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Standard disclaimer.
The next morning, the sky was dark and mottled, the clouds tumbling against each other, threatening rain.
Instead of putting himself out on the water, on a board to be bait for a bolt of lightning, Sam put on his running shoes.
It started to sprinkle as he ran along the rocky beach, but he didn't mind. It kept him cool.
The air was salty from the ocean and also scented with pine from the trees. And in spite of the weather, the mountain chickadees were still out singing in force, sounding like The Chipmunks on crack.
The singing made him hungry, because it sounded as if the chickadees were saying, "Cheeseburger, cheeseburger."
On the way back, he slowed at the Sawyers' summer beach house, remembering his promise to the Geriatric Gang, to locate Randy Barker's GTO.
He walked around the front of the house and took a look through the glass panel, across the top of one of the two garage doors.
And there it was, the '67 GTO.
With a shake of his head, he knocked on the front door.
No answer.
He knocked harder.
And two minutes later, the door was opened by Patrick Sawyer's twenty-two-year-old grandson, Mickey.
He was wearing a bright Hawaiian-print shirt, with red and green parrots on it, unbuttoned over a pair of sunshine-yellow boxers.
His sun-kissed blonde hair reached his shoulders, and he had on, small, round, purple-lensed, John Lennon sunglasses, a laid-back, surfer-dude smile, and held an unlit joint pinched between his fingers.
"Oh shit!" he said at the sight of Sam and turned to run.
But Sam reached out and grabbed him by the back of his shirt. Mickey,who was as thin as a pipe cleaner with eyes, ran in the air for a few beats, before Sam gave him a little shake and dropped him back to his feet.
"Dude," Mickey said, rolling his shoulders, "I have rights."
"Yes, but smoking pot isn't one of them."
"It's called Maritime Law, man. They can't tell you what to do in the ocean."
"You're not in the ocean, and I don't give a shit about your pot. I'm here about the GTO in the garage."
"My grandpa won it in a poker game. Sweet, right?"
"Very. But it's not yours."
"Says who?" Mickey asked.
"Randy Barker."
"Aw, man, that guy's a hundred and something years old. He can't see passed his own nose, and anyway, he's a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs."
For emphasis, Mickey made the crazy sign, twirling a finger by his ear.
"He's seventy and as sharp as a piranha's eyetooth," Sam said. "Plus, he had Lasik surgery. He can see better than both of us put together. And he's got one finger on his 'oops! I've fallen and can't get up button' to report the GTO as stolen. Get it back to him today."
"Can't. I have, like, plans."
"Cancel them," Sam said.
"No can do. Cindy Gomez is coming over today. I'm going to get laid, man. She is one hot piece."
"If you don't return the car, you're going to be the hot piece, Mickey. In prison."
Mickey sighed.
"Harshing my buzz, dude."
Sam held out his hand.
"Keys."
Mickey grabbed a set of keys on the foyer bench and slapped them into his palm.
"It's on empty."
'Course it is.'
Sam started to walk out, then turned back.
"You work for that cleaning company that takes care of Town Hall, right? The night shift?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"You ever see anyone there, in the offices late at night?"
"Sometimes. People are, like, working hard to keep their jobs, man."
"How about recently?" Sam asked.
"You mean as recently, as when your girlfriend stole the money from Brody Wesson's office?"
"Mercedes isn't my girlfriend, and she didn't steal the money."
"Brody's a pretty good guy, man. He wouldn't lie."
"Have you seen anything helpful? Anyone else in the office with him, for instance?"
"Maybe I don't feel like telling you."
"You feel like going to jail?"
Mickey let out a dramatic sigh.
"The cops already asked me this. I told them I didn't see anything."
Sam crossed his arms over his chest and eyed him over the tops of his sunglasses.
And after all of three seconds, Mickey broke eye contact.
"If I get fired from another job, my dad's gonna gut me," he said.
"You keep stealing cars, and your dad is the least of your worries. Talk to me, Mickey."
"Okay, so normally when I go in, everyone's gone. But twice this past week, Wesson was working late. Only he wasn't working, you know what I mean?"
"No."
Mickey hesitated.
"I don't think I should say, man. He's never snitched on me. I don't want to snitch on him."
"You're not snitching. You're helping me solve a crime, so that an innocent woman doesn't get blamed for it."
Mickey sighed.
"He was in his office, in his chair, with some hot chick bouncing on him."
"You know her?" Sam asked.
"Hello, she was naked, man. Hot as hell. My eyes never got higher than her ass. But maybe she had blonde hair. Maybe. I dunno. She was a real screamer though, if that helps. She kept going 'harder, baby, harder,' which didn't make sense, because she was on top and..."
"Have you seen him working late since?" Sam all but snapped. He was grasping at straws here, and knew it.
"If that was 'working' then I want his job," Mickey said.
When Sam just looked at him, he let out a breath and said,
"No, I haven't seen him..." He used air quotes. "...working late since."
"Thanks."
Sam turned to go.
"If you let me keep the car, maybe I'll remember something else," Mickey said.
"How about this," Sam said. "If you remember something else, you tell me. Fast and quiet. And then..."
"You'll get me the car back?"
"No. But I'll let you live."
Mickey blew out another breath, and Sam left.
Sam filled up the GTO, and because it was dirty and the interior reeked like weed, he also drove it through the car wash and got a pine tree air freshener, to dangle from the rearview mirror.
Thirty minutes later, he was handing the keys over to Randy Barker.
"Good as new," he said.
Mr. Barker couldn't wait to sit in it.
Gleeful, as a kid in a candy shop, he made Sam join him and cranked up the music.
They sat there, the windows rattling with
Breaking Up Is Hard to Do, sipping sodas. And just when Sam was thinking, he needed a sharp stick with which to poke out one of his eyeballs, Randy turned to him.
"About your girlfriend, that cutie patootie from White Center."
Sam didn't bother to sigh.
"Her name is Mercedes. And she's not my girlfriend."
"Well, whatever you kids are calling it nowadays then," Randy said. "Friends with benefits?"
Poor Sam, he almost choked on his soda.
"You know, Brody Wesson is a good man, right? He takes care of the town, and he gives back. But Mercedes is good people too. She goes to the senior center. My sister's there. And Mercedes takes the time to sit with her, talk to her, get her involved in the activities. If she stole that money...well, I just wanted to say, that I know she must have had a real good reason."
"She didn't steal it," Sam said.
"I'm just saying..."
A few minutes later, Sam left for home, once again jogging through the morning chill.
He took the streets this time, his running shoes hitting the damp ground.
He'd meant to steer clear of all North Bend business. And he'd definitely meant to stay clear of Mercedes.
But alas, he'd failed at both.
Mercedes' day was a crappy one.
Marley had tried to get her to go out tonight, but she wasn't in the mood. Instead, she was in the kitchen licking brownie batter from a wooden spoon, like her life depended on it, when Sam wandered into the kitchen.
"I smell chocolate," he said, looking hopeful.
He was wearing sexy-as-hell jeans and a white, long-sleeved shirt that was snug across his broad shoulders. And he looked even better than the chocolate.
"Brownies from a box," she told him. "Comfort food."
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She shook her head and reloaded the spoon with more batter.
Taking her wrist, he brought her hand up to his mouth and licked the spoon in the same spot she'd just licked.
It gave her a hot rush.
So did he, shifting closer.
"Tell me," Sam said.
She shrugged.
"People kept coming into the shop, to see the girl who stole the money. And you were right...word is, they're getting ready to make an arrest."
"And you're afraid it's going to be you."
"Well, who else at this point?" she sighed. "Kurt is taking two days off and keeping the shop closed. Even he's planning for me to be in jail."
She needed to get to the bottom of this now.
Determined, she set down the spoon, grabbed her keys and purse, and turned to the door.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked, slapping his pockets, as he turned in a circle, clearly searching for his keys, in the universal bewilderment of men everywhere across the planet. "Mercedes..."
"Table," she said.
"What?"
"Your keys are on the table."
"Damn, you're good." He scooped them up. "Where are we going?"
"To be proactive."
"Yeah? Where's this proactive thing taking place?" he asked, but she didn't answer.
Outside, he took her elbow and redirected her to his truck.
"I don't need help, Sam. Not with this."
"Think of me as a wing-man," he suggested, and opened the passenger door for her.
Since he was standing there blocking her escape, looking big and bad and absolutely unmovable, Mercedes got in.
"If you're just the wing-man, why are we taking your truck?" she asked.
"Wing-men always drive. Where to?"
"The bar."
The local bar and grill was the only nightlife in the entire county.
"I have liquor in the house," Sam said.
"I want to talk to James. He told the police he'd holed up with the caterer."
"So?"
"So the caterer was Shonda, and she's very married. But her assistant...Corrie...dated him a few months back and then broke up with him. Loudly."
"What makes you think he's lying?"
"Someone's lying," she said. "If it's James...why? What's he covering up? Something for Brody, or himself?"
"Okay, I like the way you think," Sam said, "But this has trouble written all over it. I talked to Mickey Sawyer today."
"The stoner guy?"
"He cleans Town Hall at night. He caught Wesson with a maybe blonde the other night."
Mercedes glanced at him.
"Mandy?"
"He couldn't say. I need a favor, Mercedes."
"Sure. Anything."
The look he slid her was pure heat, and she flushed at the thought of doing anything for him.
'That's not what he meant,' she told herself firmly. 'Get a damn grip!'
"When we get there, let me lead, that's all I ask."
Sam parked in the lot between the pier and The Cozy Cafe, catching Mercedes, before she could jump out of the truck.
"Wait!" he said.
His phone was ringing.
Holding onto her purse...clearly a man who knew how to slow a woman down...he punched SPEAKER on his phone, which was still lying on the console.
"Evans," he said shortly.
"Ooh, so official," a woman said. "Odd, for a man on vacay."
"I'm..." He glanced at Mercedes. "Busy. You okay?"
"You mean, do I need you to save me?" the woman asked. "Never fear, little brother, I do not. I'm trying to save you."
'His sister,' Mercedes thought, with way more relief than she should have felt.
Sam's brow knit in annoyance.
"I'm fine, Stacie. Just..."
"Busy," she said. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. I heard about you and the cute florist."
Sam stared at the phone, and his sister snorted into the silence.
"You were seen kissing her in your truck on Main Street in town, Sam. What did you expect? Anyway, you've got some reporters here who want..."
"Tell them no," he said with steel. "Tell them to stay away from you or I'll get restraining orders. Tell them..."
"Got it, Ace. I can handle this. What are you doing?"
Sam tightened his grip on Mercedes' purse when she tried to break free.
"Working."
"Liar," his sister said. "You never answer the phone when you're working. It's the cute florist, right? Tell me about her."
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I'm hanging up now."
Stacie laughed at him.
"I'll start. Her name's Mercedes. Jake says she's very pretty. Maybe I should get a few days off work and come up to get a look at her myself."
Mercedes felt a warm fuzzy, flow through her, which was rudely chased away by a blast of reality by Sam himself.
"It's work," he repeated.
'Work.'
"Uh-huh," Stacie said, sounding amused. "Love you."
Sam didn't answer, he just punched END, then turned towards Mercedes.
"Ready?" he asked.
Oh, yes. She was ready.
She was ready to leave his truck.
Alone.
"I'll handle this," she said.
"Never hurts to have backup, Mercedes."
"I won't be more work to you."
He gave what might have been a very small sigh.
"You don't know my sister," he said. "If I'd told her anything else, she'd drive up here and butt in."
Mercedes unhooked her seatbelt.
Beside her, Sam did the same.
"Let me do the talking," he said,
'Over my dead body.'
"Listen," Sam said, going for reasonable.
It was a mistake, because, it'd been a while, but he should have remembered that angry women were never reasonable.
"You're looking pretty riled up. You need to..." Sam started.
But Mercedes slid out of the truck and headed to the bar with purpose.
"Go in low profile," he finished. "Shit!" he muttered behind her, when she didn't slow down.
But he followed her inside and watched, as she walked right up to the bar, where the guy James was sitting with a few other guys over beers.
Sam nodded to the guy behind the bar...John Masters, co-owner of the place, and all-around good guy. Then, he sidled up to Mercedes.
"Can I have a minute?" Mercedes asked the janitor.
The big guy smiled down at her.
"Hey, Mercy. Sam. Heard you two were a thing now."
"Remember the other night?" Mercedes asked him.
"When I let you into Wesson's office? Yeah." His smile faded. "I'm sorry you got caught."
"I didn't steal the money," she said, looking like steam might start coming out of her ears. Or her hair. The hair was pretty wild today, but Sam liked it.
And he liked her. Way too much.
"Right." James nodded adamantly at her. "You didn't steal the money."
"Can you tell me who else you saw in the hallway that night?" she asked.
"Well," he said, scratching his beard, "Just as I told the police, it was hard to keep track. That hall was busy as hell."
"Could you give it a shot?"
"Sure. Mrs. Reyes wanted to see the Lost and Found, which was in the storage closet. Then, while I was waiting on her, Emma came in to make a phone call in private. Only, she ended up yelling at her sister, so it really wasn't so private at all."
"Emma?"
"From the post office. And then, Andrea came in to see why people were in the office to begin with, and she got all up in arms about it. And then there was Brody himself..."
James blushed a bit at that.
"But I suppose you've already heard..."
"That he had Mandy in there?" Mercedes asked politely.
James downed his drink.
"Yeah. I didn't know, Merce. I swear it."
James' mountain-sized friend snorted. And Sam agreed. As the janitor, nothing happened in that building that James didn't know about.
"And you," Mercedes said to James, "You were there with Corrie, right?"
James went very still, only his eyes sliding to the giant next to him.
"Uh, who told you that?"
"It's what you told the police," Mercedes said calmly. Except, she wasn't calm at all. Her eyes gave her away.
Making Sam wonder, if he was the only one who could see it.
James' friend set down his beer and glared hard at him.
"You were with Corrie?" he asked. Actually, it was more of a shout.
"Now, now, buddy," James said quickly, raising his hands. "In all fairness, you did say you and her were just friends, so..."
But James' buddy punched in the mouth.
"In all fairness," he said.
Sam didn't wait.
He grabbed Mercedes and hauled her back, just as the two men tumbled to the ground, James' long legs taking out the two men on the other side of him.
"Hey!" one of them yelled. "You spilled my drink!" And then he jumped into the fray too.
His friend dove in as well, and pretty soon, beers and fists were flying in a full-out bar brawl.
John Masters hopped over the bar to break it up, and Sam, so used to that type of behaviour, helped him separate the idiots from the idiots.
Afterwards, Mercedes stood staring at him.
"Wow!" she said.
"What?"
"You just waded into the flying fists and yanked them apart like it was no big deal, like you didn't even notice the danger."
Sam could have told her, that it was no big deal.
He'd been in a lot worse danger than a damn bar fight, but she was looking at him all impressed, and it was kind of nice.
He led her outside, where they ran into a woman going in.
Andrea.
In a navy blue suit, looking elegant and chic, hair perfect, she looked startled to see them.
"We got cut off on the phone," she said to Mercedes.
"Yeah." Mercedes slid Sam a glance. "Sorry about that. Listen, careful in there. It's crazy tonight."
Andrea took a look at the bar's entrance.
"What's going on?"
"A little fight," Mercedes replied.
"Seriously?" Andrea pulled out her phone. "Did you call the police?" She turned to Sam. "Aren't you the police?"
"It's handled now," he said. "How often do you work late?"
"A lot." She gave him a wary look. "Why?"
"Just wondering, if you've ever seen anyone else late in Wesson's office."
Andrea was quiet for a beat.
"You're on vacation, which means you're not a cop right now, right?"
"Right," he said. Cop rule numero uno...be able to lie your ass off right to anyone's face.
"So this isn't official or anything."
"Absolutely not," Sam said without hesitation.
Andrea nodded, then glanced apologetically at Mercedes.
"I think it's possible, that Brody's been seeing someone else."
"Besides Mandy and me?" Mercedes asked.
"Yes."
"Who?"
"I don't know," Andrea said. "I'd have told you before, but until you came into the office the other day, I really thought you and him were just roommates."
Andrea entered the bar, and Mercedes, looking a little deflated, fell silent.
Sam took her hand.
"Come on."
That she let him lead, told him it was time for more ice cream. So he took her to the pier and bought her a triple cone from the ice cream shop.
Then, he took her hand again.
At this time of night, the pier was quiet, and once they walked passed the arcade, they had the night to themselves.
They walked in silence to the very end and stood there looking out at the ocean, lit by a streak of light from the moon.
The water slapped rhythmically against the pylons. The sound always calmed Sam, and next to him, Mercedes let out a soft sigh.
"That got me nowhere," she finally said, leaning against the railing, licking her cone like she meant business.
Sam tried not to stare and failed.
God, he wanted her to lick him like that.
"We knocked on some doors," he said. "We shook things up."
She turned to face him.
"And now what?"
He stroked a finger along her temple, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, for the sheer pleasure of touching her.
Then, he leaned in for a kiss.
She tasted like chocolate and trouble. Big trouble.
"We wait for the dust to settle."
"We?"
"Yeah. We." He let his hand fall from her. "But..."
"Yeah, I know." She pushed away from the railing and started walking back to his truck. "It's a short-term we."
Stay safe!
