Tom Huff sat on the couch of his office in a rare state of distraction. He was trying to focus on yet another of these oblique Human Resources missives commanding him to do this or that inane and time-wasting thing. But he tossed the report aside so ineptly that it struck his coffee table and slid to the floor.
Some men who dodge a bullet, actual or metaphorical, come away from the experience wiser and chastened. But Huff was not a man who readily took to being chastised. After nursing a nasty hangover for a day and a half, he also still nursed a grudge against Trooper Babin for his “kindness.” The mysterious appearance of Huff 's Escalade in his driveway the next day was greeted less as a favor than as an act of humiliation.
Huff had also been nursing the glimmerings of a grudge against Daisy Ledet, mostly for the way she carried on with the trooper on the drive back to Black Bayou. Though he didn't consider himself by nature a jealous man, he'd actually entertained a brief worry that there might have been a rekindling of sparks between those two. They did drive away together. Who knows what kind of mischief might have followed in the back of Trooper Babin's squad car?
But after long contemplation, Huff thought better of it. One part of this contemplation was hardheaded. Face it—Daisy had saved him from the drunk tank.
Another part of this contemplation was not very hardheaded, however. Huff had found himself drifting into extremely carnal daydreams about Daisy, rummaging through every part of their encounter. So, having squirreled away the phone number Daisy had given him, he abruptly put aside his misgivings and dialed it.
Daisy picked up immediately, as though she had been sitting by the phone, and Huff, delighted, began by being uncharacteristically jocular and effusive. “So, darlin’, you make it home all right the other night with your personal bodyguard? I hope you felt safe—imagine all those lecherous cabdrivers that Dudley Do-Right saved you from.”
“Tom? Tom? Is that you?”
Huff chuckled. “Why, shore it's me, Daisy. Why, didn'tcha think I'd call?”
“Well, Tom, I thought maybe you'd had, uh, a change of heart.”
Huff affected all the nonchalance he could muster. “’Bout what, darlin’? You must know that a woman as beautiful and talented as yourself would be impossible to forget. Hell, girl, it's just life. I been workin’ like a herd dog at a cattle convention—plus, I did have somethin’ of a god-awful hangover. I didn't want to bother you when I wasn't quite right myself. I only want to show you my best side.”
“Oh, poor Tom,” Daisy gushed. “I hope you're feeling better.”
“Now, that depends, Daisy. Here's what I think. Why don't I meet you over at the Oaks, and we'll have a nice long lunch and talk about your new career. I mean, if you're still interested. Or unless you and Trooper Dwayne—”
Daisy cut him off. “Oh, stop it. Dwayne's a nice guy, but let's face it, he doesn't have your, uh, what's the word you used for me?”
Huff was temporarily stumped.
“Cuh-something or other,” said Daisy.
“Charisma?” said Huff.
“That's it! Charisma! And anyway, Dwayne and I are just old friends, besides the fact that he's been happily married for twelve years now. He's got four kids, can you believe it? Anyway, who would want to be a stepmother? I'm not sure I even want to be a mother.”
Huff, in ways he hadn't expected, found himself secretly relieved by these musings. He waxed expansive again. “Oh, darlin’, I wasn't worried. Anyway, whadaya say? Meet me for lunch in an hour. We could start at the Oaks for the main course. Now, where we have dessert is a different matter.”
Huff heard what sounded like a deep, longing sigh on the other end of the phone, followed by a pause. He wondered if he was being blown off, then Daisy said, “Great, Tom, I can't wait! Hardly at all! But you've got to give Daisy at least an hour and a half to get ready, okay?”
“You got it,” Huff replied, hanging up.
He couldn't believe the strange, unsettled, aroused state Daisy had left him in.
Daisy hung up with similar feelings. It was at that moment that she heard a rap on the door. Daisy walked from her cramped bedroom to see who was there.
Her first thought was the Jehovah's Witnesses or those two boys from the Mormons who had been pestering her lately. They were cute young men, but Daisy had a hard time following the religious part, which seemed complicated. Or maybe it was the Avon lady, though it was not Avon lady day. But then again, Daisy's Avon lady had a drinking problem and she sometimes showed up at odd times.
In a town like Black Bayou, where many people still slept with their houses unlocked, Daisy, without peering through her peephole, flung open the door in mild annoyance. She had someplace to be, after all.
Two men, dressed in dark suits, one of them carrying a briefcase, stood on her doorstep.
“Miss Ledet,” said one of them, flashing a shiny badge, “we'd like to ask you a few questions.”