In Deep Shitake (A Humorous Romantic Suspense)

by Patricia Mason

  “Every family member or friend who has leaked a story about me to the tabloids. At least those I found out about and confronted.”

  “I can’t help that. Milton did misquote me.” There had to be a way to force him to see the truth. She placed her palms against his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. “Never mind the quote. Think logically about the timing for a moment. I can’t have been the source for the story.”

  His expression remained frozen and closed.

  “Milton got the photo in that article at the motel this morning, right?” Mo asked reasonably.

  Ross stood in brooding silence.

  “So he had to have gotten the leak telling him we were at the motel last night or early this morning, right?”

  Ross gave a reluctant nod.

  “That proves I wasn’t the leak that allowed him to take that photo. Think about it, Ross. When would I have called Milton? You were with me all the time from last night until I went into the parking lot this morning after breakfast. Milton was already parked there.”

  “You were in the bathroom quite a long while last night.”

  “What?” Mo asked incredulously. Her arms fell to her sides and she backed away. He must want to believe she’d done it.

  “Yes, and I was awakened to you searching through the pockets of my jeans.”

  Mo blushed. “That was just to get a piece of paper.

  “So you say.” Ross took up Milton's papers from where he’d placed them on the counter, examined them, and then threw them down to the floor. “You and your agency do get quite a prominent mention in the article.”

  “That’s it? You think I wanted some kind of publicity? It’s notoriety I don’t need in my line of work. If you would think logically you’d realize that.”

  That reasoning seemed to strike a chord with him, so she continued, “And another thing. Why would Milton tell you I was his source if I really was? He was trying to make trouble.”

  Ross seemed to be considering her reasoning when Mo’s cell phone trilled. Son of a biscuit. Harry was calling. Ross’s eyebrow arched.

  “It’s my boss. I’ve got to answer it.”

  “Going to arrange your cover story?”

  “Oh for the love of crêpe suzettes. If that’s what you think, I’ll put it on speaker mode.”

  Grumbling, Mo pressed the buttons of her phone. “I can’t talk right now, Harry,” Mo began.

  Harriet interrupted. “I just talked to Stewart Milton. I can’t believe that article, honey,” she said. “What did you do? Call him to plant the article yourself?”

  Ross’s brows converged angrily.

  “Harry—”

  “Whatever you did, it was great. It's sure to increase business. You deserve a bonus, Mo. Hell, I might just give you a partnership right now.”

  “Harry!”

  “What, honey?”

  “Mo is trying to tell you that I’m listening to the call,” Ross inserted wryly. “And you’re placing a bit of a damper on her efforts to convince me that she wasn’t the reporter’s source.”

  After a few moments, Harry murmured, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t your fault. I’ll talk to you later.” Mo disconnected the call.

  “It seems that the publicity was a boom to your business. You’ll be getting a bonus and a partnership,” Ross said snidely.

  Mo gave it one last try and shoved aside her pride. “Ross, please, please believe me. I swear to you that I did not call Milton. I did not give him a story about us.”

  “You swear?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes swam with unshed tears as they pleaded with his.

  Their eyes caught and held, but his remained angry. “Like when you were caught breaking into that car. Oh yes, we both know how truthful you are.”

  A knife of disappointment rammed into her heart to the hilt. Despite everything she’d thought that she could reach Ross. It seemed that she couldn’t, even if she begged.

  “Why don’t you kiss my asparagus,” she blurted out.

  “I did that last night if you’ll recall. And this morning. And this afternoon. That’s what got me into this mess,” he grumbled.

  Mo swallowed down the hurt and shame. “Oh yeah. It was so mediocre, I almost forgot all about it,” she struck back.

  “I’m not likely to be able to forget. It may have cost me the financing for my film. I’m going to have the rest of my career to regret my mistake.”

  “Come on, Ross. Why would the studio executives care if you cheated on your fiancée? I think you’re blowing this out of proportion.”

  “Whether they do or not doesn’t change the fact that you betrayed me to the press.” His face was like stone.

  Mo sighed, defeated. “If that’s the way you feel, then I guess there’s nothing left to say.” Mo held her head unnaturally high, her chin jutting forward.

  “I suppose there isn’t,” Ross replied. He stared at her for long silent seconds as if waiting for something. Finally, he uttered a few choice obscenities of his own and slammed his hand against the kitchen door. The edge banged on the wall behind it, as Ross stormed out past an open-mouthed Miss Kitty and a hovering Leo.

  No one moved until the front door crashed open and slammed shut again.

  “Sis?”

  “Don’t.” Mo held up a hand defensively. “Just don’t say anything. It’s over.”

  There was at least one more thing to do before she could go to her room and wail like a baby—kill Clarence.

  She scanned the dining room. The interrogation chair was empty. “Where is he?”

  “Who?” Leo asked.

  “Clarence,” she said with impatience.

  “He was just here,” Miss Kitty said, bending to look under the dining room table.

  Mo took a deep breath, trying to hold onto her temper. She’d already lost it quite enough for one day. “Well, he’s not here now.” She marched through the parlor to the hall and saw Clarence with his back to her, hunched over something on top of the hall table.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Mo demanded.

  Clarence jumped and turned in one motion. “Nothhhhhhing,” he stuttered.

  When he moved, Mo saw her enormous messenger bag purse. Its flap was open leaving the interior contents exposed.

  “Nothing, eh?”

  Sprinting into action, Clarence dashed the few feet to the front door. He was outside, down the porch stairs, and running along the sidewalk before Mo could move.

  “Mother—Marshmallow fudge,” Mo said deliberately changing the epithet. She wasn’t going to let Clarence remove her from the anti-swearing wagon.

  Mo stuck her head out the front door.

  “That’s perfect,” Mo said as Clarence rounded the corner of the block and proceeded north and out of view.

  “You want me to try to catch him?” Leo asked over her shoulder.

  “No, he isn’t going to tell us anything and we can’t torture him, unfortunately. Let him go for now.”

  Going through her purse, she found her wallet, with cash, credit cards and identification all present and accounted for. Clearly he hadn’t been after money.

  She dumped the contents of the bag on the table and pawed through them. What had Clarence stolen? Car keys, two tins of mints, digital camera, cell phone, three pens, mascara, lip balm, lipstick, tampon, a few coins and assorted other detritus. Nothing seemed to be missing.

  “Can I ask a favor?” Mo asked Leo. “It’s about Milton. Would you look for footage of him at the convention?”

  “Sure thing. Is that why you asked him if he’s married?”

  “If he’s married, he probably has something to hide from his wife. Let’s just say, I’m going to look for his website.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, but what if he doesn’t have a website?”

  “Oh he has a website. And I think I know where to look. In fact, you’re going to help me. It’s a question of whether I can find what I need in time to h
elp Ross. If I don’t, he’ll never forgive me.”

  Mo thought for a moment. “Forget it, Leo. Why should I help Ross anyway? Forget about Milton.”

  Leo’s face set in serious lines. “I’m sorry I told you to give that jerk a chance, Mo.”

  Waving off his comment, Mo continued investigating her bag.

  “Anything missing?” Leo asked.

  “No. Maybe the wiener didn’t have time to steal anything.”

  The Love Boat theme sounded and the cell phone danced on the table. “Shitake,” Mo said, glancing at the ID and saw a text message. “It’s Harry.” The text read: Remember the appointment at agency and later with Nelson.

  Mo sighed. “I’d better get over to the agency. She said something about an assignment.”

  “Will you be all right?” Leo asked.

  “I’ll have to be.”

  Mo threw her wallet, the cell phone, and the contents back into the bag before grabbing up her keys. “I’ll see ya later, bro.” No time for a breakdown. She had to act fast to salvage her career.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ross had to act fast to salvage his career.

  He couldn’t even recall the drive to his hotel with his mind racing the entire way. As ridiculous as it was, the whole inflated non-scandalous scandal just might be enough to scare off Nicodemus. The story might be enough to trigger that moronic morals clause Nicodemus had insisted on for the financing contract.

  Ross should have known not to expect better of Mo. He’d only known the woman for what? Two days? Three?

  Riding the glass walled elevator upward toward his room, Ross punched the speed dial number for his agent on his cell phone for the fourth time. Plugging the phone into the car charger had given it a little juice.

  The assistant answered again.

  “Get Aaron on the phone.” Ross didn’t bother with a greeting.

  “I’m sorry, but he hasn’t come back to his office since you called the last time.” The girlish voice on the other end had an anxious high pitch.

  “He always has his cell phone with him. Is he trying to avoid me?” Ross tried not to shout, but it came out as an aggressive growl instead.

  The assistant made a nervous little laugh as the elevator door of hotel opened in front off Ross. He stepped out and strode down the hall.

  “Absolutely not. Mr. Stillman left the phone on his desk. He must be somewhere in the building.”

  Ross gritted his teeth. “Can you find him? I have to talk to him and it can’t wait.”

  “I don’t know. I’m pretty new here and I don’t want to lose my job.”

  “Get him. You won’t lose your job. This is an emergency.” Aaron would be angry Ross had made a mess of things. But with all the money Ross had put into his pocket over the years from the SpyMatrix residuals alone, Aaron would get over it. He was paid to take care of these things.

  “There is one more place I can try,” the assistant said.

  Ross heard the assistant across the miles of cell phone towers as he approached his room.

  Damn that Imogene Tuttle! He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Why had he been convinced Mo wouldn’t sell out to the press at the first opportunity? The answer came quickly. He’d trusted her because despite everything, especially her profession, he’d thought Mo was basically honest and compassionate. And when they’d made love it had been wondrous, as if something in his soul had finally connected with something in the universe that had been missing all his life. He had finally understood the phrase “make love”, because that is what it had felt like. When he and Mo were joined physically, it seemed as if feelings of love were being created.

  He groaned at the sophomoric sentimentality of his own thoughts.

  Stupid, idiotic, moronic.

  Mo had only been a particularly good lay. Everything else between them had been a lie. Mo had jumped at the first opportunity to sell him out to the highest bidder.

  Hadn’t she?

  The hotel room door was in front of him before he realized that he didn’t have his key. He transferred the cell phone to his right hand and fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. He had to sandwich the phone between his ear and shoulder to free his right hand to pull out the key card. Jamming it into the lock, he saw the green light flash, heard a beep, and the lock mechanism released. Manipulating the handle, he pushed the door open.

  Now that Ross’s fury was cooling, he couldn’t help but wonder why it was that he had believed Clarence. He’d never met the little twit before.

  And Milton. Certainly that wanker had no reason to be trustworthy. Come to think of it, the reporter had seemed a bit too smug and self-satisfied with the effect his performance was having on Mo and Ross. There was absolutely no reason to believe Milton’s version of things. The only reason he’d believed them was that he wanted to believe them.

  But why?

  The sound of a creaking door came across the phone. Then the assistant’s voice said, “Mr. Stillman? Are you in here, sir?” Her words were tentative and there was a slight echo.

  “Sheila. What the hell are you doing in the men’s room?” Aaron's voice sounded tinny and a whoosh of water drowned out a line of obscenities.

  “Ross Grant is on the phone," the assistant squeaked.

  “Can’t a man even have a bowel movement without interruption? I told you never to disturb me in here for anyone but an A-list celebrity," Aaron growled.

  “I know, but he says it’s an emergency. Besides, isn’t he on the A-list?” the assistant asked.

  “Of course not. Has he had a blockbuster lately? Has he starred in a movie that made money in the last five years? Has he even had a movie that was released during the summer in the last five years? Dammit, Sheila, you have to learn these things if you’re going to——”

  Humiliation burned through Ross as he cut off the call.

  He heard a sound and whirled.

  “Hi, lover.” Heather rose from the sofa across the hotel suite and sauntered toward him.

  “You’re just what I needed to make this sodding day complete.”

  “I knew you’d come home to Heather. I forgive you for your fling with that Stooges woman.” She sidled up and pressed her full length against his before caressing his cheek with her fingertips.

  Ross backed away.

  The cell phone in his hand rang. Aaron was calling back. He punched at the screen and held the phone to his ear. Heather gave a pouting moue of her lips and strolled toward the window of the suite.

  “Yes, Aaron,” Ross replied.

  “Sorry about not taking your call earlier. I was in a meeting. You know I always take your calls.”

  Swallowing down the lump of pride that had lodged in his throat, Ross responded, “It’s okay, mate. A man’s gotta do and all that.”

  “Yeah. Well. I have some bad news,” Aaron continued in a jovial tone.

  “Cheers. More bad news. That’s just what I need," Ross muttered.

  “You didn’t get the starring role in the SpyMatrix sequel. The producers are going another way. Okay, they’re going younger with the part. That Evans kid. Anyway, they still want you to do a cameo where you basically hand the torch—or in this case the big gun —over to the twenty-something slice of beefcake. The schmucks.”

  “I don’t care about that. I’ve never been interested in that role anyway. And I’m not doing any cameo. I’ve got my hands full with the film project here.”

  “Okay, boyo." Aaron seemed gleeful. He was probably representing the Evans kid.

  "Anyway," the agent said. "I think I know what emergency you’ve got on your hands there. Milton called for a quote about your broken engagement.”

  “I see," Ross commented glancing at Heather as she paced in front of the window.

  “You know what you have to do.”

  “Do I?” Ross watched Heather move away from the window and back toward him while unbuttoning her blouse.

  “Marry the girl. A huge celebrity wedding to Heather Dav
ies will be good publicity. If you marry her, all this will blow over. In fact, it will make you look like a stud. You’ll have the funding for your film locked,” Aaron said.

  “Excellent advice. But what if she won’t cooperate?” Ross asked

  “She will. I was on the phone with her this morning and she’s forgiven you. It’s all set. I’m even giving the bride away.”

  Controlling an angry outburst he wanted to descend to, Ross kept his tone even. “And if I don’t marry her?”

  “Don’t be a schmuck. Haven’t I been a good agent? I don’t want to dump you over this. Just do it.”

  “Right. Thanks, Aaron.” Ross snapped the phone shut and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

  Heather had stopped in front of him, her blouse now completely unbuttoned. The sexy black bra underneath was clearly visible as she pulled the blouse from the waistband of her flouncy skirt.

  Ross placed his hands over hers. “Stop, Heather,” Ross said. “Stop. This is not going to happen.”

  “Okay.” She began re-buttoning the blouse. “But we are getting married.” Heather smiled smugly.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No. It’s not going to happen. Give it up.” Ross walked to the mini-bar, opened it and took out a five-dollar bottle of mineral water. He opened it and took a swig, gulping it down as if it were scotch. “Let’s be honest with each other. What’s going on between you and the receptionist of that investigation agency? Clarence what’s-his-name?”

  Her face never changed expression. Not a flicker. “I don’t know what or who you’re talking about.”

  A change of direction was needed. “Okay, let’s leave that for a moment. Tell me why you want to marry me? I can’t help your career as much as someone else could. I’m not a huge star.”

  “No, but you’re the only star I have at the moment.” Heather slithered to him and pressed herself along his body again. He would have considered the smile she gave him seductive at one time. “With me by your side you can be huge again, darling,” she said, caressing his chest. “As soon as we make the sequel to SpyMatrix, you’ll be the biggest thing in the industry.”

  “I’m not doing a sequel to SpyMatrix.”