Joyride. Colleen Collins

      Dom heaved a sigh. “Why don’t you stay home and let Mel do desk duty? At least he doesn’t talk back…too much.”

      Leo had bought the parrot after Elizabeth took the furniture, Acura, even his hallowed collection of Hot Wheels while Leo was in the hospital recuperating. He hadn’t really cared that she cleaned out the place—saved him dumping anything that reminded him of her. But when the hospital released him to go home, it had been lonely.

      Damn lonely.

      That’s when he’d decided to buy a pet. One that wouldn’t be underfoot all the time. A parrot seemed perfect. A flying, lighthearted, conversational pet. Unfortunately, Mel preferred to walk, had the attitude of a curmudgeon, and wouldn’t talk unless he felt like griping. The two of them housebound was like a bad remake of Grumpy Old Men.

      Old men. Leo glared at the folder. “I didn’t become a detective to follow up on old lady purse snatchers and old men car nabbers.”

      “Give me a break, Wolfman. You’ve been through a trauma—the department’s easing you in. Think of this as a promotion. You’re graduating from purses to Studebakers.”

      Dom had a point. But Leo wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting as much. “When I wrap up this Studebaker mystery, give me something I can sink my teeth into.”

      Dom squinted at Leo, as though to see him better. After a pause, he stood up and brushed some pretzel crumbs off his pants. “Wrap this one up nice and neat, and we’ll talk.”

      Dom’s word was better than a signature. “We’ll talk” meant Leo had a chance to break out of desk hell. “Deal.”

      CORINNE STOOD ON the porch of her best buddy Kyle’s apartment and jabbed at the doorbell. She prayed he’d answer the door—she wasn’t in the mood to flash his partner, Geoff, who despised her. Kyle had once explained that Geoff got jealous of the time Kyle and Corinne spent together—that Geoff viewed Corinne as “the other woman.”

      “Me, the other woman,” she muttered, holding one hand over her breasts, the other over her thighs, not sure if she was really covering anything at all. “I can’t excite my fiancé, but a gay man views me as competition.”

      The door swung open. Kyle, a chocolate-dipped strawberry in his hand, leaned over a little, a look of shock on his face. “Corinne?” His gaze wandered down her plastic-wrapped torso. “What are you doing dressed in company property?”

      They both worked at Universal Shower Door, which had a sideline of shower curtains as well. “Like it?” she asked in a high-pitched squeal that bordered on hysteria. “I’m also wearing curtain rings as earrings!”

      Kyle gently pulled her inside. “Honey, honey, honey,” he murmured, holding her close.

      That did it. She’d been strong facing Tony’s infidelity. And nothing short of courageous driving across Denver in a see-through getup while madly pumping pedals in stilettos. But right now, she was tired of being strong. Sinking against Kyle, she sputtered tearfully, “Tony. Gift-wrapped. Blonde.”

      Kyle paused, then said quietly, “If Tony has a thing for gift-wrapping blondes, he should be ecstatic that his fiancée now has beautiful golden locks…” He stepped back and looked into her eyes. “What happened, honey?”

      She swallowed, hard. “I took your advice and made my man howl, all right—I stole his macho sports car.”

      “You stole Baby Ferrari?”

      “Yes, stole,” she admitted, “and I’m never returning it or me to him. From now on, I’m my own woman.” She hadn’t even known she felt that way until she’d blurted the words. It was as though her shattered insides were resolidifying into a new Corinne. But her bravado shrank a little. A new Corinne with no home. No money. No clothes. “I’d ask to stay here, but Geoff would freak—”

      “To put it mildly.”

      “I’m in a bind.”

      Kyle looked her up and down. “To put it strongly.” He dangled the strawberry between them. “Want a bite? Sweets for the…” He looked her up and down. “…spicy?”

      “No thanks.” She grinned. Only Kyle could make her laugh in the middle of a life crisis. Gesturing toward the road, she said, “I can’t park that Ferrari on a public street—when Tony figures out I’m not returning, he’ll call the police, and they’ll find it faster than Geoff can say ‘the other woman.”’ She sucked in a ragged breath. “Tony’s been fooling around on me. With a dumpy blonde with the most nonluscious vanilla scoops you’ve ever seen!” The image of that over-packed blonde hurt. Deep.

      Kyle waited a moment before responding. “Dumpy?” He snorted dramatically. “He should be jailed! As for those nonvanilla scoops—”

      “Nonluscious—”

      “We should sic the Baskin and Robbins police on him!”

      “And tell them to stick him in a freezer, dressed only in a pair of his tiger-striped G-strings.” No doubt that’s where Blondie got “Tiger Boy.” Corinne was tempted to add a few more imaginative punishments for Tony when she heard a noise inside the apartment. “Who’s here?”

      “Geoff and a few friends.”

      “What’re they doing here?”

      “Well, Geoff lives here. The others are a few out-of-town friends who’re spending the week with us.”

      “Oh God.” Teetering a little on her high heels, Corinne grabbed Kyle’s arms for balance. “What am I going to do? It’s bad enough I’ve stolen Tony’s Ferrari. Now I’m naked in an apartment filled with strange men.”

      Kyle chuckled. “All men are strange, darling, but these happen to also be gay. So trust me—you’re safer than a meatball at a vegetarian banquet.” He nibbled on the end of the strawberry while looking her over. “We need to get you into clothes—” He met her eyes. “—then plan what’s next in the life of Corinne Mc-Court.”

      Kyle offered her his arm. “As we have to pass through the dining room to get to the bedroom where we can raid Geoff’s closet, I suggest we pretend you’re Judy Garland and I’m Fred Astaire strolling along in the Easter Parade.”

      “Was Judy naked?”

      “Yes, but she wore a hat.”

      “You’re lying.” She took Kyle’s arm. “This isn’t fair. You’re fully dressed. I’m almost nude.”

      Kyle shot her a whimsical smile. “Trust me, darling, no one will notice.”

      2

      AN HOUR LATER, Corinne headed west along I-70, tearing across the blacktop in a low-cut slinky number, looking like a Liza Minelli wanna-be from her Cabaret days. Piled on the back seat were a stack of Geoff’s dresses—a variety of skimpy, sequined numbers that Cher would kill for. Geoff had gone full-tilt drama queen upon hearing Kyle and Corinne would be raiding Geoff’s closet. But when Kyle mentioned Corinne would be forced to live with them until she rebuilt her wardrobe, Geoff became ultra magnanimous, offering her dresses, makeup, even a rhinestone dog collar that doubled as a tiara.

      She took it all. Anything was better than a roll of plastic wrap.

      Then she, Kyle, and four gay men brainstormed her next steps. Everyone agreed she needed an R and R—a fun, relaxing, adventurous getaway before making any serious life changes.

      “You never play!” Kyle had chided. “And, darling, you deserve some major playground time after what Tigger’s put you through.” After she told them about “Tiger Boy,” they’d coined a new nickname, Tigger, to take some of the sting out of the situation. It sort of worked. The way a salve momentarily takes the sting out of a scraped knee.

      Or