No Brainer ( The Darcy Walker Series #2) (42 page)

Okay, it was horror movie league, but I should’ve expected it. When I asked Gertrude for the 411 on Howie’s body, she straightened her back, defensively. As if I’d touched on a subject that extremely embarrassed her, and she didn’t want to acknowledge it in front of Polly. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, I wasn’t in the mood to protect her feelings. As I continued with a pigheaded stare, a crack surfaced in the carefully constructed facade of gracefulness that Gertrude showed the world. She broke … saying the body washed ashore in Daytona Beach, found floating in the breakwaters. You’d think I would’ve been happy with that information, but I pressed on in regards to the man discovered dead in her pool. Gertrude literally stood up, said her quick “Goodbyes,” and told me to mind my blankety-blank business.

At the door, she pivoted one last time and unloaded an f-bomb.

Huh, guess I struck a nerve.

I didn’t understand this relentless need to unravel the mysteries in front of me. Regarding Cisco, perhaps it’s because I knew firsthand that paralyzing and debilitating pain when your nuclear family went away. Most days I successfully buried the grief, but on the days it resurrected itself, I realized the term “emotionally numb” signaled progress. Pain was a funny thing. The physical, you could heal from; the mental, didn’t always cooperate.

Dylan finally got the upper hand, flipping me over, pinning my arms to my sides. As he slowly bent down to whisper in my ear, I found myself needing air. If I thought the situation with Cisco felt dubious, the ambiguity with Dylan literally had me in a chokehold.

“I like this position of dominion, sweetheart,” he murmured in a tease. “I’m the boss here, so if you get rebellious again, remember I’ve only been toying with you. I can have you flat on your stomach, begging me for pretty much anything at a moment’s notice.”

Immediately, I went still—like the atmosphere right before the train-like sounds of a tornado hit. I had two urges—to kiss him or bail like a rat on a sinking ship. If I thought Howie’s head seemed bizarre, this was the craziest, most disturbing thing I’d experienced in a while. In other words, I liked it. And the thought offended me to the bone. Not wanting to be bested, I looked over my shoulder to see what I dealt with—big mistake—his eyes had taken on the hue of his father’s. Black, smoldering, merciless … lurid. Whenever he gave me that look, I forgot how to spell my own name.

I opened my mouth but not a doggone thing came out.
Gah!
I wanted to kick my own behind.

“That’s right,” he laughed darkly. “Chew on that for a while.”

Chew on it? I’m pretty sure I wanted it to melt in my mouth.

Lincoln snored on the sofa opposite us … somehow missing the entire PG-13 episode. With a growling snort, he coiled to his side as Dylan rolled to his back and played with a strand of my hair. I’m not sure how long we lay there—Dylan didn’t seem in a hurry to move—but you could always count on my big mouth to sabotage the mood. “So how’s Yankee these days, D? Is that a line you would’ve used on her?”

I might as well have called the Mother Mary a skanky ’ho. Dylan sucked in a big gasp of air, muttering, “Here we go,” out loud.

I propped my head on my elbow, facing him with a steely expression.
Confession time
, my eyes said. I’d tell him what I’d been doing, and by goodness, he’d tell me, once and for all, what lay behind Yankee’s kiss and unnatural obsession. I was hard pressed to think she’d be stupid enough to make a fool of herself. In fact, she appeared to be surprised when he didn’t agree for an encore.

My intentions were quickly drowned out when my iPhone buzzed.

Not wanting to wake his grandfather, Dylan quickly bolted up and retrieved it from the ottoman, shrugging at the Orlando prefixed number as he placed it in my palm.

“Hullo?” I mumbled. I had plans to murder this person. Darcy Walker finally had the nerve to ask Dylan Taylor about the not-so-secret females in his life, and that call just napalmed me.

“Jester, it’s Hector,” he greeted. Suddenly, I was in the forgiving mood. What could Hector, the notorious diamond stud thief, possibly want from
me
?

Placing my hand over the receiver, I mouthed, “Diamond stud thief” to Dylan.

Dylan studied me closely; the only movement on his face being one raised brow. “So do you have a thing with said diamond stud thief?” he murmured.

“It’s torrid,” I grinned.

“How torrid?”

“Hot, bothered, and nothin’ but skin.”

There it was. That delicious, untamable look he gave me that proved once and for all I was an idiot. An idiot that shouldn’t hang around a guy that tanked her self-esteem every time she looked at him.

“Sweetheart, you can’t even begin to fathom hot and bothered.”

I, honest to God, said, “No shiz.”

“Yeah, no shiz,” he grinned naughtily. “I’m making breakfast. No tattoos, no belly rings, no
nothing
, Darcy. I’m serious.”

Dylan pushed off the floor and pointed a finger in my face. “Yes, Master,” I frowned, sticking out my tongue sarcastically. I watched his, um … shorts, as he cockily strutted away, wondering why no one else felt the room swaying. I shook my head hard, attempting to focus. “Hey, Hector. How are you?”

“I’m good,” he said, “and first off, thanks for the threads. My little girl loved them.” A couple of days ago, I got a case of the guilts for cutting down on Hector’s fencing profits and had Dylan take me shopping. I bought three outfits that would fit Marjorie and dropped them off at the shop. It obviously didn’t negate the fact I’d bought stolen goods and that Hector happily sold them. Still, I hoped the thought counted for some sort of absolution on Judgment Day.

“You’re welcome. What’s up?”

“Elmer Herschel came into the shop yesterday bragging about his high class girlfriend.”

I cocked my head to the side, speculating where the conversation was headed. Elmer hadn’t made my to-do list for the day. My goal was to poke away at Gertrude Burr. I had a feeling the connection with Howie and that note held the key. First thing I’d planned, however, was to tell Kyd my suspicions and have him handle the situation at the bank. Herbie would be befuddled, but Kyd was as cunning as they came. If anything, he could stop his father’s donations and offer free counseling on alien abduction.

Still, I couldn’t deny the intrigue. “Was her name Polly?”

“That gothic chick?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“No, but she came with him. He didn’t provide a name of his girlfriend, but he said she was really smart about managing their money and drove a nice red sports car.”

My mouth went dry. I choked out, “Did he mention what kind?”

“A Porsche Turbo.”

I needed a pacemaker. My heart flip-flopped all over the place. Sitting up, I tucked my knees to my chest, hugging them in place with one hand. Obviously, we could cross Polly off as the girlfriend. Who did that leave—Lola?

“Lola drives a Turbo, Hector,” I coughed out in explanation. “Do you honestly think she’s dating Elmer?” Maybe X didn’t exist. Maybe Lola had her own little boy and cast herself off as X’s bootlicker.

Hector laughed, “Lola drives a lot of cars, chicky. That girl’s always running a scam. All I know is Elmer affectionately referred to his woman as Moose. You should’ve seen his tattoo, Jester,” he cackled. “He wanted moose over his heart except he couldn’t take the burn and left it at moo. So now, he has moo right above his nipple! It made me think of a milking cow!”

Normally, I would’ve found the humor in the situation. What real man wanted to leave ‘moo’ over his nipple? The thought brought a whole new level of disgusting. “Anything else?” I asked.

“He went on and on about too many responsibilities and how he’d been thrown into a ready-made family. He complained about babysitting but said he did it because he loved her. And that’s not all. He wore nice clothes. As in really nice designer gear.”

All of the air left my body. “Crap,” was all I could manage.

“Jester, are you okay?”

I coughed then breathed in and out three times. “Yeah,” I finally sputtered, “then that means he’s gotten into Cisco’s trust. Even if Polly isn’t
the
girlfriend, she still could be funding him. Plus, he’s stashing the little boy somewhere.”

“Exactly, but that doesn’t explain the Medinas.”

“He must have something on the grandparents to make them want to run.”

“What better than to threaten to kill that little boy?”

I needed a paper bag. I needed a paper bag the size of Texas. When I started this gig, it was merely a pipe dream that I could make a difference. I had absolutely no freaking idea I might actually succeed.

I hung up and lay there for a while, contemplating my next steps. When I got nothing but a headache, I shuffled into the kitchen, hoisting myself up on a barstool. I liked watching Dylan cook. He hummed and nothing ever burned while he’d carry on three conversations at one time. He poured me a glass of orange juice while he placed his BlackBerry in my hand. “Darc, your little sister is looking for you,” he winked. Not true. If she were looking for me, she would’ve dialed my number instead of his. She was going through Dylan-withdrawal.

Dylan scooped breakfast of eggs and sausage onto a white ceramic plate. “Hey, M. What’s up?” I held the phone under my chin as I downed half my OJ and buttered a piece of french bread.

“I don’t like my body,” she sighed.

Dylan rolled his eyes, taking the stool next to me. Evidently, she’d unloaded the same statement on him. “What’s wrong with your body?” I munched. “You’re beautiful.”

“I want to be like you, Darc.” God love her, she needed a different role model. I stared at my plate and took two forkfuls of each in a clockwise pattern. I needed to arrest control, even if I systematically ate my food. “And why’s that?”

“I want a booty. Should I put voodoo cream on my behind?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” I swallowed. After we talked about her plans for the day, I hung up and briefly wondered if she’d be sitting on hooters by morning. I thumbed in the speed dial for home. Talk about the blind leading the blind … this was the boobless leading the buttless.

“Strike the booty?” she asked.

I shoved a piece of egg in my mouth and mumbled, “Just fire up your habaneros, M. Let’s give the booty a few more years.”

That got me to thinking. I didn’t want to give Cisco a few more anythings. A few more anythings would make his picture on the back of a milk carton have whiskers. After we ate in silence, I cleared off the table, running both our dishes and glasses underneath the faucet, stacking them one-by-one in the dishwasher.

Dylan hopped up on the granite countertop in front of me, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind my ear. He appeared relaxed this morning. Bedhead beautiful, dimples deep, looking like a million bucks when my breath was zombie-in-the-making.

Hopefully not a premonition of things to come.

“What’s up with the most beautiful girl in the world?” he murmured gently.

Oh, where to begin? Could I drum up the required skills to act upon the information I had? In the grand scheme of things, I had no choice. My insecurities paled in comparison to what the potential outcome could be.

I dove right in, forgoing the preamble. “I need to tell you something,” I whispered, bracing both hands on his knees. The expression on his face didn’t waver or appear surprised. Instead, he offered an exhaling smile of relief, acting as if he’d been waiting for it.

“What’s the punch line?” Lincoln grumbled.

Dylan threaded his fingers deeper into mine as we hunkered down on the white leather sofa. After I explained my dilemma, he didn’t even take the time to gather his own thoughts. He grabbed my hand, pulled his father out of bed, and led us back to his still snoring grandfather. Honest to God, this felt like the firing squad. But, then again, the firing squad would be easier. One pull of the trigger, and it would be over.

Dylan murmured, “There is none, Grandpa.”

Lincoln paused, giving me a look of chastisement. I should’ve expected as much. “So you think Lola is either X or one of a combination of Gertrude and this Polly?”

I gave him a nod. “I do. Gertrude is involved up to her botoxed eyeballs. Howie’s note said, ‘Medina.’ Howie knew something and was trying to tell her or accuse her of something, and we already know he’d been working the case. Maybe he found out the truth and was
killed
for the truth.”

Lincoln pondered that for a second, pinching the space between his eyes. “I don’t like Grizzly,” he finally muttered, “and not one thing Detective Battle told me about him was honorable.”

“Just because you don’t like him doesn’t mean he’s the mastermind here,” I blurted out in contest. Dylan tightened his hand with a miniscule jerk, demanding submission. “Why would you think that?” I continued with more tact.

Lincoln removed his glasses, rubbing both eyes with his fingertips. Lincoln and Colton both stood in the den in their boxer briefs. Lincoln perched on the edge of the couch cushion, Colton standing next to him with his chest and legs as rigid as a fighting Gladiator’s. I honestly don’t think either was aware they were half clothed in front of a female guest. First of all, they considered me family, so they were either processing too much information or didn’t give a rat’s rear end about social conventions at this point. My guess would be the latter.