BODACIOUS

by Sharon Ervin

  Sara allowed a cautious laugh as she stirred sugar into both cups. “Do you always take your welcome-to-the-neighborhood offerings in a returnable container?”

  “When it’s a guy as good looking as this one? Damn straight. It gives them a legitimate excuse to see me again; convenient for them if they need one, and for me, if they don’t. Slick, huh?

  “Also, taking these guys supper makes them feel obligated. Usually they don’t cook so they ask me out for dinner instead. As you can see, it’s a well-thought-out routine.”

  Sara poured cream in both cups, stirred them, and carried one to Libby before stepping out of her shoes and nudging them under her chair. Curling her legs under her, she settled, balancing her cup. “What’s this guy’s name?”

  Libby gazed at the ceiling and pretended a swoon. “Alex. Isn’t that just the most perfect name you ever heard? Alex Cadence. Can’t you just hear it, Mrs. Alex Cadence. Elizabeth Cadence. Sound sophisticated? Or simply Libby Cadence to my friends. What a name. What a man.”

  Suddenly Libby’s face darkened and she turned to face Sara squarely. “Sara, I don’t like having to say this to you, in your weakened/just-recovering condition and all, but keep your mitts off this guy. You’re on the rebound too, and he’s terribly, terribly attractive. If he speaks to you in the hall, in the parking lot, anywhere, pretend you don’t hear him. Don’t speak to him. Don’t smile. He’s mine. Do I make myself clear?”

  Pretending to be intimidated, Sara opened her eyes wide, adopted a somber tone, and said, “Crystal.”

  It appeared that the cherubic Libby could be a tigress, and territorial, too. Sara chuckled at the observation.

  Libby left early saying she wanted to get home in case Alex returned the casserole dish or called.

  When the phone rang a short while later, Sara grinned thinking it was Libby calling to gloat about her ploy working. But it was a man’s voice.

  “Ms. Loomis?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know if you’ll remember me. This is Kevin Larchmont.”

  It took her a minute. “Agent Larchmont. Sure I remember you. How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks. Listen, I wanted to ask, well...”

  “Is this information you need for Agent Krisp?”

  “No, ma’am, it’s not.”

  “Have you found Bo?”

  “No, ma’am, we haven’t.”

  She hesitated. Obviously not able to guess correctly the reason for his call, she would wait for him to tell her.

  “Ms. Loomis?”

  “Yes.” They seemed to be starting this conversation from the beginning again.

  “Well, ma’am, I wondered if you might consider...” he hesitated, then finished the sentence in a rush, “would you consider going out with me sometime? On a date?”

  It was Sara’s turn to hesitate, dumbfounded. She didn’t want to react too quickly. Meanwhile, he continued. “You see I had to wait until we got the all-clear on you but I’ve been thinking about you a lot and wondering how you were doing. You seemed like a sensitive kind of lady and one I’d like to get to know. I thought if you could see your way clear...”

  An easy lay? Was that what he was thinking? He’d heard the details of her relationship with Bo. And he knew Bo wasn’t her first.

  “Thank you, Mr. Larchmont,” she interrupted. He seemed so ill-at-ease, she wanted to let him off the hook. “That’s a very nice gesture, not to mention awfully good public relations for the bureau...”

  “Oh, no, Ms. Loomis, this has nothing to do with work or anything. This is strictly personal.”

  She cleared her throat, another stall. She had questions she’d like to ask young Agent Larchmont. His interest might make that easy. “Well, sure, then, I’d be glad to go out with you sometime. I’m going to my parents’ for Christmas but I’ll be back Saturday.”

  “How about Saturday night?”

  Sara thought about Stanton Rezabec. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but he would understand. Larchmont wasn’t a real date. He was more of a business opportunity.

  “Okay. What should I wear?”

  “Nothing... Oh, I didn’t mean ‘nothing,’ I meant you didn’t have to get real dressed up or anything. What I meant to say was nothing special. We’ll just take in a movie or something. Or we can have dinner, if you’d rather. Or both. Both would be perfectly fine with me. Well, anyway, what do you think you’d like to do?”

  “A movie’s good.”

  “What time?”

  “Say seven-ish.”

  “Great!”

  “I’ll look forward to it, Mr...”

  “Call me Kevin. I’ll be off duty. No more Ms. Loomis and Agent Larchmont. We’ll just be Sara and Kevin. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it certainly does. Kevin, your asking me out, well, does this mean Krisp has finished his investigation?”

  He paused a moment, maybe a moment too long. “Yes. You are correct about that.” Then he lowered his voice. “He’s prepping the case we’ve got on the Kindlings. The D.A.’s filing state charges against them, too.”

  “Has Krisp given up on finding Bo What's-his-name?”

  Kevin’s voice rose to normal volume as he answered. “That’s correct.”

  “Are you at the office?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Are there other people listening?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Isn’t it kind of late for everyone to be working?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  She hesitated. “I’ll see you Saturday night for a movie, a regular date. And thanks, Kevin, for calling.”

  “You’re welcome. And thank you.”

  Sara paced her living room, to the window overlooking the street and back. What was going on? Something. Had Larchmont been assigned to keep an eye on her, unofficially? A possibility. Krisp was pretty cagey. She’d been patient this long. She’d wait a little longer. No point in leading them straight to Bo, assuming she could find him.

  * * *

  “What have we got on this weekend?” Rezabec asked Wednesday morning, Christmas Eve, as he strutted to his desk in the cubicle he and Sara shared. “I’ve gotta escort our congresswoman to this political bash Friday but I’ll be free Saturday night and ready to yowl.”

  Sara turned away from her monitor, surprised. “Oh, Stanton,” she began, genuinely disappointed, “this FBI guy asked me to go to the show Saturday night. I think he’s probably supposed to keep me under surveillance, on the q.t. I tried to make it easy for him. He doesn’t act like he gets out much. I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

  Rezabec’s face clouded. “What are you saying?”

  She started to laugh, thinking his exaggerated show of disappointment was a ruse, and spun her chair around. She realized, almost too late, that he was serious and she sobered. “Stanton, this is no big deal. I’m going out with this FBI guy, Larchmont, Saturday night.”

  “The hell you say. Listen, honey, I’ve got a pretty fair chunk of change in you now. I’m about ready to draw a little return on my investment.”

  Sara froze, trying to get a better read of Rezabec’s face. “Investment? You’ve been priming me? What for?”

  “What for? Don’t give me that innocent little look. I’ve spent four hundred and seventy-eight bucks on you in the last ten days. Why do you think I’ve done that?”

  She felt anger ooze through her. “Got that all jotted down in a ledger somewhere, have you?”

  He frowned. “I’m a good steward of my bounty. That’s Bible. I don’t squander my hard earned moolah.”

  “No. You invest in futures that look promising, then wait for the profits to come rolling in--or maybe I should say rolling over--is that right?”

  “Well, I might not have put it quite that crudely.”

  “Oh, yeah? How would you have put it?”

  He began back pedaling, obviously her responses were prompting a change of attitude. “Like any prudent investor, I expect a
return, even if it’s only a modest one.”

  She glared at him, nodding. “And now and then you make a killing?”

  His grin was uncertain. “Now and then.”

  “And you thought I was going to roll over for you pretty soon now, right?”

  “Well, we get along. You need someone. I’m someone.”

  “Forget it, Rezabec. You’re no one.”

  Stanton frowned, obviously in the throes of a change of heart. “Now hold on, Sara. We’re just having a conversation here. We’re not setting precedents or making policy. We’re just talking.”

  “No, Stanton, we’re drawing lines in the sand. Now, you stay on your side and I’ll keep to mine.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  “You take this like a man, Rezabec, and I’ll see that you recover part of your investment, so you’ll have some operating capital for new speculations.”

  “Honey, forget the cracks about the money.”

  “Oh,” she tried to sound surprised, “I wasn’t going to pay for your meals and show tickets. You don’t get the whole four hundred and seventy-eight bucks out of me. Only my half. I’ll pay you back two hundred thirty-nine dollars. You’ll just have to chin your half. Chalk it up to experience. I know I’m going to.”

  “Sara, be reasonable. I was only joking. I wouldn’t think of letting you pay me back half.”

  “Half is a reasonable as I get, Stan. You’ll have to sue me to get the rest.”

  “Sue you? Come on, Loomis. Be fair. You’re trying to misunderstand this whole conversation. Come on. We’ve come a long way, baby.”

  “But this is as far as I go, bucko. You’ll have to tag all the bases and score your home run with someone else.”

  Stanton pursed his lips, then clamped them between his teeth before he slammed his computer to shutdown, and stormed out of the newsroom, oblivious to the curious eyes monitoring his departure.

  Sara took a deep breath, shook her head, and shuddered.

  * * *

  Kevin Larchmont was on time, his hair meticulously combed, his clothes immaculately coordinated, his shoes polished to a high sheen.

  “Hey, Kevin,” Sara greeted. “I’m almost ready. What show did you want to see?”

  He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t exactly sure.”

  She hesitated, then smoothly motioned him toward the sofa, grabbed the newspaper from the coffee table, folded it to the entertainment section, and handed it to him. “Let me fix you something to drink.”

  He grimaced. “I’m allergic to alcohol.”

  “How about a cola? Regular? Diet? Or I’ve got tea or lemonade that will just take a minute.”

  “No, thanks.” He buried his head in the paper.

  They discussed, then settled on a movie but the next feature started at eight forty-five. Their decision was followed by an awkward silence.

  “How late’s the library open?” Sara ventured.

  “Closes at four on Saturdays.”

  “I knew you’d know.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “A little. I didn’t have time for supper.”

  “Where do you want to go?” His question was tentative and, after bickering with Rezabec over his financial investment in their dates, Sara was reluctant to suggest any place.

  “How about a homemade BLT, that’s bacon, lettuce, and tomato.”

  Kevin brightened. “Good idea. Where can we get one?”

  He seemed a little slow on the uptake. “Right here. I’ll make them and we can talk without getting interrupted.”

  Before the sandwiches were ready, Sara had coaxed Kevin out of his blazer and made lemonade, in spite of his objections that it was too much trouble.

  As they munched side-by-side at the bar between her kitchen and dining area, Sara approached the subject which haunted her night and day--Bo.

  “Kevin, what did you think of that creep Franklin when you first met him?”

  “You mean when we arrested him?” The bacon crunched as he bit carefully into his sandwich.

  “No, when he took you guys on the wild goose chase down the river.” She wanted verification that Franklin had been the FBI’s guide.

  Kevin shook his head and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “He was a jerk. That’s what we all thought. First he told us he’d never laid eyes on you, then Krisp got to working on him and he let something slip about you wearing funny shoes.” He took a drink of lemonade and wiped his mouth again.

  “He weaseled around but couldn’t squirm out of it. Then he tried to tell us he was a poor unwilling participant in the robbery, that the other guys forced him to go along to help ‘em. Off by ourselves, we got a hoot out of that.

  “Later he told one of our guys you’d come on to him, begged him to...ah...well, to have sex with you. Of course, none of us had met you, but we had your picture. There was no way a girl like you’d be hustling something like him.” He inhaled another bite of sandwich while she nibbled a potato chip.

  “But when he told you Bo had kidnapped me, you believed him.”

  “Some did, but not Krisp. No, Krisp had Franklin and this whole thing nailed from the start. Krisp is a very cool guy. Very slick. On those interviews? He went really easy with you compared to the way he worked Franklin over.”

  She attempted a smile. “Of course, Franklin was probably a suspect and I wasn’t, right?”

  “Sure, that’s why he interviewed you in the motel, with your folks there and all, making’ you as comfortable as he could, after what you’d been through.”

  “I wondered about that.” She paused. “Anyway, go on.”

  “Well, what we finally pieced together, from Franklin’s lies mixed with a little truth, was pretty much the story you told, especially about how Franklin happened to lose parts of his fingers. Of course, he said Bo tied him down and whacked ‘em off, but other people had better opinions of Bo than that. And they thought a whole lot less of Franklin than he thinks of himself.” Swinging his long legs, Larchmont swiveled his bar stool to look at Sara.

  “Let me ask you one thing. When Franklin showed up and took you out of the shed, did you go with him voluntarily?”

  Sara toyed with her half-eaten sandwich. “That was the stupidest thing I did, and it was almost fatal. If it hadn’t been for Bo...”

  “Is that why you slept with him, out of appreciation, like Krisp said?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what Krisp thinks.”

  “I know.”

  Kevin frowned. “Krisp really likes you. When he likes a person, he likes them to have lofty reasons for doing things he doesn’t think they should have done. Of course, what really bothered him is you not calling some one as soon as Bo let you off at that country bus stop.”

  Sara nodded. “He guessed right. I wanted to give Bo a chance to get away. I didn’t tell Krisp but I’d asked Bo to take me with him. He wouldn’t do it. I was upset. Plus, I had no idea where I was. I had to try to get my head on straight before I faced my parents, much less any law enforcement people.”

  “Do you know now where you were?”

  “No.”

  “I could take you back there, if you want to go.”

  “No thanks. There’s nothing there I want to see.”

  “Have you heard from him?”

  The question was innocent enough, but her chest ached with grief, the pain of loss as she framed her answer. She raised her eyes to look squarely into his. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Sara,” Larchmont’s voice was quiet, “how do you feel about Bo now?”

  She didn’t want Kevin or anyone else to see how deep her feelings ran. She answered cautiously. “I’d like to see him again, but I might not recognize him shaved, in regular clothes.” That was enough. “Kevin, I honestly don’t expect him to look me up. If he wanted to see me, I think he’d have made a move by now, don’t you?”

  His eyes swept her as he grimaced, then shrugged.

  “I
hate to admit it,” she continued, feeling the familiar sting behind her eyes, “but Krisp could be right about Bo. I was there, available, too easy to pass up.”

  Kevin drew a deep breath, dabbed at his mouth with his napkin again, and leaned back in the bar chair. “You really didn’t think about getting a tag number then, off the motorcycle, I mean?”

  “No, and I wish I had.” That wasn’t exactly true. “My story would be stronger if Bo were found, don’t you think?”

  Kevin grinned, his face awash with relief.

  After the show, they went for ice cream and a ride, cruising Main like teenagers.

  At the door Kevin asked if he could kiss her good night. She offered him her cheek. The kiss was tepid. There was no tingle.

  * * *

  “Have a good time with the FBI?” Libby asked Sara as they sipped their tea Sunday night.

  “It was okay.”

  “Not as much fun as Rezabec?”

  “No, but definitely less challenging. How’re you coming with the guy in two-twelve?”

  Libby’s expression darkened to a scowl. “Slow.”

  “Well, my money’s on you. Like the FBI, you always get your man.”

  Libby’s sudden musical giggle prodded Sara to continue.

  “Persist, persist, persist. And you don’t give up, either.”

  Libby sobered again. “Give up? You jest. Obviously you haven’t seen Alex Cadence. He is absolutely the finest cut of beefcake I have ever met.” Libby’s eyes narrowed. “I will have him, one way or the other.”

  Laughing at her diminutive friend’s determination, Sara sipped some tea. “Maybe you can skulk around, catch him some dark night in a weakened condition.”

  “No, no. I’m not talking one night here. I want this one for keeps.”

  Staring, Sara put down her cup. “Are you seriously talking about the Big M here, girl? You’ve seen this guy in the hall a couple of times and you’re thinking marriage?”