Sheryl Lynn - Easy Loving

“Uh, actually, it’s personal, Mr. Martel,” John said. He held on to the back of Trish’s seat with both hands.

“Call me Easy, John. We’re all family here.”

Trish enjoyed tagging along when he needed an extra pair of hands, and she was as good, and sometimes better than him when it came to research. Some aspects of his job repelled her, though. A hopeless romantic when it came to family matters, she’d never recommend him for a child custody case or a cheating spouse.

“How personal are we talking?”

“His sister was murdered,” Trish said. “The police say it’s an accident, but it’s not.”

Easy changed lanes to pass a semi. To his left he noted an airliner banking for final approach toward the Colorado Springs airport. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, I don’t stick my nose in capital cases. Only TV private eyes get involved in murders.”

She huffed her exasperation. “You have to hear what’s going on. You can help him, Easy, I know you can. You have to.”

He reached the airport entrance in record time. Concentrating on driving, praying for a parking spot in the usually overcrowded lot, he waved his sister into silence. He’d been after this slimeball for two weeks. His client knew her husband was cheating. Wives always knew. She wanted proof, something to shove in his face, but the dirtbag knew his wife knew and was being very careful. The spur-of-the-moment “business” trip proved it.

So as not to get hung up at the security checkpoint, he began emptying his pockets. He tossed coins, pens, a penlight, a Swiss Army knife, a pair of handcuffs, a ring of master keys and his cell phone on the floor at Trish’s feet. She grimaced at the clattering collection.

“If you don’t chase killers, why bother carrying handcuffs?”

“My girlfriends like them.”

Dumb luck stayed with him; he found a parking spot in the first row. He grabbed his equipment bag. “We can talk inside. Hurry!” He took off at a run for the terminal with John and Trish right on his heels. Inside, he tore up the escalator. He paused at a monitor displaying departure times to find the gate he needed.

“What are you going to do?” Trish demanded breathlessly.

“Put you in the movies.” He clapped a hand on John’s bony shoulder and shoved him closer to Trish. He approved of the man’s gray suit and her soft blue dress. Nice, but not too dressy. “You two make a great-looking couple.”

Cringing away from Trish, John tugged at his jacket. “Uh, I’m married.”

“It’s only acting.”

They met up with a crowd at the security checkpoint, but fortunately airport security hadn’t limited entry to ticket holders only. Easy anxiously checked his watch while Trish peeled off her oversize earrings, necklace and an armful of bracelets before she stopped setting off the metal detector alarms.

“You wear too much junk,” Easy grumbled.

“I didn’t ask for a trip to the airport.” She trotted to keep up while she worked the earrings back into her ear-lobes.

He strode down the terminal, unzipping the bag as he went. He pulled out the video camera and turned it on. He double-checked the battery and blew minuscule pieces of lint off the lens. Everything operated perfectly.

At the gate his luck continued. Seated side by side in the waiting area, Dirtbag and his honey held hands. Even better, they faced the broad bank of windows; sun glare wouldn’t interfere with the taping. Easy huddled with Trish and John.

“Make like honeymooners.” He handed John the equipment bag. “It’s the guy over there in the checked suit sitting with the brunette. Move behind them so I can get them in the picture.”

John slung the equipment bag over his shoulder. “We don’t have to go to court or anything, do we?”

“Nope. You’re just innocent passersby.”

Trish groaned. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Hey, when you get married and your old man cheats on you, you’ll thank me when I catch him.”

Trish stiffened, arching her brows. “Any man I marry will never cheat”

“That’s right, because then I’ll have to kill him. Go on. Ham it up. Make me believe you’re in love.”

The taping went as smooth as creamy peanut butter. He even captured the dirtbag grinning at Trish’s and John’s antics. The brunette leaned over to give Dirtbag a big smooch on the lips.

He kept videotaping while the adulterous pair boarded the plane. Chuckling, he turned off the camera. “Thanks, Trish, John. I love it when a plan comes together.” He patted the camera, knowing he’d earned yet another month’s payment on his motorcycle. “I owe you lunch.”

“You owe me a lot more than that.” Trish grabbed his arm and steered him into a small cafeteria. “You have to listen to John. It’s really important.”

Forcing a sober expression he turned to his sister’s friend. “I don’t have access to the forensic tools the cops have. Besides, interfering with police investigations is a good way to end up in prison. I’m sorry, man, but I’m the wrong guy for the job.”

Trish urged the men to sit at a small table. “Shut up and listen, Easy. It’s a lot more personal than you think. Remember Catherine St. Clair? She’s back in town.” She swished away to fetch coffee.

Easy gawked at his sister’s back. Catherine… his Catherine? Never Cat or Cathy or Cee-cee or Cate—Easy had nicknamed her Tinker Bell. Even after twelve years the sound of her name turned his insides hot and cold while an odd sensation ruffled below his diaphragm.

He knew she’d moved to Arizona. Years ago, he’d traced her address and phone number—he kept them locked away in a file cabinet. Sometimes the urge to call her or appear on her doorstep grew so strong it drove him a little bit crazy. Only the still-tender shreds of his broken heart kept him from following through.

Annoyed at the way old emotions sneaked up on him, Easy cleared his throat. “How do you know Catherine?”

“I don’t,” John said. “I know the man she’s dating. His name is Jeffrey Livman. He was my sister’s husband, the man she loved. He murdered her.” He smoothed a hand over the side of his fine hair and dragged in a long, shaky breath. His voice firmed up, seething with well-nourished rage. “Jeffrey didn’t wait a full month after Roberta died before he began dating Miss St. Clair.”

Trish returned with a red plastic tray holding three cups of coffee. “I freaked when John showed me the pictures he took of Catherine with Jeffrey. I haven’t seen her since high school when you guys broke up and she moved away.”

His Catherine…“You said the cops don’t think it’s murder. What am I supposed to do?”

“You better figure out something,” Trish said. “John and I are convinced Jeffrey is going to marry Catherine so he can murder her, too.”

“WILL YOU MARRY ME, Catherine?”

Catherine St. Clair nearly choked on a spoonful of raspberry sorbet. Momentarily frightened by the sensation of her throat filled with shards of crystalline ice, she swallowed hard and followed it with a gulp of water.

Jeffrey patted between her shoulder blades. “Did I startle you? I’m sorry.”

She dabbed at her lips with a napkin and cast him a look askance. “Don’t make jokes when I have my mouth full.”

“I’m serious. I love you and want you to be my wife. We’re the perfect couple, honey. Together we’ll conquer the world.”

She searched for any hint of laughter in his pale blue eyes. He was serious.

She shifted on the seat and glanced nervously around the restaurant. She and Jeffrey dined often at the Grape and Olive, and always took the back corner booth. The few other diners didn’t pay her and Jeffrey any attention. “I’m flattered, but we barely know each other.”