The Perfect Solution

by Day Leclaire

  “You scientists sure talk funny.” She planted her hands on her ample hips. “I ask you, between you and that drool-infested mutt, how’s a body supposed to get any work done? Candy wrappers. Piles of hair. Muddy paw prints. You’re all a pain in my backside.”

  Hickory encouraged her with a wave of his hand. “Just do your usual splendid job, Mrs. Motts.”

  She lifted an eyebrow at that. “Splendid, huh?”

  Hickory blinked. “Did I say splendid?”

  “Heard you,” Dogg confirmed. “Thought it. Said it. Splendid.”

  “How intriguing.”

  “Well, I think she does a stupendous job,” Rube hastened to say. “Positively stupendous. Paradisiacal. Prodigious. Downright ineffable.”

  “You boys swearing over there?” Mrs. Motts demanded. “I don’t abide foul language. You cut it out or I’ll have words with Miss Jane.”

  “I’m sorry to say he swallowed a thesaurus.” Hickory pounded Rube on the back. “Never fear. We’ll have it coughed up in no time.”

  Mrs. Motts shook her broom in their direction. “Don’t you three have somewhere to be?”

  “Why, yes,” Hickory replied, eyeing her with bright curiosity. “Right here.”

  “I’m set upon, I am,” she grumbled. “Three delinquents, that’s what you are. Standing around getting in my way. Dragging in a mutt the size of a horse. Drinking. Swearing. Staring funny at a poor old helpless woman.”

  Rube released his breath in an excited sigh. “I am staring.”

  Hickory glanced at Dogg. “How peculiar. Do you feel it?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I do.” Hickory tossed his cane in Dogg’s direction. “I believe I’ll see where this leads.”

  “Me first.” Rube fluffed his blush-pink tufts of hair, offering Mrs. Motts his biggest, happiest smile. “Care for a lemon sour ball?” he offered generously.

  The cleaning woman groaned. “You boys aren’t going to let me get my work done, are you?”

  “Probably not,” Rube confessed shyly. “Do you mind?”

  “Miss Jane won’t be pleased.”

  He put a finger to his lips. “We won’t tell her.”

  “She likes the place clean so her experiments don’t get contaminated. Leastwise, that’s what she told me.”

  He ignored that, instead tilting his head to one side and humming a little ditty. Unable to resist, he began to sway, his feet pitter-pattering in a brisk two-step. “Would you like to dance?”

  Mrs. Motts folded her arms across her ample bosom. “You better be joking, Junior.”

  “Junior,” Rube repeated, blushing to the tips of his ears. “No one ever called me that before.” He batted his eyes at her. “I’d really like to dance with you. I can hum some more, if you think it would help.”

  “Oh, for crying out—” She jammed her mop into a bucket of soapy water, suds slopping over the side. “You know, I didn’t believe folks in town when they said you three were crazy. I’m beginning to rethink that position.”

  “Oh, we’re not crazy. Just a wee bit eccentric.” He flung his arms wide to show her a “wee bit.”

  “Got it.” She tossed aside her mop and spun toward the door, only to find Hickory standing there. “You want to dance, too, Mr. Ponytail?”

  “But, of course.” He plucked his cane from Dogg’s hand and twirled it. “And I’m a much better dancer than my brother.”

  “That may be, but I don’t dance with men who have hair longer than mine.”

  “Hah!” Rube laughed triumphantly. “That means I win.”

  Dogg stepped in. “Nobody wins. Time to go.”

  “But—”

  Grasping Rube and Hickory by the arms, Dogg propelled them out of the lab and into the fresh air. “Breathe,” he instructed.

  “Well, my goodness.” Rube blinked in confusion. “I offered that lady my sour balls. What in the world possessed me?”

  Hickory frowned, digging the tip of his cane into the grass. “Did what I think just happened actually happen?”

  “Yes.” Dogg sighed. “The perfume works or you’re drunk. I vote for drunk.”

  * * *

  FLYNN AWAKENED to a pounding at his hotel room door. Stumbling out of bed, he snatched up a pair of jeans and pulled them on. Yanking open the door, he glared at Mick Barstow. “This is becoming a bad habit.”

  “I want to know what the hell’s going on,” Barstow announced, shoving his way into the room.

  “Yeah? That makes two of us. What the hell do you want?”

  “I thought you were here to install a security system. But you’re helping with her experiments, aren’t you?” Mick demanded. “That’s why Jane’s crazy uncles bought you at an auction. So she could try her love potion on you. And it worked, didn’t it? That was what last night was all about. Am I right?”

  “I’m getting tired of asking, so this time I suggest you give me a straight answer. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Jane’s perfume experiments. The one she tried on you last night.”

  “I’m not part of any perfume experiment.”

  “Bull! I saw you. Both of you.”

  “Saw us?” Flynn’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”

  Mick sputtered. “You were practically humping Jane right on her front lawn.”

  “Wrong thing to say.” Flynn uncoiled faster than a desert rattler. Snatching Mick from the chair, he half marched, half dragged him toward the door. “Thanks for stopping by. Don’t bother visiting again.”

  Mick’s brown eyes widened. “You don’t know, do you. You don’t know about her experiments or the potion she used on you last night.” He crowed with laughter. “Those old geezers are good, I’ll give them that. She’s run out of people to experiment on in Salmon Bay so they imported you. Very clever.”

  Flynn tightened his hold on Mick’s collar, choking off the bastard’s words, along with his breath. Once he’d turned a pleasant shade of purplish-red, Flynn eased his grip a trifle. “Talk fast. What experiment and what potions? I thought she created perfumes.”

  “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you. They’re perfumes, all right. Pheromone-based perfumes.”

  Pheromones. Flynn tried to recall what he’d read about the subject, but his brain still wasn’t firing on all cylinders. He glared at Mick and gave the weasel a little shake. “Explain,” he demanded curtly.

  “Let me come back in first.”

  Reluctantly, Flynn stepped aside. “Make it fast. I’ve decided I don’t like you much. And people I don’t like don’t stay upright too long.”

  “The feeling’s mutual,” Mick muttered, taking a seat. “But I plan to use Tucker instead of my fists.”

  “Yeah, I’m real scared now.” Flynn propped his hip on the dresser and glared impatiently. “Cut the bull, will you? You can start by explaining about Jane and her pheromones.”

  “Fine. Science 101 in two syllables or less.”

  “You’re right. You’re gonna be using two syllables or less.” Flynn folded his hands, dying to give them a thorough workout. “Because that’s all you’ll be able to manage without any teeth. Now, you want to trade insults until I really lose my temper, or you want to start talking?”

  Mick swallowed. “I’ll get to the point.”

  “Good choice.”

  “Right. Pheromones.” He smoothed the corners of his mustache. “Basically, pheromones are chemicals found in most animals and insects that cause the organism to respond to a member of its species in a specific manner.”

  “One animal makes another animal do something, is that it?”

  “Yes, by chemically affecting various behaviors.”

  “Be more specific.”

  “Let’s see... There’s food gathering. Defense. Creating and maintaining a society.” He shrugged. “Ants, for instance, use them to put down trails or recognize others from their nest. In beehives, the queen releases a pheromone that suppresses the reproductive abilities in other females. Certain ma
mmals use them as territorial markers to warn off the competition.” He paused significantly. “Most interesting of all is that they’re used to affect sexual behavior, to signal the readiness to mate.”

  Flynn’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this got to do with me?”

  “Jane is using what she believes are human pheromones in her perfume. Specifically, female pheromones.”

  “And their purpose?”

  “To cause behavioral changes in the opposite sex. To initiate mating behavior.” Mick cleared his throat. “To be precise... They, ah, are supposed to make you horny.”

  Flynn gritted his teeth. “Jane used these pheromones on me last night?”

  “Considering what you were doing on her lawn, I’d say that was a good bet.” An excited glitter appeared in Mick’s eyes. “Did she do it? Did her formula work?”

  “How the hell should I know?” He shot Barstow an aggrieved look. “Isn’t there a law against that sort of thing?”

  Mick shook his head. “Animal pheromones are used all the time. Pig pheromones are particularly popular with certain perfume manufacturers. But they don’t work. At least, not on humans.”

  “Why not?”

  “Pheromones are species-specific.” Mick grinned. “I could tell you which perfumes to avoid if you don’t want to get up close and personal with a hog.”

  “Cut the crap, Barstow. What about Jane?”

  His smile faded. “We were working together on her pheromone experiments until.... Until suddenly we weren’t.”

  “Until she threw you out, you mean.”

  Mick’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what she told you?”

  “You calling her a liar?”

  “Not to your face,” he said wisely.

  “So you were working with her and...what?”

  “It’s a controversial field since there’s quite a bit of debate over whether these pheromones even exist.”

  “But Jane thinks she’s discovered something.”

  “Right. Her discovery came rather conveniently on the heels of our breakup. She’s on the methodical side, so she wants to be sure of her accuracy. Instead of patenting the stuff, or turning it over to a research facility, she’s doing the formulation herself. In other words, she’d trying to create a perfume she can market all on her own. You’re the guinea pig she’s using to determine whether she’s actually got something worth licensing.”

  “Lab rat.”

  “What?”

  “Forget it. What’s your interest in this, Barstow?”

  “I told you. When we broke up, I accidently left one of my files behind. I need it and I’ll pay you to retrieve it.”

  “You can’t just ask her to give it to you?” Flynn asked skeptically. “You have to pay someone to steal it?”

  “Jane’s not feeling terribly generous toward me right now. This is her way of getting even over our breakup. She knows I can’t complete my own research without those notes and she’s deliberately withholding them.” He stood up. “Come on, Morgan. I’m not asking you to do anything you haven’t done before. This time it’ll be for a good cause. Plus, you’ll be getting a little of your own back at her for conducting pheromone experiments on you without warning you what she was up to.”

  Flynn hesitated. “Did she really use pheromone perfume on me?”

  “No question.”

  Damn. “And this file... I can read it before turning it over?”

  “Every word.”

  Flynn thought fast. “How much is it worth?” Barstow mentioned a figure that left him whistling. “You really must be desperate.”

  Mick shrugged. “Can you get the file?”

  Flynn let several seconds tick by. “I’m not sure. I’ll let you know.”

  “Don’t wait too long. I need it soon or it won’t be worth anything to me.”

  “Like I said... I’ll let you know.” He jerked his head toward the door. Barstow took the hint. The second he’d left, Flynn kicked the door closed, swearing furiously. Time to have a long talk with the uncles.

  Then he’d have an even longer talk with Jane.

  * * *

  JANE SLIPPED DOWNSTAIRS, feeling as peculiar this morning as she had last night. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she hadn’t dressed and still wore her nightgown. She hesitated in the doorway to the living room, struggling to recall the last time she’d wandered through her house undressed. Not that she was actually undressed, she hastened to remind herself. She just wasn’t dressed.

  Never. The answer was definitely never.

  She couldn’t remember a single time she’d come downstairs without throwing on clothes first. Not even as a child on Christmas morning. Dipstick lumbered to his feet and approached, his massive head tilting to one side. He stuck his snout toward her and tested the air, then sneezed violently. Heck, even he sensed a strangeness about her.

  Something odd had occurred last night. Something that had never happened before. Her eyes widened in alarm. Oh, no! What if the perfume had the opposite effect of its design? What if it stirred a reaction in the wearer instead of the one inhaling it? Or... She began to pace. What if when she’d been squirted by the woman in the rest room, she’d been contaminated in some way?

  “That’s impossible,” she whispered. “Female pheromones only act on males. And male pheromones only act on females.”

  Dipstick whined, shivering from head to tail and sending wisps of white, brown and black hair spinning into the air.

  She fought to remain calm, to employ logic. “If the perfume worked, Flynn’s reaction—assuming it was in direct response to the pheromones in the potion—made perfect sense. He was reacting to a chemical stimulus...a...a chemical phone call. He answered and I—”

  Jane groaned, covering her face with her hands. “And I have no excuse for remaining on the line. None at all.”

  She pattered toward the living room again and surveyed the damage from their joint enthusiasm the previous evening. Cushions from the couch were upended. The throw rug had more humps in it than a herd of Bactrian camels. Her brow wrinkled. Did camels form herds? She’d have to remember to look it up and find out. Moving briskly around the room, she adjusted the rug, making sure she centered it properly, and rearranged the cushions on the couch.

  There. All neat and tidy.

  Then she stared at her sterile little room and for the first time saw it through a stranger’s eyes. Through Flynn’s eyes. It was perfect. Too perfect. Pristine and artificial and downright virginal. Lifting her nightgown to her knees, she raced around the living room, tugging at the rug until it sat askew, snatching up the couch cushions and tossing them into the air. Dipstick circled her, barking hysterically. On the wall were two Frank Lloyd Wright prints and a black-and-white photo of Einstein. She knocked all three out of alignment.

  Next she ran for the front door and threw it open. Mr. Keenan stood by her mailbox, holding one of her shoes. She blushed, remembering why it had been left on her doorstep. He gawked as she bolted past, Dipstick hot on her heels. “What in tarnation...?”

  Ignoring him, she sank to the ground at the edge of her garden, not caring that grass and dirt stained her nightgown. She snatched free handfuls of flowers as fast and furious as she could manage. A familiar-looking flash of neon blue glitter caught her eye, winking at her from beneath a hydrangea bush. Squinting, she realized that her glasses had somehow found a way into the flower bed. Oh, good heavens. It must have happened when Flynn had taken her apart the previous night. Her mouth firmed. Tough. They could stay there, permanent reminders to her lapse in judgment.

  She plucked more flowers. Rose thorns dragged painful scratches across her palms, but she didn’t care. She turned her attention to the pansies, ripped them free without inflicting any damage to herself. They simply bobbed their poor severed heads in abject misery, making her feel a bit guilty. Next, she tackled the poppies, the bright orange clashing with the red roses and purple pansies. Once she’d filled the skirt of her nightgown,
she hoisted it high and stomped back toward the house.

  Pausing beside Mr. Keenan, she glared at him. “Don’t look at me like that!”

  “Miss Jane, I have to tell you, everyone in town’s worried about you. You haven’t been yourself lately.” He hesitated, then blurted, “We’re thinking of letting you experiment on us, if it’ll make you feel better.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Keenan. But I don’t think it’ll help.”

  Returning inside, she closed the door. Then she shook the flowers free of her nightgown and dumped them onto the gate-leg table. Not wasting any time, she shoved them willy-nilly into her Simpson vase. Water. Flowers needed water. She marched into the kitchen and turned on the tap. For the first time in all the years she’d owned the vase, she filled it to the brim. Returning to the living room, she fully extended the table—another first—and placed the vase dead center.

  “Hell’s bells, I can’t even do that right,” she announced in disgust. Seizing the vase, she moved it away from the middle. It still didn’t look right, but she didn’t have the energy to figure out why. At least it wasn’t square anymore.

  Finished, she looked around her less-than-perfect room. And then she did the unthinkable. She burst into tears. Sinking to the floor, she wrapped her arms around her dog. “I made an absolute ass of myself last night,” she whispered, burying her face in his ruff. “What’s wrong with me? My perfume works. I should be thrilled. I should be shrieking for joy. Why aren’t I happy?”

  Because if the perfume had worked, then Flynn had been responding to an uncontrollable urge rather than an honest attraction to her as a woman. He wanted her because he found her perfume irresistible, not her.

  Her tears fell faster. For a logical woman, she could be a total idiot. She’d known Flynn was a dangerous man the minute she’d opened the door to him. If she’d believed in gut instincts, maybe she’d have paid attention to them and sent him on his way.

  But no. Instead she’d chosen to play games, to secretly involve him in her experiments. Worse, she hadn’t warned him what she was up to. Once he found out, he’d be furious. And then... Her breath came in a teary hiccup. And then, on top of all that, she’d gone and done the impossible.