Read Online Mantrap (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series) by Arlene Kay - Free Book Online
Authors: Arlene Kay
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desk. “She put a cross there in case you get turned around.”
I STRUGGLED TO keep Cato on track and match Deming’s blistering pace. For some unfathomable reason, he seemed angry and impatient with me. I’d had years of experience with the mercurial Mr. Swann, and my instincts said to ignore him.
“You certainly made a hit, Ms. Kane. Hope I didn’t cramp your style.”
“Huh?” Hiking was one of my least favorite pursuits, especially when my companion turned it into an endurance test. Cato strained at his lead, adding to the confusion.
“That man—Cheech Saenz—practically salivated over you. Spandex indeed!”
“Oh.” His indignation made me smile. I’d grown accustomed to females fawning over Deming everywhere we went. Turnabout was fair play for once. Truth be told, I was flattered even though Cheech was a giant step down from my fiancé. On the other hand, the bicycle man radiated a type of raw, earthy charm that had a certain appeal. I’d take admiration where I could get it and not complain.
“Do you really know all that bike stuff? Impressive.”
He shrugged. “Ah, you know, you pick up the lingo by osmosis. I’m strictly a recreational rider.”
“Twelve thousand dollars? That’s a lot of recreation.”
Deming narrowed his eyes. “It’s a conduit to Dario’s world, and besides he’d already paid half the bill. Cheap at the price.” As we rounded a sharp turn, he held out his arm crossing guard style. “Hold on. There’s the cross. Be careful in case that mantrap is still there. You know how often you fall.”
He was right of course, but I resented it. I’m not the most graceful creature in the world, but I manage to get the job done. I’m a writer, and a pretty damn good one if I do say so myself. Deming’s comment dredged up every ounce of insecurity within me. Suddenly I felt ponderous, more plodding rhino than the saucy temptress I’d been at the bike store.
Deming kissed my forehead and gave me a vigorous hug. “I didn’t mean anything. I just worry about you. Is that such a crime?”
His arms felt good, and the faint scent of Creed tickled my nostrils, causing all manner of lustful thoughts to sail through my brain. There were worse fates than being cosseted by a major hottie like Deming. My own insecurity and fear—fear that he’d vanish if he knew how much I cared—gnawed at me like a sick tooth. A shrink once told me that I deserved Deming only if I realized it. Sound advice no doubt but very much a work in progress.
“Hey, what’s this? You’re not sad, are you?” Deming spun me around until we were eye-level. “Think about what I said. We can fly to Vegas tomorrow and get married. After all, you’ve already had one extravaganza. A big blow-out doesn’t interest me at all.”
I smiled with patience born of long-suffering. Deming was obsessed by my ill-fated first marriage. That chapter in my life slammed shut a decade ago, and he had absolutely no reason to pick at it. After all, my unlamented ex had dumped me for a sophomore Phys Ed major whose breasts far exceeded her brains.
He wrapped his arms around me again. “Come on, let’s do this. Look for clues, survey the terrain—all that detective stuff you love. See! Even Cato’s on the case.”
Cato seemed more intent on fertilizing the ground than playing sleuth. I dutifully captured the refuse in a potty bag and stared at Dario’s memorial. Floral tributes and the ubiquitous stuffed animals ringed the shrine. I read the messages, most of which had been obliterated by the elements. “Miss you,” “Love you forever,” mundane things with kiss-stained lip-prints, nothing even mildly imaginative. Still, someone had cared about Dario, and the same hand had penned them all. Were these tributes from a heartbroken wife? Perhaps Paloma had more depth than I’d credited her with.
The mantrap, a hole deep enough to gobble either humans or machines, was now spotlighted by a bright orange cone. It was
I STRUGGLED TO keep Cato on track and match Deming’s blistering pace. For some unfathomable reason, he seemed angry and impatient with me. I’d had years of experience with the mercurial Mr. Swann, and my instincts said to ignore him.
“You certainly made a hit, Ms. Kane. Hope I didn’t cramp your style.”
“Huh?” Hiking was one of my least favorite pursuits, especially when my companion turned it into an endurance test. Cato strained at his lead, adding to the confusion.
“That man—Cheech Saenz—practically salivated over you. Spandex indeed!”
“Oh.” His indignation made me smile. I’d grown accustomed to females fawning over Deming everywhere we went. Turnabout was fair play for once. Truth be told, I was flattered even though Cheech was a giant step down from my fiancé. On the other hand, the bicycle man radiated a type of raw, earthy charm that had a certain appeal. I’d take admiration where I could get it and not complain.
“Do you really know all that bike stuff? Impressive.”
He shrugged. “Ah, you know, you pick up the lingo by osmosis. I’m strictly a recreational rider.”
“Twelve thousand dollars? That’s a lot of recreation.”
Deming narrowed his eyes. “It’s a conduit to Dario’s world, and besides he’d already paid half the bill. Cheap at the price.” As we rounded a sharp turn, he held out his arm crossing guard style. “Hold on. There’s the cross. Be careful in case that mantrap is still there. You know how often you fall.”
He was right of course, but I resented it. I’m not the most graceful creature in the world, but I manage to get the job done. I’m a writer, and a pretty damn good one if I do say so myself. Deming’s comment dredged up every ounce of insecurity within me. Suddenly I felt ponderous, more plodding rhino than the saucy temptress I’d been at the bike store.
Deming kissed my forehead and gave me a vigorous hug. “I didn’t mean anything. I just worry about you. Is that such a crime?”
His arms felt good, and the faint scent of Creed tickled my nostrils, causing all manner of lustful thoughts to sail through my brain. There were worse fates than being cosseted by a major hottie like Deming. My own insecurity and fear—fear that he’d vanish if he knew how much I cared—gnawed at me like a sick tooth. A shrink once told me that I deserved Deming only if I realized it. Sound advice no doubt but very much a work in progress.
“Hey, what’s this? You’re not sad, are you?” Deming spun me around until we were eye-level. “Think about what I said. We can fly to Vegas tomorrow and get married. After all, you’ve already had one extravaganza. A big blow-out doesn’t interest me at all.”
I smiled with patience born of long-suffering. Deming was obsessed by my ill-fated first marriage. That chapter in my life slammed shut a decade ago, and he had absolutely no reason to pick at it. After all, my unlamented ex had dumped me for a sophomore Phys Ed major whose breasts far exceeded her brains.
He wrapped his arms around me again. “Come on, let’s do this. Look for clues, survey the terrain—all that detective stuff you love. See! Even Cato’s on the case.”
Cato seemed more intent on fertilizing the ground than playing sleuth. I dutifully captured the refuse in a potty bag and stared at Dario’s memorial. Floral tributes and the ubiquitous stuffed animals ringed the shrine. I read the messages, most of which had been obliterated by the elements. “Miss you,” “Love you forever,” mundane things with kiss-stained lip-prints, nothing even mildly imaginative. Still, someone had cared about Dario, and the same hand had penned them all. Were these tributes from a heartbroken wife? Perhaps Paloma had more depth than I’d credited her with.
The mantrap, a hole deep enough to gobble either humans or machines, was now spotlighted by a bright orange cone. It was
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