No Laughing Matter: Lennox Brothers Romantic Comedy

by Hunter, Talia

  Asher’s black cat had crept up so silently, I hadn’t heard her. Nemesis was little more than a shadow, but I could just make out she was carrying something in her mouth before she dropped it at my feet.

  “What’s that?” I said out loud. When I picked it up, it turned out to be a piece of cloth.

  I got up, stretching my stiff legs, and turned the light on in the hallway to examine what Nemesis had brought in.

  A pair of plain, white cotton panties.

  Not Star Trek panties.

  I’d only caught a glimpse of Spock’s face, but the memory of Carlotta standing in her wet, transparent dress was permanently engraved into my brain.

  Where could Nemesis have found these ones? Natalie was the only other woman who’d been in the house today, and she’d stayed fully dressed.

  Nemesis stared at me with unblinking yellow eyes, giving nothing away.

  “Where did you get these?” I asked her anyway.

  The cat arched her back, stretching her front legs.

  “From Santino’s party next door? Are you bringing me clues to help bring him down?”

  Nemesis yawned and turned her back on me, padding silently away and disappearing into the shadows. Asher had mentioned she liked sneaking into neighboring houses and bringing home trophies, but this was the first time I’d seen proof.

  Sighing, I carried the panties into the kitchen. It was time to get some sleep, but I’d leave them on the counter and ask Asher about them in the morning.

  “You’re still up?” asked a voice from behind me.

  I turned to see Asher rubbing sleep from his eyes. He wore black pajamas, and his hair was messy. His disheveled appearance made me smile. He didn’t look like the owner of Lennox Construction, or like one of San Dante’s biggest success stories, but like the kid he’d once been.

  At an age when most young people were focusing their energy on dating, surfing, or studying, Asher had been working two jobs and saving every cent. He’d taken a big risk and borrowed more money than I could imagine to start building houses, and then apartments. Now he employed a large team of builders and his company, Lennox Construction, had just scored the contract to build San Dante’s new library and post office.

  And Asher had recently bought the house we were in, which had to be worth a couple of million. San Dante had once been a sleepy small town, full of artists and alternative lifestylers. But it was only a couple of hours from LA, and it was becoming a celebrity hot spot. Oceanfront houses were in hot demand.

  “I’m heading to bed.” I handed him the panties. “Your demented cat dropped these on my feet.”

  Asher didn’t seem surprised, but I’d never met anyone as good at hiding their feelings as he was. Friends had complained they couldn’t read him, but I could usually tell what he was thinking.

  “Nemesis has been going through a sock phase lately,” he said with a yawn. “She hasn’t brought in panties for a while.”

  I frowned. “You can’t let your cat steal from people’s houses.” I looked down at the cat in question, who’d reappeared and was threading her lanky body around Asher’s ankles. “I should arrest her.”

  Asher ran a hand over the top of his head, smoothing his hair. “Nemesis gave you the panties. Maybe she’s trying to tell you something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you should keep your pants on. Stress is the nation’s biggest killer.” He stepped over the cat and padded into the hallway to open the linen closet, then bent to pull a box from the bottom shelf. It was stuffed with all kinds of stuff, including plenty of socks.

  I gaped at the size of it. “You can’t just shove this stuff in the closet, Ash. That’s all stolen goods.”

  Asher gave me a level stare and I was sure he was thinking about all the food and money I stole when I was seventeen. Just because I’d had to feed my brothers hadn’t made it okay. But doing the right thing now was the only way I knew how to atone for what I’d done back then.

  “Relax, Dick Tracy,” he said. “It isn’t the crime of the century. Besides, what do you want me to do? Go door-to-door offering panties to strangers?”

  “If your cat’s so clever, get her to take all that stuff back.”

  Asher added the panties to the box. “I used to try to return things, but it took too long finding the owners. Now I just hang onto the stuff in case someone comes looking for something.” He pushed the box back onto the shelf and closed the door. “Did you decide what to do about Carlotta and Natalie?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll rule them out as suspects myself. I can draw them into a conversation and find out why they were at the party without raising suspicion. Better than having the team dig through their pasts.”

  It was Carlotta’s naked photos that had helped me decide. Of course they were already out there for everyone to see, so it made no sense for me to feel so protective, but I couldn’t stand the thought of a whole team of cops standing around a screen gaping at her pictures.

  “How will you start a conversation with Carlotta?” asked Asher. “I’m not sure you’re her favorite person.”

  “I’ll ask her out for coffee.”

  My brother blinked. “On a date?” In his understated Asher way, he managed to sound incredulous.

  “Why not?” I asked, as though I really believed Carlotta wouldn’t turn me down.

  “You think Carlotta’s okay with everything that happened between you two?”

  “Actually, she has no idea what happened. Her mother never told her. She doesn’t know why we went to Mexico, or why I wouldn’t talk to her when we got back.”

  “No wonder she doesn’t like you.” Asher rasped a hand over the stubble on his jaw as he digested this information. “Are you going to tell her?”

  “How can I? She used to complain she couldn’t trust her mother, and she never knew what was real and what was a lie. If I tell her what happened, she may never speak to her mother again.”

  “Agreed.” Asher gave a decisive nod. “You can’t tell her. It has to be her mother who does it.”

  “If Trixie Watson hasn’t shared the truth with her in the last fourteen years, she isn’t likely to do it now.” I rubbed my forehead where a dull ache had started. “I hate that I can’t be honest with Carlotta. I feel as bad as her mother.”

  “Her mother’s lying because she’s ashamed. She had an affair. You’re trying to save the world.”

  “Go ahead, make me sound like a moron.”

  “I’m your brother, that’s my job.” He turned on his heel and headed back to his bedroom, then stopped in the doorway and looked back. “So you’re really going to ask Carlotta out?”

  “That’s my plan.”

  He cracked a rare smile. “Let me know what she says. I haven’t had a good laugh in ages.”

  Chapter Eight

  Carlotta

  The next day was Saturday, and I went out early to pick up a new phone and get my number transferred. I’d barely arrived home when my new phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize, and for a moment, weirdly, I wondered if Mason could be calling me.

  “Hello?” I flopped onto my bed, staring at the posters of famous actresses I’d plastered the walls with when I was sixteen. Back then, I’d thought one day I’d get to accept my own Academy Award. Turned out all those hours practicing my speech would have been better spent studying for good grades.

  “This is Santino,” said the man on the phone. “I’m calling about the job we discussed at my party last night.”

  “Oh.” I sat up quickly. “Hi.”

  “Are you still interested in some part-time work?” His businesslike tone was reassuring. At least he wasn’t hitting on me like his obnoxious friend Frankie.

  “I’d like a job. But what exactly would I be doing?”

  “My office manager broke her ankle and needs some help while her leg’s in a cast. The pay’s good and the hours are flexible.”

  “You sa
id it was office work? Like answering phones and stuff?”

  “No phones, but there will be some driving. You have your driver’s license, right? Sometimes I need things collected and dropped off.”

  “I have a license. And a car.”

  He told me how much he’d pay, and I whistled. “Per hour?”

  “When I need stuff picked up, I have to be able to count on you. Will you meet with my office manager on Monday? The address is on my business card.”

  I grimaced. “Which is at the bottom of your swimming pool.”

  “Oh. That’s right.” His business-like tone loosened up. “Hey, I’m sorry about Frankie. He’s not usually such an asshole.”

  “Really? Because it seemed like he’d had a lot of practice. He was so good at it, he could turn pro.”

  Santino chuckled. “That’s a good one. So I’ll send you the address and tell Faith to expect you Monday morning?”

  “Absolutely, boss.”

  And just like that, I had a regular job.

  It was a relief, because I was running out of money. It was also depressing. I’d been over the moon when sponsors had started contacting me to tell me they liked my message of confidence. Discovering I could make money from my passion for positive social media was a revelation. And after the trainwreck of my failed acting career, the best day of my life had been quitting my waitressing job to do something I loved.

  But now, that really could be over.

  When I left my bedroom to find Mom, she was wearing pink stretchy pants and a bright top instead of a Victorian-era costume. She had on fluffy bunny slippers complete with cute bunny faces and sticking-up ears, and her mouth was red from the candy she’d been sucking. Her long silver hair was usually piled on her head in a Victorian up-do, but today she was wearing it loose, with sparkly bobby pins to hold it back.

  In other words, she looked like a sixty-year-old toddler.

  While Mom waved a colorful feather duster ineffectually around her vast collection of books, I rolled my sleeves up to get a start on some of the other chores that had to be done around the house. Mom was clearly not keeping up with the repairs the place needed, and I was feeling guilty because it had never occurred to me that I should come home occasionally to lend a hand.

  Mind you, it obviously hadn’t occurred to my brother Declan either. Not that it was the right time to suggest he come home to pitch in. Not after his wife had just left him and he was trying to put his life back together.

  At least cleaning the black grime off the inside of Mom’s kitchen windows was a good way to keep my mind busy. Scrubbing them kept me from obsessing over the hateful comments in my Instagram feed.

  I was wiping the last window when I heard a knock on the front door. Xul barked from his dog bed in the living room, but didn’t bother getting up.

  “I’ll answer it,” said Mom.

  As she opened the front door, I straightened to listen. A male voice said, “I’m here for Carlotta Watson.”

  My stomach turned over. It couldn’t be the bumbaclot from last night, could it? Frankie the obnoxious drug fiend?

  When I went to the door, I saw a tall, thin stranger shifting nervously from foot to foot. He had oily hair that was long enough to touch the collar of his long, dark overcoat, and—what was that faded black tattoo on his neck supposed to be? Wonky bunny ears? An inkblot? Maybe he’d turned himself into a walking Rorschach test and asked everyone he met what they saw in him.

  “Hi,” I said, as Mom walked back to the kitchen. “Can I help you?”

  The man stared at me without speaking for a moment, his gaze intense. While he stared, I studied the black shape on his neck and finally realized it was a silhouette of a flying bird, half hidden under the collar of his overcoat.

  “It’s you,” he said. “Lotta Laughs. I wasn’t sure you’d be here, but here you are.”

  “Who are you?” A bad feeling was starting to churn in my stomach. He was still shifting from foot to foot. His eyes were buggy, as though they might fall right out of his face, and his hand was shoved deep into the pocket of his overcoat.

  Uh oh.

  I’d been so transfixed by his tattoo, I hadn’t focused enough on his weird outfit. Hemp sandals. Bare legs. And a long woolen overcoat. It may be winter, but it was a sunny, mild morning in Southern California. Not really overcoat weather.

  “I found you,” he said. “So I can give you what you deserve.”

  I took a step backward. His was the kind of coat worn by flashers and perverts, and if he was naked underneath it, I couldn’t imagine it would be pretty.

  “This is for the ducks!” The man yanked his hand out of his pocket and hurled something at me.

  The object he threw hit my face and exploded.

  Wet. Slimy. Blinding.

  My vision went red. I gasped and stumbled backward, trying to wipe slime out of my eyes.

  “Duck deaths are no joke!” he yelled. Then, over my own shocked and gasping breaths, I heard the man running away, his sandals thudding down the steps.

  Xul barked madly, his paws clacking as he trotted along the hall toward me. Mom’s slippers slapped on the floor along with him.

  “Carlotta? What happened?” Mom’s voice rose. “Is that paint? Did that man throw paint at you?”

  My eyelashes were gummed together and my eyes were starting to sting. “Lead me to the sink. Help me wash it off my face.”

  Instead, she pushed past me. Her bunny slippers slapped the ground harder as she rushed out the door. “Come back here!” she shrieked from the porch. “Face me, you sniveling, chicken-livered coward. You think you can throw paint in my house? Nobody does that and gets away with it. Nobody!”

  “Mom,” I called. “My eyes are burning.”

  “I’m a warrior! You hear me? I could break your neck with one finger. I could disembowel you with one of my toenail clippings!”

  Giving up on Mom, I felt my way blindly down the hall, searching for the nearest source of water. I could imagine her chasing the duck lover down the street, her bunny slippers bobbing behind his flapping overcoat. It would make a funny picture, except she was so caught up in whatever vigilante fantasy she’d created in her head, she’d completely forgotten about me.

  I should be used to that by now. So why did it still hurt more than the paint in my eyes?

  I was almost at the kitchen when I heard the front door slam shut and she took my arm. “This way.”

  Surprised, I stumbled blind with her guiding me, until my hip hit the counter and I heard water gush from the faucet.

  “Here. Let me sponge it.” A cold, wet cloth ran down my face, wiping gently over my eyes.

  I leaned over the sink, more worried about red paint staining Mom’s floor and counter than about the cold water soaking my clothes. At least Mom was here helping me, rather than on the street trying to perform a citizen’s arrest, or attempting a Karate chop she’d read about in a book.

  “Let me put my head right under the faucet.” I fumbled to feel where it was so I could cram my head into the right position. With the cold water running over my forehead and eyes, I took the cloth away from Mom and scrubbed hard at my skin, cleaning the paint away.

  “He didn’t blind you, did he?” I heard the rustle of a candy wrapper, then a sharp crack as she crunched on the candy like she did when she was angry, rather than sucking on it. “Do you know who that man was?”

  “Someone with a serious devotion to ducks.”

  “I’m calling the police. We need squad cars, helicopters and SWAT teams.” Another crunch of candy. “They can chase him down with dogs.”

  “Don’t, Mom. He’s long gone by now. I’ll call the police after I’ve cleaned up the mess.”

  “Why did he attack you?”

  “I told you how I was posting photos on the Internet to help women feel more confident? He’s one of my followers.” Turning off the faucet, I felt for a dry cloth.

  Mom huffed with impatience. “Carlotta, that makes n
o sense.”

  I wiped my face and blinked at her, intensely relieved to be able to see again. Xul was sitting in the corner, watching us with his head tilted as though trying to figure out what on earth we were doing.

  “My Internet account was hacked. Someone added some gruesome pictures to make people think I butchered rare, protected ducks.” I used the rag to scrub my hair. “That man probably saw the pictures and got angry.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I like my ducks roasted, with plum sauce on the side.”

  “Please don’t say that to anyone who comes to the door.”

  “If that man comes back, I’ll roast him, then carve him.”

  “I’m surprised you’re taking this so well,” I said honestly. “You’re not going to rend your clothes or gnash your teeth?”

  Mom was shorter than me, but she tilted her head back so she could glare down her nose. “I may be dramatic on occasion, but today you have me beaten.” She gestured at my clothes, and I had to admit she had a point. I wasn’t just soaked and bedraggled, I looked like I’d dismembered an entire cheerleading squad with a chainsaw.

  I bent with a clean rag to clean up the red liquid that had dripped from me, following the trail all the way to the front door. Luckily, the paint washed up easily and hadn’t stained the floor. In the hallway I found the remains of the water balloon that had smacked me right between the eyes.

  Once I’d finished cleaning, I went back into the kitchen to drop the scrap of rubber into the trash. Mom was wiping the last splashes of water off the counter.

  “There are a lot of crazy people in the world,” she said without a trace of irony, the ears on her bunny slippers flopping as she turned to face me. “If I dig a moat out front and fill it with a carnivorous fish species, do you think sharks or piranhas would be—?”

  A loud rapping on the front door cut her off.

  We stared at each other with wide eyes. Xul barked at the door. My heart hammered. Every muscle was tight.

  The rapping sounded again, harder this time. More insistent.

  Xul growled, a low, menacing sound that was completely unlike him. It raised the hairs on the back of my neck.