The Case of the Flashing Fashion Queen

But the very bad thing … how the hell did the missing gun now turn up in my possession? Was I cursed? Did I have a sign on my back that read kick me? Or perhaps, frame me? So now I was wanted for murder, escaping police custody and being in possession of stolen evidence from a murder/kidnapping trial.

I knew better than to think that it couldn’t get any worse.

“Let me guess,” I said. “The car that tried to run me down … the news you have on that sucks, too.”

He lifted his shoulders in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry Dix. The car belongs to Mrs. Levana Fyffe. Ninety years old. She tripped over her geriatric poodle and broke her ankle last month. Hasn’t driven since. Her nephew has been doing errands for her while she’s been housebound, and she swears the car hasn’t left the yard. Detective Head checked it out. The car was parked in her yard when he got there. And Mrs. Fyffe has been home all day.”

“Please tell me Dickhead hauled it downtown for forensic testing anyway.”

“Unfortunately, Mrs. Fyffe wouldn’t let him. Told him he’d have to apply for a warrant if he wanted to steal her fuckin’ car. She knew the fuckin’ law better than all ‘you young bastards’. Those were her exact words. Then she kicked the lot of them off her property.”

“Feisty old thing, eh?” I just was not catching a break on this. “Think Detective Head will get the warrant?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

Things were bleak. No, not just bleak. They were horribly bleak. Yeah, that just about described them. But at least I wasn’t behind bars. And I knew what my next move was. What it had to be. I was going to the source of the matter.

“I’m going to the Weatherby house,” I announced.

“Are you forgetting about the restraining order?” he asked. “To say nothing of the BOLO that will have gone out by now.”

“Ah, but they’ll be on the look out for Dix Dodd. I don’t plan on looking like Dix Dodd. Nor am I planning to announce my presence, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I do know what you mean.” He shook his head, a look of concern clouding his blue eyes.

“Don’t worry. You know I never met a lock I couldn’t finesse. I won’t get caught.”

“Do you really think you’ll find evidence there?”

“Don’t know, but it’s where I have to start.”

“What are the chances you’d let me do it for you?” he asked.

“Non-existent. You have no charges against you. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Yeah, but it would be safer for me to go than you. You get caught, you’re toast.”

“Yeah, and if you get caught, then who the hell proves my innocence when I’m behind bars? Who the hell else believes in me at this point?”

That sobered him. Hell, it sobered me.

He straightened one long leg as he reached into his pocket. “Here’s Ned’s schedule for tomorrow. Or the best I could figure it, anyway.”

Why didn’t Dylan’s having this surprise me?

“He’s picking his parents up at the airport at 6:30 in the morning,” he said. “He’ll have to leave home by six at the latest. By the time the plane lands, his folks go through customs and they drive back, you’ll have at least a couple of hours there. The place should be empty. I’ll stake it out early in the a.m. and call you.”

“Is there a security system?” I asked. Usually, these high dollar places were alarmed liked Fort Knox.

“There was,” Dylan answered. “But no alarm went off the day Jennifer was murdered.”

“Which goes to prove,” I offered, “that the killer was someone she knew.”

“You’d think,” Dylan said. “But Ned cancelled his account with the security company. Right after Jennifer’s murder. Said he had nothing left to protect.”

I reached for my cell, and checked that it was on vibrate in preparation for the morning. Just in case, turning off the ringer while I was thinking of it. Nothing like having the phone ring when you’re hiding in the bushes, in a closet or under a bed. “What’ll you pursue?” I asked.

“Tonight I’m going to go back over the pictures, notes and tapes we got.”

I blinked. “Wait a minute … I thought Detective Head would have confiscated those?”

Dylan smiled. “Yeah, there was some kind of a mix up. I accidentally gave the Detective the wrong stuff.”

“What stuff did you give him?”

He cringed. “The stuff from your mother’s seventieth birthday party. You know, the tapes of the party your sister sent you. The one with the dozen male strippers and the penis shaped pi?atas.”

Dickhead would have a toothpick snapping fit. I laughed out loud. And that felt pretty damn good.

Dylan laughed, too. “Wait’ll he gets a load of the pictures where they’re doing the limbo.”

I moved to put the now-empty coffee cup on the nightstand, and sat back against the head of the bed, still chuckling.

“Er, Dix,” Dylan said. “You’re kind of … kind of coming undone there.”

I sighed. “No, I’m fine Dylan. Just thinking.”

“No, I mean, you’re … falling apart.”

He just was not listening!

“I’m fine, Dylan. Really.”

He drew a breath. “I mean that your housecoat is coming undone and I can see your breasts.”

Well, that sat me up straight. “I’d better get dressed.”

With a pinching grip on the collar of my housecoat that would have made any Mother Superior proud, I grabbed the brown paper bag of clothing Dylan had brought, and raced to the bathroom.

I’d just exposed myself to my employee. No wait, that wasn’t quite accurate — not quite the whole truth. I’d exposed myself to my employee after hauling him into bed and kissing him thoroughly and running my hands all over his chest. My life was on a roller coaster. One big freaking loop-de- loop. I opened the bag of clothing and pulled out the jeans and sweater Dylan had packed. But my hand stilled to the knock on the bathroom door.

“Dix?”

“Yeah?”

“I … I don’t want you to think that what happened … or rather what didn’t happen here between us, was because I didn’t think it could. Okay, what I mean is, it could. Really could. I mean, hey, I certainly could … if you know what I mean. Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. But I didn’t think it should happen. Not that it shouldn’t. But that if it should, it should be … you know, when it should.”

Apparently, in all the excitement, I’d missed the alien invading the body of the usually eloquent Dylan Foreman. I’d never heard the man tongue-tied before. Yes, I know I should have let him off the hook. But it was kind of fun. Kind of cute. And damn it, kind of hitting home.

From the other side of the door, I heard his exasperated sigh. “Oh, to hell with it. I’ll just say it straight out. Dix, you’re vulnerable right now. Only a jerk would take advantage of that. And I’m trying really, really hard not to be a jerk.”

I sat on the edge of the tub. Not that my knees had gone weak, but … well, I just needed to sit.

Oh, Dix, don’t do this. Don’t feel this.

Okay, this was Dylan … but still, he was a man. I was too smart for that. Too tough. Too cynical. I wasn’t going to fall for any man, especially one so young and handsome, while I….

While I what? What excuse should I make up this time?

I gave myself a mental kick in the ass. And I continued to listen. Apparently the door between us gave him as much freedom to speak as it did me to listen.

“Dix, I just don’t want to make love to you when you’ve got so much trouble on your mind. I don’t want to do anything that would fill you with regrets after. I don’t want us to share mind-blowing orgasms and then have to race away into hiding again. I want it to be like it should be for us. I want it to—”

“Wait!” Oh, Jesus, he was scaring the shit out of me. Give me a mugger in a dark alley. Give me a cheating