Old Maid's Puzzle (20 page)

I clenched my fists. He really had my blood boiling. Where did he get off sleeping in my parking lot? "What if his van is still there the morning of the sale? My customers are getting here very early. I can't have him here. Can I have him towed out?"

"If you want to pay," Wong said.

More money. I shook my head in disgust.

Tim Shore made his way over. "Sorry about the breakin, Ms. Pellicano. Good thing I was here. I woke up when the alarm was going off, and came out to see what was going on. I think I scared him off."

His Eddie Haskell routine was too much to endure. He was trying to palm himself off as a one-man Neighborhood Watch. I didn't want to encourage him, so I ignored his comments about the breakin. "Look, you can't sleep in my parking lot. You need to get this van out of here."

He shrugged, his apologetic tone so different from the way he'd treated me this afternoon without the presence of Buster and Wong. "Sorry. I should be able to get a new starter tomorrow and get it out of your hair."

"Fine, but sleeping out here is not an option."

"I'll be out as soon as..."

Buster stepped forward. "Okay, buddy, it's time to move on. I'll take you over to the Flamingo Motel."

That was the local fleabag by-the-hour place. Buster winked at me and hustled Tim into his truck.

"I'll be back for you," he said, rubbing my upper arms.

Wong had paperwork I needed to fill out. "I'll have Wong drop me off. Meet me at my house."

This day could not end on just a sour note. After all this, I was more determined than ever to end this night with a bang.

It was just after midnight when I got home. Buster had started a fire in the living room. He was sitting on the couch when I came in, so I joined him, stretching out and putting my head in his lap.

"Everything go okay?" he said quietly.

I nodded. "I don't want to think about the store anymore. I don't want to think about anything."

"Okay," he said. His fingers circled my temples, and I felt myself begin to relax. I sunk a little deeper into his lap. Buster shifted slightly. I realized my head was causing him growing discomfort. I liked the feeling.

The fireplace crackled, making us both jump. I laughed and sat up. I wriggled my butt against his lap, feeling the anticipated stiffness. I settled back on his chest, letting my body rise and fall with his breathing. He tightened his grip on me, pulling me even closer.

I sank into Buster's strong body, suddenly feeling heat rise in me that wasn't coming from the fireplace. I twisted and caught his mouth full on.

His eyes opened wide as he felt the intent in my kiss. He opened his arms and laid down on the couch. I stretched out next to him, so we were lying face to face, our bodies taut. I kissed him again, lingering, feeding myself from his mouth. I felt everything else drop away. The busy store, Kym, Kevin, the breakin, one by one leaving my psyche. The more we kissed, the more the world disappeared.

His hips twitched. I felt a burst of energy and tugged his shirt out of his pants. He pulled the shirt and his undershirt off in one motion. I laid my head down on his bare chest and heard his heart beating wildly.

I pushed myself up on my arms and looked in his eyes. As blue as the sky and as open and trusting. There was nothing behind them but compassion and sweetness. His eyes flashed, and I saw something else. Passion. Desire. Love?

A shift occurred, and we both felt it. The time was right. No more teasing.

I dragged my fingers along his pant leg, and felt him surge toward me. He closed his eyes and sighed.

His phone rang. His eyes flew open and to the coffee table where he'd laid it.

"It's Sanchez," he said. He looked like he wanted to answer it. The phone rang again, and I sat up. He ruffled his hands through his hair. He looked so handsome, with his blues eyes flashing.

He picked up the phone and walked into the kitchen with it, adjusting his pants. I heard a few grunts of acquiescence. I went to the refrigerator and poured myself a glass of wine. I could tell by his voice, my evening fun was over. I felt like crap, like I'd been drinking too much. I went and put on my pajamas, a T-shirt and cotton pants.

When he hung up, he held the phone in his hand, running his other hand over the countertop between us. I could hardly see him. Only the night light on the stove was on, and little light came in from outside. I could hear crickets in my backyard talking to each other.

Buster folded his phone. "I have to go to Los Angeles."

"Now?" I said.

Buster nodded unhappily. "We've got to see this inmate at L.A. County Jail first thing in the morning. It'll take us five hours to get there."

I drank my wine, trying to feign a cool sophistication I didn't feel. I would be okay with this, just another in a series of interruptions, but right now it felt shitty. I tried to remember where I'd put that Costco-sized bag of M&Ms. I was going to need it.

Buster was apologetic. "The guy has a court date tomorrow, and if we don't see him before that, we'll never get in to see him. Depending how his case goes, he might be transferred... " Buster started.

"It's okay," I said. "It's your job. I understand. We just spent two hours dealing with my job, didn't we? That's how it goes." I sounded more understanding than I felt, but I knew the score.

Buster said, "The good news is my laundry is still in my truck, so I have a change of clothes to take with me. I don't need to go home first and pack."

"Okay," I said tentatively, not knowing where this was going.

Buster moved closer. "I have to pick up Sanchez in a half-hour. So I've got twenty minutes or so before I have to leave."

He took my wine glass and set it on the counter.

"Great," I said tentatively.

"I know just what you need," he said, sliding a hand under my waistband.

"What are you doing?" I said, startled. I was trapped between Buster and the counter.

"I might have to leave, but that doesn't mean I can't leave you nice and relaxed," he said, nuzzling my neck. His hand was snaking down my pants.

I jerked away abruptly, his head and mine crashing painfully. "What? Another one of your one-way tickets to the funhouse?"

I moved away from him.

"Whoa, what's wrong?" A frown crossed his face, his forehead creased like a boy learning table manners.

I grabbed my wine glass and moved into the living room. I stood in front of the fire, watching the sparks fly. "I told you I don't like being on the receiving end all the time," I said.

He followed me, putting his arms around my waist from behind. "You're tired, Dewey, come on. And you're mad because I have to leave."

I turned on him, breaking his embrace. "Do not diminish what I'm saying. Yes, I'm tired, yes, I'm upset that you have to leave, but I know how I feel. I feel like a geisha, performing for your amusement."

"Well, sorry," Buster's voice grew petulant. "Here I thought I was being a good guy."

Where was the guy I'd thought knew me so well? I felt a wave of despair. Was I making all that up? Did he know me at all? Did he know what I wanted enough to give it to me? Right now, it didn't seem like it.

Buster walked to the door. I took a deep breath.

I said, "Don't leave yet. We need to talk this out."

He looked at his watch, but came back and sat on the couch. I stood in front of him.

"Look, it's not that I don't love what you do to me," I said. "You know I do. But the one-sided stuff has got to stop."

He wasn't looking at me. "You've enjoyed it. I've seen you. I've heard you."

I ground my teeth. Why was he so obtuse?

I tried an explanation. "Didn't you ever have a friend who insisted on picking up the check every time you went out? Never let you buy dinner or a drink?"

He shook his head.

Darn. "Well, at first, it's kind of nice, but after awhile, you don't want to hang out with them. You drop that friend."

"Are you going to drop me?" His voice was low and full of self-pity.

I clenched my fist. It would be so much easier to pop him one like I used to do with Kevin when he wasn't listening. But we were grownups now, and I'd been told since preschool to use my words. I'd like to take the words, one by one, and drop them on his thick skull.

I took in a breath and flexed my fingers. I was in danger of snapping the stem of my wine glass.

I said, "It makes me feel like I have nothing to offer you. And that makes me feel like shit."

He stared at his hands clasped in front of his knees. "That's not how I intended it."

My mantel clock chimed twelve thirty. Buster pushed himself up from the couch. "I've got to go."

I burst out, "Are you scared, Healy? Is that it? Afraid that all this foreplay will amount to nothing?"

I knew as soon as the words were out of my mouth that I'd gone too far. No guy could withstand a direct hit to his manhood.

He left without another word.

FOURTEEN

I ROLLED OVER IN bed for the hundredth time, punching my pillow and pulling the quilt over my head. My mattress felt like a field of rocks, and my special quilt felt as scratchy and rough as if it was filled with straw instead of wool batting.

The night was never-ending. At two, I was practicing blasting Kym for leaving the store unlocked. At three, I was wishing I'd let Buster have his way. In between, worries about Frank Bascomb being murdered and Tim Shore sleeping in my parking lot wound around the anxieties about Gussie having all that money in her house. By five, I was in a cold sweat, because I couldn't afford the penalty that the alarm company would charge us. That led to an all-out panic attack about the sale on Saturday and an obsessive recalculation of how much money I needed to make. I had to clear at least ten thousand dollars on Saturday.

I had to take action. At six, I got up and called the Felix Scissors Company in New York. Their day began well before mine. Once I got squared away with them, maybe I could sleep.

"This is Dewey Pellicano, from Quilter Paradiso. I wanted to let you know I didn't get the cashier's check for our purchase order into the Express mail yesterday as I'd hoped."

The woman on the other end said cheerily, "No problem. We'll ship as soon as we receive it."

I had to be assertive. "That won't work for me. I need the scissors here tomorrow."

"Sorry," she said, in a fading voice that told me she was ready to hang up.

I had one card to play. "Wait. The scissors are going to be on national TV the day after tomorrow. Can I talk to your supervisor?"

Without even a "Hold on," an instrumental heavy-on-the-strings version of "Let It Be" played in my ear. I hit the speaker phone function, and started a pot of coffee. It was finished brewing before I heard someone pick up on the other end.

A raspy man's voice came on, "What's this about my product being on TV?"

"Hello, is this Mr. Felix?"

"Just Felix," he groused. "Mr. Felix sounds like a gay hairdresser."

I didn't want to ask him what his problem with that was.

"One of my employees is appearing on tomorrow's airing of the show, Wonderful World of Quilts and she's shown using your palm-tree-handled applique scissors."

"Those are my most popular item." His Brooklyn accent was thick. Dos are mouy most paupular idems.

Uh-oh. Meaning he didn't need any help selling them. I'd have to up the ante. "In the preview Lark Gordon sent, I saw the scissors featured prominently."

It wasn't the scissors placement that caught his attention. "You know Lark Gordon?"

"I do."

"Listen, kid. Here's how business works. You wash my back, I'll scratch yours. You call that Lark character, tell her I want to give her scissors to use on the show."

"I can do that..." I agreed tentatively.

"I've been trying to get my products on her show for years. Just put in a word. Paulie..." he yelled. "Ship that order to California. Now. Overnight. And throw in a half dozen of the new ergonomic dressmaking shears too."

"Thank you, Felix."

"Forget about it. I'm sure you and me will be doing lots of business."

Me and yous, I thought. I went back to sleep with a smile on my face.

I slept for several hours, then woke up, heart racing. I was late for work. The store had opened an hour ago. I took a pounding shower, using all my hot water, trying to restore my energy. The day before-dealing with Gussie, eating with Kym, the breakin, the fight with Buster-had completely drained me.

Today was going to be a long day. I was so far behind. I'd have to stay really late tonight. I needed to get the e-mail out, finish checking in and shelving the notions, make sure the store's supply of coins was filled up.

I called Vangie and told her I'd woken up late. She said cheerfully that I should take my time.

I drove to work, even though it was a short walk, mentally arguing with my inner environmentalist that today was different. I needed to get there now.

I put my car on the side street and came in through the parking lot.

Tim Shore's van was still here. I kicked his tire, releasing some of the pique I was feeling. I hoped his motel mattress was full of fleas. If he didn't get this heap of junk out of here by this afternoon, I'd have Dad come over with his Suburban and tow it out.