Leanne Banks - Hot Stuff

“Until you.”

“Almost a year ago I was hired to find a pair of earrings that were stolen from a house in upstate New York. They were taken during a party, and I investigated everyone attending. Marty was one of the names on the list. He performed. My present client had a necklace taken during a charity event, and the first thing that jumped out at me was Marty’s name on the attending list. I was able to get a work history on him for the past two years and discovered there was an unusual number of thefts associated with his appearances.”

“Can you make enough money stealing the occasional necklace to make the risk worthwhile?”

“I came up with seventeen thefts in two years. And I probably didn’t find everything. Of those seventeen hits only six were worth less than a hundred thousand dollars. In most cases there were multiple pieces taken, plus cash on hand. Three hits went seven digits. Marty wouldn’t get full value for any of the pieces, but he’d do okay. He’d make more than enough to buy his new Porsche plus the art in his condo.”

Cate made a bar run, refilling drinks, cashing out customers. She returned to Kellen and swapped out his empty bowl of bar nuts for a fresh one. “Do you know what happens to the jewelry when it leaves Marty’s hands?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t get rid of it locally. I suspect the larger pieces might go out of the country.”

“Wouldn’t that be complicated? Security checks at airports and whatever.”

“TSA looks for bombs, not necklaces,” Kellen said. “And the fence probably takes possession in this country but shops the stones, if not the whole piece, in Europe or South America.”

“I thought I had a safe living arrangement until I finished school and got a job teaching. Now I find out I’m living with a thief. Do you think Marty’s dangerous?”

“Under ordinary circumstances, no. Under stress, maybe. Marty is supposed to perform here tomorrow night. Do you know if he’s canceled?”

“I asked Evian,” Cate said. “He hasn’t canceled.”

“If Marty is performing there’s a real good chance he’ll return to the condo tonight or tomorrow. He’s got clothes and makeup there.”

“Thinking about it gives me an upset stomach. I’m the world’s worst actress. I’m no good at fibbing. He’s going to know something’s weird. And it’s not like I can avoid speaking to him. His agent died in our stairwell last night. That requires mention. And here’s the worst part… I can’t stand the thought of giving up Beast. He sleeps on my bed with me. And he’s cuddly. And he’s a good listener. And I think he likes me.”

Kellen blew out a sigh. “I wish that was a description of me.”

“I’m worried Marty’s going to come back, and he’s going to take Beast.” A tear popped out and slid down Cate’s cheek. “Shit,” she said.

Kellen wiped the tear away with his fingertip. It was official. He was in love with Cate Madigan. He didn’t care what he had to do, but he was going to make things right. And no matter what, Cate wasn’t going to lose her Beast. “We’ll make it all work out.”

“We?”

“Yeah. You and me. We’re a team, right?”

“Maybe,” Cate said. “I’m not sure how much I trust you.”

“Are we talking about professional ethics or about sex?” Kellen asked.

“Both.”

“That’s easy. My business ethics are beyond question. And when it comes to sex, you can’t trust me at all. I want you bad.”

“Good grief.”

“This is not a good idea,” Cate said.

“Do you have a better one?” Kellen asked.

“No.”

“Then I’m staying. We’ll stop at my place, so I can pick up some clothes, and I’ll move in with you and Beast for a couple days.” It was a little after eleven, and Kellen was holding hands with Cate, gently tugging her past her condo building. “I’m only a couple blocks away.”

“What will I tell Marty if he comes home?”

“You’ll tell him you love me more than life itself and can’t bear to be separated from me.”

“That’s why you’re sleeping on the couch?”

“I won’t be sleeping on the couch. I’ll be in bed with you, acting like I have self-control.”

Yes, but what about me? Cate thought. What if I don’t have any self-control?

Kellen stopped at a brownstone and plugged his key into the door.

“This is a whole house,” Cate said. “Three floors. On one of the nicest streets in the South End.”

“I’m good at my job,” Kellen said. “I get paid well for looking, and I get paid even better for finding. This is a little bare. I just closed on it last month, and I haven’t had much time for interior decorating.”

The front door opened to a small foyer. Living room to the left. Dining room to the right. Stairs with a graceful wood banister led to the second floor. Floors were polished mahogany. Kellen had a large flat-screen television hung over the elaborate fireplace in the living room. An Oriental rug had been placed in front of the fireplace, and a large glass coffee table and comfy leather couch sat on the rug, facing the television. The dining room was unfurnished.

“I’ll only be a minute,” Kellen said. “Make yourself at home while I go upstairs and throw a few things into a gym bag.”

Cate prowled through the dining room and into the kitchen. It was twice the size of Marty’s condo kitchen, with new granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. It looked completely untouched. Pristine oven. No splatters on the cooktop. Over the counter, cabinets were empty. No dishes. No glasses. No silverware. She looked in the side-by-side refrigerator. Beer, orange juice, bread, peanut butter. There was a butter knife in the refrigerator alongside the peanut butter.

Kellen came into the kitchen carrying his gym bag. “It turns out I’m not especially domestic,” he said. “I’d like this place to look like a home with cookies and a coffeemaker and a drawer filled with clean socks, but I don’t know where to begin. I’ve been building my business, living on the road wherever the job took me for so long, I only own one butter knife.”

“Will you have a chance to spend any amount of time here?”

“Yes. My business is changing. I’m now able to do all the preliminary investigation by computer and phone from the office upstairs. And I have two investigators who do the legwork. So hopefully my days on the road are a thing of the past. Or at least they’ll be limited.”

“It’s a really nice house. And it’s a great kitchen.”

Kellen had a flash of insight regarding his house’s missing ingredient. It wasn’t cookies and a coffeemaker that were going to make this house a home. It was a redheaded woman and a big, sloppy dog.

Ten minutes later Cate and Kellen were back in front of Marty’s condo building. Pugg was there too, holding a bloody handkerchief to his nose.

“What happened?” Cate wanted to know.

“Pugg was at the record store at the end of Newbury Street, and Pugg saw the giant Judy Garland leaving the store. So Pugg followed at a discreet distance. Pugg was curious to see if Judy exhibited any manly traits. Pugg followed Judy for several blocks, and then Judy crossed to Commonwealth. And Pugg still followed. Pugg’s observation to this point was that Judy was a lady in every sense of the word. Her clothes were very tasteful, and she had a very ladylike walk.”

“Judy Garland?” Kellen asked.

“Marty,” Cate said.

Pugg pressed his lips together at the suggestion that Judy’s name might be Marty. “Anyway, Judy stopped at a townhouse and took her key out to open her front door and suddenly this terrible blond woman jumped out of the bushes. She said she knew Judy would show up. And she said she knew Judy hadn’t taken care of business. And Judy was quite startled. Pugg could tell Judy was no match for this blond woman, so Pugg stepped in. ‘Excuse me,’ Pugg said to Judy. ‘Do you require some assistance?’ And this blond woman told Pugg to butt out and punched Pugg in the nose.”

“And did you butt out?” Kellen asked.

“Yes. Pugg was bleeding profusely. And Pugg noticed there were two large men standing in the shadows on the side of the house. Pugg thinks they were with the blond woman.”

“So you abandoned Judy?” Cate asked.

“Like a rat on a sinking ship,” Pugg said. “But Pugg called the police on his cell phone. And then Pugg came here to tell you. Your name isn’t on the list of occupants, but Pugg was prepared to buzz everyone until he found you.”

“Pugg is disturbingly tenacious,” Cate said.

“Fucking A,” Pugg said.

Julie’s head popped out of her window. “Hey y’all, what’s goin’ on down there? Are you talkin’ to that adorable, furry little guy?”

“Would you be referring to Pugg?” Pugg asked.

“I don’t know,” Julie said. “What’s a Pugg?”

“I’m a Pugg,” he said.

“I thought Pugg was a little dawg,” Julie said. “Why have you got that handkerchief to your nose?”

“Pugg was injured trying to help a lady in distress.”

“You poor thing,” Julie said. “You come on up here, and I’ll put some ice on it. Just go to the door, and I’ll buzz you in, sweetie.”

Pugg turned to Cate. “Pugg hopes you’ll understand if he gives you the kiss-off. Pugg thinks he has a chance to score with the window lady.”

Cate and Kellen followed Pugg to Julie’s apartment.

“I can’t recommend this guy,” Cate said to Julie. “He’s actually toe fungus.”

“Maybe he’s just a diamond in the rough,” Julie said. “And it must be hard bein’ a Pugg. Is that some foreign country?” Julie asked Pugg.

“Pugg is a name. Patrick Pugg. Pugg doesn’t believe in the use of ‘I.’ Pugg always refers to himself as Pugg.”

“That could get wearin’ on a person,” Julie said.

“Nonsense,” Pugg said. “Pugg is charming. Pugg is adorable.”

“Pugg better stop talkin’ like that or I’m gonna push his nuts so far up his hairy little body they’re gonna come out his nose,” Julie said.