had been so nice. So informal. Just like people in Copper Corners.
“Bummer.” The guy seemed to feel sorry for her.
Deirdre had taken her money? And now the town house owner had moved in? Ice water raced along her nerves, making her go cold even in the pounding heat.
“Don’t feel too stupid,” Jackson said. “I’m the one who hired her. She’d had some bad breaks in Vegas and needed money, so I took her word and gave her the job.” He shrugged. “Come in.” He backed up and motioned for her to enter.
What was she going to do now? Absently, she stepped over the threshold into the living room, where she was assailed by the scent of pizza-drenched cardboard, stale beer, dust and man. Jackson McCall had been here a while, evidently.
A visual sweep took in male debris—clothes, shoes, newspapers and fast-food remnants, a tangle of video game controllers, a huge TV and three shiny car engines on TV trays against one wall.
Weird, but not as weird as the rest of the place, where the motif seemed to be breasts and the nearly naked women they belonged to. The walls held a velvet rendering of a Marilyn Monroe Playboy shot and posters of women in bikinis. A standing lamp featured a plaster nude and the cocktail table was a piece of glass balanced on the bright pink nipples of a woman’s chest.
Calm down, Heidi, she told herself. You’ve seen boobs before. But these weren’t mere boobs. These were jugs, hooters, melons, racks. And the man who owned them was living in what was supposed to be her town house.
“Nice to meet you.”
She started, then realized he was holding out his hand. She shoved the candy sack under her arm and extended her hand. “Yes. Sure. Nice to meet you.” She was so shaken up that she didn’t notice how warm and solid his grip was until he’d let go. “So, if you’re not staying, can I rent from you?” she said in a flash of wild hope.
“Oh, I’m staying.” His tone and the emotion in his dark eyes suggested that was a defeat. He shot her a sympathetic smile. “Sorry.”
“But all that money I gave Deirdre…What am I going to do?” In the background, she heard a car roar to life, then squeal off. Someone was in a noisy hurry. She’d hoped for a quiet neighborhood.
But this was no longer her neighborhood, unless she got Jackson McCall to move out. And she had no money to rent another place. The job at Shear Ecstasy was part-time because of school and meant only to cover living expenses.
Meanwhile, everything she owned was parked at the curb of the place inhabited by a man with a breast fetish and a pile of old nachos molding on the arm of his sofa. She turned to glance out the door. Shouldn’t she be able to see her car? Maybe she’d parked farther down….
“Deirdre and your money are long gone. If you want to call Apartment Hunters or something, help yourself.” He gestured further inside. “I’ll make some coffee.”
“No, thank you. I’ll just…I have to…figure out…this.” She backed toward the door, not wanting Jackson to see her freak. Her joy had snapped like a dry ficus stem and her brain seemed about to explode. She still held Deirdre’s candy. Deirdre, that duplicitous…The word bitch formed in her mind, but that was too vicious. That dishonest person.
On the porch, she grabbed her tree and staggered down the porch stairs.
“Sure you don’t want coffee?” Jackson called to her from the doorway. “Hell, you deserve a beer. Apartment hunting is thirsty work.”
She turned to him, considering the possibility of at least taking some coffee. Then she saw his face, soft with sympathy. He felt sorry for her. She seemed pitiful. That would never do. She was on her own, for better or worse, for richer, poorer and, it seemed, homelessness. She’d made it this far. She was not about to fold at the first crisis.
“Thanks anyway.” She forced a smile she didn’t feel, shifted the tree to her hip and turned on her earth-shoe heel, desperate to get inside her new car where she could panic for a few moments before she figured out what to do.
Except…where was her car? The street was bare of her shiny new Outback. In fact, the block that had been busy with ballplayers was now as eerily quiet as Home Depot on Super Bowl Sunday.
Heidi’s stomach dropped like the first plunge on a roller coaster and her heart flew into her throat. She spun to check both directions. No glory of chrome and steel anywhere. It was gone. Into thin air.
“Oh, my God!”
“What’s wrong?” Jackson took the stairs to the sidewalk, headed her way.
“My car’s gone.” Could it have possibly rolled downhill as she’d feared? She set down the heavy plant, dropped the candy sack and ran a few yards down the sidewalk, peering as hard as she could toward the far intersection, desperate for a glimpse of her vehicle.
Then she remembered something awful. She’d left the keys in the ignition. A common habit in tiny Copper Corners, where people often left even their houses unlocked. She’d planned to zip into the garage as soon as Deirdre let her in to unload.
If only Heidi could take back those two short minutes. Get a do-over. Grab her keys like the sensible person she was.
“What kind of car?” Jackson asked, dragging her back to the terrible present.
“Subaru Outback. Silver. New. With the keys inside,” she added wretchedly. “How could a car get stolen in broad daylight in two minutes?”
“No place in the city is safe enough to dangle your keys in people’s faces.”
“I was going to pull right into the garage.” With a jolt, she realized what else she’d left in the car. Her purse. Not only did the thieves have her new car and everything she owned, they also had her driver’s license, her only credit card and, worst of all, the cashier’s check for every cent she owned. Yeah, it was a big check, but she was careful. Cashier’s checks were stolen everyday. The clerk had warned her….
Fresh icebergs broke off into her bloodstream.
She struggled against the numbing chill. She had to figure this out and fix it. Fast. “There were guys here…playing basketball.” Her gaze shot to the hoop a half block down. “They must have seen what happened.” She started across the street.
“Hang on.” Jackson caught her arm. “I don’t know those guys, but they have a lot of late-night visitors—in and out and I don’t think they’re selling baseball cards. We’ll call the police.”
“But I’m sure they saw. They watched me arrive. I waved at them even.”
“They were probably casing your car. Come on. We’ll call the police.” He reminded her of her brothers, jumping in to take care of things for her.
She had to act for herself, so she took her phone from her pocket and pressed 9-1-1—her first-ever emergency call and due to her own stupidity.
Standing on the sidewalk in the pounding sun, under Jackson McCall’s watchful eye, Heidi explained to the dispatcher what had happened, fighting the wobble in her voice. When she revealed that the car held her purse and her money, Jackson grimaced. He thought she was an idiot.
She
