by Lee Bellamy
He beamed me a special smile, gripping my upper arms with bear-like enthusiasm and holding me at length. "I'll e-mail you, Holly." His admiring gaze swept over me, intimate as that moment in his bedroom, when I sat on Velia's pink settee. "When I get back, I'll call you. We'll do dinner."
"Fine." How flattering to discover he liked me. Surprising, too. How could he think of other women so soon?
As if he'd read my thoughts, he said, "In case you're wondering, Velia no longer exists for me. From this moment on, I'll never speak her name."
"That's hard to believe."
He smiled, if rather faintly and wryly, and softly answered, "Oh, yeah? Try me." He touched his hand to his cap in salute and was gone.
After he left, I glanced at Perez and caught a brooding expression of displeasure. Only for a fleeting moment, though. It quickly disappeared, and the usual devilish spark returned to his lively dark eyes. "Nice work," he told me, raising his coffee cup in his own salute.
Barnicut swung his feet up and reached for his cigarettes the second Jay was gone. He awarded me a grudging little smile. "It appears you've solved your first case, Holly. I'll tell Tish to cut you a check for—"
"Twenty-five-thousand dollars," I finished, loud and clear. Just hearing those lovely words roll off my tongue made me suddenly feel great. Now I could pay off all my bills. I could rent an apartment for Ashley and me. And maybe, with what was left, I could...
"Won't buy you your own agency, though," Barnicut continued, "if that's what you're thinking. Not even close."
"What makes you presume—?"
"Don't even think it. You can't quit B & P yet—" here came his jeering little squint "—much as you'd like to."
Dammit, he was right. I still had the name: Holly Keene Investigations, and the logo underneath: Tracers of Lost Loves, but it would be a while. "Oh, is that right?" I asked of Barnicut, an inane question, but I needed time to think. Should I keep on with B & P? I pondered, my gaze slowly swinging from one to the other. Arrogant, stingy Barnicut—charming, outrageous Perez. Such unlikely partners, and yet, for some unfathomable reason, they worked well together—a perfect mesh of brains, arrogance, daring, brashness, and whatever else it took to run a successful detective agency.
Could I handle them? Perez maybe, if there were no more kisses, if we were strictly business from now on. But Barnicut, that jerk-of-all-jerks? Impossible, unless... Perez's words came back to me. Just every now and then I make a point to let him know he can't fuck with me. Hey, that would work.
"Work for B & P? Maybe. I'll let you know." I scooped up my purse and got to the door. I flashed a carefree smile and bestowed them a wave, wiggling my fingers. "So long, Gil. So long, Barleycorn."
When I got to my car, check in hand, Perez was right behind me. "Great exit, Keene," he said, "I am so impressed."
"Well, you ought to be."
He leaned a hand on the roof of the car, watching while I fumbled in my purse for my keys. "Where are you going?"
"To my ATM to deposit this check. Then I'm going home and pay off all my bills. Visa and MasterCard don't know it yet, but this is their big day."
"Guess you'll be all hot to trot for Jay Champion now."
I clicked my remote at the car door. "Quite possibly."
"Checking a dozen times a day for his e-mails."
"Two dozen."
"Dammit, Holly."
Surprised by the edge in his voice, I looked up. He was scowling. "I like you better when you're funny, Perez."
"Shit," he said through tight lips, and walked away.
I felt awful driving home. Why had Perez been so rude to me? Didn't he know I was kidding about Jay Champion? Then it occurred to me that I, in my wild delight over the money, had just acted like—yes, I had to say it—the jerk-of-all-jerks myself. Of course, I was thrilled by Jay's attention, but I could never take the man seriously. With his "honey" and "my dear" and his talking-down-to-women attitude, he was way too old-school macho for me. Guess I hadn't made that clear to Perez, though.
I was on 41, circling around the McKinley curve, when I reached for my cell to call him. Then I thought, no! and pulled my hand back. Then I thought, but I want to, and reached again. I dialed the office and Tish put me through.
"Hi, this is me," I said. Such a clever line.
"What did you want?" Tough guy. Going to play it cool.
"Well...I'm not sure what I want. I just feel bad that you walked away mad."
"You noticed? I'm surprised. You were so frigging carried away with the big hero."
"Jay is not...he's not my style."
"What is your style?"
"Good question." Passing Manchester Shopping Center at Shields—zipping along—I checked the speedometer. Slow down, you're going seventy-five. "I'm just coming out a divorce, Gil. How am I supposed to know what's my style?"
"Face it. It's not me."
My heart hurt, just hearing him say that, but I had to agree. "I know." Watch it! You're getting heavy-footed again. "Your father doesn't like me, for one thing."
"What does that mean?"
"You think I can't figure how 'stupida rubia' translates?"
Silence for a moment. "I don't recall your mother rolling out the welcome mat for me."
"Not true. She was very polite to you."
Big snort. "Oh, yeah. She figured I was there to mow her lawn."
"My mother is not a bigot."
"Oh? How would she feel if you dated a black?"
"That's not fair."
"An Hispanic?"
"Really—"
"A white guy with a deep tan? What's her cut-off shade?"
Passing Shaw. Check the speedometer...eighty miles an hour. Foot to the brake again. "Do you realize I'm about to smash up the car talking to you?"
Silence... a long, long silence, and then, "Tomorrow's Saturday. Let's take Ashley to the zoo."
"Why, that's...that's...a good idea."
"One o'clock," he said and hung up the phone.
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