by Lynn Galli
“Again? I seem to remember beating you last time.”
“I let you win.” Her nose wrinkled. “It’s my hustle.”
I laughed. “It’s not a hustle if you tell me about it.”
“Oh,” she looked self-conscious for a second before cracking up. “Tennis. Prepare to be spanked.” She rose from the table and headed to the bar.
Ten seconds after she left, Hoop Pierced Lip slipped into the seat Iris just vacated. “Don’t go kinky with her, Vega. She won’t let you go back to regular, if you know what I mean.”
I didn’t, and how the hell would she know? She’d been with Stud Pierced Lip, then went to Right Tattooed Arm the next night. Unless she cheated on one of them with Iris, she shouldn’t know anything about how kinky Iris may or may not be.
Iris, kinky? Hmm, kinda fun to think about, but none of my business. Of course, it might be an entertaining topic to go over the next time we were on a stakeout together.
10 | Bailey & Dusty
My mind was already several steps ahead of the couple sitting with me. They were telling a version of my least favorite get together story. The business trip, two colleagues who weren’t supposed to get together, but circumstances and loneliness pushed them together. They thought they were clever because of the tiny little hiccup that wasn’t so tiny and happened way too often.
“We get to the hotel,” Bailey, the busty femme of the twosome, started the predictable part of the story.
And they only had one room available, I thought to myself.
“I made the reservations myself,” Dusty, the lanky butch of the twosome, interrupted. She’d probably interjected that little tidbit every time this story came up.
Of course you did, I snarked inside my head.
“And instead of the two rooms that Duster booked, there was only one.”
How amazing that could happen at a hotel where you didn’t double check the reservations that your colleague made on your behalf. My snark was turning to snide.
“Couldn’t believe it,” Dusty-Duster was shaking her head as if she hadn’t been the puppet master behind that little hiccup.
“And get this,” Bailey leaned her bust—herself—forward and gripped my arm.
“There weren’t any other rooms available in the whole town,” I finished for her.
She jerked back, disappointment painting her face. Crap, I should have said that one to myself as well.
“No, there weren’t,” she agreed, a little deflated now. “There were four other conventions in town.”
“Happens sometimes.” I tried to soften my earlier guess.
“We didn’t know what to do.” She flung up her hands to prove she hadn’t known what to do.
“Oh, I let that desk clerk have a piece of my mind,” Dusty spoke up, her hand rubbing a circular pattern on her wife’s back hard enough to tunnel through.
It didn’t matter that I felt awful for taking the wind out of Bailey’s story. I still wanted to let my snark free as I imagined how Dusty berated the front desk clerk all for show when she’d been the one to cause the problem.
“She was trying to preserve my honor. I almost fell in love with her right there in that hotel lobby.” Bailey’s breasts pushed up against Dusty as they swiped their noses against each other.
I swallowed the gag I felt rise and looked away. Lane was slammed again tonight as the only bartender. My plan halfway through this story was to wrap it up quickly and get something to eat. By the look of the crowd in here, I’d have to go someplace else. I was getting sick of the only thing the cook made well, anyway.
My lips curled up when I saw Iris pulling beers for some of the patrons. The bar’s owner couldn’t be bothered to help, so Lane’s best friend pitched in. From the wrong side of the bar, which was fun to watch.
“Almost?” I encouraged Bailey to continue or I’d never be done with this interview. Never. I’d age in place at this very table.
“Maybe a little.” She winked at Dusty. “But not only did they not have other rooms.” She leaned forward again to grip my arm.
The room only had one bed, I guessed silently.
“We got up to our room, and there was only one bed.”
Gasp!
“It was the last room they had, us getting in late and all.” Dusty had the grace to look sheepish. She must have known I guessed that she was to blame for the room mishap.
“And I’m sure the chivalrous Dusty slept on the floor?” I couldn’t help baiting.
“Oh, gosh no.” Bailey’s bust heaved at the scandalous suggestion. “I couldn’t make her do that. We had a big presentation the next day, and she has a bad back.”
A bad back? Now that was a new angle. I’d heard many excuses before for needing to share the only bed in a hotel room, but a bad back was a new one.
My eyes drifted away to avoid rolling rudely. They landed on Iris leaning over the bar top to fill four beer mugs for Riley. Another woman stood close, talking to Iris’s back. Riley kept twisting away to hide her laughter at the woman’s attempt to get Iris’s attention. Dressed in a smart suit tailored to fit her lithe frame, the mystery woman was attractive enough to get anyone’s attention. Yet, Iris wasn’t biting. I so wanted to be over there, getting that story instead of listening to this one.
At least I could look forward to another tennis game tomorrow. It was becoming a regular once a week thing for us, sometimes more often. While Bailey droned on about Dusty’s need for a comfy bed, I reflected on how these past few weeks had been easy and fun. I hadn’t made the kind of friendships I’d made here in years. I’d planned to stay one more week, but with Portland a three-hour drive away and Spokane not much farther, I could use Seattle as a base for another month. Cultivate my tennis game and enjoy more time with these new friends. Good stuff all around.
“…in her arms,” Bailey was saying as my attention came back. “I snuggled up against her sometime in the night. I’m a snuggler, don’t ya know.”
“I can’t resist a good snuggle,” Dusty admitted, fondness for her spouse evident on her face. She might have manipulated how they got together, but she was still dedicated to her after several years together.
“One thing led to another.” Bailey turned to Dusty, gave her another nose snuggle, then kissed her—with lots and lots of tongue. My eyes didn’t stop the roll this time.
I slammed the cover of my notebook closed and shot out of my seat. No need to prolong the impromptu voyeurism. “Thanks so much. I’ve got what I need. Nice to meet you.” I fled before they started humping each other right there on the table.
“Beer?” Iris asked, starting her lean toward the unmanned taps as Lane was busy filling eight orders at once.
The attention seeking woman sighed loudly at the interruption. She pulled out a business card from her expensive purse and slid it onto the bar top in front of Iris. “Call me, Iris. We don’t have to be exclusive.” She slipped off the barstool, tipped her head at me, and headed for the exit.
They didn’t have to be exclusive? Wow. So many questions marched across my mind. I wanted to laugh. As passes went, that one was definitely original. My eyes came back to look at Iris. She didn’t look embarrassed to have deflected a pass in front of me. She looked perturbed.
“Not your type?” I watched as the woman hailed a cab out front.
“She’s a lawyer.”
I swung back around at the angry tone. “Don’t like lawyers?”
“Not that one. I’ve come up against her in court a few times. She’s damn good. Made me doubt myself on the stand.” Distaste pinched her expression. “Now she thinks I’ll forget that just because she’s throwing money at me?”
Wait, money? She propositioned Iris? A former police detective? Something was off here. “Why is she throwing money at you?”
Iris focused on me. “For a job. Like I’d even consider working for a defense attorney to help clear the kind of clients I used to arrest.”
Lane wandered by, glanced at
Iris, and halted. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just Sharkie again.”
She gave us the one-sided quirk of her lips. “Still stalking you?”
“This time, she said I didn’t have to work for her firm exclusively.”
Ah. Got it. Not a pass at all. “You could always take on a case, screw it up royally, thus making sure the client gets jailed, and the lawyer leaves you alone,” I joked.
Lane snickered and sauntered away. Iris let a grin slip and gestured to the tap again. “Beer?”
“No, thanks. I’m going to grab some food somewhere and head home.”
Her eyes flicked to the front windows of the bar before coming back to mine. “You’re not walking, are you?”
The sudden change in her expression from amusement to worry forced me back a step. It was a pleasant night out, warmer than some of the others. Full dark, but a perfect night for a walk. Only she didn’t think so. “I have a rental, but I thought I’d walk to that Thai place a block over. Have you been?”
Her eyes widened just a touch. “I have. Skip it. Try the place on Broadway around the corner from your apartment. Great curry and they spice it as much or as little as you like.”
That sounded more like a warning against the place down the street than a recommendation for the place near my apartment. If I weren’t so hungry, I would have made her tell me what had her so worried. As it was, I’d put in on the list of things to talk to her about while slamming tennis balls around. It was growing bigger and bigger for every outing.
11 |
My phone rang as I rounded the corner onto Iris’s block. If I hadn’t been expecting a call back, I would’ve let it go to voicemail. Checking the display, I took the call as I stepped onto the brick pathway up to the smallest house on the block. It only took thirty seconds to make me regret that decision.
“Bad news?” Iris called from the tiny stoop of her equally tiny house. Well, tiny might be exaggerating, but small for the neighborhood. On each side of her were mammoth boxes of homes, easily five thousand square feet and zero character. Not original to the neighborhood, either. Hers had probably been here since the early 1900s.
“Just got confirmation that one of my couples was lying.”
She frowned as she waved me inside. “You’re following up on their stories or someone volunteered that a couple was lying?”
My stride halted just inside the door. Iris bumped into me as I tilted back to check out the exterior again and then back inside. It looked much larger inside than out. On a swivel, my head took in every crevice. Sparsely furnished with the right sized pieces, it didn’t feel cluttered or overburdened.
“I can’t tell if you like it.” She brushed past me and into the kitchen, ten steps away, to offer me one of the beers she’d set on the counter before coming to meet me at the front door.
“Nine hundred square feet?” I looked up at the low clearance loft space above the kitchen and down the hall just past the kitchen.
“Almost. There’s a bedroom, bathroom, and laundry room back this way. I put in a deck out back, which is where I live in the summer.”
“It’s,” I paused not quite sure what words to use. In the thirties and forties, every house on the block would have been this size. My condo in Chicago was much larger and yet, this didn’t feel cramped at all.
Her eyes scrutinized mine, waiting for my review. For the first time, I spotted a touch of insecurity in her expression. She cared what I thought of her home. Not just because she took pride in it and would be insulted by anyone who didn’t like it. She cared what I, her new friend, thought of the choice she’d made for a home.
“Perfect,” I finished, my head nodding on its own. “The living room is just the right size, and the kitchen’s big enough for two people. I don’t know about climbing up and down those ship ladder stairs if that’s where you’re sleeping when you’re eighty, but other than that, it’s the perfect size and layout. An excellent use of space.”
She smiled widely and my heart stuttered for making her that happy and erasing her earlier insecurity. “Thanks. I love it. Most of my friends thought I was crazy when I bought it. They were all getting brand new condos up here or in Belltown, all easily twice the size of this. Some paid three times as much. My cop’s salary wouldn’t stretch that far. I saw this place, small as it was, and something about it just grabbed me.”
Something about it grabbed me, too. I could easily see settling into something this size when I found my next port of stay for more than a few months. “How long have you lived here?”
“Fifteen years. Had to replace almost everything over the years, new roof, new appliances, new paint, new floors, typical homeowner stuff. When most of those friends were ready to start families, they had to sell their shiny condos to get little more than the down payment for their mini-mansions in the suburbs. They’ll be paying off their mortgages until they die.”
“And you?” It was none of my business, but curiosity goes with the whole reporter thing.
“I burned those papers three months ago.”
“Jeez, that’s amazing, Iris. Forty-eight and no mortgage? Amazing.”
“Thanks. It’s why I knew I could retire from the force when I did.”
Now the nonchalance about retiring early and only taking the PI jobs she wanted made sense. Admirable. Wish I’d bought something fifteen years ago. I could be in the same position. Instead, I was still a temporary migrant, flitting from story to story, city to city, and writing off my living expenses. It was a nice perk, but seeing this cute place with Iris settled into a second career and a ton of freedom, I was a little envious.
She led me outside to her back deck. We sat in two Adirondack chairs and took in the cottage style backyard. No lawn to mow, it was mostly low maintenance plants, trees, and rock gardens, but with plenty of space to allow for the same expansions her neighbors made to their homes. I could see why she spent so much of her time out here when the weather cooperated. I hoped to join her for many more nights like this. It felt that comfortable, both the spot and the company.
“Did you rent in Chicago, too? No permanent home?”
A breath pushed out as I thought about how to reply since most people didn’t get my nomadic lifestyle. I was starting to admit that I didn’t much get it anymore, either. “Don’t have one. Chicago was okay, except for the brutal winters. When I stopped working for the Trib, I was ready for a change.” Which accounted for the article series and the planned multi-city visit that was currently being delayed because I liked Seattle enough to stay another month.
“Thinking about something long-term, or do you have more of these assignments that will take you all over?”
The mindreading thing of hers didn’t bother me as much this time. “Before I started this story, I would have taken the multiple assignments approach. Now that this series can be turned into a book, I could see myself stopping somewhere for a while. Maybe a long while.”
“What about Seattle? Cold winters, cold springs, mostly cool summers, and pleasant falls, what more could you ask for?” She flashed a cheeky grin.
I shivered as a perfectly timed breeze whipped past us. “The weather is hard to resist. Will it ever become summer here?” More than halfway into June, the heat still hadn’t been turned up yet.
“Just wait for the two weeks of the year when it edges up into the nineties. You’ll be praying for this barely seventies weather again. Most homes don’t have A/C. Try sleeping when you can’t cool your house down.”
After the grueling humidity and heat in Chicago last summer, this was very pleasant. So what if I needed to grab a coat before I went out to the bar at night. As long as my clothes weren’t completely soaked in sweat before mid-morning, it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.
“We’ve got a little time before we need to leave for the baseball game.” She was going to introduce me to a few of the lesbians with the group season tickets she’d mentioned the other night. “Tell me about the lying cou
ple.”
My mind snapped back to the phone call I’d received, and my good mood faltered. “They met using a dating site. Nothing like the great story they told me for the article.”
“What was their story?” Original to a fault. Everyone else would have asked how I found out or why they lied. Iris wanted the story from the beginning.
“Halloween, five years ago. They were meeting blind dates.”
“Do not say a costume party.” Her hand reached to grip my arm.
I laughed. “Should I go British on your ass and call it a fancy dress party?”
She joined my laughter. “A costume party? Really?”
“Yep. They knew each other’s names and what they’d be dressed as. Of course, others were dressed in similar costumes and had the same names. You can guess the rest.”
She nearly spit out a mouthful of beer. “They didn’t bother to check that the other vampire or whatever was their intended blind date?” Then she laughed even harder. “What am I saying? Of course, they didn’t; it’s a made-up story.”
“Exactly, but I was right there with you, asking the same questions.” It was too fun not to have asked. A blind date was tough enough. Add in costumes, and things go haywire quickly. “They claimed to be so enchanted with each other they didn’t think that some other vampire and zombie might be the blind dates they were supposed to be meeting instead.” They had been near the top of my favorites list, having met by chance when they’d been primed to meet other people.
“Where did it fall apart?”
“I ask every couple for numbers to talk to friends or families for some background info or objective observations. It’s really so I can verify the stories.”
“Interesting.” She blinked a few times to process that. “So one of their friends gave them up?”
“Yep. Said they met using a dating site. Then I called four others. Two gave me their Halloween story; the other two confirmed the dating site.”
“You believe the dating site version?” She shifted her chair to face mine and leaned forward in interest. I could feel her detective instincts kicking in.