Sunshine Hunter



  Sunshine Hunter

  by Maddie Cochere

 

  Copyright 2012 by Maddie Cochere.

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by US copyright Law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Cover design by Gillian Soltis of Columbus, Ohio

  About Sunshine Hunter

  Chick-Lit Mystery. The Susan Hunter books are not your typical mysteries, and Susan is not your typical sleuth. Often, she is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and things go downhill quickly. All of the books cross genres of chick lit, mystery, romance, humor, and action, bringing you a fast-paced, easy-breezy read.

  Sunshine Hunter opens with Susan finding out her boyfriend of three months is married. To escape the drama, she accepts an offer to tag along with her best friend for a week in Florida. They barely have time to hit the beach before Susan believes she and her friend are being stalked. She also learns of a murder back home in Ohio and finds out she’s wanted for questioning. The story takes an adventurous turn when she winds up in the Gulf of Mexico. ... Humorous, sometimes ominous, Sunshine Hunter is quirky and fun!

 

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter One

  My perfectly restored ‘67 Chevy Chevelle careened around the corner at Walsh and Park, the tires squealing in an effort to get my attention. I was angry. My mind was reeling. I was thinking of all the ways I wanted to kill him. People on the sidewalk stared as I flew by, and I knew I needed to get a grip on more than the steering wheel. Carbide City had a reputation for speed traps, and I didn’t need another ticket. Why are restored muscle cars magnets for cops and tickets anyway?

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  It was a beautiful early summer day. The windows of my third-floor apartment were open. A light breeze rustled the curtains, bringing in the light scent of the last few lilac blossoms on the bush below.

  I was content and happy after a leisurely lunch at a new seafood restaurant downtown. Mick and I were deciding what to do with the rest of our day when my phone rang. My best friend, Samantha, came to mind, and I knew it would be her wanting to schedule a round of racquetball for later in the afternoon. I answered on the second ring with a cheerful, "Hello."

  It was a woman’s voice, but it wasn’t Samantha’s.

  “Is Mick there?” she asked.

  My heart beat faster, and I felt a chill despite the warm breeze. Without hesitation I said, “I’m sorry, you have a wrong number.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I want to talk to Mick. This is his wife."

  His wife? Now my heart began racing. I felt the color drain from my face. I turned to Mick, held my phone out to him, and said in disbelief, “It’s your wife.”

  Surely, this was some mistake, but the look on his face told me it wasn’t. He didn’t deny the charge.

  “Susan, I-”

  “No,” I said, cutting him off.

  I thrust the phone into his hand. I didn’t wait to hear him say hello. I grabbed my purse and ran down the three flights of stairs. I couldn’t get into my car fast enough, and I peeled out of the complex.

  I didn’t know what to think. Mick was married? Why didn’t he tell me? Did he think I wouldn’t find out? How did she know who I was? How did she get my number? I couldn’t stop the questions from pouring into my mind.

  Fifteen minutes later, I realized I wasn’t going anywhere in particular, and I absolutely had to stop speeding. I swerved into the lot at Martin’s Deli and screeched to a stop in front of the plate glass window emblazoned with weekly specials. I sat for a few moments and took deep breaths in an attempt to settle my wildly beating heart.

  Even though I was still shaking, I decided to run into the deli. I wanted to delay going back to the apartment. Talking with Martin for a few minutes would provide a diversion, possibly help me to calm down, and buy some time.

  Martin stood behind the counter, watching an automatic meat slicer make fast work of a ham. He didn’t offer a greeting.

  “You runnin’ from the police again?” He asked with a sharp look of disapproval. “That was quite an entrance.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time I had whipped into his parking lot in the hopes of not being pulled over for speeding.

  “I’m sorry, Martin. I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said. “I’m not running from the police, and I promise not to test my brakes in front of your window again.”

  His frowned turned to a smile. “All right,” he said, accepting my apology. “I don’t know why your dad gave that car to you in the first place. You’re going to lose your license if you get any more tickets.”

  He was right. I had driven for twelve years without a single ticket but had received four in the past year. It had to be the car.

  “I’ll be more careful,” I said and managed a smile before looking over the meats and cheeses in the case.

  “The usual?” he asked. “A pound of corned beef sliced thin and a half pound of Swiss?”

  “You know me so well, Martin,” I said with a laugh. I was grateful for the banter and the momentary reprieve from my spinning thoughts.

  I turned from the counter to grab rye bread and pickles. The feeling of calm was only temporary. I couldn’t stop the thoughts from flooding back in. Mick was married, and I didn’t have a clue. I felt so stupid and gullible. He surely had some reason for not telling me. Maybe his wife was an invalid and encouraged him to go out and have a good time. Maybe they had an open marriage, and he was waiting to tell me about it.

  Who was I kidding? He was a typical, cheating, snake in the grass, and I knew the type all too well. For a split second, I almost felt sorry for his wife.

  Knowing I would probably need it later, I added a quart of java chip ice cream to my basket.

  After checking out, Martin gave me another warning. “You be careful in that car, Susan. I still talk to your dad a couple times every month, and I don’t want to have to tell him he has to come back here and replace that engine with something a little more tame.”

  He winked at me, but I knew he was serious.

  “I promise, Martin,” I told him solemnly, even though I couldn’t hold back a smile.

  He always made me smile. Martin was at least ninety years old and still had his wits about him. He had owned and run the deli for all of my life. My dad had even worked for him as a teenager. He was known for keeping tabs on all the happenings in Carbide City, and he wasn’t shy about sharing gossip with anyone who cared to listen. I didn’t need him unnecessarily worrying my dad about my driving habits.

  Settled in my car again, I decided it was best to go back to the apartment and deal with the situation head on. When I answered the phone, I was shocked and didn’t want to hear the conversation between Mick and his wife. It felt right to flee, but now I wanted to know what he had to say. I felt as though the rose-colored glasses I had been wearing had fallen off and broken. I was living the old sayin
g of if it’s too good to be true, it probably is.

  And Mick was definitely too good to be true. He was the type of guy dreams were made of. He was five foot ten with a firm athletic build, thick dark hair with a hint of a curl, and gorgeous hazel-green eyes that were always smiling. Not only was he yummy to look at, but he had an old-fashioned gentlemanly charm that drew people to him.

  He planned our dates, opened doors for me, and he would most certainly have placed his suit jacket across a mud puddle for me if we were living in the seventeenth century. Showing up at my door with an armful of flowers was simply his style, and he quickly charmed me.

  He was a co-owner of a small construction company. He worked for his uncle right out of college and became a partner five years ago at the young age of twenty-seven. He made a good living and wasn’t averse to spending money for a nice evening out or entertainment.

  We met three months ago at the local racquetball club, Carbide Racquet & Fitness. I work there part-time. My day job is managing a Slimmers Weight Loss center. After a long day of weighing members, selling supplements, and helping women change their eating habits, a couple challenging rounds of racquetball before taking over at the front desk was the perfect way to decompress and stay in shape.

  At five foot seven, I wasn’t always this trim, but racquetball burned a ton of calories, and it hadn’t taken long to get into wicked shape. Racquetball was still predominantly a man’s sport with eighty percent of our club members being men. However, it was never difficult to find a match, and playing with the men in the club helped to make me faster and stronger for when I played women in league matches and tournaments.

  The day I first saw Mick, my shoulder-length blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. I was wearing a colorful matching shorts and top set, and my court shoes were laced with pink laces. Most of the women in the club wore baggy shorts, headbands, and oversized t-shirts to play racquetball. I loved being as feminine as one could be while working up a sweat and running full-tilt after balls on the court.

  I was in a furious battle with my coach, Husky. He had me running more than usual while frustrating me at the same time by sending ceiling shots into the back corners. I kept trying to position myself to return backhand shots off the back wall in an attempt to make a kill shot. I had done just that and was moving to the service box to serve the next ball.

  We were playing on a court with a glass back wall for spectator viewing. The wall is actually Plexiglas, but everyone simply refers to the court as a glass court. A small group of people had gathered outside the glass to watch.

  Husky had worked up quite a sweat himself. It delighted me that I had finally reached a level of play where he had to work hard to win games from me - which he usually did. I stepped into the service box and waited while he toweled off his face and neck. He was a rugged, muscular man about fifteen years my senior. I always admired how patient he was with me, how encouraging he was, and how he truly wanted me to be a better player. He was a real pro. His name was Elton, but because his voice was rough and gravelly, he had picked up the nickname of Husky years ago from his co-workers.

  “Ok, I’m ready,” he said. “Gimme the best you’ve got.”

  Before serving, I glanced into the group of on-lookers and saw mostly club regulars, but a new face caught my eye. The man was exceptionally attractive and seemed to be watching with a look of amusement on his face. Was he amused a woman was giving a man a run for his money? Was he amused by my clothing? Or, was he amused by how much I struggled with ceiling shots in the corners? I decided to try to turn the heat up a bit. I bounced the ball a couple of times and sent the next serve low into the back left corner for an ace.

  “Ok, smarty pants,” Husky rasped. “Let’s see you do that again.”

  I laughed and set up to serve again. My next serve went low into the opposite corner for another ace. End game. Match point. I was thrilled. It wasn’t very often that I was able to best Husky.

  He groaned, turned to face the onlookers, and threw his hands in the air as if to say, “I tried. What are you gonna do?”

  “Great game, Susan,” he said walking toward me. “I thought you’d go down with all the ceiling shots I was sending your way. You still need to work on those. How about we grab another round after work tomorrow?”

  “That’s good for me,” I said. “I’ll book the court time when I get behind the desk. Thanks again for the lesson.” We shook hands, and Husky opened the door for us to leave the court.

  “Who’s teaching her to play like that?” Husky asked the crowd. Everyone laughed and began moving on to other areas of the club.

  The air-conditioned lobby was a welcome relief after being so overheated on the court. I looked around for the attractive man who had been watching, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Hey, Susan, good job taking it to Husky. Those aces were awesome. I have a lesson with him again tomorrow, so we should both be in good shape for State.”

  This was coming from my friend, Samantha. Not only did we both play in club leagues, but we were doubles partners when we went to tournaments or played at other clubs. This would be our first time to play at the state level in the fall, and we were both excited and working hard toward making a good showing. We also wanted to make Husky proud. He was investing a lot of time and effort into helping us.

  “I know. I can’t wait,” I told her with a big smile. “I’m thinking about getting a new racquet and a couple new outfits. Want to go shopping this weekend?” I loved to shop, and finding fun outfits to wear on the court was my passion at the moment.

  “I can’t,” she said. “Larry’s having the guys from Barney’s over for poker on Saturday night. I promised I’d make them a feast, so I’m cooking all day Saturday.”

  Larry and Samantha were cute together. They had been married for almost thirteen years and still acted as though they were dating. Larry worked for Barney’s Beverage, the company that supplied all the beer and wine for the club. Samantha was older than I was by seven years. Her build was stocky, and racquetball only seemed to make her more muscled rather than trim. Her long, curly black hair was usually pulled back and piled on top of her head with a couple of clips sticking out.

  “Ok” I said. “We’ll try shopping another day. I have to grab a shower before working the desk for a couple of hours. Are you staying until closing?”

  “Yep,” she said. “Larry and Husky already went upstairs to work on a case of beer, so I’m going up to join in. See you later.” With a little wave, she turned and headed for the staircase just inside the front door.

  The second floor of the club had two hallways - one on each side of the building. Scorekeepers and onlookers could watch the action on the courts below through five-foot open spaces at the back of each court. The second floor also had a weight room, the men’s locker room, and a pub.

  The pub was small with five tables, a leather sofa, a bar with four stools, and a television set mounted in one corner. There was always some type of action going on in the pub in the evenings, whether it was a party, card games, or members winding down. In our club, nobody in the pub was ever shy about having a good time.

  The women’s locker room was on the first floor. I grabbed a quick shower, gave my hair a fast blow dry, and let it fall loose. A little mascara and lip gloss were all I needed for makeup as my cheeks were still flushed from the hour on the court with Husky. I dressed in a club shirt and jeans and was in position behind the front desk just in time for my shift.

  For the next two hours, I sold beer, soda, juice, and snacks. I handed out locker keys and towels to club members and their guests. I answered the telephone and booked court time. It was hard to categorize this as a job. I loved chatting with the members, and it always felt like fun, never like work.

  Jerry was the night clerk. He didn’t talk much and seemed quite the loner. He was a musclehead and spent most of his time in the weight room. He was twenty-one, extremely beefy, and I was pretty sure h
e was taking steroids. On Thursday nights, he had a regular male visitor who never used the club. He stopped in only to see Jerry at the desk. The stranger would sit on a stool, drink a beer, and give Jerry a package before leaving. It was none of my business, so I never asked who the man was or what was in the packages. I decided if it was something illegal, they wouldn’t be doing it out in the open for everyone to see. With his muscle and brawn, Jerry was a good choice to close the club every night at one in the morning.

  At ten o’clock on the dot, he stood beside me, ready to take over for the next three hours.

  “Thanks, Jerry,” I told him. “There are only a couple more games scheduled tonight, and things are pretty quiet. I’m going upstairs to the pub if you need me for anything.”

  He gave me his usual blank stare and nodded his head.

  The lights in the pub were lower than in the rest of the club. The television tuned to a baseball game in extra innings provided the ambiance tonight. I waited a moment as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. I walked past the bar and picked up my usual glass of White Zinfandel our bartender, Ron, had placed on the counter for me. I turned to face the room.

  There were two tables of card games underway - euchre at one and pinochle at the other. Samantha, Larry, and Husky were at the euchre table, and I was surprised to see the fourth player was the attractive man who had been watching our match earlier.

  Husky called out, “Susan, come take my seat. I need to hit the showers.” He stood and put his hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “This is Mick Raines. He’s a hotshot in the office at Raines Construction. He tells me what to do.”

  “No one can tell you what to do, Husky,” Mick said, laughing.

  I felt a tingling sensation run down my spine. His voice was warm and masculine.

  “That’s true,” Husky said with a chuckle. “This is Susan Hunter. She’s a hotshot on the court.”

  I could feel myself blushing. I reached out to shake Mick’s hand. The tingling turned to a flutter of excitement in my stomach as I felt his hand on mine.

  “Mick’s been looking over the club and trying to decide if he wants to join. Help him make up his mind,” Husky told me.

  I sat down in the empty seat. “Have you liked what you’ve seen so far?” I asked with a smile.

  He looked into my eyes with his gorgeous eyes, smiled the amused look I had seen earlier, and said, “I think this place is great, and I’ve really enjoyed the action on the courts.”

  Sparks shot through my body. I felt my face flush and my heart begin to race. “We try to put on a good show,” I blurted out.

  Why did I say that? I didn’t want to flirt with him, and I certainly didn’t want to sound like a showoff.

  “Well, well, well. Look at this,” Larry said with a huge grin on his face as he began to deal the next round of cards.

  I could sense that Samantha kicked him under the table. He hung his head and continued to deal the cards, but the smile didn’t leave his face.

  Samantha and Larry had been on my case for months to start dating again after my last relationship had ended badly. Louie and I had dated for nearly two years, and I was sure we were headed for the altar. I stopped by his house late one night and found him getting out of the shower. That would have been a good thing until I realized another woman was waiting for him in his bed. He whined and said he didn’t know I was stopping by, and he hadn’t done anything – yet. I suspected it wasn’t the first time he had cheated on me, and I broke our relationship off. Samantha and Larry had both been there for me while I cried, went through a few weeks of anger, grieved, and finally started throwing myself back into work and racquetball.

  Larry couldn’t help being delighted to see some life in me again. The obvious attraction between Mick and me was undeniable.

  “I think you’ll love it here,” said Samantha, coming to the rescue. “Everyone is nice, you’ll never have any trouble finding a match, and the parties are great. What’s trump?”

  “Hearts,” responded Larry. “Mick, do you play racquetball?”

  “Actually, I’m a handball player,” he said. “I’ve heard there are a couple of good players here, and if I can get enough court time with them, I think I’d like to join.” He glanced my way and asked, “Can you use that incredible backhand in a game of handball?”

  I tried playing once. The game has the same rules as racquetball, but there are no racquets – just hands with gloves. I thought it was a much harder game.

  “No handball for me,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m strictly working on my racquetball game. Sam and I are signed up for our state tournament in the fall, and I don’t want to play anything that will affect my swing.” I smiled at Samantha and said, “Husky is counting on us to bring a couple of wins home for the club.”

  “State tournament,” Mick said, looking between Samantha and me. “Husky said I should run down to watch him play. Maybe I’ll make the drive to see how all of you do. Might be fun. Trump,” he called as he played the jack of hearts to take two points for him and Larry.

  The next two hours flew by as we all made small talk. Two glasses of wine was my limit on a work night, and both were long gone. I stood and said, “I hate to leave before closing, but I have to be at work early tomorrow for a meeting, so I’m going to take off. It was nice to meet you, Mick.”

  “Oh, the pleasure was definitely mine,” he said. “I hope to see you again.” The amused look was back on his face. I felt more sparks. I needed to leave before I said something I might regret.

  Samantha stood to give me a hug with an extra squeeze. I could tell she liked Mick and was happy I had enjoyed his company. “See you tomorrow,” she said. “Let’s play a game together before our lessons with Husky.”

  Larry echoed her goodnight, and I left the pub to grab my gear and head for home.

  There had been many surreptitious glances between Mick and me, and I wondered if there was going to be something more there. I could only hope.