Open Season

by Linda Howard

  “I can buy my own condoms, thank you,” he said.

  “You know what I mean! She thought they were for us—that we . . .” She trailed off, unable to give voice to the idea.

  “We’d have to be rabbits to use that many on our lunch hour,” he observed. “I don’t think it’s possible. How many are in there, six dozen or so? That’s seventy-two, so even if we had the entire hour, that means, roughly, using one about every fifty seconds.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “That isn’t the kind of record I want to set. One every hour, or every two hours, that would be different.”

  She actually felt faint with shock, though she supposed it could be from practically running in the noonday heat. With his longer legs, he was pretty much at his normal stride; he wasn’t even panting.

  Not that she was panting; she didn’t want to even think about panting while he was talking about using a condom every hour. She was breathing fast, that was all.

  “You’re overheating,” he said. “Let’s stop in the Coffee Cup for something cold to drink, before you pass out on the sidewalk and I have to carry you.”

  Daisy whirled on him and said with muffled outrage, “She’s probably already called my mother, and goodness knows who else, telling everyone that we bought a PartyPak of condoms on our lunch hour!”

  “Then the best thing for you to do would be to go to the Coffee Cup with me so we’d have witnesses that we didn’t go to my house and do our best to use them all. PartyPak, huh?” He grinned. “I bet there’s an interesting variety. Let me see.”

  “No!” she shrieked, turning away when he reached for the sack.

  He stroked his jaw. “There’s probably an ordinance on the books against having pornographical items on the street.”

  “Condoms are not pornographical,” she said, the bottom dropping out of her stomach. “They’re birth control and health-aid items.”

  “Plain condoms, yeah, but there are probably some weird things in something called a PartyPak.”

  Daisy chewed her lip. He wouldn’t arrest her; she was almost certain of it. On the other hand, this entire expedition had gotten out of hand so fast she was still reeling, and she wasn’t ready to push her luck. Silently she handed over the sack.

  He didn’t just open the sack and look inside; he reached in and pulled out the PartyPak, right there on the street. Daisy looked around for a manhole to dive into, though any hole would have done. She’d made it half a step away from him before he seized her arm and hauled her back, all without looking up from the label on the back of the box.

  “ ‘Ten different colors and flavors,’” he read aloud. “Including ‘bubble gum, watermelon, and strawberry.’ ” He glanced up and clicked his tongue. “I’m surprised at you, Miss Daisy.”

  “I didn’t know about the watermelon,” she blurted, suddenly afraid there was a green-striped condom in the PartyPak box. This had been a terrible idea. Maybe Barbara would refund her money, unless there was a rule against letting people return condoms. “You weren’t supposed to return swimsuits and underwear, so Barbara might throw her out of the store if she tried to return the PartyPak.

  “If I were you, I’d worry more about the bubble gum,” he said absently, still reading.

  She blinked, taken aback. “Oh, I wouldn’t blow them,” she said, then clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at him with wide, horrified eyes.

  “Shut up,” she said furiously a few minutes later, when he showed no signs of stopping laughing. He was all but howling, leaning weakly against a parked car and still clutching the box of condoms as he bent over to brace his hands on his knees. Tears were running down his face. She wished they were tears of pain.

  No, she didn’t; she didn’t want to hurt anyone, even him. But enough was enough, and she wasn’t going to put up with this another second. If he wanted to arrest her, he’d have to stop laughing to do it, because she was leaving, and taking her PartyPak with her.

  He held up his left hand to ward her off as she approached, evidently thinking she was going to hit him, though that didn’t stop the chortles and wheezes. Daisy snatched the box away from him and said, “Adolescent!” in her most freezing tones, and marched away.

  “W-wait!” she heard him gasp. “Daisy!”

  She didn’t stop marching, or even turn around. Fury propelled her all the way across the square to the library and up the two marble steps to the front door. She paused there, taking deep breaths in an effort to appear composed, then breezed through the door and up to the checkout desk as if she were Miss America. It was only when she reached out to raise the counter barrier that she realized she held the PartyPak in her hand, and there was no white paper sack covering it.

  Kendra was behind the desk, and of course she immediately looked at what Daisy was carrying. Her eyes popped open so wide, white showed all the way around the irises. “Daisy! What—” She stopped, remembering where they were and that she should lower her voice. She pointed mutely at the box.

  Everything else had failed her, so Daisy tried for nonchalance. “This?” she asked, lifting the box as if she couldn’t understand Kendra’s reaction. “It’s just a box of condoms.” Then she sailed into her office, shut the door, and collapsed in her chair.

  “I hear you bought some condoms,” Todd said on the phone that evening, his amusement clear even through the telephone line.

  “You, my mother and aunt, half the church, and all of the neighborhood,” Daisy said, and sighed. After all, that had been her plan. Sort of.

  “And that you and our illustrious chief used half the box during lunch hour.”

  “I went straight back to the library!” she wailed. “I knew that’s what Barbara Clud would say, the gossiping busybody! He wasn’t with me; he just came up while I was checking out.”

  “She also said he didn’t buy anything, said he was in a hurry, and left with you.”

  “This is going to ruin everything.” She sighed and sat down at the breakfast table, having taken the call in the kitchen. Her mother and Aunt Jo were watching television, as usual.

  “How’s that?”

  “If everyone thinks Chief Russo and I are having a—a thing—”

  “An affair,” Todd supplied.

  “—then no other men will come near me! How am I going to find a husband if no one will ask me out because they think the chief of police wouldn’t like it?”

  “I can see where that would be a problem. He’s a big bruiser.”

  “Well, that takes care of all the local men, so I bought those condoms for nothing.”

  “I’m not certain I understand. Are you saying only local men could use them?”

  “Oh, I’m not planning on using them. I knew Barbara would get the word out I’d bought them, and then some of the single men in town would find out I’m available, and modern, and things like that, and they’d be interested enough to at least check me out. That’s how it worked in theory,” she said glumly. “In reality, the chief ruined everything. Now I’ll have to concentrate on the nightclub men.”

  “Are you going out tonight?” he asked.

  “No, there’s too much to do getting my house ready. Buck Latham is finished painting, so now I have to clean and look for furniture, buy appliances, that sort of thing.”

  “What style of furniture are you looking for?”

  “Well, the house is small, so I’m aiming for cozy and comfortable. Whatever style that is, that’s what I want.”

  “Does it have to be new? Or would you like some individual older pieces? We can pick those up at auctions for a fraction of what you would pay in a furniture store for something new.”

  The idea of saving money always interested Daisy. “I’ve never been to an auction. Where is one, and when?”

  “Everywhere, and always,” he drawled. “I’ll find one for tomorrow night, and we’ll have that house decorated before you know it”

  Daisy moved into her little house on Friday, after a whirlwind of preparations that left he
r no time to fume about the way Chief Russo had sabotaged her condom plan. She was so busy she didn’t really mind the way some people whispered behind their hands when they saw her. This was the twenty-first century, after all; it was no big deal to buy condoms, even in Hillsboro. A lot of people did, or Cyrus Clud wouldn’t carry such a large supply.

  For the most part, she didn’t have time to think about anything except the herculean task of moving. She had never let herself buy things to put away for when she got married and had her own home, because that would have been like admitting she wasn’t satisfied with her life. Well, she wasn’t satisfied, but now she was admitting it—and doing something about it.

  She still wasn’t married, but she had her own house. So what if it was a tiny rental in a run-down neighbor-hood? It had a fenced backyard, she was going to get a dog, and it was her very own place. Unfortunately, because she’d never bought any household things beyond her own bed linens, that meant she had to endure some shopping marathons to get stocked up on the thousand and one items needed to set up house-keeping.

  She bought curtains and cookware, stocked up on groceries and household items, bought brooms and a vacuum cleaner and a dust mop—her own vacuum cleaner! She was ecstatic—and worked every spare hour cleaning and getting things put away.

  When she wasn’t doing that, Todd kept her busy looking for furniture. She was a little surprised but deeply grateful that he exhibited such interest in her new life, because his aid was invaluable. He took her to a couple of auctions, and she discovered the joy of simply nodding her head until her competitors for any certain piece gave up and dropped out of the bidding; then she’d hold up a numbered card and the lamp or the rug or the end table would be hers. Winning gave her a thrill, so much so that Todd watched her with amusement whenever she decided to bid on a piece.

  “You’re like a shark going after raw bait,” he said lazily, smiling at the color in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes.

  She immediately blushed. “I am? My goodness.” She folded her hands in her lap as if to keep them from flashing that little numbered card again.

  He laughed. “Oh, don’t stop. You’re having more fun than I ever do.”

  “It is fun, isn’t it?” She eyed the tea cart being offered for sale. She didn’t have much room, and if she bought everything she liked, she wouldn’t have room for the necessities, such as furniture. On the other hand, the tea cart would look wonderful in the corner of the living room, with plants on top of it and maybe photographs on the lower shelves . . .

  Several minutes of furious bidding later, the tea cart was hers—along with a cozy little table and two chairs, a pair of lamps with translucent pink bases and creamy shades, a dark sage green rug, a big, squashy easy chair that rocked and was upholstered in dusty blue with cream pinstripes, and a small cabinet for her television. When they were ready to leave, Todd looked over her booty and said, “I’m glad we borrowed a pickup; that big chair would never wedge into the trunk of your car.”

  “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” she said blissfully, already imagining herself curled up in it.

  “It certainly is, and I know just the piece to go with it. It’s new, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically. “But it’s a perfect sofa, I promise.”

  The perfect sofa was covered with the most impractical cabbage roses on a dusty blue background that very nearly matched the blue of her big chair. She considered the sofa outrageously expensive, but fell in love with it on sight. No drab brown upholstery for her, no sir! She wanted the cabbage roses. And when everything was arranged in her little house, the effect was even cozier than she had imagined.

  Friday night, Daisy’s little house was full of people and furniture and boxes.

  Evelyn and Beth and Aunt Jo were sorting things out, putting boxes in the rooms where the contents would go but not unpacking them, because if they did, Daisy wouldn’t know where anything was. Todd was putting the finishing touches on the decoration, hanging some prints, helping her arrange the furniture just so, and providing some much-needed muscle for the heavier pieces. Her clothes were in the closet, the curtains were all hung, her books were in the bookcase, food was in the refrigerator—everything was ready.

  The house was a testament to what could be accomplished when some very determined women—and one antiques dealer—worked at it. Neighbors had been pressed into service moving her bedroom furniture over; the local appliance store had delivered and installed her stove, refrigerator, microwave, and washer and dryer the same day she bought them. She thought, considering the money she had spent, same-day delivery was the least they could do.

  Evelyn had prepared a pot roast and brought it over for Daisy’s first real meal in her own home. Daisy put her mother and Aunt Jo at the tiny table she’d bought, and she, Beth, and Todd sat on the floor, laughing and talking the way people do when they’ve accomplished something herculean.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said, unable to stop beaming as she looked around her kitchen. “All of this has happened in only two weeks!”

  “What can I say?” Todd drawled. “You’re a slave-driver.” He took another bite of roast and sighed with delight. “Mrs. Minor, you should open a restaurant. You’d make a fortune.”

  “I already have a fortune,” she said serenely. “I have my family, and I’m healthy. Everything else is just work.”

  “Besides,” Beth said, “I’m just now getting over the shock of how Daisy’s changed her looks. Give me a little while before you start turning my mother into a food mogul.”

  They all laughed, because after her stunned reaction on Sunday, Beth had been as enthusiastic as everyone else about Daisy’s improvements. Evelyn had been greatly relieved, because she’d worried about her younger daughter’s ego. Beth was a Minor, though, and the Minor women were made of stern stuff. Besides, Beth and Daisy truly loved each other and had always gotten along.

  “I’ll give you a few months to adjust,” Todd said. “But I’m not giving up; food like this needs to be shared.”

  “And paid for,” Aunt Jo said, pursing her mouth.

  “That, too.” He looked around, then said to Daisy, “I hope you changed the locks on the doors.”

  “That was the first thing I did. Actually, Buck Latham did it for me. I have two keys, Mother has an extra key, and the landlady has a key. I wasn’t about to leave the old locks on the doors.”

  “And she’s getting a dog,” said Aunt Jo. “As a matter of fact, I have a friend whose dog had a litter several weeks ago. I’ll check with her and see if she still has any of the puppies.”

  A puppy! Daisy felt a little spurt of delight. Somehow she’d only thought of finding a grown dog, but she’d love to have a puppy and raise it from baby-hood.

  “A puppy,” Todd said, frowning a little. “Wouldn’t a grown dog be better?”

  “I want a puppy,” Daisy said, already imagining the feel of the warm, wriggling little body in her arms. Okay, so it was probably transference from wanting a baby of her own, but for now a puppy would do just fine.

  Todd lingered as the others were leaving, pausing on her front porch. “Are you going dancing tomorrow night?”

  She thought of everything that needed to be done in the house; then she thought of the long hours she’d already put in this week. Last week at the Buffalo Club had been fun, at least until the fight started.

  “I think I will. I really liked the dancing.”

  “Then be careful, and have fun.”

  “Thanks. I will.” She smiled and waved at him as he drove away, thanking her lucky stars she’d found such a good friend as Todd Lawrence.

  TWELVE

  Saturday night was always the busiest night of the week at the Buffalo Club, so Jimmy, the bartender, wasn’t sure how long Mitchell had been there before he saw him, holding a beer and leaning over a redhead with enough makeup on her face to cover the San Andreas Fault. The redhead didn’t seem impressed; she kept turning back to her friend, an equally made-up p
latinum blonde, as if they were trying to carry on a conversation and Mitchell was intruding.

  Jimmy didn’t look at them again; the last thing he wanted was for Mitchell to notice he’d been noticed. Since Mitchell had a beer, he must have had one of the waitresses bring it to him, instead of bellying up to the bar the way he usually did. Jimmy picked up the phone under the bar, punched in the number, and said, “He’s here.”

  “Well, damn,” Sykes said genially on the other end of the line. “I really need to talk to him, but I can’t get away. Oh, well, another time.”

  “Sure,” said Jimmy, and hung up.

  Sykes broke the connection, then quickly called two men he knew and said, “Meet me at the Buffalo Club, forty minutes. Come prepared.”

  Then Sykes himself got prepared; he pulled on a baseball cap to hide his hair, boots to make himself seem taller, and stuffed a small pillow inside his shirt. In good light this effort at disguise would be obvious, but at night those small things would be enough to make it difficult to identify him if anything untoward happened at the club. Sykes didn’t plan on doing anything at the club; he just wanted to get Mitchell and take him some-place where there weren’t a couple of hundred potential witnesses, but something could always go wrong. That’s why he wasn’t driving his own car; he had borrowed one again, just in case, then replaced the license plate with one he’d taken off a car in Georgia.

  Barring any unforseen occurrences, such as another brawl, their little problem with Mitchell should be taken care of tonight.

  Daisy found that it took a lot of nerve to go back into a club where one had accidentally caused a brawl. There shouldn’t be too many people who actually knew the cause: herself, Chief Russo, perhaps the guy whose testicles she had smashed—though she thought he hadn’t been paying much attention to what was going on around him—and maybe one or two perceptive people who had been watching. So, five at the most. And what were the odds any of the four other people were here tonight? She should be perfectly safe; no one was going to point at her as soon as she walked in the door and shout, “That’s her!”