Free Hot Rocks by Randy Rawls Page B

I could look forward to a change of luck with a doctor. Okay, so I was jumping ahead a bit. But, you can’t be a good PI without imagination. And he had mine working overtime.
    Then he wrinkled my bridal gown by asking, “So, why were the cops after you when we met?”
    “Uh …” I reflected a moment, fiddling with my spoon, wondering how much I should tell him about my being duped. May as well find out if he scared easily. I gave him the whole story, including footnotes, finishing with, “I feel so stupid. She played me like a cheap keyboard, and I sang to her tune. Karaoke is not my normal style.”
    “So,” he said, studying my face, “what are you going to do about it?”
    “Do? I’m going to find her and pull her hair out by its mousey brown roots. After I’ve jerked her bald, I may hurt her. Then, if my cravings for revenge are satisfied, I’ll turn her remains over to the cops as an accessory to murder. That’s what I’m going to do—dead or alive.”
    He chuckled, returning to the personality I found more enjoyable each moment. “Sounds like a plan. Should I infer that you’re upset with her?” His eyes shifted from jolly to serious. “And I bet you’re tough enough to do it.”
    “You bet I’m tough enough. She can run, but there’s no hole deep enough to hide her. I’ll find her and when I do …”
    We lapsed into an uneasy silence.
    I wondered if I’d come across as too bent on revenge, too forceful. I should have known better. I had chased men off before by intimidating them. But he didn’t make an excuse to leave, just raked his spoon across the bottom of his dish. That changed my thinking to whether he’d jump and run if I asked him to dinner. No, that would be stupid. A good-looking, single doctor in South Florida? He was probably booked solid for the next year. And, while I considered myself moderately attractive, no one had ever accused me of being a beauty queen. I resigned myself to finishing my sundae, then he’d ride off into the night for his next rendezvous.
    “Beth,” he said, staring at his dish. “I don’t usually mix my medical practice with my social life, but you pique my curiosity—and you definitely stir my interest. Since I referred you to a colleague for follow-up, I feel unencumbered by medical ethics.” He stopped and scraped his spoon along the bottom of the banana split boat. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you. Are you free for dinner tonight? I know it’s late, and I’ll understand if you already have a date, but—”
    “Oh, hush,” I said, relief flooding over me. “I was afraid you’d never ask.”
    “So, do you have a favorite place?”
    Remembering my earlier conversation, I said, “I understand there’s a steak house nearby. Can’t vouch for it, but it received a solid recommendation from a homeless guy I recruited to help me find Garcia.”
    “A what?” He laughed. “Yeah, I suspect hanging with you will teach me a whole new world. I love it. It’s about time I took off my stethoscope and enjoyed life as a normal South Floridian. Let’s find that restaurant.”
    We did. It wasn’t a Morton’s, but not as bad as it could have been. Several steps up from Joe’s, you know the one with the big neon sign flashing, FOOD … FOOD … FOOD . We laughed, ate, chuckled, drank, chortled, and, at least for me, had a wonderful evening. When he dropped me at my car, his lips felt wonderful on mine—warm and caressing, as if they belonged there. He promised to check the lump on my head again in the next couple of days if I wanted. I most certainly wanted and told him so. I missed him even before he drove out of the parking lot.

fifteen
    Unlike the previous night, I had no problem sleeping drug free. Not even an aspirin crossed my lips. There was one minor situation, but I managed to work my way through it. Brushing my teeth was difficult because of the smile dominating my face. Yeah, I know it was stupid, but I kept thinking, maybe Mom