Purrfect Peril

Chapter 32

The movie had gone down big with both Alec and his date. The Rock was a cop invited by accident to join the maiden flight of a billionaire’s space ship because his ex-wife—The Rock’s, not the billionaire’s—now worked for him—the billionaire, not The Rock. But then a group of terrorists had interrupted the fun and killed the billionaire and taken his guests and the ex-wife hostage so The Rock had to fight his way through at least a dozen terrorists with a funny accent—the terrorists, not The Rock—before a sleazy reporter had exposed his wife—The Rock’s, not the reporter’s—to the terrorists and things had sort of deteriorated from there. Explosions, fist fights, gunfire, a lot of dead terrorists and of course the happy reunion. Alec was feeling on top of the world, and Tracy Sting evidently was, too, judging from the way she’d returned his heated kisses while the credits finally rolled.

“Wanna go back to my room for a nightcap?” she croakily asked when they walked out of the cineplex, fingers entangled.

“I sure do,” he said just as croakily, though his croak was from emotion, not genes.

And they’d just stepped into her room and he’d pressed her up against the door, clothes magically dropping to the floor as if repelled by their heaving and grinding bodies when a knock on the door elicited annoyed groans from the both of them.

“Room service,” a youthful voice announced.

Tracy yanked open the door. “What?!” she growled.

The pimply youth stared at her, and stammered, “N-n-nuts.”

“Nuts?”

He thrust out a small glass dish of nuts. “N-n-nuts.”

Tracy took it. “I didn’t order no nuts.”

“To go with the b-b-beer,” the youth managed, before quickly retreating into the safety of the corridor.

Tracy slammed the door shut and stared at the nuts. “Weird. Did you order these?”

“Nope. Probably the same person who ordered those bottles of beer did,” said Alec, gesturing at the amber bottles placed on a side table. They’d been there a little while, as they’d created a puddle on the table, condensation still producing droplets on the glass.

They both stepped up to the bottles and Tracy picked up the note that lay next to them. “Enjoy some real beer for a change,” she read. “Taste the world’s best brand. Signed Curt Pigott.” Her brow furrowed. “Horrible little man,” she grunted. “Can’t stop taunting me.” She picked up the bottles by the neck and prepared to dump them into a nearby trashcan.

“Hold on a minute,” said Alec. “Let me take a whiff of those.”

She handed him the bottles and he sniffed. “Doesn’t smell like beer,” he said finally.

Tracy, too, took a sniff. “More like… burned sugar,” she said.

Their eyes met and Tracy carefully replaced the bottles on the table, then they were both backing away slowly towards the door.

Curt Pigott had just sent them two bottles of nitroglycerin!

Chase pounded Pigott’s door. “Police! Open up!”

Moments later, the World’s Most Compelling Man appeared, his hair sticking up, his sleep mask askance on his brow, and one ear plug still sticking out of his ear, the other in his hand. He was looking slightly disheveled, trying to hold his robe gathered around his frame. “What’s going on? Has there been another attack? I must have slept through it.”

“There’s been a breakthrough in the case,” Chase announced.

“Oh, that’s great! Have you caught the guy?”

“We have now,” Chase said gruffly, and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Curt Pigott, you’re under arrest for the murder of Burt Goldsmith.” And as Chase read the startled actor his rights, Odelia looked sideways and then looked again, surprised when she saw her uncle, in a state of undress, accompanied by Tracy, also half-dressed, stalking towards her.

“Now, Uncle,” she admonished him, “you can’t keep doing this. The mayor won’t like it when his principle crime fighter keeps showing up all over the place without his clothes.”

“This man tried to murder us,” Alec announced, pointing an accusing finger at Curt Pigott. “You sent two bottles of exploding beer to Miss Sting’s room just now. Don’t try to deny it, you little shit!”

“They weren’t bottles of beer,” said Tracy, covering her modesty with her arms. “They were bottles of nitroglycerin.”

Curt looked absolutely befuddled. “I didn’t—I never—I wouldn’t!”

“And yet you did!” Alec bellowed. “You’re under arrest for the attempted murder of a police chief and his—his—his…” He glanced at Tracy, who crooked an amused brow. “His girlfriend!” he finished finally, and Tracy cast down her eyes, a smile playing about her lips.

“I never sent you any bottles!” Curt protested. “I’m innocent—innocent, I tell you!”

“Tell it to the judge,” said Chase, who proceeded to cuff the compelling man.

“Good riddance,” a voice spoke behind them. When Odelia turned she saw that they’d attracted quite the audience: Bobbie Hawe, Jasper Hanson, Nestor Greco and Dale Parson all stood watching as their colleague and competitor was led away by Chase and Alec. “I’ve always known there was something fishy about him,” said Nestor.

“Not me,” said Dale. “I thought he was a kind man. Kind to animals and children.”

“But not to interesting men,” said Bobbie. “He likes to blow us up for some reason.”

“Jealousy,” opined Jasper. “Plain and simple jealousy. Couldn’t stomach our success.”

“Anyone up for a drink at the bar?” asked Nestor. “I’m buying.”

And as Odelia watched the world’s most interesting men head to the staircase, a discussion broke out amongst them over who was buying whom what type of beer. She shook her head and followed Tracy Sting to her room, to check on those beer bottles.

“Good thing your uncle has such a great sense of smell,” Tracy was saying. “Otherwise we’d be dead right now. Blown to bits just like Burt.”

“We better not touch anything,” she said as she followed Tracy inside. She saw her uncle’s shirt and pants on the floor and smiled to herself. The bottles looked exactly as Curt had intended them to look: like actual bottles of Tres Siglas. She crouched down to take a closer look, careful not to come near the dangerous objects.

“What I don’t understand is why Curt would target me,” said Tracy, pulling on a blouse and buttoning it up. “What could he possibly gain by murdering me and Alec?”

Odelia shrugged. “Looks like he was working his way through the competition one by one. His next targets were probably those other most interesting men.”

“But why me? I’m not the competition.”

“Yeah, I don’t get that, either. Then again, who knows what’s in the mind of a killer.” She rose to her feet, and stepped away from the side table. “I’m sure Chase and Alec will make him talk. By this time tomorrow this whole ordeal will finally be over.”

Police people were now entering the room, anxious to ‘seal the scene’ as they called it. Tracy nodded, then glanced at Odelia. “Any chance I can stay with you tonight? The hotel is booked solid, and Alec will probably be up all night questioning Curt Pigott.”

“Sure. If you don’t mind sleeping on the couch. I have a guest bedroom but my grandmother is staying with me at the moment.” She grimaced. “Don’t ask me why.”

“I won’t,” said Tracy with a smile. “Alec told me some of it.”

“He did, huh?”

“Yeah, for some odd reason he and I hit it off.”

They walked out of the room as more police walked in. “He’s a great guy,” said Odelia.

“He is, isn’t he? He’s funny and sweet and… very, very passionate.”

Odelia laughed. “He’ll be happy to hear it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this interested in a woman since Aunt Ginny died.”

And then they were walking out of the hotel, and Odelia thought that this Tracy Sting wasn’t as bad as all that. She definitely wasn’t the murderous psychopath she’d initially taken her for. And then she found herself talking about her uncle, Tracy laughing at some of the stories, and before she knew it they were home and she was letting this perfect stranger into her house. And guess what? She didn’t feel like a stranger to her. Not anymore.