Killer Kisses (2 page)

“I’m supposed to be doing a favor for a friend today, but I left my camera at home. Think I could borrow yours?”

She frowned and shook her head. Silky strands of hair slipped out of her pony tail and tickled her neck. “This is business.”

He moved closer to her and spoke in a low voice. “So’s mine.”

Uncomfortably aware of his spicy aftershave, she scooted up against the wall. “I don’t even know you.”

He put his hand out. “Jason Spode.”

She took his callused hand and a flash of heat rushed up her arm to her face. She felt as if she was melting. “Laurel Canyon.”

He held her hand just a tad too long. And smiled, a long, lazy grin with bright white teeth, along with dimples.

Oh no. It’s all over now. I’m a sucker for a man with dimples.

Jason chuckled. “Is that an address or an alias?”

Annoyed, she pulled back. “Look who’s talking, my-last-name is-bone-china-man. Is that
your
real name? Or an alias?”

Point taken.” The damn dimples again. He spoke so softly she had to lean her head closer to him to hear over the echoes in the gym. “Look, I’m trying to do a job for an out of town company. And it involves taking photos of, shall we say, a naughty girl.”

Reminded of her mission, Laurel scanned the room for the sleazoid husband.
Where the hell is he? It’s not like he could leave.
Camera strap around her neck, she stood on the bouncing bleacher for a better look, teetered, and fell into Jason’s lap.

Laurel turned her head to apologize and smacked his nose with her head. “Oh, my God! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

He put his arms around her and pulled her tight. “My nose hurts. It needs a kiss to make it better.”

She pushed him away and slid off his lap. “No more fuel for your fishing buddies!”

“So.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “About your camera?”

Her hands shook as she handed him the camera. “What do you need to capture?”

He looked across the room, lifted the camera to his eye and said, “Them.”

She glanced in the direction of where he pointed the camera and practically fell over.

Sleazoid hubby and his red-headed babe were lip locked, practically doing the horizontal mambo under the bleachers on the opposite side of the gym.

“What? No, they’re mine!” She lunged at the camera, he pulled back, and they both tumbled to the hardwood floor.

Jason leaped to his feet, reached out and helped her stand. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” She snatched at the strap. “Give me my camera. I have to catch that guy in the act with his bimbo.”

Jason pulled her closer and said in a low voice, “You’re making a scene! They’re going to get spooked. We’re both after the same thing: You get the guy. I get the gal.”

A flash of understanding shot through Laurel and she laughed. “It’s a deal. But you have to do what I tell you to do.”

He nodded. “Agreed. Give me copies of the photos and I’ll do whatever you want. “

Her gaze on the groping duo, Laurel grabbed his hands and swung him around with his back to the couple. “Now, hug me hard, like you mean it.”

He complied by pulling her so tight to him that she could feel the buttons on his jeans. He whispered, sending shivers down her spine. “Are they still at it?”

Laurel gulped, looked over his shoulder, and nodded. “Yup.”

Holding her close, he stroked her back, hummed a golden oldie, and rocked back and forth in a slow dance. His caresses almost made her forget what she was supposed to be doing.

She shook her head, raised the camera and snapped off a series of shots of the wayward couple engaged in a very public display of affection. “Gotcha!”

“Yes, you do,” Jason said. He lowered his head, slanted his soft mouth across hers, and slid his tongue between her lips. Her knees went weak, and she responded with equal measure. The voices of the crowd faded to a dull roar, and Laurel felt as if she was falling.

In the distance, the shrimpers chanted, “Get a room!”

Cat Nips: Catastrophe

~*~

The neon orange handbill glowed on the apartment door when she arrived home. “What’s this?”
Dropping backpack and grocery bags, she ripped it down and read:

NOTICE TO TENANT-- POLLY GRIGGS

Due to violation of terms of your rental agreement, you are hereby given 30 days
written notice to vacate the premises. VIOLATION: Exceeding number of allowable pets. You must vacate the premises no later than NOON, February 8….

She couldn’t bear to read the rest. Instead, her back and arms aching from her heavy backpack and bags, she opened the door to a chorus of meows, mrrks, and yowls. “Yes, yes, my pretties, I’m happy to see you, too.”

Streams of multicolored fur swirled around her legs.

“There you are, Tabbish.” She stroked a raggedy-looking, ancient cat sitting on the arm of a chair. “You’re still with us, I see.”

A small, three-legged cat hopped up on the chair with Tabbish and rubbed her hand with his head.

“Tiny Tim! You know I wouldn’t forget to say hello.” She picked up the little tabby and put him on her shoulder, where he sat like a parrot. “Happy now?”

He purred and butted her ear in response.

As she unpacked the plastic grocery bags in the galley kitchen, she greeted each cat by name.

“Abbott and Costello, how are you today? Miss Marple, where has your nose been? Sherlock, what have you been investigating? Sir Spots-a-Lot, Harry Spotter, did you tear up that plant?”

She glanced out at her living room.

“Okay, which of you knocked over the stack of books next to my reading chair? Was it you, Little Jack Horner? Mitzi? Faith? Come on, now, ’fess up! Belinda, Peter and Martha Cratchitt, where is your mother? Is she under the couch again? David Copperfield, where have you disappeared to? Oliver Twist, leave that plastic bag alone.”

She put away cans of cat food and continued to chatter to her adoring audience. “There was a sale on Friskies, Pip. You and Miss Havisham will be delighted to hear that we are stocked up on the beef and turkey combo. Mrs. Joe, let me get to the tea, please.”

She lifted the old calico cat off the counter, away from the cabinet that held her teas. It was one of her few indulgences: beautiful, aromatic teas with glorious flavors. She opened a tin and inhaled the smoky aroma of lapsang souchong. “Huckleberry and Jim, you have to move. I don’t want to catch your tails on fire.”

A one-eared brown tabby and a balding black cat hopped down from the counter with twin thuds. She opened another cabinet to get sugar. A cat sat there, staring at her.

“Tom Sawyer! Have you been in there all day?” She laughed and shook her head.

The large, one-eyed, black and white cat leaped down onto the counter. “Mrrp?”

A loud thumping at the door nearly made her drop her mug.

“I KNOW you’re in there, Polly Griggs!”

She tiptoed to the door, careful not to step on tails or paws. The landlord’s lumpy, bulbous nose was magnified by the fisheye peephole. When he drank, it was bright red. Like now.

“What do you want?”

“I want you and your cats out!”

“I saw the notice, Mr. Greeley. I have thirty days.”

“Out, out—out!” He pounded at the door.

“You have no right to yell at me. I’ll call the police.”

“I
own
the police!” The door shuddered with each blow of his fist.

Her heart responded to the hammering with an erratic thumping. She felt lightheaded and sat down hard in the armchair, startling Tabbish. Then, she heard a young man’s voice.

“M-Mr. G-Greeley, you know, you’re b-bothering the b-building.”

“I’m the landlord, Stutterin’ Simon. She’s got all those damn cats and she has to get OUT!”

“L-leave her alone, or I’m c-calling the p-police.”

Greeley’s harsh laugh echoed in the hallway. He cursed, mumbled, and at last was silent, as his footsteps thudded down the stairs.

A light tap sounded, and Polly opened the door to allow the tall, muscular young man into her apartment.

“P-Polly, are you okay?” He stood looking down at the floor.

“Yes, thank you, Simon.” 

Every time she saw him, she found herself taking quick, shallow breaths as butterflies flapped in her stomach. He had beautiful wavy dark hair, a handsome symmetrical face, and large blue eyes.  
His name should be Adonis, not Simon
, she thought.

“D-drunk.”

“Again.”

“Wh-what are you going to d-do?” His eyes were closed.

I’m a fool,
she thought.
A dumpy, frizzy-haired fool. I disgust him so much, he won’t even look at me.
“I don’t know. Where can I go with all my babies? Who would take them? They’re all old, blind, or crippled, all trying to survive, no thanks to Mr. Greeley.”

“B-bully.”

The teakettle whistled.

“Cup of tea?”

He nodded.

“Milk and sugar?” She opened the refrigerator.

He nodded again.

“Have a seat. Just move Mitzi off that chair.”

He picked the cat up, put her on his lap and rubbed her ears. Mitzi closed her eyes and purred while Simon looked around Polly’s immaculate kitchen, at the walls covered with vintage anti-war posters and photos.

“Neat p-pictures.”

She smiled. “My mother was quite a hell raiser in her day. Child of the sixties.”

“Drugs?”

She frowned and shook her head.“Never. She taught high school civics. Loved her job.” Sadness welled up in her chest. “My father died in Viet Nam, when I was tiny. My mother was devastated and protested against the war. Even chained herself to the White House fence. That’s her in that photo. See the baby in her arms?”

He nodded.

“That’s me.” She paused and sipped her tea from a chipped mug. “The school board said she was a bad influence on children. They sacked her.”

“N-no!”

“Took her a year to find another job. A year of hand-to-mouth poverty, my mother said.” Polly gazed at the photo in silence for a moment. “She died of breast cancer when I was a freshman in college. She’s the reason I majored in Political Science and became a high school teacher. But, enough about me. How are your classes this semester?”

He swallowed hard, looked at his teacup, and spoke as he inhaled.

“Speech class is b--bad. I n--need it to g-graduate. Have to g-give a talk the first week in February.”

“Have you met with the teacher?”

He shook his head.

“If you go see her, maybe she’ll give you some help.”

“Y-you? Wh-where to?” His sky-blue eyes made direct contact with Polly’s.

She felt like a deer in headlights. Flustered, she looked away.

“I don’t know. Not too many places allow pets, much less twenty-three cats. The so-called Humane Society will kill them. The no-kill shelters are full. I need a farm, but I can’t afford one on my teacher’s salary.”

“W-wish I could h-h-help.”

“I wish you could, too, but you already have Ebenezer, Marley and Bob Cratchitt. That’s all you can take. Otherwise, you’ll get evicted, too.”

He finished his tea and lifted the cat out of his lap as he stood up. “G-g-good l-luck.”

“Luck? I need a miracle.”

~*~

Polly came home the following evening after a hard day in the teenage trenches. A gaily wrapped package sat in front of her door.

The label read:
From your secret admirer
.

She flushed with pleasure and smiled.
Could it be from Simon?

She looked up and down the hallway, saw no one, and entered her apartment. Savoring the anticipation of opening the package, Polly made a cup of tea to prolong the pleasure, and at last sat down. With her heart doing the cha-cha, she opened the gift with loving care—And screamed, while brown-stained knife fell to the floor.

The note attached to it said:
Here, Kitty, Kitty!

She ran around the tiny apartment, calling names and counting heads.

“Twenty-three! Thank God, you’re all here!”

She called a locksmith, and the police.

The next day, Polly came home from work and found the greasy-haired landlord waiting by her door. He wore a dirty, sleeveless tee-shirt and was digging at his belly-button through a large tear.

“You changed the lock. You’re not allowed to do that.”

She took two steps backward, out of range of his boozy breath.

“You’re not allowed to be in my apartment without my permission. And, you threatened the life of my cats. I know you left that bloody knife. You’re nothing but a drunken bully.”