Ladies' Night Andrews, Kay (great novels .txt) 📖

There were now a dozen cars in the shopping center parking lot. The lights were on in the tattoo parlor, heavy metal music blaring from within, and a trio of imposing black Harleys were parked on the sidewalk in front of it. Suzanne leaned over the front seat console. “Here’s my car.” She pointed to a silver Prius. “Thanks again, Grace. Wyatt. See you next week.”

Grace pulled alongside Suzanne’s car and waited until she’d started the car and eased out of her parking spot.

“Hey, look.” Wyatt pointed at the very end of the parking, where a black Lexus had just pulled into the space nearest the end. As they watched, Paula emerged from the passenger’s side of the sedan. She slammed the car door, and then, while they watched, she kicked the tires. Next, she ran around to the driver’s side. She was screaming something, slapping at the car windows, pounding, but the driver never cut the engine, instead throwing the car into reverse. Its tires screeched and skidded as the driver slammed it into drive and sped out of the parking lot, turning left onto Manatee Avenue.

Paula stood, hands on hips, watching it go. Then, she walked back, unlocked her office door, and disappeared.

“Oh my God,” Grace said. “Do you think that’s Stackpole in the black car? Looks like they were having a knock-down, drag-out fight, huh?”

“Only one way to find out,” Wyatt said, leaning forward to keep his eyes on the car.

“I’m on it,” Grace said, pulling out of the shopping center. Traffic was light that time of night, and she could see the Lexus’s red taillights only half a block ahead of them.

“Good of him to be such a safe driver,” Grace said.

“If it’s Stackpole, the last thing he wants is to get pulled over by a cop,” Wyatt pointed out.

Grace followed the Lexus west on Manatee, for five blocks. It stopped at the light at West 75th and put on its blinker to turn left. Grace pulled behind the Lexus and did the same. “You think this is really a good idea? Following Stackpole—or whoever is in that car?”

“We’re just two people out for a drive. No big deal. You’re not speeding and you didn’t even drink all your wine, right?”

“That’s right.”

“And I had a beer, over the course of two hours,” he said. He glanced toward the backseat. “How’s the dog?”

She grinned sheepishly. “How’d you know?”

Instead of answering, he reached around and pulled the wriggling dog out of the bag, setting her carefully on his lap.

“She popped her head out of there a couple times, back at group,” Wyatt said. “It was all I could do to keep a straight face. Every time she heard your voice, the whole bag would move—she was wagging her tail so hard.” The dog stretched its neck and rewarded Wyatt by licking his chin.

He held it at arm’s length, checking its undercarriage. “Hello, little girl,” Wyatt said, rubbing the top of the dog’s head, then scratching its belly. “What’s your name?”

“Meet Sweetie,” Grace said. “The new kid on the block.”

Sweetie put her front paws on the passenger window, straining to see out the window.

“Where’d you get her?” Wyatt asked.

“Sweetie has kind of a sad story.” While she recounted the tale of the dog’s rescue, her adoptee climbed over the console, wriggling its way under Grace’s arms. “But she’s feeling better now. The vet fixed her up, gave her some IV meds, kept her overnight.”

“And you got yourself a dog,” Wyatt said. “What’s Rochelle think about that?”

“She doesn’t know,” Grace admitted. “My mom is not really what you’d call a pet person. You can’t really blame her, I mean, we live above a bar. So I’m guessing I’ll try to keep her a secret, until I figure something out.”

“Do you think you’ll be getting your own place pretty soon?”

“I hope so,” she said fervently. “I’m too old to be moving back in with the folks. You’ve seen what Rochelle’s like. I love her, but she’s … got an opinion about everything. If my asshole husband will start making the payments the judge has ordered him to make, and if I can get my blog up and generating income, I hope I can move out, sooner rather than later.”

“What are you going to do with Sweetie until then?” Wyatt asked. “You can’t keep hiding her in a purse.”

“I know. She does seem pretty laid back. She’s house-trained, so that’s a big plus. The vet said she was amazingly calm while they treated her, and she’s been so good all night tonight, not making a peep, just sleeping in my tote bag.”

Grace scratched the dog’s ears affectionately. “She’s really a very chill little girl. My plan is to keep her in my room with me at night and sneak her down the back steps first thing in the morning, for a potty break.”

“What about during the days?”

“That house where I found Sweetie? It’s on Anna Maria. I was out for a run and spotted this cool old rattan sofa in a pile of junk on the curb. I struck up a conversation with the landlord, this old guy named Arthur, who, it turns out, used to be kind of fishing buddies with my dad. He invited me in to see the house. It’s a wreck right now, but it’s got wonderful potential, and it’s in a great location—a block from the bay. I’m going to be working on it, fixing it up, redecorating it for Arthur, getting it ready to rent again. I’ll be photographing and writing about it for my blog. Sweetie can stay there with me during the day while I work on it. In fact, I’m thinking I’ll write her into the story, too. It was her house, after all.”

“Look, he’s turning up ahead,” Wyatt said, pointing at the Lexus. “He’s headed back out to the beach. I bet he lives out there.”

“Not at Cortez, for sure,” Grace said. “We’re not fancy enough. I bet he lives at Longboat Key.”

“You’re