by Erik Carter
“Maybe I don’t want a business partner, then,” Lilly purred. “Just a partner.”
She laid a kiss on me, wet, smooth, and strong. Man alive did this girl know how to kiss.
While my lips wrassled with those of Lilly, I opened one eye and looked across the street. Fannie was shaking her head at us. She looked away. Her foot stomped down, and she crossed her arms tighter. I’d gotten a reaction out of her. That’s always a good thing. Inside, I giggled excitedly.
I pushed Lilly back gently. “Look, kid,” I said. “I like you. I like you a lot. But we’re too different. And I’m too old.”
She frowned at me. “Well … Okay, then. Thank you again, Barnaby. Don’t forget about me.”
“Of course not.”
“I certainly won’t forget you,” she said. She touched my hand and walked away.
I turned and looked across the street at Fannie. She scowled at me. I strutted across the road, did a little jig halfway across, and hopped up the steps.
“Hey, hey!” I said as I bounced up beside her.
“‘Oh, thank you for saving my life, Barnaby!’” she mocked. “‘I love you, Barnaby!’”
“Jealous?”
“I’m joking.”
“Are you? You looked pretty upset when she kissed me.”
She rolled her eyes at me.
“Can I come inside?” I said.
“For what?”
“For you.”
She looked me over for a moment. And finally, for the first time in this whole ordeal, I got a real Fannie smile. This smile … this is a smile to write home about. Folks often say a young gal’s smile is radiant for seemingly no other reason than the fact that it’s youthful. Those folks are fools. This was a radiant smile. A smile that exuded. A smile that flashed. Delicate lines over the corners of her mouth, eyes pinched shut.
The smile morphed into her more standard mischievous grin. She locked eyes with me in a way that … well, I don’t even feel proper saying. Suffice it to say I was enamored. She turned and walked inside. Yes. I followed her.
It was a great evening at Madame Fannie’s Funhouse. The air was ripe with tobacco and beer and the smell of folks. Piano music tickled the ears while a group of long-legged, powdery vixens scampered about the stage. Men were cheering. The gals were laughing. There were no knife fights or contentious poker games. Everyone was all smiles. My heart soared.
I followed Fannie up the stairs to the second floor. She was wearing high, oh so high heels. Her calves flexed with each step. She turned back at one point and smiled at me again. I must have looked pretty goofy to her because I know I was wearing a big boyish grin myself. I went to pinch her butt. She smacked my hand away.
A couple days prior, Lilly had asked me what it all meant. Even though the case was wrapped, it was possible that I would never know exactly what had happened during that brief period of my life when I ran myself in circles trying to track down a Clements kettle. If there’s any order in the universe, you had to wonder why the hell any of it had happened. But if you start asking yourself questions like that, you’ll end up going nuts.
The truth is there are no answers. After all, why do folks do any of the crazy things they do? I may not have known exactly why it was I kept going, why I kept doing what I did. But right then, walking up the stairs with Fannie, I knew that I had a place and a purpose.
We made it to the second floor, and Fannie strode over to room six with me close in tow. She planted her back against the doorframe, and her chest heaved forward. Good freaking gracious. She grabbed me by my duster and yanked me in close.
“Come here, cowboy,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I kissed her. I kissed her forever, and all those fantastic Fannie memories and that wonderful Fannie taste came rushing back to me. Her body was warm, and the lace and silk of that crazy getup of hers was no longer something I had to imagine. It was smooth and rough and textured and very much real. Without breaking our kiss, Fannie kicked the door shut. We were alone.
Yes, that night I had a place and a purpose. If only for a moment.
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Barnaby Wilcox Book 2
Continue the Barnaby Wilcox adventure with Book 2, The Preston Emerald.
A dinner party. A stolen emerald. And murdered dinner guests.
Barnaby Wilcox is out of his element. He accepts an invitation to an evening at a mansion of all places. Still, it’s a free meal and a chance to forget his problems for one night. Could be fun.
But when a priceless gem disappears and his fellow guests start dying off, Barnaby knows this isn't going to be the relaxing trip he'd envisioned. As the body count grows and a violent storm traps everyone in the mansion, Barnaby must maintain his own sanity to pacify a group of people who are rapidly succumbing to paranoia and fear—if he, or any of the other guests, is going to make it through the night alive.
The Dale Conley Series
If you enjoyed spending time with Barnaby Wilcox, get to know Dale Conley. Filled with classic Carter action and humor, this series follows a federal agent in the 1970s as he investigates the bizarre cases that leave other agencies scratching their heads.
The Dale Conley Action Thriller Series:
If you like fast-paced action, sinister conspiracies, and loads of humor, then you’ll love this page-turning series, perfect for readers of Lee Child and Dan Brown and for fans of Indiana Jones and James Bond movies.
Book 1: Stone Groove
Book 2: Dream On
Book 3: The Lowdown (March 2018)
Also by Erik Carter
The Dale Conley Action Thrillers Series
Stone Groove
Dream On
The Lowdown (March 2018)
The Barnaby Wilcox Wild West Mystery Series
The Clements Kettle
The Preston Emerald
About the Author
Erik Carter writes thrillers and mysteries. A trained public historian and design professional, his adventures have led him across America, where he has done everything from hosting a television show to shooting documentaries in the desert to teaching college. These experiences gave the background he needs for his greatest adventure—writing fiction.
www.ErikCarterBooks.com
Acknowledgments
For their involvement with The Clements Kettle, I would like to give a sincere thank you to:
My beta readers, for giving me such fantastic feedback: Mom, Dad, Aunt Amy, Beth, Nick, and JMM.
April Snellings, of course, again, for all sorts of help and opinions.
JMM, for various assistance.
My friends and family, for the support.