by Vicki Batman
“Always at lunch.”
“And do other people call several times?”
“Some, I never hear from again. Usually, they call one time to verify if the...”
And we said simultaneously, “Check is in the mail.”
We both reached for the cookies. Being a gentleman, he let me go first. “Standard operating procedure,” he said.
“Seems to be.” As I lifted off another chocolate top, I gave him a curious look. “Why are you asking so many questions?”
“You make your work sound interesting.”
He did his man thing, dunking his cookie in milk and munched. My dad dunked, too. Sometimes, late at night, we’d shared a glass of milk and a pile of vanilla wafers.
“Yeah, right.” Quietly lost in our respective thoughts, our conversation paused. With the paper napkin, I wiped my mouth. At that moment, I remembered The Sommerville Express article and how agitated I got and how I needed to do some of my own probing. “I have some questions for you.”
“Fire away.”
“I read an interesting item in today’s paper.”
He stuffed his mouth and mumbled, “Oh?”
“Oh?” I mocked.
“I haven’t read the paper.” He drained the last third of milk. “What was so riveting?”
“The front page article about car part thieves operating in Sommerville.”
“Car part thieves operating in Sommerville,” he said gravely as he set down his empty glass.
“Yes, I’m curious about the police investigation.”
“The police investigation?”
Sighing with annoyance, I set aside my milk glass and reached for my soda. When I realized what I held, I frowned. A Coke chaser after milk and cookies could be considered a diabetic overdose. I returned the soda to the coffee table. “Yes, the police investigation into the car parts thieves, remember? You are the lead detective.”
He overlapped his arms. “Oh, yeah, that investigation. I am the lead detective.”
Due to his lack of communication, I felt the innards of rising frustration. I leaned back and studied him. “You’re being difficult.”
Pointing a finger to his chest, he arched an eyebrow. “Me?”
Even a bird brain could figure out A. Wellborn seemed reluctant to talk about the article and didn’t take my questioning seriously. But I persevered. I needed to know what he knew and for how long. And if my car was involved in his investigation. And if it was, why didn’t he just say so? “Yeah, I’m curious as to why you haven’t told me about an on-going investigation on stolen car parts.”
His feet scuffed around. “Well, I have a very good reason.”
How exasperating! I rolled my hand to move our chat along. “I can’t wait to hear this. Which would be...”
“The police do not talk about on-going investigations.”
I fastened a same song, second verse look on him. “What a convenient answer.”
“It’s true,” he said, puffing his chest.
“Right. So are you sure you don’t have anything else to tell me?”
He shook his head. “Nothing I can think of.”
“Isn’t it coincidental my car’s parts are missing?
“Could be.”
“And the police are investigating a theft ring?”
“Anything’s possible.”
“Were you on a stakeout, looking for vehicles with missing parts when you pulled me over?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
He examined me with a quirked eyebrow, like I had inside info. Clearly, I wouldn’t be privy to any additional information. Closed mouthed cop was a lesson well taught at the police academy. I would have to uncover what I needed on my own.
Fine, for now.
As stimulating as this conversation seemed to be, the evening grew late. I yawned. Another Something Girls do not do in Polite Society according to Mom. At least, my hand covered my open mouth. “Time to go.” I stood, collected trash, and carried it to the kitchen. “Thanks for providing dinner. Lucky is a most excellent surprise.”
A. Wellborn followed with the pizza box and soda cans. “Glad you like him. Come visit us anytime.” After setting his bits and pieces on either side of me on the counter, he circled his arms around my waist and pressed my back to his chest.
His body felt inviting and warm against mine. His man-heat began to seduce me, especially when his palms slid down my arms. I tilted into him. His breath bathed my ear.
“You don’t have to go,” he said softly. He pressed his lips to my hair right at my temple. “We could explore the lucky part.”
Letting him have his way would be so easy. Too easy.
But no. I did my best to ignore his suggestion and turned, breaking his hold. Lacing my fingers, I stretched my arms in front of me in a yoga move which forced him to step back. “I should go. It’s been a long day. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Oops, I didn’t mean to confess another big one. I stole a glance to see if he overheard my last remark.
“You didn’t sleep well. Why?” he asked in a mischievous tone. He ran a finger from my eye level down the length of a strand of my hair.
I went still, not about to answer. With him, I’d been caught red-handed a lot. He was too damn good at detecting.
“I’m thinking you didn’t sleep well because of me.” He said this a little too confidently as his fingers grazed my cheek. He moved a bit closer, leaning in.
Golly. Hypnotic man-vibes radiated from him as I caught a piney, soapy scent wafting my way. Sucked into the moment, my head hit his chin, clearing the sensory overload before I’d succumb to manpower. I stepped around him. “Sorry.”
Quickly, I walked to the sofa to retrieve my handbag.
He followed me to the door. As did Lucky whose bright blue collar with newly acquired vet tags clinked, clinked softly with each step.
I petted Lucky bye and gave A. Wellborn a traditional girly look, one saying I’d never tell. With my hand on the door knob, I said something, and immediately, had regrets about stating it, “Jenny wants to know if you’re a masochist.”
“A what? Why a masochist?” An expression of amazement crossed his face. “Oh, I get it.”
Guess A. Wellborn wasn’t a detective for nothing.
“You two are wondering why I keep coming back for more.”
My lips buzzed his cheek. It seemed safer.
Chapter Twelve
I spent the remainder of my weekend in recovery. I stayed up late, captivated in reading a mystery about a murderer in the horse business. As a result, I overslept. I hung out at my apartment and caught up on normal activities like laundry and ironing. And, in case of a surprise Mom visit-slash-inspection, cleaned the bathroom.
The low-key aspect of Sunday primed me well for work on Monday. Highly energized, I settled at my desk and observed Opal as she opened the day’s mail. She selected an envelope, examined the return address, and then flipped over the envelope. Her letter opener sliced with great ease through the paper. She extracted each document, stapling the envelope to the back of the letter, and set the documents in her sorted piles. The majority appeared to be intended for data entry, aka me.
Eeney, meany, miney, moe, I thought as I watched her. One for Lester. One for Opal. One for me. I will have plenty of claims to enter, files to file, copies to make. “Hey, Opal,” I said, admiring the way her letter opener cut the envelopes.
“Yes, Hattie.”
“Where did you get such a sharp opener? It slices thru the paper effortlessly.”
“Oh.” She twisted the item in question. “This ol’ thing?”
She bestowed an admiring look as if the opener resembled an eighteenth century Turkish dagger. “Yeah.”
“A few years ago, Lester gave these to clients as a complimentary gift for doing business with Buy Rite.”
“Can I have one? All I have is this ol’ thing.” I showed her the one I’d found in my desk drawer. It resembled a flimsy miniature saw
.
“I’m sure the one you use is perfectly serviceable.” Rising, Opal gathered my mail pile and, without ceremony, dumped the correspondence in my inbox.
“Gee, thanks,” I said with sarcasm.
“You’re welcome,” she replied sarcastically.
Picking up the first claim, I went to work.
****
A couple of days later, I consulted my phone calendar, checking my appointments for the rest of the week. For Saturday, I’d made a notation next to seven p.m. I clicked for details.
Oh, holy hell. I can’t believe I forgot this party. I am in deep doo-doo. I knew better than to R.S.V.P. for two.
The parents of my boss formerly from Tuckers were throwing a big bash to announce their son’s engagement. This to-do required me to wear a little black dress, and for my date—darn, how could I be so stupid—a suit and tie.
This event mandated an escort. I frowned, thinking OhmyGod, what am I going to do? Because of my current Nundom status, where would I unearth someone at the last minute? I couldn’t ask Jenny as she already had a date for it, a big one. So did Kella and Maggie.
As I searched for a solution, I rubbed my forehead. Then, like Jeannie from her bottle, Ask Allan popped out. My toes bounced a tap, tap. The idea wasn’t awful. And the more I considered him as a solution to my dilemma, the more I liked it. Better than a good idea, it was an extraordinary one. Time for payback for the embarrassing situations, the cops, and the doorbell.
A. Wellborn. Because he owed me.
However, a big difference existed in asking a guy for pizza versus asking a guy to accompany someone to an engagement party. Men tended to become all weirdly freaked out, thinking their hallowed single status could be threatened. They had the stupid notion all girls were Hunting for Husband Material when asked to attend, for example, weddings or the company Christmas spectacular. This could be especially awkward if the guy escorted someone he didn’t particularly care for.
I checked my phone’s contact list and found the fortunate man’s number, the one I’d saved after he’d invited me for pizza. A cop’s home number could come in handy and this was one of those times. Calling on Wednesday didn’t seem too early, and not too desperate time-wise to ask. If-if-if he hadn’t already made plans. Cross my fingers, hoped not to die.
Shyness returned. So I rehearsed, gauging approximately how long the message would be. I punched a button before I chickened out and set the cell to my ear. Tap, tap went my foot as my anxiety mounted, hearing the rings go on and on. After a while, his voice mail picked up—thank God—and with relief, I exhaled. If I’d spoken with him, I would have said something stupid and embarrassment would take over—again.
After I heard his voice saying to “leave a message at the beep,” I said, “Hi, Allan. It’s Hattie. Oh, you probably figured it out from your caller ID. Anyway, I need a superior favor. A friend of mine is having a big—quote—to-do—unquote—on Saturday evening. Dinner and dancing. If you could pick me up at seven and wear a dark suit and tie, that would be super. Say ‘Hi’ to Lucky for me.”
Clicking the off button, I knew I’d sounded desperate, never mind being presumptuous. Dammit. Oh well, too late to change anything. I sure wasn’t going to act like a super-stalker girlfriend, and there was no way I could access his voice mail to erase what I’d said. Hopefully, I’d sounded like he had been forced to go and not too stupid.
I consulted Jenny for her expert opinion.
She said, “Allan’s a masochist. He’ll go anyway.”
Her position sounded brutally honest, or she delighted in excessively teasing me.
Since the other evening, when I’d met Lucky and eaten pizza, had finished on a nice note, I figured A. Wellborn would feel compassionate. By Saturday, if I hadn’t heard anything different and was about to walk out the door, I could go with the thought he wouldn’t be accompanying me.
When I told Jenny, she reminded me, “You know what assume means.”
I sighed. “I know, I know. Ass of u and me. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Yet, we always hoped it would be the last.
The worst-case scenario was him not going at all, and I could handle that. I’d attended affairs without a date before. We all had, and ultimately, survived. After all, Nundom wasn’t far behind me, which didn’t seem very reassuring now that I thought about it.
The real issue?
What to wear.
****
My next court appearance was scheduled for today. I reminded Opal where I’d be.
She scrunched her nose and said, “humpf,” for once imparting no lectures or nasty looks. “You had better get going. You don’t want to be late.”
Well, well, well, what’s up with her? Something went easy. Could it be she wanted me out of the office so she could review my work behind my back? I wouldn’t put it past the little stinker.
I drove downtown and parked in the same parking garage in almost the same spot and walked the same path as before. I pushed open the large doors to the courthouse, and once again, I followed the signs to the elevator. A check of my watch told me I was Johnny-on-the-spot time-wise. Before entering, I gave my outfit the once-over. Perfection.
The roly-poly bailiff stood by the courtroom door and took my citation. As he smiled, he waved in a courteous gesture, directing me to the same wooden bench just like before.
I surveyed the courtroom, noting nothing had changed; however, I hadn’t really expected anything to and found comfort in the thought. I pointed a mental finger. Judge Miller—there. The railing—there. The chair—there. And the gate in the banister—there. No one else was present, and especially and most importantly, the man of the hour, A. Wellborn. Maybe he was manning the streets again, looking for offenders.
“Ms. Harriette Cooks,” the bailiff sang.
His voice caught me unaware. I rose and passed through the gate in the banister. Annoying Judge Miller wouldn’t be the best idea.
“Ah, Ms. Cooks,” he said, peering over his cheater readers, “back again?”
My nervous hands walked around the edge of the papers I held, crimping them. “Yes, Sir.”
He consulted my paperwork. “If I remember correctly, you wish to discuss your taillight out citation.”
“Yes, Sir.”
At this point in the proceedings, the court clerk leaned closer to whisper in Judge Miller’s ear. Something seemed to be up. After a short exchange, the Judge’s attention returned to me. “Ms. Cooks?”
Something was definitely up. I could tell from his demeanor. “Yes, Sir?”
“Ms. Cooks, we have a slight problem.”
Lordy. Not again. “Oh?”
“Yes, well, we’ll have to reschedule your hearing until next week.”
Reschedule? I frowned at this news. I’d have to deal with Opal—Rats. “May I ask why, Sir?”
“Detective Wellborn isn’t available today. He’s working on a big case and something terribly important came up. He apologizes for any inconvenience.”
Big case? Apologizes? Just wait until I got my hands on him. “Oh, no,” I said saccharine sweetly. “How unfortunate.”
“It is. The court clerk will notify you later today of the next available date.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Dismissed, I pushed through the gate, letting it close behind me. Postponement dragged out my situation and caused me to consider things weren’t moving in a desirable direction. Confusion clouded my thoughts as I shoved opened the courtroom door and stood in the hallway, my body quaking.
What was the deal with Detective Wellborn anyway? Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hadn’t heard from him. He hadn’t even bothered to respond to my undeniably fantastic invitation to be my date.
My citation looked like chopped liver. He was too busy “working on his big important case,” the one he hadn’t discussed. So what if it involved the murder he’d told me about? My court case was—is—just as important.
Well—my heart sank—not really.
I wondered what Opal would say this time when I told her about round two. I crooked my mouth sideways.
I found my way back to the elevator. After stepping in the car and turning to face the closing doors, I glanced through the rapidly diminishing opening only to discover A. Wellborn standing outside the courtroom door. Wait… I thought he couldn’t make it. I reached for the open elevator button, but was too late. And why is he waving?
I pushed the button several more times, but to no avail. The door closed firmly, and the car began its descent.
Just wait until I get my hands on him.
****
On Friday afternoon, my computer crashed. I punched various buttons, restarted, and tried all the tricks I could think of, which numbered few. Nothing happened. Data entry appeared to be wholly shut down.
“Damn machine.” I sighed and, with a kick, pushed my chair away from my desk. Computers were meant to solve problems, not be the problem. I wound around my desk and in front of Opal’s for a consult about repairing the freakin’ thing. “Opal?”
She finished the last bit of her project and pulled off her glasses to better hear me. “What seems to be the problem, dear girl?”
Uncharacteristic sympathy oozed from her voice. And her dear girl epithet sounded like something the charming snake from the Garden of Eden would have said. I lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I don’t know. My computer is down. Crashed, I think. Everything just stopped.”
“Maybe it needs to rest for a while.”
I’d never heard of a computer needing rest before. But like the old saying goes, there’s always a first time. “Maybe.”
“Why don’t you quit for the day. Start fresh on Monday,” she said.
“You don’t think we should call in a technician and get it debugged?”
Her head tilted while she considered. “Occasionally, we have similar problems, but they seem to work themselves out if they’re shut down. Besides, you look tired.”
“I am tired. Computer stuff is stressful.” I shrugged. “You’re the expert. I’ll go with your suggestion and finish some other time.”
“Do you think you can get caught up next week?”
I pondered, but shook my head. “Based on the current activity, it’ll be hard. I’d rather come in on Saturday. I’m free until my date later in the evening. This could make up for when I went to court for the citation.”