No Brainer ( The Darcy Walker Series #2)

by A. J. Lape

  I slipped into one of the beige chairs in front of the mahogany desk, assessing the environment. Eleanor’s office exploded with business commendations: Branch of the Year, Best Consumer Internet Bank, a few sports awards from Dartmouth, and inspirational framed prints: the biggest saying “Let Me Help You Find Success.” Beige stock paper nestled underneath a paperweight, and next to it was sage-colored stationery with “ET” in the upper left quadrant.

  Polly slipped into Eleanor’s chair too easily in my opinion. Like she had aspirations of taking over her job or a job of equal or greater importance.

  “You look lovely,” Polly gushed to Gertrude as we settled in. As usual, Gertrude was impeccably dressed: white cotton sundress, with platinum jewelry flowing like a waterfall. By the small talk, I got the feeling they knew one another outside of a professional setting. “How do you two know one another?” I asked.

  On the corner of Eleanor’s desk were foiled mints in a glass bowl. I tried to act nonchalant but nonetheless plunged my hand into the center and pilfered about six. Some girls couldn’t eat when they were nervous; unfortunately, I consumed enough trashy food for a fast food joint. Unwrapping one of the silver foils, I tossed the white candy in my mouth.

  “Gertie and Eleanor rowed against one another in college,” Polly answered. “I rowed in high school. I guess we just have that in common.”

  I found the whole rowing story surprising. Eleanor definitely had more testosterone than the norm, but Gertrude—in spite of her Victorian name—did not strike me as athletic. In truth, her stature was built so rail-thin, she’d snap in two during a rainstorm.

  “Where’d you row?” I munched, unwrapping another mint, shoving it in the other side.

  Gertrude lightly giggled, “I rowed at Yale and Eleanor rowed at Dartmouth. We had quite the rivalry. Neither of us liked to lose.”

  Polly lifted a brow as she pecked on the keyboard with one hand, opening a ledger with the other. “Oh, yeah?” she laughed strangely. “I’ve played cards with both of you, and you seem to have the corner on that market. Last time we played, you flipped over a table when you lost at gin rummy.” I stifled a cough … all three enjoyed a card game … together. “My boyfriend and I are going to play again this weekend,” Polly continued. “Why don’t you join us?”

  I coughed again, and when I didn’t have any water to wash the mint down, I swallowed real hard hoping the spit would do the job.

  Gertrude’s face fell, genuinely disappointed. “I can’t Friday. Pooky and I have something already planned, but the rest of the weekend’s open.”

  I suddenly felt like a third wheel as their two-way conversation left me virtually unnecessary. I ran scenarios, debating what each of these variables could mean. I came here thinking Polly more than likely was X. It made the most sense—she did have a relationship with Elmer—but now it appeared too easy. But, in contrast, why complicate what didn’t need complicated? Could Eleanor be the worst boss in the world, not having a clue what went down under her own nose? Even though all three enjoyed a card game, I still couldn’t catch a feel to the true identity of X. Gertrude, perhaps? She donated money to the trust and recommended that Livingston & Associates be hired. All I needed was a connection to Lola because Gertrude currently looked guiltier than sin.

  Once I pulled out my wallet, Polly broke from the conversation and took the bill I extended. Gertrude offered an authentic smile, but someone needed to remind her that she didn’t work here. She had one of her Jimmy Choo shoes propped on the top of the desk, rearranging the diamond anklet around her long and slender leg.

  “Looks like we might run in the negative this month,” Polly sighed, making a few scratches in the notebook. “That breaks my heart. Your money will be well spent, Darcy.” How could that be? I thought. Herbie gave $10K a month, and FX, Incorporated hadn’t billed for 60 days. In essence, there should be $20K sitting there from Herbie alone. Gertrude, as Herbie said, was probably good for a grand, so we were basically talking plus $20K in total.

  “How much is there?” Gertrude asked, eyes aghast, suddenly upset.

  “Less than fifteen hundred dollars,” Polly whispered.

  They both stole worried glances at one another, eyebrows crumpled up in pain as though the end of the world neared. Trouble was, I didn’t know if any of their concern was heartfelt. The longer I sat there, the more I knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong? Yeah … I just didn’t know how to make it right.

  Before I could weigh the repercussions, I gazed into Gertrude’s big, brown eyes and leaned into her personal space. “So let’s get down to business, Gertrude,” I blurted out. “Did they ever find Howie’s body? And what about the dead guy in your pool? That’s an awful lot of dead boy, girl. What’s up?”

  27. THE FIRING SQUAD

  I HAD A CROOK IN MY neck and was pretty sure vertebrae C4 & C5 had fallen out of alignment. I rolled off the couch, thinking the hard tile might pop them back into place. Instead, I landed on top of Dylan with an “Ugh.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” he chuckled.

  Talk about a meeting of the minds. His practically swished inside of mine.

  Feasting my eyes on my best friend, his amber eyes blinked sleepily and tender; his naked chest cut, rippled, and harder than bedrock. Dylan looked and smelled divine. By the sticky feeling in my t-shirt, I’d shot straight to rapid decomposition.

  When he kneaded his fingertips into my lower back, I blanked out and buried my head in his neck. Welcome to Stressville, people … there was no exit sign.

  “Are you okay?” he murmured groggily.

  Not really, and the more he touched me, the less I could construct a sentence.

  Dylan leaned forward and lightly kissed my hair, still massaging away my restless night. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You crawled in at 4AM, told me you had a bad dream, and wanted again,” he giggled with emphasis, “to snuggle up with me.”

  Funny thing was, I had no recollection whatsoever of that conversation or what I might’ve done to him in the dark. I’d become a dirty girl … a dirty girl with no control whatsoever.

  “Something is screwy with my pineal gland,” I mumbled. “I can’t sleep.”

  “I know something’s screwy with your pineal gland,” he chuckled, “but you can’t keep sneaking into my room. The best I could offer was the floor. It might’ve been worth leaving my bed, Darc. Nice wake up, call. You feel goooood.”

  I had to agree. This certainly qualified as a howdy-and-a-half, but the last thing he needed was for his massive ego to balloon even more. It barely made it through the door now. I leaned forward and headbutted him, immediately wishing I hadn’t … his head was as hard as a freaking coconut.

  A frown ran across his temple, his black eyebrows knitting into one. “You’re mean, sweetheart, and you might want to lay off the late-night doughnuts.”

  Low blow. I wasn’t fat—granted, I binged on the sweets—but the best I could tell I looked at least average … (well, close).

  The conversation went from zero to neutron bomb in seconds flat. Dylan and I rolled and thrashed around on the floor, twisted together like a candy cane. My hands attempted to circle his throat; his doubled around mine as he intermittently attacked my ribs. The entire time I replayed the dream that paraded my night with Cisco.

  I imagined him in the dark, hearing noises, and not knowing their origin. Crippled with fear, he couldn’t seek the comfort of someone’s arms because those sleeping near him weren’t people he could trust. As the night grew, my dreams grew even darker. Cisco happily played at the park, venturing down the slide. Segue to a warehouse, and the two of us frantically ran hand-in-hand for two doors in the distance. Choosing the door on the right, when we stumbled inside, we wound up in the “out of town business” room in Grizzly’s building. No meat cleavers were in sight, but dead bodies hung from the ceiling, with Howie’s head suspended in the air trying to pull one of them down.

  Okay, it was horror movie league, but I sho
uld’ve expected it. When I asked Gertrude for the 411 on Howie’s body, she straightened her back, defensively. As if I’d touched on a subject that extremely embarrassed her, and she didn’t want to acknowledge it in front of Polly. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, I wasn’t in the mood to protect her feelings. As I continued with a pigheaded stare, a crack surfaced in the carefully constructed facade of gracefulness that Gertrude showed the world. She broke … saying the body washed ashore in Daytona Beach, found floating in the breakwaters. You’d think I would’ve been happy with that information, but I pressed on in regards to the man discovered dead in her pool. Gertrude literally stood up, said her quick “Goodbyes,” and told me to mind my blankety-blank business.

  At the door, she pivoted one last time and unloaded an f-bomb.

  Huh, guess I struck a nerve.

  I didn’t understand this relentless need to unravel the mysteries in front of me. Regarding Cisco, perhaps it’s because I knew firsthand that paralyzing and debilitating pain when your nuclear family went away. Most days I successfully buried the grief, but on the days it resurrected itself, I realized the term “emotionally numb” signaled progress. Pain was a funny thing. The physical, you could heal from; the mental, didn’t always cooperate.

  Dylan finally got the upper hand, flipping me over, pinning my arms to my sides. As he slowly bent down to whisper in my ear, I found myself needing air. If I thought the situation with Cisco felt dubious, the ambiguity with Dylan literally had me in a chokehold.

  “I like this position of dominion, sweetheart,” he murmured in a tease. “I’m the boss here, so if you get rebellious again, remember I’ve only been toying with you. I can have you flat on your stomach, begging me for pretty much anything at a moment’s notice.”

  Immediately, I went still—like the atmosphere right before the train-like sounds of a tornado hit. I had two urges—to kiss him or bail like a rat on a sinking ship. If I thought Howie’s head seemed bizarre, this was the craziest, most disturbing thing I’d experienced in a while. In other words, I liked it. And the thought offended me to the bone. Not wanting to be bested, I looked over my shoulder to see what I dealt with—big mistake—his eyes had taken on the hue of his father’s. Black, smoldering, merciless … lurid. Whenever he gave me that look, I forgot how to spell my own name.

  I opened my mouth but not a doggone thing came out. Gah! I wanted to kick my own behind.

  “That’s right,” he laughed darkly. “Chew on that for a while.”

  Chew on it? I’m pretty sure I wanted it to melt in my mouth.

  Lincoln snored on the sofa opposite us … somehow missing the entire PG-13 episode. With a growling snort, he coiled to his side as Dylan rolled to his back and played with a strand of my hair. I’m not sure how long we lay there—Dylan didn’t seem in a hurry to move—but you could always count on my big mouth to sabotage the mood. “So how’s Yankee these days, D? Is that a line you would’ve used on her?”

  I might as well have called the Mother Mary a skanky ’ho. Dylan sucked in a big gasp of air, muttering, “Here we go,” out loud.

  I propped my head on my elbow, facing him with a steely expression. Confession time, my eyes said. I’d tell him what I’d been doing, and by goodness, he’d tell me, once and for all, what lay behind Yankee’s kiss and unnatural obsession. I was hard pressed to think she’d be stupid enough to make a fool of herself. In fact, she appeared to be surprised when he didn’t agree for an encore.

  My intentions were quickly drowned out when my iPhone buzzed.

  Not wanting to wake his grandfather, Dylan quickly bolted up and retrieved it from the ottoman, shrugging at the Orlando prefixed number as he placed it in my palm.

  “Hullo?” I mumbled. I had plans to murder this person. Darcy Walker finally had the nerve to ask Dylan Taylor about the not-so-secret females in his life, and that call just napalmed me.

  “Jester, it’s Hector,” he greeted. Suddenly, I was in the forgiving mood. What could Hector, the notorious diamond stud thief, possibly want from me?

  Placing my hand over the receiver, I mouthed, “Diamond stud thief” to Dylan.

  Dylan studied me closely; the only movement on his face being one raised brow. “So do you have a thing with said diamond stud thief?” he murmured.

  “It’s torrid,” I grinned.

  “How torrid?”

  “Hot, bothered, and nothin’ but skin.”

  There it was. That delicious, untamable look he gave me that proved once and for all I was an idiot. An idiot that shouldn’t hang around a guy that tanked her self-esteem every time she looked at him.

  “Sweetheart, you can’t even begin to fathom hot and bothered.”

  I, honest to God, said, “No shiz.”

  “Yeah, no shiz,” he grinned naughtily. “I’m making breakfast. No tattoos, no belly rings, no nothing, Darcy. I’m serious.”

  Dylan pushed off the floor and pointed a finger in my face. “Yes, Master,” I frowned, sticking out my tongue sarcastically. I watched his, um … shorts, as he cockily strutted away, wondering why no one else felt the room swaying. I shook my head hard, attempting to focus. “Hey, Hector. How are you?”

  “I’m good,” he said, “and first off, thanks for the threads. My little girl loved them.” A couple of days ago, I got a case of the guilts for cutting down on Hector’s fencing profits and had Dylan take me shopping. I bought three outfits that would fit Marjorie and dropped them off at the shop. It obviously didn’t negate the fact I’d bought stolen goods and that Hector happily sold them. Still, I hoped the thought counted for some sort of absolution on Judgment Day.

  “You’re welcome. What’s up?”

  “Elmer Herschel came into the shop yesterday bragging about his high class girlfriend.”

  I cocked my head to the side, speculating where the conversation was headed. Elmer hadn’t made my to-do list for the day. My goal was to poke away at Gertrude Burr. I had a feeling the connection with Howie and that note held the key. First thing I’d planned, however, was to tell Kyd my suspicions and have him handle the situation at the bank. Herbie would be befuddled, but Kyd was as cunning as they came. If anything, he could stop his father’s donations and offer free counseling on alien abduction.

  Still, I couldn’t deny the intrigue. “Was her name Polly?”

  “That gothic chick?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “No, but she came with him. He didn’t provide a name of his girlfriend, but he said she was really smart about managing their money and drove a nice red sports car.”

  My mouth went dry. I choked out, “Did he mention what kind?”

  “A Porsche Turbo.”

  I needed a pacemaker. My heart flip-flopped all over the place. Sitting up, I tucked my knees to my chest, hugging them in place with one hand. Obviously, we could cross Polly off as the girlfriend. Who did that leave—Lola?

  “Lola drives a Turbo, Hector,” I coughed out in explanation. “Do you honestly think she’s dating Elmer?” Maybe X didn’t exist. Maybe Lola had her own little boy and cast herself off as X’s bootlicker.

  Hector laughed, “Lola drives a lot of cars, chicky. That girl’s always running a scam. All I know is Elmer affectionately referred to his woman as Moose. You should’ve seen his tattoo, Jester,” he cackled. “He wanted moose over his heart except he couldn’t take the burn and left it at moo. So now, he has moo right above his nipple! It made me think of a milking cow!”

  Normally, I would’ve found the humor in the situation. What real man wanted to leave ‘moo’ over his nipple? The thought brought a whole new level of disgusting. “Anything else?” I asked.

  “He went on and on about too many responsibilities and how he’d been thrown into a ready-made family. He complained about babysitting but said he did it because he loved her. And that’s not all. He wore nice clothes. As in really nice designer gear.”

  All of the air left my body. “Crap,” was all I could manage.

  “Jes
ter, are you okay?”

  I coughed then breathed in and out three times. “Yeah,” I finally sputtered, “then that means he’s gotten into Cisco’s trust. Even if Polly isn’t the girlfriend, she still could be funding him. Plus, he’s stashing the little boy somewhere.”

  “Exactly, but that doesn’t explain the Medinas.”

  “He must have something on the grandparents to make them want to run.”

  “What better than to threaten to kill that little boy?”

  I needed a paper bag. I needed a paper bag the size of Texas. When I started this gig, it was merely a pipe dream that I could make a difference. I had absolutely no freaking idea I might actually succeed.

  I hung up and lay there for a while, contemplating my next steps. When I got nothing but a headache, I shuffled into the kitchen, hoisting myself up on a barstool. I liked watching Dylan cook. He hummed and nothing ever burned while he’d carry on three conversations at one time. He poured me a glass of orange juice while he placed his BlackBerry in my hand. “Darc, your little sister is looking for you,” he winked. Not true. If she were looking for me, she would’ve dialed my number instead of his. She was going through Dylan-withdrawal.

  Dylan scooped breakfast of eggs and sausage onto a white ceramic plate. “Hey, M. What’s up?” I held the phone under my chin as I downed half my OJ and buttered a piece of french bread.

  “I don’t like my body,” she sighed.

  Dylan rolled his eyes, taking the stool next to me. Evidently, she’d unloaded the same statement on him. “What’s wrong with your body?” I munched. “You’re beautiful.”

  “I want to be like you, Darc.” God love her, she needed a different role model. I stared at my plate and took two forkfuls of each in a clockwise pattern. I needed to arrest control, even if I systematically ate my food. “And why’s that?”