Project Produce(62)

“Hey, I gotta fit practice time in wherever I can or I’m never gonna graduate from the academy.” She shrugged.

I looked at Gadget who scowled at me. “I never know what I might need at a crime scene, and I hate carrying around a box with all my supplies. This coat works perfectly.”

“Whatever you say.” I bit back a laugh, then glanced at Khaki Man and shook my head. “You, I think, are just flat out weird.”

He grinned wide. “Weird, but cute.”

I rolled my eyes when the bells rang over the door, and Dylan marched back in. As I ducked under the table, I squeezed my insecurity in the middle of four sets of shoes, and hugged my knees to my chest. Man, someone’s feet stunk. I glanced from a pair of designer heels, to a pair of black dress shoes, to a pair of running shoes, to what looked to be about a size nine set of tan loafers and stifled a snort.

Oh, yeah. Those were the guilty culprits. Khaki Man must not have worn socks when he’d done all that jogging in Central Park the other day. Gagging, I plugged my nose and held my breath when a humongous pair of snakeskin boots came to a stop about six inches from my Snow Flurries.

“Hey, cuz, what’s up?” Cat Woman asked.

“Got all the way to Big Betty and realized I forgot my keys. Anyone seen them?” Dylan asked.

I glanced up as everyone shuffled about above my head, then I looked in front of my feet and my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. A big ole Ford key ring, loaded with keys.

Shoot, shoot, shoot! How did I get myself in such ridiculous situations? What should I do? I could kick them out from under the table. Who was I kidding? Keys didn’t have legs. Anyone in his right mind would look under the table, but what other choice did I have?

Dylan’s knees started to bend as he began to kneel. I bit my lip, lifted my toe, and...

“Here, let me.” Khaki Man poked his head under the table and winked, until he saw me plugging my nose. I dropped my hand and shot him a sheepish grin. His eyes filled with pure mischief as he scooped up the keys and disappeared, then he started to... oh, for the love of God, tap Mr. Make-Me-Go-Cross-eyed Smelly Loafer.

They were all talking above me, but a fresh wave of El Reeko Feeto nailed me in the face, and I lost the thread of conversation as my stomach pitched. So I reached in my purse, pulled out a small vial of El Smello Muchbettero breath freshener and pointed it at the small stink-bombs, squeezing the trigger tight.

Hey, if it could kill Professor Butthead’s egg salad breath, then it oughta do wonders for Khaki Man’s raunchy feet.

“Ah-haaa!” Khaki Man yelped, but at least his foot stopped tapping.

“You okay, man?” Gadget asked.

“Cold chill. I’m fine now.”

“Sorry, guys. Gotta go. It’s an emergency. But I’ll catch up with you later about your instructions for next week.” I heard Dylan scrape the keys off the table then disappear as quickly as he had arrived.

“He’s gone. You can come up now,” Thermometer Woman said.

I crawled out from under the table and took a deep breath then glared at Khaki Man, but the rascal just laughed. So I focused my attention on the rest of them as I sat back down and said, “So you’re cousins. I get it. And I know why Dylan asked for your help, but there’s a new boss in town, and it’s payback time. Mean Mama has a few plans of her own.”

“Mean Mama?” Khaki Man grinned then shoveled a forkful of... oh, God in heaven, Mac and Cheese. I swallowed hard and tore my eyes away as he finished with, “Thought it was Annie Oakley.”

My molars locked, and I began to grind my teeth. “Yeah, well, last time I saw you, you were flat on your back after someone knocked you on your smart-alec behind. Oh, that’s right, that someone was me.”

“Can I help it that women throw themselves at me?” He smirked.

“Bet it’s not too hard to get rid of them once they smell your feet.” He just chuckled, and I wanted to smack that smug smile right off his face. Dylan was right. There was a definite difference between confident and cocky, which made it pretty obvious where Khaki Man fell on the produce chain. Poor little guy. Besides, I’d had a close-up visual of those small size nines. Not something I wanted to do ever again.

“For the record, Detective Hammond was only trying to keep you safe, but you wouldn’t let him help you,” Gadget interrupted, stirring cream into his coffee.

I rolled my eyes. “Spare me, please. I know exactly what he was trying to do. Use me to catch the Midnight Molester. That kind of ‘help’ I can do without.”

“Well, no kidding,” Cat Woman said. “His job includes catching the guy before he strikes again, and he just didn’t want it to be you.”