Inez O'Hara was a curious blend of her heritage, thought Hillary Northrup, as she pulled on driving gloves, and pocketed her ID. The girl had the dark hair, olive skin, and the temperament of her Spanish mother, and the striking blue eyes and wide smile of her Irish father.
She was beautiful, ambitious, and lazy. This was a dangerous combination for a young woman who wanted to make her mark in the world. Many times Hillary questioned the wisdom of hiring her to work as waitress in her coffee and tea shop, but the girl was good with people. So Hillary tolerated her weak points for the success of the business, 'Leaves and Grounds'.
"I don't know what the police want to talk to me about, Inez." She answered the question for the third time. "You can close early, today. I don't expect any more customers."
"Did I hear the word 'police'? You're not in trouble again, are you, Inez?"
A man followed his voice into the shop. Hillary turned and smiled at a man dressed in a uniform of black, pleated trousers, and a white shirt with the logo of a bird silhouette flying through the lower part of a capital B embroidered in black. His 5'8" frame bulged with muscles as he approached the counter with his habitual limp and cardboard box. He carried the blond, tanned looks of a surfer instead of a private mail courier. There always seemed to be an undercurrent of some unknown excitement when he entered a room.
"What are you doing here this time of day, Brody?"
"This parcel has instructions for a 6:30 p.m. delivery. I came early because I know you'd want to put the contents away before calling it a day. Now, what's this I hear about the police?" He smiled past the tense strain in his voice.
"Our mighty and fearless leader has been summoned to appear."
"That's enough, Inez. Must you tell everyone my business?" She frowned in irritation at the other's sarcastic reference to herself. "Go 'head and close now. Put the contents of the box away before you go home. And no one else needs to know where I am, understand?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned toward the mirror to glance at her readiness, and grabbed her keys. As she walked out, she heard Inez say,
"What did I say, now?"
"Her beau is outside. Maybe she--"
She shut the door on Brody's voice, and only had time for the words to barely sink in before she caught sight of a movement near Brody's panel truck.
"We're closed, Tray." She knew he couldn't care less about the shop. But she had to say something to announce her approach. He acted like he was going to search the inside of the truck.
"What's ol' soldier boy doing here?" Tray Lassiter's aggressive eyes and male-model, good looks always did queer things to her insides.
"You'll have to ask him. I'm in a hurry."
"What you all dressed up for, Hills?"
She hated that nickname ever since her senior year when he came up with it. His black eyes always dropped a little on her person to the reason he gave it to her. He always reveled in her protestations of it. She curbed her disgust. A man with the good looks of a Greek god could never comprehend a complaint against himself. It was a waste of time. Since she had none to spare, she started her car instead.
"I hardly call khaki trousers and a cream, silk blouse dressed up, Tray."
"Maybe it's the way you wear them. Can I drive you?"
"No!" She shut the door to her '68 Shelby Mustang to emphasize the point.
"Can we meet for dinner?"
"I don't know how long I'll be."
Tray Lassiter deliberately placed his hands on her door, and bent near to her. "Your hair looks like caramel taffy in this light. And your eyes are like limpid pools."
Words like that didn't even sound corny coming from him. She liked it, and he knew it. And, boy, did he use it. Did that make him her 'beau'? she wondered.
Tray took her silence as acquiescence. "I'll meet you at the 'Outback' at 8:00 p.m."
"Alright. Now will you move so I can go?"
"You bet. I got what I want. See you later, Hills."
Hillary rammed the stick into gear, and tore out of the gravel parking lot leaving Tray Lassiter in a cloud of dust.