Authors: Tawna Fenske
“What?” said Dreadlock Dude.
“He hit it with a fucking hammer,” Drew supplied. “That’s pretty much it.”
Chris nodded sagely. “Let’s see it.”
Slowly, Dreadlock Dude held out his hand and uncurled his fingers. Drew resisted the urge to grimace. Even with zero medical training he could tell the joint in his thumb had been completely smashed.
“Ohmygod, that looks horrible,” Violet gasped.
Drew frowned at her. “Way to be supportive.”
“Sorry.”
Chris was studying the thumb, turning it over, muttering about the color and the condition of the joint. Finally, he looked up at Dreadlock Dude.
“You definitely need to get to the hospital. It appears you’ve shattered the joint. You need X-rays right away, probably surgery. Do you have health insurance?”
“No.”
“No matter. You have to get to the ER right away.”
Drew waited for a moment, expecting the esteemed doctor to offer to drive him. When he didn’t, Drew stood up.
“I’ll take him. Should we get some ice or—”
“Yes, absolutely,” Chris said, and looked up at Violet… or down Violet’s blouse, Drew couldn’t really tell. “Violet, let’s run inside and prepare an ice pack.”
“Oh,” Violet said, looking a little stunned. “Okay, sure, we’ll get ice and then we can all go to the hospital together.”
Chris nodded, though Drew saw him frown a little. Clearly, this was not his plan. “Sure, Violet and I will follow in my car,” Chris said. “You two stay here for just a second and Violet and I will get the ice so you have it for the drive. Just hold the hand up like this. Keep it up, okay? We’ll be right back.”
Violet cast another worried look at Dreadlock Dude before turning toward the house. “I’ll get some Tylenol, too.”
“And maybe some of that wine?” said Dreadlock Dude. “I’m okay with the sulfites now.”
Drew watched Violet and Chris disappear inside. He entertained a few unkind thoughts for a doctor who’d use someone else’s injury as a chance to get closer to a hot girl, even for a few moments.
Beside him, Dreadlock Dude moaned. Drew looked back at him. “Hurts like hell, huh? Sorry about that. I didn’t realize you’d gone back to hammering.”
“I was tired of sanding, dude.”
“Right. Well, we can finish building later. Come on, let’s get you in the car. Think you can walk okay?”
Dreadlock Dude nodded and stood up, swaying a little as he took a step. Grimacing at the smell of unwashed hair and patchouli, Drew helped him up and began walking him cautiously toward the car.
“Keep your hand up like the doctor said,” Drew instructed. “Watch your step here.”
“Thanks, man.”
“No sweat.”
Drew opened the door of his car and handed Dreadlock Dude into the passenger seat. “Need help with the seat belt?”
“Dude,” he replied, moaning a little.
Drew started to bend down, wondering what the hell was taking Chris and Violet so long with the ice.
Dreadlock Dude caught his eye. “Dude,” he said, grimacing a little. “You’re not seriously going to let that jackwad have her, are you?”
Drew stared at him for a few beats. “What are you talking about?”
“The doctor. Violet. Come on, man, you know what I mean.”
Drew shook his head and clicked the seat belt shut. “Violet isn’t my type. Not even close.”
Dreadlock Dude gave him a weird little smile. “You haven’t experienced your conscious revolution yet, but when the blindness is removed from your third eye—”
“Are you feeling dizzy?”
Dreadlock Dude shook his head. “Dude. She already knows I’m not her soul mate. Now it’s, like, your job to make sure she knows
he
isn’t, either.”
Drew just stared at him for a few beats, trying to find his place in the conversation. Was this guy delirious?
Or was he actually more lucid than Drew had realized?
Behind him, Drew heard Violet and Chris hustling out onto the front porch and slamming the front door. Drew looked at Dreadlock Dude and nodded.
“So Moonbeam sent you here, huh?”
***
An hour later, Drew wove his way through the hallway of the outpatient-rehab facility where Moonbeam was staying. Violet had told him how to find her, though she’d seemed leery about why he might want to.
Violet was still over in the ER with Dreadlock Dude, while Chris alternately assumed the role of compassionate doctor and stole peeks down the front of Violet’s shirt.
Not that it was any of Drew’s business.
And it sure as hell wasn’t Moonbeam’s, either.
He reached her doorway and knocked quietly.
“Drew?” Moonbeam called from within. “Is that you, dear? I sensed your presence.”
Drew rolled his eyes and ambled into the room, holding out the small vase of lilies he’d picked up in the hospital gift shop.
“I don’t suppose sensing my presence has anything to do with Violet calling to let you know I was coming?”
“Of course not, dear,” Moonbeam said as she accepted the flowers with a grateful smile. “You have a very distinct aura.”
“That’s what all the girls say.”
“What else did you bring?”
“Cherry pie,” he said as he held out the box from the hospital cafeteria. “Two slices. I know it’s your favorite.”
Moonbeam sighed with bliss and set the flowers aside to reach for the box. “And they used recycled cardboard instead of Styrofoam,” she gushed. “Thank you.”
Drew handed her a fork and sat down in the chair beside the bed. He couldn’t help but notice how pale she looked, how much more frail she seemed than the last time he’d seen her at the shop. She dug into the pie with surprising vigor.
“So how is Violet?” Moonbeam asked between bites. “You’ve been spending a fair amount of time together, haven’t you?”
“Right. That’s actually what I came here to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
Drew folded his arms over his chest. He looked at Moonbeam, studying her for signs of the scheming, unpredictable lunatic he knew her to be.
Moonbeam was busy forking up cherries, not meeting his eyes at all.
Drew cleared his throat. “Let me see if I can sum this up. You’ve spent the last few years hating my business and chastising me for the way I choose to make my living. If memory serves me right, you’ve described me as unenlightened, boorish, unesoteric, disrespectful—”
“I also called you a poor planetary citizen,” Moonbeam said helpfully between bites.
“Right. So explain to me why you’ve been trying to set me up with your daughter.”
Moonbeam widened her eyes at him. She touched a hand to her chest, probably getting ready to feign heart failure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear.”
“Please. Her first date with Dr. Chris, you sent her to a restaurant where you knew I’d be.”
“I don’t keep track of where you take your bimbos.”
“Bimbos?” Drew snorted. “You’ve been snarling at me for years over unenlightened word choices.”
“Well really, dear, that ad campaign you did that talked about trouser snakes and—”
“Never mind the trouser snakes. Or the bimbos. That’s not the issue here.”
“No? Have you been dating more enlightened women, then?”
Drew raised an eyebrow at him. “You mean Petal?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You sent her to the bar. You told her to pick me up. And you knew she’d annoy the hell out of me before we even got out of the parking lot.”
Moonbeam gave him a look of innocence that was almost believable. “But dear, she’s exactly the sort of girl you like.”
“So you did try to set us up.”
“Of course not.”
Drew sighed. “You’ve been shoving inappropriate women at me, and inappropriate men at Violet, and trying to convince us both that we’re meant to be together.”
Moonbeam’s eyes opened wide. “That’s the most ridiculous—”
“Exactly what
I
thought. What I want to know is why?”
Moonbeam stared at him for a moment. Her expression was perfectly bland. He couldn’t tell if she was angry, offended, or just annoyed at being busted. Maybe he’d guessed wrong here. Maybe…
“Well, Drew,” Moonbeam said sternly, “you certainly think very highly of yourself. Why on earth would I want you dating my daughter?”
“Exactly. God knows she’s not my type, and I’m sure as hell not hers.”
Moonbeam pressed her lips together and looked at him. “I’d have to be crazy to want Violet involved with someone in such a despicable profession.”
“I’m with you on the ‘crazy’ part. Not so much the ‘despicable,’ but I’ve been called worse.”
“I’m certain you have.”
“By you, mostly.”
Moonbeam frowned and took another bite of cherry pie. When she finished chewing, she looked at him. “Let me ask you something, dear.”
“Fire away.”
“You’ve known Violet for almost two weeks now. Do you think she belongs with Dr. Abbott?”
“Hell no.”
“Why not? Why doesn’t my daughter deserve to date a smart, wealthy, successful doctor?”
“The damn doctor doesn’t deserve
her
,” Drew snapped, a little louder than he’d intended. “Violet has way too much spirit for him. Too much passion. He’s all wrong for her.”
“You think so?”
Drew frowned. “So do you.”
“Hmmm,” Moonbeam said, and took another bite of pie. Not a yes, not a no.
Drew huffed an exasperated breath. “Look, I’m sure he’s a nice guy, but he’s boring. Violet thinks that’s what she wants, but it’s not. The last thing in the world she needs is normal. Normal would drive her nuts.”
Moonbeam eyed him carefully, the same calculated expression he’d seen her use with countless unsuspecting clients over the years.
“Well, dear,” Moonbeam said slowly, “that may be the first thing we’ve agreed on in ten years.”
“Let’s not hug over this, okay?”
Moonbeam rolled her eyes. “You’re precisely right. Violet does
not
need normal.”
“Fine. We agree on that. But it’s not your place to make those decisions for her. For
me
.”
“I’m not making decisions for any of you, dear. You’re both allowed to make your own choices. It’s called free will. I’m just helping things along.”
“Just what the world needs. A fake psychic matchmaker.”
Moonbeam pressed her lips together and studied him. “You could do a whole lot worse than Violet, dear. I’ve seen you do it over and over again, as a matter of fact.”
“I’ve enjoyed doing it, thank you very much.”
“Past tense?”
Drew frowned. “I don’t understand. You don’t like me, Moonbeam. You’ve never liked me.”
“I don’t like your business decisions, dear.”
“I’m not wild about yours, either.”
“See? Something else we have in common.”
“Mutual abhorrence for each other’s career choices is hardly the basis for friendship.”
Moonbeam shrugged and nibbled a piece of pie crust. “You said it yourself. The last thing Violet needs is normal. You certainly aren’t normal. At least, not in the way she thinks she wants.”
Drew scowled at her. “I’m not sure whether to be flattered or to smother you with your pillow.”
“You’re normal in the ways that matter, dear,” Moonbeam said patiently. “You’re a stable energy in Violet’s life. She needs that. But she also needs passion. Positive energy. A yang for her yin. Inner divinity.”
“What drugs did they put in that pie?”
Moonbeam pressed her lips together, looking serene and all-knowing. Then she forked up a giant, gloopy cherry, ignoring the question.
Drew scowled at her. “What makes you think I even want to date Violet? Or that she wants to date me?”
Moonbeam smiled and patted the back of his hand. He knew what she was going to say before the words even left her lips.
“I’m psychic, dear.”
Drew sighed. “Of course you are.”
Violet was sitting in the ER waiting room, completely engrossed in an article about toenail infections, but she knew the instant Drew walked into the room.
She looked up at him and smiled. “You smell like sawdust and pizza.”
He dropped into the plastic seat beside her. “That sounds like a marketable cologne to me.”
“How’s Mom?”
“Tired. I told her you wanted to come and visit as soon as you’re done here, but the nurse chased me out and said no more guests tonight.”
“That’s okay. I’m exhausted anyway. Think I could get a ride home with you?”
Drew frowned. “Where’s Dr. Chris?”
“He got called into surgery. Not Dreadlock Dude’s surgery—some emergency hip replacement or something. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be.”
“What about Dreadlock Dude?”
“His mom got here a few minutes ago. They’re back there now, talking to the doctor.”
“They going to operate?”
“Probably not tonight, but eventually. I feel terrible about what happened. He was just trying to help me, and now his thumb looks like a zucchini.”
“He wasn’t just trying to help you,” Drew pointed out. “He was hoping to see you naked. We all were, frankly.”
Violet felt her cheeks pinken a little, and she looked down at her lap. “Even so, he shouldn’t get stuck with huge medical bills for that.”
Drew reached over and gave her knee a quick squeeze. “Moonbeam’s homeowner’s insurance should cover it. And trust me, plenty of men would gladly hammer the body part of your choosing for the chance to gawk at you for the evening.”
“Hey,” Violet said, trying in vain to work up some feminist indignation.
“He’ll be fine,” Drew insisted.
“I guess you’re right.”
She looked up at him. He held her gaze for a moment and Violet forgot everything about blackmail and broken thumbs and psychic drama and just lost herself in those cool blue eyes.
“You look tired,” Drew said.
“I am. Exhausted, actually. How did it get so late?”
“Come on,” he said, standing up and offering her a hand. “Let’s get you home.”
She placed her hand in his and allowed him to hoist her up, enjoying the firmness of his grip. He touched her elbow to steady her, electrifying her skin as they both stood there beneath the glare of hospital lights with their fingers intertwined.
“Thanks again, Drew. For everything.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, and released her hand.
They walked in silence out to the car, Violet shivering a little in the light Portland drizzle. Drew moved closer to her—not touching her, not quite, but close enough that she could feel his warmth.
We
can
talk
on
the
way
home
, Violet thought.
About
Frank, about Chris, about his chat with Moonbeam… whatever the hell that was about.
It seemed like a good plan until she was snugly buckled into the seat with the car’s heater turned up high and the raindrops thrumming rhythmically on the car roof. Violet burrowed into her jacket as Drew backed the car up and turned around. Maybe it was the soft swish of the windshield wipers or the hum of the motor or the soft murmur of Pat Benatar crooning “We Belong” on the stereo.
Before Violet knew it, her eyelids felt like lead. By the time they reached the edge of the parking lot, her neck forgot how to hold her head up.
She woke to the sound of Drew’s voice warm against her ear.
“Violet?”
“Hmm?”
“Violet, wake up.”
She kept her eyes scrunched tightly closed, fighting consciousness as she snuggled into the crook of Drew’s arm. She inhaled the smell of soap and sawdust, pressing her cheek against all that beautiful muscle and soft cotton. She could feel his breath in her hair, warm and comforting, and she burrowed against him. Before she knew it, she’d drifted back into oblivion.
“Violet?”
“Hmm?”
“Violet, I really…” His voice sounded strained, gravelly.
Violet felt his fingers touch her hair, gentle as a whisper.
“Christ,” he murmured.
Violet opened her eyes and blinked in confusion. In the dim interior of the car, she took in the steering wheel, the seat belt, the flash of light in Drew’s eyes. He looked breathless and rumpled and more than a little dangerous.
“Oh,” she said.
“‘Oh’ is right,” Drew said, pulling back a little.
Violet sat up and straightened her blouse. “Well… wow. I’m sorry about that. I must… I guess I fell asleep.”
“That you did.”
“I’m sorry, I’d better get inside.”
Drew nodded slowly, one hand drifting up to skim the hair off her face, one hand gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles glowed white in the eerie yellow dashboard light.
Drew swallowed. “I’d offer to walk you inside, but—”
“No, that’s okay, you’re right. That would be—”
“Risky.”
“Right.”
For a few seconds, Violet struggled to remember why risky was a bad idea. Finally, she took a shaky breath. “All right. I’m going inside now. Thank you for the ride. And the ramp. And… well, everything.”
“My pleasure.”
Pleasure.
The word hung there between them for a moment, suspended by a thin, silk thread. Neither of them blinked.
Violet took another breath, fighting the urge to just flip the locks and pounce on him. The windows were starting to steam up, and the rush of warmth from the heater made her want to take her clothes off.
She was pretty sure it was the heater.
“Okay,” she said, and opened the car door. “Good night.”
“Good night, Violet.”
She stepped onto the driveway and was just about to close the door behind her when she spotted his Skilsaw on the porch. She turned back to him, hesitating.
“Your tools.”
Drew shook his head. “I’ll get them later. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Right. I just thought—”
“Violet,” he said slowly, and took a ragged breath. “If I get out of the car and follow you to the door, the only tool I’ll be thinking about…” He paused. “Okay, that was a little cruder than I intended. What I meant to say—”
Violet shook her head. “No, you’re right. Of course, you’re right. Okay, so I’ll take care of your tools…”
Drew grimaced.
“I mean, I’ll just go ahead and shove them inside…”
Drew shook his head. Violet flushed.
“I just mean that it’s kind of wet, so maybe if I just put some sort of cover over…”
Drew closed his eyes and sighed. “Good night, Violet.”
“Good night, Drew,” she said, and shoved the door shut before she could just say
to
hell
with
it
and lunge for him.
***
The next morning, Violet was at the shop bright and early. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and she had no one to blame for that but herself.
Well, maybe she could blame Drew.
She couldn’t stop thinking about pressing her body against his chest. Or the tease of his fingers under her skirt as they steamed up the windows in the lot at Council Crest Park. Or the feeling of grinding against him on the sofa the other night. Or—
Stop.
Violet shook her head and picked up the phone, frowning down at the caller-ID window. Still no word from Jed. She felt a flutter of relief. Maybe he wouldn’t call. Maybe she’d be off the hook. Surely Frank couldn’t expect her to feed lies to the guy if he didn’t call for an appointment.
The phone trilled in her hand and Violet dropped it, startled.
Behind her, she heard a chuckle. Violet whirled around.
“Wow,” Drew said. “You psychics just have to touch the telephone and it rings.”
“Shut up,” she snapped, and bent down to pick up the cordless. “And stop sneaking up on me like that.”
“Hey, I’m just looking for the plunger. Unless you’d like to tackle the women’s toilet yourself?”
Violet frowned as the phone trilled again in her hand.
“I can call a plumber,” she offered.
“No need, I’m a handy sort of guy.”
The phone rang again, and Violet decided to let Drew’s comment slide. She hit the switch and smiled into the receiver.
“Miss Moonbeam’s Psychic Pservices, this is Violet.”
“Violet, hey… Gary Smeade here.”
“Detective Smeade,” Violet replied without enthusiasm, trying to ignore Drew as he pulled the toilet plunger out of the closet and began twirling it like a baton. “What can I do for you?”
“Good question. We’ve got another situation here. Something I’m hoping you can help with.”
“Oh?”
“Since you did such a great job with the last one and all.”
Violet grimaced. “Right. Right, the bank robbery. What’s happening this time?”
“B and E. Quite a serious rash of it.”
Violet frowned. “Like whips and handcuffs and things? I didn’t know that was illegal.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. To her left, Drew stopped twirling his toilet plunger and looked at her.
Detective Smeade cleared his throat. “No, you’re thinking of B and D… uh, bondage and discipline.”
“Oh, right.” Violet flushed. “I mean, I wasn’t really thinking about bondage and discipline, but—”
“No, I’m talking about B and E. Breaking and entering. We’ve had several robberies in the Pearl District. Pretty close to where you are, as a matter of fact. Surveillance cameras have caught a couple shots of the guy, but he’s real tricky—keeps his face averted, wears ski masks, that sort of thing.”
“Okay,” Violet said, still regrouping after the bondage talk. “Burglary, right. So what do you need me to do?”
“Well, I have a few items we know the guy handled. Everything’s been dusted for prints, but the guy is good—wears gloves, the whole nine yards. But Moonbeam has this ability to touch things and get this sense of who else touched them, you know?”
“Touch things,” Violet repeated, still trying to avoid looking at Drew. “Sure.”
“Great, so you can do that too?”
“What?”
“How’s two thirty? Do you have any openings?”
“Oh… well, I… Let me check the appointment book.”
She set the phone down and walked over to the cupboard, her brain going a million miles a second. This was so not what she needed today. She was already trying to escape the need to lie to a perfect stranger. Now she was going to have to do it with a cop.
Again.
She picked up the appointment book and flipped to the appropriate day. Wide open. Just her luck. She turned and looked at Drew.
“Are you going to be working next door all day?”
“Pretty much,” Drew said, balancing the toilet plunger by its handle in the palm of his hand. “We’ve got a couple guys working on some new routines, so I told them I’d help out.”
“So you’ll be playing music?”
Drew gave her a look. “Without the music, it’s just a bunch of half-naked men gyrating around the room. That would be creepy.”
“Right.”
Drew grinned. “I’ll keep the volume turned down this time, promise.”
Violet looked at him for a moment and felt a sharp prick of guilt somewhere in her gut.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, and picked up the phone again. “Detective Smeade? Two thirty will work just fine. I’ll see you then.”
***
Jed Buckles still didn’t call. All afternoon, Violet’s phone stayed eerily silent.
The sound system next door didn’t, which left Violet scrambling for a pen every time a new tune came blasting through the wall. Several times, she had to look up lyrics on the Internet, trying to remember obscure ’80s one-hit wonders from her childhood.
By late afternoon, Violet had a list of glam-rock tunes comprehensive enough to impress attendees at a mullet convention.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” Violet muttered to herself as she tried to puzzle out the hidden meaning behind Ozzy Osbourne’s “You Can’t Kill Rock and Roll” and Night Ranger’s “Sister Christian.”
“Something about murder? Church?” she muttered again, tapping the pen against her teeth.
Maybe there was no meaning. Hell, it’s not like every song had to mean something. Maybe just the ones that played during key moments? She was pretty sure Drew had to be the one picking the songs. Did she have to be the one to hear them in order for this to work?
Violet set the pen down and frowned. Maybe this whole song theory was stupid. That seemed a whole lot more likely than the possibility there was some mysterious psychic message in Billy Idol’s “Flesh for Fantasy.”
The door chimed, and Violet looked up to see Detective Smeade striding toward her with a black leather briefcase in one hand. He smiled when he saw her.
“Violet, good to see you again.”
“Good to see you, Detective Smeade.”
“How’s your mom doing?”
“Much better, thanks. She should be able to come home soon.”
“That’ll be good for her. How long are you going to stick around?”
Violet toed the carpet, surprised to realize she hadn’t given much thought to the duration of her stay. To the fact that it would need to come to an end fairly soon.
“Probably another week, maybe two,” she said. “At least until Mom can get around okay by herself and start taking appointments again.”
“You’ve been able to pick up enough accounting work to keep yourself busy?”
“There’s been a surprising demand for it.”
“Good, that’s good.” He laughed. “Bet the accounting thing isn’t nearly as fun and interesting as what you’re doing here.”
Violet started to point out that “fun” and “interesting” were hardly the soundest reasons for a career choice, but she couldn’t make her mouth form the words.
“Right,” she said. “So shall we get started?”
“Absolutely. I know you’re probably busy.”
“Actually, today’s been pretty quiet. Just waiting for the phone to ring, really.”
Violet led the way to the back of the shop as Detective Smeade chuckled again behind her.
“Probably helps to know beforehand when that’s going to happen. The phone ringing, I mean. I’ll bet that’s the best thing about being psychic. You’re never caught on the can when an important call comes.”