Open Season

by Linda Howard

  “You did?” she asked doubtfully, as he dug into his ice cream to distract himself. The cold, soft ice cream melted on his tongue, and he almost groaned with delight. There was nothing—nothing—like real home-made ice cream.

  He swallowed and said, “Sure. You even gave me the mauve gay test. You don’t do that to someone who isn’t a friend.”

  Her family was listening in wide-eyed fascination. Both her mother and aunt gasped. “Oh, my,” her aunt Joella said faintly. “Did you pass?”

  He rubbed his jaw to hide his grin. So this was where she got it from. “I don’t know. If you know the answer, does that mean you pass or fail?”

  Aunt Joella blinked. “Well—neither, I guess. It just means you’re gay.” She paused. “Are you?”

  “Aunt Jo!” Daisy moaned, covering her eyes with her free hand.

  “No, ma’am.” He took another bite of ice cream. “But that isn’t a good test, because I know what color mauve is.”

  Aunt Jo nodded decisively. “Just what I thought. How about puce?”

  “Daisy made me look it up in the dictionary,” he said, unable to hide his grin any longer. “I accused her of making it up.”

  Aunt Jo leaned back, satisfaction written on her face. “I told you,” she said to Daisy’s mother, Evelyn.

  Poor Daisy had taken her hand down and was looking around as if searching for the best escape route. Jack forestalled her by grabbing her arm and pulling her down with him onto the love seat, which was the only free seating left in the room, making him wonder if her mother had arranged things so they’d have to sit side by side. If so, it was fine with him.

  He stayed for almost an hour, making small talk and eating another bowl of ice cream while Daisy swirled her spoon in hers until it melted. She kept giving him wary looks and trying to inch away. Very protective of her personal space, was Miss Daisy. He deliberately intruded on it, letting his thigh brush hers, sometimes leaning so that his big shoulders crowded her, occasionally putting his hand on her bare arm. She couldn’t tear a strip off his hide in front of her family the way she had in the library, and he took full advantage of what Aunt Bessie would have called her “company manners.”

  By the time he left, Miss Daisy was almost ready to explode.

  Well, let her fume, he thought as he drove home. So she didn’t like him, huh? She didn’t consider him a friend, she’d been horrified at the idea that he might be “courting” her, and she was plainly appalled at the idea her family might think they were even going out together.

  Too fucking bad, he thought cheerfully. Part of it was because he couldn’t resist a challenge and part of it was because she was so damn much fun, but he’d made up his mind: this particular Yankee was going to get in her pants.

  He had the feeling she’d be a real firecracker when she let go. Daisy wasn’t frozen; she was just untried. If she’d ever had sex, she hadn’t had much of it. He planned to change that state of affairs and really give her something to blush about.

  He hadn’t had a steady relationship since his divorce; he’d had sex, but been careful not to let a routine develop with any of the women. Relationships were a lot of work, and he hadn’t been interested enough to make the effort. Until now, that is. Daisy was both innocent and complicated, naive and knowledgeable, sharp-tongued but without an ounce of malice in her—something that couldn’t be said about many people. She appealed to him, with her different-colored eyes, old-fashioned ways, and utter openness. Daisy not only didn’t play games, she didn’t know what the games were. A man would always know where he stood with her. Right now he was on her shit list, but he planned to change that.

  Unless he missed his guess, Daisy was looking for a man. All the signs were there: the sudden change in her hair and clothes, wearing makeup, and suddenly going to nightclubs. If a man was what she wanted, she needed to look no further. He volunteered for the job. Not that he was going to tell her; she’d likely run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. No, he’d have to play his cards close to the vest for a while, until she got over the idea he wasn’t her type.

  Until then, he’d have to keep her out of trouble, which could be a full-time job. Now he’d not only have to cruise the bars and nightclubs looking for some bastard who liked to slip women a drug that could kill them, he’d have to make certain Daisy didn’t let some other man get too close to her, much less drug her. The way she’d spruced herself up, that might be a problem. She looked good as a blonde, especially with that sexy new haircut. As for her clothes—who would ever have suspected she’d been hiding a pair of breasts like that under those frumpy blouses she’d always worn before? Plus she had great legs; he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed them the night before, either. He had plans for those legs; he bet they’d look fine draped over his shoulders.

  He’d thought she was kind of cute even before, not that he’d ever have noticed her if he hadn’t sat so close to her in the library. But that close he’d been able to tell how fine and translucent her skin was, almost like a baby’s, and he’d noted those strange eyes, one blue and one green. It made her gaze oddly piercing, as if she saw deeper than others did. And she’d been downright pretty when she got angry, with color in her cheeks and her eyes snapping and sparkling. He’d planned to stop by the library more often—and then he’d recognized her at the Buffalo Club last night and damn near trampled several people in his rush to get to her before she got hurt in the brawl, not to mention get her out of that jerk’s lap.

  She was definitely going to be trouble, but he could handle it—with pleasure.

  Sykes was pissed. Mitchell had been at the Buffalo Club over near Huntsville last night, but by the time Sykes had got there, he was long gone and sheriff’s deputies were swarming the place, sorting things out after a brawl. It was just bad luck, but he was still pissed; if he’d gotten there half an hour sooner, everything would have been handled and Mitchell would be out of their hair.

  At least he knew Mitchell was out moving around now, instead of staying holed up somewhere. That increased the chances of getting a line on him, but Sykes still wasn’t having any luck. The bastard was slicker than he’d thought, though not slick enough not to kill the merchandise in the first place.

  But the bartender at the Buffalo Club, who had called him in the first place, owed him more than one favor. When Sykes showed up on his doorstep on Sunday, he wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t surprised, either.

  “Hey, I called you as soon as I saw him,” Jimmy said, darting his eyes from side to side as if worried about someone seeing them together. “But some idiot started a fight just right after that, and everybody cleared out.”

  “No problem,” said Sykes. He wasn’t here to make things rough on Jimmy. “Did you notice if he was with someone?”

  “Not that I saw, but he bought two drinks. A beer for himself, and a Coke.”

  So old Mitchell had already hooked up with a girl, or was at least trying to; and since he’d failed, presumably, because of the brawl, he’d be out looking again as soon as possible. Not tonight; bars were closed on Sunday. But tomorrow night, for certain. Would he go back to the Buffalo Club so soon? Maybe, if he wanted that particular girl, but what were the odds the same girl would be there on Monday night? She’d have to be real dedicated to the club scene. Still, it was possible.

  “Keep an eye out for him tomorrow night,” Sykes said. “I don’t think he’ll be there, but he might, and it should be easier to spot him than it was this weekend.” That gave Jimmy an excuse for not seeing Mitchell earlier.

  Jimmy grinned, at ease now that he knew Sykes wasn’t mad. “You think? We’re pretty busy all the time, but, yeah, this past weekend was really crowded.”

  Sykes passed him a folded hundred-dollar bill, with Ben’s face showing. “You were on your toes, but you can’t predict when a fight will start.” A little palm grease was always welcome. Of course, when Mitchell “disappeared,” Jimmy would have to go too, but those were the breaks. A smart man d
idn’t leave loose ends.

  A black Ford Explorer pulled into Todd Lawrence’s driveway, and an older man got out. He strode up the sidewalk and mounted the steps; the front door opened before he reached the porch. “So how’d it go last night?” Todd asked as he led the way to the kitchen, where a pot of strong coffee had been freshly brewed.

  “She’s a good dancer,” the older man said neutrally. He had graying brown hair and brown eyes, and an average build. He could and did blend in almost any-where.

  “Anybody come on to her?”

  The man snorted. “Men were all over her. They wouldn’t have paid nearly as much attention to her if she’d been dressed like the others, in jeans and a tube top. It was like Grace Kelly had walked in.” He opened a cabinet door and took down a coffee cup, then filled it.

  Todd grinned. That was exactly the effect he’d aimed for in Daisy’s makeover. He was rather proud of his work. “Anybody buy her a drink?”

  “She didn’t have time to drink anything. She hit the dance floor and danced several dances; then a fight started right after that and some big guy grabbed her and carried her outside.”

  Todd’s eyes narrowed. “Did you follow them?”

  “Of course I followed,” the other man said testily. “That’s the idea, right? But this guy just put her in her car, and she drove off alone.”

  “Did you recognize him?”

  The man shook his head. “He hadn’t danced with her, but they knew each other. They had a little argument outside. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you could tell she was mad at him.” Taking his cup to the table, he pulled out a chair and sat down. “This isn’t a good idea,” he said flatly.

  “I agree.” Todd picked up his own cup and leaned against the cabinet while he sipped. “But it’s better than no idea at all. And she’s perfect; she’s so naive she won’t be as careful as most women are.”

  “Most women aren’t. Damn it, you can’t keep tabs on every move she makes. What’s she going to do, ask your permission every time she goes out?”

  “I’ll start calling every day, just to check on her. Girl talk.” Todd gave a thin smile, and the other man snorted. “She’ll tell me if she’s going out, and I can guide her to the places we suspect.”

  “And you really expect to find out something?”

  “It’s like fishing. You can’t see the fish, but you know they’re there. You just throw out the bait and hope something bites. Look, she was going to do this anyway. At least this way, you can keep an eye on her.”

  “I do have a life, you know. Going out every night and stomping my way through line dances isn’t something I’m crazy about. I might miss an episode of Millionaire.”

  “I’ll tape them for you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “In your dreams, sweetheart.”

  The other man burst out laughing. “God, you’re good! That was just right. Look, why don’t we just concentrate on the job we were sent down here for, and leave your little private vendetta to the local cops?”

  “Because they haven’t accomplished shit. This isn’t interfering with the job—”

  “The hell it isn’t. I’m not at top speed if I’ve been out dancing into the wee hours every night.”

  “It won’t be every night; just the weekends, if I read her right. She’s too responsible to go out on a work night. Besides, she’ll be busy getting her house ready to move into; she tells me all about it.”

  “Any man who thinks he knows what a woman will do is a fool.”

  “I’ll give you that, but I told you, I’m going to call her every afternoon about the time she gets home from the library, just to check. I don’t want anything to happen to her, either.”

  “So what happens if we get contacted when she’s going out, Pygmalion? Who’s going to watch her then?”

  “We’ve been working this job for, what, a year and a half? What are the odds it’s going to break anytime soon, and on one of the two nights a week when Daisy is most likely to go out?”

  “Look, buddy, there’s this big pile of shit just flying around looking for a place to happen. Just be prepared for it to dump on us, is what I’m saying. And she’ll be the one who’s hurt.”

  ELEVEN

  It occurred to Daisy she needed to do one last thing to change her image, so during her lunch hour on Monday she went to Clud’s Pharmacy and bought some condoms.

  Clud’s was the best choice of the three pharmacies in town, because Cyrus Clud had lived in Hillsboro forever and knew everyone, and his wife, Barbara, worked as the cashier so he wouldn’t have to pay anyone else a salary. Barbara Clud was at least as big a gossip as Beulah Wilson, and she didn’t know what the word discretion meant; that was how it had become common knowledge that a certain city councilman took Viagra. The fact that Daisy Minor had bought condoms would spread far and wide to their circle of acquaintances.

  Cruising nightclubs was fine, and nightclubs were probably the richest hunting ground, but Daisy didn’t want to ignore the available men in Hillsboro, either; in fact, a local would be a much better choice for her, since she wanted to live near her family. The problem was, she didn’t know that many single local men; the few in her church were all younger than she was, and she didn’t find them particularly interesting anyway. Hank Farris was single, but the Farrises were trashy and there was a reason why Hank had never been married: he stank. Badly. So Daisy didn’t count him as eligible, in any way.

  But people talked, especially in a small town like Hillsboro with its spiderweb of acquaintances and kin. Just let someone say, “You know Evelyn Minor’s daughter, Daisy? The librarian? I hear she went into Clud’s and bought a whole case of condoms. My lands, what’s that girl up to?” Before she knew it, interested men would be crawling out of the woodwork. She’d have to weed out the undesirables, of course, but she figured a big portion of them would disappear when they found out she had no intention of actually using any of the condoms. They were merely a conversation piece, as it were.

  On the other hand, she had never suspected buying condoms would be complicated. She stood in aisle five and stared at the stacks and rows of boxes. Who on earth knew there were so many choices? And what did the sexually hip young woman buy these days?

  For instance, was something called a Rough Rider desirable or not? Daisy thought probably not, because that sounded like something a motorcycle gang would buy, assuming Hell’s Angels wore condoms. And what about ribs? Did it matter if a condom was ribbed or unribbed? Lubricated or not? On second thought, she opted for lubricated.

  And on third thought, Cyrus Clud had an enormous selection of condoms, far more than she would have expected for a small, independent pharmacy. Surely condom sales couldn’t be that brisk, since one could find them in so many other places.

  She picked up a pack labeled “Tickle Her Fancy,” read the back, and hurriedly returned it to the shelf. Maybe Cyrus had a niche clientele. Maybe she needed to warn Chief Russo to keep a close eye on aisle five at Clud’s Pharmacy, because judging by the variety offered here, there were some hinky things going on in Hillsboro.

  At last, desperate, she picked up a box called the PartyPak—that should cover all bases—and marched up to the register, where she plunked the PartyPak down on the counter in front of Barbara Clud.

  “I hope everything’s all right with Evelyn and Joella,” Barbara said sweetly as she picked up the box, which was her way of priming the pump to find out if anything was wrong with anyone; then she noticed what she was holding and gasped. “Daisy Minor!”

  Someone came up behind her. Daisy didn’t look around to see who it was. “Cash,” she said, as if Barbara had asked, and fished some bills out of her wallet to hurry along the process before half of Hillsboro lined up at the register. She had thought she would be able to accomplish this with an air of sangfroid, but she could feel her face heating. One would think Barbara had never sold condoms before, from her expression of shock.

  Barbara began to tu
rn red, too. “Does your mother know about this?” she whispered, leaning forward in an effort to keep their conversation private. Thank goodness for that much, at least, Daisy thought.

  “Not yet, but she will,” Daisy mumbled, thinking the phone lines would be burning as soon as she walked out of the store. She extended the money, trying again to just get this process completed.

  “I’m in a hurry,” said a deep, grumbly voice behind and above her, and Daisy froze. “Just ring the damn things up.”

  She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. She knew that voice; she’d heard it much too often lately. If she could have, she’d have vanished on the spot.

  Barbara’s face took on a purple hue as she scanned the bar code, the register chirped, and a total appeared in the little window. She took Daisy’s money, silently handed back the change, and shoved the PartyPak into a white paper sack emblazoned in red with the words Clud’s Pharmacy. Daisy dropped the change into her purse, took the paper sack, and for the first time in her life left a store without saying thank you to the person who had waited on her.

  To her absolute horror, Chief Russo didn’t buy anything, just fell into step beside her. “What are you doing?” she hissed as they stepped onto the sidewalk. “Go back and buy something!” Maybe the redness of her face could be attributed to the heat rising in waves off the sidewalk. Maybe he wouldn’t notice she was mortified.

  “I don’t need anything,” he said.

  “Then why did you go inside in the first place?”

  “I saw you go in and I wanted to talk to you. Condoms, huh?” he said, eyeing the paper sack with interest. “That looks like a big box. How many are in it?”

  “Go away!” Daisy moaned, marching down the sidewalk with the PartyPak clutched to her chest. When she had hit on the plan of buying condoms to get men to notice her, she hadn’t meant him and she certainly hadn’t meant now. She had a half-hysterical vision of a line of men following her down the street, trying to peek into her sack. “She thought I was buying them for you!” By now at least one person, perhaps two, had heard the news of Chief Russo and Daisy Minor buying a huge box of condoms. The chief had even said he was in a hurry! She swallowed another moan.