Oh, boy. Suddenly things were getting very complicated, weren’t they?

  12

  Tex found himself in a bit of a pickle. How do you fire your mother-in-law, even if she never shows up for work, and you have every reason in the world to send her packing?

  And as he sat down for dinner, along with his wife and Vesta, he was brooding on how to broach the subject all through the degustation of his meatloaf, his fried potatoes, and his onion rings with mustard sauce. To the extent that Marge said at a certain point, “It’s that bad, huh?”

  He looked up. “Mh?”

  “You’ve said nothing all through dinner, honey. So it must be worse than I thought.”

  “Well, that depends,” he said cautiously. For him it would be wonderful not having to work with his unreliable and crusty mother-in-law anymore. For Vesta it would mean taking a pay cut. “But I think it’s all for the best, don’t you?”

  “For the best! Don’t you think it’s horrible to have to go at such a young age?”

  “Some people go a lot sooner, honey.” In fact he didn’t know anyone who still worked at the age of seventy-five—if you could call what Vesta did work, of course.

  “Still,” said Marge, idly pushing a piece of meatloaf around her plate with a fork. “A lot of people will be very sad. I will be very sad. Though I will always have the videos, of course. They’re putting them all on YouTube now, which is great.”

  He stared at his wife, then remembered that Vesta had once launched her own YouTube channel. Though nothing much had come of it, as with most projects she started and promptly deserted. “Yeah, you’ll always have the videos,” he agreed, with as much tact as he could muster.

  “What are you talking about?” suddenly asked Vesta.

  “Oh, nothing special,” said Tex, not feeling ready to launch into a discussion about Vesta’s lack of work ethic right now.

  “I don’t know what this world is coming to,” said Marge, shaking her head sadly. “When people can simply plant a knife in another person’s back like that. Especially a person as well liked and popular as—”

  “What knife? What back? Will you talk straight for once?” said Vesta.

  “I don’t think we need to go into all this right now,” said Tex. “Let’s enjoy a nice dinner, and we can get into all of that stuff later.” He smiled. “Bad for the digestion to talk business during dinner.”

  “You’re absolutely right, honey,” said Marge. “It’s just that I find it hard to forget about what happened. It’s all so incredibly sad.”

  Tex gulped a little. When you’re about to fire your mother-in-law from her position and your wife starts talking about knives planted in backs and how sad the whole thing is, it’s tough for a sensitive man to enjoy his meatloaf. Moreover, Vesta was eyeing him with suspicion now.

  “You’re not thinking about getting rid of me again, are you, Tex? You tried it once and it didn’t work, so I hope you learned your lesson.”

  Marge laughed. “Oh, Ma. Of course Tex doesn’t want to get rid of you. He values your input too much. Besides, how is he going to run his office without you? It’s impossible.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Vesta, slightly mollified. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t come in today, Tex. I had something going on.”

  “That’s all right,” said Tex solemnly. “I managed.”

  “You always do, don’t you,” said Marge, casting him a loving glance. “He’s such a wonder man, my Dr. Poole. So when do you want to do this, honey? Right after dinner?”

  “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds like a plan,” he said, starting to feel a little hot under his collar now.

  “What’s going on?” asked Vesta. “What are these after-dinner plans you’re talking about?”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” said Marge.

  “No, you didn’t,” said Vesta, a little acerbically. “And for your information, I’ve got plans, too, so whatever it is you’ve got planned, you can count me out.”

  “Plans? What plans?”

  “I’m going out tonight. On a hot date.”

  “A date!” Marge shot a quick glance to her husband, who merely shrugged. Your mom is a grown woman, that shrug said. She can do whatever she wants with whomever she wants.

  “So who is it?” asked Marge.

  “Wilbur Vickery. Scarlett said he’s sweet on me, can you imagine?”

  Tex could not, in any universe, imagine any man being sweet on Vesta. It was one of those things that boggled the mind. Then again, Wilbur Vickery wasn’t exactly the world’s most eligible bachelor. On the contrary—women probably ran a mile when he went down on one knee, and the producers of either The Bachelor or The Bachelorette would never ask him to feature on their show.

  “He’s taking me to the movies. He suggested dinner at No Spring Chicks but I told him maybe for our second date. I need to get the lay of the land first. Feel him out.”

  “Fancy,” said Marge, looking distinctly unhappy about the prospect of her mom entering the dating world again at her age.

  “Yeah, he owns his own business so he’s probably loaded. So he can afford to splurge on the love of his life.”

  “The love of his life!” said Marge, laughing nervously. “You’re not serious.”

  “And what if I am?” said Vesta censoriously. “Someone has to be the love of that man’s life, and it might just as well be me. Look, I know he’s a good deal younger, and I know plenty of people will take offense, but some men prefer riper women, and Wilbur is one of those men.” She smiled before her, a dreamy look in her eye. “The things I can teach that boy…”

  “Ma!” said Marge, horrified at the implication that her mother planned to go beyond first base on her first date.

  “Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Marge. I was talking about the neighborhood watch. After the movie we’re going patrolling together. It’ll be so much fun.”

  Only Vesta would take a man patrolling on their first date, Tex thought. Then again, hope was starting to surge at this unexpected development. If things worked out between the two young lovers, they might want to move in together, which meant he’d finally, after all these long years, have his home to himself again.

  He cleared his throat. “So… you like Wilbur, huh?”

  Vesta shrugged. “I guess he’s all right. At my age you can’t be picky, so I’m going to give it a shot and see what happens.” She got up from the table and wiped her lips with her napkin then threw it down. “Don’t wait up. I’ll probably be pretty late.” And with a slight grin, she disappeared upstairs.

  Marge and Tex shared a look of surprise. “So Vesta is dating again,” said Tex finally.

  “I don’t know what to think of it,” said his wife. “Wilbur is not exactly the guy I thought she’d fall for.”

  “She hasn’t exactly fallen for him, though, has she? Sounds more like a marriage of convenience to me.”

  “Marriage?” asked Marge, her eyes wide. “Do you really think they’ll get married?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? If they really fancy each other, anything could happen.” And hopefully it would. Also, if Wilbur and Vesta got hitched, Vesta would probably want to help her new husband out at his store. Which would make it unnecessary for Tex to get rid of her now—saving him the aggravation. In other words: a real win-win.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” said Marge. “First Odelia is getting married, then my brother, and now Vesta! Three weddings in one year! It’s too much, Tex!”

  “We don’t know if your brother wants to get married,” said Tex soothingly. Alec and Charlene’s marriage had been announced in the Gazette, but that had merely been a ruse. And since neither the Chief of Police or the Mayor had mentioned the M word since, Tex didn’t think they’d go through with it.

  “Everybody’s getting married and we’re staying behind, Tex,” said Marge sadly.

  “That’s because we’re already married,” he pointed out.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Actually he didn’t, but by that time Vesta was stomping down the stairs again, and this time she was wearing an actual dress, something Tex hadn’t seen her in since… probably ever!

  “How do I look?” asked Vesta, twirling around and looking as prim and happy as a blushing bride.

  “You look great,” said Marge.

  “Try not to sound so surprised, Marge,” said Vesta. “See you later. Oh, and don’t forget to tape my show, Tex.”

  “I won’t forget,” he said, and watched the bane of his existence practically skip out of the house—and very soon, he hoped, out of his life!

  13

  Randy Hancock looked in the full-length mirror and thought he looked pretty decent for his age. At sixty-five most men had lost their youthful good looks, but he was still as slim and trim as he’d ever been. And in spite of the fact that he hadn’t worked out in a long time, he felt pretty healthy, too. Plus, and this was a big plus, he still had all his hair!

  Then again, he had devoted his entire life to staying in shape and probably his body was still enjoying the residual effects of having worked out for several decades.

  And he was just standing on one leg and raising the other one as high as he could when his phone chimed. He sat down on the bed in this, his new home away from home, and frowned at the message. It was from the same number the video had come from, and read: ‘Time to get real, Randy. Transfer ten million dollars into the following account and I’ll deliver the antidote. Failure to comply will result in certain death. Do or die time, booby!’

  “Oh, dear,” he muttered. He immediately got up and bellowed, “Chase! Chase, honey, I just got another one of those horrible messages!” He found the cop in his bedroom, folding laundry and neatly placing it in a drawer. He smiled at the sight of the amazing glutes the man had. “You work out a lot, don’t you?” he said, a soft purr in his voice now.

  Chase looked up, surprised that he was no longer alone. “Oh, hi, Randy,” he said.

  “You can call me Ran-Ran, big boy,” said the fitness legend as he leaned against the doorframe. “So is it true what they say about cops?”

  “What?”

  “That you always carry a concealed weapon between your thighs? No, don’t answer that,” he said, closing his eyes. He shouldn’t give in to temptation when circumstances were as dire as they were. “I got another message,” he said, holding out his phone.

  Chase took the phone and glanced at the message, then whistled through his teeth. “Ten million dollars. Have you got that kind of money… Ran-Ran?”

  “Well, yeah, I’ve got the money, but I don’t want to give it to these horrible people. I worked for that money. It’s my money, and they’re trying to steal it from me. So what do I do, Chase?” He’d sidled up to the cop and now read along with him on the phone, taking in the muscular cop’s body odor, which was musky and really, really nice. “What do you recommend?”

  “I talked to one of my former colleagues,” said Chase, “and sent her the video and the messages. She’s promised to take a look and hopefully she’ll be able to tell me who sent them.”

  “Oh, that would be so nice,” he said, reaching out a tentative finger to touch the man’s bulging bicep then thinking better of it. “And when do you think you’ll be able to make an arrest? Cause I don’t know if you’ve been following along but I only have three days left to live, Chase—is that what your friends call you? Or is it Chasey?”

  “No, Chase is fine,” said the cop, glancing at his celebrity guest a little uncertainly.

  Randy got the hint and stepped back, holding up his hands. “I’m invading your personal space, aren’t I? Apologies, Chase. Force of habit. When you teach an aerobics class you get into people’s personal space all the time. You need to get down and dirty if you want to improve people’s… posture.” My, the cop had amazing posture. Ramrod straight, extremely developed musculature, the works. A perfect specimen in every respect. “You know, when this is all over, would you mind taping a video with me?”

  Chase cocked a curious eyebrow. “A video.”

  “Not that kind of video, you naughty boy!” said Randy with a laugh. “A fitness video! I think you’d make an excellent model. Seeing as my own body has decided to fail me, I was thinking of assuming a role behind the scenes from now on. Direct fitness models. Like you!”

  “I thought you wanted to retire?”

  “Oh, sure. This would just be a passion project.”

  “I don’t know, Ran-Ran,” said Chase. “I’m a cop, not a model.”

  “So what? You could be a cop and a model!”

  Just then, Odelia breezed into the room, and Randy took another step back. Somehow the cop’s animal magnetism kept pulling him in—like a homing pigeon!

  “I heard shouting,” said the reporter. “Is everything all right?” She glanced from Randy to Chase and frowned. Of course, thought Randy. She probably felt the sexual tension, all that sweet testosterone going through the roof!

  He felt a little embarrassed. There he was, asking for this lovely young couple’s help, and all he could think about was what a handsome hunk Chase Kingsley was!

  “Randy got another message,” said Chase, handing the phone to his girlfriend. “This time they’ve actually shown their hand: they want money. A lot of money.”

  “Ten million!” said Odelia, and turned to the fitness star. “How do they know you have this kind of money?”

  “I don’t know how they know, but they do,” he said simply, studying one of the many rings on his fingers. He looked up. “Oh, you mean that they must be someone I know?”

  “Could be your accountant, manager, a business partner…” She thought for a moment. “Could you maybe make a list for me of all the people who know how much you’re worth—financially I mean? Tomorrow first thing I’ll start investigating these people.”

  “I can tell you right now,” he said. “My manager Saul Garter, of course, my accountant Peggy Brook. I don’t have a business partner. And, um… Well, there’s my sister Anne. We’re very close so she knows a lot about my business and private affairs.”

  “Can you write down their names and numbers?”

  “Of course,” he said, giving her a look of admiration. “Will you look at you, going all amateur sleuth on me.”

  “That’s why you came to me, isn’t it?”

  “Why, yes, but I never thought…” He closed his mouth. He’d almost said too much. It was the presence of hunky Mr. McHunky. He made his mind get all scrambled up.

  “How did you arrive on my doorstep if I may ask?” said Odelia. “Did someone give you my name?”

  “Well, I was a huge fan of Passion Island,” said Randy. “And I followed what happened with those disappearances very closely.”

  Odelia nodded. “That case got a lot of publicity.”

  “It did! And you did such a good job finding those women, and exposing that abduction ring. So when I got that video, I just figured Odelia Poole is the person I need to find. She’s the only one who can help me—discreetly!”

  “Don’t worry, Ran-Ran,” said Chase, placing his large and very warm hands on the fitness icon’s shoulders and giving them a tight squeeze. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this thing and we’re going to get you that antidote or my name isn’t Chase Kingsley.”

  “Chase Kingsley,” he muttered in unison with the cop’s words, shivering a little.

  “You’re shivering,” said Chase with a frown.

  “Yeah, you look a little feverish,” Odelia chimed in.

  He couldn’t tell them he was feeling feverish from that amazing man’s touch, now could he. So instead he said, “I guess I probably need to lie down. This ransom demand business has hit me harder than I thought.” And with a weak smile, he excused himself and returned to his room. Oh, he needed to lie down, all right. But not from the message but from Chase’s impromptu massage!

  14

  Dooley was not himself as we traversed the streets of Hampton Cove on our way to the park for cat choir. He was looking a little dazed, and I thought I knew why.

  “I’m sure Gran and Wilbur won’t get married,” I said now, in an effort to cheer him up. “You know Gran. She’s an independent woman, and not the marrying kind at all.”

  “You really think so, Max?” said Dooley, hope visibly surging as he eyed me excitedly. “You really think they will go on one date and that’s it?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “Gran has been on many dates, if you recall, and she’s never once mentioned the word marriage.”

  “She was with this Leo guy,” said Dooley, nodding furiously. “And this Dick guy, and this Rock guy. And she never said she’d marry any of them. Not even once.”

  Gran had gone out with many eligible bachelors over the years, but always found something about them she didn’t like. And knowing Wilbur, Gran would soon find fault with him, too.

  “I think Gran is after Wilbur for his money,” said Brutus. “Wilbur is probably loaded. And Gran loves money. Remember how she claimed the inheritance of the Most Fascinating Man in the World? She was even going to live in his mansion in Colorado.”

  I remembered. It hadn’t been Gran’s finest hour, and even less so when she’d started quarreling with Scarlett, who’d made the exact same claim against the dead man’s fortune.

  “I think Gran just wants some company,” said Harriet, striking the romantic note. “She is, after all, a woman all by herself. Even though she has a loving family and four loving cats, she probably wants a man to hold her close at night, and to talk about what her day has been like.” She sighed. “I’m just afraid she won’t find that kind of companionship with Wilbur.”

  We’d arrived at the park, and I could see that cat choir was going to be a crowded affair. Officially the gathering is designed to give us an opportunity to practice our singing skills, and maybe even take our show on the road—though Shanille, cat choir’s conductor, feels we’re not ready yet to sing in front of an audience. I happen to agree.