“I’m not sure you’ll get a good return on your investment. I was just thinking about my Grammy and my old house.”
“The one on Magnolia with the green shutters, right?”
I give him a sideways glance. “How did you know that?”
“I had a crush, remember? I made it my business to know.”
“You better watch it, Mr. Gainey, or I’m gonna start thinking you’re a stalker,” I say with a teasing grin.
John looks a little flustered.
I give him a playful jab on the arm. “I’m teasing, silly.”
We discuss my new private eye job and Parella and all the excitement I’ve had in the last few weeks. Judging by the hard line John’s jaw locks into every time I mention Jack, me thinks he’s a tad jealous. Cute.
A woman in a flowing, red silk dress crosses the room and and all eyes are on her. She has a thin frame and long, black hair, olive skin, and a gigantic set of hooters. I turn my attention towards John who’s gazing at me all puppy dog-like, paying no mind to the Greek goddess.
“What’s with men and boobs?” I blurt.
He looks confused. “Pardon?”
I motion to Aphrodite. “I mean look at her, she’s obviously gorgeous, but I wonder if she’d be getting so much attention is she was, let’s say…a 32AA?”
John blinks twice.
“I mean really. It seems like men have this unrelenting fascination with the mammary glands that knows no bounds and is totally not based in anything rational.”
“I’ve always been a leg man myself.”
“Well, then you’re SOL here mister, cause I’m knock kneed,” I say as I take the last swig of my potent, amber-colored drink.
I let out a hiccup and John blesses me thinking it’s a sneeze. The lights flash, cuing that intermission has ended, and we make our way back inside. The evening becomes magical again as the curtain rises.
Julia Roberts has got nothing on me….I feel like a bonafide fairy princess.
87
I found myself caught up in the moment after the show and agreed to be flown to Savannah next week for a big soirée at the Gainey plantation. Me thinks I’ll have to borrow another dress.
88
It’s nice being able to let myself into Eye Spy with my own key. Too bad I have to give it back since the case is over. Jack hasn’t made it downstairs yet, so I turned off the alarm and flipped the sign in the window so it reads “Open.” I mull over the idea of opening my own business but for the life of me I can’t think of a solitary thing that I might be good at...other than taste testing food, of course. Which I don’t think falls in the category of a legitimate business venture.
I mean seriously, not a thing comes to mind. I could kill a plant just by looking at it, so a nursery is out. A restaurant or anything that resembles cooking is also a bust. Fashion is obviously completely out of the question. I momentarily consider going to cosmetology school but quickly reconsider, recalling my ill-fated attempt at highlighting my bangs for the junior prom. I looked like a Bengal tiger. I suddenly feel too old and way too untalented to be a useful member of society. Slumping in a chair by the window, defeated and drained, I spot Jack as he turns the corner carrying two cups of coffee.
“Morning partner,” he says as he hands me a cup.
“How’d you know I was here?” I ask after taking a hot gulp and feel instantly revitalized.
“Just a hunch. Your eye looks better by the way,” he says all perky and attentive.
“What’s with you this morning?”
“What?” he says, eyes still focused on me.
“You’re all chipper and stuff.”
“Nothing. Just wondering how your date with Mr. Fancy Pants went,” he says unabashedly.
“You are such a nosey McGoo,” I reply, feeling a rush of energy from the coffee and Jack’s virile presence.
“We’re partners, we’re supposed to tell each other everything.”
“Actually we were partners. We solved the case remember? I only came here because Mrs. B called, and she and her husband want to come see us this morning. Oh, and I should give this back,” I say, taking the key off my keychain.
Jack frowns. “Oh. Yeah. Right.” He takes the key and sticks it in his back pocket.
“The opera was great. I couldn’t understand a word they said, but somehow the story was clear.”
“What did you see?”
“La Boheme.”
“La de da. So you runnin’ away with this chap?” he prods casually.
“Shut up. The night was really great, but it’s nothing serious since I’m not interested in a relationship. Though I did agree to see him again, if you must know.”
“I must. Where’s he taking you this time? Someplace super ritzy-pants no doubt.”
“He’s flying me home to Savannah for a party,” I say reluctantly.
“Geez, whatever happened to takin a girl out for a slice?” he replies with a halfhearted shrug.
The little bell on the door chimes as Mr. B and his wife, Greta, enter. She looks radiant in a pink wool suit and winter white, patent leather heels. He looks much more relaxed and it seems the permanent crease on his forehead has softened a bit. They’re hand in hand, like a couple of newlyweds.
“Hello again.”
I smile at Greta who is positively beaming. She almost tackles me with a hug. “I just can’t thank you enough, Ms. Radley. My husband has told me everything, and well, as a result we have just never been closer.” She grabs Mr. B’s hand again and gives it a warm squeeze.
“She’s right. We just can’t repay you for what you’ve done for us. This has been such a huge relief. I even told the members of my club and they all understood…except for a couple of the old elitist curmudgeons, but well, they’re about ready to kick the bucket anyway,” he says with a devilish grin.
“Oh, honey!” Greta exclaims as she playfully smacks his hand. “You’re so bad!”
I feel a genuine warmth come over me as I watch them interact and I can’t help but feel proud of my contribution. Mr. B pulls out his wallet, takes out a check and hands it to me. “This is the balance of your fee. And we tacked on a little something to show our gratitude,” he says with an awkward wink.
We say our goodbyes and as the door shuts behind them, I unfold the check.
Whoa!
“Uh, Jack…they just gave us a big tip.”
“How big?”
“Five thousand dollars big.”
“Wow. That is big.” Jack grabs the check and has a look for himself. “How about we go out for pizza to celebrate?”
“It’s not even ten in the morning.”
“I know just the place; they serve pizza pies at dawn.”
89
I guess the bowling alley is Jack’s idea of living it up. We pick a lane and each grab two slices of pepperoni. I decide to just eat the topping since I’m on a diet. Or at least my version of one.
We pick out our bowling balls and I half expect Jack to make a dirty comment about the size of his “ball,” but he doesn’t. He’s on good behavior today. He even helps me pick out a girl-sized seven pounder and offers to get me a Coors light on draft, which I decline. I’ve never been a tap the Rockies sort of gal. The clientele in here ranges from a guy with an eye patch (who looks like an unstable Vietnam vet), to a young, probably single, mom, pushing a baby stroller with one hand, frothy mug of beer in the other. The faux wood-paneled walls, circa 1962, and the dingy, off-white sparkly Formica counters more than hint at some needed renovations. The lanes, with their fresh coat of varnish, seem to be the only thing around here getting some attention. Jack returns with the refreshments and the games begin.
He delivers a strike on his first roll. I manage to knock down two pins. Standing with my arms akimbo, I shake my head. “I’ve never understood this game. It’s infuriating. It’s as if those evil pins are just taunting me.”
“You mind if I give you a lesson?” Parella asks as he comes
up behind me. I can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he positions himself just barely touching my bum with his private parts.
Yowza. Dirty tingles everywhere.
He holds my forearms and shows me how to position my body then I grab my ball off the conveyer belt and give it another try. Jack’s way. And what do ya know. I do better. Okay, maybe only one pin better, but that’s still progress.
I get a few texts from John during the game, which makes Jack roll his eyes since he thinks texts are for losers and teenagers. I think they’re cute, and it wins Mr. Gainey a few more points.
“Thanks, teach,” I say as I hand Jack the keys. “That was really fun.”
“It might not have been a night at the opera, but it wasn’t too shabby, aye?” he exclaims, eyeing me.
I roll my eyes. “Is that what this was all about? Trying to one up John Gainey?”
“Did it work?”
“You’re petty, Parella. Real petty.”
“I was just trying to prove a point; you dames get impressed by any guy who does the wine and roses number. I say if two people are meant to be together they should be able to have fun doing anything,” he declares earnestly, with much more fervor than I’ve seen him display before.
“So does that mean we’re ‘meant to be together,’ Jackie boy?” I ask in a taunting tone.
“Don’t push it, Toots.”
He gives me a less than gentle pat on the fanny, lets me in the passenger door then hops into the driver’s seat.
“I think you were right about that family crest thing. It doesn’t seem connected to anything. I still wonder if that brotherly love bit is a clue though.”
“I don’t know. That’s really not my thing, doll. But if you can crack the code, by all means give it a shot. Oh. And I think you should get a gun,” Jack declares matter-of-fact as he starts the car.
I shake my head petulantly. “No way. Guns are for bad people.”
“Guns can be for bad people, Liza. But they can also be for decent people just tryin’ to protect themselves from the baddies.”
“No way Parella. Not gonna happen. Totally unnecessary.”
Jack puffs out his cheeks and begins to attack the subject from another angle but then thinks better of it. “Fine, but I’m going inside with you to check everything out, then I’ll walk home.”
I agree, even though it’s broad daylight, because frankly, I am a bit scared. I mean this whole thing is starting to get out of control. “I wish we could get a clue as to who he might be,” I declare anxiously.
“Unfortunately I think we’re fresh out of clues. Unless we want to tail every member of the Brothers Lucerne till we get a handwriting sample.”
I shrug. Though I realize Jack is only kidding, the idea isn’t half bad.
“Well, we’ve got to do something; he’s obviously not letting up on this vendetta.”
“Maybe I’ll swing by the store and grab those files. We can work on them at your place…see if we missed something.”
My place…has a nice ring to it. Now if we only can keep the psycho stalking arsonists out of it …
90
Four hours and a bunch of party leftovers later, Jack and I are no closer to finding Calligraphy Boy. In fact, I feel more confused than ever. I cut another piece of ham from the hock adorning my kitchen table and chew half-heartedly.
“My brain is fried.”
“Me too. Wanna cuddle by the fire?” Parella says with a taunting smirk.
I shrug. “Why not?” I say, surprising even myself.
Jack lights another monster fire and we lay on the floor spooning. It feels really nice. I guess maybe I’ve needed some human touch. The kind of comfort that only a warm body next to you can bring. I know I’m going to regret this in the morning, but it’s not like we’re actually doing anything sexual. I need this. Right now there is no place else I’d rather be.
I awake to Jack stroking my face as he lies beside me, propped up on one arm. It’s dark now. The fire is still blazing so we must not have slept very long. Jack continues tracing my face. A finger on my eyebrows to my nose then my lips. I sit completely still, afraid that if I move a fraction of an inch the spell will be broken. Something about being here with him in the fading firelight feels alarmingly like home. He leans in to kiss me and for the life of me there is no way I can stop myself from letting it happen. As his lips press against mine, I feel a soft surge of electricity run through me. His tongue searches for mine and my body begins to arch towards his, wanting more of him and the heat he radiates. There is a tiny, barely audible voice in my head whispering, “Liza, stop yourself, this can only lead to very bad things.” But I brush it aside as Jack runs his tongue along my ear.
His breath on my neck and his fingers running up my sides make me feel like a big pile of mush…really hot and bothered mush. The spell is broken by the phone and I pull myself together, buttoning up my shirt, which Jack had nimbly managed to get halfway undone. The machine clicks on.
“Hi, this is Liza. If you know who this is, then you know what to do.” Beep.
“Liza, it’s John…John Gainey. I just wanted you to know that the other night was just magnificent for me. I hope you feel the same. Anyway, I’m looking forward to picking you up from the airport on Wednesday. The tickets will be at American Airlines will call. Sleep well.” Beep.
There is a long silence as Jack ties his shoe. The lace on the left shoe is frayed and he picks it apart a bit more. He starts to speak and stops himself, then starts again. “You’re not seriously going, are you?” he asks with a tinge of annoyance in his voice.
I pull my shirt tight around me. “Why in the world wouldn’t I?”
Parella says flatly. “Well…what just happened here for starters.”
“And what exactly happened, Jack?”
He looks incredulous. “Oh, I get it…this is just something you do. That’s why the other night was so ‘magnificent’ for Mister Hot Shot Fancy, right?”
“Don’t be jerk, Parella.”
“Well, did you or didn’t you?”
I know I should tell him right now that I didn’t. That we didn’t even kiss goodnight or hold hands, but I’m feeling stubborn and hurt that he would think of me as some sort of tramp, so I avert my eyes, searching for something to say. “That’s none of your business,” I respond coldly.
He gives me a long, steady look, and then abruptly stands and walks out the door. As he’s leaving he barks orders to make sure to lock the door behind him. Feeling numb, I stand and turn the dead bolt. I’m not quite sure how I landed myself in this mess, but I’d say my first mistake was letting Parella stick his tongue in my mouth. Repeatedly.
I reassemble the rubber band thingie Jonas designed as the makeshift alarm. If the rubber band breaks, it shoots a pebble, which hits a piece of metal causing a clang. Suddenly feeling very cold, I get under the covers and crank up the heat on the old wall heater. My teeth chatter and I can’t help but feel like I just had a fight with my best friend. I’ll make it up to him tomorrow…I’ll take him a meatball sub or something.
91
My heart races as I approach the front door of Eye Spy, meatball sub peace offering in hand. It didn’t help matters that my divorce papers were propped behind my door this morning. And now they’re burning a hole in the bottom of my purse. As I open the shop door, I notice Jack with a customer. A female customer. A very pretty female customer. Our eyes meet as the door chimes my arrival and he barely acknowledges me. I sit in one of the old dusty chairs by the window, clutching the meatball submarine bag tightly as I watch Jack flirt with the lithe, sophisticated woman. She’s carrying an expensive Coach handbag and wearing matching shoes with a small brass buckle on them. Her finely loomed winter white cashmere sweater gives her that understated old money look I’ve come to know so well during my time in Andover.
He carries on about, “How could a man even think of cheating on such a gorgeous dame” and all the rest of the lines he us
ed on me when I first met him. And as he tilts his head to the side and gives her that intoxicating smile, I stand, toss the sub sandwich in the trash, and walk out the front door in a huff. I’m hopping on that plane a day early and heading home to see my family. I’ve got to get out of Dodge. Clear my head. And figure out what the hell I’m doing.
92
Exchanging my ticket turned out to be easier than I thought it would be since there was a young man at the counter and I channeled Mamma laying on the southern charm. Extra thick. I have plenty of time to make a run to the airport bookstore where I grab a couple of books on private investigating. One is called Investigating for Dummies, which I suppose is the best one for me.
When I get back I’m going to catch Mr. Calligraphy and give him a swift kick in the shins.
93
“And we have lift off!” The pilot has a quirky sense of humor. Either that or he’s hitting the sauce. I’m hoping it’s the former. He’s been abusing the loudspeaker system since we boarded. The perfectly coiffed flight attendant approaches me with a hot towel, a decadent touch.
“May I get you a refreshment? A glass of champagne perhaps?”
I ask for an orange juice, ’cause lately I’ve been feeling a bit like someone who might get scurvy. Not like a pirate or anything, just lacking vitamin C. The man next to me who’s probably a banker or stockbroker or something, orders a Tanqueray and tonic, light on the tonic.
“Cheers,” he says half-heartedly when our drinks are served.
I’m not in much of a mood for small talk so I give him a bland smile and vaguely lift my glass in reply. As I recline my cushy first class seat, complements of Gainey Industries, I think about Savannah and how, no matter what time of year, the activity of choice for my family is sitting in a rocker on the front porch and sipping Country Time Lemonade. The porch is a wraparound that borders around the entire house with scrubbed pine floors and white pillars. The architecture of the house itself is traditional Georgian with dark green shutters and a green-shingled roof. The colors, along with the brick columns at the driveway entry, give it a stately look. The property, Walnut Hill, has been in my family for generations and sits on five acres of pristine manicured lawn. I suppose someday it will belong to Beck and me, and we’ll have to foot that enormous landscaping bill. I shudder at the thought.
Eye Spy (Liza Radley Housewife Detective Chronicles) Page 20