The Mutt and the Matchmaker: A Matchmaker Mystery Novella (2 page)

“See?” Armani struggled to her feet and slowly limped to where Tom stood watching the dogs play. “They’re a perfect pair.” She patted his shoulder. “Lucky for you I’m a matchmaker and I’m going to find you
your
perfect match since that’s who you’re looking for.”

“Actually it’s not,” Tom informed her testily. The person he was hunting was a burglar who’d ransacked a bunch of local homes.

His Aunt Ruby had roped him into that too.

Catching herself chewing on the straw sticking out of her lemonade, Jane Bly frowned. It was a habit she’d developed as a child, which manifested itself when she was nervous.

Not that she had anything to be nervous about, she reminded herself. Sure, meeting a total stranger she’d “met” by calling her insurance company was a little unusual. And telling the woman, who claimed to be a psychic matchmaker, that she’d meet with her was outside of her usual comfort zone, but she was in a public place in the middle of the afternoon. So why was she chomping on a piece of plastic like a masticating cow?

She scoped out the front door of the café she sat in, waiting for the mysterious Armani to arrive. The other woman had said she’d know her immediately. Jane wondered how. Maybe insurance companies had access to driver’s licenses and she’d seen her picture.

The man at the next table laughed loudly. Jane glanced over at him and the woman he sat with. An older couple, obviously in love, held hands across the table. Jane watched as they grudgingly broke their bond so the waitress could place their sandwich-laden plates down. Even before she walked away, the woman took her pickle and placed it on her partner’s plate.  With a mischievous wink, he stole one of her French fries. Playfully she swatted at his thieving hand and they both chuckled.

Tears pricking the back of her eyes, Jane sighed and looked away. That’s what she wanted. Someone to share life with. Someone to laugh with. Someone to share a consuming passion with, just like her parents had shared until the end.

She wanted it so badly that she’d agreed to meet a psychic matchmaker.

The waitress, a heavyset woman with an easy smile, sauntered over. “They make you believe in love, don’t they?” She jutted her chin in the direction of the older couple.

Swallowing hard, not trusting herself to speak, Jane nodded.

“Course I’ve been with my man for twenty years and he
never
held my hand. Not even when we were courting, but he’s got other good qualities.” She winked at Jane. “You still waiting for your other party?”

“Yes.”

“You want a refill on your drink?”

“Please.”

“I’ll bring you a fresh straw too,” the waitress teased gently with a wide smile.

“That would probably be a good idea.” As the waitress moved away, Jane glanced at her watch.

Armani was more than fifteen minutes late. She’d been the one to choose the location, saying it was close to where she worked. Perhaps she’d decided not to come. Maybe she didn’t think she could help Jane after all. Jane couldn’t blame her. No matter how much she wanted to find love, it always seemed to elude her.

“Hey there, Jane Bly.” A beautiful Latina with dark hair and a huge grin toppled into the seat opposite Jane. “Sorry I’m late. I got stuck taking this claim where this bear ate this guy’s seats.” Looking up, she waved to someone across the café. “Hey, Sharon! Hey, Robert!”

Jane gaped at the human dynamo.

“Did you order yet?” Armani brushed her hair out of her face.

It was then Jane realized one of her hands was misshapen. She tried not to stare, but the other woman caught her looking.

“Zamboni.”

Jane blinked. “Excuse me?”

Armani waved her injured hand. “I ignored Vanilla Ice.”

“Sorry?”

“I ignored a premonition,
Ice, Ice, Baby
and ended up in an accident with a Zamboni. That’s what messed up my hand and leg.”

“I’m sorry,” Jane murmured. As bizarre as the story was, at least she’d been able to follow it.

Armani shrugged. “It taught me an important lesson. I should never ignore my gift. Which is why we’re here.”

“Lemonade for you.” The waitress bellied up to our table. “Iced coffee with cola for you, right, Armani?”

“You know me too well.” Armani grinned as the waitress put the odd drink combo down on the table.

“What’ll you have?” the waitress asked.

“BLT on French toast with mustard,” Armani rattled off without hesitation.

Jane’s stomach roiled traitorously at the mere suggestion of the disgusting combination.

“And for you, honey?”

“What did she have?” Jane tilted her head toward the woman sitting alone at another table, enraptured by whatever she was reading on her cell phone. “It smelled good when you brought it past.”

“Moussaka.”

“I’ll have that.”

The waitress nodded her approval. “Anything else?”

Jane shook her head.

“Back in a jiffy.” The waitress moved off, teasing another patron.

“You have a pretty aura,” Armani stated.

“Um… thanks?”

“Lots of pastels, but with some bright bits too.”

Jane fiddled with her fork, unsure of how to respond. “Is that a good thing?”

Armani shrugged. “Except for the loneliness, yeah.”

Jane opened her mouth to ask how she could tell she was lonely, then snapped it shut, thinking that of course it was obvious she felt unloved. Otherwise why would she meet with a matchmaker?

“Cheer up, Chiquita. I’m going to fix you up.”

“About that,” Jane said slowly.

“Don’t chicken out on me now.” Armani wagged a finger at her. “I already scoped out the guy.”

“But you don’t even know anything about me.”

The corners of her mouth listed and an all-knowing expression shined in her eyes. “I knew over the phone you needed my help, and I bet that some part of you, maybe a small part, or a part you don’t even want to admit to, knows you need me too. Otherwise you wouldn’t have showed up here.”

“Maybe I’m just desperate,” Jane countered.

Armani shook her head slightly. “When’s the last time you had a date?”

Jane picked up her lemonade, drank a sip, and bit down on the fresh straw. The glass, cool and damp with condensation, felt heavier than it should have. “I dunno, three or four months ago?”

Armani raised her eyebrows, making it clear she didn’t believe her.

Jane glanced at the older, in-love couple. The woman dabbed at the corner of the man’s mouth with her napkin. Without transferring her gaze back to Armani, she admitted, “Seven or eight months ago.”

“Doesn’t sound like a desperate woman to me.”

Jane focused on putting her glass down. She might not act like a desperate woman, but there was nothing more she desired than to find someone who’d love her. “But you don’t know what I’m looking for in a man.”

Armani leaned forward and covered Jane’s hand with her own. “If
you
knew what you were looking for, you’d have found him. I know what you need in a man.”

Jane raised her chin defiantly. “And what’s that.”

“Solid.”

“Solid?” Jane wrinkled her nose, thinking of the CPA she’d wasted months of her life with and lost her life savings to. “I’ve done solid, and trust me, it doesn’t work.”

Releasing her hand, Armani sat back in her seat and eyed her thoughtfully. “Why not?”

“It’s dull. It’s boring,” Jane said lightly with a fake grin.

Armani narrowed her gaze. “And…?”

Jane’s pretense of a smile slipped away. “And it’s judgmental, wanting me to conform or meet some expectations that I just can’t.”

“I think you’re confusing solid with stiff.” Armani tossed her hair. “Trust me, there’s a difference. The guy I’m setting you up with is solid. Solid mind. Solid heart. And oh”—she fluttered her eyelids dreamily—“oh so solid body.”

Brady was laughing at him. Not that Tom could blame him. The story about the psychic matchmaker was ridiculous. The fact that she’d somehow finagled a promise out of him to “meet his match” was absurd.

Still, Brady’s laughter, echoing off the gym walls, mocking him, set Tom’s teeth on edge.  He might be one of his oldest friends, but that didn’t mean Tom wouldn’t take a swing at him with the kettleball he held.

“So where’s this soul mate meeting taking place?” Brady picked up a towel from where he’d left it on a weight bench and draped it over his neck.

“Next door.”

Brady frowned. “At the drycleaner?”

“The Pudding Place.”

“Your powers of observation are slipping, buddy. That’s three doors down.”

“Close enough.”

“When?”

Tom glanced at the clock on they gym’s wall. “Half an hour.”

Brady laughed again. “Guess you’re going all out to impress the woman you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.”

Tom answered with a grunt as he rhythmically swung the kettleball through the air.

“You’re at least going to shower first, aren’t you?” Brady ribbed.

“Probably.”

Shaking his head, Brady walked toward the locker room, chuckling.

Jane stood outside The Pudding Place reading the menu painted on the plate glass window. It seemed all they sold was various flavors of pudding, which made sense considering its name, but seemed like a very limited business model.

She peered surreptitiously through the glass, trying to see if the guy Armani had sent her to meet had arrived yet. Since there was only one person sitting alone, and that was a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat, she determined that she’d arrived first.

She glanced down at her jeans and muddy sneakers and wished she’d gone home to change, but Mr. Stirling had taken longer than she’d anticipated, and she hadn’t wanted to be late for her date. Punctuality was an important trait to cultivate. She glanced down at her watch to see if her Mystery Man felt the same.

Five minutes to go until their designated meeting time. Unsure of the protocol of a matchmaker-made date, she hesitated to go inside. What if he thought she hadn’t shown up?

“Excuse me,” a man said from behind her.

Startled, she spun around.

“Do you know Armani?”

She had to tilt her head back to get a clear view of him. The matchmaker hadn’t been exaggerating after all.

He
was
tall and he really did look like he could bench press her with one hand. His dark hair was damp and his cheeks were flushed. He smelled like fresh soap.

Something in her responded to his primal call and she found herself swaying toward him slightly.

He arched an eyebrow and she realized she hadn’t answered his question.

She nodded. “I’m Jane. You must be Tarzan.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth as a heated blush burned not just her face, but her entire body. “I am so sorry,” she babbled. “I didn’t mean that. It was a stupid thing to say. It’s just that Armani woman called you that and somehow it came out of my mouth. I’m sorry.”

He’d appeared to be stern, but now he broke into an easy smile. He lifted a hand and gently rested his cool knuckles against her warm cheek, seemingly fascinated by her blush. He stared at her, dropped his voice and almost whispered, “She was right about what she called you.”

Her body heated up again, but this time it had nothing to do with embarrassment.

Mouth dry, she had to wet her lips. “What did she call me?”

“I don’t think we know each other well enough to say that kind of thing out loud,” he teased. “Especially in a public place.”

As though to prove his point, he lightly grabbed her elbow and pivoted her body to move her out of the way of an oncoming skateboarder.

“Shall we go inside?”

Jane nodded vigorously and immediately worried that it made her look desperate. “Only if you want to.”

Amusement twinkled in the depths of his dark eyes. “I’m up to trying something new if you are.” He reached past her for the door handle.

Jane placed her hand on his forearm to stop him. “Under one condition.”

He looked down at her, suddenly tense, waiting to hear her demand.

“You tell me your name.”

He relaxed. “You could just call me T.”

She shook her head, biting back a smile.

“Mr. T?”

A soft chuckle escaped her. “I’d prefer a name.”

“It’s Tom.” He extended his hand to her.

As she slid her fingers into his, sparks of sensation exploded up her arm. “Nice to meet you, Tom.”

“Nicer than I’d imagined,” he murmured.

Tom sat across the table from Jane thinking that the crazy psychic, Armani, had been right about one thing. She’d said he’d recognize his date when he saw her, and he had. Just not in the destined-to-be-together way he imagined Armani had envisioned.  He’d recognized Jane Bly immediately.

She was his prime suspect in a string of house robberies.

At first, when Aunt Ruby had said she’d wanted to hire him to investigate a rash of burglaries in her neighborhood, he’d thought she was taking pity on him. After all, it had only been a matter of months since he’d hung out his private investigator shingle and he hadn’t built up much clientele. But after talking to a couple of guys on the force, he’d come to realize it was a legitimate case.