In a Fix (2 page)

“I-I’m fine. I think.” My voice shook more than I thought it should, and my body started to follow suit. I sat down abruptly, right there on the edge of the boardwalk. Guess my legs weren’t taking the situation too well. Still, buzzing in the back of my brain like a two-hundred-pound mosquito was
damned if she wasn’t fricking right.

“She” was my mother, whose favorite saying when I was growing up was “God punishes right away.” Mom popped that little gem out every time one of us kids got hurt while doing something naughty. And here I’d only been
contemplating
having sex with somebody else’s boyfriend, and
kaboom
! If that wasn’t right away, I didn’t know what was. Sure, the sex was contractually sanctioned by my client, as per our working arrangement, but God probably didn’t care about loopholes.

Though, as loopholes go, you have to admit it’s a great one. Not much can top your client telling you, after serious consideration of the clause in question, “Well, I guess if you’re being me, then he’s not really cheating, right?” (Yeah, I know. My clients can be kind of out there, bless their gotta-have-what-I-want-when-I-want-it hearts. If people weren’t so impatient for results, I wouldn’t have a business.)

I glanced skyward warily, on the lookout for any residual fallout from on high. No lightning bolts, so maybe I was being let off with a warning. A fierce flash of joy at still being alive swept through me, making the urge to jump up, shake my fist and yell,
Ha! Missed me!
almost impossible to resist, but I managed. I hoped God gave extra credit for restraint.

The old lady turned to one of the gawkers and spoke firmly. “Young man, do find some water, if you would be so good.” The boy kept gaping. “
Now
, please. Go.” He went, snapped out of his fixation by her command. She might look like a dowdy old tourist, but authority fairly dripped from her. After turning back to me she said, “Now then. Was there anyone else inside with you? I noticed you had a companion earlier today.”

“No. My friend wasn’t there. I was alone.”

“Fortunate,” she said, looking quite pleased. “I doubt anyone could have survived that.” She gestured toward the remains of the bungalow, shaking her head.

A middle-aged man in a Hawaiian shirt, linen pants, and leather sandals came running from the direction of the resort’s office, stopping when the dust got too thick for him. He put his hands to his head, grasping for hair that hadn’t been there in quite a while.

“Holy shit. What happened?” He turned toward us, homing in on me. He knew it was my bungalow—he’d been the one to handle the rental. I waved weakly and shrugged.

“Miss Worthington—thank God you’re okay.” He rushed over and went down on one knee next to me. For a crazy second I thought he might propose.

“Hi, George. How’s tricks?” I quirked a smile at him, not much caring how Mina would’ve reacted under the circumstances. I figured shock was a big umbrella for any possibly inappropriate behavior.

“I don’t know what to say … I don’t know how this could’ve happened … you are okay, aren’t you?” He scanned my arms and legs (dirty and scraped but not bleeding much), then rose and looked frantically around. “Oh, my God—where’s Mr. Harrison? He’s … he’s not…?” The last was a horrified whisper.

“Relax, George. Trey was out.”

George looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but was interrupted by the sound of approaching sirens. The water boy returned, bearing designer water in small plastic bottles. When I reached for one I realized I had Mina’s phone in a stranglehold. I was trying to pry open my fingers when it rang. I dropped it like it had stung me.

Good Samaritan lady picked it up and handed it to me. I checked the number—it wasn’t one I recognized from Mina’s file—and spoke cautiously. “Hello?”

“I see you made it out in time. Smart girl.” Same voice as before, the one who had Trey.

“I try.” What else could I say in front of all these people?

“Another word of caution, since you’ve proven yourself adept at staying alive. The police will be questioning you soon. Tell them you were about to cook something. When you turned on the stove, it made a funny noise and flamed up. You couldn’t see a fire extinguisher, so you left the cottage to get help. You don’t know anything else.”

“But—”

“The evidence they find will support your story. If you say anything else, next time you won’t get a warning. Understood?”

“Yes, but—”
Click
. “… what about Trey, you asshole?” I finished in a whisper, impotently, and jabbed the end-call button with my thumb.

The Good Samaritan cleared her throat. I glanced up and saw her mouth twitching a smile into submission. Guess she heard me. “The authorities will want to speak with you soon. Perhaps you’d care to come to my cottage afterward and clean up a bit? It’s right over there, and I may have something you could wear until you have an opportunity to shop. I doubt your own clothes are salvageable.”

I looked down at myself. Blushed. Adjusted my top. There wasn’t much I could do about the bottoms. “Thanks.”

“You sit there while I see if I can expedite the matter.” She strode off, posture perfect, straw hat riding atop her head like a crown.

That was it. I knew who she reminded me of—she was a dead ringer for Queen Elizabeth. Which could only mean one thing. My cousin Billy was spying on me.

*   *   *

I waited until we were in the Queen’s cottage before I turned on her. Two policemen and three insurance adjusters had just grilled me, and I wasn’t in the mood to put up with any nonsense. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know it’s you, so you can cut the innocent act.”

She backed half a step away, like she thought perhaps I had a screw loose. Crap. Maybe it
wasn’t
Billy. Maybe the blast had addled my brain. “I, uh, I’m sorry. I thought for a minute you might be … I mean, you look like somebody I know.”

“I’m quite certain we’ve never met, my dear. By the way, my name is Edith Hathaway. How do you do?” She extended her hand hesitantly. I took it, still not entirely certain of her, but deciding it was better to take her at face value until I was thinking more clearly.

“I’m Mina Worthington. Please, call me Mina.”

Her hand was warm and dry, softly wrinkled. “So nice to meet you, Mina. Shall I show you to the lavatory? You can have a good wash while I find you something to wear.” She led off briskly.

Her bathroom was a lot like ours had been before it was blown to smithereens. A stack of plush, sea-green towels waited on a stand between the glass-enclosed shower and the soaking tub, along with an assortment of flowery-scented soaps.

“You go ahead and start, dear. Take your time. I’ll find some clothes for you and leave them on the vanity.”

After she left I reached into the shower stall and turned on the water. While it warmed up I slipped off the bathing suit. Regardless of the skimpy garment’s sex appeal, I can’t say I was sorry to get rid of the wedgie. My envy of Mina’s lifestyle was rapidly ebbing.

I grabbed a rosebud-shaped soap and stepped under the hot spray.
Aaah … bliss
. I lathered quickly, top to toe. Rinsed. Looked for some shampoo. There was none at hand, so I assumed it must be in the little guest basket on the vanity, and stepped out to reach for it.

Queen Elizabeth was leaning casually against the sink, ankles crossed, shampoo bottle in hand, enjoying the show. “Looking for this, dear?” There was no mistaking the leer.

I snatched the bottle and leapt back into the shower. “You are
such
an ass.”

“Why, whatever do you mean? And wouldn’t you like a little help washing your back? I’m wonderful with a loofah, you know.”

“Billy Doyle, get out now or I swear I’ll knock that phony aura right off your sorry carcass. Wait for me in the living room.”

“Aw, come on, cuz. Let me have another peek. This is some of your best work yet—a true masterpiece.”

I squeezed a blob of shampoo onto my head and started scrubbing. “Go away, you pervert.”

“
Sorority
sisters, Ciel,” he reminded me for the umpteenth time. True enough. We weren’t actually cousins. Our mothers were both Tri-Delts. Couple that with being BFFs ever since their respective adaptor parents put them in the same preschool, and it was natural they’d be honorary aunts to each other’s offspring. “Technically, that’s not pervy. And don’t forget I’m a bastard. There’s that, too,” he added, just to bolster his argument. Also true. Billy was Uncle Liam’s son from a prior relationship. He seemed to think that gave him license to behave as family or
not
-family, according to whim.

“Trust me, I could never forget that! Now leave, before I squirt shampoo in your eyes.”

He left, chortling a queenly chortle. I was going to kill him.

*   *   *

“Why are you here?”

I was dressed in elastic-waist, aqua polyester capris and a shapeless, floral-print blouse. All I needed was a huge handbag and some orthopedic sandals, and I could make my reservations for Leisure World.

My interfering cousin eyed me with approval. “Oh, you look lovely, my dear. Simply lovely.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Answer the question.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Mark just asked me to check on you.” Mark was my oldest brother’s closest friend, practically a part of the family. (People with aura-adapting capabilities are a relatively small population, and tend to stick together.) He was also the object of my unrequited childhood passion.

“Why would Mark ask you to do that?”

Billy cocked his head and shrugged, his mannerisms sitting oddly on the Queen’s frame. “Why does the spook do anything? Overdeveloped sense of protectiveness, maybe? Either that or the sadistic pleasure of making me watch you fawn all over a dumb piece of meat.”

“Trey isn’t dumb!”

He wagged a regal finger at me. “Ah-ah-ah, my dear. Remember your professional detachment.”

I looked at the ceiling. No guidance there. “You’re such an idiot. I don’t believe Mark sent you at all. And didn’t he warn you to stop calling him a spook?”

“As I recall, we
both
got that warning. Besides, semantics. He’s the spookiest spook they have, the very wet dream of spookdom, and you know it. They would kill to have more like him.”

“Apparently they have you,” I said, still cross.

“No, they don’t. Every now and then I do a favor for Mark, that’s all.”

“Favor, is it?”

“A compensated favor, yes,” he said with a cheeky grin. “One does have to pay the rent.”

“Yeah, right. Like
you
ever have any trouble coming up with cash. Why are you really here?”

“Like I said, to keep my eagle eye on you. Seems Mark’s afraid you might slip up with your little homegrown business, and give yourself away. I’m here to help make sure that doesn’t happen. Think of me as a business tool.”

I snorted. “Don’t know about ‘business,’ but ‘tool’ fits.” Then it hit me. “He pays you to spy on me?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice. Making money by helping Mark on his assignments was one thing, but turning me into a business transaction? That was going a little far, even for Billy.

“What’d you think? That I can’t tear myself away from you?”

“No,” I said sincerely, though of course it was exactly what I’d been thinking. I’d noticed him in the background on previous jobs—which I never could’ve done if he hadn’t intended it—and had assumed he was just indulging his inborn urge to bug me.

He shrugged. “I’d do it for free if I could, but I gotta make a living. Mark knows watching you keeps me from pursuing more lucrative endeavors, so he tosses something extra my way to make up for it, that’s all.”

“Lucrative? Huh. You sure ‘illegal’ isn’t the word you’re searching for?”

“Eh. Potato, potahto.”

No point in getting into a morality discussion with Billy. He lived by his own code. “Look, I’m careful, all right? Anyway, I think you just enjoy tormenting me with your presence. Can’t I have one job without you showing your face?”

“Well, technically, I don’t show
my
face.”

True. On my last job, he’d appeared as Brad Pitt, only with buck teeth. The one before, he was George Clooney with a pot gut. He got a kick out of adding a twist. I was surprised he hadn’t given poor Liz leprosy, but maybe he thought being old and a Windsor was bad enough.

“You know what I mean. You’re worse now than when we were kids. At least then you only pulled my hair and pinched me when our mothers weren’t looking. Now you’re trying to ruin my career.”

He drew himself up with a look of injured innocence. Exasperated, I turned my back—never a smart move where Billy is concerned, but it’s hard not to trust the Queen. The yank and pinch were simultaneous. I whirled on him, but the bugger was too fast. He’d already made it across the room.

“Feel better now?” he taunted.

“You … you…” I took off after him. “You never grow up, do you?” I grabbed a bright yellow pillow off a club chair and threw it at his head.

He caught it effortlessly as he danced around the couch. “Look who’s talking.” If the Queen could have seen her doppelgänger, she would not have been amused. But I was.

Oh, hell. I never could keep a good mad going with Billy. Giving in to laughter, I plopped down on the sofa. He sat next to me and took my hand. “I keep telling you, just come work with me. My jobs are way more fun than this boring stuff you do. Plus, I hardly ever get blown up.” (I huffed. He winked.) “The pay is better, too. What do you say? Shall we ditch this place for greener—and I do mean
greener
—pastures?”

“Tempting, but Mom made me swear never to work with you. She even got out the Bible.”

“What? I can’t believe she doesn’t love me anymore! My own aunt.”

“Oh, she loves you to pieces. She just doesn’t trust you as far as she can spit. And, yes, that’s a direct quote.”

Billy laughed and squeezed my hand. “Smart woman, your mother.” The ghost of masculinity beneath the small, elderly persona he was projecting comforted me in spite of myself.