Snoops in the City (A Romantic Comedy)

by Darlene Gardner

  "Okay," he said mildly. "Maybe we can have that cup of coffee another time."

  "Coffee?" She peered at him over the roof of her car. "What coffee?"

  "The coffee I was about to suggest we get at this place I know that's open until midnight."

  "You were talking about coffee?"

  "Yep," he said.

  She cast her mind back over the evening, realizing he hadn't done anything to indicate he was in the market for sex. He'd suggested he wanted to talk, specifically about how a woman like her found herself following a man like him.

  But why was he so suspicious of her motives? Unless men had something to hide, most of them wouldn't object to being trailed by an attractive woman. But maybe Grady didn't consider her attractive. Maybe he'd asked her to coffee to make sure she wasn't looney tunes.

  Accepting his invitation would be the smart move, both to assure him of her sanity and to discover more about him. But if she reversed her position, he might really think she was nuts.

  "My friends are waiting," she said. "I've got to go."

  "Who'll feed your cat?" he asked before she could escape.

  "My what?"

  "Your fat cat," he supplied, and she remembered the lame story she'd invented. "You've been away from home for a while. Won't she get hungry?"

  "I left plenty of food out this time.” Tori ducked into her car, intent on escaping from his questions.

  She drove off thinking it hadn't been a bad debut. If you didn't count her lusting after him and his skepticism about her non-existent cat, that is.

  On the positive side, she'd invented a plausible reason for following him and come up with a believable excuse not to have sex with him. Never mind that he hadn't wanted sex in the first place.

  If she had the foggiest idea how to proceed with the investigation, the PI thing might work out after all.

  She did know one thing. After she finished her shift at Frasier's makeup counter tomorrow, she needed to visit the pound.

  She hadn't read very deeply into So, You Want to be a PI, but she knew enough to cover her tracks.

  CHA PTER NINE

  Grady consciously slowed his momentum so he didn't burst through the back entrance of Frasier's department store like an Old-West sheriff on the lookout for an outlaw. Technically, Tori qualified as more of a liar than a criminal.

  Hadn't she realized he'd check out her story? He'd booted up his computer the moment he'd gotten home the night before and typed "Grim Tales from the Reaper" into a search engine.

  He'd gotten a hit on the current events page of the Eleanor J. Reaper High School web site.

  It seemed the drama department at Reaper High, which was up the road from Seahaven, was putting on a series of vignettes for children based on Grimm's fairy tales.

  Hence the clever title Grimm Tales from the Reaper.

  If Grady weren't mistaken, one of the City Councilmen who had been at the party last night had a teenage daughter who attended Reaper High.

  His inclination was to hunt Tori down and demand to know why she'd lied. The confrontational approach, however, hadn't worked very well last night.

  Better to bide his time and go along with her you're-so-hot fiction while he figured out what she was up to.

  He had doubts that he'd find her at Frasier's. She'd mentioned she worked weekends at the store, but that could have been another lie. Tori Whitley might not even be her real name. Directory Assistance listed a number of Whitleys, but none with T as a first initial.

  He looked around for a salesperson who wasn't helping another customer and found one in the petite, pimply-faced teenager manning the cash register in the juniors' department.

  "Can you tell me if a Tori Whitley works here?" he asked.

  “Sure does." The teen smiled at him through her braces. "Go through jewelry and you can't miss her. Sometimes she even has a line."

  "I'd better get over there before someone gets in front of me,” he said.

  The teenager's eyebrows rounded like the arches of a bridge. "You mean you'd get in line?"

  "Sure," he said.

  "I wouldn't have figured you for the sort, but I'm cool with it," the teen said. "It must be true what they say about it taking all kinds."

  Puzzled by her comment, Grady threaded his way past glass cases of glittering gold and silver jewelry before Tori's fall of auburn hair caught his attention.

  She focused intently on a woman atop a raised stool in front of her. The woman had her eyes closed, as though in some kind of trance. Tori picked up a brush and dabbed something powdery on the woman's nose.

  The teen's comment suddenly made sense.

  He felt an uncomfortable sensation prick the back of his neck and slowly turned to see a middle-aged woman with pock-marked skin and a cane closing in on him. He'd noticed her shuffling through the racks in the juniors’ department while he questioned the clerk.

  Had she heard him say he'd wait in line for Tori? Had she trailed him to watch the show?

  "I'm not here for a makeover," he told the woman, who looked at him curiously. He felt compelled to add, "I don't wear makeup. Not that I think there's anything wrong with men wearing makeup if that's their thing. Except it's not my thing because I don't wear it."

  His voice trailed off when he realized he was protesting too much. She extended a business-card holder to him.

  "I don't care what you do, buddy," she said. "I just wanted to tell you that you dropped this."

  He took his business cards with as much dignity as he could muster. "Thank you.”

  She walked away and he gladly returned his attention to Tori, who put the finishing touches on the woman's makeup with a sure and steady hand.

  If this had been his first glimpse of her, he would have found a way to introduce himself. Her unusual coloring, big eyes and slightly upturned nose made her pleasing to the eye. That was only part of the reason. She worked with a one-track absorption that added to her attractiveness.

  But that was dangerous thinking. Grady, more than anybody, knew appearances could deceive.

  Tori might not look like anybody's flunky but she couldn't be trusted. She'd lied about the play and, most likely, her reason for following him. No doubt she'd told him other whoppers, too. The fat cat came to mind.

  She must have sensed somebody approaching, because she raised a finger without taking her gaze off the woman. "I'll be with you in a minute.”

  "Take your time," he replied.

  Those big eyes flew to him.

  "Grady." Surprise and anxiety clouded her features. The absence of pleasure didn't surprise him, but he found it bothered him. "What are you doing here?"

  "I came to see you," he said. "I would have called but Directory Assistance didn't have a listing for you."

  "I'm listed under V. Whitley," she said. "Tori's short for Victoria."

  Likely story, he thought, although he had to admit her explanation sounded plausible.

  "Didn't you say you drive a VW bug, Tori?" interjected her dark-haired customer, who was pretty enough to be a model. "That's how you should tell the men you meet to remember how you're listed. It won't backfire on you the way it used to on me. My maiden name is Zedney. My first name's Elaine, so my initials were E.Z.”

  The chatty customer didn't give either of them a chance to reply, instead asking Tori, "You are done, right?"

  Tori had barely nodded in reply before her customer got out of her seat and marched up to Grady. "I need a man's opinion." She tilted up her face. "How do I look?"

  Tori had applied her makeup with a light touch, a smart choice considering the woman's natural beauty.

  "Great," he answered truthfully. "You should buy everything."

  "I was thinking the same thing, but it's good to hear you second that." To Tori, she said, "Ring me up."

  He stood silently by while Tori completed the sale, patiently enduring Elaine's incessant chatter. Tori didn't look at him until her customer had finally gone. Her dark eyes locked on h
is and he felt the heat, the same way he had the night before.

  She quickly lowered her lashes before he could determine whether she felt it, too. "You didn't have to talk her into buying all those products.”

  "It didn't take much persuasion.” He rested his hands on the glass counter. "Besides, I wanted you to get the commission."

  She backed away from the counter and busied herself straightening jars of makeup on a shelf behind her that already was perfectly in order. "Nobody at Frasier's works on commission.”

  "You should find a place where you can," he said. "You did a good job."

  She shrugged her slim shoulders. "It's just something I do to earn extra money. There's not much to it."

  Judging by the number of makeup-impaired women in the world, Grady didn't agree. Lorelei, who applied her makeup with a paint roller, could certainly use Tori's expertise. However, he hadn't come to Frasier's to talk about his sister.

  "How was the play last night?" he asked abruptly, hoping to get a reaction from her. He succeeded, but he hadn't counted on bewilderment.

  "The play?" she asked, a blank look on her face.

  "Grimm Tales from the Reaper," he supplied and saw the light of remembrance enter her eyes. She'd told so many lies, she probably had a hard time keeping them all straight.

  One of her hands kneaded the other. "Really, really scary.”

  "I thought you said it was a spoof.” His gaze dropped to her hands to show he'd noticed her edginess.

  She abruptly stopped rubbing them together and hid them behind her back. "You must have heard me wrong," she said, biting her bottom lip. "I said the play was spooky. Not spoofy."

  The bottom seemed to fall out of his stomach, causing him to feel vaguely nauseous. And disappointed in himself for hoping she'd come clean about the play. Now that he'd re-established she was lying, he needed to get to the purpose of his visit.

  He gave her his most charming smile. "I came to apologize."

  She shuffled her feet. "You have nothing to apologize for."

  "Yes, I do," he said. "Instead of cross-examining you, I should have gotten down on my knees and given thanks that a woman as beautiful and interesting as you is attracted to me."

  Her lips parted. "Are you serious?"

  He might have laid the compliments on too thick. There was no turning back now. "Dead serious. Let me make it up to you by taking you out tomorrow night."

  She hesitated in giving her answer. "I sort of have plans tomorrow night."

  Grady swallowed his disappointment. "Don't tell me you're going to another play.”

  Her auburn hair swayed when she shook her head, catching the fluorescent lights overhead so that it shone. "I promised my neighbor I'd stop by her church carnival. It's for charity." She paused, then seemed to fight an internal battle before she added, "I don't suppose you'd like to go with me?"

  "I'd love to," Grady said quickly even as the irony of the setting registered upon him.

  A carnival, bound to be full of wide-eyed, excited children, represented innocence. The term didn't apply to Tori, no matter how angelic she looked.

  "Good," she said, but her smile wavered.

  "I'll look forward to it," he said.

  Much later, after he called the FBI agent working on Operation Citygate and asked him to run a background check on one Victoria Whitley, Grady realized at least part of his conversation with Tori had been truthful.

  He did look forward to their date.

  He didn't intend to probe his subconscious to discover the truth of why that was. He had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer.

  CH APTER TEN

  The bundle in the oversized, canvas bag she passed off as a purse squirmed, diverting Tori's anxiety over her imminent return to the Roseate Spoonbill.

  Careful to support the bottom of the bag with the flat of her palm, she opened the drawstring top and peered inside.

  "Shhh," she told the scrawny white cat that stared back at her. "I was already fired once. I don't want to get kicked out a second time."

  The cat — she hadn't named it yet — gave her the same plaintive look that had wormed its way into Tori's heart at the pound.

  She'd been all set to take home a plump feline named Big Bertha when the white cat, which she'd been trying to ignore, let loose with a pitiful meow that seemed to say, "Pick me."

  She'd met those sad, blue eyes and reluctantly given up on her quest for a fat cat. Adopting her hadn't been easy, either, not when the county pound required apartment dwellers to provide a copy of a lease showing their place of residence had no pet restrictions.

  Since Tori was relatively sure Seahaven Shores had a no-pets clause, she'd given her cousin Eddie's address as her own. He deserved nothing less for convincing her that investigating Grady would be a cinch. Ha!

  "You better not cry. You need to remember I wasn't heartless enough to leave you home alone on your first night with me," she told the cat in the bag before she pulled the drawstring loosely closed.

  The bartending job she'd lost at the Roseate Spoonbill hadn't been her first as a Seahaven resident. After striking out as a bank teller and a waitress, she'd taken a six-week course in mixing drinks.

  She'd applied at the Spoonbill, an establishment a few miles south of Seahaven, because the logo on the front of the building amused her. A rose-colored cartoon bird lilted drunkenly to one side, a whiskey bottle dangling from its spoon-shaped beak.

  Now she saw the bird as an adequate metaphor for her professional life. Tori drank only moderately. But if she didn't get help soon, she was in danger of falling flat on her face. Again.

  "Here goes," she said under her breath and walked into the bar. Joey Girdano, the bar manager, noticed her immediately.

  “Hey, Whitley. Didn't I fire you?” He chewed energetically on a wad of gum. A small man with coarse, wavy hair and a thick untrimmed mustache, Joey was a recovering alcoholic whose jaws never stopped moving. He claimed the gum helped him keep from reaching for whiskey.

  "Don’t worry," Tori said, "I’m not here to ask for my job back."

  “You wouldn't get it back," Joey said.

  The cat in her bag made a loud noise, causing the assortment of men and women bellying up to the bar to stare at her. Tori duplicated the noise the best she could, which hurt her throat.

  "You don't have to get hissy about it," Joey said. "You were a lousy bartender, not to mention gullible as hell. Those people you let run up tabs still haven’t paid.”

  “You’re joking."

  “I never joke about money." He blew a bubble, popped it. "As long as you spend yours, you’re welcome here any time.”

  “Crystal's working tonight, right?"

  “Station three,” Joey said. “If you buy a drink, I won’t even hassle her about talking to you."

  “She's your best waitress. You won't hassle her even if I don't buy a drink."

  Joey laughed, showing off crooked teeth. “You might be right, but I will hassle you.”

  Five minutes later, Tori sipped a glass of Chablis at a back table while she waited for her red-haired, freckled friend to finish serving a nearby table.

  "No more noises out of you," she whispered to the cat, soothingly stroking the outside of the bag.

  She used the down time to pat herself on the back for finishing another chapter of So, You Want to be a PI. The book had given her the idea for an internet search of local newspaper archives that had paid off handsomely.

  Palmer Construction had been mentioned repeatedly, mostly in conjunction with city construction projects. In the past nine months, the city had awarded Grady's company contracts to build an addition to the city police station and to renovate the main library branch.

  Those black-and-white facts on a page still told her little about the man himself. For that, she needed a different strategy, which was where Crystal came in.

  "Hey, girlfriend, I've missed having you around." Crystal sat down across from her, radiating the energy and life th
at earned her more tips than better-looking waitresses. "I. . . Did you know your purse is moving?"

  The bag on Tori’s lap wiggled furiously, its contents refusing to be ignored.

  "I think she needs air.” Tori frantically loosened the drawstring at the top. The cat stuck out its miniature white head and breathed.

  Crystal recoiled. "What are you doing carrying around an ugly white rat?"

  "It's a cat, not a rat. I agree she's undersized, but she's not ugly."

  "She's more than undersized. She's a runt. And she is too ugly," Crystal said.

  Tori might have protested further if not for the cat's not-quite-white hair, close-set blue eyes and weird pink area around the eyes.

  "Since when do you have a cat, anyway?" Crystal asked.

  "Since a couple hours ago." Tori stroked the pitiful little thing's head. "I was in the market for something bigger but she kind of picked me."

  "Good thing for the cat, because nobody was going to pick her.” Crystal cast a glance over her shoulder. "It doesn't look like Joey's seen her yet. Don't bet against him. Usually rats can sniff out cats."

  "Joey's not a rat," Tori said.

  "That's what I love about you, Tor. You're always ready to give people the benefit of the doubt, even the guy who fired you."

  Tori saw her opening and took it. "That's sort of why I'm here. I've been thinking lately that I might be too gullible."

  "Ya think?"

  "I need some tips on how to take a man's measure. You know, find out what kind of person he is."

  Crystal snorted. "You think I know?"

  "You're surrounded by men, Crystal. Three brothers. A husband. Two little boys. If you don't know men, who does?"

  "Maybe nobody."

  "You must have learned something from hanging out with all those guys."

  "Does checking to see if the toilet seat's up before sitting down count?"

  Tori made a face, and Crystal rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay. Let me think about it. Are you talking about any man in particular?"

  "Nobody you know. Just this guy I'm going out with tomorrow night."