Cover Story (14 page)

She answered on the first knock with a smile. “Tobi! You’re becoming a regular around here.”

Tell me about it, I wanted to mutter, but held my tongue. “Hi, Jazlyn.”
June? Jade?
I added it to the list of topics for our chat. “Have you got a few minutes?”

“Sure, come on in.”

Cosmo was dancing along to a TV show featuring people in full-body animal costumes and didn’t seem to notice my entrance. We moved into the kitchen and Jazlyn drifted to a washing basket of teeny-tiny clothes she’d obviously been sorting on the table. I sat and retrieved my tools of trade.

“Writing another story?” She glanced up, holding the smallest T-shirt I’d ever seen.

“At least a couple more yet, I’m afraid.” I surveyed the room, biting my pencil. I’d always been bad at subtlety—maybe I’d been born that way, or perhaps I’d never bothered acquiring the skills. But even I knew bringing up two delicate subjects—three if it went well—should be preceded by some sort of tactful lead-in. In the past, I’d just barge in and ask, but for some reason I wanted to be careful with Jazlyn.

Sofia was good at this stuff—what would she say?

“Er … Jazlyn, I was wondering if … is it all right with you …” I bit the end of my pencil again. “Can I ask a couple of questions?”

She shrugged as she folded a white body suit that looked more like doll’s clothes. “You’re always asking questions.”

“But I want to ask some that you might not like and I don’t want to offend you.” I frowned as I realized I really didn’t want to offend her. I officially liked another resident of Batty Street.

Snap.
The tip of the pencil broke off in my mouth. I gingerly picked it out, looking around for a bin.

“I’m not easily offended, Tobi, but I’ll let you know if you manage it.” She chuckled and rubbed a hand across her protruding belly.

I couldn’t see a bin; she must’ve had an in-the-cupboard job. I dropped the pencil tip in my bag and took a deep breath. “Rafaella at number one saw you cleaning up the pieces of a smashed gnome this morning, but no one’s mentioned it.”

“Ah.” She blushed. “I didn’t think anyone had seen.”

My spidey-senses pricked. “Any reason for them not to?”

She looked down at the yellow booties she held before sighing. “I smashed it.”

In my open-mouthed shock, I almost dropped my disfigured pencil, but recovered in time. “
You
did? Why?”

She sighed and shook her head, her long dark hair brushing over her shoulders. “It was an accident. I knocked it over when I wheeled the trash can to the curb. I’d really hoped no one saw because everyone’s hypersensitive about the gnomes—especially Cosmo and Anna. I was going to get a new one today.” She frowned as she fidgeted with the blue bonnet in her hands. “Will you tell the others?”

I made a quick assessment of the honesty of her admission—her features only showed sincerity. “No, I won’t mention it.” Hmm. That robbed the displaced anger at the cheatin’ husband of some supporting evidence, but it was still my strongest lead. Which brought me to question number two. Subtlety. Tact. Sofia-style.

“Jazlyn, feel free not to answer this—in fact, tell me to stuff it up my shirt if you want.” I ran my finger over a little green matinee jacket from the basket, aware I was stalling.

She laughed. “Just ask, Tobi.”

“Okay. The father of your baby … is he around?”

“Ah. Wayne. Well, it’s not quite as straight forward as that.” She matched two impossibly small socks together then reached for more.

“Wayne? Cosmo’s father?”

She kept her gaze on the assorted socks she’d retrieved. “The one and only. We’re going through what you might call a rough patch.”

“Sorry to hear it.” And I was. Part of me was growing attached to the nutty residents of this cul-de-sac, and I had the strange sensation again of wanting to make it all better for her. Weird. “How long?”

“About six years now.” She glanced up at me and flashed an ironic smile. “Since we married, really.”

Oh. I wasn’t surprised—wedlock was hardly one of mankind’s better ideas—but still, I had to wonder about a marriage so obviously troubled from the start, yet which continued to spawn progeny. “Um … sorry to bring it up.”

She shrugged. “It’s hardly a federal secret. I don’t mind if people know.” She paused. “You don’t suspect him, do you?”

“No, no. I still think it’s someone on this street. I just asked to fill in some gaps in the information.” I rolled my pencil between my fingers. This being-subtle gig took a lot more effort than my usual bluntness. “Er … there’s something else I want to ask. It’s not important at all, I’m just curious.”

“Just go for it, Tobi.” She held out her arms to Cosmo as he shuffled into the room.

“Jazlyn—is that your real name?”

She hooted a laugh, hugging Cosmo to her. He snuggled in. “You wouldn’t believe how often I’ve been asked that, and I certainly don’t mind. But yes, it’s the name I was christened with. It was the seventies and my mother was a bit of a hippie—she had the flowers in her hair and everything. You’ll never guess my middle name.”

“I won’t?”

“Martha.” She laughed again, this time joined by a giggling Cosmo.

Well, there you go. “You were right—I wouldn’t have guessed it.” I smiled with them, relieved the name game and the more sensitive questions were over. I’d survived the exercise of tact and she hadn’t been offended.

“My dad’s choice. The only way he’d agree to Jazlyn was to give me an alternative for when I grew up. It was his mother’s name.” She tickled Cosmo’s ribs to keep his giggle rolling out.

A responding giggle rose in my throat but I quashed it in time. Picking up my bag, I made my farewells and left them to their game. I wasn’t a fan of giggling in adults or children. Never had been.

Back on the sidewalk I checked my mother-of-pearl watch—10.30a.m. Sunday.

I groaned as the memory assault began anew—images of Simon holding the cotton candy. Simon’s mouth hovering above mine. Simon grinning. Simon. Simon. Simon. What would a less uptight person do?

She’d seduce him.

A tussle between panic and excitement overtook me.

Should I?

Could
I?

My body practically vibrated with the dual strength of fear and anticipation, but again, panic won and I pushed the whole messy dilemma back down.

For now.

I marched next door to see Beverley Sinclair, determined to address at least one of the problems on my mind. She answered with her trademark squishy-faced smile and invited me in.

“Would you like a cup of ginger peach, dear? It’s organic.”

Ginger peach? I guessed it was another tea. I decided to assert myself on the tea front. “Just a glass of water would be great.”

After I followed her through display home-neat rooms to the kitchen, she poured me water from a jug in the fridge.

Subtlety. Tact. Not, “Your husband’s bonking a different woman than the one you think.” Nope. Had to find a subtle way. I wouldn’t incriminate anyone but I still had the weird need to protect Jazlyn.

I leaned against a counter. “I’ve just been next door, speaking with Jazlyn.”

Beverley humphed. “
That
woman.”

I swirled the water in my glass. “She told me about Wayne. The father of Cosmo and her baby.”

Beverley’s pencil-thin eyebrows arrowed down in a frown. “She said that?”

I continued swirling the water, watching the pattern, feigning indifference. “Oh, yes, we had quite a chat about Wayne and the baby.”

She tapped lilac acrylic nails against the counter. “Well,
I
haven’t seen him around.”

I shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he’s not the father though.” I gulped some water and put my glass on the counter. How had I embroiled myself in this mess? I felt a twinge of regret that some previously unheard of—and bizarre—need to protect someone I barely knew had plonked me into the realm of “involved”. But I was here now, and I never backed down.

Beverley’s eyes darted to the window that overlooked Jazlyn’s house, across to me, then in an arc around the room. I could almost see the cogs in her brain turning. Then she stilled and her eyes widened, before her attention snapped back to me.

“If you don’t mind, dear, I have to go out somewhere.” She was already leading me to the door. “Perhaps we could talk another time?”

“That’s fine.”
More than fine.
At least if she’d been targeting Jazlyn, she’d have to stop and think now. “Bye, then.”

I’d put the cat among the pigeons—my eyes flicked to Winston’s house at the thought of an Attackcat—now I’d wait and see what happened.

Back on the sidewalk, I checked my watch: 10.51a.m. Sunday. Argh!

I stamped my foot on the concrete then drove straight home and changed it for a watch that didn’t keep reminding me of Simon.

*

Forty minutes later, wearing my watch with the little red numerals—and the right day—I sat down in my cubicle and powered up my computer.

I needed another story.

My mind drifted back over the theories still in play: Displaced Anger; Doggie Payback … hang on … if Jazlyn was worried enough about Cosmo’s and Anna’s reactions to the gnome this morning, she couldn’t have been the one who’d smashed or napped the others, regardless of her anger at Remington’s family. Come to think of it, she’d always put the gnomes back in place after the boys sexed them up, not wanting to upset the kids.

Looked like I was left with Beverley. Not that I could write about her husband’s affair in the paper. I flicked through the notes I’d made, searching for something to write. Dammit, why was I always falling back on Plan B with these stories?

I typed up the article and submitted it, just as a familiar male body landed on my desk.

“Hey, Fletcher.”

I flicked a glance at him. “What, no gnome joke today, Matias?”

“Nah. You said you didn’t like them.”

I swiveled my office chair to face him. He wore cargo pants, a khaki T-shirt and a devilish grin. On a purely objective level, Matias was gorgeous. And built. We had a kind of history now and I knew he was interested. So why didn’t he make my pulse jump all over the place like a damn jackrabbit? The way Simon did.

Seduce him.

“Matias, I—”

“It’s okay, Fletcher. I knew you’d take a while to come around. I’ll wait.” He grinned again. A perfectly sexy grin, but it wasn’t Simon’s.

I sighed. He was a good guy—gnome jokes not withstanding—and I couldn’t let him waste time on me. “No, really. The thing is, I’m interested in someone else.”

He frowned for a second then looked around, as if he could eyeball the competition. “Who?”

“No one you know.” I lined up the pencils on my desk. “Look, I just didn’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

He shrugged, hiding whatever emotion he felt. “No biggie. Catch you later, Fletcher.” He sauntered off.

With a touch of sympathy, I watched him go. But it was quickly eclipsed by the panic rising in my throat. I’d just admitted out loud I was interested in someone else. Simon. My belly fluttered.

Seduce him.

Oh, this was ridiculous. I would
not
let fear run my life. There was only one way to deal with fear. Face it.

I dialed Simon’s work number and waited to be put through.

“Simon Hanson.” Mercy, even his voice gave me the shivers.

“Simon, it’s Tobi.”

There was a pause and I could almost see him grinning. “I wondered when you’d call.”

My heart flip-flopped. “Well, here I am. Calling.”
Dammit, Fletcher, think!
“Have you got plans for tonight? It’s just that there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. If you can. At my place. If you can.” I hit my forehead with the heel of my hand.

“I’ll check with Mom to see if she’s okay to look after Anna, but I’m pretty sure I can make it.” His voice was deep and reverberating, and made me warm all over. Which, of course, cranked up my panic another notch.

Unhappy as I was with the power he had over me, I would not shirk a challenge. Even if I’d set it myself.

Seduce him.

“Ah … how about seven o’clock then?”

“I’ll be there.”

I hung up and almost fainted from panic. Or excitement. Or both.

*

Gnome-nap Saga Enters Twenty-fifth Day

By Tobi Fletcher

As the city of Santa Fe enters the third week of waiting for news on gnome-nap victim, AG, suspicions of motives have begun to circulate.

No ransom note or demand has been received, leaving residents to speculate.

“
It’s obvious someone’s hiding him,” said John Willis of Tesuque. “I don’t think we’ll see that gnome again.”

Another popular theory is that AG has been whisked away on an overseas trip and his humans will soon receive photos of him in other countries.

“
That happened to a neighbor of mine once,” said Amanda Sanchez, of Canyon Road. “They got postcards of their gnome in front of the pyramids and on the Tower of Pisa. All the neighbors were shocked.”

Others point to the length of AG’s disappearance without contact as disproving this theory.

The residents of Los Alamos Court, AG’s home, are still optimistic that he will be returned safely and implore anyone with information to contact this newspaper.

*

What does one wear to a seduction? Actually, how does one even
conduct
a seduction? It was hardly my forte. I curled up on my couch and called Grace.

“Tobi, hon!” She didn’t seem at all surprised that I’d called out of the blue for the first time since … ever. I liked that.

“Hey, Grace. I … er …” I took a deep breath. “Hypothetically, if I were to take your advice from yesterday—”

She squealed. “You’re going to seduce that hunk-a-burning-love?”

I rolled my eyes but refrained from voicing the comment on my lips—I needed her help. “Just hypothetically,
if
I were to do that … what would I do?”

“Oh, you have
so
called the right person. You need to remember C.R.A.Z.Y.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back on the cushions. Perhaps this was a bad idea. “Because I’d be crazy to do this?”

“No, each of the letters stands for something.”

“There’s a mnemonic for seduction? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Do you want my help or not?” She didn’t sound pouty, though. More like playful.

Embarrassed but determined, I steeled myself for what was to come. “I do. I’m sorry. Crazy.”

“Yes. The C is for clothes.”

“I’d already worked out that was a factor. Any advice?”

“Something to surprise him. What about buying a new dress?”

“No time. I’ve got under two hours.”

“Okay. Just the sexiest thing you have. And don’t forget make-up.”

“Er … right.”

“Now, the R is for the room. Where are you doing this?” She was really getting into the spirit, which was good, because one of us needed to. I was far too tense for that.

“My place.”

“Perfect—you have complete control. Set the mood. Candles, music, scents. Make it intimate and sexy.”

I cast a look around my apartment. Intimate and sexy? Well, it was small, so already I had the intimate part.

“The A is for attitude,” she continued, as if checking them off a list.

“People have always told me I have that, at least.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, wondering if this whole plan had been a mistake.

“No, Tobi. An attitude for seduction. Start thinking sexy thoughts—it’ll come out in your eyes and body language.”

“Okay. Sexy thoughts. Got it.” I could do that. In fact I’d spent half the day trying to
stop
thinking sexy thoughts about Simon—whenever I’d looked at that horrible date-challenged watch.

“The first three letters were the preparation. The last two are the process. Zeal and yield.”

“Zeal and yield?” I rubbed my temples and hoped aspirin was on the list somewhere.

“Yep. Men love an aggressive woman who takes control, but they don’t like it all the time. Sometimes you gotta yield and let them think they’re in charge. It comes with the testosterone.”

“Zeal and yield.” Mercy, I was over my head. I jumped up and began to pace the room—a whole three steps either way.

“You alternate between them. Begin with zeal to give him the idea, then throw in little patches of yield to encourage his internal caveman.”

“It’s a whole new world,” I muttered, flopping back onto the couch. Did other women really do all this? I sighed. Grace would know. Two husbands and umpteen boyfriends—men loved her. Her methods of attracting them must have some merit, regardless of whether she kept them in the long term. But that wasn’t something that concerned me.

“Have you got it all?”

“I think so. Crazy.”

“Guaranteed to drive him crazy. Make sure you let me know how it goes!”

“Er … right. Sure. Thanks.” I disconnected and sat staring at the phone. Whose absurd idea had this plan been?

Mine.

I straightened my spine. If I needed to seduce Simon Hanson, then I damn well would. And he’d better damn well like it.

C. Clothes. I jumped up and strode into my wardrobe. Surprise him? Oh, I’d surprise him all right. I’d wear … well, maybe not my taupe suit … or my fawn twin-set and trousers. I flicked through more hangers. Not my cinnamon ensemble either. Hmmm. There was a pattern forming. No matter. I did have one thing in my drawers that was suitable. I rummaged through my sensible cotton underwear until I found a pale pink scrap of lace. I’d bought it once on a whim but never worn it. The one-piece teddy was just the thing.

Okay. Make-up. I rushed to the bathroom vanity. I had some red lipstick, that’d be good. Yes. And if I just applied enough of my gray eyeshadow, it’d be sexy.

Clothes—check.

R. Room. I scrummaged through drawers and cabinets and found every candle I owned. There weren’t enough candleholders, so I stuck some in bottles and others to plates. Good.

At the back of my linen closet I found a red throw rug for the couch. That’d set the tone. Probably clash with my pink teddy, though, so once I was in my underwear, I’d need to be somewhere else. Couch for fully clothed. Bed for underwear. Check.

A for attitude. Apparently not the attitude I’d always been accused of. Hmm. Sexy attitude. Think sexy thoughts. All right, I could do that. I held my breath and tried.

Not even one. Okay, I didn’t need them yet.

The little red numerals on my watch said I now had one hour. Time to shower and get dressed—
then
I’d think sexy thoughts.

All through the shower I remained tense. Even the hot water on my shoulders couldn’t remove the bunching of muscles.

“It’s okay,” I told myself. “I’ll get through this.” It was like my old track coach used to say, “Now’s the time for the hard yards. Suck it up and put in the effort.”

I could do this. C.R.A.Z.Y. In a few hours’ time it’d all be over and I’d have won the challenge.

I dressed in my pink teddy, ignoring the way it scratched my skin, and threw on the only dress I owned. It was dark brown, but slinky and would come off easily. Perfect. I added a slimline watch.

I had a brainwave as I fastened it—the mother-of-pearl watch I’d worn that morning! It’d driven me insane with sexy thoughts half the day. I changed the slimline for the mother-of-pearl, relieved I’d taken care of the sexy thoughts issue.

Next I plastered my face with all the make-up I could possibly fit.

Roger on the C.

Then I lit every candle and straightened the red throw rug.

Roger on the R.

I sat, stared at my watch, and applied my full concentration to thinking sexy thoughts. Um …

No matter—I didn’t have to think them until Simon arrived. I checked my watch—this time using it for its real job. Five to seven! Damn, where had all the time gone? I started hyperventilating. What were the other letters? Z and Y. Zeal and yield. Zeal and yield. Zeal and yield. I hyperventilated some more.

A loud knock sounded on the door. Argh! I hadn’t thought of any sexy thoughts yet! I went a little dizzy and leaned back against the wall. I could do this. I never failed at anything and I wasn’t about to start now. In, out. In, out. My breathing gradually slowed down. Another knock on the door.

Dammit, lover boy, hold your horses. I’m doing my best.

I marched over to the door and yanked it open.

Simon stood on my step in light blue jeans with a mint-green shirt, holding a bunch of white lilies. Well the problem with the sexy thoughts was over. My gaze ran up and down his frame in all its Simon-perfection and my whole body blushed in approval.