Think Before You Speak (16 page)

“Well, Georgie calls one particular girl
something entirely different, but I won’t dare repeat it.”

“Busty Brenda?”

“You’re on the right track.”

I just shook my head and swiped sweat from my
eyes before a familiar figure hustled by with loaded bags in tow,
wearing a crisp white linen suit jacket and matching pencil skirt
tighter than permissible by Texas law. Looked to me like we had a
former pageant girl who’d put on a little weight.

“Would you look at that?” I said, tilting my
sunglasses down for a more accurate assessment. “Now that’s
definitely something unusual.”

“Is that…?”

“That’d be a Texas-sized yup.”

“Doesn’t she realize linen is a loose weave?”
Janine observed.

“
That’s
what you’re worried about
here?”

“But those seams are going to unravel if
she’s not careful.”

“You mean explode at any minute…and we’ll
have a front row view too. Come on,” I urged, shoving open the car
door and stepping out into a furnace.

Like a dynamic duo, we followed my arch enemy
into the building, barely avoiding Little Miss Smart Car as she
skidded around the corner again and sent a single finger wave my
direction. Lorraine Padget got into a line while Janine and I
watched from behind the glass around the corner wall. The pageanted
Padget shuffled back and forth in her four inch cranberry-red
platform peep-toes, periodically checking her watch and offering up
an exaggerated sigh every ten seconds.

No, I couldn’t hear it through the glass.
Based on the reaction of every other person stuck in line with her,
I was fairly certain the huffs were loud and overemphasized – and
that Lorraine could use a breath mint.

After about seven minutes, which in my book
is a very reasonable wait time when it comes to government
agencies, Lorraine reached the counter. Without preamble, she
launched into a tirade – this time loud enough to hear through, if
not
break
, the glass – and practically pelted the postal
worker with a series of throw pillows.

“Wow,” I muttered to Janine. “And I thought
she only acted bitchy around me.”

“She’s made it an art form,” Janine returned
from peeking under my arm. “Especially when she thinks no one at
church is watching, or when she has to deal with those she
considers underlings.”

“Ooo, good word. I like that one better than
lackey
.”

All that got me was a poke in the ribs.

Janine stretched her back then leaned against
the wall. “I thought you said something about a post office
box.”

“Yeah.”

“So why aren’t we checking that area out
here,” Janine said with a sweep of her arm, “instead of watching
this week’s episode of
Lorraine Loses It
in there?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Curious, I
guess.”

What
was
I doing? I’d had a run-in
with a bunch of thugs, gotten bawled out by Zeke, hauled home in a
drunken haze by Grady, and dragged my bestie away from important
work to play
Lucy and Ethel Go to the Post Office
. Thus far,
my attempts at identifying Reggie’s blackmailer had yielded about
as much as a hooker on dollar night. I was hot, tired, and sweaty
with little to show for my efforts.

I pressed against the wall with Janine as
determined heel clacking came closer until rushing around the
corner. Lorraine’s eyes widened right before narrowing in my
direction.

“What the hell are
you
doing here?”
she yelled, staring daggers through my skull.

“My my,” Janine said in her best debutante
voice. “Such strong language from a fellow member of the
flock.”

“And I’m just helping Janine hold up this
wall,” I returned, while Janine offered a fingertip wave. “And
you?”

A quick glance down at the key in her hand
before Lorraine closed her fingers around it. With a jut of her
chin, the mask fell in place.

“I…uh…made the mistake of ordering some
pillows for the breakfast room banquette from some fly-by-night
company and had to return them. Tryin’ to spruce up the place in
time for our engagement party in January.”

Next year? From what I understood, they’d
already been engaged for several months. If she strung the
engagement out too long her fiancé would die of old age before she
dragged him down the aisle. Hmm. Maybe that was all part of her
wicked plan, but then that would leave Lorraine without the bulk of
the Summers estate to spend.

Janine piped up. “Why didn’t you call
Reginald von Braun’s firm? Mr. Summers has worked with him in the
past. I’m sure he’s still got an open budget there.”

“I would’ve, but I wanted to show my dearest
Derek that frugality isn’t a curse word.”

Which in Lorraine’s case translated to more
money left over for her when she did in the old geezer on their
wedding night. Perhaps she was buying and returning things from
other sources so she could pocket the cash. Now
that
could
be an inventive way to make a quick buck. Then again, there was
always blackmail – which also might explain why she hadn’t gone to
Reggie for the banquette pillows.

“So what’s the post office box for?” I
asked.

“What post office box?” Lorraine
returned.

“Uh, the one for the key in your hand.”

Her gripped tightened around it until I half
expected blood to come gushing out like in one of my B-movie horror
flicks.

“That’s none of your business,” she huffed,
spun on her heels without falling from her lofty heights, then
marched outside into the fires of Hell where she belonged.

Janine leaned over my shoulder. “Was that
odd? That seemed a little odd to me.”

“Yeah, definitely odd,” I confirmed.

We followed her outside and watched as
Lorraine went postal in the parking lot, leaving tracks leading
straight toward Mexico – or the nearest c-store for a hot dog to
squeeze into that skirt. Standing in the sun, I was beginning to
feel like a broiled hot dog at Cowboys Stadium. Beginning to smell
like one too.

So much for this crap. Janine and I parted
ways after she secured a promise from me to help with Bobby’s
upcoming fundraiser. Then I herded myself to the car, turned the
A/C on max, and pulled out of the parking lot in time for Little
Miss Smart Car to make another round of the lot and grab my spot.
Why she didn’t head into the side lot was a mystery, but give that
girl a sticker for determination. Better yet, get her a paint job
in a less offensive color.

Like black.

***

The heat followed me all the way to work that
night. With bodies pressed in tight on the dance floor and the band
sizzling in the spotlights, I wilted more each time everyone
gathered around the bar and sent me scurrying to fill orders.

The moment the crowd broke away at the next
set, I poured a glass of ice-cold beer and gulped it down before
grabbing a couple of ice cubes and rubbing them across my bare
upper chest. The tiny strapless dress covered all my necessary
kibbles and bits enough to call it publicly legal – unlike
Lorraine’s full-to-bursting linen skirt this afternoon.

That woman now sat at the top of my suspect
list, and not for public indecency. As a news anchor with the local
station, Lorraine had investigative journalists at her beck and
call. The network offered ties to the larger outlets in New York
City, a perfect storm to access Reggie’s records tying him to both
cities. As a local anchor, she also had the mouthpiece to make a
huge splash when revealing Reggie’s past duplicity, thereby
destroying his reputation on not just a local but national level as
well.

The thought kept me burning, even after Grady
turned the air down a couple of notches. I really hated summer like
Garfield hated Mondays.

The discomfort also made me overly crotchety
for a twenty-six year-old. Why couldn’t I have been more like my
mom? Cool and collected in all situations, with only an occasional
glisten. Maybe approaching middle-aged menopause would help her
sympathize with my lifetime of pain. I’d pay good money to see my
mother transition from a good
glistening
to actual
sweating
.

A hand tugged up my ponytail before Grady
reached around my scantily-clad frame to grab some ice. The cool
wetness across my back brought immediate comfort from the
hell-raising heat.

Until the murmur in my ear ticked my
heartrate up a notch – or two. Thoughts of Lorraine and Reggie
whisked away on the boss’s whispers.

“I love seeing you all sweaty, Vic. Only I’d
prefer to get you that way somewhere a lot more private.”

“Didn’t you already squander that opportunity
last night?” I asked.

“I’d rather you be sober when I take
advantage of you,” Grady returned. “And willing.”

His chilled hands slid wet across my
shoulders, dipping down my back as low as the dress allowed. I
closed my eyes and shivered, imagining what it would be like to
have his hands below the laced-up fabric. Oh, I was willing
alright. What did his federally-issued handcuffs look like?

Uh-oh. That reminded me – government
agent.

“You better stop that,” I murmured, “or
there’ll be little I can say to Rochelle to get her to believe
there isn’t anything going on between us.”

“Hey there, Vicki.”

My eyes snapped open as Radioman slid onto a
barstool with a wide and knowing grin. Grady removed his hands,
allowing a piece of ice to slip down my spine to puddle at the
small of my back. I fought the squeal that rose in my throat and
greeted my handsome customer with a grimace instead.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite radio
personality,” I said, snapping the lid off a Sam Adams Summer
Ale.

“In the flesh,” he returned before taking a
long pull.

Yeah, I’d like to see him in the flesh. I
shivered – and I wasn’t a hundred percent certain it was merely the
ice cube.

“Ah,” Radioman said with a smack of his lips.
“Just what the doctor ordered.”

I’d volunteer as his attending physician,
especially after the warm-up Grady gave me. “Seen the doctor
lately? You’re not dying or anything, are you?”

“Of heat, that’s for sure,” Radioman quipped
before taking another drink. “Eleven o’clock at night and it’s
still
a hundred degrees out there.”

“It’s about double that in here,” I offered,
grabbing another ice cube and rubbing it across my chest. “I think
the A/C needs servicing.”

The muscles in his jaw constricted as his
gaze trailed my hand for a beat. I could only imagine what kind of
servicing he was thinking about – and I doubt if it had anything to
do with air-conditioning. The smile he offered when his
cornflower-blue eyes met mine again spoke volumes and made my knees
all noodley. Somewhere in the periphery of my naughty mind, I heard
Grady’s chuckle before he moved down the bar to help another
customer.

“This helps though,” Radioman said before
finishing off the bottle and glancing at the crowd. “Have you seen
Seth yet?”

“Your lawyer friend?”

“Yeah.”

“Not yet.”

“He’s supposed to meet me here.”

“Big date?” I impishly implied.

“I was hoping.” He leaned forward and took
advantage of the momentary lull between the band’s sets. “Whatcha
doin’ tomorrow night?”

I joined him in kind and rested my elbows on
the bar. “You tell me.”

“Dinner?”

The still image Grady had shown me of Banker
Boy a couple of nights ago popped into my head. A date with
Radioman offered an opportunity to at least find out some
background information about the guy. Maybe even something more
current to explain the parking lot interaction. I caught the
downturn of Grady’s mustache and the subtle shake of his head from
the corner of my eye.

And promptly ignored it. “What time?”

“How does seven sound?”

“Sounds great,” I purred.

He tapped my number into his phone while I
prepared drinks for the band’s upcoming break. Finally, after all
the interruptions from Grady and Zeke and the recent hiccups with
Nick, I’d get a chance to know the man behind the silky voice.

And yes, I hoped in the Biblical sense.

The thought buoyed me through the remainder
of the evening and on the drive home. After entering my apartment,
I tossed my keys toward the kitchen island and flicked the light
switch out of habit.

‘Cept this time the lights didn’t even
flicker.

My heart lodged in my throat. I’d completely
forgotten about Grady’s warning concerning the follower of the
night before. Instinct triggered that someone else was with me in
the dark – and it wasn’t just Slinky.

The drapes had been closed. Ambient light
from the parking lot didn’t cut through the inky blackness. The
faint odor of cigars – Cuban – lingered in the air. The growing
motorboat purr of my cat broke the silence.

Purring? That meant my critter was happy and
content. Of all the…

The spit and flare of a striking match just
about sent me toward heart attack territory. The lighting of a
single candle on the coffee table provided enough illumination to
make out the uninvited company, my cat curled in his lap.

“We meet again,
Senorita
Bohanan.”

I fumbled my purse and dropped it like a
rushed quarterback on third down then nearly piddled in my panties
with my phone and pepper spray out of reach. The gentleman holding
my kitty stood from the couch like the Godfather reborn – ‘cept
this one was short, slender, and had a Hispanic flavor to his
greeting.

And he was wearing one finely tailored
Desmond Merrion suit.

Mr. Julio Benito Juarez was not only the
Mexican Ambassador to the United States, but he was also father to
Bobby’s deceased wife Amy, the secret love child spawned from a
long-term affair with Amy’s drug-addled mother. I’d had the
pleasure of meeting him at the governor’s ball in June where he’d
expressed his appreciation for my role in discovering his
daughter’s murderer.