“Cheese puffs,” Mo said. “It has already started.”
“What?” Ross couldn’t keep himself from asking the question, just as he couldn’t keep himself from feeling a certain fascination for this quixotic woman.
“The onslaught of St. Patrick’s Day revelers,” she answered.
“St. Patrick’s Day has revelers?”
“It does here," she told him. "Complete with drunks and flashing. Kind of like a green Mardi Gras.”
The frat guys spotted them. “Show me your boobies,” one guy with a tall fake-fur covered green leprechaun hat yelled. “I’ve got some beads for you right here.” The guy lurched as he grabbed his crotch and then almost collapsed with drunken laughter. One of his cohorts caught him before leprechaun guy hit the ground. His friends propped him back up. The group whooped with delight.
“Charming,” Mo grumbled as she continued walking. “Why don’t you flash them, Dagger. I’m sure they’d enjoy seeing a celebrity chest, even if it is male.”
Gritting his teeth Ross kept silent until they reached the entrance to the hotel. Before going in, he halted. “I insist you stop following me.”
“And I insist I’m not following you,” she retorted. “I happen to have business in this hotel. So there.” To prove her point, Mo stalked in front of him before pushing through the revolving door.
As Ross entered, Mo rushed toward the hotel bar.
* * * * *
Afraid she’d missed her honey trap assignment, Mo sighed with relief when she spotted her quarry: Vernon Blitner. He sat at a table opposite another man in the corner of the bar. Scanning the dim interior and the rest of the patrons, she spotted Clarence—receptionist and occasional agency operative—sitting a few steps away at the long mahogany bar. He stood as she approached.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Clarence asked in a loud voice. Then he whispered, “Where have you been? I thought you’d never get here.” A smile remained plastered to his face.
“No, thank you. I don’t care for a drink,” Mo said for the benefit of the patrons. “What the jalapeño were you thinking of sending me to break into some celebrity’s car?” she asked in a furious whisper.
“What did you find?”
“Nothing. He caught me.”
Clarence's eyes widened and his mouth gaped open for a few seconds before he said, “How could you let that happen?”
“I didn’t have any equipment with me since I was coming here to meet you when you called.”
Just then Ross Grant entered the bar and cast a glare at Mo as he walked past her.
“Speaking of the deviled egg,” Mo said, nodding in Ross’s direction.
“Umm. Yeah.” Clarence turned away.
Ross stopped at a table a few feet away to speak to a slightly rotund bearded man with white hair. Dressed in a polo shirt and plaid pants, the man resembled Santa Clause in golf course attire.
Mo recognized the man as Anderson Nicodemus, a local with some notoriety. Nicodemus maintained a seat on the city council and ran a corporate empire, which included an amusement park with a Christian theme. In addition, Nicodemus had made a name for himself as investor and executive producer of a number of well-respected films. The two men shook hands before Ross sat down.
“Let’s get this done and get out of here.” Clarence pulled a small camera from his blazer pocket.
Mo nodded and sauntered to the other end of the bar, closer to Vernon. He resembled the photo his wife had provided. Vernon was a middle-aged doughboy with numerous gold chains around his neck, providing a kind of picture frame for his chins rolls.
Sliding onto a bar stool, Mo directed an innocent smile toward Vernon who immediately turned to the man at his side.
“The hot chick wants me. Gotta go,” he said as he jumped from his chair. Vernon picked up his drink and a black pouch from the table in front of him, before hurrying to her side.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Vernon offered with a smile and a small burst of halitosis. He placed his glass and the pouch on the bar. “I can afford whatever you want.” He signaled the bartender with his hand.
“Sure.” Will power alone kept her from leaning away from his breath. “I’ll have red wine.”
The bartender nodded acknowledgement of the order and turned away.
“My name is V-man. It’s only fair to warn you I’m a playa.”
The bartender brought a goblet-style glass. Mo took it by the stem and sipped. Fortification. Before she could set the glass down, Vernon gripped her arm and pulled her to him. Dribbles of red liquid sloshed over the glass’s edge and beaded on the back of her hand.
“Let’s cut through all the preliminaries,” Vernon said. “Let’s go back to your place for a little somethin', somethin'.
Pulling away, she cleared her throat. “Sorry, V-man. I have a roommate.”
“We could get a hotel room.” He leaned in. “That’s one reason I come here. Easy on and off ramp.” He laughed.
“Yeah. Funny.” She pointed to the pouch on the bar. “What’s in that?”
His blush was obvious even in the dim bar light. Now she had to know what he hid in there.
“It’s my supply of condoms,” he finally offered.
Yuck. The mental picture his statement created needed an acid wash to get rid off. Mo forced herself to touch the tip of her finger to his plump arm and circle lightly. “It’s not really condoms, is it? You can tell me.” She hoped her expression was flirtatious instead of nauseated. “I’m sure a stud like you probably does need a large supply but—”
“I don’t know." He shook his head, a slight pout on his lips. "Every time a woman finds out, she’s turned off.”
Clarence gave her a thumbs-up from the corner, indicating that he had a photo. He glanced at his digital camera screen. His next hand motion told Mo the photo wasn’t incriminating enough. Sweet maple syrup, she had to keep romancing this guy.
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Mo cooed. “You couldn’t turn a woman off.” She batted her eyelashes at him and leaned closer until the side of her breast brushed his arm.
V-man stared down at the spot on his arm and then up at her again. “Okay,” he said. “It’s a defibrillator.”
“Huh?” she asked, hoping that wasn’t some kind of sex toy.
“A machine for shocking the heart.”
“Nah. You’re kidding me again, right?”
Vernon unzipped the pouch and revealed a mechanical contraption with wires attached to pads. The thing did resemble miniature hospital equipment.
“Why are you carrying it?” she asked. “Not for something kinky?”
He shook his big, doughboy head. “I’ve got a heart problem. I carry this around in case…well, in case.”
* * * * *
Ross couldn’t help staring in the direction of the bloke trying to chat up Mo Tuttle. With some irritation, he noted Mo flirtatiously responding to the pudgy prat’s attentions. Most of his irritation was with himself. Why should he care about Mo and her conquests, particularly while he was in the midst of a business meeting? With deliberation, Ross tuned into his companion’s voice.
“I’m very excited about this project.” Nicodemus rubbed his hands together.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that,” Ross said.
“This here movie’ll be quite a departure from your Stephen Dagger character.” Nicodemus slapped the palm of his hand on the table and gave a jolly belly laugh.
“Yes. Quite.”
“A movie for the entire family to enjoy.”
Ross wasn’t quite sure how a murder mystery in which he played a Sam Spade type of character would necessarily be a family film, but he wasn’t about to disagree with his benefactor.
“The documents for the deal have been sent to your agent and lawyer.” The smile vanished from Nicodemus’s face. “There’s just one lil’ ol’ part of the contract I wanta discuss with y’all personally ‘cause it’s a deal breaker.”
At
the man’s stern tone, Ross felt his stomach fill with stones rumbling around inside. “And that is?” he asked.
“The moral turpitude clause.” Nicodemus slapped the palm of his hand on the table again. “I gotta maintain the wholesome reputation of my brand y’all understand. So that means y’all gotta keep to a strict code of conduct while we do business."
“Certainly,” Ross said, glancing at Mo. Who had hired her? Why did he have a feeling the client who wanted to break into his car might pose a problem for this morals clause. “No problem at all,” he assured Nicodemus.
“Good,” Nicodemus stated. “We can sign, seal, and deliver the docs on Friday.”
“I have a flight to L.A. booked for Thursday morning.”
“Before the St. Patrick’s Day parade?” Nicodemus hooted another loud belly laugh. “Ridiculous. Y’all can’t miss out on St. Patrick’s in Savannah. Ya’ll have to change your flight.”
Nicodemus slapped the tabletop again and Ross flinched. The habit had already worn on his nerves.
“Besides, Ima gonna want y’all to ride on my float in the parade," Nicodemus continued. "You can wave to all the fans. It’ll be good publicity for the film and for my local restaurants.”
“I’ve never really been a float man.”
Nicodemus’s eyes narrowed and locked with Ross’s “Well, y’all are now.”
After a few seconds of silence, Ross spoke. “It would be an honor to ride on your float.” He held out his hand to the older man.
A sunny smile broke out on Nicodemus’s face and he grabbed Ross’s hand to give it a vigorous shake.
Just then a movement caught Ross’s attention. Mo Tuttle suddenly didn’t appear pleased with her date. None of his business, he assured himself. He should just let her fend for herself.
* * * * *
“A defibrillator is a bit extreme,” Mo muttered.
“I could die at any time,” Vernon said. “The prescription drugs don’t work so I’m not supposed to let this portable out of my sight.” He reached into his sports jacket pocket and drew out a laminated card. “I carry around these instructions so anyone with me knows what to do.”
With a heart condition this bad, Vernon was out trying to cheat? Just showed the power of the penis. Overcame fear of death every time.
“I knew it,” he whined. “You find it a turn off.”
“Nah.” She tried not to gag on the lie. “I find a guy with his own medical equipment very sexy.” Mo saw Clarence maneuvering around the patrons for a better camera angle.
Vernon leaned in close to Mo and groped for her chest. He tweaked her right breast and said, “Let’s go back to your place, shawty. We could relax, drink a couple more brewskis, and par-tay.”
“Hey.” Mo pushed him away and fought the urge to clobber him. “That’s not cool, man.” At this point she didn’t care if Clarence got a useable photo or not.
Vernon laughed and grabbed her arm.
“Let me go you donut hole.” Mo tugged but his hold was tight.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Ross asked from over Vernon’s shoulder. “Get your hands off her.” His face set in a serious scowl, he pulled the shorter man away from Mo.
“Who are you?” Vernon asked, goggle-eyed as he gazed up at Ross.
“I’m the guy who’s going to make a mince pie out of your face for taking liberties with the lady,” Ross replied.
“Hey,” Mo exclaimed. “Don’t threaten V-man.”
Ross turned his scowl on her. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were enjoying his behavior.”
“I didn’t—Forget it,” she said.
“Who is he?” Vernon asked with panic in his tone. “Is this your husband?”
“No, definitely not,” she scoffed.
Vernon turned to Ross. “Are you her boyfriend?”
“No,” Mo and Ross chorused simultaneously.
“All right.” Vernon cast a leer in Mo’s direction. “If he’s not your boyfriend or husband, then he’s gotta go to the back of the line. I’m the one who paid for a drink already.” Vernon sidled up and rubbed himself against Mo, making particular impact on her stomach area with his Vienna sausage. Ew. She couldn’t stand him another millisecond.
Mo backed up, but Vernon didn’t take the hint. He grabbed both her wrists in an iron grip and pulled her closer. Mo twisted her arms in an arc, breaking his hold before shoving him back hard.
“Ow, that hurt.” Vernon advanced toward her again with a dark expression.
“You’d better back away or you’ll get worse,” Ross said, his hands fisted at his sides.
With wide eyes, Vernon stepped back. “You’re not really going to hurt me, are you? I’ve got a heart condition.”
“Of course he isn’t. He’s all big gun and no action,” Mo mocked.
“You have a gun?” Vernon’s gaze darted back and forth between them.
“It was a joke.” Mo rolled her eyes.
Vernon clasped his meaty hand to his chest. “Don’t joke about guns. I might have to use my defibrillator.”
From the other end of the bar, Clarence gave Mo a thumbs-up. Turning he left the bar, pushing out past a middle-aged woman who had just entered.
“Vernon Blitner,” the woman shouted from across the bar. “Are you cheating on me again? You lowlife scum. I don’t know why I expected better from a married man.”
“Bernice,” Vernon said, his eyes widening.
“Is that your wife?” Mo asked.
“No, my girlfriend," he mumbled, examining his feet.
Wife and girlfriend? This guy really was a playa.
“Let’s get out of here.” Mo slapped Ross on the back. “This is going to get ugly.”
“Really?” Ross replied with heavy sarcasm. “How do you know?”
“I’m a professional.”
As Mo ran toward the exit, she called over her shoulder, “Better get ready to use the defibrillator.”
She pushed through the revolving door and out into the Savannah night.
“This isn’t over, Ms. Tuttle.” Mo heard Ross shout from behind her.
Chapter Three
“Infuriating woman,” Ross muttered, as he swiped the key card in the lock and threw open the door to the hotel penthouse. Walking across the suite, he ignored the luxurious ultramodern décor and Savannah’s panoramic skyline view. He drew off his jacket to toss it onto the sofa.
Mo. What a name. He had an instant fantasy about Mo’s legs. Too bad those magnificent legs were attached, via some other very fine equipment, to a head with a rapier tongue.
“Aaaaagh.” He shouted to the ceiling.
“What is it, sweetie pie? What’s wrong?” The voice came from behind him.
Ross pivoted. His erstwhile girlfriend, Heather Davies, posed at the door of the bedroom in a silky red robe so transparent that it showed the contours of her naked body underneath.
“What are you doing here?” Ross asked.
Heather, a twenty-five-year-old model turned actress, had gloriously long blonde hair, which naturally fell over her shoulders in ringlets. Her green eyes needed no enhancement with contact lenses, and no photographer had ever had to Photoshop her porcelain skin.
“How did you know what hotel I was in?”
“You told me, silly man,” she chirped as she prowled in his direction.
“No. No I didn’t.” He didn’t even bother asking her how she’d gotten in. No hotel concierge in the world could stand up to Heather’s charms.
When she got closer, she stopped to strike another provocative pose. “What were you doing tonight, sweetie?”
“I was having a run in with one of the Three Stooges,” he joked.
“Who are the Three Stooges?” Her brows knit in confusion.
“It wasn’t actually the Three Stooges or even one Stooge." Ross shook his head. "It was a woman named Mo.”
Heather’s expression remained blank.
“Moe Howard was one of the Three Stooges comedy
group,” he explained.
The vacant staring continued from Heather for a few moments before she shrugged and smiled.
"Actually, Mo looks more like Audrey Hepburn," Ross murmured and couldn't help but smile at the image in his mind.
"Who?" Heather asked.
"Never mind," he said, forcing his thoughts away from Mo. "You haven’t told me why you’re here."
“You’re here, so I’m here,” she replied in her baby doll voice.
Brilliant. Just what he needed. More illogical logic.
A year ago, Ross had thought he wanted Heather. His connections and image traded for her beauty and sex. Fair exchange. Heather had done well. She managed to work his connections to become one of six stars in a hit television comedy. But Ross had reached the saturation point with Heather’s “stupid” act prior to leaving her behind in L.A.
“I grew up not far from here." Heather reached his side and then rubbed her body against his. "Besides, the president of my fan club lives in Savannah. I thought I’d give the club a treat.”
“If you will recall, we ended our relationship before I left.” Ross stepped back, forcing some distance between them.
“No-o.” The way she said the word sounded like two musical notes strung together. High and then low. She stepped forward, pressing herself against him again before running her hands up his arms.
“You don’t recall?”
“We didn’t break-up.” Her arms came up around his neck.
“Yes we did.” His arms hung at his sides as he resisted the urge to giver her an ungentlemanly shove.
“No-o.” Sing song again. “I don’t accept it. We’re the perfect couple. You’re going to cast me in your movie. Remember?”
“You aren’t going to be in my film." He carefully broke away from her grip to step back. "I’ve told you that repeatedly. You aren’t right for the part of the brilliant chemist murder suspect.” He exhaled in exasperation. "And apart from that, you can’t act.”
In Deep Shitake (A Humorous Romantic Suspense) Page 3