I dug deep in my box of smokescreens and tricks. When I stretched out on the lumpy motel mattress, I was a blue-eyed blonde. I fed the Magic Fingers massage machine a roll of quarters and read a few more chapters of my mystery while Sammy’s lost brown eyes watched me from my laptop.
Yesterday’s Law and Order marathon had played out and a flurry of Cops reruns played in room seven.
Bad boys, bad boys, What-cha gonna do….
I wanted to bang my head on the bedpost each time a new episode started. Baltimore cops were tackling a bad boy in an alley when someone knuckle-rapped my door.
“Housekeeping.”
“One moment!” I called back.
I muted the audio, closed the laptop, and threw some towels on the bathroom floor. Then I tossed back the bedspread and rumpled the sheets before letting her in.
The housekeeper was early twenties with short brown hair and red-framed glasses. Her nametag read Ami and her arms were laden with linens and cleaners.
She sprayed Pine-Sol in the clean bathroom and changed the towels. She flounced across the room and swept everything that didn’t move with a feather duster. Ami chewed Juicy Fruit gum with an unsettling zeal and when she’d sucked out the flavor, she spat the chewed wad in the garbage and popped two new pieces in her mouth. She offered the package to me and I helped myself to a piece and chewed.
I hate Juicy Fruit.
“How’s your day going?” I said.
“In five minutes, fabulous. Your room is my last.”
“If I help, you’ll make it in three.”
I took one side of the bed and she took the other. We stripped and changed the bedding. The mattress vibrated as we worked.
“Housekeeping work is a killer on the back,” she said. “Someday I’m gonna rent a room and feed it quarters all night.”
I dropped a few more quarters in the slot. “Go ahead. Give it a spin.”
“I couldn’t.”
“I insist.”
She plopped on the bed and sighed. “If I could take this home with me, I’d dump my boyfriend.”
“My boyfriend and I split last month,” I said. “But there was more magic in his fingers than this lumpy mattress.”
“You find a new beau?”
“I dunno. I was checking out the guy in seven.”
“Mr. Smith.”
“I bet you get a lot of Smiths here.”
She giggled. “He looks good for an older guy.”
“I’ve been reluctant to approach him. I mean, I’ve made mistakes with men before.”
“Who hasn’t? Men make us stupid.”
“What’s Mr. Smith like?”
“He don’t talk much. Except to his dog.” She giggled. “But then…”
“Tell me.”
“I dunno. I wouldn’t want to date him.”
“Why not?”
“He calls his dog “lady.” When they walk, he dresses her in a silly pink coat. Like a girl.”
“Is that a problem?”
“The dog has a penis. He hits every tree and fire hydrant he passes.”
I laughed. “That’s a problem.”
“I wouldn’t want to date a guy who can’t tell the difference. Just sayin’.”
“Gotcha.”
“Mr. Smith is nice, though. Sort of laid back. Only saw him pissed off once. And whoa! He’s got a mouth on him.”
“When was that?”
“This morning. A guy called the office and left a message. Said he couldn’t get ahold of him on his cell phone. I gave Mr. Smith the message.”
“What was the message?”
She lowered her voice. “This is your bleeping boss. Answer your bleep bleep cell phone. Stan’s bleeping appendix burst. He can’t cover your bleeping shift. I need you tonight.”
“I think I can fill in the blanks.”
“I wouldn’t answer my phone either. When you’ve got a week off at a sweet motel, the last thing you want is a call from the boss.”
“Is that what the boss called him? Mr. Smith?”
She thought a moment and shook her head. “Russell. He said ‘Russell in seven.’”
“Thanks, Ami.” I pressed a fat tip in her hand. I’ve found when people are well compensated, they tend to keep their mouths shut.
Ami gathered her supplies and dirty linen and I opened the door. She stepped outside and gave a low whistle.
I poked my blond head around her and groaned.
Max.
The ex-spy was stalking me in Ray-Ban shades and a leather bomber jacket and a shit-ass grin. He removed the shades and his lips curled in amusement. The housekeeper wet her lips.
“Girlfriend, if that hunk of gorgeousness is your ex, take him back.”
I exaggerated an eye roll and pushed past her. She scooted behind me.
“Is it true blondes have more fun?” he said.
“You’re sitting on my car. Again.”
Max eyes were sparking mischief. “Are you ready to come home, Love?”
Ami slugged an elbow in my ribs. “Say yes!”
“The kids and I miss you.”
Ami frowned. “Kids?”
“We have dogs.”
“I don’t care if he’s about talking orangutans. Get your ass home, girl. If you think about Mr. Smith again, slap yourself silly.”
“You said Mr. Smith was cute.”
“I lied.”
Inga jumped on Max’s legs, tail wagging. Max slid his fine bum from the hood and scratched her ears.
Ami gawked at his rippling muscles. I was pretty sure her eyes were stuck. One look at Max had thrown her in hormonal overdrive. I pushed her toward her cart and she reluctantly wheeled away. Then I stomped to the Silver Bullet and faced Max with a growl.
Max stared into my colored contacts and a small smile curved one corner of his mouth. “Don’t I make your green eyes blue?”
“You’re stalking me with Tino’s tracker. I have a phone.”
“We’re supposed to be partners and you’re holding out on me. You’re investigating the hit-and-run.”
“You don’t know that. I’m at a sleazy motel. I could be stalking a cheater.”
“But you’re not.”
I gulped a guilty sigh. “Okay, you’re right.”
“Who’s in seven?”
“Damn, you’re good.”
The gold flecks danced in his brown eyes. “You’ve no idea,” he said and my cheeks burned. He laughed.
“Your eyes shot to seven when your head popped out your door.”
“Ouch.” An amateur mistake.
“And there’s the bogus roll of Life Savers on your dash. A tiny camera is pointed at seven’s door.”
“Only a spy would know that.”
“Or a tech nerd, cop, or mystery buff.”
The door to seven shot open and the man with a frizzy, sandy ponytail emerged with Sam I Am in tow. He wore black jeans and a Grateful Dead tee and he smelled like Brute and minty mouthwash.
Inga wasn’t fooled by her friend’s hot pink disguise. She tossed back her head with a joyful howl and bolted to Sam’s side. Sammy whimpered and they sniffed bums; a ritual that would, in the human world, almost certainly get somebody arrested.
I blurted an awkward laugh. “My beagle has no boundaries. It’s embarrassing.”
Perhaps the sound of my voice clicked a memory in Sam. He made a soft cry and lunged to me. My throat hurt. I dropped to my knees and hugged him hard.
Mr. Smith’s face was guarded. “Daisy don’t take to people like that.”
I didn’t know what to say.
I giggled, acting all ditzy and blond. “Gosh. Dogs love me.”
Max pulled me to my feet. “My wife’s a dog whisperer. You’d hate to walk with her in a dog park.”
I gave Max a playful slap.
A smile tugged at Mr. Smith’s mouth. “You’re right there.” He took a gulp of the soda in his hand. “Say good-bye, Daisy.” And he dragged Sam away.
He tossed the soda can in a bin by the office and they ambled down the street together.
“That dog knows you,” Max said.
“Yep.”
Sam looked back once more and lifted his leg on the first fire hydrant he found.
Max smiled. “Daisy has a surprise under that pink coat.”
I made a face. “Yeah. That’s Sam.”
“Tell me that gender-confused dog isn’t your client.”
“I can’t do that.”
Max grinned. “Jeez, Cat. How’s he paying you? In dog biscuits?”
“Sam lives with Captain Bob and Peggy. He was kidnapped from Bob’s backyard.”
A tic worked in his cheek. “You should’ve told me.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know. You can kill him with your bare hands.”
“That option is on the table.”
“Here’s the thing. Smith’s not working alone. There are at least two others involved. This isn’t over until we take them all down.”
“What do these clowns want?”
“They’re convinced Bob and Papa stole a golden lion medallion, with emerald eyes and a canary diamond mane, as Daniel lay dying in the street.”
“Bullshit.”
“Totally. I’m not worried about Sam at this point. Smith likes him. Last night he let him sleep on the bed with him.”
“He’s not a nice guy, Cat. Those are prison tattoos on his arm. He didn’t do time for parking tickets.”
“Agreed. But a trip to the big house doesn’t make him a psycho. He could be an entrepreneur who grew wacky weed in his bathtub.”
“Why are you defending this douche-canoe?”
“I’m not.”
“Good. Cuz I’m going to make him pay when we get Sam.”
Max reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, walked over to the recycle bin, and retrieved Mr. Smith’s empty Sprite can.
“We’ll have Rocco run these prints. And your client can buy us lunch.”
“I hope you like dog biscuits.”
Max grinned. “Breakfast of champions.”