The Sexiest Man Alive (32 page)

“A little late, aren’t you?” Ben yelled up at them.

They hiked back down the hill, Mazie insisting on stopping in the orchard first to retrieve her skirt. By the time they reached the asylum grounds, things were over and mop-up operations
were going on. There’d been a firefight between the well-armed Skulls and the Quail Hollow Police Department, who’d arrived first on the scene and had held back the gang until backup had arrived. The asylum grounds were crawling with armed law enforcement officers. The gang members lay prone on the ground, hands behind their backs, securely handcuffed, awaiting their turn to be loaded into police transport vans. And DEA vans. And sheriff’s department vans. And FBI vans. Mazie and Ben finally found the person who seemed to be in charge and reported to him that there were still three more gang members, dead, injured, or disabled, in the graveyard. Moments later a squad of well-armed law officers were climbing the hill to retrieve them.

“Mazie! Ben!” Magenta caught sight of them, flew over, and hugged both of them. He was sweaty and flushed, his eyes glittering with excitement. “You’ll never guess what I did! Go ahead, try—”

Rico came up behind Magenta, grinning. “The dude shot out the tire of that SUV!”

“Oh my God, I didn’t mean to!” Eyes wide, Magenta fanned himself rapidly. “I’ve never touched a gun. The helicopter pilot gave it to me—it’s the shotgun he always carries around when he flies. When we saw the building catch on fire, Rico and I decided to run around to the front of the property because we were worried that you guys might still be in there. The pilot—his name is Joel, by the way—insisted that I take his shotgun. It’s got twelve gauges or whatever, and he said that all I had to do was point the thing and nobody would mess with me.”

“So when this big honkin’ Skulls mothership comes blasting down toward the gates,” Rico excitedly interrupted, “Magenta’s somehow convinced that Mazie is in there, so he stands up like the fuckin’ Matrix guy and pumps a round into the tires.”

“I didn’t mean to pull the trigger,” Magenta said. “I got overexcited.”

“The SUV crashes into the gate and blocks the entrance,” Rico chortled. “And all the Skulls are bottled up like rats in a trap.”

“But you haven’t even heard the best part yet, Mazie.” Magenta’s face went even redder.

“What—Hollywood wants you as a stuntman?”

“No.” Magenta took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Joel asked me out.”

“Whoo. Way to get a date,” Mazie said, stretching up to kiss Magenta.

“What about Shayla?” Ben asked. “Eddie, the others?”

“They’re all okay—they’re around here somewhere,” Rico assured him.

But Mazie wanted to see for herself. With Ben sticking very close to her, she wound her
way through the throngs of law enforcement people. The fire made the scene almost as bright as day, and she could see now that the building was beyond saving. All the firefighters could do was try to prevent it spreading to the outbuildings. There were a dozen different departments here—Quail Hollow, Platteville, and several other small-town volunteer fire departments. Law officials swarmed everywhere—SWAT teams, FBI, drug enforcement people—but it was the small Quail Hollow Police Department who were receiving honors of the day for being first on the scene.

Then Mazie heard a woman say something about “wounded officer.”

“Which officer?” she asked the woman.

“I don’t know. He’s over there in that ambulance.”

The wounded officer turned out to be Johnny Hoolihan, who’d been hit in the gunfire exchange with the Skulls. Johnny was sitting up on a stretcher in an ambulance. His arm was in a sling and his shirt was bloody, but he was drinking a Coke. He broke into a smile when he saw Mazie.

“The fabulous Maguire,” he said, “too tough to kill.”

“But what about you—are you going to be all right?” Mazie studied him, worried. He looked pale and hollow-eyed.

“Sure, sweetie—just a scratch.”

Johnny noticed Ben then. “Hey, thanks for the call,” Johnny rasped.

“Call?” Mazie asked.

“Yeah.” Johnny sank back against the wall, closed his eyes. “Him and his—his minions—somehow figured out that you and Shayla were in the asylum. He phoned me to send in the cavalry—just before he took off in a chopper with his own personal SWAT team. I seem to remember telling you not to … uhh … engage the enemy, Labeck.”

“Yeah, well … it was kind of an emergency,” Ben said. “By the way, congratulations. You and your guys did a hell of a job. Outnumbered, too.”

“Thanks.” Johnny opened his eyes. “You two back together?” he asked Mazie.

“We’re getting married,” Ben said, displaying all the subtlety of a sledgehammer smashing a gum ball, taking Mazie’s hand in his.

“Kick a man while he’s down, huh?” Johnny said tiredly. “Congratulations.”

“Ben,” Mazie said. “I think you’d better check on Magenta, see that he’s not
hyperventilating or something.”

“Nah, he’s fine, he’s—”

Mazie stomped on his foot.

“Ow.” Ben scowled. “Okay, fine. It’s going to take me thirty seconds to ‘check’ on Magenta. No more than thirty seconds.”

Face like a thundercloud, he jumped out of the ambulance.

Mazie didn’t waste any time. She put her hands on both sides of Johnny’s face, leaned in, and kissed him. His good arm came up around her back. He returned her kiss with fervor. Johnny Hoolihan might be nearly comatose, but Lord, Lord—he was still a luscious kisser.

Finally they broke apart. They gazed at each other for a long moment, enough time for Mazie to envision the life she could have had with Johnny and to feel a pang of regret. She saw regret in his eyes, too.

“If things don’t work out with him,” Johnny finally said, his voice hoarse, “you know where to find me, right?”

“Eww—this is butt ugg-lyy,” Magenta said, gazing around the room. “So
über-masculine
, the sign of a guy trying too hard. That fake mahogany desk—puhleeze.”

“But the office is nice,” Mazie said. “All those windows, a view of the park—”

“It’ll look fabulous after
I
get done with it,” Magenta said confidently. “White walls, don’t you think? We’ll shove that swivel chair out to the curb for the trash pickers. Along with the credenza and that hideous brown carpet—or maybe we should just burn the carpet.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I can only stay until three o’clock. Joel—you remember Joel, don’t you?”

“The pilot? The one with the big shotgun?”

“Mm-hmm. He’s picking me up.” Magenta beamed. “He’s giving me flying lessons. This coming weekend we’re flying to Mackinac Island together.”

Mazie felt as though she were flying herself. She still couldn’t believe she was now the possessor of the same office where, only a week ago, she’d been fired. It had all happened with dizzying suddenness. Last Friday, when Leroy the college boy—instead of Mazie—had shown up to deliver meals, Minerva Pfister had phoned the Elder Hearts office to find out why. Informed that Mazie had been fired, Mrs. Pfister had done some investigating. She’d found out about Seymour Steiner’s heart attack and how Mazie had saved his life.

And then Minerva Pfister, who weighed ninety-eight pounds, had started to throw her weight around. It turned out that she was a member of the Elder Hearts Foundation Board of Directors. So was Seymour Steiner. All it took were a few phone calls to other members of the board, who were outraged when they heard how Mazie had been treated. They had unanimously voted to demand the resignation of Roger Thorndike, who had always been unpopular anyway. After some brief wrangling, the board members had agreed to offer the position of Elder Hearts Foundation director to Mazie Maguire.

Mrs. Pfister had written a note, which she’d stuffed in an envelope along with an employment contract, and asked Lester to hand-deliver it to Mazie on Saturday morning. If Lester hadn’t stopped by with the envelope, Mazie thought, if he hadn’t noticed the open door
and the knocked-over furniture, if he hadn’t used his computer wizardry to find her and Shayla—things might have turned out entirely different.

But she didn’t want to dwell on that right now, not on this glorious day. Director! Her! What a joke! She had absolutely no administrative experience, but she figured she could fake it for a few weeks until she figured out how to do the job, which—astoundingly—came with a hefty salary.

Mazie had been asked to start immediately, but she’d been forced to spend all of Sunday and Monday talking to various law enforcement agencies, so today had been the earliest she could start moving into the Elder Heart director’s office. She didn’t really have much to move in—just a few books and photos and her jade plant—but she didn’t have a chance to hang a single photo because people kept popping in all day.

First there’d been Magenta, who had ripped down Roger Thorndike’s hideous olive green velvet drapes and was now measuring the windows for blinds. Then Mr. Steiner had stopped in, pink-cheeked and healthy-looking, bearing an enormous bouquet of white roses for Mazie, whom he credited with saving his life. They’d hugged and shed a few tears together, and while they were still wiping their eyes, two workmen had marched into the office hauling something long and bulky on their shoulders, which they’d unrolled with a flourish on the floor. It was a rug, a stunning Persian rug in shades of ivory, rose, and yellow.

“A Karastan,” Mr. Steiner said. “Finest you can put on your floor, and I know carpets. I sold them for fifty years. Now this one here is not just any old rug—this is a
magic
carpet.”

“A magic carpet? I’ve always wanted one of those,” Mazie said. “But I can’t possibly accept such an expensive—”

“Pish, tush—of course you can. Consider it a wedding present,” Mr. Steiner said.

Word had gotten around fast, Mazie reflected. You tell one elderly lady your secret and suddenly the whole world knew.

“So you’re marrying that photographer guy?” Mr. Steiner asked.

Mazie nodded.

“Well, gosh darn it all. I was sort of hoping to marry you myself.” Mr. Steiner grinned. “You
did
kiss me on the lips and all.”

She kissed him now, on both cheeks, and on the lips, too—which made him smile—and promised that she would come to visit him soon at his house because he had a whole new
repertoire of jokes he wanted to try out on her.

“Wait!” she called as he started to leave. “You still haven’t explained why it’s a magic carpet.”

Mr. Steiner winked. “You’ll just have to find out for yourself,” he said.

Flora McDonald, another of Mazie’s Vittles Van clients, arrived then, her small body almost invisible behind an enormous basket of homemade doughnuts. As though drawn by the aroma, Mazie’s co-workers from the kitchen began to dribble in to congratulate her on her sudden turn in fortune and help eat the doughnuts.

Juju and Lester stopped in for a tour, and Lester ordered pizzas for the entire staff. Lester had discovered the joys of buying things for people. He’d already purchased a new car for Juju, a Caribbean cruise for both of them—and the Brewer City Brawlers Roller Derby team, which would be receiving new equipment, new uniforms, and big bumps in salary.

Minerva Pfister stumped in, using her walker. Mazie tearfully embraced her, thanking her for everything. Mrs. Pfister cried. Mazie cried. Magenta, Lester, and Juju cried. It was a therapeutic and long-overdue tearfest that left everyone feeling good afterward.

Mazie was just starting to unpack her photos when Eddie Arguello and Rico Del Toro swaggered into her office, offering to help Mazie with her moving. This help consisted of slouching in the office chairs and eating up the leftover doughnuts and pizza.

When Rico left in pursuit of a pretty young Elder Hearts employee, Eddie stayed behind, spinning around in the swivel chair and looking moody. “What’s up?” Mazie asked.

“Shayla. She’s like—today’s the last day I get to see her. Tomorrow she goes into witness protection.”

While the asylum had burned to the ground and the most dangerous motorcycle gang in the Midwest had been taken down, Eddie and Shayla had been busy falling for each other. Shayla considered Eddie her rescuer, and Eddie considered Shayla the most beautiful girl he’d ever met, who by some cruel stroke of fate was technically an adult while he wouldn’t turn seventeen for another few months.

“Look at it this way,” Mazie said, taking half of the last doughnut before Eddie could get to it. “By the time the trial is over and Shayla is out of witness protection, you’ll be almost eighteen and Shayla can kiss you as much as she wants without feeling guilty.”

“Uhh …” Judging by the guilty smirk on Eddie’s face, a lot of kissing had already taken
place.

Good, she thought. Eddie and Shayla were perfect for each other. Eddie would show Shayla what it was like to have a boyfriend who knew how to treat a girl, and Shayla would be the older woman Eddie had always wanted.

It was late in the day before everyone finally left and Mazie found herself alone for the first time since becoming director. The room was quiet and filled with the fragrance of roses. Mazie didn’t really care how Magenta decorated this place. She didn’t plan to be in here that much anyway. Just because she now had a fancy title, she wasn’t going to give up delivering lunches to her peeps.

Footsteps sounded in the hall outside and Mazie knew even before the door opened that it was Ben Labeck. They’d barely had time to speak to each other the past two days. There’d been endless interviews with law enforcement people, and then Ben had been called in by the manager of his station, who was furious with him for leaving his assignment at the zoo—an offense that could have resulted in his being fired. But since he’d shot two hours of spectacular footage of the burning asylum and the roundup of a notorious motorcycle gang on a borrowed video camera, WPAK had scooped every station in the country and Ben had been given a bump in salary.

Mazie had tried to phone Ben a couple of times today, but both times her call had gone to voice mail. An unsettling thought had occurred to her. Maybe Ben had recognized her caller ID number—she’d gotten her cell service restored—and was deliberately not answering. She hadn’t left a message because she couldn’t say what she really wanted to say over the phone.
Have you changed your mind? Did you mean the things you said, or were they the kind of thing you say as your fingers are slipping off the edge of a cliff?