of her arm, pulled off her right glove, and shook my hand. “Something I can do for you, Captain?”
“I’m looking for someone named Logan Mott.”
“Logan?” The woman’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What do you want with her?”
Again, need-to-know basis only. “I’d prefer to discuss the matter directly with Miss Mott. Can you give me a phone number and address?”
The woman’s scrunched-up face got even scrunchier. “Logan lives here.”
“Is she home now?”
“Yeah.” The woman stepped back to allow me into the house. She poked her head down a narrow hallway off the foyer. “Logan? Come here a minute, hon.”
The sound of a door slamming and padding feet came up the hall. The little girl from the bus stepped into the foyer and looked up at her mother expectantly.
The woman put her bare hand on the girl’s shoulder and turned the girl to face me. “This is my daughter, Logan.”
Huh? I smiled down at the girl before looking back up at her mother. “There must be some mistake. I’m looking for a Logan Mott who placed a mail order from Barneys New York.”
The little girl’s brows drew together. “Do what?”
“We’re the only Motts in Jacksburg,” the woman said. “My husband’s got family over in Jefferson, but this here’s the only Logan in the family.” She ruffled her little girl’s hair.
“Is it possible someone ordered a gift for Logan from Barneys?”
The girl’s face brightened at the thought of a gift, but her mother shook her head. “Not likely. She doesn’t have a birthday coming up. I’ve never heard of Barneys, neither. We mostly shop at the Walmart over in Hockerville.”
The situation made absolutely no sense. I had no idea what to make of it. But instinct told me this woman and her child were innocent of any wrongdoing.
“Sorry to have bothered you ma’am. I must have gotten some bad information. But in case something turns up, can I get your phone number?”
“Of course.”
As she rattled off the number, I entered it into my cell phone contacts list. I reached into my breast pocket and retrieved a brown Tootsie Roll Pop, handing it to Logan after her mother gave me a nod of approval. I’d learned back in Dallas that carrying a lollipop was just as important as carrying a gun, and far more useful when it came to calming a terrified child. I’d handed out more Tootsie Roll Pops to more frightened children than I cared to remember. Trick or treat. Say bye to Daddy, he’ll be back in five-to-ten.
I returned to the cruiser and sat in the front seat with the engine off, trying to process the available information. Had someone at Barney’s made a mistake? Had someone at the delivery service made a mistake? If the little girl in the duplex was the only Logan Mott in town, who had picked up the package addressed to her that was left at the house on Renfro?
