Killer Kisses (19 page)

Suppressing the urge to tell the Neanderthal off, Beth’s mouth snapped shut.
Where was Dick?
If she ever needed the Summerville Chief of Police at her side,
this
was the day.

As if on cue, Dick’s voice boomed into the foyer. “Honey, I’m home.” He bounded in the front door, dressed in a custom suit looking more like he was about to go to work on Wall Street, not on the SPD. “Ah, Tony, I see you found the place.” He clapped the stocky man on the back. “Take a tour, it’s gonna be all yours soon.”

Tony’s close-set eyes darted around the foyer and sitting area. “Dis place come wid a terlet?”

It took a moment for Beth to translate his request. “Yes, the men’s room is down the hall, on the left.”

As Tony shambled away, Beth grabbed her husband’s arm and hissed at him. “Dis? Dem? Terlet? What kind of beast
is
he? And how do
you
know him?”

“Hey, you know what they say about judging a book by its cover,” Dick chided. “Tony’s got a lot of loot. After he sets up shop here, he’ll be making generous donations to our favorite charity—us.”

Horrified at the possibilities, she demanded, “And what
exactly
do you do in return for your new found friend?”

Dick glanced around, then gave her a wink. “SPD will give him, shall we say— certain considerations.”

“And what is his business?”

“This and that.”

“You have reached new lows—which I didn’t think was possible.” Dizzy with rage, Beth could barely speak. “My realtor’s license is
not
going on the line for your latest scam. Everything that happens today goes
by the book
.”

“Beth, c’mon, you gotta work with me.”

Dick tried to wheedle her, but just then car doors slammed shut and a man’s voice called out, “Hello? Anyone here?”

A throaty woman’s voice responded. “I think we need to go inside. I doubt they’ll have the auction out here.”

Footsteps clomped up the stairs. A Nicholas Cage look-alike entered first, blinking rapidly to adjust to the gloom.
Well hello, handsome.
Beth shot a glance at her buffoon of a husband, now deep in a huddle with the returned gorilla, and made a mental comparison. Dick was coming up short.

Her attention shifted to the sound of high heels clicking on the hardwood floor. The woman who came in behind the hunk looked as if she belonged in an executive bordello. With bright red hair cascading over both shoulders and a low-cut blouse that exposed ample cleavage, it took Beth a full minute to realize who the curvaceous sexpot was.

“Genie King? Is that really you?” Beth adjusted the girls before bounding over to give the other woman a hug. “I didn’t recognize you out of your work clothes.”

Genie gave Beth an awkward smile. “I cleaned up for the occasion.”

Beth extended one hand to the handsome man. “Beth Heade, Heade Realty. You are?”

The man’s slow sexy smile had Beth’s rarely used nether regions tingling.
Hubba, hubba. When is Dick’s next business trip?

“Jim Rawlings. You haven’t changed a bit, Beth.”

“Oh, my gawd! It’s been so long. What have you been up to?”

Ignoring Beth’s question, Jim turned to Genie. “You seem familiar—but I can’t place you. Should I know you?”

~*~

Genie felt heat flush up from her breasts to encompass her neck and face.
Should he know me?
After working together every summer from middle school through high school, she knew everything about Jim Rawlings—where he lived, what car he drove, how many poker games he played a week—to name but a few of his favorite things. Today people would say she was
obsessed
with him, verging on stalker material. Twenty-four years ago, it was simply called a major crush.

Her normally throaty voice came out in a tremulous squeak. “You and I worked together here at the Inn. Every summer.”

“Skinny, little Genie?” Jim stepped back, gave her a long head to toe look over and whistled. “You filled out in all the
right
places.”

Heat flared in Genie’s cheeks. He
liked
her curves?
Really?

Flustered by his intense stare, Genie flailed around for an intelligent thought—and grasped at the first thing that came to mind. “Beth, do we have time to look around one more time before the auction begins?”

The realtor looked annoyed. “Yes, just be back in fifteen minutes. We start
exactly
at ten.”

Pulling a notepad out as she walked, Genie made a beeline to the kitchen.

“Hold up,” Jim called. “I’ll go with you.”

As she opened the door of the large gas range, she glanced up at the tall man beside her. A touch of gray at his temples, a scar across his eyebrow and a few laugh lines around his eyes, but other than that he
still
looked good enough to eat. Urging her inner stalker to slow down, she attempted to act casual and took a deep breath. “The years have been good to you. What brings you back to Summerville?”

“Long story short, I earned a degree from Cornell’s Hotel School. Worked for major hotel corporations from New York City to Las Vegas. But I wanted my own place and I missed small towns. And you?”

Momentarily distracted by the ancient behemoth of a refrigerator, she turned and focused on Jim’s question. “I’m a graduate of the CIA. I’ve worked with some top chefs but I want my own kitchen. And I
never ever
want to be a Sous chef again.”

Jim’s eyebrows flew up. “Seriously?”

The short hairy guy stomped into the kitchen. “Hey, youse two love birds, I hate to interrupt dis Hallmark moment, but I’m here to buy dis here place, not go to a reunion. You guys comin’ to dis auction, or not?”

Genie flushed, snapped her notebook shut and followed the troll out of the kitchen into the foyer.

Jim was hot on her heels.

Beth glared at the short hairy man. “I see Tony found you.”

Genie swore that if looks could have killed, the realtor would have turned the man to stone.

Beth took a deep breath, and launched into a brisk review. “It’s time to begin the auction. Some ground rules: the
reserve
price is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars; bidding
must
be in increments of ten thousand. You
must
have sufficient cash or a cashier’s check for a deposit—or the entire amount.
Everything
is due in thirty days. And, the property is sold
as is, no guarantees
. Got it?”

Dick grinned at his wife and gave her the thumbs up sign. “Let the games begin.”

“What do I have for an opening bid?”

“Two-hunnert-fifty thou.” Tony dug a finger in his ear and pulled out a chunk of earwax.

Genie suppressed a gag and shouted, “Three-hundred thousand.”

“Tree-fifty.” Tony winked at Dick. “I got a good feeling about dis. Gonna have me a great casino.”

Jim stared at Tony. “A casino? Are you out of your mind? This place is a historic treasure. Three-sixty.”

Tony smirked, stuffed three sticks of gum into his mouth, and dropped the wrappers on the floor.

Genie shouted, “Three-eighty.”

“I got your tree-eighty, little bimbo, and raise it to four-hunnert thou.”

Jim’s face twisted with disgust. “Why you—”

Genie felt the Inn and her future slipping out of her reach. Her breath came in short puffs. The room began to take on crazy colors and twisted shapes. No. She
had
to have her own kitchen. No more Sous chef. No more crazy bosses with Mount Vesuvius tempers. No. No. No. She
had
to have it, it was hers, Dammit. A crazy idea exploded into Genie’s frantic thoughts and out of her lips. She grabbed Jim, pulled his head down to hers and whispered, “I have five-hundred thousand. If you have that, too, we can take this pig.”

Jim smiled, straightened up, and said. “Four hundred-ten thousand.”

Tony sneered. “Yada, yada, yada. Four-tirty.”

Genie clutched Jim’s warm hand to her cold one. “Four hundred-fifty thousand.”

Tony nearly spat at her. “Five-hunnert thou. Top that, bimbo.”

Genie vibrated with rage. “Five fifty.”

Disbelief crossed the hairy man’s face. He mouthed an obscenity. “Eight hunnert.”

Her heart thundered in her chest. How far could the awful man go? Did he really have more cash in hand than she and Jim could amass?

Genie shouted, “Eight-hundred fifty thousand.”

The ugly man’s face darkened. “Nine-hunnert.”

Dear God, this jerk could become owner of her inn. She knew life wasn’t fair, but how could such a horrible thing be allowed to happen? She closed her eyes and prayed to Saint Lawrence, Saint Rita
and
Saint Cayetano.

Jim cleared his throat. “One million dollars.”

Tony swore a blue streak and stomped out of the inn. Dick followed close on his heels and could be heard by all that he had no part in the biddings or the deal.

 The silence in the foyer was deafening.

Beth’s blonde bobble head swiveled between Jim and Genie.

“Going once? Going twice?
Sold
to the highest bidder.”

CHAPTER THREE

~*~

Jim sat in Sips Coffee Shop, dipped chocolate biscotti into his espresso, and watched the cookie crumble into his cup. Well,
there
was a metaphor for today’s event.
What was I thinking?
Why hadn’t I stopped the proceedings, taken Genie outside and talked some sense into her? But, no, just like old times, the rush that came with taking crazy risks overtook him—and he gambled big time. He won the property—but now he had to figure out how he would pay for repairs. Where would he get the money for
that?

Genie put her small hand over his. “A million dollars for your thoughts?”

He gave her a wry grin, pulled the worn medallion out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “I think Saint Aloysius Gonzaga was busy protecting other compulsive gamblers today.”

Surprise crossed Genie’s face. “I knew you were a big poker player in high school. I had no idea—”

“My parents did a great job of ‘helping’ me out, covering up for their one and only son, making things right. They had no idea they were enabling me.”

“Are you still—?”

“A compulsive gambler?” He rubbed the scar on his eyebrow. “That all came to a crashing halt about ten years ago. I thought—until today.”

She covered her mouth with both hands. “I’m so sorry. What did I do to you?”

“Not your fault.”

“Yes it
is
. It was my stupid idea, my poor impulse control. And my saints.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I prayed to the patron saints of chefs, impossible dreams, and gamblers.”

“Whoa, three against one. Hardly fair.”

She held up her palms. “I was desperate. I
had
to have the Inn. I did this to you.”

“No, I did it to me. You didn’t cause it, you can’t cure it and you can’t control it. I have a chronic, relapsing disease. Today was a major relapse.”
I really need to call my sponsor and find a meeting.

She placed a tentative hand on his. “But you wanted the Inn, didn’t you?”

“Yes—but what I did was
crazy
. I spent every dime I had, plus every one
you
had. Now what do we do?”

She let out a long breath. “We do what we’re good at. I’m a well-trained chef. You’re an experienced hotel manager.”

A small flame of hope flickered in Jim’s mind. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” she stated and sipped her latte. “Why did you want
this
place?”

“The old girl called to me, begged me to save her.” He gave Genie a wistful smile. “Do I sound crazy?”

“You call the Inn ‘she,’ too?”

“Yes, she’s like a grand old dame who’s fallen on hard times—and I would love to bring her back to her former glory.”

Genie leaped up, ran around the table and hugged him. “I have the same dream. We
can
do it.”

He hesitated for a moment, then returned the gesture, his hands unable to resist lingering on her luscious curves just a tad too long. Genie’s inviting cleavage made him wish they were somewhere private. He could scarcely breathe and he had to shake his head to dispel naughty images of nuzzling her breasts. “We can do what?”

She sat down again, but clung to his hands. “I’ve done the research. The Inn should be in the National Park Service Historic Registry—but it isn’t. If we can get her added to the Registry, there are laws and standards about how we make the rehabilitation. We can bring it up to modern codes, but have to use certain treatments—”