Otterly Scorched

by Tara Sivec

  “Suckrod, dickneck, fuckstick, jackhole!” Davidson shouts, jerking upright in the tub at the sound of my scream—and the feel of the towel smacking into him and covering his waist, thank God.

  “I don’t need any more words for douchebag, you idiot. That was an hour ago! Focus!” I complain as he rubs the sleep from his eyes then secures the towel around his waist before he stands up in the tub. “What the hell were you doing?”

  “I told you I was gonna take a bath really quick before I did that favor you wanted. I smoked a joint and wanted to see what it was like when the water drained while I was still in here. Must have fallen asleep. Wild, man.” Davidson chuckles, holding onto the towel at his waist as he steps out of the tub. “You’re awful cranky for someone who wants a favor.”

  Barely restraining myself from choking him, since I can’t even remember the last time I was able to relax in the middle of the damn day, I turn and start walking out of the bathroom.

  “Put on some fucking clothes and stay the hell out of the garage!” I shout over my shoulder as I race back down the hallway and stairs to hide the stupid boxes myself before Dax gets here.

  I’m in the attached garage office and heading toward Shirley and Mildred’s creepy beach ball game still happening on top of my desk, when a fist pounds against the outside office door.

  Realizing I don’t have time to hide the box on my desk, the one on my dad’s desk, and the fifteen other boxes of animal corpses he’s left lying all over the stupid office, I let out a sigh of defeat and walk over to open the door.

  Even though I just saw him a few hours ago, it’s still a shock to see Dax Trevino standing here in front of me, looking the way he does. So… dirty. But not in a gross, hasn’t-showered-in-a-week way. In a way that is entirely too unprofessional for me to even be thinking about right now.

  “Hey.”

  That’s all Dax says in greeting as I hold the door open wider for him to come in. His hands are in the front pockets of his jeans, and his head is down as he walks past me and into the office.

  After the text exchange we had earlier, I wondered if maybe the angry, serious, quiet Dax at The Backyard was just on account of the missing otters, even though Nanci told me that’s what he’s always like now.

  Clearly not. I knew he was on drugs.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d show up. I thought you’d assume I’d give you the wrong address or something and worry that you’d pull into the driveway of a lunatic who might open fire on your car,” I ramble with a nervous laugh as I shut the door and turn to face him.

  Jesus, since when am I nervous around Dax Trevino?

  He’s standing in the middle of the room, hands still in his pockets, a lock of his dark hair falling down into his eyes, staring at me seriously again.

  “I thought about it.” He shrugs. “Figured I’d take my chances.”

  Dammit. I never thought there would come a time I’d wish for the old Dax, yet here we are. I can’t handle this shit.

  “I only gave you the right address for the pain and suffering bonus,” I remind him sarcastically.

  I watch the corner of his mouth twitch.

  “It’s good to know you care,” he replies after a few seconds, a little more life coming out of his voice than when he first walked in.

  Guys don’t usually know how to handle my attitude. They either act like a kicked puppy or they try to change me. For the most part these days, aside from with my family, I keep it toned down. I don’t exactly want to scare every guy away. But man does Dax bring it out of me. And he doesn’t run away or tell me to be a “lady.” He just gives it right back. I like that about him. I’ve always liked that about him, but I will never admit that to anyone, especially him.

  “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I need you to be consistent if I’m going to find Lincoln and Chris,” I tell him. “You can’t just act all weird and gruff one minute, then be all cute and charming the next. That’s not gonna work for me.”

  I realize my mistake as soon as the words leave my mouth. He might be a different version of the Dax I used to know, but that text exchange we had proves he’s not completely dead inside, regardless of how dead he’s currently acting.

  “I’m sorry. Did you say cute and charming? I just want to make sure I get it right for next year’s Christmas letter to the family.”

  Aaand there he is. I know I’m probably going to regret this one day.

  The humor in Dax’s voice disappears for a second when he gets serious with me again. “I’m sorry if I’m all over the place. I’m still… working through some shit,” he mutters, removing a hand from his pocket to swipe his hair back out of his eyes. “I promise I will not let my personal shit interfere with finding my otters. And in the interest of full disclosure, I should probably tell you my dad is the one who bought The Backyard and threw all that money into it. But I’d appreciate it if you kept that to yourself for now. The employees don’t know. No one knows except for Nanci. And now you,” he finishes.

  I let out a low whistle when he finishes talking. “Your dad?” I ask him in shock.

  “Yep.” He nods.

  “Holy shit. Did hell freeze over and no one told me?”

  The corner of his mouth tips up in a barely there smile, and I quickly realize I made yet another mistake with this man. The last time I saw him, I was busting my ass trying to pretend I didn’t remember one minute of our night together at McCallahan’s or anything that was said between us. My shock that his father is the anonymous donor just blew that right out of the water.

  “No one touched Bart’s top hat, did they? It needs another hour to dry, and I ran out of glue,” my dad announces as he walks down the steps from off the kitchen, and hustles right by Dax and over to his desk, where he removes a little bottle of glue from a brown paper sack in his hands.

  I don’t know why I was so worried about hiding the boxes of horror before Dax got here. The pure confusion on his face as he looks around the office and suddenly realizes he’s been surrounded by animal corpses this entire time, frozen in joyous poses, is worth all my previous stress.

  “You like my party boxes? I sell them for one-fifty a pop,” my dad tells him as he glances up from his desk to find Dax still looking around the room with his mouth wide-open. “You look like a bargaining man, but I won’t go any lower than one-twenty-five.”

  “Dad, no one wants to buy your party boxes.” I sigh as my father walks over to stand next to Dax, who moved to get a closer look down into a box on the floor next to one of the file cabinets.

  A box filled with two taxidermy white mice sitting at a tiny wooden table with a lace doily covering it and has a miniature candelabra and Ouija board on top of it.

  “That’s Agnes Micerton and her friend Merlin Squeaks, trying to summon Merlin’s grandmother, God rest her tiny soul. You look more like a reptile man,” my dad states, turning his head to look Dax up and down. “I can show you something in the frog orchestra variety down in the basement if that piques your interest.”

  Realizing I need to intervene, since Dax still hasn’t figured out how to form words again yet, I walk over to the two men, grabbing Dax by the arm and pulling him away from the dead mouse séance. Pointing him in the direction of the old leather couch and two waiting room chairs surrounding the coffee table in the far corner, I silently invite him to take a seat, far away from the pet cemetery boxes, before turning away from him to deal with my father.

  “Dad, I need you to take whatever box of horrors you’re currently working on and leave the office. I have a client.”

  “Call them horror boxes one more time, and you won’t get the goldfish Mardi Gras parade I’ve been working on for your birthday,” he warns me with a wag of his finger.

  “Oh darn,” I reply with an expressionless face.

  “I even got tiny little beads, and tiny little plastic Hurricane glasses for them to drink out of in the streets, while they do unmentionable things for the beads. Have so
me respect.”

  I open my mouth to tell him to get lost again, when his eyes suddenly narrow and he takes a step closer to me.

  “There’s something different about you,” he ponders, studying my face.

  “Yeah, my hair.” I sigh in exasperation. “Can you find somewhere else—”

  “No. It’s not your hair,” my dad interrupts, still looking at me curiously.

  “It really is my hair. It’s blonde now. Nice to see you’re paying attention.”

  “Nope, definitely not the hair. It’s your face. There’s something different about your face.”

  My scalp gets all tingly and itchy under his perusal, and I want to punch myself in the face for acting like such a girl today.

  The cream, cable knit, oversized sweater I paired with light-brown suede ankle boots and skinny jeans looked cute enough when I left the house this morning. The sweater now has a giant coffee stain right over my stomach after Davidson smacked my arm holding the cup while I was driving, and the jeans now have a huge ketchup stain on the thigh from when I was trying to eat my lunch in the car while driving between appointments. I didn’t have time to change my outfit, but I could at least make my face somewhat presentable.

  God. Dammit. He doesn’t notice my hair for forever, but he notices I put on some makeup in the car on the drive over here for this stupid meeting with Dax. Like a girl!

  “Okay, nice chatting with you, Dad. Like I said, I have a client,” I remind him, nodding back over my shoulder in the direction of the sitting area, hoping to pull his attention away from my stupid, girly, makeup-covered face.

  “Hello,” I hear Dax’s deep voice greet my dad from entirely too close behind me, when he’s supposed to be on the other side of the room, relaxing on the damn couch.

  “He’s a client? I thought he was a new boyfriend, what with your face and all.”

  I let out a low groan when I hear Dax chuckle softly behind me.

  “He’s definitely a client, not a boyfriend,” I speak through clenched teeth.

  “Good,” Dad says before addressing Dax over my shoulder. “She tends to neglect those.”

  “It’s time for you to go now,” I warn him again.

  “I’m just saying; it’s good for him he’s just a client. At the very least, you’ll remember his name. Is this the guy with the bear issue? He looks like a guy who could wrestle a few bears.”

  “Dax, this is my father, Charlie Blake. Dad, this is Dax Trevino,” I regrettably introduce him to my father, giving Dax a quick look of apology over my shoulder before looking back at my dad and lowering my voice to a whisper. “From the 9-1-1 phone call this morning.”

  “Awww, fuck,” I hear Dax mutter when my dad’s face breaks out into a huge smile.

  “The girly man who wouldn’t stop crying? No shit? You aren’t gonna start crying again, are you?”

  Dax clears his throat behind me, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him move around to stand next to me, holding his hand out for my father to shake.

  “It’s nice to meet you, sir, and no. No, I will not start crying again. I think I’ve managed to get ahold of myself now,” Dax reassures him as my dad drops his hand.

  “Just making sure. Harley has a tendency to make men cry.”

  Dax chuckles, and I scoff in protest.

  “Do you have any idea how many men I’ve had to console over the years?” my dad argues.

  “Give me a break. The answer is zero. Also, this is completely unprofessional and not something that should be discussed in front of a client,” I mutter, hoping he’ll finally shut up and go away.

  “No, please, continue,” Dax encourages my father with a smile. “Pretend like I’m not even here.”

  It only took me fifteen minutes to regret wanting the old Dax back. That’s got to be a record.

  “Todd Shaffer,” my dad states, holding one finger up in the air as he nods at Dax. “He had to spend the night on my damn couch after she broke up with him, because he was crying so hard. Couldn’t trust the kid to drive himself home.”

  “First of all, this happened like fifteen years ago. And in my defense, his dog was hit by a car that day.”

  “Do you need me to explain what the word defense means?” Dax asks, looking down at me with one eyebrow raised, and surprise, surprise, the stupid smirking dimple in his cheek.

  “I didn’t know his dog died!” I argue, throwing my hands up in the air in exasperation that this conversation is even happening right now.

  The only reason I’m allowing it is because I have a 9-1-1 recording that will bring me great joy for years to come. I might even make it my ringtone. Who’s to know? The possibilities are endless. Dax has earned the right to witness a miniscule amount of my own humiliation after the day he’s had and all that personal shit he’s dealing with. But a miniscule amount is all he’s going to get.

  “He made me talk first as soon as he walked in the door,” I continue, wrapping this dumb story up fast so we can get back to business. “It’s his own fault. He should have known better. Good things never come out of my mouth, and he really should have led with the whole dead dog thing.”

  “That makes his tears so much less painful.” Dax nods.

  “Bite me. I’m just saying, not all of his misery was because of me. Dad, it’s always a pleasure taking a trip down memory lane with you, but Dax and I really need to get to work.”

  My dad finally picks up the box from his desk as he makes his way to the steps to the kitchen. “Right, right. Girly man needs to find his babies. Good luck with that. Let me know if you need my help,” he tells me before nodding in Dax’s direction as he pauses at the base of the steps, hefting the box of squirrels up higher in his arms. “It was nice meeting you. Don’t let her make you cry. I gotta be honest; it doesn’t sound good on you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Blake,” Dax replies, holding his friendly smile like a trooper until my dad finally heads up the steps and disappears into the kitchen, hopefully never to be seen or heard from again.

  “Can we finally get to work now?” I ask, walking over to my desk and grabbing a notebook and pen.

  “You sure you don’t want to talk more about these boyfriends you neglect?” Dax asks.

  “You sure you don’t want to reenact that 9-1-1 call for me? I’ve got a box of Kleenex in my desk drawer you can use,” I retort.

  I hear him mutter a few curses under his breath, and I smile to myself as I turn back to him with the pen and notebook in my hand, knowing I’ve won this round.

  “Since we know it was an inside job, give me a list of all the employees who have keys to the otter cages. Wait, it just occurred to me. Don’t they need to be in water at all times?” I scribble on top of a clean page in the notebook to get the pen to start working, ignoring the sigh that comes out of Dax’s mouth.

  “No, they don’t have to be in water at all times. These are North American river otters, not sea otters. Sea otters will only really come up on land to nurse, groom, or rest. They spend most, if not all, of their lives in the water. My river otters are equally at home in water or on land. And I could give you the employee list, but it would be a waste of time. None of them took Chris or Lincoln,” Dax informs me.

  Looking up from my notebook, I cock my head at him and ask him the questions I already got answers to from Nanci. “Were the locks on the cages tampered with?”

  Dax shakes his head.

  “Were they open when you got there this morning?”

  He shakes his head again, pursing his lips in annoyance.

  “Are the otters able to climb up and out of the cages on their own?”

  He blows a long, frustrated breath out before shaking his head one last time. “No. They’re connected to the floor and go all the way up to the ceiling, closing them in.”

  “And was there an hour of security camera footage from that night that has mysteriously disappeared from the master drive? You know, where one minute you have all eight otters in the cage, and th
en suddenly the recording skips and there are only six otters in the cage, with no footage in between?”

  Dax is completely silent. He just continues staring at me with a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  “It was an inside job,” I say again, softer this time. “It might not have been done on purpose. Maybe it was just an accident and someone forgot to lock the cage, but since no one has come forward to admit it, I have to treat everyone like suspects for the time being.”

  He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, clutching it back out of his way on top of his head.

  “I know this sucks. The people I’ve met so far who work at The Backyard are good and kind, and Nanci told me the rest are all the same. But even good people sometimes do shitty things. Give me the names, and I’ll get started on the employee interviews first thing tomorrow.”

  Dax immediately drops his hand from his head, narrowing his eyes at me and looking a little more like the angry Dax back at the animal sanctuary.

  “Tomorrow? You’ve got to be fucking with me! They’ve already been missing too long as it is,” he complains.

  Now that I know Nanci was right and his bark really is worse than his bite, I stand my ground. “Yes. Tomorrow. This isn’t my first case. Stop being a pain in my ass, and let me do my job and find your otters.”

  My comment makes him lose a little bit of his anger. His shoulders visibly relax, and he finally unclenches his hands from the fists he was holding down at his sides.

  “I already worked it out with Nanci, and you have thirty volunteers who are going to continue searching the property in shifts through the night,” I tell him. “And I know this is a small town, but it’s a pretty heavily populated area once you leave The Backyard’s land. If Chris and Lincoln did get loose and somehow made it over the property line, someone in town is bound to notice them and call the authorities. You can give me the names I need and a few other pieces of information, and then you can go home, get some rest, and let me do what I can from here for now. I’ve already put out calls to my contacts, just in case anyone tries to illegally sell an otter or two. I’ll know about it before that person even hangs up the phone. If I haven’t heard anything, and if they haven’t been found by morning, I will start the interviews then.”