Foul Play

  Amy indicated that he should take a right-hand turn, and continued. “Anyway, when the school year came to a close I decided maybe I wasn’t destined to teach first grade. I loved working with children, but I needed something with more personal freedom…more action. The idea for a TV show came to me in the middle of the night. I woke up in a sweat, thinking, holy cow, wouldn’t it be great to entertain hundreds of kids at a time instead of just twenty-five! So, the next day I got dressed up in my clown suit and marched into the studio.”

  Amy rolled her eyes. “I still don’t believe I had the nerve to do that! I read The Little Engine That Could to the station manager. He sat there the whole time, smoking a cigar and looking at me as if I was from outer space. I was into the second round of singing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ when Gilda Szalagy, the Morning Cooker, walked in and announced she was leaving to take a job in Atlanta. They gave me her slot on a trial basis, and I’ve been Lulu the Clown ever since…until four o’clock today.”

  “Didn’t you have a contract?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. It’s a mom-and-pop-type station. We just went day by day. It was always very low key. Very pleasant.”

  “Did they say why they were replacing you?”

  “Two weeks ago Sam, the station manager, retired. The new station manager said the show needed a fresh face.”

  “Yeah, but a fresh beak? Hard to believe a chicken could entertain kids for a whole hour.”

  “The chicken comes with a trainer. I suppose she’ll read the stories and sing the songs.”

  “And the chicken will do the dancing?”

  Amy grinned. “Listen, I’ve seen the chicken dance—it’s pretty good.”

  “I bet its legs aren’t nearly as nice as yours.”

  “Thank you.” It was a funny little compliment, but it made her feel better. Now that the anger was subsiding she was left with an empty sadness. It had been the injustice and the suddenness of the action that had stung her heart. She’d worked hard to entertain and educate her young audience. She felt a responsibility to those children. What would they think when she simply didn’t appear tomorrow? How would they know that she loved them…that she hadn’t willy-nilly abandoned them?

  That rotten new manager hadn’t even given her a chance to say good-bye. She couldn’t believe he’d even been hired. Who needed to have the highest ratings on the air? Amy thought they’d been doing just fine. She felt a tear catch in her lower lashes. “Damn.”

  Jake covered her hand with his. “It’s okay.”

  “I didn’t even get a chance to say good-bye. I asked them for one more day. Just one more day, and they said no.”

  He didn’t know how to comfort her. He saw the brightness in her eyes and was scared to death that she was about to burst into tears. He waited a moment. “So now what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She had rent to pay, car payments, utility bills. Thank goodness, she had a savings account, but that wouldn’t last forever.

  “If I could find a temporary job to get me through the summer, I could go back to teaching school in September,” she said.

  Jake didn’t even hesitate. “You’re in luck. I could give you a job. I happen to need a receptionist.” He needed a receptionist like a hole in the head, but he’d do anything to be near her. He quickly reviewed his budget and determined he’d be able to pay her a modest salary. The awkward part would be finding work for her in the small, two-man office.

  Work for Jacob Elliott? Amy’s heart flopped in her chest and her stomach contracted into a knot of anxiety. What an odd reaction, she thought. Why was she so panic-stricken at the thought of working for Jacob Elliott? Because Jacob Elliott was the most incredible male she’d ever met, and there were a whole bunch of warm, tingling sensations occurring in private places throughout her body. If she could tingle like this when she was depressed, what would happen in a day or two when she became her usual cheery self? Those tingles were going to get her into a mess of trouble if she wasn’t careful.

  She was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she almost missed her house. “There!” she gasped. “The brick Cape Cod with the tan trim.”

  Jake hit the brakes and made a fast turn into the driveway. He squinted at the two-foot-high grass and twelve-foot-tall hedge. Ivy crept over almost every inch of brick, snaking across windows, peeping down the chimney, slithering along drainpipes. Border shrubs had grown to gigantic proportions.

  “You live here?” Jake thought the house looked like it was being eaten alive by its own greenery. The five-foot-high, six-foot-wide spreading juniper that had spread across her front stoop reminded him of Jaws.

  “It’s a little overgrown.”

  Jake bit his lip to keep from laughing. A little overgrown? She could lose a rhinocerous in that lawn.

  Amy jumped from the Jeep and balanced a grocery bag on her hip. “I just moved into this house last month. I’ve been so busy fixing the inside that I just haven’t gotten around to the yard.”

  She paused at the front door and skeptically surveyed her property. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure where to begin. I’ve never had a yard before. And this bush…”

  “Jaws?”

  Amy giggled. “Yeah. Sometimes I worry it’s going to reach out and grab me.”

  “Couldn’t blame it.”

  Amy felt the keys slide through her fingers and land on the cement porch. She’d never heard anyone’s voice change so quickly from casual joking to husky intimacy. His comment had been nothing more than a low murmur, deep and dusky, like fine smoky whiskey…or rustling sheets. She realized he was very close. His dark eyes caressed her lips, her throat…Holy Toledo, he was going to kiss her. Her heart frantically pounded in her chest. She took a small step backward—and fell off the small stoop into a blooming forsythia.

  Jake couldn’t believe his eyes. For a brief moment Amy seemed gobbled up by the yellow bush. Two slim legs frantically waved amidst the leaves and flowers and there was a flash of pink panties. He’d taken a few women by surprise, but he’d never ever seen the unabashed terror that Amy had displayed before leaping into the forsythia. Lord, he was a real lady killer. One smoldering look and he had her running for the hills.

  He gently lifted her out of the bush and set her on her feet. Bits of yellow flower and bright green leaves stuck in her hair. The white lace blouse had a small tear in the left sleeve.

  Amy fluffed out her skirt as if she were the queen of England. “I got a little nervous,” she explained.

  “I noticed.”

  “I…um, I thought you were going to kiss me. I always get nervous about the first kiss.”

  “Only the first kiss?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Good. Then let’s get the damn thing over with.” He pulled her to him and touched his lips to hers. The kiss deepened, and as they melted together, the world seemed to stand still. Jake released her and took a shaky breath. “Maybe we’d better go inside now.”

  Amy blinked at him. She’d known him for less than fifteen minutes, and here he was, kissing her senseless. She really should be mad at him, she thought, but the truth was, she hadn’t done anything to discourage the kiss. In fact, she’d been looking forward to it, in a terrified, curious sort of way. She just hadn’t expected the kiss to be so…magical.

  “Earth to Amy.”

  “Boy, that was some kiss.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Yes. You’re a terrific kisser.” She bent to scoop up the groceries that had spilled and to hide her cheeks till the blush cooled down. Had she really just said that? “This sure has been a strange day.”

  She kicked the door open and ushered Jake into the cool interior. “Um, about the job offer. We certainly wouldn’t want to go around kissing each other if we were working together. It would be…awkward.”

  Jake thought it would be wonderful. He couldn’t imagine more ideal working conditions.

  He set the grocery bags on the kitchen co
unter and looked around. It was nice. Light and airy. Beige wall-to-wall carpet in the living room-dining room. Creamy-colored sheers on the front windows. A big comfy-looking couch in sort of a rosy color. The walls were freshly painted eggshell white. The house had an air of cleanliness and order. It was a peaceful haven—not what he would have expected of Lulu the Clown. And it was very different from his own cramped, messy apartment. He slouched against the counter.

  “You’ve decided to take the receptionist job?”

  “It would only be temporary.”

  “Of course.”

  “And no kisses.”

  “Of course.”

  Amy didn’t know whether she should trust his answers or not. He might have said “of course” but his eyes were sending a message all their own. It didn’t matter. She needed the job, and she could handle Jacob Elliott. She would be friendly but professional, pleasant but firm. Everything would be fine.

  Amy drained her wineglass and dumped the package of ground meat into a large Pyrex bowl. She added an egg, a small amount of grated cheese, bread crumbs, and freshly chopped parsley. She narrowed her eyes, and her upper lip curled slightly. “Now we have to be brave. We have to mush this stuff together. Are you ready?”

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

  “We gotta wump it a good one.” She wrinkled her nose and plunged her fist into the mixture. “Wump.” She stared glassy-eyed at her target. “Needs something. Ketchup.”

  Jake added a dollop of ketchup and returned to his stool in the middle of the kitchen. She was snockered—on one glass of wine. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes he wouldn’t have believed it.

  The raw egg and ketchup squished between Amy’s fingers. “Yuck! Lucky for you I have a strong stomach. Not everyone can mix meatballs with their bare hands,” she said, plopping a lump of meatball goo in her hand. She attempted to roll it into a ball, but it stuck to her fingers and went flaccid in her palm. She looked at it in dismay and chewed on her lip. “Can’t understand what’s the matter. I’m always such a good meat-baller.”

  “Maybe we should just pop a couple of those TV dinners into the oven.”

  Amy held her hand up. “No need. I’ll have everything under control in just a minute. More bread crumbs!” she ordered.

  “Um…we’re out of bread crumbs.”

  Amy paused. “Tell you the truth, I’m not hungry, anyway.” She poured out more wine and leaned against the counter. Jake had four eyes. Funny she hadn’t noticed that before. And he was fuzzy. She should bring that to his attention. “Jacob, you’re fuzzy…and your mouth is crooked.”

  “How about we put some water on for coffee, hmm?”

  “Never drink coffee. Makes me nervous.” Amy placed her wineglass on the toaster. “Look, I can make my wineglass wobble on the toaster, can you do that?”

  She took an unsteady step toward him and walked her fingers up the front of his shirt. “Know what? I’m drunk as a skunk. Good thing you’re such a nice person. There are men who would take advantage of a situation like this.”

  Jake watched her fingers move from his collar to his neck. They slid along the outer rim of his ear and tangled in his hair. He felt her breasts nudge against the wall of his chest and he wasn’t sure if he deserved her trusting compliment.

  “That’s me…all-around nice person.” What was she doing now? Lord, she was nibbling at the base of his throat. And her hands…where were her hands going? “Listen, Amy, even nice people lose control. I mean, they have moments when—”

  “Not me. Never lose control. Cool as a cucumber.”

  “Easy for you to say, but it’s hard for me to be cool when you’ve got your hands on my backside.”

  Amy looked down. Sure enough, her hands had found their way into his back pockets. She must be dreaming because she’d never attacked—never even thought of attacking—a man in her life. “Oh. Does that bother you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Me too. Is it warm in here?”

  “I thought you were cool. Never lost control.”

  “Never have before.” Her eyes opened wide. “This could be a moment-ee-ous occasion. You know why, Jake? Because you make me tingle. That’s a first. Are you going to be the first? Wanna know where I tingle?”

  “I could be your first?”

  “Don’t you want to know about the tingles?”

  “No. I want to know about the momentous occasion.”

  She shook her head sadly. “It’s never happened.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jake said, “don’t tell me you’ve never—”

  “Never.”

  “You mean, you’re a—”

  “Yup.”

  A virgin, for Pete’s sake. A twenty-six-year-old virgin. He’d thought they’d gone the way of the dinosaur. Jake held her at arm’s length. What the devil was he supposed to do with a drunk virgin? Not that he was in the habit of taking advantage of defenseless women—but he had plans for this particular woman. Romantic plans.

  “D’ya know, some men don’t like that I’m a…um, inexperienced person.”

  Jake gently tucked an errant curl behind her ear and realized, with chagrined shock, that he wasn’t one of those men. It had caught him by surprise, but the more he thought about it, the better he liked it. It was refreshing to find a woman who’d decided to wait for marriage. And if Amy had decided to wait for marriage, then that was fine with him—because he’d already decided to marry her.

  Suddenly, she went slack in his arms, as if some great weight had descended upon her shoulders. “Amy?”

  “Wow,” she said. “Wine sure makes me tired.”

  Jake scooped her up into his arms and grinned. The little tyke was out on her feet. “Where’s your bedroom?”

  She nuzzled against his shoulder. “You animal.”

  “That’s me, Jake the Animal. Is your bedroom upstairs or downstairs?”

  “Downstairs.” Amy’s eyes opened wide. “Are you going to…deflower me?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Darn.” Amy was surprised at that. Virginity had been fine this morning. It had felt comfortable last night and last week. It was all the chicken’s fault, she thought. Somehow, the chicken had made her dissatisfied with virginity. Gosh, her head felt funny.

  “I think you’ll feel differently in the morning,” Jake said, smiling. He gently set her down on her bed and set off to find a nightie for her to change into. He opened a dresser drawer and found red silk teddies, flimsy panties, and wispy lace bras. Didn’t look like virginal clothes to him. “Uh, you sure—”

  “Trust me. I’m as pure as you can get.” She gave him a big wink.

  “So where are your sensible nightgowns?”

  Amy looked at him with unfocused eyes. “Jake? I have the whirlies.”

  Jake shook his head. “How could you get so drunk on one glass of wine?”

  “I never drink anything stronger than root beer.”

  “So why did you have wine tonight?”

  “I wasn’t thinking. You have that effect on me. I get all flustered, and then I do dopey things.”

  Jake felt his heart skip a beat.

  “And you make me tingle. I’ve never tingled before. You know what? I like to tingle.”

  “Maybe you’re hyperventilating.”

  “All by myself?”

  Jake grinned. “Usually hyperventilating is a solitary activity.”

  “Well, I’m tired of solitivity actarities.”

  “Okay, maybe sometime when you’re sober we can hyperventilate together.” He selected an ivory nightshirt from her lingerie drawer. It wasn’t sensible, but it wasn’t totally decadent, either. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he began to carefully unbutton Amy’s blouse.

  “I thought you weren’t going to deflower me.”

  “I’m not deflowering you. I’m dedressing you. I’m putting you to bed. Alone.”

  “Party pooper.”

  “Don’t push me.”

>   Jake slid her shirt off her shoulders and groaned at the sight of her in a practically transparent, filmy lace bra. This was torture. Retribution for cheating on his third-grade spelling test. Penance for running yellow lights. And there was Mary Ann Kwiatkowski. When he was in the sixth grade he’d traded a three-page book report for a peek under Mary Ann Kwiatkowski’s skirt. She’d gotten a D on the report, and now God was getting him for swindling Mary Ann Kwiatkowski.

  Amy grabbed the nightshirt. “I don’t think it’s proper to dedress someone unless she asks you to.” Amy smiled. “Will you?”

  He clenched his teeth. Elliott, don’t even think of it! “Will you be okay if I leave you alone?”

  “I suppose so, but, well, this has been very disappointing, Jacob. I finally decide to ask for help dedressing, and what happens? I can’t find anyone to do it.”

  Jake smiled and closed the bedroom door. He suspected this was not an ordinary day in the life of Amy Klasse. Amy Klasse was obviously intelligent and gutsy. She had high professional and personal standards and possessed the self-discipline to maintain those standards…until tonight. Her self-discipline had done a definite nosedive halfway into the meatballs.

  He returned to the kitchen and took time to examine the room. Like the rest of the house, it was bright but serene. A rose-and-turquoise Tiffany lamp hung over a round pine table. A deep-purple African violet in a new clay pot served as a centerpiece. The appliances looked new—as did the countertops and pine cabinets. Lulu the Clown must have commanded a decent salary. The house wasn’t flashy, but it had a feel of well-chosen quality to it. Jake liked it. It was comfy.

  He looked at the bowl of meatball gook and scratched his head. He should do something with it, but what? When in doubt, put it in the refrigerator. He poured himself another glass of wine and hummed happily as he slid a frozen chicken dinner into the oven. He remembered Spot and added a tray of frozen lasagna.