by Lucy Carol
Book Description
In this fast-paced mystery, out-of-work actress Madison Cruz runs an obstacle course of singing telegrams and spies as she tries to connect with her FBI mother, yet hide evidence for her grandfather. Hunky wrestlers and crazy zombie fans aren't helping even though they really, really, try to!
As the mystery heats up, so does her attraction to a couple of sexy guys who are vying for her affections. With two to choose from you'd think Madison could have double the fun. But she can't think about that right now, because the enemy is right behind her.
Main Menu
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Dear Reader
Book Description
Contact Information
Table of Contents
Chapter One
For desperate people, a job sometimes can step up and say “Hello. I’m a bad idea. Do you want to play with me?” And since Madison Cruz was desperate, her answer was, “My mother warned me about ideas like you. But she was just messing with my head. So yeah. Let’s play.”
Madison felt that even bad ideas had their merits if you looked for them. The trick was to snatch up the merits and run like hell before the consequences caught up. This was the kind of pep talk she gave herself when she was about to do something stupid.
In her mid-twenties now, her main job was delivering singing telegrams, an old tradition that in modern times had mutated to include being an actress for hire to pull a stunt or joke on family or friends. She had plenty of gigs coming up in a few weeks, but she needed money now. Besides groceries, she needed the rest of her rent and she was broke. So as often happened she was getting creative to supplement her income. Getting creative was a hazard of her job, like being broke.
Fighting her nerves, she tugged her shiny dark brown hair. It fell in silky thickness past her shoulders, framing her face and making her light green eyes look like jewels on display. Long black lashes only served to make her eyes look even bigger, so at times like now when she was trying to hide her fear, she didn’t always succeed. Fear, because she had agreed to do a one-time performance with Fight Cabaret, an all-male wrestling show. With the recent scarcity of work, she would accept almost any crazy gig right now. Like this one. This was one of those bad ideas… with merits.
I must have been out of my mind.
On a hot August twilight, she sat with a few friends in Sound Beating, a bar that had taken its name from the music that used to wail from this place back in its heyday, so near Puget Sound. In Seattle on the edge of downtown, Sound Beating was in a district where it was sometimes hard to tell the difference between the local artists and the homeless people. Whether it was because the artists dressed so shabbily or the homeless people seemed so artistic, Madison was not sure. This place was a dive and proud of it. It gave them enough street cred to keep the local patrons coming while the occasional show like Fight Cabaret brought in new blood.
From their shabby little cocktail table near the edge of a low stage her friends watched the young men rehearsing, demonstrating the moment they wanted Madison to throw a chair at the stage while pretending to be an inebriated customer. The table was covered with old empty beer cans to be used as props in the show that night.
Madison’s longtime girlfriend, Spenser, sat on her right. Sunshine pretty, Spenser bent over the chair that held her duffle bag as she searched inside. She pushed her blonde hair out of her face for a moment and located her digital camera, pulling it out. Happy, she sat down at the table and checked all the settings on the camera. As a photographer, Spenser was (as usual) throwing in her time and talent pro bono for a show. Madison often felt that people took advantage of Spenser’s generosity, but in this case Madison understood completely. Spenser’s boyfriend, Daniel, was one of the wrestlers, and Madison knew that Spenser was excited to get some good shots tonight.
Sitting on Madison’s left was ExBoy, a guy with Scandinavian blood whose good looks made women look twice. Blue eyed with hair the color of golden sand, he rested his dark stubbled chin on his fist as he watched the wrestlers rehearse. The way he smirked and nodded, you’d have thought Madison had picked the coolest possible show to perform with. Legally named Xander Lucius Boyd, once the nickname ExBoy had started, it had stuck.
Despite a few pilfered kisses, he and Madison were not officially a couple. It seemed to Madison that he was always in playtime mode and something about it felt off. Until she had a sense that she was seeing the real ExBoy and not just the party boy, she wouldn’t let herself entertain the notion of them being a couple. Oh, she might daydream about the sex, but…
Okay, she had daydreamed a lot about the sex. He was hot. But when she tried to picture a conversation of any substance, she couldn’t see it.
Her daydream of trying to probe ExBoy’s intellectual side took a strange turn as she pictured him arriving at her door wearing nothing but nerdy glasses with books under his arm. He would say, “Hello, miss, I’ve come to stimulate your intellect. May I come in?”
Snapping out of it, she was grateful the waitress with rainbow hair had stepped up with a tray of rum and Cokes, bursting the idiotic daydream. Madison pulled her huge black tote bag out from under the table and was searching for her purse when thumping sounds on the hollow wooden floor of the stage combined with a man’s triumphant roar made her flinch. Her head whipped up in time to see a wrestler’s body come flying down, about to crash on the table in front of her.
In that split second, Madison reminded herself that Fight Cabaret was a coarse, kick-ass wrestling show, fueled by absurd soap opera back stories, good guys vs. bad guys, and played for laughs. But unlike television where the wrestlers look big and scary, these wrestlers were fun, local guys, nearly a dozen, who loved to play rough with a wink to safety. Some of the guys were built, while others, not so much. Their local flavor was part of the charm. Each guy had invented a character for himself complete with a stage name like Dewey Decimator, Sparkle Pecs, Dizorder Lee, and of course Spenser’s boyfriend, Atomic Waist. Madison’s part in the show tonight involved these four guys, and she had assumed they wouldn’t get too rough around her. She was wrong.
As the body of Sparkle Pecs crashed down onto the table, everyone sprang up from their seats. Everyone, that was, except Spenser who still had her face behind a camera and didn’t see it coming till the table lurched, dumping Sparkle Pecs onto her, leaving him draped over her lap. The empty beer cans popped upward to differing heights before falling to the floor, a hollow metallic chorus in an out-of-sync rhythm. The back of Madison’s long and slender legs hit the edge of her wooden seat as she sprang to her feet, her chair hitting the floor a split second before ExBoy’s chair bounced away. Her purse rocketed across the floor as nearby chairs mutated into raucous dominos. The waitress, looking quite bored, still stood there with her tray of drinks, not a drop spilled. Her hands occupied, she blew a stream of air upward to chase a rainbow strand of hair, hot pink, out of her eyes.
“Sparky, you idiot!” Spenser shoved Sparkle Pecs off her lap onto the floor. His long, light brown hair was cut like a grown out mohawk that he didn’t bother to gel up anymore, letting it hang limp to one side. He sat up rubbing his head but wore a smug smile. Spenser yelled, “Daniel! So help me if he’s broken any of my gear…!” One last chair fell over and a can rolled away as Daniel bounded across the stage over to the chaos, his jeans and baggy t-shirt disguising his physique.
With medium olive toned skin, Daniel, aka Atomic Waist, had thick Italian hair growing back so fast he already had a shadow on his scalp after having shaved his head that afternoon. He didn’t have leading-man good looks, but at 6’ 6” with an amazing build, he was easily the muscular beefcake of the show. He
grabbed Sparkle Pecs, saying, “That’s my woman, moron,” as he pulled him up, easily tossing him back onto the stage.
ExBoy nodded his approval. “And it’s only rehearsal.” Looking over at Madison he said, “I can’t believe you get to be in the show.”
“Neither can I,” she moaned.
Sparky called out, “Sorry, Spenser. But you have to admit, the audience is going to love that move.”
“Pick some other table,” Daniel growled.
Getting down on the floor, Madison and ExBoy crawled around to help Spenser find the scattered pieces of her gear.
“What’s the matter?” ExBoy asked Madison as he found a carrying case and snatched up a few spare batteries that went to the digital camera.
“Just fighting my own stereotype is all.” She lowered her voice, reaching for a small cable cord. “I’m a girly-girl who’s scared of all this shit.”
“But you’re not in the wrestling part,” he said and smiled.
She grabbed a collapsible tripod and a lens cap. “Look what just happened with that table. I could get hurt in front of my family.” They stood up, placing all the little pieces on the table as Spenser lovingly inspected each part.
ExBoy’s smile was gone. “Your family?”
“I invited my grandpa and my mom,” she said.
His face seemed frozen.
“What? You already met Grandpa at least, a few weeks ago when I moved into my apartment,” she said. Then she added, “You two carried my couch together.”
“Yeah. I know,” he said, turning his head and looking around.
The bored waitress said, “Table, please. Someone?” The wrestlers scrambled, setting the table upright and grabbing all the chairs off the floor, putting them back neatly by each cocktail table. The waitress set the drinks down one by one from the tray which she then tucked under her tattooed arm. Madison found her purse, dug around, and gave the waitress an extra big tip to help smooth any ruffled feathers. The waitress leaned into Madison, her smoky eyes taking on a conspiratorial look behind the rainbow hair, and said, “There’s a big old guy at the door. Says he’s Vincent Cruz, your grandfather. Do you want us to let him in before the doors officially open?”
“Yes, please. Oh, and was my mother with him?” She watched the waitress’ face, but the waitress shook her head and said, “I didn’t see anyone with him.”
Madison deflated a touch and said, “Look, I want him to have a nice time, so could you tell him that anything he wants is on the house but charge it to me? It’ll be my secret.” It was her last few dollars, but she knew she’d be paid after the show tonight.
“Family secrets,” the waitress said, nodding as she left. “I like it.”
Dewey Decimator, his dark brown hair pulled up in a samurai style ponytail at the top of his head, said in an accusing tone, “That was bullshit, Sparky. I’m supposed to be the one who goes flying into the table.”
“You could do your big flying leap and land on top of me,” said Sparky.
Dewey Decimator stared for a moment and blinked. “You’re right.” He rubbed his hands together, thinking. “Then we could pick up Madison’s chair while she’s still sitting in it. We’ll throw her at Atomic Waist!”
“Wait, what?” Madison looked up.
“Dewey, you’re an artist,” Sparky nodded.
“Well, you taught me, bro,” said Dewey.
“Did I just become a crash test dummy?” said Madison.
“No, seriously dude,” said Sparky, “your skills are scary.”
Dewey beamed. “Thanks.”
“Hello?” said Madison.
A deep chuckle erupted from Atomic Waist. “Picking up a girl and throwing her at me might be a bit over the top, don’t you think?” he said.
“That’s what we’re here for, dude,” said Sparky. “Over the top entertainment.” He grabbed Dewey’s samurai ponytail with one hand and pulled back a balled up fist with the other, pretending to take aim. Dewey smiled and held up his middle finger at Sparky.
“Don’t try to make her wrestle,” said Atomic Waist. “She was brought in for a different kind of comedy—as a side character.”
“This will be fantastic,” said Sparky. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You guys said this would be improv!” said Madison, looking back and forth from Sparkle Pecs to Dewey Decimator.
“That’s right,” said Dewey. “We were told you’re really good at improv. That you know how to wing it.”
“Sure I can wing it. But getting physical with you animals wasn’t part of the deal.”
“Yes it was,” said Dewey.
“Not like that, it wasn’t! I’m supposed to act like a drunk customer out of control, distracting Atomic Waist while you get the drop on him. You said to improvise and try to get you guys some laughs.”
“Don’t worry,” said Dewey. “We do this kind of thing all the time. No one gets very hurt.”
“No one gets very hurt?” squeaked Madison.
Sparkle Pecs remained excited. “Aw, c’mon, Madison, this will be fantastic! They’ll be blogging about it all week.”
“Yeah, while I’m in the hospital. Look,” she said. “I’m not a sack of potatoes that you can throw around. This is not what I thought it would be.”
“I’ll be a sack of potatoes,” said ExBoy. “Fresh potatoes.”
“Well what exactly did you think this would be?” asked Dewey, his hands on his hips.
“I was hired to do improv,” she said. “I’m supposed to jeer and throw empty beer cans at Atomic Waist so he’s distracted with me while he’s raging at the audience. From there I improvise to get some laughs. Nothing was ever said about throwing me!”
“It is improv. We make up a lot of it on the spot to keep it fresh,” said Sparky.
“Oh, please. You’re doing fight choreography at best, with improv thrown in. You want improv, I’m your girl. I could be drunk for real and do a better job! But I’m not going to experiment with improvised fighting. Forget it! I’m out!”
“You can’t be out!” said Sparkle Pecs. “They’re opening the doors.”
Madison turned her head quickly; sure enough, the first few patrons were paying their entrance fees at the door.
Chapter Two
“I don’t care if the audience is in their seats. If I can’t feel safe I’m not doing it!” said Madison. She crossed her arms, her face like a rock.
Atomic Waist jerked his head down and back up, mouthing a silent “fuck.” He shook his head as he said, “Didn’t I say this would happen if you guys got carried away again?”
Dewey started, “But—”
“Didn’t I? And there’s no time to fix it now.”
Dewey Decimator rolled his eyes as he turned away, pacing the stage, studying the floor with hands on his hips.
ExBoy standing nearby leaned into her and whispered, “You get me hot when you’re tough.” She whipped her head toward him with a flinty look. He flinched. “Or not.”
There was a brief silence in the room broken only by the distant voices of people being admitted into the barroom. With a slow expelling of air, Atomic Waist rubbed one hand down his face and turned to Madison. “I’ve seen you on stage, Madison. I know this could work. So I’m hoping that if you at least watch the show tonight you might change your mind for next week.” He turned, walking backstage, and called, “Come on, we have to get ready.”
“I’m sorry,” Madison said, softening and wishing there were a way to fix it. She hated leaving them hanging. Her rent would be hanging now, too. Bye-bye immediate paycheck.
“But what are we going to do now?” Sparkle Pecs pushed his limp mohawk back as he called out to Atomic Waist.
Atomic Waist’s voice echoed back once more, “Wing it!”
Madison watched them head back stage as Sparkle Pecs and Dewey Decimator kept looking back at her, arguing with each other.
“You had to go and land on their table,” said Dewey, while Sparky said, “Y
ou were the one who said to throw her.”
The summer heat in the barroom added a sense of urgency as the consequences of her lost income sank in on her. So much for the undiscovered merits of a bad idea. She turned to the cocktail table, dug out her tote bag once again, and put the empty beer can props back into it. No one said a word to her as she packed the props away, throwing the big tote bag back under the table. Reaching for that icy cocktail, she plopped down in her chair and sipped her cold drink. Rum and Coke was Madison’s favorite cocktail and the chilled fluid felt good going down her throat, but it didn’t ease the situation.
ExBoy emptied most of his drink in one long draw and looked around the room. Madison could see those gorgeous blue eyes calculating. He took the last sip then stared at the ice in his empty glass, not moving. The longer he stood there, the more his eyes creased. “Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked.
Shaking it off, his smile was back as if it never had left. He set the glass down saying, “I gotta go,” and headed toward the back door. There was no predicting him anyway, but it still caught her off guard the way he could both show up and disappear without much warning.
She looked at Spenser who had her camera all set up now and sitting on the table waiting for the show to start, and said, “I guess it’s just you and me now.”
“What’s with him?” Spenser swung her head in the direction ExBoy had left, and added, “And what’s with using the back door?”
Madison shrugged. “Wish I knew.”
“Are you guys officially a couple yet?”
A rueful chuckle escaped Madison. “No, and I don’t think we should be. Forget that he comes and goes like a tormented superhero, he’s just too hard to figure out.”
“Uh oh.”
“What? I don’t like it when you say uh oh,” said Madison.
“He sounds mysterious and brooding. Hard to resist.”
“Oh, spare me! He’s just… just… hot as hell, that’s all.”
Spenser nodded and they picked up their drinks, clinked the glasses, and each took a swallow.