Nine Deadly Lives Page 11

  “You know, I would’ve never guessed you were the panicky type. Breathe, Obi Wan. One crisis at a time. We’re going to start viewing the footage like you said we should and go from there.” She had unconsciously twined her fingers into his when he took her hand. She held their hands up where he could see them. “We’ve got this. Together.”

  o0o

  “Yoo hoo!” Dale Hill sailed across the crowded floor. A solidly-built, well-endowed woman, her bosom parted the crowd like an ice-breaker on a frozen sea. “Ryan!” She waved to get the attention of the star of the evening. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere. It’s almost time to start the movie. I’ll go on stage and get everyone to take their seats, and then I would like for you to do the intro.”

  “Me?” Ryan squeaked, his forehead beaded with sweat. Abby was afraid he was going to pass out. If she had had a paper bag, she would have made him breathe into it.

  “Well, of course, dear. You’ve done all of the work, it wouldn’t be right for anyone else to do it.”

  Abby interrupted, extending her right hand. “Hi, Mrs. Hill. Remember me? Abby Sanders?”

  “Of course, Abby! I could never forget young Ryan’s sidekick. How is Jellybean?”

  “He’s spoiled rotten and settling in nicely. I don’t know how I ever lived without him.”

  “Was it your idea to put a bow tie on Smokie and the pearls on Callie?”

  “Yes, ma’am. This is a black tie event, so I thought they should be dressed for the occasion.”

  “It was brilliant! It’s been a huge hit with the crowd.”

  Abby placed her hand on Mrs. Hill’s arm and pulled her closer. “Ryan is more than a little nervous about all of this. Would it be okay if I do the intro? He’ll be on the stage with me, but I’ll do the talking.” She glanced over her shoulder at her friend. “I think there will be less chance of projectile vomiting that way.”

  “Oh, dear. You may be right.” Mrs. Hill peered closely at Ryan. “I’ve never actually seen someone turn green before. Why don’t the two of you move toward the side of the stage? I’ll cue you when it’s your turn.” She turned to plow her way to the front of the room and stopped. “And dear? You look lovely.”

  “Thank you.” Abby slid her arm around Ryan’s waist and pulled him into Mrs. Hill’s wake. “C’mon, Obi Wan. It’s almost over. All you have to do is stand beside me and look dashing in your tux. I’ll do all the talking.”

  “You…will?”

  “Sure. I don’t have any problems talking in front of people.”

  “What are you, some sort of alien?”

  “Nope, just a regular girl who is going to pull your rear out of the fire.”

  “Thanks, Padawan.”

  “Any time. Oops, there’s our cue.” Abby took his hand and started up the stairs. “Remember, I talk. You breathe.”

  “Breathing.”

  As they stepped onto the stage and into the spotlight, Abby raised her arm and waved to the crowd. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you so much for your presence and your support for Unconditional Love Animal Shelter. My friend here, Ryan McAllister, has a heart for homeless animals and filmmaking. He had a wonderful idea and combined his passions into the film you are about to see. Now, without further ado, I present Paw Wars.”

  As the crowd applauded, Abby steered Ryan off the stage and down the stairs as the lights dimmed and the movie began. They watched from the shadows at the edge of the room.

  The crowd laughed as the electric sound of light sabers clashing filled the air. “Well, you were right.” Abby leaned in, whispering in Ryan’s ear. “I didn’t believe that Jedi cats were really a thing. I guess I owe you twenty bucks.”

  “We’ll discuss the terms of your surrender later.” Ryan gestured to the crowd. “The important thing is that they’re laughing in all the right places!”

  “Of course they are! You’re a genius.” She slid her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder as the film continued.

  As the credits rolled, Mrs. Hill took to the stage again. “That was wonderful! Please, everyone give a big round of applause to Ryan McAllister and Abby Sanders for this wonderful presentation.” She pointed to their location and a spotlight searched them out, blinding them. They squinted and waved as Mrs. Hill continued. “Now, if anyone is interested in adopting any of the stars of our film, volunteers are waiting with applications at the back of the room.”

  The members of the crowd got to their feet, laughing and talking. A line of well-wishers formed, congratulating Ryan, asking about his inspiration, and what it was like filming with cats. Abby stepped to the side and watched. Unlike when he was on stage, he was in his element, talking about his two great loves.

  “But, I couldn’t have done it without Abby’s help.” He turned, searching for her, and smiled when their eyes met. He held out his hand, waiting. When she placed her hand in his, he pulled her to his side. “First, she rescued Lucas, the star of the film.”

  “Actually, Lucas rescued me–or tried to, at least.”

  “But, that’s another story. I think we’ll save it for the blooper reel. Believe me, we have plenty of outtakes.”

  The crowd thinned out and volunteers swarmed the room, beginning the cleanup process. Mrs. Hill bustled over, brimming with excitement. “Ryan, you did it! We’ve got multiple applications for all of the cats. I’m sure they will all be in their furever homes by the end of the week. Get it, fur-ever?” She giggled girlishly, her gray curls bouncing. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with for us next!”

  “Um, next?”

  “Yes, dear. This was what you might call a rousing success and we have a lot more animals that need homes. The directors of several other shelters were here tonight and many of them expressed an interest in meeting with you. I think you might want to get some business cards, hon.” She bustled away to oversee the cleanup crew.

  “Business cards? Me?” Ryan looked more than a little flabbergasted when he turned to face Abby.

  “See what happens when you find–and follow–your passion? I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks. Are you ready to get out of here?”

  “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

  “Back to my place. You still owe me a game of Massive Age of Dragons.”

  “Well, then. What are we waiting for?”

  o0o

  Two hours later, Ryan crowed in triumph. “Did you see those Unnaturals run?” He turned to grin at Abby. He still wore his tux, but had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. “I told you we would make a great team.”

  Abby had shed her funky purple shoes with the glittery kitten heels and sat on the all-purpose couch with her feet tucked under her. “Well, don’t get ahead of yourself.” She motioned to the screen. “These were just low-level flunkies. But yeah, between my spells and your sword, we will rule this virtual world.” She held up her hand.

  Ryan slapped his palm against hers in a high five, then waggled his eyebrows. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “Really? I love surprises. Where is it?”

  “Be right back.” Ryan went to his bedroom and came back carrying Lucas. The cat opened his mouth in a silent meow of greeting.

  “Lucas! Give me some paw.” Abby held her hand out, palm up. Lucas patted her hand and chirruped. Abby scratched him behind the ears. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I decided to keep him.”

  “I’m so glad! I’m sure Jellybean will be, too. Is this my surprise?”

  “Only part of it. The rest is in here.” Ryan held out a small white box. “It’s from both Lucas and me.”

  Biting her lower lip in anticipation, Abby opened the box and removed a delicate gold chain with a small box-shaped pendant.

  When Ryan reached over and pressed a recessed button, a familiar voice issued forth. “I’m here to rescue you.”

  “It’s perfect—thank you! Would you mind?” Abby gestured toward her neck and turned her back to
ward Ryan, inviting him to put it on her. The brush of his skin against hers as he hooked the clasp and smoothed the links sent a shiver down her spine.

  “Um, Abby?” Ryan placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “I’ve got a question for you.”

  “What’s up, Obi-Wan?”

  Ryan ducked his head, looking up at Abby through his lashes. “I couldn’t have finished this project on time without your help. You know that, right?”

  “It was fun. I’m glad I got to be a part of it.” She placed her hand on Ryan’s knee and leaned forward so she could look him in the eyes. “I’m glad I got to know you.”

  “Same here. That’s… sort of where my question comes in. It’s been fun working with you and getting to know you. I’ve grown to treasure your friendship. I was wondering if you might be interested in taking our relationship to another level.” He paused and swallowed. “I was wondering if you would like to be…my girlfriend?”

  “Girlfriend, huh?” Abby sat back, grinning. “I don’t know. Mrs. Hill called me your sidekick–that position probably comes with a cape. What do I get with the girlfriend gig?”

  “How could a cape possibly compete with this?” Ryan stood and gestured from the top of his wavy hair to the soles of the sneakers he insisted on wearing with his tux. He gave her the lopsided grin she had come to adore. “What do you say?”

  “Well…” Abby got to her feet and faced Ryan. She liked the fact that they were almost the same height. “I thought you’d never ask.” She grabbed him by his collar and tugged, stopping his forward momentum with her lips. After a moment, she pulled away and looked him over with a newfound respect. “My, my. You have been hiding your light under a bushel, dear sir. You are quite the kisser.”

  “Well, I don’t want to brag, but I am a man of many talents.”

  “Such as?”

  “I can’t just tell you all of my secrets. Where would be the fun in that?”

  “True. But, don’t worry. I’ll get them out of you. Now, kiss me again.”

  “You sure about this?”

  “Yes.” Abby clutched the front of Ryan’s shirt with one hand while sliding the other into his hair. “These are definitely the lips I’ve been looking for.”

  About the Author—Isabella Norse

  Isabella Norse scored major "cool mom" points by playing the same video games as her sons and their friends. In these virtual worlds, she’s slain demons and destroyed machines bent on galactic extermination while simultaneously wooing cocky assassins and sexy aliens. She fell in love with the make-believe worlds and rich characters that inhabited them and now writes her own tales of love, romance, and adventure.

  Still a gamer–and still cool–Isabella lives in Georgia with her husband and a herd of rescue cats.

  The Cat on Coogan’s Bluff

  Rochelle Spencer

  A cranky detective uncovers secrets about baseball, Harlem, and cats.

  All I wanted was a fish sandwich. I woke up hungry but didn’t get time to eat until late—about four-thirty. After waiting so long, I needed something to saturate my arteries, so I went over to St. Nicholas and waited fifteen minutes while Fat Larry fried up lunch. By the time I’d found a park bench and unwrapped my sandwich, I was ready to chew my arm off.

  “You Malik?” she stopped me mid-bite, in a voice that told me who I was instead of asking. The way she dressed matched the way she spoke. You’d glance at her, think: flowing skirt, locked hair—a free-spirited, bohemian sister. Then you noticed she’d coordinated everything. The cream-colored toe nails matched the cowrie shell in her hair; the handwoven purse went with the straw-colored weave in her sandals. She’d put time into her appearance, so if she looked carefree, she’d made an effort to appear that way.

  “Yeah?”

  “I need your help.” The woman stared at a kid, about nine, smacking a half-deflated basketball with his palm. You could look at this woman and tell she didn’t approve of the kid, somehow disliked his awkward dribbling, the flat, un-rhythmical thud of his hand meeting the ball.

  “You don’t know me.”

  The woman waited until the kid stumbled away before she answered. “I know your people. My family lived here before the neighborhood got gentrified. You went to school with Aeisha—my cousin. She told me all about you and the Island Kings.”

  “Which Aeisha?”

  “Nelson.”

  I nodded, remembering. Aeisha Nelson had been a track star in high school, a member of the debate club. I’d heard a while back she’d become a lawyer and was raising money to run for state rep. But she’d never make it, smart as she was—too honest.

  On the basis of the Aeisha connection, I asked the woman the code. She gave it to me without blinking.

  “For adultery, petty theft, anything like that, twenty-five per hour.” I wiped crumbs from my mustache with the one napkin not covered in fish grease. “No checks. No IOUs. No barter and no money orders, either—they just make people suspicious. Cash only. Most cases solved within forty-eight hours. Fee includes documentation—photographs, tapes, all the physical evidence you need to win in court. If he’s cheating with anyone in the five boroughs, I’ll track her down so you can beat her ass yourself.”

  “My man’s not cheating. And don’t you go worrying about money, I got plenty.”

  “I need the first five hours—one hundred twenty-five—upfront.”

  “There’s a branch of my bank right around the corner.”

  “You’re for real.” I put down my newspaper and the remainder of the sandwich, and opened space for her to sit. “What’s your story?”

  “My name’s Natalie Walker.” Natalie tucked her skirt around her tightly, as though the bench could bite. “My grandfather passed away eight weeks ago.”

  “Condolences.”

  “Don’t start. I don’t need pity. I need help, and you’re good at what you do. Also, you’re discrete.”

  “Try to be.”

  “That matters, because no one in my family knows I’m here. Not even Aeisha.” Natalie paused like she was waiting for me to disagree, warn her of the dangers of going up against family. “Nobody wants to talk about Granddaddy’s death. They keep saying it’s hard, but I need to go ahead and accept it. But some things, people shouldn’t accept. Understand?”

  I looked not at Natalie, but across the park, to where thick oak trees made the air cool and damp. A man my age walked from the park’s shady side to the spot where concrete stairs soaked up sun. As he walked, the kid with the worn-out basketball ran toward him, his legs wobbling left, then right, in a shaky zig-zag. The man laughed, scooped the kid up under one arm. Something about the whole scene made my head hurt. I closed my eyes for a second.

  “You heard what I said? I’m trying to give you a compliment.” Natalie stared at me, and I wondered how long she’d been talking. She had eyes like Nadine’s, my wife. Dark brown, and so narrow and slanted, it looked like she squinted at you.

  “Do that after I solve the case.” I returned her stare. Once again I was sharp, present, back to my old self. “How old was your grandfather at the time of death? What’d the coroner list under ‘official cause’?”

  “Granddaddy died just two weeks shy of his eighty-fifth birthday.”

  “So, natural causes?”

  “They say old people have less balance, so they fall more easy. The coroner claims Granddaddy fell—hit his head a few hours before his death, and the internal bleeding caught up with him.”

  “But you don’t believe him?”

  “Since when do our people believe everything some random white man tells us?” Natalie shook her head to show how idiotic she found this idea. “I haven’t been in my grandfather’s life much in the past couple of years, but he was my heart, and I know something’s not right. Aeisha’s always going on about you, saying you’re Superman, the way you cleaned this neighborhood up—”

  “That was back in the day.”

  “People still remember w
hat you did. And the truth is, I know who killed Granddaddy, but I need evidence. You can get it.”

  She paused and turned to me again with her upturned eyes, stared at me so hard I couldn’t look away. At that moment, I realized just how much she reminded me of Nadine; she had that way of looking at you so it felt like the whole world was trapped behind her irises. “I respect you, but this neighborhood has had more than one hero. My grandfather was the type to make everyone realize how strong they could be. But our people get jealous of that kind of power. So just because Granddaddy was old, don’t mean he didn’t have enemies.”

  “Seriously? You really believe your grandfather was murdered?”

  Natalie didn’t answer, but reached into her bag and took out a yellow newspaper clipping from the Amsterdam News. Her grandfather was in a baseball uniform. The words “Rube Walker Brings Championship to New York” hung over his face. Rube Walker may have been trapped inside a fading picture, but you felt power emanating from him just from the way he held his bat.

  “My grandfather was a star player for the New York Cubans, one of the old Negro league teams. And yes he was murdered—murdered by his old rival and former teammate.”

  o0o

  It’d been a long time since I’d had a murder case. But I couldn’t tell Natalie no. Besides, while I’d always been more of a basketball than baseball fan, this case was about more than a game. It was about preserving something left behind, something in danger of being forgotten. That’s why Natalie had come to see me. And that’s why, two hours later, I found myself back in my office, creating spreadsheets and googling the hell out of the New York Cubans and the Cleveland Buckeyes, their main competition.

  Nadine walked in during the middle of the search. She brushed her tongue against my ear, laughed when I jumped.

  “Hey.” I pulled her into my lap.

  “Who stepping out?” Nadine nodded at the spreadsheet.

  “Not that kind of case. Woman says her grandfather’s been murdered.”