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Six Degrees of Danger

Chapter 1

            When I heard the bump, scrape, bump sound from the living room, I bolted out of bed and covered the ten steps to my closet in one silent leap. Knowing exactly where to reach, I pulled the handgun from between the folds of a sweater on the top shelf. Something had roused me from my sleep, wood scraping against wood. I had dismissed the noises at first, not wanting to open my eyes from the drug like sleep. I wondered how much time I had spent grasping for the bed covers while someone was roaming around my small apartment, only to realize I was sleeping on top of the bedspread. Naked. Well, not quite, I was wearing my bra and panties. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 3:00 AM.

            I peered into the living room. It was dark, but there was enough illumination from the streetlights for me to see that no one was there. The end table by the couch was no longer at a right angle to the wall. I edged back along the bedroom wall, through the odd little hallway and into the kitchen. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, I could see most of the living room and the door to the apartment. I backed myself up against the far wall, pressing my backside against the cabinets.

            Something bright and sparkling, like thousands of tiny lights flashed by the front door. At the same time, the scent of something burnt and orange scented permeated the air. “What the hell…” I breathed. I heard footsteps on the outside stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Watching the door, I saw the knob turn, and held my breath to steady myself. I forgot about the tiny flashing lights. The next second I heard a key in the lock and the door was pushed open. I was standing in the kitchen in my black underwear, pointing a gun at the front door when Six walked in. And he was pointing his own gun at me.

            We stood there, in the dark and silence, until he flipped on the overhead kitchen light. “Joni?” Then, “Joni.” This time he said my name in a deep drawl that made me blush. Leave it to Six to stand there ogling me in my underwear even while I was pointing a gun at him.

            “You scared the hell out of me.” I was breathing hard and felt like I needed to sit, but I didn’t. I lowered my gun, still holding it with both hands. Six lowered his also but didn’t holster it. He took two long strides to stand in front of me.

            “Joni.” Six grabbed my elbow and was shaking me. It’s not easy to shake someone as tall as I am more than a little, especially since I was frozen to the kitchen linoleum at that point. “What’s the matter?”

            “I thought I heard someone in the apartment.” Six stepped away from me and turned around, FBI agent on autopilot. He covered the entire apartment in less than thirty seconds, looking in closets, under the bed. There weren’t many hiding places.

            “Nobody’s here.” Six was scanning me from head to toe. I liked the look in his eyes.

            “I did hear something.” I laid my Glock on the kitchen table. I would have told him the end table was out of place in the living room, but I knew that would prove nothing.

            “What’s that smell?” Six put his arms around my waist while he was sniffing the air.

            “I don’t know. Does it smell like oranges to you? Burnt oranges?” I asked. The smell wasn’t that bad, but it was distinctive.

            “You don’t have any oranges in here, do you?” Six knew the extent of food in my apartment consisted of a handful of frozen pizzas and lime sherbet.

            “You’re not cooking?” Panicked, he glanced at the stove, relieved. It was still as spotless as I could get a hundred-year-old stove. Turning back to me, Six leaned in to give me the kiss I was expecting. Anticipating. He stopped, his lips about an inch from mine. I was already breathing faster by this time and would have leaned to kiss him if I hadn’t felt his right hand resting on my hip. He flattened his palm against my belly and put his hand down inside my panties, cupping me, giving a little squeeze. His left arm went around me and I felt cold metal touch my lower back. I did lean that one inch to kiss him then.

            “Joni…damn…” Six breathed against my mouth.

            “You can holster that weapon, now.” I moved out of his arms, stepped back a few paces, and stood with my fists on hips, glaring at him.

            “Babe.” Six holstered his Glock, picked up my gun, automatically looked it over, ejecting the clip, then snapping it back in. He knew what I was going to say. Which was something like never ever come in here in the middle of the night when I’m not expecting you.

             “I tried to call, where’s your cell phone?” Six looked around and picked up my cell, which was lying next to my gun on the old-fashioned chrome and Formica kitchen table and held it up in front of my face.

            “I tried to call you. You must put this thing on the charger for it to work.” He was exasperated. I always forgot to charge my phone. He reached behind the table for the charger cord and plugged my phone in.

            “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” I sighed and relaxed my hands, trying not to look defensive.

            “I finished in Oklahoma City and wanted to get back, so I came on home.” I could tell by the slight grimace on his face, that Six regretted mentioning Oklahoma City.

            “I didn’t hear your truck.” I said. I guess he could have driven up the gravel driveway before I woke up, but I usually heard him.

            “I parked at the office and walked. Didn’t want to wake up Mrs. Berryhill.” Mrs. Berryhill was the landlady of this rundown garage apartment. I was staring Six right in the eyes. Something didn’t feel right here. I wasn’t sure what, so I continued the grill.

            “Why didn’t you go to your apartment?”

            “I wanted to see you, babe.” Six moved toward me a few steps, and I backed up the same, crossing my arms under my breasts and shaking my head a little. He wasn’t exactly lying, I knew he wanted to see me, but there was something else going on.

            “What did you expect to find when you got here?”

            “Well, I sure as hell didn’t expect you to be standing there in your panties pointing a gun at me.”

            “Yes.” I was still shaking my head, but up and down now. “Yes, you did. You expected that or something else. What?” I folded my five-foot ten inch frame into one of the kitchen chairs, pulling one foot up to the seat and resting my arms on my knee. As Six stared at me, he eyes widened and he pressed his lips together. If I hadn’t been angry, I would have laughed. I knew I was in a provocative position. All the better to hurry an answer out of him if that were possible.

            “You want coffee?” I asked. Six automatically turned to the Mr. Coffee, poured in the water, and started it. I don’t drink coffee and I don’t make coffee. In fact, the Mr. Coffee machine was his. While the coffee was perking, he rinsed out the teakettle and put fresh water to boil.

            “You’re stalling,” I said as Six opened the refrigerator.

            “You have the cleanest refrigerator I have ever seen.” He closed the door and leaned against door of the fridge, his height dwarfing the already small and ancient machine. I smiled. I would indulge him for one more minute. Six put a tea bag in one of my delicate china cups and poured the hot water over it. He selected an old, chipped mug for himself, filled it with coffee, placed both on the table, and sat down.

             “Thank you.” Oh, he was a good one, making tea for me. But he wasn’t off the hook. We sipped our drinks, mine strong and bitter, Six’s strong and black, mainly because I never bought any sugar or milk. I decided it was up to me to find out why Six had paid an unexpected visit to my apartment in the middle of the night.

            “Come on, Six. Tell me what’s going on.” I never asked him about any of his cases, unless he said something first, and opened the door for me. “What’s in Oklahoma City?”

            “Babe, you know I can’t talk about my case.”

            “You mentioned Oklahoma City first.”

            “I know, but…” He leaned forward, reaching for my hands.

            “Am I in danger?” It’s what I wanted to know, so I went ahead and asked it. Six looked at me, his eyes serious, his mouth pressed in a straight line, not speaking. I pulled my hands from his and sat up straight in my chair.

            “What did you expect to find when you got here tonight, to my apartment?”

            “Nothing. Really, nothing. I just needed to check on you.”

            I jumped up and whirled around with as much dignity as I could manage, since I was nearly naked. “I want to know! What did you expect to find?” I was shaking inside. I had never spoken to Six this way, and the look on his face was somewhere between surprise and anger.

            “I saw Alicia Shotwell,” Six said, softly, his eyes closing slightly.

            Blackness, smothering and pressing, filled my head, sucking me back to the day Alicia Shotwell had kidnapped me. The woman had taken me to Oklahoma City from Bear Springs, Texas, and dropped me in an empty grain silo.

            “Alicia…” I pulled my hands from Six’s and rubbed my left thigh absently. The fall should have killed me and would have if I had not landed in a foot or rotting grain, resulting in two broken legs and five weeks of pain and suffocating heat, with never enough water. Or food. Alicia had only brought me enough to keep me alive. I had wanted to give up and die, but Alicia had other plans.

            “I had felt so sorry for her,” I whispered.

            Six knelt in front of me. “It’s not your fault, Joni, sweetheart.”

            “Why did you see her?” My head was a little clearer now, and I needed to get anything I could out of Six while he was still in a compassionate mood toward me. I could retrieve the memories later when I was alone.

            “Is she still there, in Oklahoma? I can find out, you know.”

            “I know you can,” he said, keeping his voice low and steady.

            “Is she still in that mental prison?” I was hoping Alicia had not been released. I was trying to leave the fear, and the hatred behind. If Alicia had been released, I would probably kill her. I didn’t want to be a killer.

            “Yes, she’s still in custody. Don’t worry about that.”

            “I will never stop worrying about it.”

 

Chapter 2

            “Another FBI Agent was killed. That’s why I went to see her.” Six looked at me as he said this. He hated to tell me, knowing I would feel responsible.

            “You knew him?”

            “Her. Maureen O’Malley.” Six glanced away for a moment. He looked exposed, and injured, and I knew I was seeing a part of him I had never seen before. Six had baggage--a past he hadn’t shared with me. We all have a history. I have a trunk or two of my own.

            “Is this related to three years ago?” I held my breath.

            “Yes.” Six laid his forehead on my hands. He didn’t move for a long time. I leaned down and put my arms around his shoulders, trying to comfort him the best I could, even though I was angry. I felt like I had been tossed into that hot silo again. Suffocating. Starving for air.

            “Go home.” I tried to make my voice soft and understanding, but I was afraid I sounded full of pity and resentment. “I’m okay.” I realized he had to mourn for Maureen O’Malley, and he had to do it without me.

            Six picked up my gun from the table and walked into my bedroom, where I knew he was returning it to the top of my closet. When he returned, he leaned over and kissed me. Even his soft and gentle kiss stirred me, but I wasn’t going to ask him to stay. He couldn’t be my protector tonight.

            “I’ll see you tomorrow,” was all he said before walking out the door, locking it behind him. I went into my bedroom and pulled on a cotton nightshirt. Before I got into bed, I got my gun from the closet and placed it under the pillow next to me. I lay in the dark, but instead of sleeping, I planned on how I was going to find out what Sixsipita Kinnaird was hiding from me.

 

            The next morning I tried to make my body bend in ways it should not so I could fully immerse in the steaming hot water. This outdated tub was not made for lying back and relaxing. There was no comfortable place to position my head, and the angle left my upper backbones bruised from leaning back against the tub. Plus, my feet had to stick out the other end and find a place to prop next to the faucet. But I did the best I could. I was leaning back with my forearm across my closed eyes when I saw the flash of light, or something like light, and heard a snap and crackle. I sat bolt upright in the tub, sending a wave of water and bubbles over the edge to the floor.

            Even though my skin was red hot I felt pinpoints of icy cold on my arms and shoulders, as if snowflakes had touched and melted. There it was again, exactly like last night, when I thought I was imagining things. It was more of a glowing arc, small at the point and widening at the end. I was standing now, surveying the large, outdated bathroom. The orange smell was heavy in the room. My bath bubbles were of the lavender variety, something my cousin Melanie had, I’m sure, regifted me for no occasion. I didn’t have any orange smelling anything—candles, soap, or even oranges.

            “Holy shit,” I muttered to myself. Stepping out of the tub, I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around me. I crossed the expansive floor space of the huge bathroom to get another towel and wiped at my eyes. Soap must have gotten into them because all I could see was spots. Not spots exactly, more like tiny sparkling lights in colors of black and silver.

            It didn’t occur to me to be afraid. I only felt regret, and sadness; the kind of sadness you would feel knowing you were seeing things that couldn’t possibly be real. I felt the darkness, the heat, and the smell of the silo, where I was prisoner years ago.

            I couldn’t hear anything in the apartment. I stepped out into the bedroom and moved the few short steps to the living room door. Empty. I backtracked through the kitchen and out the other door that opened into a space not big enough to be a room, but too big to be a hallway, that connected the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. Nothing there. My heart was still pounding and my damp skin had goose bumps. My vision had cleared, I no longer saw a trailing arc of sparkles, but I could still smell a faint scent of orange in the air. “

            is that?” I headed back to the bathroom intent on resuming what was supposed to be a relaxing soak. I was about to drop the towel and already had one toe in the now lukewarm water when I felt a light swipe at the back of my head.

            “Ouch!” It would later occur to me that I should have been more frightened than I was surprised. I just thought I was crazy with hallucinations again. I turned around just in time to see a few more of the black and silver flashes, but this time they didn’t disappear. In fact, they settled on the padded vanity bench, staying in one place but still shimmering with movement. Of course, I thought I was crazy. But since that was nothing new to me I disregarded it and stepped across the bathroom to stand right in front of the little cosmos of stars and light rays. I slowly reached out, intending to see if I could touch the little cloud of light, all the while wondering if life in a home for the delusional was as bad as I had always thought it would be.

            “Don’t.” I heard the voice, trying to sound firm and grown up, but failing. I snatched my hand back to clutch at the towel I was still wearing. Hearing voices now, are we. Don’t panic, nothing new. I stood there a minute, not moving, trying to be very still while planning a surprise attack. Instead of moving slowly this time, I jabbed my hand at the glittery blob, and received a good slap on the back of my hand.

            “Hey. Stop hitting me!” I jerked my hand back in time to see the sparkling black and silver lights pouf away and leave a young woman sitting on my vanity bench. I stepped back so fast that I tripped on the rug and smacked my head against the linen closet door, where I sank to a sitting position, still grasping the towel around me with one hand. I stared. I swallowed hard. I did all those things one does when confronted with a delusion. Except that after I had stared and swallowed for a minute, I realized I wasn’t terrified at all.

            “Who are you?” One thing about thinking you are insane, is that is makes perfect sense to go along with the situation at hand, rather than fight it.

            “Clotilde.” The young girl was sitting, hugging her knees to her chest with her head bent low. She had very long black hair that tumbled over her tiny body, past the seat cushion and onto the floor. She was pale and skinny, dressed in black pants and a shimmery black top. Small pointy-toed, purple boots completed her ensemble. Her eyes were rimmed with eyeliner and were wide and dark. She looked like cross between a Goth and Halloween witch. Her lips were bare and pale.

            “Did you forget your lipstick?” I asked, since that was the first thing that popped into my mind. She smiled and ran one finger over her lips, immediately coloring them blood red. I raised my eyebrows.

            “Too much?” Clotilde asked. I nodded, not really believing I was having this conversation with a creature that had materialized from a cloud of lights. Clotilde simply swiped her mouth again and her lips turned to a sweet cotton candy pink.

            “Who are you?” I asked again. I should have asked what are you. Even though manners shouldn’t be a concern at this moment, I still had them.

            “I’m Clotilde. You can call me Clo. I’m…” Clotilde stopped talking and sat up, her eyes glancing around the room, almost as if she were frightened.

Chapter 3

“Ruth Ann!” she yelled directly at me before she disappeared right before my eyes. No lights, hovering or flashing, remained. Only the strange scent or oranges. Oranges and cream, I thought, like a burnt orange creamsicle.

            “Well fuck,” I gasped as I jumped up from the floor. The realization hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks-she had given me Ruth Ann’s name. I could think about the apparition Clotilde later, but I had an overwhelming sense that I needed to deal with Ruth Ann right now.

            I sat on the bed and woke up my computer and got online. “Ruth Ann Chamblee,” I said to myself as I typed the name into Google. I should be looking up crazy goth Clotilde, I thought. Over a thousand matches. Of course I hadn’t filtered. Out of the thousand how many could contain valid information? Not more than five hundred, surely. After scanning down the first page of results I clicked on the link for the newspaper, Lubbock Liberty. Not enough happened in Bear Springs to warrant its own newspaper.

            Besides, it would be a waste of paper and ink since any news worth repeating would make the grapevine long before a newspaper was ever printed, much less thrown at someone’s front door. Of course, I didn’t hear much from the rumor mill. Not that I’m too Miss Goody Two Shoes to gossip, but I didn’t have that many friends to chitchat with. Never mind that I had been the subject of tales gone wrong more times than I care to remember. My cousin Melanie was too self-centered to engage in conversation about anyone but herself. Posey Tidewater, my best friend, barely gave me the time of day anymore. Some best friend she was. I think she still liked me even though I was poor now, but I guess it was hard for her to get past my own scandal to actually sit around and gossip with me about someone else’s misfortune.

            Once I realized that my crises, even though no fault of my own, embarrassed her, I conveniently lost her phone number. Funny, I guess she lost mine at the same time. So it was easy to keep to myself. I had my own business and my own office. Not much business, but enough to keep a roof over my head. If it weren’t for renting half of my office space to Six Degrees Private Investigations I would probably have to work out of my apartment. I could work from home, but I felt much better when I could meet clients, especially new ones, at an office.

            Sometimes, with new clients, especially if I didn’t think I was going to take the job, I would meet them in Lubbock at the Barnes and Noble bookstore. That place made a great branch office and I didn’t even have to make coffee. Which I never did anyway. Not many people had been in my home. Home being the tiny one-bedroom apartment over a garage. Apparently, Mrs. Berryhill needed the rent money more than she needed to concern herself with my reputation. The apartment was run down, with an excuse for a kitchen. That suited me, I didn’t cook. As for the shabbiness, well, the rent was right. And the bathroom was bigger than the kitchen. That spoke volumes about me, Josephine Nichole Seighin.

            “Bingo.” Yes, that was her, staring at me from a newspaper article. I had to glance through eight articles before finding one with a photo. Ruth Ann looked different now, but I thought I had recognized the woman, not so much from her features—shoulder length chestnut brown hair that curled around her shoulders, dark brown eyes—as from another familiarity about her. How did I know Ruth Ann Chamblee? Well, I didn’t, exactly. I was only thinking about the woman who had been in Six’s office no less than five times in the last week. Did I count? You bet. Since Six Kinnaird, the Six in Six Degrees, was one of the handful of people I did let into my apartment, and the only one I let into my bedroom, I noticed when a beautiful woman kept showing up at his office.

            And no, I didn’t exactly spy. The office had one entrance door that led into a waiting area. The two inner offices had glass fronts, so I could see anyone who came in to see Six Kinnaird. Six had some blinds he closed over his big window for privacy, which I guess is essential in the PI business. Seighin’s Print and Web Design had no need for such secrecy. Most of the time Six would leave the blinds shut, so I naturally looked to see who had come in when I heard the outside door open, and more likely as not I would knock on Six’s door if the client was for him. Neither of us had secretaries or receptionists, business wasn’t that good. Six had a lot more business than I did, and I didn’t mind playing receptionist once in a while.

            Ruth Ann Chamblee had been at Six’s office three days ago. I had rapped on Six’s door to let him know she was in the waiting area. Now that I think of it, I never did see her come out. That’s when Six left for Oklahoma City. I guess they both could have left out the back door. Each office had a door that led to another back foyer area. This room had the restroom, a small refrigerator with a Mr. Coffee on top and a supply closet, and a door that led outside. Six let clients enter and leave from that door sometimes, mostly when there was another client in the waiting area. Which wasn’t often. Six tried not to book appointments back to back.

            I studied Ruth Anne’s picture a little longer and bookmarked the web page. Ruth Anne had disappeared two and a half years before. She had turned up at a resort in Gulf Shores, Alabama six months ago. No one knows the whole story of how she got there, or why her appearance was slightly altered. Nothing drastic, Ruth Ann was beautiful before she disappeared and certainly didn’t need plastic surgery. But her nose was a little thinner, her cheekbones higher and chin a little more pronounced. Most women wouldn’t mind looking like Ruth Ann either before or after.  

            I appreciated Ruth Ann for more than her beauty. When she vanished, the sleaze and shock reporters had found another interest, and took the focus off me. I would have to thank her for that someday. I didn’t butt into Six’s business or ask him about his investigations. Unless he said something to me first, then I would ask. He had not said a word about Ruth Ann Chamblee.

Chapter 4

            The annoying ring music I had accidentally selected on my cell phone, and kept meaning to change, interrupted my thoughts of Ruth Ann. I went to the bedroom, grabbed the phone from the nightstand and looked at the caller ID. Six. I fell across my bed as I flipped open the phone.

            “Joni.” He didn’t even wait for me answer, as usual. My damp skin turned all pink again at the sound of his voice. Probably because I was lying here on my bed in only a towel.

            “Hello Six.”

            “Did you have your heart set on take out Chinese tonight?”

            So, was this how he was going to do it? Dump me, I mean. I have expected it for the last five months of the six months we have been dating. And after last night, the way he had looked when told me about Maureen O’Malley and I sent him home to deal with it, well, maybe he has finally had enough of me. Six had always been good to me. He treated me like he had never heard the gossip or seen the local news. He treated me like I wasn’t defective, in a crazy way. We were an easy fit. And he could make my toes curl like nobody’s business. But I was always afraid he would leave me when he decided he didn’t want to deal with my peculiar little quirks. And my fears.

            “Joni?”

            “I’m here. You know me, I don’t care what’s for dinner.” It was true. My favorite meal was hot, you had to use a fork to eat it, and somebody else cooked it, but other than that I wasn’t that particular. I tried not to sound like someone who thought she was being dumped.

            “How soon can you be in a little black dress and ready to go the Erickson’s for champagne and lobster?”

            “What?” I sat up. Hell with the Erickson’s, he wasn’t dumping me.

            “Good, I’ll be there in an hour.”

            “Okay.” I didn’t know Six was such a buddy of Thad Erickson that he could score an invite to one of his fancy receptions. I didn’t know about Erickson’s parties because I gossiped either. Mrs. Erickson had hired me a couple of times to design some invites and programs for one of her over the top affairs.

            “Uh, Six? I don’t have a little black dress. Would green be okay?”

             “Nope, it must be black, and elegant.”

            “Oh well, thanks for the invite, but I guess I’ll have to pass.” I pictured Six with Ruth Ann on his arm ascending sweeping steps into a big white mansion. I only had two cocktail dresses, one was emerald green, and Six had seen it a couple of times. The other was red and he had never seen that one. I had worn it as a bridesmaid at my cousin’s Christmas wedding the year before. It wasn’t a hideous bridesmaid dress, but it was very red and sassy. You’d have to know cousin Melanie.

            “Joni, don’t get mad.” Six’s deep voice had that placating tone.

            “Hell Six, I’m not mad. I can understand why you would want to go to Erickson’s shindig rather than pick up food from Chan’s…”

            “Listen.” He was well familiar with one of my greatest flaws, jumping to conclusions. I was trying to stop doing that.

            “It’s work. I need to be there for a few reasons.” I knew I wasn’t going to be privy to those reason, so I let him talk. “And I would like you there with me. It’s not dangerous Joni. If you don’t want to go, I understand, but I need to, and I want you to go with me.”

            “I still can’t go; I don’t have the requisite little black dress.”

            “No problem, I’ll bring you one. Size ten, right?”

            Damn, when your guy knew your dress size, you should have no fear, right?

            “On a good day,” I said. On bad days it could be a twelve, and when I splurged on more expensive clothes it could be an eight, so who really knew.

“Joni, don’t get mad.” Six was speaking more slowly and softly into the phone now.

            “You already said that, and I said I’m not mad.”

            “Well, I may need you to do a little snooping for me.”

            “Ah…you do realize that the last time I snooped around I sort of…uh, upset the apple cart?” More like uprooted the whole damn orchard.

            “Yeah, it’s nothing heavy. Nobody there knows you so you could probably ask questions certain guests wouldn’t expect, catch them off guard. I’ll fill you in when I pick you up. You have shoes?”

            “Shoes, uh, sure, yeah.” I was surprised that a man had even considered shoes. “Unless I could score a new pair since I’m working for you now.”

            “Size eight, right.”

            “I was joking Six. And by the way, they may not have met me, but most people know who I am. You’ve heard the gossip. Even if you are too much of a gentleman to mention it.” I heard his laugh as he hung up the phone. Thirty minutes later I had finished drying my hair and ran the flat iron over it so it hung down my back in straight and shiny panels that I knew would swing when I walked. I put on more makeup than I usually wear, after all this was a high falutin’ party. I had been the poster girl for fancy parties in my late teens, so I wouldn’t embarrass Six. Not too much, anyway.

            “Oh hell, probably a lot,” I said out loud. I didn’t know what kind of bra, if any, to put on since I hadn’t seen the dress Six was picking up for me, so I selected a low cut black push up variety with skinny straps a little bit of lace. Matching panties, of course. I didn’t care about a lot of things, but I did like to match. I sat on the little bench at the end of my bed and began to touch up my Passion Pink toenail polish. Just in case I got to wear my black satin peep toe pumps. I had just finished when I heard a noise coming from the front door/kitchen/living room area, which was kind of all rolled into one.

            “Six.” No answer. “Six?” Now my voice was a little weaker, almost shaking. What was the matter with me, I was never scared. And what’s more, I had already had a conversation today with a disappearing Goth/witch stick of a girl. A conversation that had led me to Google Ruth Ann Chamblee out of the blue. I would replay that later. Along with the am I crazy/not crazy, a lot/little unstable game that I was prone to play.

            “Damn.” I whispered more curses because I had dropped the bottle of nail polish on Mrs. Berryhill’s faded and fraying rug when I jumped up from the bench. And it had to leak out on one of the blue flowers, not a pink one. I slid my hand under the bed pillow and picked up the gun. I would have felt silly, but I know I had heard someone in the apartment last night, I swear I had. And then Six had told me about seeing Alicia Shotwell.

            I tiptoed through the hallway and into the kitchen, wearing only underwear and holding a gun, for the second time in less than twentyfour hours.

            “Who’s there?” Nothing. More light footsteps and a bump. “I have a gun!” My voice wasn’t shaking any longer. “The cops will be here in less than a minute.” I called out. Again, nothing. “I am not imagining this,” I said under my breath. I heard tires crunch on the gravel outside. Oh crap. Six, where are you? “Come on come on come on,” I was muttering under my breath and I nearly sank to the floor when I heard footsteps on the outside stairs. The door opened and Six walked in, dropping the package he was carrying and drawing his gun before I could even take a breath.

            “Joni!” His teeth were clenched, and he sucked in air. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

            “There was someone, or something, in here.” I spoke just as emphatically as Six had. “I heard them. It.” Six checked out the apartment exactly as he had yesterday, stepping around my spilled nail polish and even pulling the stopper from the tub to let my bathwater out. I should have gone ahead told him that apparently, I was having migraines or was suffering from a brain tumor. Wouldn't he think that something was wrong with me if I told him I was seeing black and silver stars that turned into a stick thin Goth girl?

            I forgot about the Clotilde and my intruder as soon as I got a good look at Six Kinnaird. I would tell him about her later. Maybe. “Sixsipita No Middle Name Kinnaird.” My voice became husky as I looked him over. He was dressed in a black tuxedo that looked like it had been made specifically for the six foot three tower of muscle that he was. I blinked a few times and was glad I hadn’t put on any lipstick yet.

            “Thank you.” I put my hands on his shoulders kissed him on the mouth. I wanted to put my arms around him and wrap my legs around his waist so he would have to hold on to me, but he looked so gorgeous I didn’t want to wrinkle him. Jet black hair hanging straight, just past his shoulders, high cheekbones emphasized by the dark Native American skin tone, eyes dark as night, slanted ever so slightly. And a mouth, right now wearing a smirk and turning up at one corner. I couldn’t help smiling at him then.

            “Do you really want to go to this party?” I whispered. Six looked at my pushed up breasts for a minute.

            “Babe, don’t you know better than to answer the door like that?” He kissed me back and I was so glad he wasn’t angry about last night.

            “I didn’t answer the door. You used your key. Remember?” I was a stickler for details. And I didn’t think for a minute that Six Kinnaird had forgotten he had opened the door and found me pointing a gun at him. For the second time.

            “Oh, yeah. But still.” Six breathed deeply, but was smiling as he stepped away and reached for the garment bag.

            “And hell, no, I don’t want to go to this party, but it’s going to speed up a case that I want finished.”

            “Hey Six,” I was talking to his back now, as he was already headed to the bedroom. “You sure look mighty pretty in that tux. Think I can wrinkle you up a little later?”

            He looked back at me, his eyes narrowed and smoldering. And let me tell you, Six could smolder.

            “Babe, I don’t care if you rip it to shreds.” My knees wanted to buckle and land me in the floor. I think I kept my floors swept and mopped just for that purpose, because one day I knew I would get noodle legs and just land there after he had given me one of those kisses, at the least expected time, as he often did.

            “Come on. Let’s pick you out a dress.” Six picked up the garment bag he had dropped by the front door and headed for the bedroom. He had brought four dresses. The third one I tried on was the winner. It was silk, had narrow shoulder straps with a scooped neckline that showed just a hint of cleavage. The back was low and square. The cut was empire with a small tuck of velvet at the waistline. The dress stopped right above my knees. I had to lose the bra—this dress had a built in.

            “How did you manage that?” I asked. Off the rack dresses were usually much too short on me.

            “I borrowed them from the buyer at Goldblumes. We have to return them.”

            “No problem.” I was preening and admiring myself and the beautiful dress in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door.

            “But I don’t understand. Aren’t the mannequins a size zero or two or something? How come he has these beautiful dresses in my size?”

            “They’re for the Lubbock Garden Club charity fashion show next week. Some designer donated them. Cyrus will probably be at tonight’s party, and he knows you will be wearing the dress.”

            “The women will ask me about it, you know.”

            “They will?”

            “Of course, this is designer. They’re society women, they will ask.”

            “Well…” Six had apparently used all his fashion sense in picking out the dress I was wearing.

            “I’ll just tell them that Cyrus has extremely good taste in little black dresses.” I turned around, smiling. “Oh…”

            Six handed me a pair of suede pumps, peep toes, and three-inch heels. Beautiful. But would I be able to walk in them?

            “Uh…Six?” I was starting to worry about this playing dress up with the rich folks. It had been a long time since I had hobnobbed with the society crowd, and I remembered why I don’t like to do that anymore.

            “Babe,” he had that husky drawl again, which I knew could undo all our work at getting me dressed, and in a hurry. “You’re gonna knock ‘em dead. And trust me, nobody there will try any intimidation crap with you tonight.”

            He kissed my bare shoulder, working his way over to my neck. “Of course, I might end up shooting anyone who tries to get to close to you.”

            “Oh, I better…” I started to wiggle myself from his arms. “I already put it away, darlin’.”

            It wasn’t hard for me to climb up into Six’s truck, even wearing three-inch heels and a dress. Six did raise his eyebrows—I think he got a peek at my underwear.

            “Relax. That was only for your benefit. I will be much more modest and ladylike when I get in and out at the mansion.”

             Six’s briefing was short. “Listen in, I know you’re good at that. Only ask questions if the subject has already been brought up. I know you’re good at that, too.” Six looked over at me for a split second before turning his eyes back to the highway. “Listen. Don’t ask about anything that hasn’t already been talked about. Got it?”

            Simple enough, I thought.

            “Darlin’,” he glanced my way again. “You’re got the looks. And the sex appeal, use it.” He sighed knowing he would get an earful from me.

            “I will not lead anybody on, and I won’t….”

            “I know babe, that’s not what I meant.” He reached for my hand, but I wouldn’t let him move it from my lap.

            “But men are…well you know how they are. They’ll talk without even realizing it. All you have to do is listen.”

            Since I was about ten years old, I have had this weird ability to recall conversations word for word. It’s sort of like a replay button in my head. Do you realize how many songs and movies I have stored in there? I can recall visuals also, but it’s a little harder. I have learned that if I verbalize the scene to myself, then I can recall it. A workaround I developed when the ordeal with my family happened three years ago.

            I never thought of myself as sexy. Maybe in an Amazonian way. And I guess some went for that. Thank God Six did. He didn’t care that I was just under six feet tall and not a size four. My most striking feature, which I admit I played to the max when it suited me, was my hair. Long, straight and very blond. Natural, thanks to my Nordic ancestry. The lightest blond possible while still maintaining some color. It hung over a foot past my shoulders. Three years back, when all my family troubles started, I had cut it to shoulder length and dyed it brown. If one less person recognized me during that period, that was worth it. What wasn’t worth it was the upkeep. Blond roots on brown hair seem to draw attention. I have never figured out why it is okay for bleached blonds to have two inches of brunette roots showing and it is okay, but a brunette with blond roots was a cause for alarm. Damn double standards. When I decided to quit coloring my hair brown, I just let it grow out and kept cutting it shoulder length until the brown was all gone. I think people thought this was a style statement of some kind. When they stared at the Amazon woman with half brown and half blond hair, I just pretended not to notice. I was used to being stared at by then.

            “So I guess I’m not going to be decorating your arm for most of this party.”

            “I wish that were the case. But be sure to enjoy the champagne and eat plenty of lobster. I don’t know how long we will be staying.” He ran his hand from my bare knee half way up my thigh. I didn’t answer. I was trying not to think about where Six’s hand was headed.

            “We’re on the clock, right?” My voice was weak as I gently moved Six’s hand, smoothed my dress and then held it in both of my own.

            “Why, Jo, if there’s something you want, we could punch out for a few minutes.” He smiled his wide, crooked smile and his eyes were smoldering again. For some reason I didn’t think he was kidding.

            Once inside the mansion, Six snagged me a glass of bubbly, and put his hand on my lower back as he led me further into the crowd. Marking his territory, I thought. Both men and women were looking our way, and there were more pairs of raised eyebrows than I could count. Six gave me a brief kiss on the lips, and a wink as he pulled away from me and headed for a small group of men gathered on the far side of the room.

            Wow. The man was a chameleon. He looked like a million in the tux, but I think I liked his usual jeans, boots and either a long-sleeved button shirt, or a tight-fitting tee. And with a few days’ stubble, he could transform into the perfect picture of a bad ass. Which he did on occasion. I sighed and turned around to head for the buffet service and came face to face with a pair of eyes I had stared into not so long ago. Ruth Ann Chamblee.

            “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Ruthie Chamblee.” She looked gorgeous. Her hair was pulled back in a twist, which made her cheekbones look even higher and more chiseled than they already were. “Or have we? You look familiar.”

            I extended my hand to Ruth Ann. “We haven’t formally met.” Her hand was thin, but she gave me a worthy handshake. “You saw me at Six Kinnaird’s office. I let him know you were there for your meeting.”

            “Oh, I didn’t know Six had a…um…assistant.”

            “Oh, no, I don’t work for Six.” Except for tonight, right now in fact, since he did bring me along to snoop. And he was a professional snooper.

            “My office is the other one in the suite. I have my own business.”

            “Are you a private detective also, Miss…”

            “I’m sorry. Joni. I’m Joni Seighin.” I could see the wheels turning just as clearly as if her head had been made of glass. “I have a web and graphic design business.” I watched her face, but she wasn’t giving anything away.

            “Six and I sort of assist each other with visitors and appointments, if there’s a need.” In truth, I did most of the assisting. Six had brought me a cup of tea a time or two, mostly when he was in between appointments and leg work. “

            I don’t get involved in his cases, Miss Chamblee. His work is confidential.” I wasn’t sure if I needed to say that, but I could see Ruth Ann’s face relax considerably, and the wheels might have slowed.

             “So you aren’t here as his…I mean, on a…” Ruthie trailed off, moving her hand holding her wine glass in a little arc, as if that covered what she couldn’t say.

            “I’m here as his date.” Uh-oh. Ruthie’s wheels turning again.

            “Oh, so you’re dating Six?”

            “Yes. I have been his girlfriend for the last six months.” I don’t know if that was spoken too boldly, for having just met Ruth Ann, but I wanted to let her know just where I fit in. Ruthie took a moment to consider that last remark, then she smiled. I thought she was going to tilt her head in one of those little head bows you see people do, while they are looking you right in the eyes. I was at least a half foot taller than her, so the physics of the action were just impossible.

            “Miss Seighin.” Ruthie was dismissing me in that way that people who thought they were better than you did.

            “Call me Joni. Miss Chamblee.” I smiled politely back at her.

            “It was nice to meet you.” She turned and walked herself and her slinky dress toward the bank of open French doors at the far end of the room. I could see guests milling about out there, along with many waiters with silver trays of beverages and bite sized meats and cheeses. Maybe I better see what’s going on out there. I was thinking about my Goth vision, Clo, and trying to keep my long legs from making unladylike strides to the doors when I felt a hand on my arm.