by Vanessa Vale
I called Mike first thing. Voicemail.
“Oz, it's me. Listen, something weird is going on at Goldilocks.” I rummaged through my toiletry case for the necklace, found it tangled around a tube of toothpaste. “Not the usual kind of strange. Your mother is there and saying Veronica is going to wear a dress and they want to see the necklace Jubal gave me. I guess the FBI has been talking to Jubal again.” I took a deep breath. “I wanted you to know because something's not right. Okay. You're probably in New York and when you get this I'll be laughing over drinks with your mom about some stupid prank she and Goldie are pulling on me. Whatever.” I found my keys and dashed for the car, necklace dangling from my fingers. “Never mind. Have a nice life.”
I clicked off and drove the ten blocks to the store. Living downtown had its perks. Convenience to all the activities on Main Street and, tonight, to Goldilocks. After riding in the clown car for a week, my older model Audi felt like a stretch limo.
Ten minutes after hanging up on Mrs. O, I walked through the doors of the town's only adult store. I'd only been through the doors as a temporary employee, never a customer. I didn't need Goldie knowing my secrets. That was what the Internet was for. Although, writing a romance novel certainly laid all that out there and my secrets were exposed to not just Goldie, but now the entire world.
The store was small but packed full of sexual treasures. It was tacky, gaudy and so perfectly Goldie. Black and gold industrial carpet like you'd see in Vegas on the floor. A painting of a naked woman on a bearskin rug over the counter. A small chandelier over my head. It wasn't Macy's.
Behind the counter were Veronica and Goldie. On the glass display case was George the Gnome, smiling, clearly happy to see me. Standing next to the section of bachelorette items was Mrs. O. She wore a pair of crisp khakis and a pale pink blouse. A soft yellow scarf was artfully wound around her neck.
Next to her was Laurel. He wasn't as put together. He wore a pair of jeans with a hole in the knee and a red sweatshirt with Alabama written in white letters across the chest. Hardy was nowhere in sight. No customers.
“Violet, I'm so glad you're here,” Mrs. O said, her smile brittle, but she seemed calm enough.
I looked between the ladies. All were stiff, formal. Definitely not the usual carefree environment.
Laurel stepped forward, looked at me, and glanced over his shoulder at Veronica. “She's right. You are twins. You're the one I'm looking for. There was a mix-up with the necklaces and it seems you still have the real one.”
I felt the heavy weight of the jewelry in my hoodie pocket.
“Mix-up?”
Laurel pointed at Goldie. “It seems when this woman here compared the two necklaces that day at Mr. Jgorgen's house, she switched the two back.”
“It was an accident,” Goldie said innocently. “Could have happened to anybody.”
Probably not. Goldie could take something as simple as a necklace swap and turn it into a complete fiasco. It was no big deal. I'd just trade necklaces back. So why was everyone so tense?
“Sure. Just give me the replica and we'll switch it out.”
Laurel's eyes were dark brown. Shifty. There was something I saw in them that was more than just an FBI flub. “I don't have it with me right now, so I'll have to send it to you. Give me the original piece and I can be on my way.”
I felt like I was in a standoff at the O.K. Corral. Goldie and Veronica stood quietly watching. Mrs. O was über-observant as if she were waiting for something.
Why was the FBI wearing an Alabama sweatshirt? Laurel and Hardy hadn't worn suits in Alaska, but they also hadn't proclaimed their allegiance to a college on their chest either. Wasn't the museum that was robbed in Alabama?
“I couldn't find it. I must not have packed it in my suitcase.”
Laurel looked like he was going to stroke out. His face was red, the veins on his neck bulged. “You don't have it? Then where the hell is it?”
This was not the tone, nor the look, of an FBI agent.
“Mike probably has it.”
“Your fiancé?”
I nodded. Darting a glance at Mrs. O, she too, nodded, but at me.
“Why don't you call him, Violet? See if he can bring it in,” Mrs. O suggested. Her expression was unreadable but, if she said it, then she wanted me to call him.
I pulled my cell from my pocket, keeping the necklace hidden.
“Violet, what the hell is going on?” Mike yelled when he picked up. I winced because he came through loudly. I hadn't heard his voice since Alaska and, even with his angst, it sounded good. At least I knew he was alive.
I backed up a step to stand next to the dusting powders. “I'm at Goldilocks and the FBI is here to pick up the necklace I left with you. I guess there was a mix-up. Again.”
“Vi, I don't have—”
I cut him off. “I know you don't have time to come down here, but since you have the necklace, it would be really helpful.” I couldn't tell him I had a man on the edge standing directly in front of me. Why hadn't Mrs. O karate chopped him yet? Did he have a gun? A knife? It didn't appear so, but the guy seemed imbalanced enough to proceed carefully.
Mike was quiet for a minute. “Shit, Vi. Either you've lost your mind or something's up. Look, I just landed. I'll do what I can.”
He clicked off.
What the hell did that mean? I'll do what I can. Landed where? Was he in New York? Bozeman?
“Well?”
“He's in New York.” I said that with the hopes of delaying this Looney Tune long enough for Mike to catch on we needed the full-blown cavalry.
“New York?” Laurel ran his fingers through his hair, paced in circles. Stopped. “Look, lady. You're coming with me. Your boyfriend—”
“Fiancé,” Goldie, Veronica and Mrs. O all said at the same time.
“—Fiancé is going to have to trade it for you.”
I took another step back, my heart rate kicking up. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins. “Who are you? You're definitely not the FBI.” I pointed down his body.
“I knew those IDs and badges were fake,” Goldie muttered.
Laurel must have finally had enough. Before my eyes, he switched from reasonably calm to irate and very dangerous. He pulled a gun from behind his back. Where had it been, tucked in his waistband? “The necklace was an easy mark. Just go in, swap the replica with the original and be done. But no. My wife Shireen had to get even with me for fooling around with my dental hygienist by selling it to what's-his-face in Alaska.”
“That's the best DEFCON ONE I've heard yet,” Goldie murmured, arms raised.
Veronica nodded her agreement. I didn't say it, but I thought so, too.
“Huh?” Laurel was stumped. He scratched his head with his free hand.
He wasn't the best bad guy, more over his head than evil. But a loose cannon with a gun was extra dangerous, so we all needed to be extra careful. Especially me, since the gun was pointed my way.
“Your wife sold Bob the real necklace?” Mrs. O asked, her voice calm, hands out by her sides.
“It was listed as a replica online, but she sent the real deal to fuck with me. We're divorcing—said I'm a cheating bastard—and wanted to have one last joke on me.”
If he really was a cheating bastard, Shireen did good. If he weren’t standing in front of us having a nervous breakdown, we'd be cheering for her.
“So you went to Alaska to get it back,” Veronica said.
Laurel turned to look at her, waved the gun around. “Yeah. Easy as pie. I just dragged my brother along to look like we were with the FBI. But then this woman had to meddle”—he pointed the gun at Goldie—“and mix the original and the fake. Again.”
Goldie didn't look very contrite for her mistake, or overly concerned by the weapon. In fact, she looked like she was going to call Shireen and ask her why she married him at all.
“Where's your brother?” I looked around for Hardy, hoping he wasn't hiding in the dildo sec
tion with his own weapon.
“I killed him.”
Everyone froze. So did my heart for a beat or two. All of his focus was on me. Shit. This wasn't good. “W...why?”
“Because he knew too much. Wanted part of the cut.”
“Cut? It's just a pewter necklace. It can't be worth killing over.”
Laurel rolled his eyes. “Ever wonder why it's so heavy?”
Yes, actually, I did.
“There's a ruby hidden between the two pieces of pewter that makes up the cross. Jefferson Davis had it tucked in there for safekeeping. Insurance if the war took a bad turn.”
The war had taken a turn for him, being on the losing side and all, but it must not have been bad enough to pull out the gem.
“Jefferson Davis' wife wore a cross with a hidden ruby in it?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Laurel said, his true southern accent coming out. “And I want it. You're coming with me until it's time to trade.”
Lesson number one in self-defense. Never go off with someone who's dangerous—and armed. You go with them, you die. Just like Hardy.
“You can't take me.” I shook my head as I said it.
Laurel cocked an eyebrow as if to say 'really?' “And why is that?”
“Because...because...um...I'm having a baby.”
“It's true, she is,” Goldie said, nodding her head vehemently. “So don't get up in her grill like that.”
“You wouldn't want to harm a baby, would you?” Veronica asked.
“No, ma'am. But then your man will run a little faster if he knows his woman and his baby are in jeopardy.” He looked down at my belly.
“Then how do you know we're not messing with you? Maybe she's really the one who was in Alaska, not me.” I pointed at Veronica, stalling.
My sister looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. “It's true. It could have been me. How can you tell? Mike's a hot guy. Maybe we'll both have him. We could switch back and forth and he'd never know.”
Okay, that was a little gross.
“Jesus, you guys are nuts,” Laurel said, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked between us as if trying to figure out who was really who.
Chapter 24
“It's true,” Mrs. O added. “They fooled me when they were kids.”
As if. She could tell the difference between us at twenty paces, even when my sister took my place in her class.
“Who cares which one I get? Someone will want you.”
His words cut surprisingly deep. He was actually wrong. No one wanted me. Todd in college wanted nothing to do with me. Since Mike hadn't called or appeared in the past few days, he wanted medicine more than me.
Veronica had Jack. He'd come for her. Hell, he'd kill Laurel with his bare hands if she even lost an eyelash over this whole exchange.
Laurel started to approach, arm out as if to grab me.
I backed up. “I know karate!”
He just grinned at me. “Yeah, right. Like I can believe anything any of you guys say.”
I held up my cell. “I called the police. Just now. Instead of Mike.”
He cupped his hand by his ear. “I don't hear any sirens. But if you did, we have to move. Let's go.”
Mrs. O inched closer to stand right behind Laurel. Why was she getting closer to the crazy man? She should try to get away! She clearly didn't have mental telepathy because she piped up. “She doesn't know karate.”
Laurel paused, looked over his shoulder at her.
I looked at Mrs. O, astonished. And mad. Okay, so I hadn't paid any attention in her class, but I'd been eleven. “You're right, I don't. Veronica went to class for me when we were kids. I only went a few times.”
“Because—” Mrs. O started.
“What the hell is this? Confession time?” Laurel shouted, his gun veering off me erratically.
I sighed. The conversation with her was almost as scary as a murdering Laurel. There was no way I was leaving the building with him. If I were going to stall him, to try to stay alive, then coming clean with Mrs. O would do the trick. I didn't realize I'd have to be held at gunpoint to do it, however. “Because you scared the crap out of me. And my mom made me go. I wanted to do synchronized swimming lessons at the indoor pool instead.”
Mrs. O lifted one arched brow in surprise. “Synchronized swimming?”
I shrugged. “It was on the Olympics and they were so pretty.”
“I liked your classes, Mrs. O,” Veronica told her.
My sister was such a brown-noser—and she wasn't the one who'd slept with her son.
Mrs. O smiled. “That's nice, dear.”
“Hey!” the guy said angrily. He grabbed Mrs. O's shoulder, wrinkling her pretty blouse in the process. “This isn't the time for girl talk.”
I looked at Mrs. O. This conversation really wasn't about my karate class attendance. This was about the gun-toting idiot standing in front of us and staying alive. She looked at her crinkled shirt and frowned, then turned her eyes to me and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
I held up my hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. She's right, I don't know karate.” I tried to look dejected, which wasn't too hard after the past few days.
Laurel smiled wickedly.
I pointed at Mrs. O. “But she does.”
And with those words, Mrs. O spun out of the man's grasp, catching him completely off-guard and had him slumped unconscious on the ground before I could take a breath. Or duck.
Mrs. O grabbed the gun away from his limp fingers, and then glanced at me, a victorious smile on her face.
Goldie came around the counter with a pair of pink faux-fur lined handcuffs, Veronica holding up George by the ankles like he was a bat, as if ready to take a swing at the man's head. Goldie handed me the cuffs and I put them on the guy. It wasn't the best look, but if it worked for BDSM, it would work for a bad guy. Veronica let out a deep breath and gave up on her softball stance as she put George back on the counter.
I smiled at Mrs. O. “I told Mike you could take someone down with the Vulcan death grip...or whatever that was. That was awesome. Think you could teach it to me?”
The police stormed through the door before we even had a chance to call them, Mike following a minute behind.
“Jesus, Vi, what the hell?” he asked, flustered.
“Long story. Your mom took him down.”
The police were replacing the pink handcuffs with real ones and nudging the guy back from unconsciousness.
“Violet was wonderful. She talked a crazy man down,” Mrs. O told Mike, beaming.
I shook my head. “No, your mom was great. She did that thing”—I did a pinching motion like a lobster claw with my fingers—“and the guy slumped to the ground.”
“I got off the plane and listened to your crazy voice message,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I was finding your number in my contact list when you called. I swear I aged ten years. What the hell is going on?”
We all took turns filling him in on the necklace mix-up. I pulled it from my pocket and dangled it from my fingers. Mike lifted the cross and looked it over.
“It's heavy, but if there's a ruby in there, it's hidden well.”
Eager to be rid of the cursed necklace, I handed it off to the policeman.
“Enough about the necklace,” Goldie said. “Where on earth have you been, young man?” Clearly the fake FBI guy was old news.
“New York. After your confusing conversation about your sister wearing a dress, then just a little while ago when I talked to you, I called the police and floored it over here.”
“I'm just glad you got here,” Mrs. O told her son, giving his arm a quick squeeze.
Veronica was cornered, giving her statement but gave me a thumbs up behind Mike's back. I just rolled my eyes in reply.
“Mrs. O, I'm sorry I switched with my sister for your class,” I said, my voice contrite.
Mrs. O just stood there assessing me, a small smile on her face. “Thank you, Violet, for saying that. It
's not every child who has a twin who can stand in for them.” She looked at me, then at Mike. “Your sister is lovely, but I like you. I always have. You were feisty and creative with your smarts. Like your book.”
Crap. I'd forgotten all about the book. Who would remember a book when a gun was pointed at you?
“You're your own person. Doing what makes you happy. I like that about you. Besides, ever since you two were in high school, I've known you were the one for Mike.”
Mike's mouth fell open, but she held up her hand.
“I like you much more than you think,” she finished, smiling at me.
I couldn't help it. I gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, Mrs. O.”
Mike stood there like a six-foot plus lump.
“Well?” Mrs. O asked him.
Goldie joined us, crossing her arms under her ample bosom. “Yeah, well?”
Mike ran his hand through his hair. “Violet...” he started.
I just shrugged. What was he going to say? Violet, I'm moving to New York. Violet, I can't give you what you need. Violet, you were great. The list was endless.
“Violet is not pregnant and we're not really engaged,” Mike let out in one breath.
Mrs. O looked at Goldie, who frowned. She stomped behind the counter, opened the register, pulled out a bill and gave it to Mrs. O. “Fine. You win.”
Mrs. O beamed.
“What—”
“We know, Mike. We've always known,” Mrs. O said.
What? They'd always known?
“Then why on earth didn't you say so?” Mike growled.
“And ruin all the fun?” Goldie asked with a laugh.
“You knew? All along?” I repeated.
“Of course,” Mrs. O chimed.
“Susan?” Mike asked.
Mrs. O shook her head. “She's crazy. But it got you off your rump, didn't it?”
“You sicced a crazy woman on me so I'd be forced to find someone on my own?” Mike's voice grew deeper, angrier and I swear he grew three inches. His face was becoming mottled, and it was obvious by his clenching fists that he was ready to kill Mrs. O. Good thing she was his mother and the police had taken Laurel's gun. He might have size on her, but she had moves. I'd bet on Mrs. O.