The Devil Has Tattoos

by Destiny Ford

  I laughed. “Technology changes fast.”

  She gave me an overwhelmed look. “No kidding!”

  “Spence said you wanted to talk to me about potatoes?”

  She nodded. “I sure do!” She waved her hand indicating that I should follow her into the kitchen. She walked over to the fridge and pulled out a creamy potato casserole in one of those disposable aluminum containers with a plastic cover. “This potato casserole was put on my front porch last night!”

  I raised a brow. “Someone just left it there?”

  She nodded. “I heard the doorbell ring and when I answered it, this package of goodness was sittin’ there! Took me a minute to be able to bend down and pick it up—my old bones don’t work like they used to, but I managed, and brought it inside.”

  “Did they leave a note?”

  “Nope. It was an anonymous dinner!”

  That seemed odd. Maybe they’d gotten the wrong house. “So someone is going around leaving potato casseroles on people’s doorsteps?”

  She nodded, smiling at her good fortune. “Mine at least!”

  “How many of these porch casseroles have appeared on your doorstep?” I asked.

  “This is the first, but I hope it’s not the last!”

  In a big city, random food dropped off on a doorstep without any explanation would immediately make me worried that someone was trying to poison the resident. Branson Falls was a whole different universe though and while arbitrary potatoes and cream could be seen as an act of aggression in other places, here it wasn’t the least bit offensive.

  “Play Me” suddenly started its seductive melody on my phone and I wanted to close my eyes and think of all the playing Hawke could do. But I was in the middle of interviewing an anonymous casserole recipient, and couldn’t deal with that conversation right now. I hit silence on my phone and continued questioning Betty.

  I already had a name for the food bandit: the Casserole Caper.

  “Did you see anyone run away from the house?” I asked her.

  “Nope. It takes me a while to get around though, so I wasn’t as quick about opening the door as I used to be.”

  “Did you try the casserole?” I couldn’t imagine any instance in which I’d try a homemade casserole that someone had abandoned on my porch with no identifying information. Abandoned donuts, however, were an entirely different story. I’d eat every last crumb.

  “Yes, and that’s actually why I called you,” she said. “I don’t think they used nearly enough cheese and butter.”

  I blinked. “Cheese and butter,” I said slowly, wondering if I’d heard her right.

  “Yes,” she said, completely serious. “I mean, that’s practically a crime in and of itself. I tried telling the police, but they said there was nothing they could do about abandoned porch potato casseroles. But I really think my story needs to be heard and hopefully whoever is leaving the dishes will read it and add some ingredients to make it more tasty next time.”

  I closed my eyes for a minute, trying to come up with a response. “So you’re appreciative of the casserole, but you’d like it to be better built?”

  Her smile widened. “Exactly! I knew you’d understand, Kate! Thank you!” She got two plates and put them on the table. “Would you like to try some?” she asked.

  Casseroles weren’t my favorite meal in general, and I definitely wasn’t interested in one that had been deserted. “Thanks so much for the offer, Betty, but I have to get back to the office. I hope you have a good dinner.”

  “Oh, I will! This casserole is so big it will feed me for a week! I’ll add my own butter and cheese.”

  I had no doubt she would. I waved as I left the house and walked back to my car. Once inside, I dialed my messages. The voice on the other end made my knees weak, and the innuendo in it simultaneously excited and terrified me. “If I don’t hear from you soon, Kitty Kate, I’m going to assume it’s because you’re tied up. And if you’re tied up by someone other than me, I’m going to assume that means you need rescue, and show up to take care of the situation. So call me, or you will see me.”

  I took a deep breath and listened to it again before hitting play on message number two. My heart was already racing at Hawke’s words, and I knew Drake’s message wouldn’t decrease my BPM. His voice was deep and just as seductive over the phone as it was in person. “It’s me, Katie. Again. We need to talk. And we are going to talk. Don’t think that not answering my calls or texts will get you out of this conversation—or what will follow the conversation.” I frowned. Was that a threat? Because it sounded a little like a really appealing threat.

  I bit my lip, then decided if I didn’t find something else to bite into, I’d be calling Drake or Hawke back and that would either end with an orgasm or disaster…or both. It was past six o’clock, and it had been a long day. I was hungry, horny, and ready to go home. Cheesy breadsticks with extra cheese and an Oreo shake wouldn’t be as good as tasting Hawke or Drake, but it might come close.

  I stopped and picked up Gandalf on the way home. I kept his little cape on because it was chilly outside, and he really seemed to like it.

  I pulled into the driveway of my cute house with cream colored siding and royal blue window trim. The shrubs and trees in the yard were starting to change into brilliant reds and yellows. They were beautiful, but I wasn’t looking forward to cleaning up the leaves. The house had a matching detached garage that I’d started using religiously after my car had been egged.

  I unlatched Gandalf from his car seat and he trotted through the back door behind me, into the sunny yellow kitchen. The floor was ceramic, and the countertops were made of square white tiles. As far as décor was concerned, it wasn’t my taste, but the house was a well-priced rental and it worked for what I needed. We went through the kitchen and into the living room where I dumped my food on the black coffee table and clicked on the TV.

  Gandalf sat on the floor next to me, never more obedient than when food was present. I shared some cheese from my breadsticks with him, and was halfway through my shake when my phone rang. I muted the TV, looked at the caller ID and answered, “Hi, Bobby. What’s up?”

  “Hey, Kate. The Pope family finished going through their house and I wanted to tell you what they’re missing from the robbery.”

  I grabbed my pen and notebook. “Go for it.”

  “Well,” he said, pausing, “it’s a little strange. It was a couple of odd things.”

  I raised my brows, waiting for him to go on.

  “They’re missin’ a book, a remote control, and some VHS tapes.”

  I gave my phone an incredulous look. “A book, remote control, and VHS tapes? It seems like a lot of work to break into a house for that. What book was it?”

  “Some romance about werewolves or somethin’ weird.” I could practically hear Bobby rolling his eyes over the phone.

  “Werewolves are kind of hot, Bobby.”

  He grunted like he either didn’t have a response, or felt my statement didn’t deserve one.

  “I didn’t know anyone even still had VHS tapes or a VHS player to watch them,” I said, thinking out loud. “Were they special editions or something?”

  “They were those animated ones that are popular with kids.”

  Interesting. I was fairly certain every household in the state had owned those VHS tapes, and probably still did. None of the stolen items were remarkable in any way. “Do they have any idea why someone would take those things? Was it an antique remote control, or a rare book?”

  “Not that we know of,” Bobby said. “The Popes are as baffled as we are.”

  “Huh. Okay,” I said. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “No problem,” Bobby answered, and hung up.

  Robberies usually had a pattern, and a motive. This one made no sense on any level. The perpetrators had stolen a twenty dollar book, a ten dollar remote control, and VHS tapes that I didn’t think were worth anything at all, and left a hundred bucks in cash on the c
ounter. I wondered if the Popes had missed something when they went through their house. If so, I was sure Bobby would let me know—provided he liked me that particular day.

  I unmuted the TV and settled into the couch with a cuddly Gandalf on my lap to relax for the rest of the night.

  Chapter Four

  “This is a disgrace! The moral fiber of the community is at stake!” Ned Lemon yelled. The handful of supporters around him cheered, giving him more courage to keep going. I winced, wishing he’d stop.

  I’d been called to a protest this morning. At first I thought it was another group having a tattoo tantrum, but this was something different entirely. A group of about ten men were gathered around a statue in front of Branson Falls City Hall, attempting to make a statement about a recent Utah state law repeal. In my opinion—and the opinion of a majority of the state legislature—the law was outdated, ridiculous, unenforceable, and should have never become a law in the first place. Ned and his cronies disagreed, which meant that instead of my morning starting off with a quiet cup of coffee, Gandalf cuddles, and meditation, it had started off with coffee to go, a quick doggy drop-off at my mom and dad’s, and a lot of yelling in the park in front of City Hall. I was trying to be objective, but the intrusion on my coffee time alone made me slightly stabby.

  Ned had been talking for about five minutes, and judging by the way he hiked his pants up, and waved his arms, he wasn’t stopping any time soon—and the crowd of spectators was growing. “I don’t know how many of you know all the details ‘bout this, but the legislature voted to make sex outside of marriage legal! And people can’t be persecuted for sodomy or adultery anymore!”

  I wanted to correct him and tell him the word was “prosecuted,” because people were absolutely still being persecuted for sodomy in Utah.

  A grumble of outrage went through the crowd at Ned’s sodomy statement. Because to Ned and his religious cronies, fornication was bad, but sodomy was pure evil. It took a lot of restraint to refrain from rolling my eyes. Ned continued, “This is a blight on our state and everythin’ the people who live here represent! We won’t stand for it, and won’t stand for leaders who support this kind of immorality!”

  Sometimes I wondered why I stayed living in Branson Falls, then I reminded myself that if there was no one in town pushing a different perspective than people were used to, then everyone would keep seeing only one side. Still, I squeezed my eyes shut in an effort to head off my deep desire to scream in frustration at Ned’s limited viewpoint. The scream was at the top of my throat when I heard Ned say, “Just you wait! Dylan Drake will be here soon to explain himself!”

  My eyes popped right open and almost fell out on the ground.

  Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! I was actively avoiding Drake and his biceps! I didn’t know he was even in town or I would have asked another reporter to cover this stupid story.

  Drake wasn’t simply one of the men my ovaries were lusting over, he was also a lawyer turned Utah State House Representative, which meant I had to see him on a professional basis frequently—though I’d deftly avoided him for weeks. Drake was going to show up any minute now with his dark hair, sexy smile, and perfect ass, and I really didn’t trust myself to be around for that. Sometimes my work life and personal life had competing agendas. My personal agenda in regard to Dylan Drake was currently “hide and evade.”

  I looked around the park in front of City Hall and wondered if there was a suitable climbing tree. A good, sturdy oak with leaves that hadn’t fallen yet would do nicely to conceal me. That way I could still cover the story without having to interact with Drake—an interaction that had a high probability of ending with gossip and scandal, and I’d had more than enough of those two things since moving back to Branson Falls.

  I was still searching for my oak when I felt a hand on the small of my back. I knew that hand, and a shiver—part anticipation, part irrational fear—ran from my toes to my highlights. “Hi, Katie.”

  I closed my eyes and tried not to let his deep voice ensorcell me.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked.

  “A tree,” I answered honestly.

  I wasn’t facing him, but could hear the knowing smile in his voice. “That’s an excellent idea. Because then you’ll be stuck up there and we can have a very long, and overdue, conversation.”

  I narrowed my eyes, realizing the flaw in my plan, and grateful that I hadn’t started my ascent. I turned around to look at him and immediately decided that was a really bad idea. Drake was dressed in a deep blue suit that was tailored to fit every inch of his impressive form in a very distracting way. His dark hair was perfectly styled, accenting a chiseled jaw, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with interest. His arms looked like they might break through his coat with muscles that had started their journey as a kid hauling hay bales on a farm, and continued as a high school football team hero. Now, he maintained them by lifting weights in a warehouse and throwing around stupidly large tractor tires for funsies. I would have sacrificed a lot of things to see him naked. The problem was he’d happily oblige and then we’d both end up hurt and angry after he felt obligated to propose and repent for his sexy sins when all I’d wanted was to see his twig, berries, and the sculpture they were attached to—not be married to them for time and all eternity.

  His eyes met mine and my breath went AWOL. We were stuck in that no-breath-eye-hypnosis for a solid ten years—or at least that’s what it felt like, until I heard someone shout, “There he is!”

  Drake made a noise that sounded a lot like a snarl. “Saved by the town mob,” he grumbled, moving away from me with regret. “Don’t think we’re done here.” He turned, and took several long strides toward Ned and the rest of the group.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as Ned launched into his grievances and Drake listened intently. When Ned was done, Drake lifted an arm in the air, trying to quiet everyone down enough for him to speak.

  “I did vote to repeal the fornication law,” Drake said, raising his hands again to quiet people down when more murmurs erupted at his admission. “It was a misdemeanor that was put on the books decades ago. It was a piece of pointless statement legislation that hadn’t actually been prosecuted since it was enacted. The law was absolutely unenforceable and made Utah look foolish. Not only that, but I strongly disagree with big government. This was yet another law allowing the government to tell people how to live their lives. I can’t support that, and don’t think most of my constituents support it either.”

  He was right about that. If there was one thing conservative-leaning Branson Falls loathed, it was an overreaching government. Still, Ned did not seem convinced.

  “It was put on the books for a reason!” Ned raged.

  Drake raised an eyebrow. “Do you want the government in your bedroom judging your sexual preferences?”

  Ned’s face went bright red and he distinctly resembled a beet. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with what I do in the bedroom, and ain’t none of your business either!”

  “Exactly my point,” Drake said without a hint of the smugness I felt he was entitled. “It’s not anyone’s business, and it can’t be enforced, so it shouldn’t be on the books, which is why I voted to remove it.”

  One of Ned’s cohorts yelled out, “But it’s wrong!”

  “In your opinion,” Drake answered patiently.

  “In God’s opinion!” Ned boomed, attempting to make his voice deeper so it would sound like he was receiving direct revelation from the trinity.

  Drake took a deep breath. “There are laws on the books about certain sex acts too. Sex acts that I’m certain every one of you has participated in, and I guarantee you wouldn’t want to be thrown in jail for. Do you want those prosecuted as well?” It was quiet enough to hear the men squirm. Drake raised a brow and continued, “It’s a dangerous thing to use your own beliefs as a barometer for others.”

  Ned was undeterred. “Laws set a moral standard for the community! It’s important!”

  I�
�d heard that argument used by some of the Utah lawmakers who opposed the repeal. Apparently, Ned had seen the same news articles I had.

  “Laws and morals are two completely different things,” Drake said. “One is enforceable in court. One is not.”

  I could tell this was going to go on for quite a while, and the argument would continue going in circles. I’d gotten the gist of the debate, so I slowly started backing away, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  “Katie,” Drake said, turning his attention to me and ignoring all the men around him. “Don’t you dare leave.”

  I gave him a solid glare. “I’m sorry, Representative Drake. Your role does not extend to controlling the press.”

  “I’m not trying to control you. And I’m not speaking as your politician.”

  “But you are my politician.” And something more, but I wasn’t sure what.

  “Katie,” he said, his voice an interesting combination of growl and plea.

  My phone started singing “Forever in Blue Jeans,” Spence’s ringtone, and I saw it as a definitive sign from the universe and every possible higher power that I should get the hell out of there. “Gotta go, Drake,” I said, waving my phone at him. “Work.”

  I hadn’t run that fast since I’d been hiking one afternoon and something much larger than a dog had started chasing me through the bushes. I fully expected Drake to do the same, but Ned and his cronies were persistent, and they weren’t letting him out of their circle until they’d beat the issue of his vote to death.

  I answered the phone. “Another robbery was reported, and there was an assault involved,” Spence said.

  “Oh no,” I said, getting in my car. “Where was it?”

  “Betty Turner’s house.”

  I froze, stunned. She got the random porch casserole and then her house was burglarized? It seemed like too much of a coincidence. “Betty Turner? Were the casserole capers trying to steal their casserole back?”