Chapter 4
Chapter Four
AIDEN
M y gaze collides with the woman’s in the next cell like a slow-motion action shot. The clock on the wall above the window slows. Officer Henley’s voice takes on a drone-like quality. The fan moving back and forth on the desk goes at half speed. But my focus turns exclusively to her because she’s arrestingly familiar.
She has balanced features with clear skin and an angular jawline. My attention drops to her collarbones before it lifts to her lips. My eyes don’t know where to land. My pulse either. Now would be a good time to look at kittens online. But all my thoughts float out the window when I meet her eyes again. They’re big and brown and soft.
Eyes that make me forget to breathe.
But then my gaze drops to her dress covered in gold sequins, and I realize where I’ve seen this bombshell before.
I physically jolt like I was tasered. Then it’s as if the sudden awareness of my reaction resumes the normal forward motion of time. No, it goes at a breakneck pace because I was looking at photos of this woman yesterday, or was it the day before? The days and nights blur together since I went to Los Angeles, returned, and was arrested with no thanks to my nearest and dearest, but I digress.
Tinsley Humber looks at me with shock, curiosity, or a plea in her eyes—I can’t tell. Her big brown-eyed gaze is mesmerizing. Why she isn’t the star in every feature film is a mystery. But perhaps it’s because her expression refuses to settle, to focus. Whereas moments ago I saw shock, curiosity, or a plea, now there’s caution, possibly even fear.
Maybe it’s because of the obvious. We’re in a pair of jail cells—the only two in Butterbury, I might add.
Unless she is a hardened criminal in disguise, I imagine she’s as terrified as my sisters would be if they found themselves in the slammer. Which they will or my name isn’t Aiden Fuller King of Pranks.
They will pay for this little turn of events. They will pay with my laughter at their expense. I thought the days of playing practical jokes on Bess and Mae were over—especially after my baby sister shared that the way Taylor and I used to torment her with ghost stories and all manner of mischief upset her deeply. He was my best friend back in the day and is her husband now. I called it quits on being a big brother rascal.
Then they had to go and get me arrested. Granted, had it been anyone else breaking into the mayor’s house and making a getaway, I would’ve encouraged the community watchdog behavior. Especially since I plan to be the future mayor.
Thankfully, Twinky is safe in an undisclosed location.
Tinsley steps closer to the bars and I back away, washing my face of recognition when I feel my brows knit together from surprise at this turn of events.
“Fuller,” Officer Henley calls.
“Yes, sir,” I say, on my best behavior.
“For the last time, will you please tell me where you put Twinky.”
I pat my trim stomach. “As I mentioned, I haven’t had a Twinkie in years.” My eyes flit to his modest paunch. “However, I do know where you can get a doughnut. Also, Butterbury is renowned for its pies at the Starlight Diner and the Sweethearts Bakery & Café has delicious chocolate and baked goods, but I’m probably biased.”
He barely conceals rolling his eyes at the ceiling. I mentally convey that the best way to tolerate my antics is to count slowly to ten. I’ve had to do so more than a few times because without my phone in here, I can’t look up pictures of cute cats.
“Fuller, you know the Twinky that I’m talking about. The mayor’s cat. Eyewitnesses say they saw you climb out the window with it in your arms.” He looks down at the report. “And I quote, ‘The suspect stuffed the cat in a baby carriage, closed the top and zipped up the sides. He looked both ways before crossing the street and then ran at a sprint past the dog play park. On the corner of Spring Street and Elm, a terrier got loose and started chasing the assailant. The wheel busted off the carriage and there was a lot of zigging and zagging.’ Shall I continue?”
It wasn’t my finest moment.
“You stole a cat?” Tinsley Humber speaks for the first time. Her tone is one of shock and dismay.
“I didn’t steal a cat.” I rescued the feline from a cage in the mayor’s garage. I hardly entered and I didn’t break. Really, I consider it public service. Potentially evidence.
“Your voice sounds familiar,” she says.
“Miss, I’m going to ask you to hang tight while I process you both. Today is the busiest day in Butterbury since Les Streckle broke into the Easton Estate. I had to pursue him in a high-speed chase when he tried to get out of Dodge.”
I let my gaze float over her from top to bottom. I may have found a few twigs in my hair after I landed in the bush earlier, but at least I’ve showered and changed in the last few days. Tinsley Humber is wearing the same sequined dress when I briefly saw her while at the house in Malibu. Is she on the run or did she run out of gas here in Butterbury? My mind sparks with questions...among other things.
“Last time, Aiden. Just tell the truth and this can be over. Did you steal Gatlin Stoll’s cat?”
“No.” Also not a lie because as I pieced details together while still in LA, I concluded that Twinky isn’t actually the mayor’s cat. Rather, Twinky has now experienced an abduction and a rescue. Or, more accurately, in this case, a cat-napping.
Not to be confused with a nap, which I could sure go for right about now.
Officer Henley returns to his desk, no doubt writing up his report, reminding me of the calls I made to Tinsley. Likely, she heard snippets of my voice or may have noticed me at the house in Malibu. Let’s hope not. I try to keep a low profile. Not only am I the King of Pranks, but I’m also a chameleon.
Her eyes get heavy as she gazes into mine. “A sweet southern voice,” she says, imitating a drawl. “Like honeydew melon fresh off the vine. Like the slow drip of molasses. A hot, sultry summer afternoon.”
I blink a few times to keep myself from getting hypnotized. As if defying my better sensibilities, a rumble springs up inside of me. It’s like thunder in the distance, warning me of an incoming storm that’ll change the landscape. My inner landscape.
Tinsley bounces on the balls of her sparkly high heels. “How’d I do?”
“How do you do?” I’m starting to wonder if she has a hearing or communication problem, given the phone call earlier and now this.
“No, how did I do reciting those lines? Don’t you recognize them? They’re from A Golden Deception in Texas . I read for the part of Annabelle Alden.” She gazes at her hands. “Didn’t get it, obviously.”
I hardly notice that I have an accent, a slight one at best. But it’s time to play a role of my own. “It’s not every day you see a beautiful woman with immeasurable talent in a place like this.”
Her eyes flick to mine and her lips quirk with laughter. “Immeasurable talent?” Her voice fills with disbelief.
Perhaps my slick undercover schtick when I channel James Bond isn’t what I chalked it up to be. “Too much? Did I lay it on too thick?”
She holds her thumb and forefinger a measure apart. “A tad.”
“Well, I wasn’t playing about the beautiful part.” Truly. The inner rumble like a low wind rolling through a canyon and growing louder by the minute confirms this.
She seems to go still even though she can’t go very far. “Really?”
“Truly,” I say out loud this time.
She looks down at her hands and twists them. “I’ve never had anyone tell me that before.”
“I find that hard to believe. But I’m pleased to be the first.” I try to replace what I reckon is a shy, boyish grin in her presence with a manly smolder.
Then like a switch flips in her mind, she cocks a hip and plants her hand there. “Wait a minute. Did you really steal a cat? I don’t know if I can trust the judgment of someone who steals a cat.”
“I didn’t steal a cat. It was a misunderstanding.”
“Fuller, where is Twinky?” Officer Henley calls presumably having overheard the conversation.
She’s safe, but I don’t say that. “You should probably ask Gatlin Stoll where the cat is.”
“I think he’s out of town. Haven’t seen him in a few days.”
That’s news to me. I file away that bit of info to look into later. “Perhaps you should keep better tabs on our good mayor.”
“I thought you were his assistant now.”
I clear my throat into my fist. “Right. Well, I assume he took a personal day. I was wrapping up some business of my own out of town,” I say, which is true.
Henley looks up at me over the cheater glasses perched on his nose. “Is that so? I’ll need an alibi.”
Oh, brother. We’re going to have to talk later and by talk I mean show him my badge—which, no slight to our local boys in blue, or in this case, he wears a tan uniform—holds a little more clout. But I can’t say any of this at present, as I originally planned, because now one of the people involved in the case I’m on stands in the cell next to mine.
I return to her, forcing myself not to be captivated by her eyes, her cute little button nose, or her lips, or her anything. But it’s hard not to as the rumble gets louder in my ears. It erases all rational thought, restraint, and the aloof cat-like persona I’ve created...unless I want affection.
Moving closer to her is a mistake because the next thing that comes out of my mouth cannot be helped. At least that’ll be my thought in hindsight. “Someday, we’ll tell our kids that we met in jail.”
The rumble booms inside followed by a loud cracking as if the walls I’ve built come down, but only wide enough to let Tinsley through. It’s as if instead of being struck by lightning, I was struck by Cupid’s bow.
She inhales sharply as if scandalized yet charmed. I guess maybe I do have a voice like a honeydew melon fresh off the vine. “A meet-cute in jail? No, that will not be going in my memoir.”
“Are you writing one?”
“Not yet. Someday.”
“What will you call it?” If she says, Confessions of a Celebrity and Criminal , I’ll make sure she stays behind bars. Then again, I wasn’t kidding. Her beauty should be considered a capital crime.
She taps her chin. “Tales of a Shining Star.”
“Nice, but don’t be so sure that this isn’t our meet-cute. I have a feeling you’ll feature me in a chapter or two,” I say, being my usual charming, flirty self. At least, when it comes to women.
My reputation is not entirely undeserved. But I had to build a moat between myself and real relationships because I’m sometimes so deep undercover that I can’t tell what’s real and what’s for show. For instance, when was the last time I flirted for real?
My chest twinges. Talking to Tinsley feels pretty real.
The way my skin warms when she looks at me feels real too.
Or perhaps this isn’t our meet-cute because technically we already met—by several degrees of separation at the house in Malibu and over the phone. Now bars separate us.
Can’t be a good sign.
“How about when we get out of here, we go on a date?” So I can ask some questions. It won’t be an inquisition or even an interrogation. More like a conversation about what she can tell me about Harold Jerrold Pumanowksi.
She plays with a loose hair by her neck. “I, uh, don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Is it because you won’t date a felon?” I tease.
Her lips quiver. “You might be a cat thief, but I swear, I didn’t do anything wrong. I was afraid you’d recognize me.”
I force my lips into an innocent frown. Does that mean she knows who I am? Better play dumb. “Truly, I don’t recognize you other than the woman who should’ve played Annabelle Alden in A Golden Deception in Texas .”
Her cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. “Well, I just thought maybe you recognized me from the news.”
I lean closer, curious about what she might reveal. “A tiny town with a big heart. Don’t tell me you’re on the run Bonnie and Clyde style?”
She giggles. “No. Not even close. Does the name Puma ring a bell?”
I draw a deep breath and am thankful for the involuntary bunching between my eyebrows. “Like a cat? We have a lot of animals here in Butterbury.”
“Speaking of cats...” Officer Henley comes over.
I hold up my hands, the picture of innocence. “You have my word that I did not catnap Twinky.”
“Mmm. A catnap would be nice right now,” Tinsley says.
My sentiments exactly.
Dark circles that I didn’t notice smudge the space under her eyes. Guilty of working with Harold or not, she looks tired.
Officer Henley clicks his tongue with disapproval. “Are you talking about the musician Puma Palmer? My daughter texted to say he was arrested. Some kind of embezzlement. Guess it’s a federal case.”
“International espionage, considering he’s here illegally from Burgarithia.”
“Where’s that?” Tinsley asks.
“Near Poland,” I answer casually, belatedly realizing I acknowledged that I hadn’t heard of Puma then shared details about his background. This woman makes it hard to keep my story straight.
“He never mentioned that he’s not from the United States.”
“Word must travel fast,” Henley says as if picking up on my blunder.
“I didn’t make the connection until you added the Palmer part to his name,” I say.
Henley squints at me at the same time as his police radio goes off and he turns it up to listen.
Tinsley picks a loose sequin on her dress. “Turns out his actual name is Harold Jerrold Pumanowksi. In case you haven’t yet, you’ll soon see that I was at his house when he was arrested. Well, it wasn’t his house. He was ‘borrowing’ it. Or at least, that’s what I imagine he’d say. Now, I’m guilty of his crimes by association. I didn’t do anything, but unfortunately, the public has taken shots at my credibility.”
“Ow-ski is right.”
She looks so despondent standing there alone in the jail cell in her gold dress that whatever remaining sympathetic emotions I have after seeing how ugly the world can be rise to the surface.
“Is this going to follow me everywhere? Forever? Officer Henley even knows about it and, no offense, but he doesn’t seem like he keeps up with the times.”
Officer Henley removes his cheater glasses and uses them like a pointer. “Ah ah ah. Actually, I’m well-versed in pop culture. Have to keep my finger on the pulse of things. Just last month my daughter and I saw Puma perform live in Atlanta. Not my kind of music, but I didn’t want her going alone. Plus, the case is all over the news.” He turns to me. “Turns out this little lady was getting rather cozy with Puma as his Gal Pal.”
She winces. “Sir, please. I didn’t do anything. You can ask the FBI. I spent the night at their office, pleading my case, and answering all their questions. Some, repeatedly. I’m innocent.”
I stop short of nodding in agreement.
“I’m sure you are. But you did break the law.”
“And I’m sorry, sir. I won’t do it again,” Tinsley says.
“I reckon I believe you. All the same, I have to do my job. Can’t let word get out that I’m slacking.” The police radio crackles again and Officer Henley gets to his feet. “I’ll be back. We have a goose on the loose.”
When the door to the station closes, we both chuckle.
When I go quiet, I say, “I don’t think that’s code either. My sister’s llama escapes all the time. I can assure you that as the future mayor of Butterbury, some long-necked neighbors nose into people’s business, but we mostly keep to ourselves. All the same, it sounds like your reputation preceded you. Though, Butterbury is a fairly forgiving place.”
I hope. I still have to prove to my sisters and buddies like Nash, Taylor, and the others that I was not in cahoots with Stoll, but that’ll have to wait.
Tinsley tips her head to the side. “Can you be mayor with a rap sheet?”
She may have a point. But I’m an options guy. I’ll figure something out. I’m also a doughnuts guy and could really go for one right now when Henley returns with a pink box sealed with the Doughnut Dollies Sticker.
“The goose?” I ask, eyeing the box.
“Is with the gander,” Henley replies, straight-faced.
Maybe it is code for something. I ought to brush up on my local lingo.
He opens the box and inhales deeply. “These never get old.” He twinkles his fingers over the open box. “Boy, these doughnuts sure are delicious. They always hit the spot. Come to papa.”
Both Tinsley and I grip the bars of our cells. Like monkeys in cages, we practically drool while staring at him.
Officer Henley looks up, lips cracking with a smirk when his gaze lands on me. “Oh, Miss Humber did you want one of these?” He passes her a glazed old-fashioned on a napkin through the bars. “I’d be happy to share with you too, Aiden. If, and only if, you tell me what went on at Mayor Stoll’s house. The witnesses should be along soon. I’m sure they’ll have more to tell me. Perhaps even some evidence.”
Doubtful. I’m not a criminal, but I am a federal law enforcement officer so I’ve observed the behavior of plenty of bad guys and had the sense to destroy the evidence—that being the baby carriage and not the cat, just to be clear.
“Sounds to me like we have a couple of misunderstandings on our hands.” I wag my hand between Tinsley and me, indicating our arrests.
“No, I broke the law. I was speeding and my license was expired. I didn’t realize.” Tinsley speaks clearly as if not at all in need of a catnap. Like she woke up from a fog and realizes what she did wrong.
Henley nods at her as if in approval, then turning to me, he says, “As I said, I have a doughnut with your name on it, Aiden.”
“In fact, you said no such thing, but if the doughnut has my name on it, technically it’s mine.”
He plucks another from the box and holds it a few inches from my cell. “Last chance.”
“To plead my innocence. I did not steal a cat.”
He looks me over carefully as if assessing my honesty. I’d like to assure him that I rescued Twinky but hold back.
“Oh, alright. Here. But don’t go telling anyone that I went soft.” Henley rolls his eyes and passes me the goods.
I’d like to say I take dainty bites of the doughnut like Tinsley who still works on hers, but I stuff the thing in my mouth like a caveman. I haven’t had anything to eat since I was on the airplane, going west.
Tinsley watches me with warm curiosity.
It’s hard to ignore how pretty she is, but that’s not what this is about. Best to keep an asset close and see what kind of info I can glean.
When I’m done chewing, and full of bravado, I say, “As the future mayor, I assure you I won’t say a word, officer.”
“We’ll see about that,” he mutters.
I turn to Tinsley. “Since you’re the future Mrs. Mayor, I apologize for forgetting my manners. I’m Aiden Fuller.”
She gives me a long look that’s just short of penetrating. Icy panic slides through my veins instead of the usual rush of adrenaline. Does she recall the choppy phone conversation?
Federal Agent and Aiden sound an awfully lot alike.
“You just seem so familiar.” Her voice is throaty.
I wink. “I get that a lot. Must be my handsome good looks.”
“Yeah, must be.” Her cheeks turn a faint pink.
My nerves spike but not only because I risk blowing my cover. No, this woman jolts something inside me, sends a rumble running through me, a bolt of lightning aimed straight at my heart.
I school my expression and reach my fingers through the bars to shake her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tinsley.”
Her palm is a little sticky from the doughnut but fits nicely in mine. My gaze travels from her thin wrist up her arm to the curve of her shoulder before my eyes rest on her collarbones. The rumble inside grows as if it knows something I don’t.
The future Mrs. Mayor? Not sure where that came from other than my cheat sheet taken from James Bond’s smooth-talking playbook. Yeah, not getting married. Hasn’t happened. Won’t happen.
However, she and I shake hands for longer than is customary. I can’t be sure if it’s because this is the first time my future wife and I touch or if she doesn’t want to let go because her situation is the kind that requires handholding. Assurance that it’ll be okay.
The rumble rolls through me again, and instead of a lightning strike, I have a jolt of knowing that comes from nature or is of supernatural origin—I’m a believer and don’t question God’s plans. The message is a bolt from the blue but is as clear as they come.
Someday, I really am going to marry this woman. I take a deep breath, count backward from ten, and could really go for cute cat pics right about now because the notion of settling down excites and terrifies me in equal measure.
Especially with a potential accessory to a crime I’m investigating.