Foul Play

“The puppy looks good,” she offered.

Jake smiled. “He’s a feisty little guy. Scarfed down all his food today.”

There was only one other occupant in the small room, and Amy didn’t know what to say about it. The rooster looked awful. “Did anything show up on Red’s tests?”

Jake shook his head no.

“You think he’ll be okay?”

“Just between you and me, Amy,” Jake said, his voice reflecting the helplessness he felt, “my professional opinion is that he’s cock-a-doodled his last doodle.”

“How awful.”

Jake stared thoughtfully at the bird. “I’d like to think of him as a very old rooster that’s led one hell of a life and is going out in a blaze of glory.”

“It’s still sad. He’s kind of pretty.”

“He might perk up. Maybe he’s just not cut out for show biz. Hot lights and a lot of noise aren’t parts of a rooster’s natural environment. We’ll let him have a restful night and reevaluate his condition first thing tomorrow.”

Amy slumped against the wall. “Boy, I feel really crummy about this. In all honesty, there’s a part of me that’s still bitter about being replaced by this chicken. I’m not mad at him, really, but I wouldn’t mind seeing the station have second thoughts on Monday morning.”

“Maybe you should iron your clown suit tonight. Just in case.”

Amy shook her head. “They made up their mind to have a new format. If it isn’t the chicken, it’ll be something else. Something new. Besides, there’s still the star’s trainer.”

“That trainer looks like a real dunderhead.”

“She has mega cleavage,” Amy said wistfully.

Jake adjusted the IV on the puppy and closed the cage door. “I don’t think cleavage is going to help her when they discover she’s a lot less entertaining than her pet.”

“Are you kidding me? We’re talking about a station that hired a bird to host a children’s show! You honestly think there’s any logic to their thinking?”

She was right, Jake thought. What a shame. Amy had to keep working as his receptionist. He made a concerted effort not to look ecstatic, but wasn’t totally successful.

“Well, you seem a little happier, anyway.”

“Me? I guess it’s because… I’m looking forward to our running date tonight.”

“Running!” Amy thunked her forehead with her fist. “I’d completely forgotten.” Running would be wonderful, just what she needed after a day like today. She smiled brightly and slung her purse over her shoulder.

“Give me ten minutes to drive home and three minutes to change,” she said, heading for the door.

Jake watched Amy disappear, then glanced at the time. In approximately one hour he’d be nicely refreshed from a leisurely workout and relaxing in the cool comfort of Amy’s living room. Then maybe they’d move into the kitchen for an informal supper. Then what? Hmmm. Okay!

He shook his head in disgust. “Elliott,” he said, “you’re a barbarian.” Remember the plan about letting her make the first move? Have some patience, for crying out loud.

Actually, he figured, he probably should take her out somewhere. It was Friday night. He didn’t want to share her, though. He wanted to spend the evening in her house, surrounded by her things, listening to her talk.

He bonked his head against the door to his office. That was so corny. He was in bad shape. Maybe he should just ask her to marry him and get it over with. Ridiculous, he thought. He’d only known her for forty-eight hours. It was too soon. He’d wait until tomorrow.

He found Ida Bird and put her in her cage for the night, opened a can of cat food for Spike, and checked all the doors to make sure they were locked. Closing the front door behind him, he jogged across the parking lot to his car, anticipating a longer run, visualizing Amy trotting beside him, panting from exhaustion and adoration while he slowed his pace to accommodate her.

Nice fantasy, he warned himself. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on her, and she was wearing serious running shoes. For all he knew, she could qualify for the Boston Marathon. He slouched behind the wheel of his car and wondered if he was in trouble.

Nah, he decided, he was much bigger than her, and his legs were at least an inch longer. Of course, those glory days of high school track were more than ten years ago, a voice whispered in his head. You had a doughnut for breakfast, you eat TV dinners, and you drink beer. Then again, you live in a second-floor apartment and stairs have to count for something-don’t they?

One hour later, Jake knew those stairs didn’t count for anything. Amy and he had started out at a moderate pace, chatting companionably, enjoying the slight breeze that rustled in the trees. After about ten minutes of street running, Amy led them to a good-sized pond and turned onto a dirt path.

“This is my favorite part,” she called over to him. “I think if we run a little faster we’ll have time to do two laps before it gets dark.”

Two laps? Was she kidding? He was lucky he’d made it this far; he was a dead man. His calves burned, his feet felt like lead, his T-shirt was soaked through, and he couldn’t breathe. Don’t think about it! he ordered himself. Just concentrate on the woman beside-wait, passing-you, running with long easy strides.

She wore silky black shorts that flapped intriguingly at the side vent, displaying a tantalizing sliver of upper thigh when the breeze was just right. It was enough to keep him going. Wait for the wind, he told himself. Keep putting one foot in front of the other and wait for the wind.

He was relieved when they hit a long downhill grade, then almost groaned out loud when they turned a corner and began climbing. The path stretched endlessly in front of him, leading to what he thought looked like the Matterhorn.

Please, let the Fates allow him to get around just once, and he’d never eat another doughnut. More orange juice, less coffee. No beer. For the rest of his life he’d never have another beer.

Things certainly were looking up, Amy thought. She’d always enjoyed running, but this outing was special. Jake was behind her, seeing her favorite lake for the first time, and Amy imagined it through his eyes.

The setting sun flickered through holes in the tree roof, not quite strong enough to pattern the shaded path. It cast the lake in deep-hued pastels of mauve and teal, encouraging birds to roost and tree toads to commence their evening song. The ground smelled damp and fresh, sometimes surprisingly sweet with honeysuckle, sometimes pungent with fallen leaves and felled trees.

Amy ran effortlessly, relishing Jake’s company, realizing that she’d never enjoyed male companionship like this. Jake was real. She could hear him breathing, hear the steady thud of his footsteps. There was none of the artificiality of her other dates.

Even with Jeff and their brief engagement, there had always been a distance, a formality she never could break through. That relationship had burned so bright and so fast, it seemed a lifetime ago. Maybe it had been; she felt almost untouched by it. Jeff had proven himself a hollow shell.

But, Jake. Jake was the sort of man who belonged in your kitchen. She could imagine him stealing swipes of frosting from a freshly baked cake, or with his nose buried in the newspaper on a Sunday morning. The sexual attraction between them made Amy nervous, but it was exciting, too. And, somehow, Jake eventually always managed to make her relax.

She turned her head to look at him in his faded navy running shorts and gray T-shirt with cutoff sleeves. She didn’t even notice the renegade root snaking across the dirt path until she tripped over it, snagging her toe.

“Yeow,” she gasped, sprawling face first into a rhododendron.

Jake staggered to a halt and wiped the sweat from his eyes.

“Are you okay? You have a thing for leaping into bushes?”

“I skinned my knee.”

Wow. He didn’t want her to be hurt, but he wouldn’t mind if she couldn’t run anymore. Skinned knee, stubbed toe, minor muscle cramp.

He collapsed into the bush next to her. “Looks pretty bad.”

Amy wrinkled her nose and stood. “It’s just a scratch.” She dusted off her legs and shorts and turned to