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Chapter 7
Sam
During the drive to Howie’s, Suds lectures me nonstop about buying stolen goods. “Karma’s a bitch. She will bite you in the ass every single time.”
As always, the ex-SEAL takes the moral high ground, so I feel obligated to state my case. “The origin of said goods is uncertain. Christmas trees do not come with provenance.”
“Stay right to go left.” When the map lady sounds from the Bluetooth speakers, Suds grabs the steering wheel, then glances at me like it’s my fault.
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Reaching a fork in the road, he turns while I point.
“Middle lane.” Confusion over, I heave out a sigh. “Know what? You’re right. We need to rethink this whole fell-off-the-truck thing. I’ll add it to my list of sins to confess next week.”
“Damn, if that’s all it takes to get back in God’s good graces, I need to convert.” My partner often teases about changing religions, then reneges.
This time I’m ready. Glancing over, I stifle a giggle. “Perfect. I’ll ask Monsignor to sign you up for classes. Father O’Connell loves you and might even give you a pass on some of the harder assignments. We’ll start at adult baptism, invite all our friends, and have a huge christening party.”
“If the Almighty wanted me to be a holy roller, I would’ve known it by now.” His jaw drops and he swallows hard.
No longer able to hold back, I laugh out loud. “I was just busting your balls.”
“So now you’re a nutcracker?”Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he grins, and I squeeze his thigh.
“Plum fairy. Keep up this blasphemy mister, and you’re going straight to hell.” My hand slides higher and as I caress him, a bulge appears behind his fly.
His breath hitches and he shoots me a heated look. “At the next exit, I’m pullin’ off and I am going to strip off your jeans and fuck-”
“Take the next left. Your destination will be on your right.” Interrupted again by the GPS, my partner curses under his breath.
SUV-sex on hold, panties damp, I place Dad’s business card in the front window and jump out. Hopefully, thieves will think twice before stealing our car.
“Wow, nice neighborhood.” Head on a swivel, my spouse steps over dog shit on the sidewalk.
Pulling me closer, he places his hand near his holstered weapon and walks us toward Howie Matteo’s two-story duplex with a postage-stamp front yard. The area contains broken toys, a sink planter and next to the porch, Mother Mary prays under the side of a half-buried bathtub.
The doorbell doesn’t work so we knock. To our right, curtains rustle and a woman in a red reindeer sweater cracks open the door.
“You cops?” As the bleached blond eyes us suspiciously, my partner hands over our business card.
“No, ma’am.” Opening his wallet, he flashes his license. “Private Investigators. Might we be able to speak with your husband?”
Her bitter laugh cuts through the cold. “Take a number, why don’t’cha. The man hasn’t been home for days and I say good riddance. Maybe somebody finally took out the trash.”
“Did you know he was selling stolen Christmas trees?” My question can barely be heard above her deep smoker’s cough.
When she stops, she unwraps a wet, wadded tissue and blows. “Sure, I did, and I told him not to. The weasel is probably hiding from the law or worse. I’m sorry but I don’t know nothin’ more. If you find him, let me know. I’ll hire you to serve him the damn divorce papers.”
“Will do. Thank you kindly, ma’am.” My husband takes my arm and walks me back to the SUV.
As he starts the engine, I sigh. “Shit, what a waste of time.”
Sebastian checks the rearview mirror, pulls away from the curb, then squeezes my knee. “How about we take a break, go home, and make love?”
His one-track mind makes me smile. “Because nothing says Christmas like hot sex?”
Turning toward the highway, he winks. “Ya got that right, sweetheart.”
My thoughts turn to my son, no doubt having dinner at my mom’s. “It’ll have to wait until we put Mikey to bed.”
