Loose Screw (Dusty Deals Mystery) (13 page)

While Trent gave me a lecture on the basics of geometry and how it related to pool, I cut my eyes back to where Peter Blake sat, still watching me. He nodded his head, but didn’t smile. I turned my back on him and pretended a fascination with Trent and his lesson.

Jim was on a roll, knocking in one ball after the other. Seemed like a good time to visit the restroom. I picked up my beer and went around the corner, into the room with the bar. The bathrooms were past the bar, down a short hall. One door featured a frog in a cowboy hat and boots. Based on the caption under his picture, I gathered his name was “Tad Poles.” The other door had a picture of the same frog in a blond wig and boots. Her name was “Polly Wogs.” I chose Polly.

The bathroom was a one-seater. I sat my beer on the back of the toilet and did my thing. When I was done, I washed my hands and checked my reflection in the mirror. I reapplied lipstick and dabbed a bit of powder around. Satisfied, I left.

Blake now stood at the end of the bar looking right at me. Tonight, instead of the cop-suit, he was wearing Wrangler jeans and a red cotton shirt with long sleeves. His shirt had a slight Western cut, but it didn’t scream rodeo. A colorful horsehair belt with a large silver buckle was at his waist. Low-heeled cowboy boots were on his feet. As I approached, the disapproving look on his face said he was waiting for me, and that I probably didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

He crossed his arms across his chest. “Hello, Lucy. Having a good time tonight?”

“So far, so good.” I tipped my head up at him.

“So, how’s the writing going? Any good leads?” He unfolded his arms and raised one eyebrow.

I pretended not to notice his attempt at intimidation. “A few. I’m waiting on some callbacks.” I tried to make my way around him back into the room with the pool tables.

He swiveled and barred my way, forcing me into a space against the wall between the bar and a video game. His voice sharpened. “I don’t want you bothering George anymore.”

I’m not sure whether it was Betty’s lecture or the beers I’d downed, but something put me in touch with my temper. My spine straightened and my chin rose. “Last I heard it was still a free country. When did you get dictator rights?” 

 He stared down at me, not looking even the slightest intimidated or impressed. “I have all the rights I need to get George into plenty of hot water if you keep sweet talking information out of him. If he gets himself suspended, it will be on your head.”

“I haven’t been ‘sweet talking’ anything out of George. I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Now that I was getting in touch with this anger thing, I wasn’t really sure how to rein it in. I looked for an escape route, but all exits were blocked by Blake. Cornered, I set my beer on the bar and put both hands on my hips.

“Oh, and where am I supposed to think you got the information on what was missing from Crandell’s car and that Marie Malone had an eagle feather?”

He had me there. I didn’t want to get George into trouble, but I also didn’t want to admit I’d eavesdropped on conversations between Blake and the Malones, not to mention between Andrew Malone and his wife’s attorney. I was pretty sure Blake would see that as a major no-no.

He took a step closer to me and stood in my space. Anger boiled hotter inside me. He was a good 70 pounds heavier than me, at least eight inches taller, and possibly carrying a gun. The imbalance of power was too much.

Suddenly, with no specific plan or goal in mind, I reached out and slid my hands behind his neck. He stiffened in surprise. I enjoyed about three seconds of knowing I had shocked and shut him up, before my body was pressed back into the wall behind me. He pinned me with a hand on either side of my head and gave my mouth a full out invasion. I started to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.

And, despite all good sense, as the onslaught continued I felt my body relax against his.

He slipped one hand behind my back and pushed his pelvis even closer. I lost track of where we were and encouraged him as he deepened the kiss. Suddenly he pulled his mouth away from mine. Dazed, I stood there as he trailed his tongue from the base of my neck up to my ear.

Rhonda came around the corner carrying her pool cue. “Lucy, it’s your shot.”

Blake breathed in my ear, “Don’t bite off more than you can chew.” He pushed himself away, grabbed his beer off the bar, and strolled past Rhonda.

My mind was paralyzed. I stared blindly at Rhonda as she approached.

“What was going on in here?” She grinned.

Trying to recover and get myself back together, I gave her the closest I could come to a bitchy look, picked up my Bud Light and stalked back to the table with the schnapps.  I downed mine and thought about Rhonda’s. Deciding I had done enough stupid things for one night, I left it alone and picked up my pool cue.

I was too busy trying to avoid looking for Blake to concentrate on the rest of the game. Jim and Trent didn’t seem to notice anything was different, but I could tell Rhonda was itching to get me alone. Since I had no reasonable explanation for what had happened, I refused to be drawn into a conversation. When the game was finally over, Rhonda declined a second match, and we went to sit at the table with our drinks.

Rhonda prodded me for information. “So did I see what I thought I saw?”

“I don’t know. What do you mean?” I started to peel the label off my beer.

“You know exactly what I mean. Peter Blake. It looked like he was about to slurp you up.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know exactly what happened.” I looked away and pretended an interest in a couple two-stepping across the dance floor. She wasn’t bad. He needed work.

“Fine, see if I tell you the next time a tall, dark, and handsome pins me to a wall in a lip-lock.”

“It wasn’t a lip-lock, at least not when you were there,” I mumbled.

Rhonda grinned in triumph. “Ha, that’s what I thought. So, you and Blake—this could be interesting.”

“There’s not going to be anything interesting. First of all, he is not my type, and second of all, he was just making some kind of a point.” I started on the other corner of my beer label.

“Oh yeah, I bet he had a point all right, and if you play your cards right, you’ll get to see it real soon.”

Nice.
Rhonda could be so classy.

“Want to dance?” I looked up to see my geometry buddy Trent standing next to me.

Sweet, sweet escape. “Sure, I’d love to.” I pushed myself away from the table. Rhonda stared after me with a look of disgust.

They were playing a slow song, and Trent was a little unsteady on his feet, but I was done discussing Blake and needed to get away from Rhonda. Besides, Blake had completely disappeared from view. If, as Rhonda claimed, he had an interest in me, he’d still be here, right? A feeling strangely close to disappointment settled around me.

While I struggled with this disturbing development, Trent swayed to the music and moved his hands from my waist to my butt and back again. After I had removed them for the fifth time, the song finally ended.

When we returned to my table, Trent made no move to leave. He leaned in toward me and asked, “So you want to get out of here?”

I reached up to remove his hand from my shoulder. Rhonda looked at me, but in cases like this, actions speak louder than words. I turned, and left Trent with Rhonda.

When I returned with a Diet Pepsi, Trent was gone. He was now dancing with a bleached blond in a tank top. Rhonda lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “What can I say? Love is fickle.”

Rhonda and I stayed for another hour, enjoying the band. She didn’t mention the scene in the bar again, and I concentrated on forgetting it myself. When the band took a break, we decided to call it a night. I walked Rhonda to the door and went to visit Polly’s place again.

My business with “Polly” completed, I pulled my keys out of my purse and went outside. It had begun raining at some point, and the moisture added to the chill in the air. I hunched my shoulders and hurried in the direction of my car. Halfway between the bar and my Cherokee, I sensed someone behind me. I started to sprint and slipped on the wet pavement.
Bam.
I went down face first.

Fingers grabbed my upper arm and pulled me up. I spun around with my keys sticking between my fingers like a cat’s claws.

“
Shit
. What is wrong with you?” Blake grabbed the hand holding my keys and held it up above my head. “Are you trying to kill me? What are you, part bobcat?”

“I didn’t know it was you. What am I supposed to do? Let some maniac hunt me down in the parking lot?” I sputtered, spitting gravel and other things I didn’t want to think about out of my mouth.

“All right, I’m sorry I startled you. I just wanted to finish our conversation.” He held his hands up in mock surrender.

I wasn’t buying that. “I think our conversation is very finished.” I tried to look dignified as I wiped some of the mud off my shirt with my equally muddy hands. Giving up, I turned my back on him to walk toward the Cherokee.

Blake followed in silence.

At my car, I tried to slip the key into the lock, but my hands were shaking, and I couldn’t fit the key in place. Blake reached around me and unlocked the car.

Stepping back, he held my door open for me. I slid into the seat and reached for the handle. He leaned into the car and tucked a strand of sodden hair behind my ear. “Remember what I said about George,” he said.

Then he placed one finger under my chin, tilted my head up, and kissed me gently but firmly on the mouth. “And about biting off more than you can chew.” With that, he shut my door and jogged back into the bar.

Holy crap. What just happened?

Chapter 13

The next morning I woke up, turned off my alarm, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The events from the previous night were still vivid in my mind. I reran the scene in the bar with Blake over and over. It never got better. It never got worse either though.

That was bad. I had actually enjoyed my confrontation with the arrogant Blake.

I buried my head under the pillow and considered staying there. How would I face him again? I’d grabbed the man and then just stood there as he laid one on me. Or maybe I’d laid one on him. I didn’t even know which, and it didn’t matter because I sure as hell hadn’t objected. 

Any way I sliced it, it was humiliating.

And what I’d told Rhonda was true. Blake wasn’t my type. Not at all. He was too tall. Tall men made me feel small, and I didn’t like feeling small. He wore Wranglers. Stupid prejudice, but I was a Levi girl. He was bossy and overbearing—traits I’d spent my years since childhood avoiding. And most importantly, I got the distinct impression he didn’t even like me.

I was a total loser.

Kiska, being completely unsympathetic to my plight, walked up to the bed and released a demanding
Ooo wow wow wow
.

Then he looked at me expectantly.

I knew him well enough to realize my time to myself was over. I gave up my pity party and rolled onto the floor.

My mouth felt and tasted like I’d been chewing old socks. I let Kiska out the front and went to brush my teeth. My reflection in the mirror did nothing to improve my mood. I had dark circles under my eyes, and my skin was a lovely shade of gray. I looked like I’d been underground for about a day, and I had to face Gary and Angie-the-biking-Barbie after work.

Another lovely evening of humiliation to look forward to—this time on two wheels.

After going through the normal morning rituals, I packed my gym bag, gave Kiska a quick kiss, and trudged to the garage. It took another 15 minutes to get my mountain bike loaded into the back of the Cherokee. I’d bought a carrier a year earlier but never even opened the box. I had no idea how to install the thing. So I just wrestled my bike in through the tailgate. Already exhausted, I got behind the wheel and pulled out.

Fifteen minutes later, I was at the shop. The sound of clarinets and saxophones blaring an unfamiliar tune greeted me at the door. Betty twisted her way past a display of Victorian hair wreaths. At the cow horn chair, she stopped, did her knee knocking bit, and shimmied on. Today she wore another drop waist dress, this one lime green. In the middle of her forehead a six-inch matching feather was held by a black velvet ribbon—like a psychedelic Indian headdress worn backwards.

“Yowza, it’s about time you rolled in here. It’s after nine o’clock.” She turned the music down a notch. “I’ve got the perfect dress for you. You’ll be the cat’s meow.”

Feeling more like the cat’s hairball, I replied, “I don’t know about dressing up tomorrow. It just isn’t me.”

“Sure it is. You need to cut loose a little.”

After the previous night, I didn’t think I could survive cutting any looser. “I’m not promising anything.”

“Who cracked your reed?” She adjusted her feather. “The dress’s in your office. I brought one for Rhonda too.”

“Rhonda too? How many dresses do you have? We aren’t exactly all the same size.”

“Honey, I’m the Martin Luther King of closets.”

Against my better judgment, I raised my brows in question.

“I have ‘wear ‘em today’ dresses, ‘in just 10 pounds’ dresses, and ‘I’ve got a dream’ dresses.” She grinned.

I couldn’t help myself, I smiled. But I turned my back quickly so she wouldn’t know. It isn’t often I get the luxury of sinking into a grand funk. Why give it up that easily?

She called after me. “Rhonda said to have you call her, something about lunch.”

I figured I knew why Rhonda was interested in lunch. She’d probably been up all night planning her attack to get me to give up the details of my run-in with Blake.

I wallowed in my foul mood for a bit before picking up the phone. While I waited for Rhonda to answer, I peeked in the travel bag lying on my desk. Inside was a dark red flapper dress. It was cut straight across the top. Spaghetti straps held up the bodice, and the entire length of it was draped in red beads. Tucked in the bottom of the bag was a feathered, black hat. I was positioning it on my head when Rhonda answered.