First Real Kiss

“More than the girl who dumped Dusty publicly?”

Ugh. Even Luke could see it. “There might be feelings is all I’m saying.”

Luke snort-laughed. “I’ve met her. There will be feelings. The woman is nothing but nerve-endings, in my experience. But trust me, I’m probably not the guy who can charm her.”

“But, Dusty said—”

“I didn’t connect it until Maxine mentioned her, but Marcia Dawsonside, as daughter-in-law to my patient, had not been too keen on my success. Her foot-stomp of frustration when I emerged from the OR and came to inform the family of the results of the bypass could have registered on the Richter scale.”

“You mean she wanted the surgery to go badly?” My neck muscles clenched. “You’re kidding.”

The light changed, and Luke moved ahead. “Nope.”

But—Dusty was so pleasant, so easy-going. “Was Dusty adopted?”

Instead of risking a call, I asked the internet for her address, and we headed into the hilly part of town toward the Carousel Retirement Community. Aptly named, what with the central décor.

Luke turned in at the gate and drove us under the stuccoed arch climbing with a trellised bougainvillea, which had pretty flowers but also long, sharp spines.

An omen. Shark music resounded ominously in my head as we passed the gilt-painted carousel and found Marcia’s street. Luke parked in front of her tidy brick home with—who guessed it?—trellised bougainvillea plants on either side of the heavy wooden door.

“Do we just cold-knock?” I asked, not moving from my seat.

Luke got out of the car and came around, opening my door. “I like that you let me get your door. When you were always driving me around, I couldn’t always get it. Thanks.”

I shouldn’t tell him the truth that I couldn’t open my own door today because I’d turned to stone. “Thanks.” I got out, and followed Luke to the door. “You’re not worried?”

Luke shrugged off the question. “What’s the worst she can do? Say no? Not give us the list?”

Curse my wild imagination! The woman could do a lot worse things than say no. She could sic her pit bull terrier collection on us, and they could rip out our jugular veins. She could call the police and have us arrested for some insane, made-up charge. She could invite us in and then poison us, or bake us alive like the witch in Hansel and Gretel.

“Sheridan? I asked if you’re ready for me to ring the bell.”

Nope! “Uh, sure.” Then, I saw that one of those doorbell camera things was aimed right at me. The woman could come to the door with a shotgun—

It creaked open, and the sourest, most imperious frown I’ve ever seen in my life aimed itself directly at me. It was almost as lethal as the imaginary shotgun. No question, the woman was Dusty’s mother, from the lanky height to the tanned skin and blonde shock of hair, to the high cheekbones. She reminded me of the star of that nighttime soap, Dynasty. The big difference was Dusty had not inherited her scowling skills.

Those appeared to be a unique gift.

“Hi, um. You’re probably—” I began, surprisingly without a stutter. But she cut me off.

“Skip the pleasantries.” She held up a palm. “I know who you are—both of you.” The scowl oscillated toward Luke and then back to me. “Maxine phoned to tell me she’d sent you.” From the side table, she snatched a sheaf of papers and clutched them to her chest. “This is what you’ve come for.”

“Is it a list of survivors of the Great Quake?” Luke ventured, sounding a lot more self-possessed than I was feeling under the weight of Marcia Dawsonside’s hatred-filled stare.

She ignored him. “You may have a copy of this research on exactly one condition.”

My heart leapt. She was giving me the list? No way would I hug her like I had Maxine, but I almost could! “Thank you! It would mean the world to me!” I reached for it, and she stepped backward.

Somewhere in the background, a cat screeched.

“I said there was a condition.” She huffed and fluffed one side of her impressively fluffy hair. “Naturally, my son will have told you, or you will have read in one of the numerous news articles about me, that I am compiling a history of the Great Quake, and that it’s been my life’s work for the past two decades.”

Could a half-nod technically be considered a lie? Because no way did I dare disagree.

“It seems Maxine believes you need this information as well.” She rolled her eyes, as if Maxine was a softie, when what this world needed was for everyone to be hardcore. “My research assistant quit. Ugh. So, now I am left with the menial task of contacting each of these survivors and rescue workers once again to get their permission to use their names and or their likenesses within the pages of my book. I’ll have you get me their signatures.”

“From all of them?” Luke almost gurgled. “How many are there?”