

### Sunshine Hunter

### by Maddie Cochere

Copyright 2012 by Maddie Cochere.  
Smashwords Edition.

All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by US copyright Law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

Cover design by Gillian Soltis of Columbus, Ohio

### About Sunshine Hunter

_Chick-Lit Mystery._ The Susan Hunter books are not your typical mysteries, and Susan is not your typical sleuth. Often, she is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and things go downhill quickly. All of the books cross genres of chick lit, mystery, romance, humor, and action, bringing you a fast-paced, easy-breezy read.

_Sunshine Hunter_ opens with Susan finding out her boyfriend of three months is married. To escape the drama, she accepts an offer to tag along with her best friend for a week in Florida. They barely have time to hit the beach before Susan believes she and her friend are being stalked. She also learns of a murder back home in Ohio and finds out she's wanted for questioning. The story takes an adventurous turn when she winds up in the Gulf of Mexico. ... Humorous, sometimes ominous, _Sunshine Hunter_ is quirky and fun!
Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

My perfectly restored '67 Chevy Chevelle careened around the corner at Walsh and Park, the tires squealing in an effort to get my attention. I was angry. My mind was reeling. I was thinking of all the ways I wanted to kill him. People on the sidewalk stared as I flew by, and I knew I needed to get a grip on more than the steering wheel. Carbide City had a reputation for speed traps, and I didn't need another ticket. Why are restored muscle cars magnets for cops and tickets anyway?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was a beautiful early summer day. The windows of my third-floor apartment were open. A light breeze rustled the curtains, bringing in the light scent of the last few lilac blossoms on the bush below.

I was content and happy after a leisurely lunch at a new seafood restaurant downtown. Mick and I were deciding what to do with the rest of our day when my phone rang. My best friend, Samantha, came to mind, and I knew it would be her wanting to schedule a round of racquetball for later in the afternoon. I answered on the second ring with a cheerful, "Hello."

It _was_ a woman's voice, but it wasn't Samantha's.

"Is Mick there?" she asked.

My heart beat faster, and I felt a chill despite the warm breeze. Without hesitation I said, "I'm sorry, you have a wrong number."

"I don't think so," she said. "I want to talk to Mick. This is his wife."

His wife? Now my heart began racing. I felt the color drain from my face. I turned to Mick, held my phone out to him, and said in disbelief, "It's your wife."

Surely, this was some mistake, but the look on his face told me it wasn't. He didn't deny the charge.

"Susan, I-"

"No," I said, cutting him off.

I thrust the phone into his hand. I didn't wait to hear him say hello. I grabbed my purse and ran down the three flights of stairs. I couldn't get into my car fast enough, and I peeled out of the complex.

I didn't know what to think. Mick was married? Why didn't he tell me? Did he think I wouldn't find out? How did she know who I was? How did she get my number? I couldn't stop the questions from pouring into my mind.

Fifteen minutes later, I realized I wasn't going anywhere in particular, and I absolutely had to stop speeding. I swerved into the lot at Martin's Deli and screeched to a stop in front of the plate glass window emblazoned with weekly specials. I sat for a few moments and took deep breaths in an attempt to settle my wildly beating heart.

Even though I was still shaking, I decided to run into the deli. I wanted to delay going back to the apartment. Talking with Martin for a few minutes would provide a diversion, possibly help me to calm down, and buy some time.

Martin stood behind the counter, watching an automatic meat slicer make fast work of a ham. He didn't offer a greeting.

"You runnin' from the police again?" He asked with a sharp look of disapproval. "That was quite an entrance."

It wouldn't be the first time I had whipped into his parking lot in the hopes of not being pulled over for speeding.

"I'm sorry, Martin. I didn't mean to startle you," I said. "I'm not running from the police, and I promise not to test my brakes in front of your window again."

His frowned turned to a smile. "All right," he said, accepting my apology. "I don't know why your dad gave that car to you in the first place. You're going to lose your license if you get any more tickets."

He was right. I had driven for twelve years without a single ticket but had received four in the past year. It had to be the car.

"I'll be more careful," I said and managed a smile before looking over the meats and cheeses in the case.

"The usual?" he asked. "A pound of corned beef sliced thin and a half pound of Swiss?"

"You know me so well, Martin," I said with a laugh. I was grateful for the banter and the momentary reprieve from my spinning thoughts.

I turned from the counter to grab rye bread and pickles. The feeling of calm was only temporary. I couldn't stop the thoughts from flooding back in. Mick was married, and I didn't have a clue. I felt so stupid and gullible. He surely had some reason for not telling me. Maybe his wife was an invalid and encouraged him to go out and have a good time. Maybe they had an open marriage, and he was waiting to tell me about it.

Who was I kidding? He was a typical, cheating, snake in the grass, and I knew the type all too well. For a split second, I almost felt sorry for his wife.

Knowing I would probably need it later, I added a quart of java chip ice cream to my basket.

After checking out, Martin gave me another warning. "You be careful in that car, Susan. I still talk to your dad a couple times every month, and I don't want to have to tell him he has to come back here and replace that engine with something a little more tame."

He winked at me, but I knew he was serious.

"I promise, Martin," I told him solemnly, even though I couldn't hold back a smile.

He always made me smile. Martin was at least ninety years old and still had his wits about him. He had owned and run the deli for all of my life. My dad had even worked for him as a teenager. He was known for keeping tabs on all the happenings in Carbide City, and he wasn't shy about sharing gossip with anyone who cared to listen. I didn't need him unnecessarily worrying my dad about my driving habits.

Settled in my car again, I decided it was best to go back to the apartment and deal with the situation head on. When I answered the phone, I was shocked and didn't want to hear the conversation between Mick and his wife. It felt right to flee, but now I wanted to know what he had to say. I felt as though the rose-colored glasses I had been wearing had fallen off and broken. I was living the old saying of _if it's too good to be true, it probably is_.

And Mick was definitely too good to be true. He was the type of guy dreams were made of. He was five foot ten with a firm athletic build, thick dark hair with a hint of a curl, and gorgeous hazel-green eyes that were always smiling. Not only was he yummy to look at, but he had an old-fashioned gentlemanly charm that drew people to him.

He planned our dates, opened doors for me, and he would most certainly have placed his suit jacket across a mud puddle for me if we were living in the seventeenth century. Showing up at my door with an armful of flowers was simply his style, and he quickly charmed me.

He was a co-owner of a small construction company. He worked for his uncle right out of college and became a partner five years ago at the young age of twenty-seven. He made a good living and wasn't averse to spending money for a nice evening out or entertainment.

We met three months ago at the local racquetball club, Carbide Racquet & Fitness. I work there part-time. My day job is managing a Slimmers Weight Loss center. After a long day of weighing members, selling supplements, and helping women change their eating habits, a couple challenging rounds of racquetball before taking over at the front desk was the perfect way to decompress and stay in shape.

At five foot seven, I wasn't always this trim, but racquetball burned a ton of calories, and it hadn't taken long to get into wicked shape. Racquetball was still predominantly a man's sport with eighty percent of our club members being men. However, it was never difficult to find a match, and playing with the men in the club helped to make me faster and stronger for when I played women in league matches and tournaments.

The day I first saw Mick, my shoulder-length blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. I was wearing a colorful matching shorts and top set, and my court shoes were laced with pink laces. Most of the women in the club wore baggy shorts, headbands, and oversized t-shirts to play racquetball. I loved being as feminine as one could be while working up a sweat and running full-tilt after balls on the court.

I was in a furious battle with my coach, Husky. He had me running more than usual while frustrating me at the same time by sending ceiling shots into the back corners. I kept trying to position myself to return backhand shots off the back wall in an attempt to make a kill shot. I had done just that and was moving to the service box to serve the next ball.

We were playing on a court with a glass back wall for spectator viewing. The wall is actually Plexiglas, but everyone simply refers to the court as a glass court. A small group of people had gathered outside the glass to watch.

Husky had worked up quite a sweat himself. It delighted me that I had finally reached a level of play where he had to work hard to win games from me - which he usually did. I stepped into the service box and waited while he toweled off his face and neck. He was a rugged, muscular man about fifteen years my senior. I always admired how patient he was with me, how encouraging he was, and how he truly wanted me to be a better player. He was a real pro. His name was Elton, but because his voice was rough and gravelly, he had picked up the nickname of Husky years ago from his co-workers.

"Ok, I'm ready," he said. "Gimme the best you've got."

Before serving, I glanced into the group of on-lookers and saw mostly club regulars, but a new face caught my eye. The man was exceptionally attractive and seemed to be watching with a look of amusement on his face. Was he amused a woman was giving a man a run for his money? Was he amused by my clothing? Or, was he amused by how much I struggled with ceiling shots in the corners? I decided to try to turn the heat up a bit. I bounced the ball a couple of times and sent the next serve low into the back left corner for an ace.

"Ok, smarty pants," Husky rasped. "Let's see you do that again."

I laughed and set up to serve again. My next serve went low into the opposite corner for another ace. End game. Match point. I was thrilled. It wasn't very often that I was able to best Husky.

He groaned, turned to face the onlookers, and threw his hands in the air as if to say, " _I tried. What are you gonna do?_ "

"Great game, Susan," he said walking toward me. "I thought you'd go down with all the ceiling shots I was sending your way. You still need to work on those. How about we grab another round after work tomorrow?"

"That's good for me," I said. "I'll book the court time when I get behind the desk. Thanks again for the lesson." We shook hands, and Husky opened the door for us to leave the court.

"Who's teaching her to play like that?" Husky asked the crowd. Everyone laughed and began moving on to other areas of the club.

The air-conditioned lobby was a welcome relief after being so overheated on the court. I looked around for the attractive man who had been watching, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Susan, good job taking it to Husky. Those aces were awesome. I have a lesson with him again tomorrow, so we should both be in good shape for State."

This was coming from my friend, Samantha. Not only did we both play in club leagues, but we were doubles partners when we went to tournaments or played at other clubs. This would be our first time to play at the state level in the fall, and we were both excited and working hard toward making a good showing. We also wanted to make Husky proud. He was investing a lot of time and effort into helping us.

"I know. I can't wait," I told her with a big smile. "I'm thinking about getting a new racquet and a couple new outfits. Want to go shopping this weekend?" I loved to shop, and finding fun outfits to wear on the court was my passion at the moment.

"I can't," she said. "Larry's having the guys from Barney's over for poker on Saturday night. I promised I'd make them a feast, so I'm cooking all day Saturday."

Larry and Samantha were cute together. They had been married for almost thirteen years and still acted as though they were dating. Larry worked for Barney's Beverage, the company that supplied all the beer and wine for the club. Samantha was older than I was by seven years. Her build was stocky, and racquetball only seemed to make her more muscled rather than trim. Her long, curly black hair was usually pulled back and piled on top of her head with a couple of clips sticking out.

"Ok" I said. "We'll try shopping another day. I have to grab a shower before working the desk for a couple of hours. Are you staying until closing?"

"Yep," she said. "Larry and Husky already went upstairs to work on a case of beer, so I'm going up to join in. See you later." With a little wave, she turned and headed for the staircase just inside the front door.

The second floor of the club had two hallways - one on each side of the building. Scorekeepers and onlookers could watch the action on the courts below through five-foot open spaces at the back of each court. The second floor also had a weight room, the men's locker room, and a pub.

The pub was small with five tables, a leather sofa, a bar with four stools, and a television set mounted in one corner. There was always some type of action going on in the pub in the evenings, whether it was a party, card games, or members winding down. In our club, nobody in the pub was ever shy about having a good time.

The women's locker room was on the first floor. I grabbed a quick shower, gave my hair a fast blow dry, and let it fall loose. A little mascara and lip gloss were all I needed for makeup as my cheeks were still flushed from the hour on the court with Husky. I dressed in a club shirt and jeans and was in position behind the front desk just in time for my shift.

For the next two hours, I sold beer, soda, juice, and snacks. I handed out locker keys and towels to club members and their guests. I answered the telephone and booked court time. It was hard to categorize this as a job. I loved chatting with the members, and it always felt like fun, never like work.

Jerry was the night clerk. He didn't talk much and seemed quite the loner. He was a musclehead and spent most of his time in the weight room. He was twenty-one, extremely beefy, and I was pretty sure he was taking steroids. On Thursday nights, he had a regular male visitor who never used the club. He stopped in only to see Jerry at the desk. The stranger would sit on a stool, drink a beer, and give Jerry a package before leaving. It was none of my business, so I never asked who the man was or what was in the packages. I decided if it was something illegal, they wouldn't be doing it out in the open for everyone to see. With his muscle and brawn, Jerry was a good choice to close the club every night at one in the morning.

At ten o'clock on the dot, he stood beside me, ready to take over for the next three hours.

"Thanks, Jerry," I told him. "There are only a couple more games scheduled tonight, and things are pretty quiet. I'm going upstairs to the pub if you need me for anything."

He gave me his usual blank stare and nodded his head.

The lights in the pub were lower than in the rest of the club. The television tuned to a baseball game in extra innings provided the ambiance tonight. I waited a moment as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. I walked past the bar and picked up my usual glass of White Zinfandel our bartender, Ron, had placed on the counter for me. I turned to face the room.

There were two tables of card games underway \- euchre at one and pinochle at the other. Samantha, Larry, and Husky were at the euchre table, and I was surprised to see the fourth player was the attractive man who had been watching our match earlier.

Husky called out, "Susan, come take my seat. I need to hit the showers." He stood and put his hand on the stranger's shoulder. "This is Mick Raines. He's a hotshot in the office at Raines Construction. He tells me what to do."

"No one can tell you what to do, Husky," Mick said, laughing.

I felt a tingling sensation run down my spine. His voice was warm and masculine.

"That's true," Husky said with a chuckle. "This is Susan Hunter. She's a hotshot on the court."

I could feel myself blushing. I reached out to shake Mick's hand. The tingling turned to a flutter of excitement in my stomach as I felt his hand on mine.

"Mick's been looking over the club and trying to decide if he wants to join. Help him make up his mind," Husky told me.

I sat down in the empty seat. "Have you liked what you've seen so far?" I asked with a smile.

He looked into my eyes with his gorgeous eyes, smiled the amused look I had seen earlier, and said, "I think this place is great, and I've really enjoyed the action on the courts."

Sparks shot through my body. I felt my face flush and my heart begin to race. "We try to put on a good show," I blurted out.

Why did I say that? I didn't want to flirt with him, and I certainly didn't want to sound like a showoff.

"Well, well, well. Look at this," Larry said with a huge grin on his face as he began to deal the next round of cards.

I could sense that Samantha kicked him under the table. He hung his head and continued to deal the cards, but the smile didn't leave his face.

Samantha and Larry had been on my case for months to start dating again after my last relationship had ended badly. Louie and I had dated for nearly two years, and I was sure we were headed for the altar. I stopped by his house late one night and found him getting out of the shower. That would have been a good thing until I realized another woman was waiting for him in his bed. He whined and said he didn't know I was stopping by, and he hadn't done anything – yet. I suspected it wasn't the first time he had cheated on me, and I broke our relationship off. Samantha and Larry had both been there for me while I cried, went through a few weeks of anger, grieved, and finally started throwing myself back into work and racquetball.

Larry couldn't help being delighted to see some life in me again. The obvious attraction between Mick and me was undeniable.

"I think you'll love it here," said Samantha, coming to the rescue. "Everyone is nice, you'll never have any trouble finding a match, and the parties are great. What's trump?"

"Hearts," responded Larry. "Mick, do you play racquetball?"

"Actually, I'm a handball player," he said. "I've heard there are a couple of good players here, and if I can get enough court time with them, I think I'd like to join." He glanced my way and asked, "Can you use that incredible backhand in a game of handball?"

I tried playing once. The game has the same rules as racquetball, but there are no racquets – just hands with gloves. I thought it was a much harder game.

"No handball for me," I said, shaking my head. "I'm strictly working on my racquetball game. Sam and I are signed up for our state tournament in the fall, and I don't want to play anything that will affect my swing." I smiled at Samantha and said, "Husky is counting on us to bring a couple of wins home for the club."

"State tournament," Mick said, looking between Samantha and me. "Husky said I should run down to watch him play. Maybe I'll make the drive to see how all of you do. Might be fun. Trump," he called as he played the jack of hearts to take two points for him and Larry.

The next two hours flew by as we all made small talk. Two glasses of wine was my limit on a work night, and both were long gone. I stood and said, "I hate to leave before closing, but I have to be at work early tomorrow for a meeting, so I'm going to take off. It was nice to meet you, Mick."

"Oh, the pleasure was definitely mine," he said. "I hope to see you again." The amused look was back on his face. I felt more sparks. I needed to leave before I said something I might regret.

Samantha stood to give me a hug with an extra squeeze. I could tell she liked Mick and was happy I had enjoyed his company. "See you tomorrow," she said. "Let's play a game together before our lessons with Husky."

Larry echoed her goodnight, and I left the pub to grab my gear and head for home.

There had been many surreptitious glances between Mick and me, and I wondered if there was going to be something more there. I could only hope.

Chapter Two

"Susan, there's someone here to see you," Angela said.

Mrs. Jackson had just finished weighing in at one hundred fifty-five pounds and was sitting down for her consultation with me when Angela, my assistant manager, stuck her head through the doorway with the announcement.

"And that someone is a hot guy," she said, making fanning motions with her hands as if to cool herself off.

I frowned and shot her a reproving look. I turned to Mrs. Jackson and said, "Excuse me. I'll only be a moment. It's probably a salesman. Let me see what he's selling, and I'll be right back."

Slimmers Weight Loss was in a professional building on the east side of Carbide City. The company catered to women only, so it was somewhat unusual for a man to come into the center. It was even more unusual for someone to ask for me by name.

I walked into the waiting area and was shocked to see Mick. It had been over a week since I met him at the racquetball club, and I assumed he had decided against joining.

My greeting to him was abrupt as I asked, "What are you doing here?" I grabbed him by the arm and ushered him out of the center and into the hallway. "You can't be in here, and I'm working. How did you know where I worked? If you wanted to talk to me, why didn't you come to the club?" I was noticeably agitated.

His smile faded, and I could see he was distressed at causing me discomfort.

"Susan, I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "I asked Husky where I could find you, and he told me. I haven't had an evening free to go to the club, and I had to see you again." He lightly grasped both of my arms, looked into my eyes and said, "I can't get you out of my mind." He paused for a moment before saying, "Not that I'm trying."

My knees went weak. I tried to say something, but no words came out.

"I have tickets to _Smokey Joe's Café_ at the Carbide Dinner Theater for Saturday night," he said. "Come with me. I want to see you again." His smiling eyes were back, and so was my voice.

"Ok?" It came out as more of a question than an answer. I tried again and said, "I'd like that."

He let out a chuckle. "How about if I pick you up at the club? Say, around six thirty?"

"Perfect," I squeaked.

He smiled, squeezed my arms lightly before letting them go, and turned to walk down the hallway. I took a few seconds to watch him walk away before gathering my composure and dashing back into the center. I leaned against the wall.

"Who was that?" Angela asked excitedly. "I told you he was hot."

"That was Mick, and he's my date for Saturday night. I'll let you know _who_ he is when I find out myself."

My knees were still weak, but I was happy he had stopped by to ask me out. I especially appreciated that he hadn't tried to force his way to my apartment to see where I lived but had chosen a safe, neutral meeting place for our first date by suggesting the club. I made my way back to Mrs. Jackson to finish her consultation.

"Is everything all right?" she asked. "You look a little flushed."

"Everything is fine, Mrs. Jackson, and you are down another two pounds this week. Let's take a look at your food journal."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

By Saturday night, I was a nervous wreck. It had been over a year since I'd been on a date, and I didn't know what was current regarding dating protocol. Did guys still open doors for their dates? Would he expect me to pay for anything? What about a kiss at the end of the night? Ooh, what if he wanted more than a kiss? I had already showered and shaved my legs, so that natural deterrent wasn't in place. However, he would have to drop me back at the club at the end of the evening, so it should be easy to say goodnight and leave.

I had chosen a cream-colored skirt with a matching top to wear. The short top barely touched the waistband of the skirt, allowing an occasional peek of skin. I slipped into a pair of dress sandals. The overall look was light, summery, and feminine.

When I arrived at the club, Mick was waiting for me. The after-dinner crowd hadn't yet arrived for the evening, so there was plenty of parking, and it was easy to spot him leaning against a black BMW. My heart fluttered at the sight of him. He was wearing a casual summer suit. The contrast of his naturally darker skin tone and dark brown hair against the light gray suit and white shirt was especially attractive.

I parked two spots over from his vehicle. He walked over to open my door and extended his hand to me as I stepped out of my car. Once again, a tingle raced down my spine as I felt the touch of his hand.

"You're right on time," he said, smiling broadly. He took a step back to take a full look at me. "And you are exquisite."

I could barely look away from his sparkling eyes. I could tell he was enamored with me, and I tried not to blush. He opened the passenger door of his car and continued to hold my hand until I was settled in.

We didn't talk very much on the way to the theater, resulting in what felt like an awkward pause. I didn't know why Mick was quiet, but I had first-date jitters and didn't want to say something stupid.

The Carbide Dinner Theater was a medium-size venue with table seating on the main floor or in the balcony. We had a booth to ourselves on the main floor. I looked around the room, and a flood of memories rushed in. The walls and the heavy velvet drapes on the stage were red, the tablecloths and napkins were red, and a small lamp on each of the tables had a red shade. My dad always said it looked like a brothel, but I loved it here. When I lived at home, my parents and I had come for many shows. We loved every performance we ever saw, the food was five-star worthy, and we always had a good time.

Mick ordered a bottle of Merlot, and we both ordered the house special of prime rib. I was grateful for the alcohol. It helped take the edge off my nervousness.

Our dinner conversation was the light, getting-to-know-you kind. We talked mostly about our work. He was charming, and I enjoyed his company.

After waitstaff cleared the tables, the lights dimmed, indicating the show would be starting soon. Mick reached over, grasped my hand, and pulled gently, indicating he wanted me to move closer to him in the center of the booth. "Slide over here. It's easier to see everything when you face the stage."

We resettled ourselves, and the show started, but I found myself struggling to focus on the actors. I was slightly intoxicated from more than wine. The close proximity to Mick was distracting. The scent of his cologne was earthy and woodsy, with light citrus notes. I wanted to bury my face in his neck and take a deep breath. I chuckled to myself at the thought.

The date was a perfect first date, and he was a perfect gentleman throughout the evening. He didn't try to put his arm around me or even kiss me - until we got back to my car!

The parking lot at the club was crowded, so we had to park at the back. He came around, opened the door for me, and took my hand in his. He continued to hold my hand as we walked to my car. I found the keys in my purse, and turned to him to start the awkward first-date process of saying goodnight.

He had a hint of a smile on his face as he looked intently into my eyes. I didn't know if I should say anything or throw myself into his arms and yell, _take me now!_ I opted for sanity, smiled, and said, "Thank you for a nice evening, Mick. I had a good time."

"I had a good time, too," he said. "I'm glad you agreed to come." His eyes never left mine. "Can I see you again?"

I didn't say anything. I wasn't expecting the question. He was looking at me with that amused look again, and I knew he was enjoying that I was suddenly tongue-tied.

"Uhm," I managed to squeak. "Uhm." I shook my head no but what came out was, "Yes."

He laughed and surprised me by leaning in and kissing me lightly on the lips. The kiss was so unexpected, I didn't kiss him back. He moved closer to me and kissed me again, harder this time. I took a deep breath. The woodsy smell, his lips on mine, and suddenly, I felt his hands on my waist, his fingertips barely touching my skin just under the short top. Fireworks exploded throughout my body, and I returned the passionate kiss.

It was then that Jerry, who was walking through the parking lot to go into the club to start his shift, looked over at us and yelled, "Get a room!"

Very mature, Jerry.

The spell was broken. There was some humor in the moment, and we both laughed, but we were keenly aware of what had just happened between us.

I fidgeted with my keys for a moment. Mick opened my car door and held it for me while I slid in. Before closing the door, he leaned in and said softly, " _You are exquisite_."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And that was how my relationship with Mick began.

Since then, we would see each other at the club a couple nights each week. Mick would sit on a stool at the counter and drink a beer while keeping me company during my short stint behind the desk. Or, we would spend time in the pub playing cards and having a good time with my friends.

Samantha and Larry were delighted Mick and I were seeing each other, and they gave me a thumbs up on the relationship. After a few Saturday night dates, we began spending all day together on Saturdays. He still made my knees weak, my heart flutter, and I still melted whenever he looked at me with those gorgeous eyes.

Our relationship hadn't progressed to the bedroom. I think he sensed my hesitation to go too fast, and at times, I was surprised by his own restraint. His kisses were passionate, yet tender, and they set my body on fire. It was hard not to succumb and give in to the urges. When he held my hand, touched my face, brushed my arm with his fingertips... I knew it was only a matter of time before there would be no turning back.

Until today!

A wife? How could I have not seen this? Is that why he was never available on a Friday or a Sunday? Did he have children? What else was he keeping from me? I was heartsick. If I weren't so angry, I would be crying.

The carport was behind my apartment building. I drove around back and saw Mick's BMW still parked in visitor parking. Was he still on the phone with his wife, or was he waiting for me to come back?

I pulled into my spot, turned off the ignition, and didn't move. I didn't want to leave the safety and comfort of the Chevelle. I loved the bolero red car. After Dad retired, he and his best friend, Harold, began restoring muscle cars in Harold's garage. Dad had originally restored this one for himself but gave the car to me as a gift when he and my mother moved to Texas a little over a year ago.

I looked over at Mick's car. I contemplated keying it but grabbed my groceries and went into the building.

It was quiet for a Saturday. There were a few muffled sounds here and there from televisions or radios. I was fortunate to live in a building populated mostly by the fifty and over crowd. It made for peaceful living. There was never loud music or late night parties to disturb anyone.

The grocery bag wasn't heavy, but I trudged up the stairs. My usual pace was to run up them, or even to take them two at a time. I viewed the stairs as bonus training for racquetball, but right now, every step felt as though I were wearing ankle weights. I hated that I felt betrayed in my own apartment, a place where I was always happy.

As I stepped onto the third floor landing, my neighbor across the hall was just coming out of his apartment.

"Hey, Susan, what's up?" he asked. "Did I see Mick with you earlier?"

Darby was the only other single person in our building, and although we had never dated, we enjoyed each other's company. He liked my Reuben sandwiches, and I was all too happy to make them for us when we got together to watch anything on Food Network and talk about our day. Mick and I ran into Darby often, and I knew Darby was growing fond of him. For that matter, everyone was fond of Mick. He was so darned charming.

"Yes, he's here," I whispered. "I can't talk about it now. Call me later. I'm so mad. I just found out he's married. I haven't even talked to him about it yet. I want to kill him! How could he have kept this from me? Did you have any idea?"

"No," he said, looking shocked. He was whispering now, too. "I had no idea. I've never talked to him without you being there, too. How'd you find out?"

I stepped to my door but looked back at him and said, "His wife called here for him. Can you believe that? I'm going to see what he has to say, and then I'm going to kill him."

"Take a deep breath and calm down," he said. "I'll call you tonight. Or, I can come over. I just bought a bottle of Jack we can open."

"Thanks," I said with a sigh. "But just give me a call. I already have a headache, and the whiskey won't help."

I held my breath as I opened the door. Mick stood from the sofa, but he didn't say anything. Was he waiting to gauge my reaction? If so, I didn't want to give him one. I put the grocery bag on the dining room table and started to put the few groceries away.

"Susan," he finally said. "You didn't have to leave. Please let me explain."

I turned and walked toward him. I could never hide my emotions, and I was sure both anger and my broken heart were evident on my face.

"How could you not tell me you were married? How long were you going to let us go on? When were you going to tell me? Were you ever going to tell me?" I knew my voice had become a screech.

This suddenly felt like Louie all over again. A betrayal and a lie, only this time, Mick and I hadn't done anything – yet. I could feel the tears beginning to well up in my eyes. I clenched my fists and punched his chest while pushing him back. He grabbed my arms.

"Susan, please. Let me explain. I know you're mad. You have a right to be. Sit down and listen for a minute, and then I'll go."

I didn't want to sit down. I wanted to throw something at him. I stepped back and fought the tears. A wave of intense sadness washed over me as I realized this was going to be over.

"Just listen," he pleaded. He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before saying, "My wife's name is Jenny, and we've been separated for six months. We're getting a divorce, and our attorneys are finalizing everything right now. The divorce was started before I ever met you, and it would have been over with by now, but Jenny has family property in New York and there were some legal issues to be worked out."

I sat down hard on the sofa. I wanted to continue to yell, but I didn't have any steam left. I had questions, but my head was pounding, so I sat silent.

Mick went on. "I wanted to tell you, but I knew everything would be finalized soon, and I thought it would be easier to tell you afterward. I had no idea Jenny would ever find out about us. I have no idea how she got your phone number, and she didn't want anything more today than to let me know she knew where I was. She doesn't even care."

I had to ask one question. "Do you have any children?"

He hung his head for a moment. He looked at me with pain in those beautiful eyes that were no longer smiling. He knew this lie of omission was going to hurt me as well. "Yes. I have a fourteen-year-old son."

I moved to the door and opened it. I couldn't look at him. With my head down, I whispered, "Get out."

**Chapter Three**

A phone was ringing, but from where? I struggled to wake up and clear the fog from my mind. My temples pounded. After crying until I couldn't cry any more, I had climbed into bed and hoped a nap would help to ease the headache. I must have slept for several hours, because it was now dusk.

My phone. Where was it? I dragged myself into the living room and saw it on the coffee table where Mick had left it several hours earlier. Mick. I tried not to think about him. I didn't want to figure it all out right now.

"Hello," I said. My voice was groggy.

It was Darby.

"Are you ok?" he asked. "I tried to call several times, but you didn't answer." I could hear his concern.

"I'm ok," I told him. "I have a headache, and I've been crying. I finally slept for a while. What time is it?"

"It's eight thirty."

"Oh, crap," I said. I was awake now. "I'm supposed to work at the club for a couple of hours. I have to be there at nine. Come over and talk to me while I get ready."

"Unlock the door," he said. "I'll be right there."

The club was only five minutes away, but I didn't want to be late. I quickly changed my blouse to a club shirt and unlocked the door for Darby. He was already outside in the hallway and walked right in. He gave me a quick hug, "I'm so sorry about this, Sunshine. Are you going to be ok? Tell me everything."

"He doesn't just have a wife," I said. "He has a son, too. A fourteen-year-old son." I let out a big sigh. "Help yourself to something to drink while I patch up my face and brush my hair." I stepped around the corner and into the bathroom.

"Is that it? Is it over?" he called from the kitchen. "Did he tell you why he didn't tell you that he was married?"

"He's getting a divorce," I called back. I heard Darby snort from the kitchen. "Really, he is," I insisted. "The divorce was started before we met, and he thought it would be easier to tell me about it after it was over."

With raspberry iced tea in hand, Darby stood in the bathroom doorway and watched me brush my hair, "Well, that kind of makes sense," he said. "Are you going to talk to him about it some more?"

"I don't know. I'm confused. I don't want to date a married man. And what if his son hates me?" I thought for a moment before saying, "I don't want to see him right now. I need time to process all of this." I put my brush down. "I have to run. I don't want to be late for work."

"Listen, Susan," he said, stopping me. "I'm on vacation next week. I'm leaving Monday morning for Florida. Come with me. It'll do you good to get away from here, and you can clear your head and decide what to do while taking a breather on the beach."

"I don't know," I told him. "That's a tempting offer. Let me think about it, and I'll let you know tomorrow."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I slipped behind the counter at the club right at nine o'clock. I tossed my gym bag against the back wall. I wasn't playing tonight, but the bag had several freshly washed outfits I wanted to put in my locker if I had time.

It was Saturday night, so I could only hope Mick wouldn't make his usual appearance. Samantha and Larry were playing doubles with another couple on court number three. From the look of Samantha's hair to the lack of dry spots on Larry's clothing, I assumed they had been playing for quite some time.

The local cable company had booked a private party for their employees. This gave them exclusive use to five of the ten courts and the pub upstairs. By the sounds coming from the pub, the party was in full swing. I looked over the court reservations for the day and saw that Husky had been in earlier in the afternoon, so I probably wouldn't be seeing him this evening.

For the next two hours, I didn't have time to think about the events of the day. Partygoers always had more demands than regular members did, and I made several trips to the storage room to collect clean towels for the front desk and sodas for restocking the coolers. It would have been helpful to have another set of hands.

Samantha came out of the locker room at ten thirty and perched on a stool at the counter. "What's up?" she asked. "What'd you and Mick do today? Do we have court time for tomorrow? Can I get an apple juice?"

Samantha and I both had a bad habit of peppering people with questions. It seemed easier to get them all out at once and then wait for the answers. I ignored half of her questions.

"You're not going to believe what happened today," I told her. I had to fight back tears as I poured an apple juice over ice for each of us. "Mick isn't the person we thought he was, and I don't think I'm going to see him anymore."

Between handing out towels and locker keys, and selling extra beer to partygoers, I filled her in on most of the details. I could tell she was heartbroken for me.

"Would you mind running back to the storage room and grabbing another stack of clean towels for me?" I asked her. "I need to stay here since so many people from Cable Connect are getting ready to hit the showers."

I passed out the rest of the towels on hand and started a quick closeout of the register. Jerry would be here in a few minutes to relieve me.

Samantha put the clean towels in the bin and launched into her next set of questions. "Is there anything else I can do for you? And why didn't Husky say anything to any of us? Have you talked to him? For crying out loud, he works with Mick, and he should have known this. Larry's going to be upset when I tell him. Do you want to stay with us for a few days?"

"No thanks, Sam," I said, giving her an appreciative hug. "Husky wasn't in tonight, so I haven't had a chance to talk with him. Darby asked me to go to Florida with him next week. I don't even know where he's going, but I'm thinking I might go. I can get the time off from work, and I could really use a break."

"I think that's a great idea," she said. "He'll be good company, and Larry and I will both feel better knowing you're with him and not alone." It was her turn to give me a hug, "Try to have a good time if you go. Run on the beach, and don't eat too much junk. You still have to train for tournament."

"I will. I promise," I said. I couldn't help smiling. She was so serious about our training.

Jerry tapped me on the shoulder. I noticed his face was more bloated than usual. I could only imagine what mine looked like after crying all afternoon. Make-up could only hide so much.

"Hi, Jerry," I greeted him. "I'm sorry about the mess. This party has run me ragged. Sam brought up clean towels, I restocked the coolers, and the register is ready to go." I looked around to see if I had forgotten anything. I pointed to the glass of apple juice. "I poured myself an apple juice and never drank it. The ice isn't entirely melted, so if you don't mind it watered down some, you can have it, or throw it out." I looked at him a bit hesitantly before saying, "And one more thing. Would you fill in for me next week? I need some time off, and I'm only scheduled a couple nights." I gave him a pleading look. He stared back with a blank look. "Please?" I asked using the best puppy-dog look I could muster.

"Ok, but you'll owe me more than an apple juice," he said.

I had no idea what he meant by that, but this wasn't the time to find out. "Thank you," I said and gave him an awkward hug. "I really appreciate it. I'll mark it on the schedule so Stan and Louise will know I won't be in."

Stan and Louise were the owners of the club, but we rarely saw them. All of the employees enjoyed working here, and everyone did their jobs well, so Stan and Louise only stopped in on Sunday afternoons to set schedules, order supplies, and go over accounting.

The lobby was becoming more crowded, and the partygoers were getting rowdy. I was glad I was leaving for the night. It had been a long day.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Before allowing myself to drift off to sleep, I relived the confrontation with Mick. I didn't know how I could forgive him. Even if I could, how would we go forward from this? I was only certain about one thing. My heart hurt so much, I knew I had fallen deeply in love with him.

As the tears started to come again, I forced myself to choke them back. I didn't want to have another crying jag and end up with swollen eyes in the morning. What I wanted to do was go over a mental checklist of everything I needed to do tomorrow before leaving with Darby on Monday morning. I forced myself to concentrate.

Angela wouldn't mind taking over the weight-loss center for a week. She had been asking for more responsibility, and this would give her an opportunity to show she was manager material. I hadn't scheduled a vacation in over a year, so I was due for one, and taking time off wouldn't be a problem.

Airline and hotel reservations would have to be made to coincide with Darby's. Where were we going? Where would we be staying? I was partial to the gulf side of the state. When I was younger, my parents had taken me to Naples on several occasions to visit my Aunt Charlotte. Oh my gosh! My mother! How much of what happened today did I want to tell her? I had told her about Mick, and both she and my dad were happy for me that I was finally moving on and into a relationship. This was going to upset them, too.

My parents had traded cold Ohio winters for hot Texas summers, and they loved living in Dallas. We didn't talk often, but Mom and I tried to keep in touch several times each month by email. I would be going to visit over Christmas, and I was looking forward to catching up with them. I had hoped to take Mick with me to meet them, but obviously, that wasn't going to happen now. Maybe I would give Mom a call later in the week.

Florida was going to be hot. I needed more clothes. I would go shopping tomorrow.

I couldn't stay awake any longer. My eyes were heavy, and I was exhausted. I barely heard the blare of sirens go past my apartment as I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Four

"Darby, I feel like I can't breathe," I said with surprise.

Stepping out of the airplane into the hot Florida sun took my breath away. I knew it would be hot, but I had forgotten how oppressive the heat could be. Above the terminal door was a sign welcoming us to Saint Petersburg-Clearwater International Airport. Beneath the sign was a time and temperature reading. The temperature was ninety-eight degrees.

"I know. Isn't it wonderful," he exclaimed. "I love Florida during the summer months." He was grinning from ear to ear, and I half expected him to break into a jig.

We were both carrying one small bag, but we had each checked a larger suitcase, so we headed for the baggage claim area.

Our flight from Ohio to Florida was nonstop and took less than three hours. We spent most of the time talking about what had happened between Mick and me. An elderly woman seated in front of us stood to walk back the aisle to the restroom. She stopped beside us, looked into both of our faces, and creaked, "You know, they never leave their wives."

"Excuse me?" I asked. I was astonished she had spoken to us. Darby's jaw dropped.

"It's my experience they always say they're going to leave their wives for you, but they never do." She leaned in toward me and creaked more softly, "But, honey, your situation sounds different. Forgive him and give him another chance." She reached across Darby to give my hand a little pat and then moved on down the aisle to the restroom.

Darby's mouth was still hanging open. I burst out laughing and told him, "We're going to have to learn to keep our voices down."

I watched him now as he pulled my suitcase off the conveyor. I had put an X with pink tape on one corner of the bag to make it easier to spot. He was still watching for his bag.

I looked around and let out a sigh of satisfaction. This was a good idea. Darby always cheered me, and I was already feeling better. I would probably call Mick later in the week. Maybe I had overreacted. It would be easier to talk with him over the phone anyway. I wanted to hear what he had to say, but I wasn't ready to see him yet.

My phone. Where was my phone? I started digging through my purse. I had turned it off Sunday morning after making several calls. The first call was to Darby to let him know I was going with him and to get the details of our trip. I then called Samantha to let her and Larry know I was leaving for the week. Angela was ecstatic when I asked her to take over the center. I had a hard time getting off the phone with her. My last call was to make my airline and hotel reservations. I turned the phone off so I wouldn't have any distractions. I didn't want anyone trying to talk me out of going, and I definitely didn't want to talk with Mick.

I fished it out of the bottom of my purse, turned it on, and saw two missed calls from Samantha, both of them from yesterday. I could only surmise she wanted to say good-bye and wish me well on my trip. I would give her a call this evening to let her know we arrived safely. There were three missed calls from Mick, one from yesterday and two already today. I would call him when I was ready, and that wouldn't be today. I turned my phone off again and tossed it back into my purse.

Darby finally had his suitcase in hand. "Come on," he said. "Car rental is next."

After picking up the car, we headed south on I-275. The air conditioning was off and all four windows were down. My hair was blowing up, around, and into my face. I started digging in my purse again, this time looking for an elastic band to pull my hair back. Darby glanced over at me with a big smile and said, "It feels really good, doesn't it?"

I had to admit, the warm air rushing into the car did feel good. It was hot in Ohio this time of year, too, but not this hot. This was a different kind of heat that warmed you clear through to your bones.

We exited onto the Pinellas Bayway and headed west toward the beach. The Don CeSar resort was ahead in the distance. I was amazed by the lovely pink hotel. I had read about _the pink castle_ but had never seen it. It was originally a hotel, then a military center, and for a time a convalescent home. Now it was once again an elegant hotel. I craned my neck to see as much of the building as possible as we turned north onto Gulf Boulevard.

"Why didn't we book at the Don CeSar?" I asked. "Look how pretty it is, and it's huge."

"Don't forget," he said with a laugh. "I was originally planning to come down here by myself. I don't need opulent accommodations just for me. We'll stay there the next time we come to Florida." He gave me a wink.

I couldn't help smiling. "I'm not complaining," I said. "I know the Hilton is nice, and I'm glad to be along for the ride." I settled back into my seat.

A few minutes later, we pulled into the lot at the hotel, grabbed our luggage, and checked in. We had adjoining rooms and immediately opened the door between them so we could talk back and forth while we unpacked.

"What should we do first? Late lunch or the beach?" I called over to him.

"Yes to both - in that order," he called back.

I laughed. "Ok. Give me fifteen minutes to change out of travel clothes and freshen up."

After washing my face, applying fresh mascara, and a swipe of lip gloss, I pulled the elastic band from my hair. Even after pulling it back, my hair was still tangled from the wind in the car. A few extra minutes with my brush and it was finally smooth with my bangs under control. I changed into a pair of tan shorts, a pink t-shirt, and flat sandals.

I went over to Darby's room. I stood for a moment and admired him. He was actually a very hunky guy. He wore his sandy-colored hair in a permanently tousled state, and he was lean, but not skinny. He had changed into plaid shorts, a white t-shirt, and sandals and was sitting on the edge of the bed surfing the television. He smiled and said, "I'm looking for the cooking channels."

"I checked the menu for the hotel restaurant, and it looks really good," I told him. "They have Reuben sandwiches. We could make it easy on ourselves and eat here. That will get us to the beach sooner. "

"Ok by me," he said, turning off the television. "Let's go."

The hostess seated us at a corner table. Windows on both sides of the room afforded a spectacular view all up and down the white sandy beach. The glistening blue-green water of the gulf was enticing. The dining room was bright and airy with white walls. Light blue linen tablecloths added to the room's oceanic atmosphere.

I felt relaxed. This was a welcome change from the fast pace of Slimmers and the racquetball club.

I glanced around the room. There weren't too many diners at this time of day. A family of four was at a table in the opposite corner of the room. The children were somewhat noisy, but it was an excited noisy. Their happiness brought a smile to my face.

A man in a business suit was seated alone a few tables from ours. I could see why this would be a great place to slip away from the office, relax for lunch, and read a newspaper.

The only other diner was a skinny guy with curly, shoulder length hair. He sat with his back to us. I didn't get a look at his face, but noticed he slumped when he followed the hostess across the room to his table. He was now hunched over his menu.

An attractive waiter arrived to take our order. Darby smiled broadly and ordered for both of us. "Two corned beef Reuben sandwiches and raspberry iced tea." He leaned back in his chair and sighed, "Ahh. This place is beautiful. Isn't this fantastic? I'm glad you decided to come."

"I am, too," I said. "I have to ask you though," I shook my head as I wondered, "do you always take vacations by yourself? Who does that?"

"Lots of people take vacations by themselves," he said. "It's a great way to see new places and meet new people."

I had never thought about it like that before. "What do you have planned for the week?" I asked.

"I think there are boat races in Sarasota tomorrow, and there are a couple of good restaurants I want to check out." He paused before saying quickly, "And I have plans to meet someone on Thursday. You're welcome to come with me anywhere."

"What did you say?" I asked. I think he tried to sneak something past me. "Plans to meet someone? Do you have a friend here? A girlfriend?"

"Promise not to laugh?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

That could only mean one thing. "Oh, Darby, don't tell me! You met someone online!" The man in the suit looked our way. I lowered my voice and said again, with emphasis, " _You met someone online._ "

"I'm not the first person to meet someone _online_ ," he mocked. "We've been talking for a while, and Florida seemed like a great place to come and meet someone new. See, like I said, you travel and meet new people."

I laughed. I knew he wasn't sure if he should laugh with me or be annoyed. "Well," I said, reaching over to touch his arm and reassure him, "I think it's great. Tell me all about her."

"I don't want to say anything just yet. I don't want to jinx it, but I want you to come with me." He saw my doubtful look. "We're meeting at a Polynesian restaurant, and I would be more comfortable if you came along. If everything goes well, you can take the car after dinner and head back to the hotel. If not, we'll come back together."

That made sense. "Ok, if you're sure," I said.

"I am," he said definitively. "Now that that's settled, what do you want to do while you're here?"

"I promised Sam I would run on the beach to stay in shape, and I definitely want to do some shopping. There has to be a racquet club somewhere in Saint Petersburg, and I'd like to get a couple of games in. Beyond that, I'm open to anything or nothing. The beach is a good place for me."

Our food arrived, and we spent the next half hour chatting and eating Reuben sandwiches that, according to Darby, were almost as good as mine.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sand was hot and felt wonderful under my feet. I took a deep breath. I loved the smell of the ocean as well as the coconut and pineapple smells of lotions and oils. The lotion in my bag had the same scent and a high protection factor. I was fair and prone to sunburn.

"Where to?" I asked as I looked over the beach.

"Let's go over there," Darby said, pointing to his right. "There's an open chair with an umbrella."

"You can take the chair," I said. "I like my towel on the sand."

I had packed three swimsuits for the trip and had chosen my favorite to wear today - a midnight blue, strapless, one-piece suit with high-cut legs. Bright pink flowers peeked out from shirring on one side. Darby was wearing board shorts with a colorful tropical print. He looked like he should be surfing big waves off the coast of California instead of sunning here in Florida. He was completely adorable, and I noticed several girls looking his way.

There were quite a few people on the beach, but it wasn't crowded. Approximately one hundred yards to our south, a volleyball game was in progress.

I unpacked my bag, spread out my towel, and sat down. Everything was almost perfect. I couldn't help wishing for Mick to be here beside me. My phone was in my purse back in the hotel room, so I couldn't check to see if he had called again.

Darby had already settled back in his chair and was taking in the sights. His smile appeared permanently plastered on his face.

I applied my tanning lotion liberally. I smelled like a pina colada. The delicious aroma almost made me want to forego the beach and head for the pool bar, but I was settled on my towel now and allowed the sun to have its way with me.

An hour later, Darby poked me with his foot and said, "Hey, roll over before you reach lobster level."

I was surprised I had dozed off.

"I'm headed for the volleyball game," he said. "Want to come?"

"No, you go without me," I told him. "I want to turn over for a while and read my book." I held my bottle of lotion up to him. "Do my back before you go?"

"Sure," he said. He knelt down and took the bottle from my hand. The quick massage felt wonderful.

"Have fun," I called after him as he loped on down the beach. Once again, girls turned to look at him, and several started walking toward the volleyball game. He certainly wouldn't have any trouble meeting new people here. I hadn't even thought about meeting anyone new and wouldn't have noticed anyone looking at me anyway.

I hoped I wasn't burning, and I really needed to cool off. I walked to the water's edge. Five teenage boys with stand-up paddle boards were on the water directly in front of me. They'd been on the water for quite a while now and were laughing and having a good time. Occasionally a wave would come along that they could actually ride. It was fun to watch them try.

I waded in up to my knees and splashed water on my arms and legs. I closed my eyes for a moment and listened to the waves, smelled the sea salt in the air, and felt the cool water lap at my legs. I walked out until the water was almost up to my shoulders. It felt wonderful.

The guys began to yell and get excited again. A wave was coming, and it was a surprisingly big one. I turned my back to it, thinking it would just wash over me, but the wave knocked me down and drove me to my knees under the water. I came up sputtering and pushed my hair back out of my eyes.

A couple of the guys were already coming back out with their boards. One of them pointed in my direction and smiled. I looked behind me, but there was nothing there. I turned back and he was still smiling. I looked down. My right breast had popped out of my suit and appeared to be bobbing on the water. I turned away from the guys and the beach as fast as I could and adjusted my suit. A strapless swimsuit and an unexpected wave were definitely not a good combination.

I was embarrassed and wondered if anyone on the beach had seen what happened. I made my way back to my towel as fast as I could, pulled my book from my bag, and turned over onto my stomach.

As soon as I started reading, I wished I had brought something else. The beach didn't seem the place for _Drills, Skills, and Strategies for Racquetball_. I was serious about the sport, but not that serious at the moment. I put the book away and settled more comfortably on my towel. The hot sun completely relaxed me.

I awoke with a start. I had dozed off again. Darby was still with the volleyball players, but it looked like the game was breaking up. The guys with the boards were gone, and I noticed other people on the beach picking up their towels and bags and leaving the beach. I saw someone who I thought looked like the skinny guy from the restaurant. He was hunched over, seated on a towel, and facing the ocean. He wasn't in a hurry to go anywhere.

I realized the sun wasn't quite as bright as it had been. I looked behind me and saw there were dark clouds coming in from the east. This would be a late afternoon soaker, as was common in Florida, or it was a front coming in that would bring rain for the evening.

Just as I finished packing my bag, Darby was back with his big smile and said, "That was a blast! You have to join in next time. I know you'd be great, and you could consider it more training."

The raindrops were just starting to come. I looked around and saw almost everyone was off the beach now except the knucklehead skinny guy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It had been a long day, and Darby and I were both tired. We decided to stay in for the evening.

The door between our rooms was open again. Darby had gone out to buy drinks and snacks. Our plan was to crash on his bed, eat junk food, and watch the new episode of _Iron Chef_.

I fished my phone out of my purse and turned it on. There were two more calls from Samantha and one more from Mick. There weren't any voice mail messages, so there wasn't likely anything urgent from either of them, but it wasn't like Samantha to call me when I was on vacation. I punched her speed dial number. She finally answered on the fourth ring.

"Hi, Sam. I'm returning your calls. What's up?" I didn't give her a chance to answer. "We got here just fine, I'm feeling better, and we're having a good time, so you don't have to worry about me."

"I'm not worried," she said with a small laugh. "I called because I thought you should know something."

"Ok. What?" I asked. I felt apprehensive. This didn't sound like it could be anything good, and her voice wasn't as cheerful as usual.

"Jerry had a heart attack at the club on Saturday night." She paused before continuing with her news. "He died on one of the courts."

"Oh my gosh, Sam, that's horrible," I said. My stomach flopped over, and I instantly felt sick. "What happened?"

"After you left, a couple of those drunk cable guys got into it," she said. "They were on court number one, so Jerry was able see them arguing. He went in to break it up, but before he could, he collapsed right there on the spot. The paramedics arrived within a few minutes, but he was already dead. All we know is he had a massive heart attack."

"I remember hearing sirens as I was dropping off to sleep," I told her. "I had no idea they were headed to the club. I don't know what to say. Do they think the heart attack was from steroids? I always suspected he was taking them. This is so terrible for his family."

"I don't know about steroids," she said. "Larry's cousin, Dick, works down at the police station, and he told Larry that for now, his death is being ruled as a heart attack. They can't find any family other than an uncle who barely knew him."

"What about the man who shows up on Thursday nights with the packages?" I asked. "Do they know who he is?" I had to put my first thought out there. "I bet he's a drug dealer, and there are steroids in those packages. Did Larry tell Dick about him?"

"As far as I know, there's nothing more to tell," she said. "It was a heart attack. There won't be any calling hours, but his uncle arranged a grave-side ceremony at the Carbide City Cemetery for Thursday morning."

"We won't be back until Saturday afternoon, so I'll miss it," I said. "If you can get his uncle's address, or find someone close to him, let me know, so I can send a card or flowers."

"Ok, I'll do that," she said.

"Thanks for letting me know, Sam. I really appreciate it," I told her.

"You're welcome. And, by the way, I don't know if I should bring this up, but I did ask Husky about Mick being married, and his reaction was, ' _What? I thought he got a divorce_.' So, if it makes you feel any better, Husky had no idea Mick was still married."

"Well, I guess that's something," I said with a sigh. "I'll probably call Mick later this week and give him more of a chance to explain. I haven't made any firm decisions about any of this yet."

"I hope this works out for you, Susan. Larry and I like Mick a lot, but you know we love you, and we want you to be happy." She sounded sad.

"Thanks, Sam. Tell Larry I said hello, and thanks again for all the information."

Darby would be back shortly, and I would fill him in about Jerry. The thought that the man from Thursday nights was somehow involved in his death wouldn't leave me alone. I didn't know how I could find out anything while I was in Florida, but I was definitely going to look into him when we were back home.
Chapter Five

We were speeding south on I-75 on our way to the boat races in Sarasota. All four windows of the car were down, the wind was whipping around inside, but my hair wasn't being tangled this time. I had pulled it back into a ponytail, twisted it, and clipped it onto the top of my head. I would let it down once we reached our destination, but for now, it was safe from the wind.

It was a perfect summer day. The temperature had dropped to a normal eighty-five degrees, and the humidity was more bearable after the rain had come through last evening.

"Do you think you should slow down a little?" I prodded Darby. After a year of too many tickets, I was more aware of speeding. At least I was when I wasn't out of my mind with anger.

"Nah, everything is under control," he said with a smile. "Have you ever been to the boat races?"

"No, I haven't," I said. "What can I expect? Do they drive around in a circle like at NASCAR?"

He chuckled. "No. Today we're going to see powerboat drag racing. I think they're running the quarter-mile. The boats are killer, and they can run the quarter mile at over two hundred miles per hour in about four seconds. You have to see it to believe it. And no one likes to see a crash, but at those speeds, a driver can lose control, and accidents do happen."

"Ok," I said. "This sounds like fun. I've been to the drag races before. A friend of mine from school ran a classic Mustang at Norwalk, and he let me ride down the track with him once. I almost had him convinced to let me drive the next-"

Before I could finish my sentence, a green Ford Focus zipped up on our right and began moving into our lane. Darby laid on the horn. "Come on, buddy, get over," he yelled, but the car continued into our lane, forcing us onto the grassy median between the northbound and southbound lanes.

The back of the car fishtailed, and I was sure we were going to lose control. A bridge abutment was just ahead. I put my hands out to brace myself. I glanced at Darby and saw he had a steely look of determination as he hit the gas to speed up.

I couldn't hold back a scream. I was sure he was propelling us into the bridge. I closed my eyes, awaiting the inevitable impact, but there was no collision. He had somehow managed to maintain control, pull out from the grass, and get us back onto the highway. The green Focus was far down the highway now.

"What happened back there?" I screeched. "Do you think that guy saw you or heard the horn? How did you keep us from crashing?" I still had a death grip on the dash.

"It wasn't a guy. It was a woman," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Was it an old woman who just didn't see us?" I asked. I was beginning to relax my grip now that I realized we were safe, but my heart was still racing.

"I don't think so," he said. "I couldn't see if she was on her phone or distracted, but she was behind us in the middle lane, so she had to see us when she moved up and forced herself into our lane. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she did it on purpose."

"How did you learn to drive like that?" I asked. I was breathing normally now. "If I would have been driving, I would have slammed on the brakes, let go of the wheel, covered my eyes, and hoped for the best."

He smiled and said, "My dad wouldn't let me drive until I had several defensive driving classes under my belt. I enjoyed them so much, I've taken a few racing courses over the years. Did you know that when you're driving fast, you should accelerate coming out of your turn rather than going into it? And, in a situation like we just faced, braking can sometimes be more dangerous than accelerating out of the problem and getting back onto the roadway. One of the worst things you can do is leave the roadway at any time. Your chances of crashing into something are higher than if you stay on the road. If she would have waited another fifteen seconds to move into our lane, we would have either caused a pile-up or met the bridge personally."

The thought caused a shudder to run through my body.

Thankfully, the rest of the drive was uneventful, and we arrived at the races in one piece. We had great seats in the grandstands, and I thought the races were both exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time. It was an especially good day, because, so far, there hadn't been any accidents.

We brought a small disposable cooler filled with bottles of water with us, but with the heat, we had consumed all of them after a couple hours. Darby turned to me and said, "I'm going to run down and get us a couple of drinks. How about a cold beer?"

I wasn't much of a beer drinker, but a cold beer sounded good out here in the hot sun. "Sure, and a snack, too?" I asked with a pretty-please smile.

He laughed. "I'm on it."

There was a lull in the action, so I took the time to look around at people. The stands weren't filled to capacity, but there was a large crowd. I was surprised at the number of teenagers and senior citizens in attendance. Darby had mentioned that boat racing was popular in Florida, and it looked like all ages enjoyed the sport.

I spotted a man and woman having a moment a few rows below me. He had put his arm around her and pulled her close for a kiss. It dawned on me how refreshing it was not to have guys trolling the front of the stands with signs that read, _Show Us Your_ \-... wait a minute. Was that the skinny guy from the hotel?

I had just caught a glimpse of a guy taking a seat in the stands. He was thin with dark, curly, shoulder-length hair, and from the back, he looked like the skinny guy from the restaurant and the beach. Was this a coincidence? It seemed odd he would be here at the same time we were.

Darby poked me to take my beer and nachos. He settled back down into his seat.

"Look down below us several rows and to the right," I said. "I'm sure that skinny guy from the restaurant is here." I tried to point him out, but I could no longer find him. "I know I saw him a minute ago. Don't you think it's weird he's here, too?"

"Not really," he said, shoveling nachos into his mouth. "These races are advertised all over the state."

He was probably right. Why did I care that the skinny guy was here? For all I knew, the businessman and the family with the two kids could be here, too.

The action started again. The beer hit the spot, and nachos always tasted better at sporting events.

The next race set my heart to racing, too. The boat on the right lost control and tipped just enough on its side to take flight. I had never seen anything like it. A collective gasp went up from the spectators. A loud _ooh_ sound of concern and distress was heard next when the boat came down in the other lane and hit the back of the other boat, sending it careening out of control. Both drivers surfaced unharmed.

It was unbelievable when one boat in the next race flipped end over end on the water. Once the crowd knew the driver was ok, there was an unmistakable excitement over the crash – just as it had been with the last one.

I caught Darby's attention. He had a big smile on his face but tried not to smile when he saw the look on my face. "What?"

"These wrecks are horrible, but it feels like everyone wants to see them."

"It's part of any dangerous sport. You don't want to see anyone get hurt, but some of the accidents are pretty spectacular-"

I gripped his arm hard enough to cause him to stop talking. I was positive I was staring at the skinny guy, and I wanted Darby to see him. Something felt off with him, and I needed to know if Darby thought it was the same guy from the hotel.

"What now?" he asked, trying to follow my gaze.

My vision blurred for a few moments. I couldn't focus on the person below us. When I could see clearly again, the person had turned around and was laughing at something the man behind her had said. I felt foolish.

"Nothing," I said. "It was nothing."

There were only three more heats before the races ended. I was happy when there were no more accidents.

My eyes felt strained with the slight blurriness coming and going. I was mildly concerned, but I had heard of eye migraines and thought this might be what I was experiencing. I attributed the symptoms to the bright sun.

When we stood to leave, I suddenly felt lightheaded and noticed some weakness in my arms and legs. "Wait. Something's wrong," I said, sinking back into my seat. "I don't feel well."

"It's probably from too much sun and the beer," he said. "If I help, do you think you can make it down the steps and to the car?"

"I can try," I said.

I stood and nearly lost my balance.

He had to give me support all the way down the steps. When we reached the parking lot, I could no longer walk.

"Stay here," he said. "I'll go get the car and bring it up." He literally leaned me against a light post.

I felt foolish holding onto the post while people walked past me, but I couldn't move or let go for fear of falling down. Cars seemed blurry as they passed in front of me to leave the lot. I felt dizzy. What was taking him so long? I couldn't hold onto the light post much longer.

A green Focus drove by. I noticed it because it was going slower than the other vehicles. I could barely concentrate on the car or the driver, but the slight build and the hairstyle made me think it was Skinny Guy. He officially had a name now.

Darby pulled up and hopped out to help me into the passenger seat. "Are you feeling any better?" he asked.

"Not yet," I said. I climbed in and leaned forward to put my head on my knees. He slid behind the wheel. I noticed he had the windows up and the air conditioner on. I stole a sideways glance at him.

He seemed to know what I was thinking and said, "I thought you might feel better in the cooler air." He handed a bottle of water to me. "I bought some water for you. I thought you might be dehydrated."

I sat up and took the bottle of water. "Did you see the face of the woman who ran us off the road?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I only caught a glimpse of her wavy hair. She might have been a teenager."

"Could it have been a thin man with curly, shoulder-length hair?" I asked.

"I guess it could have been," he said. "Wait a minute. You aren't thinking it was the guy from the restaurant?"

"Yes, I am," I said. He looked doubtful. "It _was_ Skinny Guy," I insisted. "I know I saw him driving a green Focus when you went to get the car. I was dizzy, but I'm sure the driver had the same build and the same curly hair. Why would he want to run us off the road? Who could he be?"

"Susan, that's crazy talk," he said with a perturbed edge to his voice. "You're suffering from heatstroke and dehydration. Put your seat back and rest. I'll have you to the hotel in no time."

I leaned back and closed my eyes. The lightheadedness was letting up, but my limbs still felt heavy and weak. I couldn't relax. What was with Skinny Guy? Was all of this a coincidence? I couldn't help but feel there was something wrong, but what? How could there be something wrong here in Florida? And if there was something wrong, was the trouble directed at me or at Darby?
Chapter Six

Darby's bed was more comfortable than the bed in my room. I snuggled deeper into his pillows while I waited for him to get out of the shower.

When we returned to our rooms from the races, he sat on the floor outside my bathroom door while I showered and changed. I wanted him close by in case I passed out. I was feeling better now that the heatstroke symptoms had mostly passed. We were going to order room service for dinner, but I didn't have much of an appetite, so I planned to encourage him to go out by himself for the evening.

I closed my eyes and thought about everything that had happened since Saturday.

Mick, for starters. He was always in the back of my mind, but I'd been forcing myself not to think too hard about him. Maybe I would call him this evening. We really did need to talk.

Then there was Jerry. He seemed like such a loner, and it hurt my heart to think he really was alone and died before ever getting married or having children. I sensed there was something behind his heart attack, and it had to do with the man who visited him on Thursday nights. I had to find a way to track him down when I was back in Carbide City.

And now, here I was in Florida with Darby. I couldn't help smiling.

I met Darby Tapley almost a year ago when I moved into my apartment. He had already been in the building for over two years. Larry had rounded up a couple of guys from Barney's Beverage, and they helped me move from my previous apartment. I had hated the gloominess of the building I was living in. It was an older building in need of remodeling, and I never had enough hot water. The new apartment was a much nicer building with a faux Tudor facade – and plenty of hot water.

On the day of the move, Darby came out into the hallway to introduce himself and to say hello. He set up two lawn chairs in the wide hallway, brought out two glasses of raspberry iced tea, and convinced me to sit down and let the moving guys do all the work. He laughed when he saw the guys come up the stairs with a bowling bag, a set of golf clubs, baseball bats, a basketball, ice skates, and finally a couple of gym bags with racquets sticking out of them.

"You had brothers, right?" he asked. "You're a tomboy."

When one of the guys came up with an ironing board, he said that was the sign of a good woman. We talked for nearly three hours while the guys made several trips from my old apartment to my new. It was then that I found out he liked cooking shows, dabbled at being a cook himself, and he was self-employed as a freelance web and marketing writer. He was fun and easy to talk with. I told him about cheater Louie and my jobs at Slimmers and the racquetball club. Once the beverage guys were done moving all of my belongings, he came over and helped me hang curtains and position furniture. I made Reuben sandwiches for us that night, and we'd been fast friends ever since.

Last on the list of things running through my head was Skinny Guy. What was up with him? Darby thought I watched too much television and was being paranoid. Maybe he was right.

He came around the corner in a pair of Bermuda shorts while towel drying his hair. Of course, it was more tousled than usual now. He flopped on the bed beside me, raised himself up on one elbow, and gave me a big smile. "Are you feeling better now, Sunshine?" he asked.

He certainly was adorable.

The next words out of my mouth were uttered without giving them thought first.

"Why haven't you ever asked me out?"

I don't know why I asked the question. I never really thought about dating him, and I certainly didn't want to date him now. But something about the moment – his closeness, his attractiveness, his concern for me – the question just popped out. I instantly wished I could take it back. I felt a deep blush rush into my face.

He leaned in close and looked deep into my eyes. "Susan, honey, you know I love you." He paused. His eyes had a gleam in them. "And I would date you in a heartbeat." I held my breath. This was not what I wanted to hear right now. "But I'm gay," he said. He leaned in to kiss me on my nose. Unfortunately, his comment caused me to bolt straight upright, and we clunked heads.

"Ouch! What? Darby, you are not gay!" I exclaimed.

"I am," he said, laughing while rubbing his forehead.

"Oh my gosh," I blurted out. "Not only can I not tell when a man is married, I have no gaydar." I flopped back onto the pillows. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"You never asked," he said. "I don't hide the fact I'm gay, but I don't flaunt it either. I haven't been in a relationship for a long time, so we never had a reason to talk about it."

"Aha!" I bolted upright again. Darby scooted back farther on the bed. "You aren't meeting a girl on Thursday night, are you? You're meeting a guy."

"Yep, guilty as charged," he said, laughing again. "And you are, too. Remember, you're coming with me."

"I can't wait now," I told him with a smile. "Tell me about him." I flopped back onto the pillows.

"We-e-ell," he drawled, "I've been talking to him online for about six months. It feels like I've known him for years. We decided it was time to meet and see if we're more like friends, or if there are sparks."

"What's his name?" I asked.

"I don't know yet. We haven't exchanged names other than screen names. We'll do that on Thursday."

"Why on earth did you decide to meet at a Polynesian restaurant?" I asked. "Wouldn't Busch Gardens or The Tampa Bay Zoo have been more fun?"

"He's a dancer at the restaurant. He dances with feathers and flaming batons." He moved his hands as if to imitate a hula dancer. "We have to look for the guy with the purple lei around his neck." We both burst out laughing at the cliché.

After assuring Darby I wanted to rest, and that I'd be fine staying in by myself, he finally agreed to go out for the evening by himself.

When he left the room, I decided it would be a good idea to talk with my mother. I went back to my room to find my phone. I could use a little sympathy about my situation with Mick, and I knew Mom would give it to me.

It was really no surprise to see my phone was dead. I found my charger, plugged it into a wall socket, and plodded back over to Darby's bed. I was tired and decided to rest there until he came back. I closed my eyes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

... _gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door... gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door... gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door..._

I opened my eyes and realized I wasn't actually hearing the foreboding line from Edgar Allan Poe's _The Raven_. I had been dreaming it.

The room was dark. I must have been asleep for several hours. Why was I dreaming the famous line from _The Raven_? And then I heard it. A light rap, rap, rapping at the door. At Darby's door. I don't know why, but it frightened me, and I felt vulnerable without him in the room.

I tiptoed over to the door, being careful not to make any noise. I peeked out the peephole and had to clap my hand over my mouth to keep from calling out. I backed away so fast, I nearly fell down.

It was Skinny Guy, and he was obviously after Darby!

My heart pounded so hard, I could hear it deep within my ears. I stood still in the middle of the room, not daring to breathe. I didn't see the handle of the door move, but I heard it as it turned back and forth. He obviously didn't have a key. I waited, still afraid to move. I stood there for what felt like an hour but was surely only a few minutes.

When there was no more rapping or turning of the handle, I crept back over to the door. I looked out the peephole again. He was gone. I ran over to my room and looked out the peephole there as well. No Skinny Guy. But what I had seen surprised me. Because of his hair and build, I surmised he was going to have a face like Weird Al Yankovic. Instead, he had a handsome, brooding look like a young Marlon Brando. And worse, he looked familiar.

Had I ever seen him before? Had we ever met? Maybe I had actually seen him since we arrived in Florida, and I simply didn't realize it. Even though he had a nice face, I was sure there was something sinister about him. Edgar Allan Poe sinister.

I looked around the room as though to assure myself no one was there and I was safe. I noticed my phone was fully charged now. There were two messages from Samantha, but none from Mick. I was surprised at how disappointed I was he hadn't called again. I punched Samantha's speed dial number.

"Susan! You're not going to believe what's going on here," she said without waiting for me to say hello. Her voice sounded excited, but it was a distressed excited. This wasn't like her. She was usually the calm one when things went wrong.

"What's going on? I have things to tell you, too," I said. I wanted to fill her in on Skinny Guy.

"Me first," she said. "The police have been all over the club. Jerry's uncle asked the coroner to do an autopsy, and you'll never guess what they found."

"Steroids!" I all but shouted. "I knew it!"

"They did find steroids, but that's not what killed him. He was poisoned!" she said dramatically.

"What! You're kidding. How was he poisoned? Who would poison Jerry?" I knew he didn't seem to have any friends, but why would anyone want to kill Jerry?

"The detective that's been at the club won't give out any details. I only know this much because Larry keeps hounding his cousin for information."

"Sam, did you and Larry discuss the man from Thursday nights?" I asked. "Did you ask Larry to tell Dick about him? I really think he might have something to do with this, or at least he might know something."

"We did talk about it," she said. "Everyone who spends time at the club has seen the man, but no one knows who he is. Jerry never talked to anybody about his personal life. Larry said the police know about him, but they haven't located him yet."

"Ok," I said. "You said they found steroids in his system, too?"

"Yes, but they've already searched his apartment and found that his steroid prescription was legally prescribed. I'll let you know if Larry finds out exactly what type of poison killed him, but that's all I know for now." She paused. "Tell me your news."

"Well, for starters, Darby is gay," I said with an incredulous edge to my voice.

"Knew it," she said calmly.

"You did not," I said. "How could you tell?"

"I don't know, it's a gift," she said, laughing. "I've seen him at your place enough times, and it was just subtle things he did or said. I've thought all along he was gay."

"I have no gaydar at all," I whined. "I've had other gay friends, but unless someone is over-the-top with their speech or mannerisms, I never have a clue."

"Don't worry about it," she said, still laughing. "It doesn't matter anyway. You two have a great friendship, and that's what counts."

"Oh my gosh," I moaned. "That's not all of it. There's Skinny Guy."

I proceeded to fill her in on all the Skinny Guy details including the recent, scary Edgar Allan Poe moment. I always hated that poem. It gave me the creeps when I first read it in the eighth grade, and it still gives me the creeps when I see snippets from the poem now. That's probably why I had such a fearful reaction when Skinny Guy was at the door. Maybe he was a jilted lover who wanted Darby to take him back. That would make sense. But why would he run us off the road? He could still be a jilted lover who wanted to kill Darby. I'd ask him about it when he got back.

Samantha and I finished our conversation. I had been pacing while we talked, but now, I sat down on my bed.

My heart raced as I punched Mick's speed dial number.
Chapter Seven

Awake at six o'clock, I was jogging on the beach by six thirty. The sun was just coming up over the horizon. Although the air was warm, it wasn't yet hot, and the humidity was still low. It felt good to use my muscles after the weakness from the heatstroke yesterday.

The beach was serene at this time of day. There were a few early birds hunting for shells. A man and woman held hands while strolling barefoot in the low surf. I noticed a group of joggers in the distance ahead of me.

Darby must have come in late last night. I had shut the door between our rooms when I turned my lights out at midnight and never heard a sound from him. My heart was heavy when I climbed into bed. I couldn't hold back tears. Mick didn't answer his phone when I called, and I didn't leave a message.

The ocean had a calming effect on me, and I could think more clearly in the fresh morning air. I would try again today to talk with him. My anger was gone, and I was missing him with an intense ache in my heart. Because I had run away instead of facing my troubles, I wasn't one hundred percent in vacation mode, and I longed to be back home. Back home in Mick's arms, if that were possible. I needed to know that I had nothing to do with his marriage breaking up. And what if his teenage son resented me for being in his father's life? We still needed to talk it all through.

I pulled up suddenly and stopped. What was that? I had just heard a loud, sharp crack to my right in the sea oats at the edge of the sand. I suddenly felt cold, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I looked across the grasses but didn't see anything obvious. There was no movement other than their gentle sway in the breeze. I looked around the beach and everything was as it should be. The events of yesterday must have set me more on edge than I realized.

Darby was right. I was acting paranoid. The joy of the jog was now gone. I took off my running shoes, tied them together by the laces, and slung them over my shoulder. I turned around and walked in the surf back to the hotel.

Darby was in the lobby reading a newspaper when I walked in.

"Hey, good morning, Sunshine," he said. "Want to join me for breakfast?"

I smiled. "Let me grab a quick shower, and I'll meet you in the restaurant."

I ran to catch the elevator.

Thirty minutes later, we were sitting down to pancakes, sausages, and orange juice.

"What did you do last night?" I asked with my mouth mostly full. "You came in late?"

"I did," he said, nodding and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I had dinner at the seafood bar next door and stayed for the duration." He smiled and shook his head. "There was a party in the back room, and the people at the table next to mine invited me to come along." He paused for effect before saying, "I came in second in the karaoke contest."

"Get out!" I squealed, shoving him on the arm. "I had no idea you were a singer."

"I'm not," he said, laughing. "The adult beverages were flowing. I think I almost won the whole darn thing because I kept adlibbing words to songs and making them about people at the party. It was fun."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to see it," I said. I tried to picture the scene. "I would bet you almost won the whole darn thing because you smiled that big smile of yours at everybody."

He turned his big smile on me and asked. "What did you do last night? Did you feel good enough to get out for a bite to eat?"

"Oh my gosh! I almost forgot to tell you. Skinny Guy knocked on your door. I swear, I completely freaked out."

"You're kidding?" he asked, puzzled. "What did he want?"

"How would I know?" I asked. "I didn't answer the door. I was scared out of my mind." I lowered my voice. "But, Darby, he wasn't creepy looking like I imagined he would be. He was actually kind of good looking, like a young Marlon Brando. Did you ever know or date someone like that? Maybe he had shorter hair when you knew him. Why would he be knocking at your door?"

"No," he said. "I'm sure I don't know him. I don't know why he would have been at my door."

"Think for a minute," I said, prodding him. "Could he have ever been at your apartment? There was something familiar about him."

"Absolutely not," he said adamantly. "You know I don't have many visitors, so I'm positive he's never been there. Susan, I don't know him," he insisted. "You saw his face here, or on the beach, or at the races, and you didn't realize you were looking at him"

"You're probably right," I said. I knew I needed to back off. I didn't want to push this too far and upset him. "But that doesn't take away from the fact that I still think he was the one who ran us off the road. And then to see him at your door..." My statement trailed off. "Something's up with him."

"I'll keep an eye out for him. I promise," he said without conviction. "What do you want to do today?"

I knew he was placating me, but I dropped the subject. "I think I'll take a break from the sun. If you don't mind, I'd like to do some shopping this morning, and then I want to check out a racquetball club I found in the phone book. It's just north of here a couple of miles. Do you have plans for the car? Should I take a cab?"

"You can take the car," he said and popped the last bite of a pancake into his mouth. "I'm going to spend most of my time at the hotel pool today. I want to check out the cabana boys."

My mouth fell open. I was surprised he shared his intention.

"I'm just kidding," he said, laughing. He pulled the car keys from his pocket. "I'll work on my tan, swim, drink pina coladas, and then maybe take advantage of some of the spa facilities."

"You can check out the cabana boys if you want," I said, putting the keys in my purse. "But save some of those big smiles for your date tomorrow night. What's his screen name anyway?"

"You know how cheesy screen names can be," he said. He fidgeted and looked down at his watch.

"Tell me," I insisted and shoved him on the arm again.

"Ok, but promise you won't laugh," he said.

I only half nodded.

"It's Purple Flamingo," he said.

I laughed loudly. "And you wanted to talk to a guy who thinks he's a purple flamingo because...?" I left the question hanging.

"No," he scoffed. "I wanted to talk to a guy who was discussing chicken marsala recipes on a food forum. He's actually an accomplished chef but decided cooking wasn't the career for him. As it turns out, he loves Florida nightlife and enjoys performing at the restaurant. I guess it's quite a gig."

We were finished eating. The waiter brought the bill for Darby to sign. We had agreed when we first arrived that we would charge everything to his room, and then work it all out when we were home again.

We left the restaurant and headed toward the elevators. He pushed the button for seven. "Have you called Mick yet?" he asked.

"I tried last night," I said with a shrug. "He didn't answer. I don't know if he deliberately ignored my call, or if he really wasn't available."

"I'm sure he was unavailable," Darby said sympathetically as he slipped his arm around my shoulder and gave me a light squeeze. "Don't read too much into it. If he calls, answer your phone. Otherwise, call him later."

"You're right," I said. "I'll do that. Will I see you for dinner this evening?"

"Of course. How about a pizza?" he asked. "There's a place over by the Yacht Club that was featured on _Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives_. Want to check it out?"

"Sounds great," I told him.

He stepped into the elevator. I gave him a little wave good-bye before the doors closed and said, "I'll see you later."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I was driving north on Gulf Boulevard, on my way to a small, elite shopping plaza in South Pasadena. I had every intention of giving my credit cards a healthy workout. The windows were up, the air conditioner was on full blast, and a top forty station was blaring on the radio. Traffic moved along at a good clip, but I was in no hurry and didn't feel like speeding. I sang along with the radio. Humph. I could have given Darby a run for his money at karaoke.

A green Ford Focus flew past me on the left, but I didn't see who was driving. My heart skipped a beat. Was that Skinny Guy again? I turned the radio down to concentrate on my driving and surroundings. A minute later, I saw what looked like another green Focus going past me in the opposite direction. Before I arrived at the plaza, another green car sped past. A girl talking on her cell phone was driving this one. My paranoia factor was running high.

I parked the rental car at the south end of the lot and went into the first boutique, _Rainforest Skins_. I was taken aback by the amount of lush, tropical plants in the small space. Interspersed throughout the plants were handbags and belts made from exotic skins. The belts were mostly snakeskin, but a hot pink crocodile belt caught my eye. It was thin with a gold buckle and would be a perfect accent for the ivory linen dress I bought last month. The price tag told me the belt was out of my league, but not by much. The clerk swiped my card, and I was on my way to the next shop.

Shopping always cured what ailed me. Tensions slipped away when I was spending money, especially on clothing and shoes. The reason I worked two jobs was to support my shopping habit. At least it was at first. I enjoyed working at the racquetball club so much, I would still work there even if I didn't want the extra money.

I stepped into the next small shop. The store specialized in Italian silk ties. There was very little decor outside of a few wooden accents. The lone male clerk behind the main counter fussed with merchandise in the case. He didn't smile and his demeanor was less than friendly.

"May I help you?" he asked.

He had actually raised his head and looked down his nose at me. His tone was snobbish. I found him to be a humorous character.

I smiled. "No, thank you. I'm just browsing."

"They always are," he muttered under his breath.

It crossed my mind that Mick always wore such handsome ties to work. He would surely love these beautiful silk ties. I picked out a pink tie with a faint Roman coin motif. If things didn't work out for Mick and me, I could always give the tie to my dad at Christmas.

I wanted to get something for Darby as a thank you for allowing me to crash his vacation, but I had never seen him wear a tie and didn't think he would appreciate one. I held up a purple tie with large paisleys. It reminded me of my newfound knowledge of Darby's gayness. I accidentally let out a chuckle-snort. The clerk threw his head up again and shot a look of disapproval my way. I set the purple tie down, handed the pink one to him, and said sweetly, "I'll take this one."

I passed on the bath and lotion shop, the home decor shop, and the men's shoe shop. I nearly squealed when I walked into the next shop, _Swimming In Heels_. Shoes and swimwear. I could spend a week in this store, and it was going to break the bank for sure.

Over an hour later, I had three shoeboxes stacked on the counter, but I wasn't leaving without a new swimsuit. My first choice was a scarlet suit with a bandeau top and hipster bottom. I almost felt naughty in it. The bandeau top was extremely flattering and had a pushup effect. Hours and hours of racquetball certainly paid off when it came to swimsuits. I happily placed the suit on top of the shoeboxes.

A two-piece terrycloth suit was my second choice. It was a light beige color, nearly matching my own skin tone. The top tied around my neck, and there was a terrycloth bow on the front. The bottom was also a hipster. I loved the simplicity of the suit and added it to the stack.

I looked at my watch. If I was going to have time to play racquetball, I was going to have to give the shopping a rest. My budget was screaming for me to stop anyway. I paid for my purchases and left the shop.

My arms were full, and I had to walk quite a distance back to the south end of the lot. I rounded a mini-van and could see the problem before I even walked up to the car. Four flat tires.

"Come on!" I yelled in exasperation.

I set my packages on the ground next to the car and leaned against the door. I knew without a doubt that Skinny Guy was responsible for this. But why? I called a cab for me, and I called the car rental agency for retrieval of the car.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Back in my hotel room, I looked over my purchases and was delighted all over again. There was no way I had enough room in my luggage to get all of this back home. The shoeboxes alone would take up half my suitcase. Maybe Darby had some extra room in his.

I packed my gym clothes and court shoes into a small folding bag that I had brought with me. I could rent a racquet and purchase balls at the club. As I looked around the room before leaving, my eye caught the pink tie one more time. I decided to try calling Mick again.

As it did before, my heart began to race as I punched his number. Negative thoughts poured into my mind. What if he didn't want to see me anymore? What if he wouldn't talk to me?

My call went straight to voicemail. I didn't leave a message.

I needed to shake this off. I knew if I hadn't run off to Florida, this would have been resolved by now. I needed to keep the guilt and angst at bay until I could talk with him.

I ran down the hallway to the elevator and hoped the second cab I had called today was still waiting for me.

It was, and I hopped in.

When we pulled into the parking lot at the Bay Racquet Club, I couldn't help noticing a green Focus in one of the parking spots. "For crying out loud," I muttered under my breath.

"Something wrong?" the cab driver asked.

"No, it's nothing," I told him. I paid the fare and gave him a generous tip. I didn't want him to think I had been muttering about him.

I walked into the lobby and was impressed by its size. The lobby in our club was small by comparison. Four courts, two on each side of the lobby, had glass back walls. Two of the glass courts had matches in progress. I could hear the echo of voices and balls being struck on the back courts.

A man wearing a club shirt and khaki slacks was working behind the desk. I walked up to the counter to speak with him and noticed his name tag. "Hi, Dale. I'm Susan Hunter," I said. "I called about getting some court time this afternoon. I was told you could arrange a couple of matches for me."

He nodded and looked over his appointment book. "Yep, you're scheduled for court number three in twenty minutes. There's no one on there now, so if you want to change and take some time to warm up, that would be ok. The ladies locker room is down the hallway to the right."

"Thanks," I told him with a smile. I started to walk toward the hallway but turned around and said, "I almost forgot. I need to rent a graphite racquet, and I'd like to buy a new can of balls."

He nodded and said, "They'll be here on the counter for you."

I changed into a pair of dark brown cotton shorts with a matching top. My white court shoes had my trademark pink laces in them. I stopped at the front desk to pick up the racquet and balls. Dale gave me a quick once-over with an appreciative look, handed the equipment to me, and said, "Your first match is with Ron. He's in the locker room changing. He'll be out in a few minutes."

I opened the door and stepped onto the court. I couldn't help myself. I smiled a huge smile. A little over a year ago, before I ever hit my first ball, before I had ever swung my first racquet, I fell in love with just stepping onto the court. There was something almost overwhelming about the experience from the walled space with high ceilings to the echo of everything – a ball bounce, a sneaker squeak, a voice. The sounds were much more intense when the action was underway. The cool air-conditioned court would soon feel overheated.

The feeling never went away, and it was there today. It was even more exciting to be playing in a new venue with a mystery opponent. I bounced the ball a few times. A new ball would make the match more interesting as it had its most zip right out of the can. I bounced the ball again and hit it into the front wall. It came back toward me, bounced once, and I hit it again into the front wall.

I continued to hit easy shots into the front wall, returning as many as I could. I sent up a few high ceiling shots to warm up my upper body and then moved into the service box to hit several serves along both sides of the court. I was feeling warm and almost ready for Ron. I tossed the ball into the back wall and set up for a low forehand shot into the right-front corner. I did the same thing facing the left side and set up for a backhand into the left-front corner. The shot was perfect and rolled out for an ace. I smiled.

Ron opened the door and stepped in. I almost gasped. Whoever set my match, set it with a Neanderthal. This guy was probably six three and nearly three hundred pounds. And the hair! It was sticking out from everywhere – literally.

I walked over to shake his hand. "Hi, Ron. I'm Susan. Thanks for agreeing to play with me. Do you want to trade shots to see who serves first?"

It was customary for both players to hit a simple shot from the back of the court to the front wall and have it bounce as close as possible to the short line of the service box. Whoever was closest to the line served first.

"No. You're a girl. You can serve first," he said.

Oh my gosh! This guy really was a Neanderthal. I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling him what I thought about his comment - and that he needed a good waxing.

We moved into position. I wanted to get a feel for how he played, so I sent the first serve easy into his forehand. He hit it hard and blasted it low into the front right corner. I couldn't return it, and the serve turned over to him. It was a good shot, and I thought this might be a good game.

I easily returned his serve and positioned myself in the center of the court. He ran to the ball on the right side, swung at it with all his might, and promptly drilled it into my right calf. The pain was almost unbearable.

Racquetballs can travel at speeds in excess of one hundred miles per hour when they're returned, and I'm pretty sure this big galoot put everything he had into that shot. I knew it was going to leave an ugly red-purple-blue splotch that would spread out like a spider. I walked around for a few moments and waited for the pain to subside.

"Hey, you hindered my shot," whined the Neanderthal.

"Oh, for crying out loud," I snapped. I put my hands on my hips and stared him down, or up as it were. "I was in the middle of the court, and I only have to give you a straight lane to the front wall."

He ignored me and moved to take his position in the service box. He called out the score, "One to nothin'."

I positioned myself for his serve. He hit the ball with all of his might into the front wall. The ball didn't make it past the service box. He had one more chance to get it to me before losing his serve. Once again, he hit the ball with everything he could muster. The ball came back, wrapped around the left corner, and came off the back wall. I had already run to that side of the court and set my position. I returned it low into the front wall. He couldn't reach it in time before it bounced and went past him.

There was no way I wanted to play this guy. He obviously wasn't a skilled player and wanted nothing more than to power the ball around the court. He was dangerous.

By now, a group of onlookers had gathered to watch. Perceived showoff or not, I was going to get this over with – quick.

I took my spot in the service box. My next two serves were aces into the back corners. The score – two to one. I sent high lob serves into each of the back corners. Two more points for me. Neanderthal man did manage to return a couple of serves, and we were able to play, but I knew not to get in front of him and had to run around him, taking most of my shots off the back wall. It didn't take too long, and the game was over fifteen to one. I was wearing his one and only point on my leg.

"Ok," he said. "Let's go again."

"Not today, Ron," I said. There was no way I was going to stay in a confined space with him. "I have another game coming up." I shook his hand.

Surprisingly, he opened the door for me. Go figure, there was a gentleman in there somewhere.

"You play pretty good for a girl," he said.

Never mind.

The group of people who had been watching the match gave a round of applause when we stepped out of the court. I smiled and looked down. I was sure I was blushing. An attractive, petite girl with red hair asked, "How did you ever get a backhand like that?"

It was the question I was asked the most. "I have a fabulous coach," I told her. "And it's really not that hard. There's a rhythm and timing to the movement." I went through the motions and showed her. "Practice it. It feels awkward at first, but once you have it, your backhand will be easier than your forehand."

"Thanks," she said. "That makes sense. I'll definitely work on it."

I walked up to the desk to talk to the clerk again. "Dale, who set that game up for me?" I couldn't completely hide my irritation. "That was painful in more ways than one."

He winced and said, "I saw. I'm really sorry."

"Do you have any class A or B players who would be willing to play a game?" I asked. There were still a lot of men who wouldn't play with a woman for fear of losing, so it wasn't always easy to get a match, especially with people who didn't know you.

I had been playing for just over a year now, so I was no longer eligible to be a novice. With Husky's help, I had moved quickly past class C, and was playing class B in league and at tournaments. I hoped to be playing class A before the end of the year.

"Let me get Frank for you," Dale said. "He's one of our better players, and you should have a good match with him."

An hour later, Frank and I were stepping off the court. The group watching us had swelled to a small crowd, and there was applause for both of us. Frank won the first game by two points, I took the second game by one, and Frank won the third game by one. We both played hard, smart, and had a great workout.

"You're going to be a pro someday, aren't you?" Frank asked with a big smile.

"I never thought about it," I said. "I don't think so. I just want to be as good as I can right now." I picked up my can of balls and my towel. "I'm signed up for our state tournament in Ohio this fall. It's my first time to play at that level, and I want to play as many good people as I can before I get there."

"I'm sure you'll do great," he assured me. "That's some impressive backhand you've got there. I don't think I would have won any games at all if I hadn't spotted your weak spot. You do know it's ceiling shots, right?"

"I know," I said with dismay. "I don't know why they twist me up so much. When I do get my racquet on them, my returned shot isn't placed very well. I have a coach who's working with me, so I'll eventually get them figured out." I took a quick glance at my calf. The ugly bruise was already starting to show.

"I saw what happened with Ron," he said, shaking his head. "That was unfortunate. There aren't too many people who will get on a court with him."

Swell. Now he tells me.

"Thanks for the workout," he continued. "I have to get going."

"I do, too. Thanks for being willing to play with a girl," I told him with a smile.

He winked at me.

I took a quick shower and changed clothes before calling a cab for a ride back to the hotel. After turning in the rented racquet and paying my bill, I sat down with a banana smoothie to wait for my ride. I was tired, but I felt exhilarated.

I remembered there had been a green Focus in the parking lot when I arrived. I looked around at the patrons in the lobby, but no one even remotely resembled Skinny Guy.

My taxi pulled up in front of the doors. I grabbed my bag and left the club feeling completely satisfied with the hard workout.
Chapter Eight

My heart was racing again.

I had just returned from playing racquetball. Darby wasn't in his room, and everything was quiet. I took advantage of the extra time to dial Mick's number.

He answered on the second ring. "Susan," he said softly, almost breathlessly, with tenderness and concern. "Where are you?"

"Mick." I couldn't say anything more. I didn't want to cry, and I had to take a few seconds to get my emotions in check. His voice made my knees weak. I sat down on the bed.

"I've been worried sick about you," he said. "Your car is in your carport, but you haven't been at your apartment or at work, and no one knows where you are."

Oops. I had forgotten about that. I swore Samantha and Angela to secrecy about my whereabouts. I didn't want anyone to know I had left the state, and I hadn't wanted anyone to tell Mick where I was.

"I'm in Florida," I said sheepishly. "With Darby," I said in an even smaller voice.

"What! You're in Florida!" He practically yelled it. "Why on earth would you be in Florida? And why are you with Darby?" The tenderness was gone, and I could hear exasperation in his voice.

His tone set me on edge, and I became defensive. "I'm on vacation. And don't forget, you lied to me. I was confused, and I wanted to get away."

I heard him sigh. "Why did Darby go with you?"

Was he jealous? If so, that was a good sign.

"He didn't come with me. He already had the trip planned," I told him. "I crashed his vacation. It's not like we're staying in the same room, and besides he's gay."

"Well, I know that," he said.

"Mick! You did _not_ know Darby was gay!" I screeched the words into the phone.

"I did, too. I thought everybody knew it," he said matter-of-factly.

"Well, I just found out," I said, my voice still raised. "And it seems that's the way things are going for me now. I'm always the last one to find out about everything – including your family."

"Susan." He let out a sigh. "Come home. We can talk about everything when you get here."

I hesitated before asking, "Could we please just talk now? I've had some time to think, and I'm ready to listen."

"Ok, but there really isn't much to tell." He paused for a few moments before speaking. "Jenny and I were married right out of high school, and she became pregnant right away. Our parents helped support us while I went to college, but I also worked part-time. It didn't take us long to realize we had made a mistake. I was never home, and Jenny resented having a baby so soon. She never resented our son, and she's a good mother, but she never had a chance to follow any of her dreams. The more success I had, the unhappier she became. Even when I tried to get her to go back to school or open a business, she no longer had any interest."

He paused again. I remained silent and waited.

"About two years ago, she finally got involved in the community theater over in Marshall, and she loved it. Acting was one of her dreams, and she was finally following one. She would never admit to it, and I never asked her about it, but I've been told that for the past year she's been pretty tight with some guy there. She approached me with the idea of getting a divorce. Now that Alex is fourteen and has his own activities and circle of friends, it seemed like the right time. We've been going separate ways for years."

Another pause. Was he done?

"And that's all of it, Susan," he said. "We filed for the divorce, and I moved out. I didn't expect to meet anyone new for a long time, but when I first saw you on the court that day, I was smitten by everything about you. You were feminine, yet you played hard. Your gym clothes were different from every other woman I saw in the club - right down to your pink laces. Everything about you seemed like fun, and it had been such a long time since I'd had any fun. I couldn't stop smiling. You were – you are – beautiful."

I couldn't talk. I didn't want him to know I had tears streaming down my face.

"Susan, really, this should have been over long before I ever met you. If Jenny didn't have the rental properties from her parents in New York, it would have been. I'm so sorry I hurt you. I can only hope you'll forgive me."

I wasn't yet ready to put my feelings into words. "Why didn't you return my calls?" I asked.

"I was on a job site over in Carnegie on Tuesday," he said. "Somehow my phone was left behind, and a courier just dropped it off for me about an hour ago. I saw you had called, so I knew you were alive, and I was relieved. I was going to try to call you again this evening."

My anger was gone, and I finally gave in. "I'm sorry I reacted like I did. I thought you were just another snake-in-the-grass cheater. When you first tried to explain, I think deep down I believed you, but it was too much to process. I needed to get away from you, so I ran off with Darby." I paused for a second to grab a tissue and wipe my nose. "We're flying out Saturday morning and should be home sometime in the afternoon."

"Alex has a school dance on Saturday night, and I'm chaperoning," he said. "I'm taking him to a baseball game Sunday afternoon, so let's get together Monday after work. We can talk some more, but I promise there are no more secrets."

"I'd like that," I told him. I hesitated for a moment. "Mick?"

"Hmm?"

"I miss you," I said softly.

"Susan," his voice was tender again, "you have no idea how much I miss you."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was seven o'clock. Darby had called earlier and asked me to meet him in the lobby at seven thirty.

After sprucing up my makeup and brushing out my hair, I chose to wear a pair of white Capri pants with a teal tank top. I finished the look with my new peacock peep-toe shoes. The shoes were super comfortable, but I was walking on air anyway after talking with Mick. How was I going to get through two more days of Florida before heading for home?

I left my room and took the elevator to the lobby. Darby was chatting with the desk clerk. I walked over to join them.

"Well, well, well," Darby said to me. "Imagine my surprise when I arrive here at the front desk, and I find there are keys waiting for me for a Taurus. What, pray tell, happened to the Fusion?"

Oh my gosh! That was hours ago, and I had completely forgotten about it.

"Four flat tires. That's what happened to it." I told him.

"Were you speeding again? Were the police chasing you? Did you run over a spike strip they put down to stop you?"

I knew he was teasing me.

"No to all of the above," I said, laughing. I pulled him by his arm off to the side of the desk and out of the clerk's hearing range. "Someone flattened the tires when I was shopping. It had to be Skinny Guy. Maybe he thought you had the car. I didn't feel threatened. It was more like someone was being a jerk and wanting to make life miserable." I pressed the issue with him again. "This really seems like a jilted lover. Or maybe he read one of your articles and you hit a nerve with him." I was suddenly excited. "That has to be it. What have you been writing about lately? What have you written that would make someone mad enough to want to hurt you?"

He thought for a moment and said, "Nothing. I really can't think of anything. I've mostly been doing marketing and web writing for Brendan's Wholesale Grocery. They're expanding west of the Mississippi, and they've kept me busy for the last six months. I'm sorry, Susan, I honestly don't know what he would want with me."

Still puzzled, we left the hotel and made the short drive to Pizza Pete's. The new rental was roomier and more comfortable than the last car. The windows were up and the air conditioner was on.

"What did you do today?" I asked.

"Actually," he said hesitating for a moment before plunging ahead, "I met Purple Flamingo a day early."

"Oh my gosh!" I squealed and shoved him on his arm. "Tell me all about him. Is he good looking? Did you hit it off? Was it love at first sight? Are we still going to watch him dance tomorrow?"

He was laughing. "Susan, stop. I'll fill you in on all the details over pizza. Let's just say it was interesting."

"Interesting is never good," I told him.

"Well, it might be. We'll see," he said. "Did you have fun shopping?"

"I did. I'll show you everything later. My shoes are new. Do you like them?" I asked.

"I do," he said with a bright smile. "They're cute."

"Anyway," I said, continuing with my story. "After the flat tires, I had to take a cab back to the hotel, and then another cab to the racquet club, and a green Focus was there, but no Skinny Guy, and I played a Neanderthal who drilled me in the leg with the ball, and by tomorrow it's going to be a really ugly bruise." I paused to catch my breath. "And that was my day."

"Well, it certainly wasn't boring," he said, laughing again as we pulled into the parking lot of Pizza Pete's.

The style of the building and the layout of the parking lot indicated this had been a soda stand at one time, probably complete with girls on roller skates to take your order.

We went inside and chose a table by the window. The decor was diner Italian. It was charming in a cheesy kind of way. A bulletin board featured news articles and photographs from when the Food Network crew had been here filming. We decided to order the pizza that was showcased on the show, the _Molto Bene_. It was topped with pesto, artichoke hearts, roasted red peppers, tomatoes, spinach and mozzarella. A glass of Chianti for each of us rounded out our order.

Our wine arrived within minutes, and we both sat back and relaxed. "Ok, let's have it" I said. "Tell me all about him. Did you guys share your real names?"

"We did," he said with a chuckle. "We talked earlier today to confirm our restaurant reservations for tomorrow night. He said he was free this afternoon, so I invited him over to hang out at the pool." He chuckled again and shook his head. "He's quite a character. More flamboyant than I'm used to, but he was fun. His real name is John Loudermilk. His friends call him Johnny."

"What did you guys do?" I asked with a big smile. I was enjoying Darby's obvious happiness.

"Well, it's always kind of awkward getting to know someone new, but it helped we've talked online so much. We lounged at the pool, drank mai tais, and talked for a while. He's really an intelligent and very interesting person. I enjoyed talking with him about his culinary school experience, and we have a lot of the same interests." He hung his head, shook it again, and then laughed. "But when a group of Vegas showgirls came out to the pool, he was all Purple Flamingo."

"Vegas showgirls?" I asked. "What are a group of Vegas showgirls doing in Florida?"

"Well, they're not really from Vegas," he explained. "They're six girls who were hired to be Vegas showgirl types for a convention in the hotel this weekend. They're here early for a couple days of vacation. And Johnny is all about putting on the show. He can turn on the drama queen with the snap of a finger." He laughed again before continuing with his story. "He corralled those girls into chairs surrounding us, and then they all talked show business - costumes, headdresses, routines, even makeup. The next thing I know, he has all six girls in the pool, and they want me to be the judge and choose the best Esther Williams. When they ended up with a dozen more people in the pool trying to do synchronized swimming, it was too much. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. I wish you could have seen it. He's crazy, but I think you'll like him."

"That sounds like it was a blast," I told him enviously. "I'm sorry I missed it."

I was looking forward to tomorrow night. I loved colorful people, and it sounded like Johnny was going to fit the bill nicely.

Our pizza arrived, and it was delicious. Over dinner, I filled Darby in on my conversation with Mick. He looked at me affectionately, covered my hand with his, and said, "I'm glad you two finally talked. I've always liked Mick, and I know things are going to work out for the two of you."
Chapter Nine

"Two more days," I said to no one in particular, but it sounded good to say it aloud. Two more days, and we would be on an airplane headed for home.

After a late morning brunch, we had decided to lounge by the pool. The area was fairly crowded, but there were no Vegas showgirls in sight today.

Darby had gone to the pool bar to get pina coladas for us, but he seemed to be waylaid at the moment, chatting with the bartender. They were probably reminiscing about yesterday's impromptu pool party.

The bruise on my leg was painful and ugly today. I had opted to wear my new beige terrycloth swimsuit. I didn't want to draw attention to myself or my leg by wearing the scarlet one.

I was reclining in my chaise, eyes closed, and once again mulling over the jumbled mess of events in my mind. So much had happened in five days.

Jerry's funeral was this morning. I was sorry I wasn't there. I still couldn't believe he had been poisoned and was dead. Did the police know who did it yet? Did they have any leads? My money was still on the man from Thursday nights. Mick had seen him a few times, too. Maybe he would remember something about him. I would have to ask him when we talked again. I made a mental note to call Samantha this afternoon and ask her if Larry had any more information from his cousin Dick about the case.

Darby finally arrived with the rum drinks. They were cold and refreshing, but I was hot.

"I'm baking in this sun," I told him as I stood from my chaise. "I'm going to take a quick dip. I'll be right back."

I heard him wince behind me and knew he was flinching at the bruise on my calf.

The water felt wonderful. I swam two laps with an easy sidestroke and climbed the ladder out of the pool. I raised my arms and hands to smooth my hair back and saw Darby looking my way with a huge smile on his face. I quickly looked down, but everything was where it should be. As I walked back to my chair, I noticed other people looking at me as well. Darby tossed a towel to me and said, "I see you bought a magic swimsuit."

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "What's a magic swimsuit?"

"Your suit. It seems to disappear when it's wet. You can see through it," he said, his huge grin still plastered on his face.

Oh my gosh! I was mortified. All those people staring at me. So much for not drawing attention to myself. I flopped down onto my chaise with the towel covering my suit. "How can a swimsuit be see-through?" I asked, not wanting to believe him. "That doesn't even make sense."

"It's faint, but you can definitely see through it," he said with assurance. He was obviously enjoying my predicament.

I could only surmise the suit was somewhat see-through because it wasn't fully lined. It occurred to me the designer hadn't actually intended for it to be worn in water.

I picked up my drink and said aloofly, "It'll dry soon enough, and I don't know any of these people anyway, so I'm not going to worry about it."

But I didn't remove the towel, and I knew my face was red from more than the sun.

Darby was still chuckling as he leaned back and sipped his drink. "Let me know when it's safe for you to get up. I didn't have a chance to check out the spa facilities yesterday, and we can do that this afternoon if you want."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

What was I going to wear? It had to be something special for dinner and for meeting Johnny. I had several outfits strewn across the bed. The only thing I was sure about was the new pair of sandals. I was trying to build an outfit around them.

It dawned on me that I should call Samantha to see how Jerry's funeral had gone. I could make a decision on what to wear afterward. I sat in a corner chair and punched her speed dial number. She answered right away.

"Hi, Susan. I'm glad you called," she said, talking fast. "I have a lot to tell you."

"Start with Jerry's funeral," I said. "Did very many people show up? Was the weather good? Did his uncle have a nice service?"

"He did," she said. "And the weather was beautiful. There weren't very many people there. Most of them were from the club but listen to this. The man from Thursday night was there, and when the service was over, the police were waiting to arrest him."

"I knew it!" I yelled, jumping out of my chair. "I knew he was behind Jerry's death somehow. I could feel it. What happened? Is he being charged with murder? Does Dick know?"

"He hasn't been able to find out anything yet," she said. "We were just so shocked when a police car showed up during the ceremony. The officers waited at the road by the hearse, and as soon as the funeral was over, they walked up to the man, talked to him for a few minutes, and then put him in the cruiser. They took off a few minutes later."

"Well, I'm glad," I said with satisfaction as I sat back down in the chair. "I feel better knowing he was arrested. Maybe we'll have some closure on this soon."

"I think so, too," she said. "Have you talked with Mick yet?"

"We talked yesterday," I said. "I think everything's going to be fine. He told me about his marriage and their divorce, and I understand better now. I won't be able to see him again until Monday night, but I think we'll be ok."

"That's really good news," she said. "What are you doing tonight?"

"We're going to Polynesian Treasure to have dinner and see a show. I get to meet Darby's online friend tonight." I looked at my watch. "And I'm going to be late if I don't get off the phone. I'll fill you in on all the details later."

"Ok," she said. "Talk to you soon."

I only had fifteen minutes to finish getting ready. I looked at the clothes on the bed. I grabbed the floral sundress. It had a retro sixties look and was one of my favorites.

Darby was ready long before I was and had gone to wait in the lobby. I stepped out of the elevator and saw him chatting and laughing with the same desk clerk from yesterday. He certainly had a gift for meeting new friends.

He saw me coming, let out a low whistle, and said, "Wow, you look fantastic." The desk clerk was grinning from ear to ear but didn't say anything.

"Thank you," I said twirling around once to give him the full effect of the dress. "You look pretty wonderful yourself."

He looked like he had just stepped out of the pages of Esquire Magazine in a white button-down shirt under a gray jacket. His light blue straight-leg jeans barely topped a pair of fabulous blue loafers. He had moved past adorable and was sexy hot tonight. He should have been on a runway in Milan.

It was a forty-five minute drive from the hotel to Polynesian Treasure in Tampa. We didn't feel the need to do any talking, so we relaxed and listened to a smooth jazz station.

The afternoon had been a lot of fun. We scheduled a couples massage and spent the entire time talking about food and cooking shows. Neither of us was a superior cook, but we weren't bad cooks either, and we enjoyed trying new ideas and recipes.

We laughed again about the day we got together in my kitchen to try out a shrimp scampi recipe with habanero peppers in the butter sauce. It turned out perfectly. We plated it over angel hair pasta. Darby poured accompanying glasses of a Sauvignon Blanc, and we sat down at the table with our mouths watering. The aroma was wonderful from the butter and peppers. Because we're not shy eaters, we both took huge bites - and nearly choked to death from the heat. We drank the entire bottle of wine, trying to put the fire out. A further inspection of what went wrong showed Darby had purchased Scotch bonnet peppers by mistake and used twice as many as the recipe called for. I've never seen a man's forehead produce so much sweat in such a short period of time. We both ended up tipsy from the wine and laughed all evening.

We always had good times in the kitchen together, and it was fun to remember some of them and plan future strategies. After the massages, we had facials and mani-pedis. It felt wonderful being pampered, and we both had a perfect glow to go along with our excitement in anticipation of the evening.

The soft sounds of the saxophone rendition of _If I Ain't Got You_ by Eric Darius filled the car. I loved the song, but it made me more aware of my homesickness. I broke our silence.

"Are you nervous about seeing Johnny again?"

"A little," he replied. "He'll be in his element tonight, so I'm sure I'll get more insight into his personality. I can only hope he doesn't think I'm too boring for him."

"You could never be too boring for anybody," I said. "You're one of the most interesting and fun people I know. You're never cranky, I've never seen you mad, and you enjoy life so much. What's not to love?" I gave him a little shove. "Besides, could you imagine two high-energy people together all the time? It would be like being on mega doses of caffeine and never coming down."

He laughed and said, "I know you're right, but Johnny is such a character. We'll see how it goes tonight."

We lapsed back into silence and enjoyed the ride and the music.

We pulled up to the front of the restaurant. Palm trees were abundant around the large building as well as luscious flowers and plants. A faux waterfall cascaded down the left side of the building. Tiki torches had been lit everywhere.

"Wow, look at this place." I said. "It's fantastic!"

"Johnny said we'd be surprised. There isn't anything else like it anywhere," he said.

We valet parked the car and walked up the wooden bridge to the entrance. Dark-haired girls wearing colorful, floral bandeau tops and sarongs greeted us. One of the girls offered an orchid to me to tuck into my hair. It had a sweet smell and was a lovely ivory color with a fuchsia center. It matched my sundress perfectly.

Darby grasped my hand to lead me through the doors and said with a big smile, "No one will want to watch the show tonight, because they'll all be looking at you." I blushed and lightly punched him on the arm.

We walked through the entrance into a large foyer. There were a few shops and a tiki bar to our left and a restaurant to our right. We were directed straight ahead into the main showroom.

It was larger than I expected. The lights were low and the stage was set with a Polynesian village theme. Tiki torches along the walls provided additional lighting to the room as did a candle on each table.

Darby turned to the maitre d' and said, "Two for Tapley."

"Yes," the maitre d' said as he checked his book. "Friends of Johnny's. He told me to be expecting you." He looked at me and put his hand on his chest, "Ahh, be still my heart. You are a vision."

Darby squeezed my hand and smiled. I could feel myself blushing again.

"Follow me," he said and proceeded to wind his way around tables until we reached a table for nine in the center of the room. We were the first to be seated at the table.

"These are fantastic seats," I said. I craned my neck to look around the room. "Where do you suppose Johnny is?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "But I expect he'll be out to see us soon."

He was fussing with his place setting, and I realized he was more nervous about seeing Johnny again than he was letting on.

"Don't worry," I said and leaned into him. "You guys had a great time yesterday, and I'm sure he's looking forward to seeing you again, too."

"I hope so," he said nervously. He moved his water glass to the other side of his dinner plate. "He has such an interesting background, and I really do think I'd like to get to know him better."

He settled down, and we both looked around the room. There were families with children, senior citizens, couples on dates - all ages appeared to be represented. There was even a bridal party in one corner of the room.

A waiter arrived to take our drink and dinner order. We both ordered a concoction of rums and juices served in a pineapple. I then ordered the Tahitian lobster, and Darby ordered char-crusted mahi mahi. We hoped it would be as fantastic as the menu described and the pictures looked.

The room was nearly full now, but there were still no other people at our table. Just as I was starting to think Johnny might not actually want to see Darby again, there was a commotion to the left of the stage. Six gorgeous girls, followed by an attractive, energetic guy, had come out from a side door and formed a conga line.

Darby let out a boisterous laugh, "That's Johnny. And those are the Vegas showgirls."

All seven of them wore Polynesian headdresses. Brightly colored makeup adorned their faces. They exaggerated their dance movements with hips swinging and pointed toes kicking. With every kick, they waved to the audience and threw their heads back. They made their way through the room to our table. The entire audience enjoyed the unexpected show and gave them a big round of applause.

Darby stood from the table, and Johnny rushed over to give him a big hug with air kisses beside both cheeks.

"Darby, it's sooo good to see you again. You remember my friends from your hotel pool." He waved around the table to all of the girls. "And this must be Susan." He came around behind Darby to my chair and clasped both of my hands in his. "Honey, you are divine," he said and leaned down to air kiss my cheeks.

"It's nice to meet you, Johnny," I said. I was still laughing from the conga dance. "That was quite an entrance."

"Dahling," he drawled. "It's all about the entrance." He waved his hands theatrically in the air. "I don't usually eat dinner on the nights I'm dancing, but tonight is a special occasion. All of my new friends are here, and we're going to celebrate." He snapped his fingers to attract the attention of our waiter. "Rum juleps all around. We're celebrating new friends tonight."

Johnny took his seat next to Darby and addressed the table, "I can't thank you all enough for coming. I meet a lot of people here at the restaurant, but the group of friends at this table is very special." He addressed the showgirls, "Ladies, I have enjoyed your company immensely these past two days. The Hilton Hotel has called and said poor Mr. McMasters will make a full recovery after the synchronized swimming accident yesterday." He paused as the girls golf clapped their approval. "And Busch Gardens has notified the police that the flamingo has been returned to Jambo Junction, and they won't be pressing charges against any of us." He fanned himself in a gesture of relief. The girls followed suit.

I gave Darby a puzzled look. He addressed my look with a slight shake of his head as if to say, " _Don't ask_."

The waiter arrived with the rum juleps. Johnny held up his glass and said, "I especially want to thank Darby for coming to visit me. It has been a pleasure, and I hope we will become very good friends indeed." He raised his glass higher. "A toast to you all."

We raised our glasses. I had never had a rum julep before. The drink was delicious.

Johnny leaned in front of Darby, reached over to touch me on the arm, and asked, "Are you enjoying Florida, Susan? I hear you are having some man troubles." He furrowed his brow. "If you need any advice, I can help you straighten that man right out."

I kicked Darby under the table for obviously telling Johnny about my man troubles, but I laughed at his earnestness, "I'm having a very good time, and I'm pretty sure my man troubles are over."

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, appearing to be shocked, "I hear you're both being stalked by Marlon Brando!" He practically whispered the name.

I kicked Darby under the table again. "Well, I've named him Skinny Guy, but his face does kind of remind me of a young Marlon Brando."

"Then Marlon Brando it is!" he exclaimed. "Oh!" He put his hand to his mouth and looked even more shocked. He turned to Darby, "You don't suppose he's one of your past lovers do you?"

Darby laughed. He was obviously enjoying Johnny's very effective drama queen.

I leaned over with my eyes wide and told Johnny, "That's what I said."

Darby laughed but put his hands out - one toward me and one toward Johnny. "Look, both of you. I'm positive I've never dated a skinny guy or Marlon Brando."

He was successful in putting an end to the topic.

We all settled back into our seats and allowed the evening to unfold. Dinner was fantastic. Everyone appeared to be delighted with their menu choices, and there would be no leftovers from this group.

I could tell Johnny and Darby were enjoying their conversation. I struck up my own with Vera, the girl seated next to me.

"How did you come up with a showgirl routine?" I asked.

She smiled and said, "All six of us were enrolled in cosmetology school in Minnesota. Most people don't know how expensive a good cosmetology school can be, and I needed some extra money. A local radio station sponsored a dance contest in Minneapolis, so I put an ad on the school bulletin board for girls who wanted to put together a routine and enter the contest with me. The prize was fifteen thousand dollars. These are the girls I chose." She waved her hand to the table of girls.

"That's so cool," I told her. I was truly impressed. "Did you win?"

"No, we didn't," she said, laughing. "But we were good. A talent scout was in the audience and approached us afterward to represent us."

"So you signed with him?" I asked.

"No," she said and laughed again. "We didn't. We were in school and didn't think it was a good idea to become beauty school dropouts. But we did enjoy dancing together, and having the scout want to represent us gave us the confidence we needed to put more routines together. Sasha there," she pointed two seats down to a stunning brunette, "put together the showgirl routine. Bunny over there," she pointed across the table to a petite blonde who gave us a little wave, "booked us for a dental convention with the Vegas routine. They paid us five thousand dollars."

"You're kidding," I exclaimed, doubly impressed.

"We were shocked," Vera said. "We started making more money on the weekends than what we were expecting to make in a week of working in a salon after graduating from beauty school. So," she shrugged her shoulders, "we became beauty school dropouts after all."

"Vera, that's a wonderful story," I said. "You were all so brave to take a risk and venture out into a new career."

"We make a good living, we travel all over the country, and we meet a lot of really nice people," she said, looking Johnny's way.

"That's what Darby says," I told her. "He likes to _travel and meet new people_." I picked up my purse and said, "Excuse me for a few minutes. The show is going to start soon, and I want to make a quick trip to the restroom."

I stood and turned around to make my way between the tables and back to the main foyer where the restrooms were located. I was nearly to the doorway when I froze in my tracks. Skinny Guy was standing in the doorway. He appeared to be scanning the room and would soon see me. I quickly turned around, and in a slightly hunched over manner, made my way back to our table.

"Darby! Darby!" I sat down and began pulling at his arm to get his attention. "Skinny Guy is here!"

"What?" yelped Johnny. "Marlon Brando is here? Oh dear." He waved his hands excitedly in front of his face and looked around the room.

"Are you sure?" Darby asked, frowning.

"Yes, I'm positive," I said. "Don't turn around. I saw him standing in the doorway. He was acting like he was looking for somebody."

"We have to get you out of here," Johnny said. "Let's come up with a plan. Girls!" He snapped his fingers and addressed the table. "We must escort Darby and Susan out of the dining room. Shall we revisit the conga line back to the dressing room? They can duck walk beside us, so Marlon Brando can't see them."

I could see the girls looking at each other with puzzled looks. Some were asking, "Marlon Brando?"

"We have a stalker," I told them. I looked at Darby and said, "I'm not duck walking."

He laughed. "You don't have to. We'll work it out."

He held my arm as we half stood and walked around the table in a hunched position. The girls stood to block us from the view of the doorway. Johnny announced in a loud voice, "Ladies and gentlemen. I hope you have enjoyed your dinner this evening. The show will be starting soon. These lovely ladies are going to escort me to my dressing room, and I will be dancing with fire for you shortly." He waved his hands in the air to all sections of the dining room and took his place behind Vera with his hands on her waist.

The room erupted into applause. The conga line was once again moving, and I was practically duck walking beside them. We were halfway to the door when my heel caught on the hem of my dress, and I pitched forward. Darby had a solid grip on my arm and kept me from falling to the floor. He steadied me, and we kept moving forward.

"I hate duck walking," I hissed at him.

"We're almost there," he managed to say. He could barely talk he was laughing so hard. "Just a couple more steps."

Bunny was at the head of the line. As soon as she opened the door, Darby and I bolted through and around the corner. Johnny was throwing kisses to the crowd as the girls headed back to the table to watch the show.

He came through the doorway and shut the door behind him. "I think I saw him!" he said excitedly. "He has long, curly hair."

"Yes, he does!" I said, mimicking his excitement. "Where did you see him?"

"He was watching from the opposite side of the room," he said. He stepped in front of us. "Come with me. You can hide out in our dressing room."

We hurried to the end of the hallway and into the small room. To the left was a wall of mirrors with bright round lights around them. Several director's chairs faced the mirrors. Opposite the mirrors were two sofas and two clothing racks. One rack was full of street clothes from the other dancers while the second rack had one lone costume hanging on it. At the end of the room was a closet overflowing with colorful costumes decorated with grasses and feathers. The floor of the closet was littered with numerous pairs of shoes.

Johnny looked out the door and said, "You can wait here until we're sure he's gone. The girls will watch the dining room for him to do anything suspicious."

He was talking in his normal voice. I'd only heard bits of it earlier when he was chatting with Darby over dinner. His voice was slightly deep, sexy even. He had short, jet black hair, and he was tanned, but he seemed a little soft around the middle for a dancer. Maybe he enjoyed eating as much as he enjoyed dancing. He was attractive, but most of his attraction was in his big personality.

"Make yourselves comfortable," he said as he pointed to one of the sofas. "I have to get ready for the show. Everyone else is already dressed and waiting in the staging area. I'll keep a watch out the door for your stalker."

He opened the door a crack to take another peek.

Darby and I sat down. I checked my dress and saw with dismay that my heel had ripped the hem. My favorite sundress, and it had cost a week of working at the club. Further inspection showed my heel had only pulled the stitching. The material itself wasn't torn, and I was relieved it could be repaired. I hated duck walking with even more passion now.

I didn't realize it, but while I was checking my dress, Johnny was undressing. He was in the process of taking off his trousers when I looked up from my hem. I felt myself turn beet red and turned my head so he could have some privacy, but not before I saw he was wearing a chartreuse thong.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry," he said when he saw me turn away from him. "We're so used to rushing and changing in front of everyone and anyone, I never gave it a thought you might be uncomfortable."

Darby was chuckling at my unease. I wanted to kick him again.

Johnny finished putting on his grass leggings and peeked out the door again. Suddenly, he was back in full drama queen mode.

"Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!" he wailed. He was half jumping, half flailing with his grasses and feathers flying around with him. "It's Marlon Brando, and he's coming this way. Quick, hide!"

Darby and I both jumped up at the same time. Johnny nearly tackled Darby as he shoved him into me with the forward momentum propelling us into the closet. Johnny slammed the doors shut behind us.

I was face-first in the closet with Darby behind me. He had his hands on my waist, attempting to steady me as I tried to find my footing around the jumbled pairs of shoes. "Why are these shoes in here anyway?" I whispered. "They didn't look like they belonged to any of the costumes."

"Shhh," he cautioned me.

I managed to turn around and on sound footing. Darby and I were nose to nose. The closet's wooden doors met and closed in the center. There were wood slats for ventilation, and a few were off kilter. We could just barely see some of the dressing room without putting our faces close to the doors, but we did see Skinny Guy walk into the room. I couldn't hold back a gasp, and the intake of breath partially sucked a feather into my mouth. Darby instantly clapped his hand over my mouth to keep me from making any noise. My eyes went wide. I had a feather in my mouth, and I wanted to bite Darby's hand so he would let go, but fear kept me perfectly still and quiet.

Johnny was applying his makeup. He kept his drama queen act going strong.

"Hi there," he said to Skinny Guy. "Who are you? You know, you shouldn't be back here. Are you looking for Jacqueline? She said some new talent might be coming in."

"Yeah," Skinny Guy said, pausing to look around. "Yeah, I'm looking for Jacqueline."

"Well, honey, she won't be back until tomorrow. You should come back then. Did anyone ever tell you that you look just like a young Marlon Brando?" Darby tightened his grip on my mouth. "You have a face for the stage. You should do some acting. Have you ever done any theater work before?"

"Maybe," Skinny Guy said warily.

"Well, I'll put in a good word for you with Jacqueline. Give me your name, and I'll tell her you were here."

Good for Johnny for trying to get his name.

"No, that's ok," Skinny Guy said, taking another look around. "I'll stop back tomorrow." He turned and walked out the door.

We all stood still for a few minutes, listening, waiting to see if he would come back. Johnny peeked out the door again.

Darby finally removed his hand, and I ended up spitting in his face trying to get the feather out of my mouth. Johnny opened the closet doors so fast, I lost my balance, stepped on jumbled shoes, and pitched out of the closet head first onto the floor.

"Oh, sweetie," Johnny said sounding shocked. "That's a terrible bruise you've got on your leg. How did you get that?"

Darby helped me up.

"Darby!" I yelled at him. "I had a feather in my mouth. Why did you put your hand over my mouth?" I was frustrated and my knees hurt. They would probably have rug burns on them from the fall.

"I was afraid you'd cough or make a noise - or spit all over me trying to get the feather out of your mouth!" he said with his own raised voice. It was obvious he was frustrated, too.

Johnny looked at me with a confused expression and asked, "Why in the world did you put a feather in your mouth?"

Darby and I stood staring and glaring at each other. The absurdity of the moment washed over us at the same time, and we burst out laughing.

"Johnny, we're going to have to leave," Darby told him. "I'm sorry we're going to miss your show, but neither of us has any idea why this guy is stalking me, and since we know he's here, we'd better not stick around."

"I understand," he said. "I'll call you later tonight, and maybe we can make plans for tomorrow. I'll show you the back way out of the building." He gave both of us air kisses and hugs, and we said our goodbyes.

We made our way to the valet stand and picked up the car. We headed to the interstate and started the drive back to Saint Petersburg.

"Did you at least have a little bit of fun tonight?" Darby asked.

"I had a really good time," I said. "And the girls were nice, too. Did you know they're beauty school dropouts?"

"Yep," he nodded. "I found out at the pool yesterday. Those are some smart women, and they've really marketed themselves well. They're part of a big musical show up in Toronto next weekend. I can't get over how much they get around." He shook his head in wonderment. He glanced over at me, paused, and asked the question that was uppermost on his mind, "What did you think of Johnny?"

"Oh my gosh! You're right. He's a real character," I said. "But I can see there's more to him than what he likes to show to the public. It's obvious he's a showman and loves a theatrical environment, but I'm guessing there's a quieter, more sensitive side to him, too."

"There is," he said. "And I like him, but there aren't any real sparks there. At least not yet. Tomorrow is our last day here, so I'm going to see him again and maybe get a better feel for what we're going to do."

We were quiet for a few minutes.

"Darby," I said breaking the silence. "We have to talk about this. What did you make of Skinny Guy being there tonight?"

"I don't know," he said. "It was unsettling. I'm sorry I yelled at you in the dressing room."

"I know. I'm sorry I yelled at you, too. It was just too much. The duck walking, ripping my dress, the feather, my knees – my poor knees," I whined. "And then seeing Skinny Guy. I was kind of over the edge."

"You know," he said looking over at me. "He does kind of look like a young Marlon Brando."

I punched him on the arm, but I couldn't help smiling.

We were quiet for the rest of the drive back to the hotel, but it was a different quiet than on the way over. We were both more nervous now about Skinny Guy than we had been before. He had followed Darby a long way tonight, and we still weren't any closer to finding out why.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two o'clock in the morning.

I was tossing and turning and couldn't sleep. It had been an eventful evening, and I was too amped up with too many thoughts rolling around in my head.

I tried to push them aside and think of something more soothing and relaxing. I thought about Mick. I missed him so much. I hated being homesick, and I felt like a child again, counting the days until I could go home. At least it was only one more day, or _two more sleeps_ was how I counted when I was little.

If only I could go to sleep.

I tried to think about Mick again and remembered a picnic we had taken in the city park. We held hands and walked along a shallow creek as it snaked its way through the park. There was a huge bank of lilac bushes near a footbridge to cross the creek. As we walked across the bridge, the smell of the lilacs was intense. The strong, pleasant odor of the flowers gave me a feeling of euphoria. I breathed in deeply and made a satisfying _uhm_ sound.

Mick was aware of my delight. He led us off the path and turned me to face him with my back against a tree. He leaned in and kissed me, gently at first, but then harder and with longing. I was overwhelmed by my feelings for him and returned the passionate kiss. The moment was perfect, but I was grateful we were in a public park and couldn't succumb to the urges that were going to put us in jail if we gave in to them right there.

He took me by the hand again, and we made our way back to our picnic spot. Everything about the day had been perfect. I settled onto our blanket while Mick unpacked our lunch. I had made fabulous chicken salad sandwiches with a hint of lemon, no bread crusts, and the edges rolled in crushed cashews.

Who knew bees would be attracted to chicken? So many bees.

Ok, that was a good memory with a bad ending. This wasn't helping me to sleep. I tried to think about our conversation yesterday. He missed me, and wanted to see me. That was good. He told me about his marriage. What did his wife look like? Ooh, what did his wife look like? I could find out if I really wanted to. He said she was involved in the community theater over in Marshall. I bet there was a picture of her there. Did I really want to see what she looked like?

Yes, I did.

I hopped out of bed, turned on the lights, and quickly changed into a t-shirt and jeans. I left my room and took the elevator to the lobby.

I didn't recognize the night clerk, and he didn't say anything to me as I walked across the stone floor to the small media center. I sat down at a computer and brought up a browser.

The Marshall Community Center had a nice website. They were currently showing _Suessical the Musical_. I wondered if they would be singing about green eggs and ham, or feet, or Thing One and Thing Two. I smiled. I loved Dr. Seuss as a child and thought this would be a fun production to see.

I didn't see any reference to Jenny Raines in the current show. I looked at past productions and found her name referenced in _Driving Miss Daisy_. I clicked on the cast picture and found her name right away. She was seated in the center of the first row. I was surprised. She was quite nondescript. There wasn't anything that made her stand out. She wasn't overly attractive, but she wasn't unattractive either. She looked like a nice person. I didn't know why I thought this was a good idea. It suddenly seemed like a terrible invasion of Mick's privacy.

I moved the cursor up to click the browser closed, but my eye caught a familiar sight on the page. Two rows back from Jenny, in my line of sight as I moved the cursor up the page, sat Skinny Guy.

My heart started to pound. I suddenly felt dizzy and cold.

Skinny Guy. He was from Ohio. He knew Jenny. My mind was out of control. Was this the guy she was tight with? He didn't know Darby. What was his name? I was so shaken, I couldn't match the captioned names with the faces in the picture. His name, his name, what was his name? There it was. Wicker Barnes. Wicker Barnes? Who names their kid Wicker? It had to be a stage name.

I was freezing. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I had to get back to my room - fast.

I ran to the elevator, jumped in, and repeatedly jammed the button for seven. I was shaking, and my teeth were chattering. The doors closed behind me. Why didn't I take the stairs? What if the elevator stopped on another floor and Wicker Barnes got on?

I was in a full-blown panic.

I ran to my room and slammed the door behind me. I ran to the door between our rooms, banged a couple of times, and threw the door open. I jumped onto Darby's bed and began shaking him. I didn't realize it at first, but I was crying.

"Susan. Susan, honey, calm down," he said gathering me into his arms. I was nearly rolled into a ball and shaking hard. "Susan, what is it? Tell me."

I was sobbing but managed to say, "I know who Skinny Guy is, and he's not after you, he's after me!"
Chapter Ten

Darby wrapped a blanket around me and held me close until I finally stopped shaking and had my crying under control. He got up and handed a box of tissues to me. I blew my nose – loudly.

"Can you talk about it now?" he asked.

I nodded my head.

"Start at the beginning," he said. "Why are you up at two thirty in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep," I told him. "I was thinking about everything that's happened this week, and I'm homesick, and I miss Mick, and," I hesitated and looked at him sheepishly, "and I thought I would run down to the lobby and get on a computer to see what his wife looks like."

"You're kidding, right?" he asked incredulously.

"Noooo," I replied slowly, embarrassed by my actions. "But Darby, she looked nice, and it didn't bother me to see her picture, and I realized I was being snoopy, so I went to close the page, and I saw Skinny Guy, Wicker Barnes." I rolled my eyes at the name. "He was in the same picture with her."

"Wicker Barnes?" he asked. "What kind of a name is Wicker? Are you sure it was the same guy?"

"I'm positive," I said emphatically. "I've seen him enough times now, I'd know him anywhere. The curly hair, the face, the build - it was him!" I was getting worked up again. "He doesn't know you. He knows Jenny. That means he probably knows who Mick is, and for some reason, he's after me. But I don't know why or what this could possibly mean."

"You know, Susan, we could just find him and ask him what he wants," he said.

That was typical Darby, always logical.

"No, we can't." I said and pleaded my case. "He ran us off the road on Tuesday. He wanted to hurt us. He's been following us. He gave me four flat tires. Talking to him isn't going to resolve this."

"Then we need to go to the police," he said.

"Oh my gosh, no!" I shrieked. "We're leaving Saturday morning, and I'm not getting involved with the police here. I don't want to risk being delayed for any reason. I'll call Mick in the morning and tell him about Wicker. Maybe he can find out what he's doing in Florida."

"I talked with Johnny this evening," he said. "The girls said they didn't see anyone acting strangely or looking around during the show, and he never saw Skinny Guy, well, Wicker Barnes, again either." He thought for a moment. "Johnny invited me to go out into the gulf tomorrow to do some fishing. Come with us. I don't want you to be here alone."

"No," I shook my head. "You go. I'll be fine in my room. I'll watch television, pack my bags, and get ready to leave."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You're welcome to come with us."

"Positive," I assured him. "I'll probably sleep anyway. I'll be ok."

Darby looked at the clock. It was three in the morning. "You might as well stay here with me. You'll be able to rest better. Try to get some sleep."

I nodded. I was still wrapped in Darby's blanket. I kicked off my shoes, settled myself on a pillow, and closed my eyes. He turned off the light and climbed under his own blanket.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The bed was rocking. Why was the bed rocking? I opened one eye and realized Darby was lightly shaking me.

"Susan... Susan... wake up," he said.

"What? What's wrong? What time is it?" I asked. I was still tired and felt groggy.

"It's eight o'clock. I was going to let you sleep longer, but your phone is in your room, and it's been ringing a lot the last hour. I thought you might want to know."

"I'm tired," I said. "I don't want to move."

My head hurt from crying so hard in the middle of the night.

"I'll get it for you," he said.

He walked into my room and retrieved the phone from the nightstand where I'd left it the day before. I remained half buried under the blanket and checked the phone. Six missed calls, all from Samantha. Something was definitely wrong.

I punched speed dial number two and hit the send button. I didn't even hear it ring, and she was there. And she was animated. "Susan, you have to come home. Things have changed here. The detective on Jerry's case wants to talk to you, and it's serious."

I sat straight up. She had my attention.

"What? Why? What did I do?" I asked.

"Detective Bentley was at my door early this morning. He wanted to know if I knew where you were. I had to tell him. I couldn't lie to him." She sounded unnerved. "I told him you were in Florida, and you would be back tomorrow. He said if I talked to you again, to tell you to come down to the station when you get home and have a talk with him."

"But why does he want to talk with me?" I asked. I was starting to freak out.

"Dick's been digging around all morning trying to find out what's going on, and, Susan," she paused for effect, "they know now what poisoned Jerry."

"What?" I asked. She didn't answer right away. "Tell me."

"A large dose of potassium chloride," she said. "It was given to him in apple juice. Dick said he's hearing that Jerry was taking more steroids than were prescribed for him, and the autopsy showed he already had an enlarged heart and some heart damage. The potassium chloride didn't kill him outright, but the overdose triggered the heart attack that did. Susan, you left a glass of apple juice for Jerry before you left Saturday night. Larry said Dick thinks you're a suspect in Jerry's murder."

I was stunned. "Sam, that's horrible. I had nothing to do with Jerry's death." I could see Darby's shocked look at my comment. "What about the man from Thursday nights? I thought they arrested him for Jerry's murder?"

"There's no information on him," she said. "Dick couldn't find anything about him at all."

"What should I do?" I asked. "We're flying home tomorrow morning. Are they going to arrest me when I get off the plane?" My voice was shaking. I was near tears.

"Don't panic," she said. "I don't think it's anything like that." I could tell she was trying to sound calmer. "The detective is talking to everyone who was at the club Saturday night. It's just unfortunate you left the apple juice for Jerry. They're setting up an interview center at the station today to talk with all of the people who were at the Cable Connect party. You aren't here, so the detective wants you to come in for your interview after you get home. Try not to worry too much about it. I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted you to know right away."

"Ok, Sam. Thanks," I told her. "I'll call you tomorrow."

I was sick to my stomach.

My mind began to whirl. I had to think. There was something about the party that night. What was it? The Cable Connect employees were a rowdy lot. They had kept me so busy, I hadn't paid attention to details. Could Wicker have been there? Maybe that was why he seemed familiar to me when I first saw him.

I pulled the blanket around me again. "Darby, I'm scared," I told him. "Jerry was poisoned with a glass of apple juice that I might have left for him. The police want to talk to me. I'm a suspect!"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," he said as he sat down beside me on the bed and put his arm around me. "Everyone knows you wouldn't hurt a fly. This has to be a big mistake."

"A Detective Bentley wants to talk to me when we get home tomorrow," I said. "I'll go see him right away, so he can see I have nothing to hide, but there isn't anything to tell him." I shook my head and thought about my pitiful story. "I didn't drink a glass of apple juice, so I told Jerry to drink it or throw it away, and then I left."

I needed to know if I had seen Wicker at the club on Saturday. I turned my sad eyes on Darby and said, "I need you to do something for me. Please? I really need you to do this."

"Anything," he said. "Just name it."

"Go down to the media center," I told him. "Go to the Marshall Community Theater website and look up Wicker Barnes. Check his bio and find out where he works."

"Ok, I can do that," he said and started for the door. "Why don't you order room service? We'll have breakfast before I leave to meet Johnny."

"What do you want?" I asked. "My stomach is flip flopping, and if you're going to be out on a boat, maybe we should eat light." I thought for a few seconds. "How about toast, fresh berries, and tea?"

"That's sounds great," he said. "I'll be right back."

It would be at least half an hour before room service arrived. I hopped into the shower in my room. The warm water felt good after the chills and shaking during the night. I braced myself against the wall, closed my eyes, and let the warm water fall over me. I didn't cry. I was cried out. I wished again that I could simply snap my fingers and be home in my own shower.

As I was finishing blow-drying my hair, Darby yelled over from his room, "Are you decent?"

"Yep. Come on over," I called back. I had already slipped into a pair of comfortable denim shorts, a cropped tie top, and a simple pair of espadrilles.

He came into my room. "It took me a little while to figure out navigating their site, and they really could use a better web writer to get the maximum value from their space," he said. I shot him a _hurry-up_ look. "But I finally found Wicker Barnes, and you're right, it's the same guy."

"Where does he work?"

"Cable Connect."

I nodded. "I knew that was what you would find, but I had to be sure."

We were interrupted by a knock at Darby's door. It was room service.

We sat at the small table in his room to eat our breakfast, but I didn't have an appetite. I sipped my tea and said, "Help me think this through. This is more serious than we first thought. What if the poison in the apple juice was meant for me? We were really busy that night, and I sent Sam to the back for towels. Our glasses were left unattended at least once that I can remember."

"And you think Wicker put the drug in your glass?" He seemed unsure.

"I do," I said as I nibbled on a piece of toast. "It's obvious now I'm his target, but why? Why would Jenny's boyfriend want to hurt me? Or kill me?" A worse thought popped into my head. "Would she be capable of asking someone to murder for her? But Mick said she was the one who asked for the divorce, so why would she want to hurt me?" I gave up. I shook my head, "I don't get it. She looked like a nice, normal person."

"I agree, none of this makes sense," he said. "I think you're right that there's a connection between all of you, but I can't see it either. Why Wicker is in Florida is the first question."

I started to tick off a list. "He tried to run us off the road, we know that for sure now. He followed us to the boat races, but nothing happened." I stopped and looked up at Darby with wide eyes. "Wait a minute. You went to get us a beer. Did anything happen when you bought the beers? Anything at all?"

"Not that I can think of," he said and began devouring the bowl of blueberries.

"Concentrate. Think harder," I encouraged him. "Where did you go to buy them?"

He thought for a moment. "The main concession stand was crowded, so I went to a cart vendor by the parking lot. Kids were running and playing in the area, and a few other people were milling around. I only had to wait on one person ahead of me before I could order." He paused to think some more. "One of the kids bumped me, but that was nothing. I-"

I interrupted, "Bumped you how? Why did the kid bump you?"

"It was nothing. Just bumping from running. Maybe they were playing tag." He concentrated on the memory. "I ordered our beers and nachos. The vendor put the beers on the counter, and as I was getting my wallet out of my pocket, one of the kids bumped me, and I dropped it. The vendor was getting our nachos at the time. I picked up my wallet, paid him, grabbed our stuff, and came back into the stands."

"Could Wicker have slipped the poison into one of the beers when you dropped your wallet? What if he was trying to poison me at the boat races?"

"But he wouldn't have known which beer you would drink," he said doubtfully.

"He doesn't look like the rocket scientist type," I said sarcastically. "He was probably just taking his chances. He doesn't know Jerry had a heart condition, so he still thinks what he put in the apple juice was a lethal dose. It wasn't, but it could have been enough to give me the symptoms I had that day."

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head again.

"Maybe that's why he drove past me so slowly when I was hanging onto the light post," I said. "He wanted to see if I was in distress and dying. He wouldn't care if I saw him because he knew I wouldn't live to identify him."

"I don't know, Susan," he said again. "It sounds far-fetched, but it also sounds like it could have happened. I know this much, we should call the police."

"No!" I looked at him with disbelief that he would suggest the police again. "Darby, I'm serious. I do not want to be involved with the police here. What if they run my name and find out I'm wanted for questioning in a murder investigation? They'll throw me in jail!" I was adamant. "We are _not_ calling the police."

"Then I won't take no for an answer," he said, standing up and staring me down. "You're coming with Johnny and me today and that's that. I'm not letting you out of my sight." He turned and pointed for me to go back to my room. "Pack a light bag with sunscreen, a hat, sunglasses, and whatever else you think you might need on a boat. Johnny said he'll bring seasick pills in case we need them." He looked at the clothes I was wearing. "And no fancy shoes. Put on your court shoes with the pink laces. They have rubber soles."

"I can't wear my court shoes on a boat," I protested. They'll get fish guts on them, and they'll get wet and be ruined."

Darby smiled, "There will be no fish guts, and you can get a new pair of shoes if they get ruined." I hated frowning, but I frowned now. My court shoes weren't cheap. "I'll buy you a new pair of shoes if they get fish guts on them," he said. "Go get ready. We're leaving in twenty minutes."

"Ok," I said. "But I have to call Mick first. It'll only take a couple of minutes. I have to ask him to try to find out why Wicker is here in Florida."

I went to my room to make the call. It went straight to voice mail. He was probably in a meeting or on a job site. I'd have to try him later.
Chapter Eleven

Johnny was waiting for us at the dock of the _Shark Trek_ when we arrived at Spanky's Marina. This wasn't a high-end marina. The wooden docks had seen better days and were desperately in need of a fresh coat of paint. Most of the boats were older, wooden styles, rather than the swanky fiberglass boats I had been expecting.

The _Shark Trek_ was a thirty-five foot wooden trawler that looked surprisingly like the boat that went down in the first _Jaws_ movie. I leaned in to Darby and softly sang the theme song to him, "duhn-DUHN... duhn-DUHN... duhn-DUHN, duhn-DUHN, duhn-DUHN."

"Oh, stop it," he said, but he couldn't help laughing.

Johnny was in high theater mode this morning. "Susan, dahling," he drawled. He gave me a big hug and air kisses next to my cheeks, "I'm so glad you could join us." He moved on to give Darby a hug with more air kisses.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," I said. "I've never been deep-sea fishing before. This is a first for me."

"It's very exciting when you catch the fish, and you will love the experience of being on the open sea. Shall we board?" He bowed and spread his hands and arms out to usher me onto the boat first. I laughed at his gallantry and stepped aboard.

Boating terminology was pretty much a foreign language to me, but I did know if I was standing on the deck facing the front of the boat, the front was forward, the back was aft, the left side was port, and the right side was starboard. The only reason I knew this much was from playing pirates with Dad when I was little. Right now, I just wanted to know where the life vests were.

"Let me introduce you to my good friend and captain of the _Shark Trek_ , Jorje," Johnny said as a short, slightly overweight man appeared on deck from inside the cabin. "Jorge is a cook at the restaurant, and his mother, God rest her soul, helped him to buy this boat before she died. Jorje is one of the best fishermen in the area, and today he is going to help us catch the big one."

"I see you're a Star Trek fan," I said to Captain Jorje, referencing the name of the boat. "Very creative."

The captain smiled and gave me the Vulcan salute. His smile was warm and friendly. He wore a large straw hat for protection, but his face had a leathery quality from overexposure to the sun. I guessed him to be in his mid-fifties.

He shook our hands and said, "We'll be outward bound in five minutes. This is my first mate, Ryan." He pointed to a young man who looked to be about eighteen years of age. "He'll show you how to use the equipment and take care of anything you need on our voyage."

I spoke up right away and asked, "Where are the life vests?"

Everyone laughed, but I was serious. I was secretly afraid of being on large bodies of water. I was a strong swimmer, but that experience was confined to local lakes and swimming pools. I watched enough Discovery Channel to know there were some sea creeps I didn't want to see up close. Moray eels and sea snakes made my skin crawl. Lionfish and stingrays were dangerous, and I certainly didn't want anybody to have to pee on me if I was stung by a jellyfish. And the sharks! I wasn't going to be eaten by a great white shark. I didn't know if the Gulf had all of these particular sea creeps, but I didn't want to find out either.

Ryan grinned and opened a cupboard. It was filled with vests. "You can wear one if you want to, but most people just set one on the deck. If anything happens, and you feel you need a vest, you can put it on then."

I grabbed two.

He showed us the fishing equipment, which was set up at the back of the boat. There were two swivel fishing chairs bolted to the deck. To sit in a chair, you straddled the fishing pole holder so the rod and reel were between your legs as you landed _the big one_. The reels were huge. Ryan told us each reel held ninety feet of line.

Johnny promptly sat down in one of the chairs.

We were finally ready to leave. Captain Jorje turned the engines over. I might not know much about boats, but thanks to my dad, I did know something about engines, and it sounded as if one of the engines had a miss. We pulled away from the dock.

It couldn't have been a more gorgeous day for going out into the Gulf. There was a small chop to the sparkling blue-green waters. The sun didn't feel hot at all with the breeze, and the light spray of the water was refreshing. It almost made me forget my troubles. I definitely felt more relaxed.

"Where's your hat?" Ryan asked.

"I didn't have one to bring," I said. "Do I need one?"

"If you don't want sunstroke, you do," he said.

Darby shot a look my way with raised eyebrows as if to say, " _See, you weren't wearing a hat at the boat races, and you got sunstroke_."

Ryan continued, "The air feels cool when the boat is moving, but the sun is just as strong as when you're on land."

He entered the cabin and came out a minute later with a white bucket hat with the words _Shark Trek_ embroidered across the front. Oh my gosh! It was a Gilligan hat! I was out for a three-hour tour with a skipper and his first mate, on a boat from _Jaws_ , with an engine that wasn't running properly. This was not good. I pulled the hat down on my head.

Darby couldn't control his laughter when seeing the look on my face, and the hat on my head. I ignored him.

"How far out do we have to go before we start fishing?" Johnny asked. He was comfortable and using his normal voice now.

"About twenty miles," Ryan said.

Darby settled into the chair next to Johnny, and they quickly became immersed in conversation. I stood at the rail and enjoyed the breeze. Ryan sidled up to me. "It's pretty out here, isn't it?"

"It is," I agreed with him. "I can see why people want to make a living on the water. Have you been with Captain Jorje a long time?"

"Only about six months," he said. "I worked on the Atlantic side on a couple different boats for two years, but when my family moved over here, I signed on with the _Shark Trek_."

"Which do you like better, the gulf or the ocean?" I asked.

"Oh, definitely the gulf," he said. "The waves aren't as high, there's hardly ever any pitching or rolling, and I don't have to worry anymore about The Bermuda Triangle."

"The Bermuda Triangle? Really?" I asked, surprised. "Were you ever in it?"

"No, but we were close sometimes. And I saw things that scared me out of my wits." His shudder was visible.

"Like what?" I asked

"Mostly strange lights, and the gauges on the boat would act weird. Sometimes, the radio would go out for no reason. I was scared the most on the day we saw two suns. We couldn't get back to shore fast enough on that day."

A chill went down my spine. I looked around to be sure the life vests were still on the deck where I had put them. The Bermuda Triangle gave me the same feeling sea creeps did, and I wanted nothing to do with it either.

It felt great to be out on the open water, but it was also unsettling. Such a large body of water, and we were on such a small vessel by comparison. I appreciated the beauty of the gulf, but I also knew it could be deadly.

Ryan went to get the bait for the fishing poles. I sat down on the built-in bench, put my elbows back on the rail, and relaxed with my face tilted to the sun. If I would have had a pillow, I probably would have gone to sleep.

The sound of the engines changed. I sat up and listened. One of the engines had either shut off or had stopped working. Ryan came out of the cabin with a bucket in hand.

"Engine's out again," he yelled up to Captain Jorje.

"I know," came down the captain's exasperated response.

"What's up with that, Ryan?" I asked. I couldn't keep my concern out of my voice.

"We've been having trouble with one of the engines for a little over a week now," he said. "The captain keeps fiddling with the timing, but I think it's just old, and we need a new one."

"Is that ok we only have one engine?" I asked. I started to hear the _Jaws_ theme in my head again.

"Sure. We can get back on one," Ryan said with a smile. "Nothing to worry about."

" _Easy for him to say_ , _"_ I thought.

It took exactly forty-five minutes to reach the spot Captain Jorje had chosen for us. He let the engine idle and came down from the bridge. "Let's get these poles in the water!" he said with enthusiasm.

"What are we fishing for?" I asked, caught up in his excitement. "Marlin? Ooh, I would love to see a swordfish!"

Captain Jorje frowned at me with disdain and said, "This is strictly a shark vessel. We're fishing for shark today."

My jaw dropped.

Ryan removed the lid from the bucket. It was full of bloody, cut up fish. Fish guts!

Darby swung around in his chair, gave me a big grin, and said, "Exciting, isn't it?"

"Whooo-eeee!" Johnny let out a whoop. He was the excited one. "Let's get one I can mount on my wall."

The captain and Ryan each baited a hook, cast a line, and set the poles into the holders on the chairs. Ryan used a scoop to throw the cut up fish, _the chum_ , into the water behind the boat. It was disgusting. Captain Jorje went to the bridge and pulled the boat several yards ahead of the chum.

Johnny and Darby were settled in their chairs, ready and waiting for sharks to take their bait.

They waited.

And they waited.

And they waited.

Today wasn't the day for sharks. We had been on the water for nearly two hours now. Most of my time had been spent sitting on the bench, daydreaming about seeing Mick again, and trying not to doze off. At the moment, I was standing at the rail, still enjoying the beauty of the day, and looking at what little activity there was on the water.

There were two other fishing boats in reasonably close proximity to ours. One appeared to be anchored, the other was moving away from us. There was one speedboat in the distance off the starboard side. There would probably be a lot more people on the water on weekends.

Johnny yanked me back to reality when he let out an exuberant, "We got us a big one!"

The line flew off the reel. Johnny was right. Something big had taken his bait and was running with it. Captain Jorje stayed at the helm to maneuver the boat, while Ryan was beside Johnny in a flash to assist him. Darby stood behind Johnny to give his own assistance with words of encouragement.

Me? I was slinking back to the doorway of the cabin. I was ready to bolt inside and shut the door. There was no way I was being eaten by a great white shark. I picked up one of the life vests and clutched it to my chest. I stood in the cabin doorway and watched the three guys try to reel in the monster.

It took about twenty minutes to wear the shark down and bring it up to the side of the boat. Captain Jorje came down to assist Ryan. Johnny had been serious about keeping and mounting the shark, so it had to be killed before bringing it aboard.

The captain produced a bang stick and explained that it was basically a shotgun shell on a stick. He used it on the shark, then he and Ryan used gaff hooks and rope to secure the shark while it was still in the water.

"Everybody stand back," yelled Ryan. "She's comin' aboard."

Johnny and Darby moved back to stand beside me. The captain and Ryan hoisted the shark onto the deck. It landed with a loud thud and a crack.

"She's just a little tiger shark," the captain said.

_A little one?_ The shark was taking up almost one whole side of the deck. Its tailfin was at the back of the boat. Its jaws were facing us.

"What do you think she weighs?" asked Johnny. He was all smiles. Darby kept clapping him on the back.

It had to be a guy thing, because I was completely horrified by it all.

"She looks to be about eight feet and probably three hundred pounds," said the captain.

This brought more cries of delight from Johnny and Darby. The captain addressed the three of us and said, "Now listen up. Even though this shark has been shot and is out of the water, she's still dangerous. She'll flop around for a while, and if you get in near her teeth, she'll bite ya. So watch your step."

There was a lot of water around the shark. Ryan moved it with the gaff hook, and we could see a board had splintered on the old deck when the shark landed. Water was coming in. Not a geyser, but it was coming in steady.

Johnny's drama queen was instantly back.

"Eeeeee!" he shrieked. "We're sinking! We're all gonna die!" He was hopping from one foot to the other with his hands flapping in front of his face.

I looked at Darby with my eyes wide. Panic was starting to well up inside me. It was one thing to have a life vest. It was another to know you might end up in the water with large amounts of chum calling for sharks like a siren.

Darby put his arm around me and spoke calmly, "It's going to be ok. We're not going to sink. These guys are experienced, and they'll know what to do."

Yep, that was Darby - logical and always the optimist.

"Don't panic anyone," Captain Jorge said. He shot Johnny a stern look. "I'll send a mayday just in case, but we'll head for shore right away. There's plenty of time to get back before this becomes a real problem."

The captain went to the bridge to use the radio. Ryan began bailing water from the back corner of the boat, while keeping one eye on the shark.

"Ryan!" the captain bellowed from up above. "Run down and check the fuses. The radio's out again."

"Eeeeee! We're sinking," Johnny shrieked. "The radio is out. We're all gonna die!" He ran, arms flapping, to the front of the boat.

Something in the air caught my attention. It was an emergency flare. It landed in the water behind the boat. Another landed in the water on the port side. Then another. The captain let a string of swear words fly from the bridge. Darby motioned for me to step inside the cabin out of harm's way. He ran up to the bridge to see what was happening. Ryan ran past me from the engine room and up to the bridge as well. The captain let loose with another string of swear words.

I stepped into the cabin. My eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, and I could see it was a small resting area and storage space with a table and banquette seating around the edges. There was an open doorway leading to a slightly lower area. I assumed it was the engine room.

I looked out the starboard window and saw that a speedboat had moved into a perpendicular position a short distance from our boat. Was this the same speedboat I had seen earlier? There was so much excitement with the shark, I hadn't noticed if the boat left the area or not. I couldn't see who was driving the boat, but I could guess who it was.

Another flare came from the speedboat. This one hit the port side of the deck wall and stuck. The old, neglected wood immediately began to burn. The boat was on fire.

Johnny's shrieks were much louder now, and they were mixed with crying. Darby yelled from the bridge, "Susan! Susan! Get up here!"

I wanted to put my life vest on. I looked for the armholes and quickly saw all the buckles were buckled, and I would have to undo them.

The boat shifted.

What was that? How could the boat shift? Fear mounted as I saw the fire was getting bigger. My fingers didn't want to work, and I accidentally dropped the vest. My feet wouldn't move. Darby yelled again, "Susan! Susan!" I could hear panic in his voice. I reached down and grabbed the vest.

I stopped for a second in the cabin doorway and saw that water was now pouring onto the deck below the fire. The back end of the boat was completely underwater now. I stepped out of the cabin and onto the wet deck just as the boat shifted yet again taking more of the back end under water. The movement set me off balance. I fell on my backside and began sliding fast, feet first toward the shark that was now half in and half out of the boat.

I let go of the vest and desperately tried to grab onto something, anything. My foot hit the head of the shark and it clamped its jaws down on the sole of my shoe. All I could see as I looked down were pink laces in its face. I screamed as loud as I could, but I could still hear Johnny screaming louder as the shark and I slid off the end of the boat and into the Gulf of Mexico.
Chapter Twelve

Racquetball is a strengthening sport. Your legs get stronger and your upper body gains strength. I had good strength for a girl. It served me well as the shark and I slid off the boat.

I managed to get a hand on the base of the fishing pole holder and gripped it with all my might. The falling dead weight of the shark, and my sudden stopping from grabbing the holder, jerked my arm hard, but I couldn't hold on and went underwater with the shark.

I had only been able to hang onto the rod holder for just a second, but that second of strength also caused enough force to jerk my foot out of my shoe. The shark slid into the depths of the gulf with the sole of my court shoe clamped firmly in its mouth.

I came to the surface gasping for air. Not because I had been under for very long, but from the sheer terror of the situation. The boat was a short distance in front of me. With the entire back end and almost all of the deck submerged, the fire was out now. I was able to swim to the edge of the boat and pull myself up along the wooden rail. Darby leaned down from the bridge to grab me and pull me up to him. Neither of us could speak. I had never seen him rattled before, but he was white as a ghost and definitely shaken. I was shivering uncontrollably as he wrapped his arms around me and held me close.

Johnny was still in the front of the boat and holding onto the railing to keep from sliding downward. It was the highest point on the boat now. He was still crying, and I heard the word mommy several times, but he was no longer shrieking.

The captain was leaning against the uppermost side of the cabin, his head in his hands. Ryan was ashen beside him.

We were all too quiet for what had just happened. Were we all in shock? Were we all going to die?

I looked at Darby and asked, "What happens now?" It came out as a whisper.

He pointed behind me. A couple hundred yards away was the only other boat on the water, a fishing boat, coming to rescue us.

Captain Jorje looked around at all of us and asked angrily, "Does anybody know who the s.o.b. with the flares was?"

Darby looked at me and slightly shook his head as if to say, " _Don't say anything_."

Johnny, still weeping, said in a barely audible voice, "Marlon Brando."

A short time later, the _Irish Wake_ pulled up alongside us. There were four men onboard and, go figure, they were all speaking Spanish. Darby helped me to board their boat first. Johnny was next, then Ryan, followed by Darby. Captain Jorje stood silently for a moment to say good-bye to the _Shark Trek_ before boarding the fishing boat.

One of the men handed a blanket to me. I was grateful to wrap it around myself and sit down. Darby and Johnny sat on either side of me. Captain Jorje was now talking with the men of _The Irish Wake_. Ryan stood beside him.

"Do you know what they're saying?" I asked.

"Nope," Darby said. "I never learned Spanish."

Johnny threw his hands up with a _don't look at me_ expression and said, "I only know enough to barely get by at the restaurant."

The conversation between the captain and the four men seemed intense, but the two captains eventually shook hands. Captain Jorje and Ryan walked back to us.

"Well," the captain said, "unless you folks have any reason to get the authorities involved, we're just going to let this go and pretend it never happened."

"Why?" Johnny asked incredulously. "Why wouldn't you notify the police?"

He hung his head and said, "I've already had a few safety violations in the past, and the insurance lapsed on the boat three months ago. I won't need a police report for insurance, and I think it would be better for me, and even for Ryan here, if we didn't get the police involved. The captain of this vessel has a few issues of his own, so he's in agreement. He's going to take us back to the marina, and we'll all go our separate ways." He paused for a moment before adding, "The _Shark Trek_ may have even been stolen, if you get my drift."

That was fine with all of us, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

When we parted at the dock, Johnny was subdued but tried valiantly to put on his drama queen.

"Susan, dahling," he said, "I thought I was going to pass out when I saw that shark chewing off your leg. I was sure we'd seen the last of you when the ocean swallowed you up." He air kissed me beside both cheeks. "I'm so glad you lived through the attack." He gave me an extra big bear hug. I knew he had been terrified through it all, and he was relieved I was safe. "You go back to the hotel and get some rest. I'll see you in the morning." He then hugged Darby, gave him air kisses, and walked off the dock. I think he may have started weeping again.

I still had the blanket from the _Irish Wake_ wrapped around me. My _Shark Trek_ bucket hat was long gone, and I was only wearing one shoe.

Darby looked me over, gave me a wry grin, and said, "I owe you a pair of shoes."

"You bet you owe me a pair of shoes," I told him.

"Come on," he said, putting his arm around me. "Let's get out of here. We'll get you dried out, get something to eat, and we can talk about what we're going to do about all this."

We walked up the dock and into the parking lot. Darby pulled the keys to the car out of his pocket and hit the fob to unlock the doors. We turned into the aisle where our car was parked and saw it right away. Four flat tires.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"What did Johnny mean when he said he would see me in the morning?"

I asked the question with my mouth full of one the best pizzas I had ever eaten.

We had been back to the hotel for a couple of hours now. After showering and attempting to pack my luggage, I realized we hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and I was starving. The desk clerk recommended we have a pie delivered from Branca Pizzeria, a little hole-in-the-wall joint a few miles away. It wasn't a pizza from Ohio - that was for sure. Wild mushrooms, ricotta, feta, parmesan, and fresh basil topped one of the best sauces I had ever eaten. It was fantastic. I reached for another slice.

"Johnny's been thinking about taking a few days off to go home and visit his mother, who coincidentally, lives in Cincinnati," Darby said. "So, he's flying back with us tomorrow to spend the weekend at my place, and then he'll drive to Cincinnati to see his mom. He can fly out from there when he's ready to come back to Florida. After what happened today, I'm sure he can use some time with family."

" _Couldn't we all_ ," I thought.

"Listen, Darby, about our flight," I said. "I'm going to fly out by myself early in the morning."

"Why?" he asked. "We already have our tickets. We'll be on our way home soon enough."

I shook my head. "I already called to get a flight out this evening, but there wasn't anything available."

I grabbed a third slice of pizza. I was inhaling this stuff.

Between bites, I told him, "Think about it. This psycho means business, and it's deadly business. I'm his target, and he's been with us every step of the way from the very first day in the restaurant. I don't want to risk being on an airplane with him. I booked a flight out at six in the morning, so I'll have to leave the hotel around four o'clock. I'll have a cab pick me up at the side entrance, and I'll be out of here and on my way before that nut job even knows I'm gone."

I contemplated one more slice of pizza when I was finished with this one, but decided against it.

"As soon as I get home, I'll talk with Detective Bentley and tell him everything I know, including what we know about Wicker Barnes, and that we think he's responsible for Jerry's death. He can surely put men at the airport to watch for him when he returns to Ohio."

"I don't like that you'll be traveling alone," he said, frowning.

"I'll be fine," I said. "Besides, after everything that's gone wrong here, I can't imagine anything on the airplane could be worse than this."

"Are you already packed?" he asked.

"Oh my gosh! I almost forgot. I don't have room for everything I bought." I looked at him with a hopeful look and asked, "Do you have any extra room for some shoeboxes?"

"Take my suitcase," he said with a laugh. He pulled the empty case out from his closet and set it by my door. "I'll put as much as I can in my carry-on, and I'll have Johnny bring another small bag for me for the rest. We'll work it out."

"Thank you," I said. I gave him a hug and suddenly felt very melancholy. "You're a good friend. You're my best friend." I felt tears start to well up in my eyes. "I'm sorry I ruined your vacation."

"Susan." He held me by both arms and looked into my eyes, "You didn't ruin my vacation. None of this has been your fault." He kissed me on my nose. "You're my best friend, too."

"Thanks," I said with a little sniffle. I turned to pick up his suitcase. "I want to call Mick and ask him about Wicker. I should do that now." I started to close the door between our rooms. "I'm exhausted, and since I have to be up at four, I think I'm going to go to bed after I call."

"I'll get up with you and help you with your luggage," he said. "I want to be sure you get off ok."

"No, I can manage," I told him. "I think I should be cautious and slip out alone. I'll text you when I get on the airplane. At least that way, you'll know I made it ok."

"That sounds good. I guess I'll see you at home tomorrow," he said.

"Bring Johnny over around five o'clock," I said. "If I'm not in jail, I'll make Reuben sandwiches for us."

He smiled and nodded. I closed the door between our rooms. I finished packing and sat down on the bed. As usual, my heart began to race.

Mick wasn't expecting me to call. We had agreed to talk on Monday, so I could only hope he would be available and could take my call.

He answered right away. "

Susan," he said softly. His voice had a quality to it that made me weak in the knees. It felt like I hadn't heard it in ages.

"Hi, Mick. How are you?" I tried to sound cheerful. I didn't want him to pick up on the concern or the intense fatigue I felt.

"I'm fantastic now that I hear your voice," he said.

I smiled. Did men get weak in their knees, too?

"I don't have a lot of time to talk, but I need to ask you about something. Or tell you about something." I was probably sounding melodramatic, but I didn't quite know how to approach the subject.

"Ok. What's up?" he asked. He sounded a little guarded.

"There's been a guy down here stalking Darby and me. His name is Wicker Barnes." I paused for a moment. "And Mick, he's involved over at the Marshall Community Theater."

"Stalking you? Are you sure?" he asked. "How do you know he's with the theater?"

"It's a long story, and I'll tell you about it when I get home, but for now, I need to ask you a favor."

"Ok, if I can," he said.

"Could you find out if Jenny knows Wicker? Wicker Barnes. And does she know why he's in Florida right now? This guy is definitely unbalanced." I paused again, unsure of how much I wanted to tell him. "He's flattened the tires on our car twice."

"Are you sure it was him?" he asked.

"Oh, we're sure. But Mick, find out if this is the guy she's been seeing. I know you might not want to do that, but something is really wrong here, and anything you can find out would help. He seems to have it out for me in particular."

"Has he hurt you? Has he touched you?" I could hear the alarm in his voice.

"No, I'm not hurt, and he hasn't touched me. But I think he could hurt me." I had to cut this short before I started telling him more than I wanted him to know right now. "I'm leaving early in the morning, so I'll be home tomorrow. I'm not anticipating any more problems while we're here, but if you find out anything over the weekend, please let me know."

"I'll see what I can find out, but be careful." He was quiet for a moment before saying, "I can't wait to see you again. Is Monday still ok?"

I smiled and said, "Monday will be wonderful."

I climbed into bed and went over the day's events in my mind. I had nearly lost my life today, but I didn't feel any anxiety over the horrific situation. It was all so surreal when it was happening, and it seemed so far away now. Maybe in a year, this would be one of those things Darby and I would laugh over. Maybe.

I settled down deeper into the pillows. Right now, all I cared about was that I would be home soon, and I would be home with Mick.
Chapter Thirteen

Sitting in my car again felt like a warm hug. I loved this car. My dad and Harold were like two little kids when they decided to restore old muscle cars. Mom had been after Dad for weeks after he retired to " _find something to do!"_ I think he was driving her crazy following her around the house.

Harold had a '68 Mustang in his garage and asked Dad to help him restore it. It only took a couple months to complete the work, and it turned out gorgeous. Harold drove that car around town as proud as a peacock in the driver's seat. When a man contacted him about restoring his Camaro, a restoration business was born.

Dad and Harold had a blast working on the cars, and they would only take on a project if they deemed the car to have muscle. When Dad came across the '67 Chevelle Super Sport in a junkyard, he had to have it, and the two of them restored it.

So, there was Harold driving the Mustang and Dad driving the Chevelle. We were worried they would start drag racing. The two cars could be seen together all over town, and they had a lot of fun showing them off. I was shocked and delighted when Dad gave the car to me last year for my twenty-seventh birthday.

I turned the key and smiled at the sound of the aggressive engine. I backed out of the carport. I had been home for almost two hours now. It was time to take care of some business.

My flight home had been completely uneventful. I didn't see anyone at all when I slipped out the side door of the hotel to the waiting cab, and I spent most of my time on the flight reading a book. After another cab ride home, I was ready to face the music with the police.

I was on my way to see Detective Bentley but decided to make a pit stop at the racquetball club first. I wanted to pick up my gym bag and take a quick look around. It was only noon, but maybe someone would be there who had some information on how the interviews had gone with the detective. Any heads-up I could get before going downtown would be helpful.

It was a little unsettling to pull up in front of the club. My heart was still heavy for Jerry and my inadvertent part in his death. If only I had pitched that glass of juice, but it wasn't the first time I'd left drinks for Jerry, or shared a drink with Samantha, or even drank from Husky's water bottle. We were a pretty relaxed bunch.

There was a new face behind the front desk today. She was an older woman, and there was definitely no athletic build on her. She looked like she could be anybody's plump grandmother, and I wouldn't be surprised if she had cookies behind the counter to give to me. I smiled at my own wit. I was just so happy to be home.

"Hi," I addressed her. "I'm Susan Hunter. I work here, too."

"Oh, Susan!" she exclaimed and ran around from behind the counter to give me a big hug. "I'm so happy to meet you. Stan and Louise have told me so much about you. Isn't it dreadful everything that's been happening around here? And I'm so sorry everyone thinks you murdered Jerry, but Stan and Louise know that's not true, and it's all a big mistake. I'm Sophie. What can I do for you, dear?"

Oh my gosh! I didn't know what to make of this whirling dervish. I couldn't get past the fact that she said everyone thought I murdered Jerry. Was that true? How did that rumor get started?

"It's nice to meet you, Sophie," I said with a smile. "I just stopped by to pick up my gym bag. I accidentally left it here last Saturday. It's probably in the office." I headed in that direction.

"Check the schedule while you're in there," she called after me. "Louise said you'll be closing tonight."

I almost didn't believe her. Why would Louise have scheduled me to work tonight? I just got home.

"Do you know why I'm working this weekend?" I asked. "Wasn't anybody else available?"

"We're terribly short-handed here," she said. "A couple of the day girls quit. They were awfully spooked by the murder. Louise said to tell you she's hired someone to close the club at night, but he can't start until Monday, so she put you on the schedule for tonight and tomorrow night. I was supposed to call you later today, but now that you're here, I just told you." She was all smiles and seemed very proud of herself.

My head was beginning to hurt. I mustered a smile and asked, "Will you be working here permanently, Sophie?"

"Oh, no. I work in the cafeteria over at Carbide Elementary. I'm off for the summer, of course, so I told Louise I'd fill in for her while she's short-handed. I must say, it's much easier working here than in the cafeteria, but the food isn't as good."

I went into the office, but didn't see my bag. I looked behind the desk, around the filing cabinet, even under a pile of stray towels. What were they doing in here? Things were definitely not as organized as they were a week ago. I finally found my bag shoved into the small storage closet. I almost missed it as it had been wedged between two boxes. I was slightly indignant. I hadn't had time to put the clean clothes in my locker, and they were surely wrinkled by now. I wouldn't have treated someone else's personal belongings like this. I glanced at the schedule and saw I was penciled in from nine o'clock until one in the morning. It was going to be a long night.

I said good-bye to Sophie, tossed my bag into the back seat of my car, and slipped behind the wheel. I pushed in the eight-track tape. The sounds of The Doors singing _Light My Fire_ filled the car. I loved that Dad had left a cache of eight-track tapes with music from 1967 in the center console. Hearing the raspy voice of Jim Morrison, singing to me, asking me to light his fire, made me smile, and he made Sophie and her non-cookies disappear.

It was time to stop dawdling and head downtown to see Detective Bentley.

The downtown area was only ten minutes from the club. Carbide City was founded in the mid-eighteen hundreds, and many of the buildings had been restored in the past fifty years. Some of the architecture was stunning. The Catholic church had been built in a black Victorian Gothic style. The exterior of the church was impressive with large stained glass windows, pointed arched openings, and intricate iron lacework. Many of the old buildings had Greek or Romanesque styles with American designs. One beautiful old farmhouse bordering on the downtown area had been a stop on the Underground Railroad. It was a lovely older town with a lot of rich history to offer if one took the time to look for it.

Because of urban sprawl and the shopping mall, I didn't get downtown as much as I used to. When I was younger, my mother and I would make a special day of it, coming downtown to shop the numerous stores and have lunch.

As I cruised into the downtown area, I felt nostalgic. I had taken a cue from Darby and rolled the windows down, making it easier to take in the familiar sights and sounds. It was hot today, but not nearly has hot and humid as it had been in Florida.

A sudden wave of unease swept over me, and even though I had nothing to hide, I realized I was exceptionally nervous about walking into the police station as a murder suspect. What if I never came out? I wished Darby were here with me to talk to the detective. He could help explain the events in Florida. Why didn't I think of that before? He and Johnny would be landing soon. Maybe I should come back later.

No. I wanted to get this over.

The police station didn't have a parking lot, and the spaces directly in front of the station were reserved for police cars. I ended up driving around the block a couple of times, waiting for a space to open across the street.

When one was available, I performed a fine job of parallel parking between a plain white delivery van and an SUV. I grabbed my purse, reached for the door handle, and stopped cold. Coming out of the coffee shop just ahead was the man who visited with Jerry on Thursday nights. He was wearing white pants and a white shirt. He wasn't smiling, and he kept his head down as he climbed into the delivery van. He pulled out into traffic.

I had to follow him.

My red Chevelle wasn't a good car for being discreet. I kept several cars between us, hoping I wouldn't draw his attention. Traffic was moving slowly through town, so it was easy to keep the white van in sight. He turned west onto Old Carbide Road and proceeded to head up over the viaduct into the oldest part of town.

This was not a seedy part of town, but the homes were older and hadn't been restored or even as well maintained as in other parts of town. Some of the lawns were manicured, while others were unkempt. The neighborhood was a mix of middle and lower middle class families.

The white van pulled into a small parking lot and drove around behind a yellow brick building. I drove past and turned around at a gas station. When I passed by the building again, I saw the van parked at the back. There was a sign on the front door indicating this was Ferguson's Bakery. A small _open_ sign hung below the name. I had been so intent on watching the van, I had missed both signs on my first pass.

I parked on the street a few yards up from the bakery and decided to go in. I still thought the man had something suspicious to do with Jerry - like drug dealing and supplying him with steroids. I'd go in and buy something while trying to look around.

The old building was cool inside, almost chilly. Two bakery cases displayed donuts, cakes, and cookies. Signs on the walls behind them announced prices and information about special orders. The lighting had an oddly yellow cast to it and gave the room a dingy feel, but upon closer inspection, it was obvious everything was spotless. To the right of the main case, a set of stairs led upward to a closed door. The entire wall to my right was lined with large boxes stacked ten high. I suspected the drugs the man was peddling were in some of the boxes. He was smart by hiding the evidence in plain sight.

There was no one in the room to serve customers. Granted, I was the only customer, but still, I was surprised there was no sign of a clerk.

I looked over the donuts and cakes. The cakes were beautifully and expertly decorated. The donuts looked light and airy. Even the cake donuts didn't look heavy. But what I was most interested in were the cookies. When I wanted something sweet, a cookie was my first choice.

The case held the typical varieties of chocolate chip, oatmeal, and molasses cookies. There were numerous types of brownies and a section of specialty cookies to include maple bacon, dipped macaroons, and lemon sandwiches. I don't know why I always took the time to look at all the cookies when my purchase was always the same – a half dozen snickerdoodles. My mom taught me to make them when I was six years old. My dad loved them and dipped them in his coffee. He always said I was his little cookie baker, and snickerdoodles have always been my favorite.

At least ten minutes had passed, and I was getting nervous. Maybe I shouldn't be here. Maybe they were closed, and someone forgot to take the sign down.

I was just about to leave when the door at the top of the stairs opened. I could see a much more brightly lit area behind the door and some activity indicating that the actual baking was taking place there. A small woman dressed in all white and a full apron walked down the stairs. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Have you been here long?"

"About ten minutes," I told her.

"I didn't hear the buzzer when you came in, but Jessie finally told me someone was at the cases." She pointed to a security camera. "After all these years, you'd think I'd watch the monitors more closely. Most of our customers are here early in the morning, so I don't tend to watch as well as I should after ten o'clock."

"I've lived here all my life," I told the woman. "I never realized a bakery was here. Have you been open long?"

"Almost two years now," she said. "This used to be a car parts shop. My husband is a baker at heart and always had a dream of opening a bakery. Two years ago, we took the plunge, opened this place, and things have been going pretty well. I'll tell my husband you didn't know about us. Maybe he should go back over his advertising plan."

I liked her. This was a woman who really was like anybody's grandmother, and she really did have the cookies. I completely forgot about the drugs in the boxes.

"Do you have a website?" I asked.

"We do, but it just has our name, location, hours, and a few words about our business. I don't know if we get much traffic from it or not."

"Let me leave a number with you," I said and dug through my purse for a piece of paper and a pen. I jotted down Darby's number. "I know someone who's a freelance writer. He's very good at web writing, and he can give you ideas for your site. He should be able to help you with some marketing ideas, too."

She folded the paper and put it in her apron. "I'll pass this on to my husband. Thank you. Did you see anything you'd like today?"

"Half a dozen snickerdoodles. I love them," I said with obvious delight.

"I love them, too," she said. "We use my grandmother's recipe, and the cookie melts in your mouth."

My mouth was watering as she opened a bag and picked up a pair of tongs. The door above the staircase opened again, and a man came through with a sheet cake in his arms. It was the man who visited Jerry.

I tried not to flinch or act as if anything was wrong. I suddenly remembered the drugs in the boxes and attempted to keep the smile on my face.

He set the cake down on top of the case, looked at me, and smiled. "Snickerdoodles, eh? They're kind of a lost cookie anymore, aren't they? Everybody wants the chocolate chip varieties and the fancy cookies, but give me an old-fashioned snickerdoodle any day." His smile faded and his brow furrowed as recognition came over his face. "I know you. You work up at the racquetball club, don't you?"

Should I keep smiling or not? My heart was pounding so hard, I was sure he could hear it. I kept the smile and said, "I do. I've seen you there, too."

"Dorothy, this lady worked with Jerry," he said with sadness in his voice.

"Oh my," she uttered and pressed her hand against her heart. I could see tears well up in her eyes. "That was the most terrible thing that happened. I'm still crying at night just thinking about that poor boy."

"Were you related to him?" I asked. "Did you know him well?"

"No, no one really knew Jerry," the man said. He wiped his hand on his apron and held it across the counter to shake mine. "I'm Jim Ferguson. This is my wife, Dorothy."

They seemed like such nice people, and I suddenly felt like I had been wrong about the sinister intent of the man and his drugs.

"I'm Susan Hunter. It's nice to meet both of you." I paused for only a moment before asking Jim, "How did you know Jerry? Why did you come to see him every week?"

"Jim found him a couple of years ago," Dorothy said, answering for her husband. "He was delivering mail at the time, and he kept seeing a teenage boy over by the abandoned steel office."

"I've been involved with Big Brothers for a number of years," Jim said. "I could tell this was a boy who needed some help. I suspected from his behavior he was on drugs. He was too old for the Big Brothers program, but I got a couple of the other men who are mentors to come with me and find out what we could do for him. To make a long story short, we found out he'd been alone for quite a while. His dad died when he was young, and his mom was a drug addict all his life. She abandoned him when he was sixteen."

I felt sick to my stomach. Jerry and I had seen each other often, but I had never known he had so little love in his life. I couldn't comprehend it.

"We all chipped in and helped to get him into a rehab program. When he came out, our friends, Stan and Louise, agreed to put him on nights over at the club."

I pressed on with a couple more questions. "You said he went through a rehab program? The police said he had steroids in his system – more than were legally prescribed. Did you know about that?"

"I suspected the steroids, but I didn't know for sure," Jim said. "As with any drug addict, you can only hope they won't relapse, but Jerry didn't go back to the hard drugs he was doing before. He wanted to enter powerlifting competitions, and he must have thought steroids were the way to go. I can only assume he was getting the extra pills from another weightlifter. It makes me sad to hear about the drugs, but I'm still glad we helped him."

We were all quiet for a moment. I had one more question. "What was in the package you brought every week?"

Jim's face lit up. "Snickerdoodles. Jerry loved them, and Dorothy made me take them to him every week. Plus, it gave me a chance to check in with him and see how he was doing or if he needed anything. Jerry didn't want anybody at the club to know I was bringing him cookies."

Dorothy chimed in. "He didn't want razzed from the other weight training guys about eating sugar, so I wrapped them in plain brown paper and tied the package with a string."

Cookies. I never would have guessed cookies.

We chatted for a few more minutes. Jim promised to give Darby a call, and I told Dorothy I would be back soon. I picked up my bag of snickerdoodles and left.

Back in my car, I sank into my seat, put my head back, and closed my eyes. Two tears slipped out, one from each eye. I wished I would have known more about Jerry when I was with him. Would it have made any difference? We go through life with so many people crossing our path, but what do we really know about them? And what would we do if we did know the details of their lives? I suddenly felt guilty about my irritation with lunch lady Sophie this morning at the club. I was going to do my best to get to know her better.

I looked at my watch. The day was passing. I absolutely had to go see Detective Bentley.
Chapter Fourteen

I parallel parked across from the police station again and promptly jaywalked across the street. I knew I was tempting fate. I certainly didn't need to add a jaywalking ticket to my speeding tickets.

The police station was in an old stone building that used to house the town's library. The developer had retained the high ceilings and marble columns during the renovation. My footsteps echoed as I made my way across the marble floor to the main desk. The desk officer looked up from his paperwork.

"Susan Hunter to see Detective Bentley," I said.

He nodded, picked up the telephone's handset, pushed a button, and simply said, "Susan Hunter." He looked at me with no expression and mumbled, "He'll be right out."

I stood by the desk and looked around. There weren't many people in the large lobby. A woman and child were sitting on a bench against one wall, and a policeman was making his way toward a water fountain. My heart began racing. No one had rushed out yet to handcuff me, but I could feel my chest tightening with anxiety, and it was getting harder to breathe.

"Susan Hunter?" a deep voice asked.

I turned to see a strikingly handsome man, probably in his late forties. He had smoldering blue-gray eyes, and his square cut jaw showed a deep cleft. He was casually dressed in jeans with a simple black pullover shirt and a light gray linen blazer with the sleeves pushed up. I had pictured him in my mind as more of a roly-poly, balding type with glasses. Being grilled by someone who looked like the leading man in a movie wasn't going to make this any easier. My palms were wet with nervous sweat.

"Yes?" I squeaked.

Wonderful. Now my voice wasn't going to work. I was pretty sure I saw laughter in his eyes and a suppressed smile, but I couldn't be certain.

"Detective Bentley," he said as he shook my sweaty hand. "Follow me." He turned and headed down a hallway off the main entrance.

We entered a small office, and he motioned for me to take a seat in the chair in front of the desk. He sat down on the edge of the desk, leaned down close to my face, and asked, "Where were you last Saturday night at twelve thirty in the morning?"

Oh my gosh! I nearly had a heart attack. I was sure he could see the fear in my eyes and hear my heart straining to get out of my chest. "I, I,..." I stammered. "I was at home. In bed."

"Were you alone?" He asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes. Yes. I was alone." I was near tears now. There would be no one to corroborate my story.

He stood up and laughed, "I'm just kidding you. You looked so scared I had to have a little fun with you." He walked around the desk and sat down, still chuckling. "Most people watch too much television and-"

"Come on," I said loudly, cutting him off. "That wasn't just a scare. You nearly gave me a heart attack. Really! I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest." I was mad.

"His eyes still held laughter, but he looked a tad remorseful, "Susan, let's cut right to the chase. You aren't a suspect in Jerry's murder."

"I'm not?" I asked as relief washed over me.

"No, you're not. At least not for now." He leaned back and put his feet up on his desk. "We know Dick has been telling your friend Larry some of what's going on with this case, but we leaked some of the information with the hope of finding out more."

He paused and put his feet back on the floor. He was serious and all business now. "When we found out the potassium chloride was put in a glass of apple juice, and a couple of the club members heard you tell Jerry he could have yours, we put you on our suspect list. But there's one person who was at the Cable Connect party that night who we haven't been able to find. He has a dubious past, and we're following leads for him right now. I just wanted to ask you if there was anything you remember about that night we might need to know." He leaned forward and looked at me intently. "Oh, and to tell you – don't leave town." He chuckled again.

Was this guy a charmer, a comedian, or a smart aleck? I was too worked up to figure it out, and I was sure I didn't care.

"Wicker Barnes," I said. "You're looking for Wicker Barnes."

With a stony look, he asked, "How did you know that?"

With my own stony look, I told him, "Because Wicker Barnes has been in Florida all week stalking me."

Detective Bentley had the good sense to look shocked.

After almost two hours, I had filled him in on all the details. He agreed with Darby that poison beer at the boat races was a stretch. He also pointed out that we never actually saw Wicker flatten any car tires, or run us off the road, or light the _Shark Trek_ on fire. However, he did say I made a compelling case against the guy, and he would put men at the airport right away.

I left the station and climbed back into the Chevelle. It was nearly four o'clock. Darby and Johnny would be at my apartment in an hour. If I drove fast, I would have time to make a quick stop at Martin's Deli for rye bread and corned beef. The sauerkraut I had bought last weekend would still be good, but I wasn't counting on the bread or the meat to have held up.

When I walked through the doorway, Martin greeted me with a somewhat baffled look.

"Susan, you surprised me when you pulled in. Where did you come from? Do you know the police are looking for you?"

"I just left the station a few minutes ago," I said. "I'm sorry I can't chat, Martin. I'm in a hurry. I'll take my usual." I moved toward the shelves to grab a loaf of rye.

"Why didn't they arrest you?" he asked. "Sherry said you murdered Jerry and skipped town."

I sighed. Sherry was one of the day shift girls who quit at the racquetball club because she was afraid to keep working there after Jerry's death. She must be the one spreading the rumors.

"Martin, I most certainly did not murder Jerry. The police have a suspect, and they'll have him in custody soon." I quickly thought about Martin's relationship with my father. "Have you been telling this story to other people?" I asked.

"A few," he said, looking embarrassed. "But I didn't tell your dad. I couldn't give him that kind of bad news. There was no way I could break his heart and tell him that giving you that beast of a car turned you into a murderer."

I almost smiled at that, but I didn't want to encourage him, and I was in a hurry. "Thanks, Martin, I appreciate it."

I tried to wait patiently while he wrapped my meat and cheese. I paid for my items and left the store.

A few minutes later, I pulled into the carport of my apartment building, grabbed my gym bag, snickerdoodle cookies, and the groceries and ran up the three flights of stairs.

I heated the oven right away and put the bread and corned beef in at the same time. The bread would crisp, and the meat would steam in a foil packet. That would give me fifteen minutes to grab a quick shower before both had to come out. I wanted to be ready for work at the club later, so my visit with Darby and Johnny wouldn't be cut short if they decided to stay for the evening.

After a quick blow-dry and a fresh swipe of mascara, I pulled on a club shirt and a pair of comfortable jeans. I was still physically fatigued from our vacation, so I wouldn't be wearing heels tonight. I went in search of a pair of tennis shoes. I would have worn my court shoes, but one was ruined, and the other was with a shark somewhere at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. I shuddered at the thought.

Where were my Nikes? They weren't in my closet, and I never put shoes under my bed. They had to be in my gym bag. I grabbed the bag from the floor where I had dropped it earlier and began pulling out the contents. I needed to change out the wrinkled clothing anyway. My shoes were in a zippered side pocket. I pulled them out, and a plastic baggie flipped out with them.

What was this? It had powder in it. The bag wasn't marked, and the powder had no odor. I wasn't going to taste it. I had a feeling I had already tasted it once, and the powder had been planted in my bag.

My mind began to race again. What if the police didn't find Wicker Barnes? What if they couldn't connect him to Jerry's murder? What if they searched my apartment and found the powder? Would it be enough to convict me? I didn't want to destroy evidence, but I needed to hide it for a while. At least until Wicker Barnes was found and charged. I definitely needed to get it out of my apartment.

The timer went off on the stove at the same time there was a knock at the door.

"Just a minute," I yelled. I shoved the baggie into my jeans pocket, jammed everything but my shoes back into the gym bag, and tossed it into the bedroom.

I took a couple of deep breaths to regain my composure and opened the door. It was Darby. He was alone, all smiles, and he had the bottle of Jack with him.

"Where's Johnny?" I asked and looked out into the hallway.

"He's not coming," he said matter-of-factly.

"You're kidding," I said. I couldn't contain my surprise. "What happened?"

"I'll save the details for over sandwiches," he said. He walked into the kitchen and set the bottle on the counter. "First, tell me how things went with the detective."

I pulled the bread and meat from the oven.

"He was a smart aleck," I said. "But for now, I'm not being considered as a suspect. He did tell me not to leave town though."

"Was he serious?" he asked.

"I don't know." I shrugged. "I think he might have been, but he did say he would look into Wicker Barnes. They know he was at the club last Saturday night, and they haven't been able to find him. He's still a suspect wanted for questioning."

"Did you tell him what we know?" he asked.

"I did," I said. "And even though I think he thought some of it was farfetched, he did think the overall picture I painted went along with what they knew about Wicker. They're going to step up efforts to track him down."

Darby smiled. I knew he was keeping something from me. "Did he give you any new information?" he asked.

"No. I told him everything I could think of, even Wicker's connection to Jenny, and that Mick and I were dating. He didn't know any of that, but he wouldn't tell me anything he knew. I suppose that's for the best. I don't need to be tracking down any more bad guys."

I made a quick assembly line of ingredients for the sandwiches.

Darby looked at me with some confusion and asked, "Have you been tracking down bad guys?"

"Oh my gosh! I almost forgot to tell you. I saw the man who visited Jerry on Thursdays. His real name is Jim, and I followed him, and he's not a bad guy." I slowed down, began slicing the bread, and said wistfully, "He's a really good guy. I feel bad that I thought he was behind Jerry's murder."

While I grilled the assembled sandwiches, I filled Darby in on Jerry's story. I told him how much I liked Dorothy and Jim, and I gave him a big smile when I said, "They need help with their website and marketing, so I gave them your number."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Don't worry," I told him. "I'll take you to meet them before they ever have a chance to call you. I'll be going back for more cookies anyway, and you can come with me. They're friends of Stan and Louise. You'll like them."

We sat down to eat.

"Now tell me what happened to Johnny," I insisted. "Did he change his mind about coming?"

"No, he didn't," he said with a chuckle. "We talked early this morning and decided he would pick me up at the hotel. We planned to go to the airport together. That way he could bring a bag for me to pack the rest of my clothes, and he could leave his car in long-term parking. It would be there for him then when he got back."

He took a couple of big bites of his sandwich and said with his mouth full, "You know, I never get tired of these. You do everything just right, but I think the Russian dressing you make puts them over the top." He followed the comment with a long drink of his raspberry iced tea.

"Darby, come on! Tell me what happened." I couldn't wait any longer. He was deliberately milking this.

He laughed and said, "Ok, hold your horses. It's coming. We made it to the airport just fine. There was nothing out of the ordinary and no sign of Wicker Barnes. Johnny was just Johnny this morning, and it was nice to be able to talk with him."

He took another bite of his sandwich and continued with his mouth mostly full, "We got on the airplane, stowed our carry-on bags, and sat down in our seats. I was by the window. Johnny took the aisle seat so he could stretch out. There wasn't anyone between us."

"Lucky you guys," I said.

He grinned and nodded.

"We thought the plane was completely boarded, and then guess who got on? Wicker Barnes."

"No way! You're kidding!" I shouted. I was truly shocked. "Were you afraid?"

"No, not afraid, but a little concerned. Johnny saw him right away, too, but he was subdued and didn't react. I think the boat and shark incident yesterday took quite a bit of theatrics out of him. At least it did for a while," he said, smiling again.

"Ok, then what?" I asked. I wanted to hear this story as fast as I could.

"We'd only been in the air about an hour when Wicker started walking up and down the aisle, looking at people. He went up and back, and then did it again. I put my head down, so I wouldn't make eye contact with him. I don't know if he recognized Johnny and me or not. He was most likely looking for you and had his sights set for a girl."

Even knowing the police were looking for him, I was still startled by what he was saying. How could Darby think this was humorous?

"About ten minutes later, he did it again – up and back, up and back. When he went for another pass, Johnny couldn't take it anymore. He stood and blocked Wicker's way. He put on an urban character persona I hadn't seen before and gave it to Wicker with both barrels." He stopped and smiled again.

"What? What?" I couldn't wait to hear this. "Tell me what he did!"

He laughed loudly before saying, "Johnny had one hand on his hip, and he was shaking his head back and forth. He snapped his fingers in a zee formation with the other hand and got right in Wicker's face." He leaned back in his chair to mimic the position Johnny had taken and talked in a high-pitched voice. "He said, 'What do you think you're doin' walkin' up and down this aisle every two minutes? You're makin' me nervous. Are you a terrorist? Are you tryin' to scare everyone? You need to take your seat and quit walkin' through here lookin' at everybody's faces. You might look like Marlon Brando, but I think you're a terrorist all up in here tryin' to scare everyone.'"

My mouth hung open. "He used the word terrorist on an airplane?" I asked.

"He sure did," he said, laughing harder. "Wicker pushed him and told him to get out of his way. Johnny pushed him back, did the head shake and zee thing with his fingers again, and said, 'Oh no, you didn't. You don't get to push me,' and they started throwing punches! People were screaming. The air marshal finally got in between them. The plane was diverted to Charlotte, and the police were waiting for them when we landed."

"Oh, Darby, that's horrible," I said. "Poor Johnny." I wasn't sure this was as humorous as Darby was making it out to be.

"Maybe _poor Johnny_ ," he acknowledged. "But he winked at me right before he was taken off the plane. I think once he tells his side of the story, and what he knows about Wicker Barnes, they might go easy on him."

"Do you think Johnny intended to get thrown off the plane?" I asked.

"I do," he said. "You didn't need Wicker coming back here to Ohio, and I think after the boat incident, Johnny wanted to put him in the hands of the police."

"I'm stunned," I said. "That was a stupid but brave thing to do."

I sat for a moment thinking of how Johnny had intervened for me. I hoped he wouldn't wind up in jail over this. I tried to picture him taking on Wicker on the airplane, and I had to admit, knowing how over-the-top Johnny could be, it probably had been very funny.

I looked at Darby. He was well into his second sandwich by now. "Now that the week is over, and you're home, do you have any thoughts about a relationship with him?" I asked.

"Yes," he said as he looked across the table to me. "But the answer is no. The sparks were never really there, and even though I like Johnny, his ability to put on different personas at the drop of a hat is kind of hard for me to deal with. I'd like someone who isn't quite so interesting."

"Well, you can travel some more and meet new people" I told him with a smile. "But I'm not going with you next time."

"As a matter of fact," he said, "I might go back to Saint Pete in a couple of months."

My mouth dropped open. "Why? Why on earth would you want to go back there?"

He smiled a big smile. His eyes twinkled. "Remember the afternoon desk clerk? His name is Nate, and there may have been a few sparks there."

We both burst out laughing.

We were done eating, and we were stuffed. We made fast work of the kitchen cleanup.

"Want to hang around and watch some television for a while?" I asked. "I'm working at the club tonight, but I don't have to go in until nine. You can work on the Jack, and I'll have a glass of wine."

We moved to the living room and settled into our usual spots on the sofa.
Chapter Fifteen

"I need an EMT unit at 4337 Ridgewood Drive for a head injury," I said.

When you put four men, who have been drinking beer, on a racquetball court, and give them hard racquets and balls, bad things happen. Especially when they aren't experienced players, and they decide it's a good idea to play doubles.

I was calling for help for one of the men. His opponent had cracked him upside the head with a racquet, and he was bleeding on court number one.

It wasn't common, but we did have occasional accidents at the club. The local EMT guys knew the address was Carbide Racquet & Fitness, and I didn't have to say anything more.

The door to the court was propped open, and I could hear the man who hit him saying, "I didn't mean it. It was an accident. Come on, Tom, I didn't hit you on purpose."

I let out a chuckle. It wasn't the first time someone thought they were hit by a racquet or ball on purpose. I had taken a quick look at the cut on his forehead before I called for the ambulance. It looked more like a glancing blow rather than a full-on hit. He would need a couple of stitches but would likely be fine.

The club was busy, and a crowd had gathered in the lobby to see what was going on. There was really nothing to see, but if it looks like it might be exciting, everyone wants to be in on it. I could hear the ambulance in the distance and knew the paramedics would be at the club shortly. I left the desk and asked the people nearest the door to make a path.

As Tom Decker was being loaded into the ambulance, he was promising his friends he would be back as soon as he got his stitches to " _kick your butts_."

I swear, it wasn't even fifteen minutes later when Janice Lockhart, back on court number eight, crashed her face into one of the walls. Her husband helped her to the lobby, and I gave her an ice pack.

"Did you black out? Are you dizzy? Do you want me to call an ambulance?" I asked her.

"No, no, Susan," she said. "I feel fine. I smacked into the wall with my cheekbone, and I think it will just be a black eye and a bruise."

"How did you fall?" I asked. "Did you trip?

Her husband piped up. "I've been teaching her to dive for balls."

I was aghast. "Janice, you don't practice diving for balls. That's so dangerous, and you could have been hurt much worse." I turned and admonished Mr. Lockhart. "Jack, you've watched a lot of matches, and you know full well the good players in this club rarely dive for balls. Even if you're able to return the shot, it's usually so weak it's an easy setup for your opponent." I sighed. "Teach Janice to play well, and you won't have to worry about diving for balls."

I turned back to Mrs. Lockhart. A guest of one of the club members was bending over her and applying something to her face. "What are you doing?" I asked him. I couldn't believe he had intervened and was touching her.

"Tiger balm," he said. "I've always got it in my bag. Never leave home without it. You crack something on the floor or a wall, you rub it with tiger balm, and you won't have pain or a bruise the next day."

I wanted to go outside and check for a full moon. It was still early, and a lot could happen before the night was over.

The group upstairs in the pub was getting louder by the minute. It was going to be a long couple of hours before I could go home and go to bed.

It was a huge relief when the rest of the evening turned out to be extremely enjoyable. Corey, one of the class A players in the club, parked on a stool at the counter for a couple of beers and chatted with me for over an hour. We talked strategy, and he gave me some good tips for the upcoming tournament in the fall.

Tom Decker didn't come back from the hospital. The Lockharts quit diving for balls for the evening. They had moseyed on up to the pub, and I heard Mrs. Lockhart's high-pitched laughter several times.

By midnight, all of the courts were empty. Members and guests were either showering in the locker rooms or drinking in the pub, where our bartender, Ron, would have everything under control no matter how rowdy it became.

I had some down time to lean against the counter and wait for locker keys and towels to start coming back in. I yawned. I was tired. It had been a long day. I hadn't even had time to call Samantha and fill her in on everything that had happened since we last talked. I would call her tomorrow. I couldn't help wondering if Mick found out anything about Wicker Barnes. Wicker. Thank goodness he was in Charlotte. I shook my head and smiled again thinking about that crazy Johnny.

Shortly before one o'clock, Ron began ushering members out of the pub and out the front door. I turned off all of the lights to the courts. Ron went back upstairs, but came down to the desk a few minutes later and said, "Everyone's out." He logged his hours on his time card. "I checked the men's locker room, too, and everything's clear. I turned off the sauna and the whirlpool, so you don't have to go up there if you don't want to."

"Thanks, Ron," I said. "I appreciate it."

"Do you want me to stick around until you're finished and walk out with you?" he asked.

"No thanks. I've got it," I said. "I already checked the back doors, and they're locked. I just need to make a pass through the women's locker room. I'll be fine."

"Ok," he said. "See you tomorrow."

Most of the time, I didn't mind being in the club alone. Sometimes I would lock the front doors and relax in the whirlpool or sauna before heading for home at two in the morning. But other times, the large, empty building gave me the creeps. Tonight was a creep night. It had been a creepy week.

Everyone was out of the women's locker room. I turned off the sauna and the whirlpool, turned out the lights, and went back to the lobby. In the office, I threw the main switch for all the club lights to include the parking lot lights. The only light remaining was from a few low-light emergency lights that dimly lit the lobby throughout the night.

I went behind the counter to get my purse. As I reached down into the cubby under the register, the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and a chill went through my body. I was certain I had just heard a court door. Usually the doors bang and make a loud echo when they close. This was a much softer version and was barely perceptible.

I picked up a rental racquet in case I needed a weapon and softly tiptoed to peek around the corner and peer down the darkened hallway. As best I could tell, there was no one there. I walked softly to the other side of the lobby and peered down the hallway to the second half of the courts. No one was there either.

I was probably feeling unnerved from everything that had happened this week. It was possible a door hadn't quite shut all the way, and in the quiet of the moment, I heard its final closing sound as it seated into the jamb. I relaxed my grip on the racquet and turned to go back to the desk for my purse.

My heart stopped. There, on the other side of the lobby, stood Wicker Barnes.

I wanted to be brave, but panic was coming on fast and felt overwhelming. I thought about bolting for an exit door and tried to gauge the distance between me and the front entrance. I knew he would overtake me before I could get out. I hoped I could hold my voice steady to conceal the terror I felt.

"What are you doing here?" I called over to him. "What do you want with me?"

He stepped toward me and said, "You had to ruin everything, didn't you? You just couldn't leave Mick alone, could you?" He spoke in dark, angry tones.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," I stammered, looking around to see somewhere to run to, somewhere to hide.

"If you wouldn't have come along, Mick wouldn't have left Jenny. If you had any morals at all, you wouldn't be sleeping with a married man."

Sleeping with a married man? We weren't sleeping together. And morals? Who was he to talk about morals? He was Jenny's boyfriend! But I had enough of my wits about me to not bring any of that up.

"You don't know what you're talking about," I told him as I positioned myself so that a table and lounging sofa were between us.

He took another step closer. I could see he had a racquet in his hand, too. I clenched the racquet I was holding tighter.

"Jenny and I were doing just fine with the way things were. Then you came along and took Mick away, and it ruined everything. I have to fix this," he said angrily. "I have to make this right again. You have to go."

He came running at me with the racquet raised above his head. He had a crazed look on his face. I couldn't believe this was happening. I felt as if I was in a bad movie with a crazy cable guy who might as well have a knife in his hand. He was going to carve me up with a racquet!

My panic was full-on now. I screamed and made a run for the main doors. I didn't even have a chance to open them before he tackled me. We hit the floor so hard, the wind came out of both of us, and our racquets went flying. I tried to get up, but I was only crawling away. He pulled me back, first by my legs, then my shirt, then my hair.

I was hyperventilating and gasping for air. I couldn't scream. I flipped over and wrested my hair from his grip. We were still on the floor but facing each other now. We both pushed up onto our knees at the same time. He reached out to grab me, and I started punching at him as fast as I could. I landed a blow to his mouth. That only served to fuel his anger, and the real battle began.

We slapped, scratched, and punched each other. It surely looked more like a catfight than a beating. One of us was going to wear out first, and I was determined it wasn't going to be me.

A thought popped into my head. It was fleeting, but I was able to grasp hold of it. Years ago, I had taken a personal safety class. The instructor told us that when you were on the ground, your best weapon was your feet, and kicking your assailant was the best thing you could do.

Survival instinct took over. I startled Wicker by quickly dropping onto my back and throwing my feet up. I began kicking him hard. After just a few kicks, I landed a shoe to his groin. He let out a howl. I knew I had hurt him, but instead of clutching himself and rolling around in agony as I expected, he was only disabled for a few seconds. He now seemed even more enraged.

I managed to get to my feet. I turned to run across the lobby and promptly tripped on my pink shoelaces. They had come undone from the kicking. I was propelled face first to the floor and was barely able to get my hands in front of me in time to keep from breaking my nose. I stood up again and looked behind me to see where Wicker was. I never saw the racquet that came crashing into the side of my head as Wicker swung it with all his might. I blacked out and crumpled to the floor.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There's a shark in the whirlpool, and he has pink shoelaces in his teeth. Why is there a shark in the whirlpool? I want my pink laces back, but if I try to take them, jaws there will attack me. Well, he can have them. I don't need a trademark anyway. I'll just turn the whirlpool off and get another trademark. But my head hurts, and I can't find the switch.

"Susan. Susan, sweetheart, can you hear me?"

I was coming to and moaning. My head hurt. I barely opened my eyes. I could see bright lights and lockers. I could hear a whirlpool. I had to be in the locker room. I closed my eyes again.

"Susan. The paramedics are on their way."

The voice was soft and far away. I realized I was on a hard floor, but someone was beside me, holding me. Strong arms holding me close against a solid chest. I forced my eyes open. I looked up into his beautiful hazel-green eyes. "Mick," was all I could whisper before passing out again.
Chapter Sixteen

My hair stuck out in all directions from the bandage wrapped around my head. I looked over my hands and arms. There were a multitude of scratches, and bruises were starting to form.

I was staring at myself in the restroom mirror of the hospital emergency room. The nurse who prepped me had been wonderful. She carefully sectioned and pinned my hair to expose the gash in my head. She cleaned it and did a minimal amount of shaving around the wound. She patted my hand, smiled, and said, "I have daughters. They never let me forget to be thoughtful about a patient's hair when I can."

The doctor arrived to stitch the wound. "You're a lucky girl," he said. "The racquet missed your temple by less than an inch. You could have had a much worse injury here. I'd like to keep you overnight for observation, so we–"

"No," I cut him off before he could say anymore. "I'm going home. I have a headache, but I feel fine, and I want to go home." He looked at me indecisively. "I promise I'll come back if anything changes."

"Well..." he stared at me for a moment and saw my steadfastness. "I'm advising you to stay, but I'll send the nurse in with forms for you to sign and a prescription for pain."

I was now in the restroom looking at my frighteningly thrashed appearance and waiting for a cab to arrive. My head was throbbing. The fatigue was overwhelming. The fight with Wicker had taken all my strength, and it was an effort to move. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. A few tears slipped out, but I had no energy to really cry. I thought I had seen Mick at the club before the ambulance arrived, but he wasn't here, so I must have been dreaming. I pushed the restroom door open and made my way to the emergency room lobby. Thankfully, the cab I had called was waiting.

The cabbie deposited me at the back door of my apartment building. It suddenly dawned on me I didn't have my purse. It was still at the club. I started to plead my case with the cab driver, promising to find him tomorrow and pay him, but he looked at my bandaged head and overall sorry state and said, "Forget it, lady. This one's on me."

Inside the building, I trudged up the three flights of stairs. My feet hit the top floor, and I looked up to see Mick sitting on the floor outside my door. He had his head in his hands

"Mick," I said, surprised but happy to see him. "What are you doing here?"

He jumped to his feet and rushed to me. He put his arms around me and pulled me close.

"Susan." He whispered my name as a sigh of relief. "I was so worried about you. Why did you leave the hospital?"

"I wanted to be home in my own bed," I said. It seemed like an eternity since I had slept in my own bed. "I just wanted to be home."

"Come on, let's get you inside," he said. He waited for my key. I pointed to the top of the doorframe.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked as he flashed the amused smile I had come to love.

It was embarrassing to admit to having a key on the doorframe. Who does that in this day and age? But I had locked myself out of my apartment enough times, that not only did I have a key on the doorframe, but Darby held a spare for me, too.

He unlocked the door, scooped me up into his arms, and carried me over the threshold. He gently placed me on the sofa and tucked a pillow behind my head before covering me with my grandmother's afghan. Once he knew I was comfortable, he went to the kitchen to put on a kettle for tea. This was Mick - always considerate, always caring.

I was grateful for the afghan. The apartment was cool from the air conditioning, and I felt cold from fatigue. It was four in the morning. I had been awake for twenty-four hours now. I sat quietly for several minutes while he was busy in the kitchen.

"Mick," I called softly. I had so many questions but didn't know where to start. I started with the obvious. "What happened at the club? How did you wind up there, and why was I in the locker room?"

He came in and sat down at the other end of the sofa. "Let me tell you the whole story. At least the part I know," he said.

I nodded.

"I had to run to a job site this morning, so I didn't have time to look into Wicker Barnes until this afternoon. I did a search, probably like you did, and saw his picture and bio with the Marshall Community Theater. But I kept searching. I wanted to see if I could find out anything more about him."

I nodded again. The kettle whistled.

He went back to the kitchen and made a cup of tea with honey for me. I sat up, pulled the afghan over my lap, and gratefully took the tea.

He sat down beside me and continued, "I found a news article about a guy named Ted Burns who was arrested three years ago in Indiana for swindling a woman out of her life's savings. It seems Ted had a bad gambling habit and a lot of gambling debts, so he worked out a scheme to use the local theater to find an unsuspecting woman to give him money. I think he only served jail time for a year. The reason this matters is because Ted Burns used a stage name when he performed."

"Wicker Barnes," I said.

"Yes," Mick said, nodding.

"Well, how does that story connect to Jenny?" I asked. "He kept telling me I ruined everything, and I took you away from her. He wanted to fix things and make it right. What was that all about?"

"I didn't know at first," he said. "All I could find out was that they had performed together in a couple of plays, and the rumors about Jenny seeing someone romantically, well, she was obviously seeing Wicker. I knew I had to ask her about him. Do you remember I told you I was a chaperone at Alex's school dance tonight?"

I nodded.

"Jenny dropped him off at school before I got there, so when I took him home around eleven, I went in to have a talk with her. I asked her about Wicker. At first, she was defensive and didn't want to say anything, but I grabbed Alex's laptop and showed her the news article about him. She broke down then and told me everything."

He stood up. There was sadness to his demeanor and a look I didn't understand. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what he was going to tell me.

"Mick," I said, stopping him. "You don't have to tell me any of this. If it's too personal-"

He cut me off and said, "No. No. It's not too personal. I just wish I would have known about this sooner, or that I would have paid more attention. I might have seen it coming." He began pacing. "Jenny said Wicker gave her a lot of attention. He was nice to her. He helped her with her lines and gave her acting tips. They really hit it off."

I could see his discomfort. Was he jealous of Wicker hitting on his soon-to-be ex-wife? I felt uncomfortable.

"We aren't wealthy, Susan, but you know I make a good living. Most of my focus is on work, so Jenny pays the bills, and I don't pay much attention to the money. Everything is always taken care of, everyone has what they need, and I've never worried about how she handles our finances. I look over my investment portfolio from time to time, and I see she's depositing the money I ask her to, and that's that."

He went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. "Jenny has rental properties in New York. I told you about that," he said. "A management company takes care of everything for her, and she gets a pretty healthy check each month from rents. I know she puts some of the money into our college fund for Alex, but it's also her mad money."

He took a couple of swigs from the water bottle. I didn't want to break his thought process, so I remained quiet.

He spoke as though it pained him to say the words. "Wicker eventually talked her into giving him money - money for a better apartment, money for a better car, money for acting lessons. He told her he had connections on Broadway. In return, he would continue to help her and share his theater knowledge with her. She didn't have any idea the money was going for gambling and gambling debts." He looked at me and asked, "Are women really that gullible? Do women really give men money just so they will pay attention to them?"

"I don't know, Mick," I told him sympathetically. "I'm sure most women don't, but you do read about it online all the time."

"She admitted to giving him thousands of dollars. Almost all of the New York rent money for the last eight months has gone to Wicker. Last Saturday she gave him another three thousand dollars." I could see his jaw set in a tight line. "She's given him money from my paycheck." He shook his head in disbelief. "Because we're getting divorced, she's selling the New York properties and putting most of the proceeds into a trust for Alex. She also won't have access to my salary after the divorce, so she let Wicker know that very soon she wasn't going to have any extra money for him."

It was starting to make sense to me now. By Mick and Jenny divorcing, Wicker's goose that was laying golden eggs was drying up. If he could keep them together, he could keep the money coming in, and he was desperate to do that.

"I finally asked her where he was," he said. "She said she didn't know. She hadn't heard from him since she gave him the check last Saturday." He sat down beside me again. "I knew right then what you told me about seeing him in Florida had to be true, and I knew you were right about being in danger. Serious danger. I called the police, and they put me in touch with Detective Bentley. It wasn't easy to get him at midnight, but I was persistent. I finally talked him into taking a few officers and going to your apartment, but when we arrived, you weren't here."

"How did you find out I was working at the club?" I asked.

"Darby stuck his head out to see who was banging on your door. He told us you were closing tonight. He wanted to come along, but Detective Bentley told him if he saw his face at all, he would have him arrested for obstruction of justice."

I couldn't help smiling a little. Poor Darby.

Mick continued, "It was after one when we got to the club. Everything was dark - even the parking lot. But I could see your car, and it has four flat tires."

I rolled my eyes. Nothing would surprise me now.

"The front door was unlocked, and the officers went in first. Detective Bentley was threatening to arrest me if I didn't stay outside, but there was no way I wasn't going in. One of the officers found the switch for the lights, and Susan, my heart stopped. We could see where the two of you had struggled. A couple of chairs were turned over, one of the sofas was shoved up against another, and there was blood on the floor."

He stopped and took one of my hands in both of his. His voice caught in his throat from emotion. He coughed before saying, "There wasn't much blood in the hallway, but there was enough to know someone had been dragged to the women's locker room. I had to wait outside the door while the officers went in with guns drawn. The detective said they were able to surprise Wicker. He had turned on the whirlpool, and it kept him from hearing the men when they entered the room. He was holding your ankles and preparing to _fix everything_ by drowning you in the whirlpool."

He closed his eyes for a moment as if to shut out the image. "Once they had him in cuffs, they couldn't keep me away from you." His look was intense, yet there was tenderness in his eyes. "I was so grateful you were alive. I couldn't believe I almost lost you – when I just found you." He reached over and gently brushed my cheek with his fingertips.

"If you were at the club, why didn't you come to the hospital?" I asked.

"I did," he said. "By the time I got there, they had already taken you back to stitch you up. A nurse told me they would be keeping you overnight for observation, and she said she would let me know when you were in a room. I went down to the coffee shop for a cup of coffee. When I went back to emergency to ask for your room number, they told me you went home. I rushed right over, but you weren't here. I didn't know what to think."

I smiled and said, "The cab took forever to come, and I was in the restroom for a while, checking out my head bandage and my scratches and bruises. We must have just missed each other."

"There's more," he said. "Detective Bentley stopped by the hospital to see you, but we both thought you had already gone home. He said to tell you that Wicker Barnes, also known as Ted Burns, was at the station blubbering like a baby and admitting to everything, including accidentally killing Jerry when he meant to kill you."

I frowned. "Why did it seem like he was trying to scare me at times, like with the flat tires, but then do something that might kill me at other times? It doesn't make sense."

"I don't know," he said. "He's a sick man. Maybe he waffled between wanting to scare you off when he was feeling somewhat sane and wanting to kill you when he was out of control. It's hard to understand an unstable person."

We both sat quiet for a few moments. There was more to talk about, but it was obvious we were talked out for now. I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.

Mick stood, threw the afghan back, and pulled me up to him. He kissed me, softly at first, but passion quickly took over. I returned the kiss and pressed myself against him.

He scooped me into his arms again. I nestled my head on his shoulder. He moved toward the bedroom door. "We'll talk more tomorrow," he said. "But for now, I think it's time to put you to bed."

"Hmmm," I murmured in his ear. "That sounds nice."

He gently placed me on my bed. I didn't fuss as he took off my shoes and helped me slip out of my clothes down to my bra and underwear before pulling a sheet over me.

I closed my eyes and couldn't contain a loud sigh of contentment. I was completely relaxed for the first time in over a week. It felt wonderful to be in my own bed. The events of last Saturday with Mick and his wife seemed far away and irrelevant now.

I heard him moving about the room before hearing him switch off the bedside lamp. He leaned over and kissed me softly on the forehead. I waited for him to slip in beside me. When I opened my eyes again, the room was awash with daylight, and Mick was gone. I was still on my back in the exact position he had left me. The space next to me didn't appear to have been disturbed.

I slipped on my robe and walked into the living room to find Darby sitting on my sofa watching the Food Network.

"Good morning, Sunshine," he said cheerfully. "I'm glad you're awake. I was afraid you were in a coma."

I laughed. "Where's Mick, and why would you think I was in a coma? What time is it?"

"It's seven o'clock, and Mick's at work," he said.

"Why is he working on a Sunday?"

He raised his eyebrows and gave me a look I didn't understand. "Because it's not Sunday. It's Monday."

I sat down beside him and gave him a shove. "Quit teasing me. Where's Mick?"

"Susan, I'm serious," he said. "You've been asleep for over twenty-four hours. We even called your doctor. You have a concussion, and we didn't know if we should let you sleep or not. He said we should let you rest, so we did. Mick stayed with you all day yesterday, but I came over last night and slept on the sofa, so he could go home and get some sleep before going to work. He left a note for you on the kitchen counter."

I couldn't believe I'd slept so soundly for so long. I still felt tired, but mostly, I had a headache, and I was stiff and sore from fighting with Wicker. I reached up and touched the bandage.

Darby grabbed a small notebook from the coffee table and read from it. He and Mick had both jotted down notes.

"You can't get your stitches wet for forty-eight hours." He looked at me and added, "You've burned up over half of those already, so you can wash your hair tomorrow." He turned back to his notes. "Take it easy for a few days and be sure to take your pain meds. They have anti-inflammatory agents that will help with any brain swelling from the concussion." He turned to the next page. "If you have dizzy spells or blurred vision, call your doctor." He looked at me and said, "If _anything_ seems weird, call your doctor."

I smiled and said. "I'm fine. Really I am. I'm going to get ready for work. Do you want to make us some breakfast?"

"I'll make breakfast, but you're not going anywhere. Mick managed to get in touch with someone from your corporate offices and explained what happened. The woman he talked to said for you to take another week and only come back to work if you're feeling one hundred percent."

I was relieved. I would have gone to work, but I really felt like I wanted to lie down and go back to sleep.

I walked into the kitchen and read the note Mick left for me.

Susan – I'll give you a call later. Hope you feel rested. Betsy Ann Tucker said you could take the week off. Don't drive. If you need anything, send Darby. Love, Mick.

It was the first time I had seen the word love and his name together. My heart soared.

I found an old shower cap and took a hot shower. By the time I slipped into comfortable sweats and a tee-shirt, Darby had a simple breakfast of eggs and toast ready. We sat down to eat.

"Detective Bentley stopped by last night," he said.

"Why? What did he want?"

"I think he wanted to see if you were ok. Mick told him we thought you were in a coma." He gave me an accusatory look. "You know, if you would have rolled over or moved even a little, we might have known you were just sleeping. But when you stayed flat on your back like that, well, we were worried."

I chuckled. "I'm sorry. Is that all the detective wanted?"

"I don't think so. He said something about recovering some evidence you have. Do you know what he's talking about?"

At first, I shook my head, but I quickly remembered. "Oh my gosh! The powder. It's still in the pocket of the jeans I was wearing last night. I had it with me at the club all night."

"What powder?"

I left the table to retrieve the baggie and set it in front of Darby.

"Potassium chloride. I'm certain Wicker planted this in my gym bag to make it look like I poisoned the apple juice before I gave it to him."

He opened the bag and sniffed the contents. He then licked a finger, dipped it in the bag and tasted it.

"What are you doing?" I said loud enough to cause my head to throb.

"Potassium chloride isn't a poison," he said. "It's used in salt substitutes. One of my first web writing jobs was for a pharmacy. I remember weeding through hundreds of questions and answers about medications. I'd have to look it up to be sure, but I think you need to inject someone with potassium chloride to kill them. You already said Jerry had heart damage, and the potassium chloride may have triggered his heart attack, but it won't kill you to put some in your mouth." He smiled. "Or your beer."

I wasn't entirely convinced. "You have to admit, my symptoms were pretty rough that day. I wasn't out of line to think I'd been poisoned."

I took my plate to the kitchen and had a short bout of dizziness. I steadied myself by holding onto the counter.

Darby was quickly by my side. "Are you all right? Should I call your doctor?"

"I'm fine. I think I just stood up too fast."

Go lie down," he said. "I'll clean up the kitchen."

He didn't have to tell me twice. I took his position on the sofa and covered myself with one of the blankets he had taken from the linen closet last night.

I was asleep within minutes.

A murmur of voices broke through my dreams. I opened one eye and saw Detective Bentley talking with Darby. I sat up and pulled the blanket around me. The time on the cable box indicated it was two o'clock. I hoped it was still Monday.

"What's going on?" I asked.

Darby asked the detective to take a seat in the chair next to the sofa. He then sat down beside me and said, "Detective Bentley stopped by to pick up the potassium chloride. Even though Wicker has confessed to everything, they still need it for evidence."

"How are you feeling?" the detective asked me.

"I can't seem to stop sleeping, but I'm ok. Did you already tell Darby what happened to Johnny?"

Darby nodded, and the detective said, "He's still in jail in Charlotte. I've talked to the Chief of Police there and explained the situation. Johnny's definitely facing some charges, but they'll most likely result in fines, and he won't have a felony record. He's being released later today."

Poor Johnny. I almost felt responsible for what happened to him. Almost.

"What about Wicker?" I asked. "How did he get out of jail and get to Carbide City? I thought you were watching for him at the airports."

"We were," the detective said. "But at that time, we thought we were looking for Wicker Barnes. He bought a ticket under his real name of Ted Burns."

"Who bailed him out?" I asked.

The detective smiled. "No one. Have you ever seen a television show or a movie where the guy is taken into the police station, they forget about him for a minute, and he walks right out?"

Darby chuckled.

"I've seen them," I said. "But they're not believable. That would never happen." Both men were smiling. "Would it?"

Detective Bentley shook his head in disbelief or disgust. I couldn't tell which. "It did happen. When Wicker was taken to the police station, a big drug bust had just gone down, and he and Johnny weren't priorities. Johnny was taken into an interrogation room, but a new rookie handcuffed Wicker to a bench. The problem was the bench wasn't bolted to the floor. It was such a madhouse in there, Wicker simply slid the handcuff off the bench and walked out. You know what happened from there."

He looked at his watch and then over to me. "I have to get back to the station. I hope you're feeling better soon. Don't leave town. You'll be getting a subpoena in the next day or two."

My eyes went wide. "Me? What did I do? What are you charging me with?"

Darby laughed. "Susan, you're not being charged with anything. You'll be a witness in the trial against Wicker. We both will."

I didn't think I liked Detective Bentley very much. Why did he insist on scaring me?

Darby walked him to the door, and I resumed my comfortable position under the blanket. I tried to watch the cooking show that was on the television, but I couldn't keep my eyes open.

I was vaguely aware of Darby cooking again. Odors from the kitchen were wonderful, but they seemed more in my dreams than in real life.

When I fully awakened, the bright sun of the day had diminished, and I knew it was almost evening.

Darby appeared to have gone. It was Mick who was busy in the kitchen. The table in the dining room was set for dinner. A vase filled with Black-eyed Susans sat in the middle of the table. They were my favorite flower and seemed appropriate under the circumstances.

I stood from the sofa and quietly made my way into the bathroom. I ran a brush through my hair as best I could and brushed my teeth before going into the kitchen.

"You're up," Mick said cheerfully and with a broad smile. "How do you feel?"

"I think I feel rested," I said with a laugh. "I've never slept so much at one time in my life."

He gathered me into his arms and looked lovingly into my eyes. His gaze made me weak in the knees. I allowed him to hold me tight. He kissed me gently before releasing me and saying, "Darby made dinner for us. Stuffed trout with rice pilaf. We're not having wine, because it will interfere with your pain medication."

I smiled. "Dinner smells delicious, and I don't need wine."

I was happy Mick was here, but our verbal back and forth felt awkward today.  
We weren't quite as comfortable together as we had been before last weekend.

Conversation over dinner was light and felt more like a first date than two people who had been together for a considerable time. After dinner, we sat side by side on the sofa. Mick put his arm around my shoulder and said, "I think we should talk about Saturday night."

"Do we have to?" I asked. "I've been over it a million times in my head, and Darby and I have talked about it more than enough. I don't want to talk about Wicker Barnes or Ted Burns ever again."

"That's not what I meant," he said. "He pulled his arm back and turned to face me. I meant we should talk about Saturday night in your bedroom."

I felt myself blush. It was obvious Mick hadn't climbed into bed beside me. Did he realize I thought he would?

"I'm sorry I fell asleep like that. I couldn't stay awake." A sudden thought popped into my head. I must have sounded horrified when I asked, "We didn't do anything, did we?"

He couldn't help smiling. "No, I turned out the light and came out here. Your honor is intact."

I said softly, "Mick, it's not that I don't want you, and I thought I was ready, but I'm not. I want to trust you again. I want to get to know you better. I have to be sure."

My words seemed to make him sad. I wished I could read him better.

"I feel the same way," he said. "I want to take things slow with you. I want you to trust me again, and I want this relationship to last. But what I really want to know is if you've forgiven me for not telling you about my situation before it blew up in your face."

I nodded. "I have. I forgive you."

He grasped my hands in his. His voice was emotional. "Thank you. I needed to hear you say it."

He gathered me into his arms and kissed me deeply and with passion. I had no problem returning his kiss. I felt giddy inside. In my heart and in my mind, I knew Mick Raines was the only man I would ever want. I no longer wanted to kill him. I wanted to love him.

I kissed him harder.

###

### Easy-breezy reading from Breezy Books!

The Susan Hunter books are not your typical mysteries, and Susan is not your typical sleuth. Often, she is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and things go downhill quickly. All of the books cross genres of chick lit, mystery, romance, humor, and action, bringing you a fast-paced, easy-breezy read.

Sunshine Hunter, A Susan Hunter Mystery #1 – Working in a weight-loss center by day and a racquetball club by night, Susan Hunter enjoys her life, the sport, and her friends.... When she finds out her new boyfriend of three months is married, she bolts with her best friend to Florida for a week. But someone has followed them, and they are now being stalked. To make matters worse, a murder has been committed back home in Carbide City, and Susan is wanted for questioning.... Humorous, sometimes ominous, _Sunshine Hunter_ is entertaining and perfect for easy, breezy reading!

Big Apple Hunter, A Susan Hunter Mystery #2 – Susan has life-changing decisions to make. Should she accept the new position with Slimmers Weight Loss? Should she give in and move the relationship with Mick to the next level? . . . When Darby has business in New York City, Susan jumps at the chance to tag along intending to indulge in a weekend of shopping. It doesn't take her long to realize she's being hunted in The Big Apple. And what does the stalker have to do with Darby's new client? It becomes a matter of life-and-death when the stalker shows up in Carbide City demanding something that Susan lost in New York.

Sin City Hunter, A Susan Hunter Mystery #3 – Susan is in Las Vegas for ten days of work and play. Her parents come in from Dallas to spend some time with her and have their own fun. But fun turns to terror for Susan when a magic act goes wrong.... When a man is murdered, Susan knows who did it. Unfortunately for her, the killer knows that she knows. Her actions in Sin City ultimately put not only her own life on the line but that of Mick's as well.

Big Easy Hunter, A Susan Hunter Mystery #4 – When Susan is accused of being a cat burglar, and a serial rapist is on the loose over by the mall, she takes off for New Orleans to attend a wedding and finds even more trouble in The Big Easy.... Humorous, sometimes ominous, _Big Easy Hunter_ is entertaining and perfect for easy, breezy reading.

Windy City Hunter, A Susan Hunter Mystery #5 \- It's two weeks before Christmas. Susan and her best friend, Darby, travel to Chicago to compete in a national cooking competition. They aren't even in Chicago an hour when they stumble upon a murder crime scene. The lead detective on the case is egged on by an eager insurance investigator, and Susan and Darby quickly become suspects. To make the weekend even more complicated, one of Darby's cooking ingredients is sabotaged during the contest, and unbeknownst to them, they befriend a local art forger. With Mick away in England, things become desperate for them in The Windy City.

Maple Leaf Hunter, A Susan Hunter Mystery #6 \- Susan and Mick have a romantic weekend planned in Niagara Falls and Toronto before her big meeting with a children's book publisher. When they decide to spend the following week at a fishing lodge on the Ottawa River, Darby, Nate, and Alex decide to come along, too. A Sasquatch, gold hunters, a kidnapping, and dangerous men all make for another unforgettable vacation for Susan.

Buckeye Hunter, A Susan Hunter Mystery #7 \- Susan travels to Southeast Ohio to assist in the grand opening of a Slimmers Weight Loss center. There she meets Jo, Pepper, and Jackie - local sleuths from Two Sisters and a Journalist. When a murder is committed on Susan's doorstep, Jo is there to find the body. Susan can't believe the trouble swirling around her even though she is only two hours from home. She makes a life-changing decision in this final book of the Susan Hunter series.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

### Be sure to check out the Two Sisters and a Journalist series from Maddie Cochere:

Murder Under Construction, Two Sisters and a Journalist #1 – Jo Ravens is thirty-two, divorced, and stuck in a rut. She wants two things in life - a new career as a private investigator and to lose the sixty pounds she packed on after her divorce. When she crashes her nephew's bike in a construction site, she lands on a girl with a large knife in her chest. Jo enlists her sister, Pepper, and her journalist friend, Jackie, to help solve the girl's murder. Things become creepy for Jo when the girl appears to her in dreams and offers unusual clues to her death. _Murder Under Construction_ is a humorous mystery with Jo's family adding to the antics of the three women. Mama caterwauls, Jackie's two children offer sleuthing assistance, and her brother, Hank, laughs at all of them from the sidelines.

Murder Is Where the Heart Is, Two Sisters and a Journalist #2 – Amateur private investigator, Jo Ravens, is the only common link in the murder of three people and the abduction of a cab driver. While police are busy building a case against her, Jo races to prove her innocence. Her sister, Pepper, and journalist friend, Jackie, are on hand to assist in catching the real killer. The antics of her ex-husband and eccentric Mama add to this humorous mystery.

Murder Welcomes You to Buxley, Two Sisters and a Journalist #3 – Jo is busy trying to locate a stolen car, find a missing teen, and catch a philandering husband in the act. She already has more work than she can handle when she finds a murdered girl leaning against a dumpster. Has the girl really been strangled for stealing a cell phone? Jo also meets Susan Hunter when Susan comes to town to assist in the opening of a Slimmer's Weight Loss center. Their interaction, as well the continued antics of Jo's madcap family, adds to the humor in _Murder Welcomes You to Buxley_.

Murder Wins the Game - Two Sisters and a Journalist #4 \- A pan of lasagna and an out-of-control, lottery-playing Mama turn the life of private investigator Jo Ravens upside down. By the end of the week, Jo is so unpleasant and cranky, she has alienated all of her friends and family. Things get worse when she finds her highest-paying client murdered, and the primary suspect is the girl Jo was hired to follow. The icing on her birthday cake is having to serve on jury duty – with Mama!

Murder Between the Covers – Two Sisters and a Journalist #5 \- Take numerous suspects, mix them with the Buxley Legend of Stolen Confederate Gold, and you have a romp through a week with Jo as she attempts to prove a murder, overcome her fear of Glenn's basement, and help open Estelle's Emporium of Wonders.

Visit the official website of Maddie Cochere at Breezy Books:

<http://www.breezybooks.com/>

