Overview
Dino Martini is an old-school detective in a modern world. Sure, he may do most of his work on a computer, but he carries a gun, drives a convertible, and lives on the beach in Florida. His best friend and mechanic, Seth Donnelly, will back him in a fight, and there’s not a lot more Martini could ask from life. But things are about to change in a big way.
A dangerous case and a new apartment are just the start. His friendship with Donnelly has suddenly turned into something more. Messy and sarcastic, he may be Martini’s total opposite, but the longtime affection between them is heating up and turning physical—and the private investigator has to figure out whether he can handle having a boyfriend at all, let alone one who’s also his best friend. Then, their investigation takes a terrifying turn, and Martini must face his feelings head on . . .
Filled with steamy sex, suspenseful action, and lots of laughs, Like Coffee and Doughnuts is a lively blend of hard-edged mystery and budding romance between two unforgettable characters.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780982417058 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Lyrical Press, Incorporated |
| Publication date: | 05/18/2009 |
| Series: | Dino Martini Mysteries , #1 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 307 |
| File size: | 735 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
When I went into Ed's Garage looking to get backup from my friend Seth, I knew immediately my job was going to be harder than I'd thought. Seth and his latest "date," a blonde with short spiky hair and pretty legs, were tangled up on top of a red Ford Torino necking like the world was coming to an end. Neither one of them had a shirt on, but she wore a black and pink polka dot bra. She also wore a pale green skirt under which Seth's hand had disappeared. My timing wasn't good, but I was glad I hadn't come any later.
She saw me first and gave me a pretty smile, apparently not too disturbed by a stranger walking in on her fun. Seth was doing something to her neck that might have been kissing, but reminded me of the way he ate.
She prodded him and said, "Hey, we've got company."
When Seth raised his head, he looked surprised, but that quickly changed to irritation when he saw who it was. He didn't need to say a word for me to know exactly what he was thinking.
I smiled. "I thought you had to have the hood up to do a tune up."
"Not when we start with me first," he said. "Don't you have someplace better to be?"
"I'm sorry, I had no choice. Believe me, I did not want to do this, but duty calls."
"Tell duty to call back in about an hour, Dino." He went back to what he'd been doing.
"You're Dino?" the girl asked, lighting up. "I've heard about you."
"Dino Martini, at your service," I said. "Nice ... bra."
"Thanks." She grabbed a fistful of Seth's hair and pulled him up to look at her. "Don't be rude to your friend. He's obviously here for something important."
"He's here because whatever job he's got going this evening involves a high likelihood of him getting his ass kicked." He turned to look at me. "Am I wrong?"
I shrugged. "Hard to say with a case like this, but I don't like to take chances."
"What now?" Seth looked defeated already, which was good, because it meant this wouldn't be nearly as difficult as I'd thought.
"Cheating wife," I said. "You know how those can be."
"Yeah, yeah, all right."
Seth Donnelly is about five foot seven, has an unruly mop of carrot colored hair, and although he's thirty-three, he often acts like he's twelve. He's my mechanic, but he's also been a good friend for a lot of years, and there's no one I'd rather have next to me in a fight.
He slid off the hood of the car and told the girl, "I guess I'm gonna have to catch you some other time."
"That's okay," she said, climbing down and pulling her shirt on. "I have to get to work anyway. Can you look at my car tomorrow?"
"Sure, bring it by after three."
She gave him a quick kiss, got in the Ford and drove out, turning left, toward the beach. I was willing to bet she worked in one of the tourist bars down in John's Pass.
"Sorry about that," I said, turning to Seth.
"No sweat. Buy me dinner and we're square. She's cute enough, but her brother's the one I'd really like to nail."
I shook my head. "You bring a whole new meaning to the word 'sleaze', you know that?"
"Oh, come on, it's not like that. She knows. She's just in it for the fun and the free service on that wreck she drives. Did she look especially brokenhearted to you?"
"No," I admitted. "I can't say that she did."
"So tell me about the case," he said, grabbing his shirt off the workbench.
"Not that much to tell. This guy's had me following his wife for a while, and I finally caught her cheating on him with a long haul trucker. Turns out she's been meeting up with all kinds of them off a website called The Hot Trucker's Hookup."
"No shit, are you serious?"
"Yep."
"Sweet deal for the truckers, man. They can line up something everywhere they stop."
"That's pretty much the idea," I said. "They've got quite the little community on there."
I had followed Amy Ware all the way out to Florida's Interstate 75 and wound up spending an afternoon playing "Peeping Tom" through the ground floor window of a cheap hotel. On my fifth pass, I nearly swallowed my cigarette. She had her guy trussed up in a horse's harness and reins with the thing in the mouth and the whole nine yards, and she was ridin' him for all he was worth. I took easily fifty shots of that.
I'm kind of a mix between the old school P.I. and the modern "private investigator," which means I do my fair share of computer searches and background checks on top of the more traditional tailing of cheaters and mystery solving. But I drive a Mustang convertible, I carry a gun, and I live on the beach.
Well, close to the beach.
You are what you drive, they say, and I am a 1966 model of stylish sophistication with a sporty rakishness and a lot of muscle. Instead of Vintage Burgundy, though, I'm your average Italian color, and I have maybe a moderate amount of muscle. When I was a little younger, I had the classic Italian greaser look going on. Now I don't have quite enough hair on top to pull it off, but I'm told I still look pretty damn good.
I named the car Matilda because of her white ragtop, which makes her look like an old lady. She is, without a doubt, my most prized possession. I bought her eight years ago, after an especially lucrative case, and while she was in pretty good condition to begin with, Seth and I restored her to the level of perfection she exists in most of the time these days.
Outside, Seth dropped into the front seat next to me. He looked in the side view mirror and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. That's what passes for styling for him. He plucked his sunglasses out of the collar of his shirt and slid them on. It never fails to impress me how he can make slovenly look good.
"You goin' in carrying on this one?" he asked.
"I don't think so," I told him. "This guy is money. If he gives me trouble, it's going to be of the fist swinging variety, which is why I wanted you along."
"Are we gonna run it the usual way, then?"
"If you expect to be fed."
Certain people do not take bad news well, and if they can't lash out at the object of their anger, they'll often take it out on the closest thing available. I generally happen to be sitting across from them at that point, and I've learned to take precautions.
If the guy is big enough, or bad enough, I won't hesitate to slip my gun into a holster. Most of the time, I just bring Seth for backup. He may be small, but he's wiry and he likes to fight. Best of all, he'll do it for the price of a steak.
For situations like this, I prefer to arrange the meet in a nice dark bar. They're noisy, so you're not likely to get overheard, and you don't look out of place. Plus, it feeds the average Joe's romantic vision of a private eye. People seem to like it better if it goes down the way they see it on TV. And who am I to argue? I like bars.
The "usual way" is I go in first to find the client and get settled, and about five minutes later, Seth comes in and takes a seat at the bar where he can keep an eye on things. Nine times out of ten, nothing happens and he gets to enjoy a beer and flirt with the bartender, but on the rare occasion some idiot decides to take a pop at me, it's nice to know he's got my back.
I'd chosen a dive called Henry's, well outside of Ware's territory so there'd be little chance of him running into someone he knew. Not like it would be tough to explain, but I hate to put a guy in that position right after he's found out his wife is the Calamity Jane of the eighteen wheeler set.
I parked around back as usual. No sense in advertising what I drive if there's a chance there might be trouble. I grabbed my briefcase, which held the folder of photos, and climbed out of the car.
"See you in a few minutes," I said.
Seth saluted me and slouched in the seat.
Inside, Henry's was busy, but not packed. Mostly old guys with nothing better to do, or blue-collar types shaking off the workday. I spotted Ware in a back booth, clutching a glass of scotch or bourbon. He looked pretty grim. Of course, he had to know it was bad news. It doesn't take a face-to-face meeting for me to say, "Hey, your wife is pure as the driven snow and only has eyes for you, and by the way, I have some lovely shots of her shopping for Bibles."
I sat down across from him and set my briefcase on the seat. "Good evening, Mr. Ware."
A cute waitress with a ponytail and a low-cut shirt came over, and I ordered an amaretto on the rocks.
"Cut to the chase, Martini." He took a sip of his drink. "Amy's cheating on me, isn't she?"
"Yes, sir, I'm afraid so."
Seth strolled past me and plugged the jukebox, messing around with the touch screen for a minute before he took a seat at the bar. His way of letting me know he was in the room, since Ware had left me with my back to the door.
"Who is it?" Ware asked.
"Unfortunately, I wasn't able to determine that in such a short time frame," I lied. Since the guy was just one of many, I didn't see the need to share that information with Ware. "It's highly unlikely he's anyone local."
The waitress brought my drink, and I spent about half an hour explaining the deal with the truckers and the website to Ware. I also gave him instructions on how he could do a little sleuthing of his own on his wife's computer. He asked me if that was something I could be hired to do, and I told him it was, but I'd need access to her computer for a while. He said he'd hang onto my card and think about it.
When there wasn't much left to say, I brought out the folder and passed it across the table. He stuck it into his own case without looking at it. That's pretty common. Most people don't want an audience when looking at candid porn starring their beloved for the first time.
At this point, I usually like to say something sympathetic and heartening, maybe give them a bit of advice. I was just opening my mouth when a beer bottle whizzed past my face and bounced off the wall, nearly hitting Ware.
People were shouting and a couple of bar stools crashed to the floor. When I turned to look, a guy the size of a tank had Seth pinned like a bug on the bar, one meaty hand clamped around his throat. Seth gripped the guy's forearm and kicked his legs in the air, trying to score a hit or get away, I wasn't sure which. The ponytailed waitress bounced around, swatting at the tank with a bar rag and begging him to stop.
Ware looked horrified and shot up. "I think I should go. Listen, thanks for your time and trouble," he said, stuffing a check into my hand. "If I decide to have you do that computer thing, I'll get in touch."
I gave him a nod and a pat on the back and sent him on his way. Then I turned back to the scene on the bar.
"Rick, honey, come on," the waitress was saying. "He didn't mean anything. He's just a customer, babe, they say stuff like that all the time, you know that."
"I know his type," the tank roared. "All these guys think they can hit on you just because you bring 'em drinks. It's time someone taught 'em a lesson."
Seth squealed something in protest, but his throat was too constricted for anyone to make it out. He flopped like a fish out of water.
I drained the last of my drink and took a deep breath, then stepped up to the moose and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey jack, why don't you let the little guy go, he wasn't hitting on your girl."
"Why don't you mind your own business?"
"This is my business," I snapped, getting up in the guy's face. I may be skinny, but I can intimidate the hell out of people when I want to. "I can personally guarantee he wasn't hitting on her, so why don't you get your fucking hands off him before I really get mad."
There was a crowd of people standing around us staring. I could see them all mentally calculating the odds of me against Rick the Caveman. The bartender hovered near the phone just in case. But see, I fight smart, and I know how to knock guys like this off their game.
"You can guarantee that?" he sneered, pausing in his attempt to strangle Seth. "And just how are you gonna do that when you weren't even here?"
"Because he's my boyfriend, jackass, and if you don't get your filthy paws off him, I'm gonna kick your ass."
A hush fell over the room, and Rick looked down at Seth like he was suddenly holding a rattlesnake. He yanked his hand away, and Seth immediately started wheezing air.
"You mean ... you and him ..." Rick tried to puzzle it out.
"That's right." I pulled Seth down off the bar and held him tight against me while he got his breath back. "And if I ever catch you trying to feel up my guy again, I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson. You got that, asshole?"
Rick's face turned pink and then red. He looked like I'd sucker punched him. "I was not feeling him up!"
"Yeah, that's what they all say." I went over to grab my briefcase, and came back pointing at him. "And yet time and time again, I got some big ox like you putting his hands all over my friend and I gotta' step in and break it up." I wrapped an arm around Seth and squeezed him. "Are you okay, baby?"
Seth sniffed. He was struggling not to laugh. "He hurt me, Dino. I was just having a nice beer and talking fashion with that girl and suddenly he was all over me."
I gave Rick a withering stare. "For shame," I said, steering Seth toward the door. "I really can't get over some people's manners. Think they can do whatever they like."
I glanced over my shoulder on the way out to see Rick dumbfounded, the bartender looking relieved, and the waitress trying not to crack up. Everyone else was already back to business as usual.
Seth fell into the car laughing his ass off. He rubbed his neck where Rick had grabbed him. "You realize half the bruisers in this town think we're dating?"
"Well, I am about to take you out and buy you dinner," I said, starting up the car and backing into the alley.
"Sure, but that's for services rendered."
I gave him a sideways glance. "Yeah, that makes it sound much better."
Seth smirked and hung his arm over the side of the car. Clearly, he wasn't traumatized by the incident.
"What did you do to set him off, anyway?" I asked.
"Oh shit, I was just flirting with the waitress a little. It was harmless. I told her those jeans must be from outer space because her ass is out of this world."
"Oh my God, did you really bring a lame line like that?"
"Sure," he said. "Us goofy little guys can get away with shit like that. People think it's cute."
"Cute and goofy are not what I'm generally going for when I approach women."
Seth rolled his eyes. "Because you're such a ladies man."
"I can be. I just have standards, is all. I'm very selective about who I choose to spend time with, whereas you'll fuck anything that moves. And several things that don't."
"Touchy, touchy," Seth said, reaching over to pet my hair. "It's all right, honey, you have a nice ass too."
I shoved his hand away. "Shut up and figure out where you want to eat."
"Aw ... come on, Dino," he purred, crawling across the seat to breathe on my ear. "You chased off my sure thing for the night. The least you could do is take her place ..."
A shiver ran down my spine in spite of myself, and I turned to give him the stony look I usually do when he gets this way. When I said he'd fuck anything that moved, I wasn't kidding. He's game for anything and anybody, and it doesn't matter what goodies they have on their plate.
"Dinner?" I reminded him. "Ideas?"
He sighed. "How about ... the Oar House? I could eat a burger."
* * *
After dinner, we went back to Ed's. My car was piled with the last load of boxes and suitcases from my apartment. The building was being torn down to make way for more condos, and Seth offered me his couch until I could find a new place to live.
The garage is a small red, white and blue auto shop located right next to the marina on the Intracoastal Waterway, between Madeira Beach and St. Petersburg. Seth more or less runs the place, since Ed has taken to spending all his time buying stuff at junk auctions and selling it on eBay.
When I pulled in, Ed's dogs were yapping and running around the parking lot. One is a pug with the coloring of a Siamese cat, and the other is an old mutt whose forehead is so flat she couldn't possibly have a brain inside.
I shut the engine off, and Seth got out of the car. He cast a glance over the mound of stuff in the backseat and shook his head. "Matilda looks like a pack mule, man. That is no way to treat a venerable old lady."
"Although you are absolutely correct, I would like to point out that this car is the exact same age as me, so watch it with the 'venerable old' talk. Where in the hell did you learn to use the word venerable, anyway?"
"I use words like venerable," Seth said, mildly disgruntled. "And Matilda is forty-one, that's like ... ninety in car years."
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Like Coffee And Doughnuts"
by .
Copyright © 2009 Elle Parker.
Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
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