Back in the day when I was a reader and aspiring novelist, I used to impatiently wait for the next book by my favorite authors. I couldn't understand why sometimes it took months, a year, or even several years between books in my favorite series (I'm talking to you R.A. Macavoy. Wikipedia claims it was three years, but I know it was more like forty.)
Then I became a serial novelist and I discovered something. Writing is hard! Especially writing fiction. I've worked for years writing promotions, news stories for the web, and tech advice. That's hard in a way, but since it's all based on facts (except when I told people that Til Death was the funniest comedy of the year.) and the facts are what they are. When you're making up the world and all the people in it, sometimes it takes longer than you'd hoped.
I'd hoped to have a sequel to Killer Clowns from Out of State, the fourth book in the Goode-Grace series and even a sequel to The Girl of His Dreams out by now. Well, since you're reading this and not any of those books, you may have noticed that I didn't.
Why? Well, stuff happens to writers that throws them off. They lose loved ones (I did this year).They have health problems (knock on wood, not so far this year). They do goofy things like start their own tech website (guilty on that one). Your office cat dies. (RIP Krypto) That slows you down.
And sometimes, like me, you get 80% through the sequel to Killer Clowns and realize that it's not what it was supposed to be. The characters just stand there and look at you like you've lost your mind.
Let me see if I can explain this in terms that relate to your life. Ever make a dish, taste it, and know something is plain wrong with it. Something is burnt, it's way too salty. You've apparently added cayenne instead of paprika to the goulash. It's bad. And if you want to fix it, you have to start all over again. You're building a garage and you realize the framing is off. You're making a dress and realize you've cut the pattern wrong. The idea is good, but you need to go back to basics and fix it.
I love my readers more than my luggage, so I'm not going to stick you with burnt onion soup, a garage that lists to the right, or a dress with that doesn't fit right.
This is what happened with Vegas Vexation, the sequel to Killer Clowns. The basic idea is good. I even think it's great. But the book took place in the wrong place, a thousand miles away from Ballardville. And a Ballardville mystery should take place in Ballardville, by golly.
So I started all over. And with that reinvention I fleshed out some Ballardville residents you've already met and introduced a few new ones. Interestingly enough, many of these characters migrated over from some things I wrote in the 1990s. They just showed up and said, "I'm moving to town."
Welcome to Ballardville, Dr. Sam Lundy, Shane Ballard, Sarah Glaser, and most importantly Ginger and Peggy Fletcher. As I finish this book, I see you were all worth the wait.
So, the dog did not eat my novel. Though, the cats have actually deleted portions of it. By way of apology I'm including a sample of Vegas Vexation.
Let me know what you think:
Vegas Vexation: Ballardville Mysteries Book 2
Copyright 2016 by Cyn Mackley CCM Media, LLC.
Chapter 1
Chief of Police Andrea
Taylor stepped out of the shower.
“Uh, Chief! Uh, help!
It appears I have been restrained,” Dash Fletcher called from the bedroom. She
looked out of the bathroom door. “It seems you have.”
Dash was lying in bed
with one hand cuffed to the headboard.
It had been a good weekend. He was handsome as hell, with dark auburn
hair and big brown eyes. He was a fun date, too.
The previous day they
had gone to church followed by brunch with her parents and grandmother. They
came back to his house for what promised to be a typically lazy Sunday
afternoon and she had pulled out the cuffs with a wicked smile.
“You told me you were
the kind of guy I could cuff to a bed on Saturday night, then to take to church
and Sunday dinner at Grandma’s,” she had said. “This is a little backwards, but
prove it.”
It was not an offer he
could refuse.
“Good morning, you
beautiful thing,” Dash said with a smile on his face.
Andie was still naked
from the shower with dripping wet hair. She picked up the handcuff key where it
lay on the nightstand beside the bed. “You could have reached it if you really
tried.”
“It’s more fun if you
do it,” he said. “Besides, you might need these cuffs for work.”
“Those aren’t my work
cuffs.” She snorted. “Those aren’t even professional quality. You could
probably get out if you put an effort into it.”
“Wasn’t trying to
escape,” Dash said. “You have personal handcuffs?”
“I bought them just
for you. FYI, last night -- that’s not how I actually search people when I
arrest them.”
“No, because there
would be a line around the block to confess to crimes.”
Andie unlocked the
cuffs. There was a red mark on his wrist. She rubbed in with her thumb.
“Are you okay there?
You really shouldn’t have left that on all night.”
“I was sort of passed
out,” Dash said.
“Sorry,” she said. “I
kinda got into character. I guess it’s dangerous when actors role play. I know
you’re a professional and I’m an amateur. But I enjoy performance.”
“You are something
else.” He laughed.
“What am I?”
“You’re just
everything. That’s why I love you.”
There was an
uncomfortably long pause. “I need to get my hair dry,” Andie said.
He flinched as if she
had struck him. “Okay, I’ll grab a shower in the other bathroom since we’re running
late. I’ll put on some coffee. You want to pretend those leftover cupcakes are
breakfast?”
“That’d be great,” she
said.
“Just great,” he said
flatly. He grabbed a few items from the bathroom and left her to get ready.
Of
course, it was the furthest thing from great. What the hell was wrong with her?
The best she could come up with was dead silence? Dead silence in response to
the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with saying that he loved
you?
“What
in the hell is wrong with you?” she asked herself aloud.
It
had been a rough couple of years for Andie. The last man she’d told that she
loved had choked her unconscious when she discovered tens of thousands of
dollars in charges that he’d made in her name without permission. Andie had been
forced to shoot him in the leg to get out of the house safely. Not a great
boost to your career as the chief of police. She’d bowed to pressure and agreed
to her ex, Tony, copping a plea to simple assault. In his version of events,
she’d shot him in anger over the credit card charges. He’d agreed not press
charges as long as she didn’t pursue identity theft and credit fraud charges
against him. It was humiliating.
The
mountain of debt had forced her to move into a spare bedroom at her Aunt Maisie
and Uncle Joe’s house. Nothing like being a city leader who couldn’t even
afford an apartment.
She’d shot Tony right here in Dash’s perfect
little Craftsman bungalow. It was the same house she’d once shared with Tony.
The house she’d poured her time, heart, and money into renovating. Dash’s
visiting grandmother had picked it up cheap as a foreclosure and presented it
to him as a gift to help him make a new start in a new town.
Dash’s
new start began when Andie mowed him down with a squad car a little over a year
ago. It wasn’t her fault. He’d jumped out of a speeding car right into her path
during a high-speed pursuit and ended up with a broken leg that required
surgery to insert a metal rod. He’d been employed as a stage manager in the
Circo de la Luna – a touring company that was a cross between a Broadway
musical and a circus. Physically unable to work things had looked pretty bleak
for Dash. Then, as she often did, Aunt Maisie, who was a nurse at Ballardville
General, swooped in and offered Dash a place to stay in the bedroom next Andie’s.
Maisie had also suggested that Dash apply for the position of director of the
recently restored, historic Majestic Theater in downtown Ballardville. Andie was a member of the board and had been
part of the selection committee to choose the director.
Dash’s
varied experience in theater doing everything from acting to stage managing to
teaching drama had impressed the board. Now he had what he called his dream
job: picking shows, booking talent, coordinating fundraising, supervising
marketing and planning workshops. He’d told her time and again that the best
part of his life was not his job or his house, but her. When he realized that
the house his grandmother had purchased was the same house where Andie shot her
boyfriend, he’d offered to give it up.
“There’s
a lot of houses in Ballardville. There’s only one you.”
What
the hell did she want from him? Where the hell had that confidence that enabled
her to be a police chief by the age of 32 gone?
Victims
of domestic violence often said that people made them feel as if it were all
their fault. Andie had never understood until Tony choked the very breath out
of her and she’d chosen to defend herself. They questioned whether she needed
to use force against him. Maybe she should have just run really fast. They
questioned why she had dated him in the first place. As if she was somehow supposed to have sensed
that a man with no criminal record who had rarely even raised his voice to her was
going to suddenly lock her into a chokehold and start squeezing until she
slipped into blackness. When it came to
light that he’d been involved in a fraudulent scheme involving the misuse of
federal money intended to help low-income homeowners weatherproof their homes,
people questioned why she didn’t know and even hinted that she must have been
involved. No one questioned the members of Ballardville City Council who had
chosen Tony’s company for the job. Well, no one but Dash. He’d done a little
research in his spare time and discovered links between Tony and several power
players in Ballardville. He’d even effectively blackmailed Andie’s
arch-nemesis, Councilwoman Angela Jenkins, into submission. Again, What the hell more did she want from
him?
“I
don’t want to be publicly humiliated,” she said to her reflection in the
bathroom mirror. “I don’t want to be wrong. I don’t have the strength left to
make another mistake.” The woman in the mirror looked so sad and pathetic that
Andie said, “Get a grip!”
There
were two travel mugs sitting on the kitchen counter. Dash was putting a
homemade vanilla bean cupcakes with cream cheese frosting that had been the hit
of Sunday family dinner into a small paper bag. Andie had baked the cupcakes
and Dash contributed a frosting so delicious, he’d had to make a second batch
because she ate most of the first. He
was going for a casual professional look for Monday in a dark green shirt with
the collar open, tweed jacket, and jeans. The man was yummier than cupcakes.
“Actions speak louder than words, don’t you think?” she asked.
He kissed her on the cheek. “Of course they do. But words are
important, too. They mean things.”
“I had the best weekend,” Andie said a little sadly.
“They all are,” Dash said. “The weekdays are pretty good, too. Don’t
look so down. It can’t be that bad to have me professing my love.”
“I’d
like to point out that you are the only man I’ve ever handcuffed that I was
sexually attracted to,” she said.
“Thank
you,” Dash said. “Can you eat lunch with me today at my office? I’ve got plenty
of that stew left.”
“Unless
something comes up, sure.”
“Great,”
Dash said. “I’ll bring more cupcakes, too.”
It
was too damn quiet in the kitchen, but Andie could think of nothing to say that
wouldn’t make everything worse.
She
felt better when she walked into the police station. She seldom made mistakes
at work, so she was unlikely to make a fool of herself there.
Andie felt better walking into the police station. She was unlikely to
make a fool of herself at work. She seldom made mistakes there. The morning
schedule was full. There was a meeting with her command officers to review the
previous week and look ahead to anything special in the upcoming one. Followed
a recently instituted Monday-morning sit-down with prosecutor Deb Connor where
they made sure that everyone was on the same page.
Andie had despised Deb after she
offered a plea bargain to Tony Brady for strangling her. Now she accepted that
Deb was under pressure not to drag things out and to avoid embarrassing the
city and also that a lengthy trial could have put Andie’s career in jeopardy.
Andie may not have completely forgiven the woman, but letting it go had cleared
the way for a professionally productive friendship. Deb was full of regret for
not prosecuting Tony to the full extent of the law and that worked to Andie’s
advantage.
After the meeting, she turned her attention an over-flowing inbox. Dash
smiled up at her from a framed photo on her desk while she answered e-mails.
The photo had taken the night the Majestic Theater reopened in all of its
full-restored glory. The first show was free to the public and featured
performances by church and school choirs, local dance troupes and even a magic
act with city and county officials. Dash talked her into accompanying his
accordion playing with her ukulele, a talent she had not displayed since high
school. They were joined on stage by a dance troupe of developmentally disabled
children, pretty much ensuring a positive audience reaction. She had not missed
a single note and applause was just as intoxicating as it was back when she was
doing theater in college.
It also served as a public
announcement of their relationship, complete with meeting his parents and
getting their photo in the paper together.
Dash was pretty much the ideal guy for a woman in her position. Clean criminal record, and an important
position in the community with no connection to local government. The Majestic
was funded by a private endowment. Dash was well-qualified for his job and
excellent in the position. Excellent in about any position. Damn handsome
besides, even though she didn’t usually find redheads that attractive. Auburn
hair, a ruddy complexion and a rugged face worked together for a pleasing
effect. It was obvious what she saw in Dash. It had taken a bit of therapy to
figure out what she saw in Tony. There was nothing obviously wrong with the guy
at first. He was sometimes less than pleasant and not the most supportive person
on the planet. But her heart did not stop every single time he walked in a
room. Yet she had convinced herself this
was the man for her. Most likely because after years of female problems, her
doctor told her that she didn’t have a whole lot of time left to conceive a
child. Even going so far as to suggest she might want to freeze some
embryos. Surely, she would not make that
same mistake again. Surely, she would not make Dash pay for her bad judgment in
the past. She felt like a ridiculous cliché. A woman pulled together in her
professional life and a mess in her personal life.
At lunch time, as she made the short walk in the cold air across the
street to theater, she reminded herself that her personal life was not a mess.
She was in a supportive, happy relationship with a man who just wanted to hear
her say that she loved him back. And since she loved him, how was that a
problem?
Dash came downstairs to let Andie into the theater and they went up to
his office for what had gradually become their usual lunch break. He put the
leftover stew that bubbled in the crock pot on Saturday while they spent the
afternoon in bed into the microwave. Dash said that having a small fridge and
microwave behind the desk made him feel successful.
She sat down on the loveseat.
“Busy Monday?” he asked.
“Very. But just meetings and things. Nothing major. It was a fairly
quiet weekend on the streets of Ballardville. Wait until everything thaws out.”
“I didn’t mean to ruin your day,” Dash said.
“You didn’t. I think I ruined yours.”
“I’m sorry if I talk one way and act another.” he said. “I don’t mean
to be impatient. But as much as I adore you, sometimes I feel like I’m getting
mixed signals.”
The microwave beeped. He checked the temperature of the stew and
decided it needed another couple of minutes.
“Go on,” Andie said. “It seems like it’s been on your mind.”
“I don’t want to rock the boat. Everything between us is just so great.
But one minute, I’m holding your hand at the doctor’s office discussing
fertility problems and I get the impression that you’d like me to father your
children. And then when I say that I love you, you just stare at me. I would
assume if you want me to father your children, that you love me.”
“I don’t blame you for feeling that way.” she said.
“Maybe I’m just such a wonderful male specimen that you think I’m the
man for the job even if you don’t love me. You talk like we have this future.
You clean my house. I’ve never let a girlfriend clean my house before. It’s too
damn domestic. But I let you because you helped make it the beautiful home it
is and I think you’re going to live there someday. I don’t ask you to move in
because it freaks you out when I say I love you.”
“You’re right.”
“What?”
“You are absolutely right,” Andie repeated.
“Don’t just cave to shut me up.” He checked the microwave again and
dished the lamb stew flavored with curry into bowls.
“I think you honestly told me what was bugging you. And I’ve done that
ever since we met. I have an apology but no excuse. I think that I am this
bold, happy woman with no fear. But sometimes this fear gets hold of my heart.
The same fear I felt when he choked me into the darkness I thought was dead. I
don’t know why it’s still there. I don’t know why it flares up around you.
Makes you believe there is such a thing a PTSD. You don’t deserve it and I’m
thankful you put up with it.”
“I feel like a jackass.” Dash said.
“You aren’t.”
“You made me cupcakes and cuffed me to a bed and I’ve made you sad,” he
said.
“The infuriating thing is that I made me sad,” Andie said. “You rock my
world, Ginger boy.”
“On a related note,” Dash said. “Are you sore everywhere? I am.”
“I am.”
“Thank goodness. I don’t want to be the weak one. Too bad you didn’t
know me in college. I lived off caffeine; they could have made Viagra from my
blood.”
“My grades would have slipped.”
“I’m an excellent study buddy,” Dash insisted. “In fact, I…” His cell
phone rang on his desk and he picked it up and looked at the screen. “Hmmm, I
do not recognize the number. It’s from Las Vegas.”
“An adventure. Take it,” Andie said, hoping something would come along
and replace the serious conversation.
Dash loved to play with telemarketers and tech support scammers. He
would often adopt the persona of a confused senior citizen and pretend to attempt
to give his credit card information, always failing to make out the last few
numbers on the card.
He tapped the screen to put the phone on speaker. “Dash Fletcher.”
“Hey,” a man said on the other end, “uh, you don’t know me. But, uhm… I
have your kids.”
“Sorry buddy, you got the wrong guy,” Dash said. “I don’t have any of
those.”
“Dash Fletcher, right?” the man asked.
“Yes. But I’m not the person you’re looking for.”
“Amber Albright says you are,” the man said. “She gave me your number.”
The look on his face told Andie that he recognized the woman’s name.
“I knew Amber Albright back in
Vegas a few years ago, but she never said anything—“
“Well she’s got twin girls that are just about to turn three,” the man
said impatiently. “And she says they’re yours.”
Andie could see Dash making mental calculations. He did not look happy
when we came up with the product.
“Can I talk to her?” he asked.
“No!” the man yelled.
A woman in the background said, “Rick! Don’t yell at the guy.”
The man sighed deeply. “I’m
sorry. That’s the problem. She dumped these kids off on my great aunt two and
half years ago. Now my great aunt is dead and I’m stuck with them. I tracked
her down and told her to come take these poor kids and she says to see if you
want them.”
“This is a lot to take in,” Dash said.
“Sorry man, I bet it is. But if somebody doesn’t come get these kids,
I’m gonna have to just turn them over to social services. I’m sorry, but we
can’t handle them on top of our own problems.”
“Can I please have your name, Sir?” Dash fumbled for a piece of paper
on his desk. “Where are you?”
“Sorry, dude,” he said. “I’m Rick Sanchez and I am in Las Vegas. Amber
said you’re in the circus or something?”
“Not anymore,” Dash said. “I’m in Kansas.”
“I’m really sorry, man,” Rick said. “This whole situation is
ridiculous.”
“Do you have her number?’ Dash asked.
“No, we tracked her down in a bar. Not happy to see us, you know like
we were bothering her.”
Andie went to the desk, took the pen from Dash’s hand and wrote
“Pictures???” on the paper next to Rick’s name on the paper.
“Do you have pictures of these children?” Dash asked.
“My wife has some on her phone,” he said.
“I can show them to him on a video call!” the woman in the background
called out.
“My number,” Andie mouthed silently.
“Call this number, please.” Dash read out Andie’s number.
A moment later her phone vibrated. “Hi, I’m Andie, a friend of Dash’s.”
“Hi,” the woman said. “I’m Alicia. Ready to lay your eyes on the two
cutest little girls you’ve ever seen?”
She turned the phone’s camera on two tiny girls with long red hair.
Kids that age sometimes looked like toddlers, but these girls looked like the
smallest of children.
Dash gasped.
“Say hello!” Alicia said.
“No,” one of the girls said. Her voice was deep for a child, especially
a girl. Deep and resonating just like Dash’s. The child thought for a moment
and added. “No, thank you.”
“Can I call you back in a few minutes?
Maybe fifteen minutes?” Dash said. “I’m having a little trouble thinking
straight.”
“Sure,” Rick Sanchez said. “All I ask is that you be straight with me.
If you don’t want to get involved, I’ll move on to looking for help elsewhere.”
“But,” Alicia Sanchez added. “We will tell the state who Amber says the
father is.”
“Honey…” Rick said.
“He’s not blowing you off,” Andie said. “We’ll call you back.”
Andie had seen that look on a person’s face many times in her career
when she had to break bad news. It wasn’t anguish or horror or any of the
emotions you saw in someone’s eyes when you had to tell them that a loved one
was dead. This was the shock you saw in
the face of parents when you told them that their son had robbed grandma’s
house for drug money or when you explained to a guy waking up in the drunk tank
that he’d sideswiped three parked cars the night before. The “what the actual
hell just happened to me?” look.
When the call was over, Dash opened a program on his phone and made a
few taps to bring up a photo he’d posted online for his mother’s birthday. In
the picture, three-year-old Stephanie Black Fletcher sat on her mother Ginger’s
lap. She was the spitting image of the two little girls in Las Vegas. Or
rather, they were the spitting image of her.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“We need to go to Vegas ASAP,” Andie said.
He nodded. “I know.”
“And we need a paternity test. Well, you need one. They sure as hell
look like they issued forth from your loins, but we need to be sure. And that’s
for your protection as well, so one can challenge you about paternity.”
“And we’ll need an attorney that specializes in family law. I may be
able to help with the test and finding a lawyer. Is it okay if I handle that?”
“I don’t think I could organize a trip to the bathroom right this
minute. I’d be grateful. You are amazing.”
“Don’t get too grateful or amazed. Because now it’s time for me to find
out just who the hell Amber Albright is? I don’t recall hearing her before when
you have too much to drink and start talking about your previous girlfriends.”
“I talk about how you’re better than my previous girlfriends.”
“I’m clearly better than her as I’ve never abandoned your children or,
alternately, falsely pinned paternity on you.”
“I don’t know her very well,” Dash said. “She was a bartender at this
place I liked to hang out. She broke up with some guy and we started messing
around and then she said she decided to go back to him. And then she didn’t
work there anymore. I think I knew her all of a month and saw her all of a
week.”
“Only takes once,” Andie said.
“I was drinking a hell of a lot that week. She could really put it
away. I had been in training for the Circo de la Luna job and I had a week off,
so I was like what the hell? I don’t think I was so trashed I did it without
using protection. I’m crazy careful about that.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes.
“Our relationship has been monogamous from the get-go,” Dash said,
suddenly very defensive.
“I’m sorry. It was no time to be flip.”
“I have always in the past been extremely careful,” he said. “I’m not a
promiscuous person. And you don’t seem to worry that much about…”
“You don’t need to defend yourself. I’m on your side. We just need to
sit down and work out a plan of action.
Do you want to tell your parents?”
“Not unless I know for sure.”
“We won’t tell anybody. We will have a generic family emergency and
take some time off.”
He nodded. “And then we have to go to Vegas.”
“I’ll find us flights, don’t even worry about it. I have a college
friend who runs a lab in Las Vegas and I think she could help us on the
paternity test front. I would have to explain the situation.”
“Those take forever to get back, don’t they?”
“They don’t take that long to run. Overnight max, it just takes that
long to because there are so many to run.”
“Lots of idiots don’t know where their DNA has got to,” Dash said
miserably. “And now I’m one of them.”
“Give me that paper and a pen,” she said. “I’m making a list.” There
was a flight to book, a vehicle to rent. A minivan would probably be best. They
would definitely need the appropriate safety seats for the children. “When you
call him back find out if he has safety seats for them and if not, find out
approximately how much they weigh so we can buy the appropriate ones.”
“I wouldn’t have thought of that,” Dash said.
“I’ve been involved in a lot of emergency removals of children.”
“Is this what this is?”
“In a way. We have no reason to believe they are in danger, only that
this guy is pretty stressed out that someone left children at his house. It
seems appropriate to wish that parents would to come get them.”
She would need to find a hotel that work with small children if
necessary. They might be there awhile.
“I’m sorry,” Dash said.
“You don’t have to apologize to me. I have a few personal issues myself
and you’ve been nothing but helpful to me. I have your back, too.”
“I can’t seem to think.” He said.
“I understand.” Andie said. She
knew exactly what it felt like to be in a mess of your own making. Finding
those credit card bills in her name had been a horrible shock. She felt like a
fool and cursed herself an idiot for not catching on sooner. She felt ashamed.
All of that was so clearly visible in Dash’s face now. She was not a woman who
would move in with an abuser, yet she had. He did not consider himself a man
who fathered children and went on his merry way and yet, maybe he was that guy.
“You do, don’t you?”
“The difference is, you have me right here and we can handle this no
matter what.”
“Can we?”
“What is the very worst that could happen?” she asked. He didn’t
answer, but she wanted him to really think that through. “Not a rhetorical
question, Dash. What is the very worst that could happen?”
“I guess it turns out I have two children that I knew nothing about and
their mother doesn’t seem to care anything about them from what this guy tells
me.”
“Then what would happen?” she continued.
“I would bring them home with me. If they’re my kids, what else would I
do?”
“So, the very worst thing is that you are a man with two little girls. A
man with a job and a three-bedroom house in a nice neighborhood in a town with
pretty good public schools. The worst thing is you are a single guy with kids.
So is Carlos Desoto and Brad Barney and a dozen other people I can name off the
top of my head. They do okay, don’t they? And you have me and we both know I’m
wonderful.”
He smiled. “That you are.”
“Make arrangements to clear your schedule,” she said. “I will do the
same and make a few phone calls. You call that fellow back and tell him we will
probably be there by tomorrow night. If I remember right most of the flights
leave in the late afternoon or early evening and get you there between eight
and eleven p.m. He can expect us the day
after tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“Do you need a hug?”
“Desperately,” Dash said.
“I’ve got you.” She slipped her arms around him. “It’s going to be all
right.”
“I can barely remember her. I can usually remember things about women.
Odd bits and pieces about their lives. I can remember all of them. Great dates
and bad dates, and a few hot hook ups with friends on the rebound. But it’s
different with Amber. I know that she
tended bar at a place called Duchene’s . Not a high-class place, but not really
a dive. It catered to locals instead of tourists.”
“What does she look like?” Andie asked.
“She had light-brown hair dyed black. You could see the roots. I can’t
say she was pretty, she was too hard-looking for that. But she had nice
features. Dark tan, probably too dark to be safe.
We had the usual bartender/customer banter until she looked kind of
down and I asked her why there was no smile that day. She said that she’d just
broke up with her boyfriend and was tired of bad boys. I said that bad boys
were overrated. She said that nice boys were hard to find. I pointed out that I
was a nice boy.”
“Smooth,” Andie said.
“I thought so,” Dash said. “She was drinking shots at work. From my
experience in bars and restaurants is not a good thing. She also gave me shots for free, which is a
terrible thing in a bartender.”
“I feel you weren’t too interested in her reliability as a bartender,”
Andie said.
“Not at all,” he admitted. “After her shift, we ended up back at my
crummy little studio apartment in bed. I took her out for dinner afterwards.”
“See, you are nice,” Andie said. “And you remember her.”
“She didn’t talk much, but I remember her saying, ‘I’m not from very
nice people. You’d probably think we were trash.’ And I told her I worked in a
circus and was basically a carnie. She said that it was an important show and
I’d been to college. I pointed out that it wasn’t an indication of good
character.”
“I hate to break it to you, but
you do kind of radiate goodness and light,” Andie said.
“We went to a movie once. I can’t remember for the life of me which
movie. I think we had sex three or four times. After the last time, she sat up
in bed and said, ‘I think maybe I was wrong about being done with my old man.
He sent me a letter and I was thinking that maybe I’ll give him another
chance.’ I told her it was her life, but
I didn’t see how getting back with him was going to improve it. She said I was
too good for her and that I needed a nice girl. That’s a sad way to think about
yourself.”
“I agree,” Andie said.
“I took out for pizza and never saw her again. She wasn’t at the bar
the next time I went in. One of the other bartenders told him she was suspected
to pocketing money and stealing liquor. I guess it isn’t that I don’t remember
her, I just don’t care to think about her. Maybe when I thought about how some
women seem to like to be treated poorly.”
“That certainly isn’t me,” Andie said.
“Your response to poor treatment is to bust a cap in the creep’s ass.
Or at least his leg. I like a woman who doesn’t put up with crap.”
“If you have daughters,” Andie said. “You will set the perfect example
for them of how they should expect to be treated by a man.” Although sometimes she thought he took way
too much crap from her.
“But why the hell wouldn’t she at least tell me? I haven’t changed my
phone number and she clearly still has it.”
“Do you still have hers? Andie asked.
Dash pulled Amber’s name up in his contacts and hit the call button.
The number didn’t belong to Amber. Instead he got a guy that said he got calls
and texts for her from time to time, but that he’d had this phone for over a
year.
“Now what?” he asked.
There was a knock on the office door. “See who that is,” Andie said.
The visitor was Dr. Sam Lundy, who happened to be Andie’s new
gynecologist. Like Dash, he was new to town, having taken over Dr. Melanie
Merkle’s practice. Sam had grown up in a suburb of Chicago, but his family’s
roots ran deep in Ballardville. His great-great-great grandfather Aaron Lundy
has been one of the town’s founders as well as one of the first black doctors
in the American West. When Dr. Merkle met him at a conference and learned that
he dreamed of his own small private practice, she got the idea that he should
take over hers and bring a Dr. Lundy back to Ballardville for the first time
since the 1930s. After learning that Sam
had graduated with a bachelor’s in theater before turning his interest to a
master’s in biology then finally to medical school, Melanie had asked Dash to
help sell Sam on Ballardville when he came to check out her practice. Dash had
joked about being the spokesmodel for Ballardville, but Andie thought his
genuine enthusiasm about the community had made an impression on Sam.
Sorry, I’m interrupting lunch,” Sam said.
“That’s all right,” Dash said.
“I just wanted to let you know that I took your advice,” Sam said. “I
signed up to audition for Sherlock Holmes with the Ballardville Players. It’ll be my first play since Gwen and I had
kids. Assuming I get a part, of course.”
“I know people,” Dash said.
“I do, too,” Sam said. “How do you think I got in here?”
“My money is on Phyllis Logan letting you in after she signed you up
for an audition. She’s usually in the office on Mondays,” Dash said.
“Brilliant deduction,” Sam said.
“Elementary, Lundy. I spend a lot of time with a trained investigator,”
Dash said.
“I really want to whip out my British accent,” Sam said. “Are you guys
busy this weekend? Gwen wanted me to see if you’d like to come for dinner/”
“Not this weekend,” Dash said. “I’ve had a family thing come up. I’m
actually going to be out of town for the next couple of days at least.”
“Definitely sometime soon,” Andie said.
“No problem,” Sam said. “I’ll let you two finish lunch. And I’ll see
you in two weeks, Andie.”
“Wow!” she said. “A doctor that remembers appointments? That’s
bizarre.”
“I was going over our patients with my new nurse practitioner, or
rather my new partner.” He smiled. “Gotta watch that. She knows you. Sarah
Glaser.”
“I graduated high school with Sarah,” Andie said.
“Melanie fixed us up. We’re 70/30 on the practice. Which is great.”
Andie chuckled. “If something is great, people usually don’t keep
saying it’s great.”
Sam shrugged. “It really is great. She has a doctorate and she’s also a
midwife.”
“She’s got a passel of kids, too,” Andie said. “Five?”
“Six,” Sam said. “Two sets of twins. So, she knows what she’s talking
about.”
“Her husband died a couple of years ago,” Andie said to Dash. “Where
was she living?”
“Topeka,” Sam said. “She’s moving home to be closer to her family. She
mentioned you two used to sing together in glee club. Maybe we can all get
together. If you guys don’t mind being around nine kids.”
“An alarming number of people at that gathering will have seen me with
my pants off,” Andie said.
Sam chuckled. “You crack me up.”
“I’m a laugh riot,” Andie said.
After Sam left, Dash said, “Should I heat lunch back up? I don’t know
if I can eat.”
“I’m really starving,” Andie said. “And you should eat anyway.”
Dash’s phone vibrated again. “Uknown caller,” he said. “I’m scared to
answer.”
“Gee, I hope it’s a boy this time,” Andie said.
“Really?” Dash asked. “Really?”
“Too soon?” Andie said.
