The Sweetheart Game

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Thus, she managed just under a day of pacing and hand wringing before presenting herself at Jason’s door at eight the next morning with apple fritters and coffee.

  Her neighbor appeared in the doorway wearing a ripped gray t-shirt, worn gray sweats, puffy eyes, and hair that stuck up this way and that.

  He looked awfully annoyed. Of course, she kept that to herself. She needed him to agree to help her. Instead of commenting on his grumpy face, she lifted a coffee and said, “Good morning, neighbor.”

  “I must be having a nightmare,” he groused and moved to close the door. “I’m going back to bed.”

  Her foot stopped the door. She nudged her way in, careful to keep the cups from dropping out of the cardboard carrier. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like hell in the morning?”

  “That’s why I avoid getting up while it’s still dark.”

  She walked toward the kitchen. “Then it’s good that the sun is up.” She checked her watch and teased, “If this is what you present during daylight hours, I’d hate to see what you looked like sixty-seven minutes ago when the moon was out.”

  He may have said something unflattering about her, but it was buried in a low grumble so she let it pass. “I brought breakfast.” Placing the bag on the table, she pulled out pastries and set them on napkins. Turning, he stared at her with bloodshot eyes that spelled danger.

  A smile welled and she bit it back. This was her first field case. They were about to save Mary from the worst that Summer’s imagination could cook up, and she was in a good mood. Not even he could bring her down.

  “Wait, I know you,” she said, finally unable to hold back. “You’re the eighth of Snow White’s Dwarves. Surly. You’re Grumpy’s lesser-known twin brother.”

  He stepped into the kitchen and went for a coffee cup. Sipping, he shot a glare at her over the rim of the cup. “Keep it up, tough girl. I still have a shovel and plenty of room left in the garden.”

  “Boy, you are a grouch.” She turned and grinned. Although she hadn’t ruled him out as the arms dealer, it was appearing less likely every day that he was an international felon. “Good thing I’m a grown woman and not some poor little Girl Scout selling cookies. One look at you and they’d be scared off Thin Mints for life.”

  A feral grin appeared. He set the coffee down, and stalked toward her. She backed way with a small squeak until the wall hit her on the butt. Jason pinned her lightly between himself and the painted plaster. Despite his outward appearance, he smelled good. His stomach muscles felt good, too. Leaning down, he nuzzled her neck.

  She mentally moaned a little. Okay, a lot.

  “What I want from you has nothing to do with Thin Mints or Tagalongs or girls in green jumpers.” He nipped her ear and she sighed. “Unless you want to go join me upstairs for a proper wake up, you might want to cut the jokes until I’ve had a cold shower.”

  The realization of how easily he could carry her off to bed and have his way with her brought some reality. The man was overwhelmingly sexy and she was nowhere near ready to take a lover, especially one who may have a shady past. So she flattened her hands on his chest and pushed him back. Jason released her.

  “Not a chance, cowboy. I came to work, not to ride your hobby horse.”

  He grinned. “Babe, you don’t know what you’re missing.” Snatching up his cup, he left her to fan herself with the brown paper coffee carrier.

  The man was hell on her emotions and sure did know how to make her knees knock. Worse yet, he occupied too many hours in her thoughts. Jason oozed sex appeal. Her body wanted to see what he could offer to break her dry spell, yet, she knew there were many reasons that was a bad idea.

  One: He might be a criminal.

  Two: He lived next door. The day after would be awkward.

  Three: She wasn’t into one-night stands.

  Four: The dead critters proved his family was crazy.

  Five: She had an online boyfriend (kind of).

  The list could go on and on. All were perfectly good excuses to keep her panties in place. Yes, they had a cat together. That was as far as she was willing to connect. He’d also agreed to help find Mary. Once that was done, and if she confirmed he wasn’t a criminal, they could decide what was best for Mrs. Kravitz: living with her or Jason.

  Summer took a seat and ate a pastry. Mmmmm. One thing about being curvy is that if she gained a pound or two, no one would notice. Still, she kept up her Krav Maga workouts to keep everything toned and in fighting form, even though she had little chance of ever fighting off an attacker while behind her computer. That was Jess and Taryn’s field.

  Jason shuffled back into the kitchen minutes later dressed in jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. He tossed his cup into the trash can.

  “Don’t you recycle?” she asked.

  He sent her a don’t-mess-with-me glare. Obviously coffee and hot water hadn’t cured Mr. Surly.

  “Okay, then.” She stood. “I think we should start with the last place that Mary was seen. I tapped into the GPS on her phone and found out she went to The Produce Pantry the morning she vanished.”

  “Is that legal?”

  She picked up her purse. “You might not want to ask that question again if you don’t really want to know. It’s better for your moral compass if you remain in the dark.”

  “Great.” He followed her out. “How likely is it that I’ll need a lawyer at the conclusion of this investigation?”

  She headed for her blue-and-white fifties-era convertible. “Slim. Mel asked us to find his wife, unpaid of course, so we are officially on the case.” She dropped her purse on the back seat and rattled her oversized key chain. “However, how I get my information is my business.”

  * * *

  Excellent. Jason took a deep breath. How in the hell did he get roped into this? A few days ago, he was content to write his books and flirt online and freak out his snoopy neighbor with his nocturnal burials. Then hurricane Summer whirled in across the narrow patch of grass between their houses and twisted her ankle on his flower box.

  As a chest-thumping male who liked red meat, beer, and sexy women, he’d mounted a rescue. Now he’d had the cops called on him, owned a cat he didn’t want, and was deputized into being a PI—and an unpaid one at that. Somehow he’d veered so far off course that he could no longer see the track.

  “Can’t we take my truck?” he said and scowled down at the blue-and-white girly mobile.

  She put a hand on her hip. Her pink t-shirt tightened over her breasts and her white skinny jeans hugged her hips. But it was her eyes that he couldn’t resist.

  Damn, he knew he was about to say yes to anything she asked.

  “Is there something wrong with my car?”

  Go ahead and make a crack. He still had some testosterone left. “There’s nothing that a coat of black or red paint wouldn’t cure. My granny used to drive a car like that.”

  “For your information, buster, this car was owned by my Papa Will since the day it rolled off the assembly line. We used to drive all over Texas in it together. And when he passed, he left it to me.”

  He heard a hitch in her throat. Shit.

  “Irving gave us each a company car that I drive once the weather turns and she goes into the garage for the winter. Until then, I’ll drive my baby and you’ll just have to deal with it, He-Man. Or you can ride in the trunk. Your choice.”

  She told him, he thought. She hit his emotions. “At least it isn’t pink. That’s a plus, sunshine.”

  Two perfect lips moved but she kept her response to herself. “Get in the car,” she said.

  Upon obeying her order, he found the baby blue interior of the car just as pristine as the exterior. The car had been well maintained in the almost sixty years since it rolled off the lot. There were no updates that he could see to ruin the original interior. As a car guy himself, he was impressed. The fluff mobile would be worth a mint.

  “I was wrong,” he said as he ran a hand over the dash.

/>   Summer lifted a brow. “That must have hurt to say. What were you wrong about?”

  “This is a cool car, even if it’s girly,” he teased. There wasn’t anything he’d change about the car. It was an impressive machine. He just liked to mess with her.

  The engine turned over as she worked the key. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a filmy floral scarf. She tied it around her head, lowered the windows, then pushed a button, and the top rolled back to tuck in behind the rear seat.

  “No. This is cool.” She reached for a pair of white-framed sunglasses, put them on, and backed out of the driveway. She looked straight out of a fifties beach movie. “Am I right?”

  He grinned as she took off down the road, thankful for the unseasonably warm weather as the breeze ruffled his hair. Leaning an arm on the window sill, he felt what it might be like to be dropped back sixty years to a much more innocent time. As he watched her smiling and confident as she drove her grandfather’s old convertible, his gut did a flip and he knew he was in deep trouble.

  Chapter 14

  Summer quickly realized how difficult field work could be as they first checked in with the neighbors on their way to the store. Several weren’t home, a couple didn’t know Mary but hadn’t seen anything suspicious, and one theorized that she’d been abducted by radical Presbyterians.

  “I’ve lived on this street for a while, and have never heard about bands of kidnapping Christians,” Summer said as they walked to the last house sitting on the corner.

  “They probably work under cover of darkness,” Jason offered helpfully. “And drive black panel church vans.”

  The house ahead was white with blue shutters and Jason was admiring a ceramic duck wearing a floral sarong when Summer knocked. A pair of bleached blonde and big-busted women of indeterminate age answered the door; their almost identical faces bearing padded bandages on their noses, and they wore matching white robes that came down to mid-thigh.

  Instantly, Summer knew who they were. Neighborhood legend had hinted at the quirky pair, but she had never seen them in person. They were somewhere in their early twenties and had a plastic surgery obsession.

  “Hello,” Blonde One chirped through puffy lips. “Are you the lady from Dr. Carl’s office?”

  Blonde Two, having spotted Jason, cocked out a hip and twirled her robe tie. “Not unless Dr. Carl sent us a present.”

  The first woman leaned to look around Summer. Her face lit up as well. At least, Summer thought so. Their expressions were frozen, heavily laden with Botox. What a sad condition for girls so young. “I feel better already.”

  “We don’t care who you are,” said number two. “Come in!”

  Tottering on matching stilettos, they led into the living room. Covering one tall wall was a floor-to-ceiling, larger-than-life-sized photo of the pair lying poolside and wearing nothing but fake eyelashes. Their very large breasts were on full display. The rest of the walls bore smaller, but equally risqué photos.

  “We’re the twins!” they both said when they caught Jason looking. Summer wanted to jab him on the side but she was equally agog. In the oversized print, their tanned breasts were as big as car tires and right in your face.

  Good God.

  “I’m Lisa and this is the sister of my heart, Amy.” She took Jason by the arm and dragged him over for a closer look, as if the photo couldn’t already been seen from Mars. “We’ve been friends since the third grade and have always wanted to look alike.” She swung her hand out to indicate their similar faces. “Now we do!”

  A headache pressed against Summer’s temples.

  Amy piped in. “We’re on the waiting list to be featured in Busty magazine and go to California. Isn’t that so cool?”

  Jason glanced back at Summer. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, or rather her reaction to the situation. Summer scowled. He grinned and said, “Awesome sauce.”

  The girls giggled through stiff fish lips.

  “That’s just great, but not why we’re here,” Summer said and clapped her hands. Twins one and two turned identical bruised eye sockets her way. “We’re looking for a missing woman, Mary Crosby, who lives on the next block.” She held up a photo of Mary and Mel. “Do you know her? Or him?”

  The girls shared a glance. “We don’t know her,” they said together. “But that man with the funny hair rides past here a lot on his bike. Mostly when we wash our cars,” Amy said.

  “He’s a photographer from one of those car magazines,” Lisa added. “He’s always taking selfies with us and our vehicles. He’s trying to get us an audition with a real live producer.”

  Sigh. Photos weren’t what Mel was spreading.

  “Have you seen anything suspicious over the last few days,” Summer pressed. “Any activity that isn’t normal?”

  Two blonde heads shook. “We’ve kind of been out of it with the nose jobs and all,” Amy said.

  “Dr. Carl is sending someone to check on us,” Lisa said. “He’s the sweetest. He lifted our butts, too. See.”

  They spun as one and wiggled their tushes at Jason. He barely glanced at the two young women. He was clearly having too much fun watching Summer, who had another opinion of Dr. Carl. A doctor who’d breast-enhance, beyond normal proportions, two girls who were barely into their twenties, deserved to be brought up in front of a review board and have his license suspended.

  “Girls, we have to go.” Summer said. She’d had enough of staring at the picture of their bare breasts, and they had nothing to add to the case anyway.

  “Awwww,” the bookends replied.

  “Awwww,” Jason said, and the girls giggled.

  She went to the door. “Just so you know, Mel is not a photographer and has no Hollywood connections. Next time he comes by, push him off his bike.”

  Although Jason did refuse signed copies of the photo and followed her out, his behavior irked her. When they reached the sidewalk, Summer spun on him. “Was it really necessary to encourage them? And did you have to stare at that photo?”

  “Me? You should have seen your face when you gawked at those giant pictures. It was priceless.”

  Annoyance prickled through her. “I did not gawk.”

  He draped an arm around her shoulders and steered her in the direction of their houses. The grin encompassed the lower quadrant of his scruffy face as his brows tipped up.

  “Honey, the pope would have gawked.”

  * * *

  The Produce Pantry was on Stadium, and the parking lot was packed with customers who wanted to pay ten-fifty for an organic cantaloupe, grown by local farmer who fertilized with chemical-free llama excrement. Or so the sign out by the road said. The light bulbs that illuminated the R on the sign were out, either by accident or vandalism, turning the store into the Produce Panty.

  Jason chuckled as if he’d done the deed himself.

  “Grow up,” Summer scolded but the words had no bite. It was kind of funny. Still, they were barely minutes out from the twins and she was still aggravated and not sure why. What she did know was that he was having too much fun today.

  She whipped out her phone and went inside. “You are such a juvenile delinquent.”

  “Men do mature at a slower rate than women,” he said. “I have another ten years to mature up to my current age.”

  “I was thinking twenty,” she said as she breezed past him.

  The sounds and smells of fresh and rotting produce assaulted her senses. Like a regular store, they also carried basic necessities, only theirs did not have the benefit of pesticides to pretty up their stuff. A selection of tomatoes looked like they had jungle rot.

  Summer stopped at the service desk and asked for Jerry.

  “He’s in pharmacy,” the woman said and pointed to the back of the store. “Turn left at the rack of ragweed bread.”

  Ragweed bread?

  “Thanks.” Summer passed a rack of browning organic apples, advertising four for four dollars. Fruit flies danced around the damaged fruit, li
kely waiting for their children to emerge from beneath the peels to start the family reunion. Ick.

  They found Jerry in the feminine hygiene aisle. He was a chubby guy with a high pink pompadour wearing large black ear gauges. It would take hours of surgery to correct his ear lobes when he finally wised up.

  Humming a Taylor Swift song, he was stocking shelves with tampons that touted natural ingredients such as nettle fibers and tree bark for all your homeopathic menstrual needs.

  “Ouch,” Jason said in sympathy. “Tree bark up th—-” Summer elbowing him in the stomach stopped the rest of that sentiment. He winced.

  “Are you Jerry?” she asked and the guy straightened. He gave Jason a once-over and grinned.

  “My friends call me Jer. You can call me whatever you want, cutie.”

  Summer sighed. She had to keep the investigation on track.

  “Did you call in a tip about the missing woman, Mary Crosby?” she said,

  “I did.” He dragged his eyes away from Jason and his tone turned serious. “I think I know who abducted her. We have a serial killer working in produce.”

  Uh . . . okay. “A serial killer?” Summer glanced at Jason and back. This guy was one odd character. “What gives you the idea that he’s a killer?”

  “I just know. His picture was on one of those most-wanted shows.” He dropped a tampon box on the shelf.

  Summer bit. “Did you tell anyone about him?”

  “I wanted to, but by the time Alaskan Grizzly Wrestlers was over, I’d forgotten. That Lenny Pichert is amazing in camouflage shorts. Then I saw the flyer about Mary and called.”

  Every fiber in her wanted to leave the store and never look back. But if the guy wasn’t a crackpot and they missed out on finding Mary, she’d never forgive herself.

  “Who is this man, and is he working today?”

  “It’s Harold Blum, and I’ll point him out.”

  Jer led them in a winding trail through the store. When they got to the canned goods aisle he paused and peeked around a display of preservative-free canned corn.

  “That’s him unloading cukes.”