Drop Dead Sexy(33)

When we started down the sidewalk, a tall, lanky man with all his naked twig and berries glory came striding toward us. He thrust out his hand to Catcher. “Hello. I’m Barry Gideons—the day manager here at Bare Haven.”

Catcher shook Barry’s hand. “Holden Mains. GBI.” He motioned to me. “This is Olivia Sullivan, Merriam County coroner.”

Barry’s smile faded slightly. “What brings you here, Agent Mains? Surely, we’re not in violation of anything.”

“No, no. It’s nothing like that. I’m actually here as part of a homicide investigation.”

Barry’s gray eyes widened. “You are?”

Catcher nodded. “We need to speak to Patricia Crandall. She seems to be the victim’s next of kin.”

Barry swept a hand over his heart. “Oh poor Patty. How terrible. I’ve already sent someone out to her condo to get her. Considering the news, let me go and meet her.”

“If you don’t mind, we would like to tell her the news ourselves.” When Barry gave Catcher an odd look, he replied, “Just following procedure.”

“Yes, of course. I totally understand.”

When we reached the front door, a naked bellhop opened it for us. Considering he was young and incredibly built, I couldn’t help staring at him as I passed by. Catcher snorted at what must’ve been my blatant ogling.

“Bite me,” I muttered under my breath.

“With pleasure,” he replied.

I shot him a murderous glare as Barry led us across the lobby and over to the bar. “Why don’t you wait here for Patty?”

Catcher nodded. “Sure.”

“And please have a drink on the house.”

Catcher smiled. “Thank you for the hospitality, but I’m afraid I have to refuse since I’m on the clock.”

I nodded in agreement. “But yes, thank you.”

The phone he was holding in his hand rang. “Excuse me,” he said before answering it. He grimaced. “Okay. I’ll be right there.” He hung up and gave us an apologetic look. “There’s something I have to take care of in my office. But I’ll be back just as soon as I can to check on Patty.”

“We appreciate your help,” Catcher replied before shaking Barry’s hand again.

After he shook my hand, Barry headed barefoot and bare-assed down the plush carpeting to his office. While Catcher quickly hopped up on one of the bar stools, I wrinkled my nose. “What is it?”

“I have two words for you: slug trail.”

Catcher snickered. “I’m pretty sure they clean and disinfect the fabric.”

Although he made a good point, I still took one of the linen napkins off the bar and draped it across the top of the stool. Once I was seated, I looked up to find the bartender staring at me. While he didn’t look like he was judging me, I still managed to blurt, “Sorry. I’m just a bit of an OCD clean freak.”

“Actually, we have a towel rule here at Bare Haven.”

“A towel rule?” Catcher questioned.

“You have to place one down before you sit.”

“Ah, I see,” I murmured.

“Would you like something to drink?” the bartender asked.

“Water would be wonderful. Thank you,” I replied.

Catcher shook his head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

When the bartender went to fill my request, Catcher grinned at me. “Throat run dry from staring at all the naked men? Or nekkid as we say in the South.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh please. It’s not like I haven’t seen a bunch of dicks in my day. When you’ve seen one, you’ve seen…” My voice trailed off at the sight of a twenty-something man coming toward us.

Catcher leaned forward and craned his neck to see where I was looking. “Well f*ck me,” he murmured.

“Not without a gallon of lube,” I replied absently.

At the man’s combined length and girth, I’m pretty sure my cervix shriveled up and died. Kinda like the scene in Wizard of Oz when the Wicked Witch of the East’s feet curl up and go under Dorothy’s house. I swallowed hard as I tried to fathom the logistics of how you would even begin to give him a blow job. Talk about “just the tip.”

If the man realized we were staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he didn’t let on. He just kept on walking. However that was even possible when he was weighed down with such a meatstick. “I wonder how he fits that into a pair of jeans?” Catcher questioned.

“Maybe that’s why he lives here at the nudist colony. I mean, resort.”

Our conversation was interrupted by an attractive, fifty-something woman walking up to the bar. Her chestnut hair was streaked with silver and reached the top of her breasts, which were remarkably perky for a woman her age. Of course, my attention was naturally drawn to the seventies porn bush she was sporting. Ladyscaping must not have been big around here. Guess they spent a fortune on vacuum cleaners to suck up the stray pubes.

She extended her hand. “Hello. I’m Patricia Crandall. Barry called and said you were looking for me.”

Catcher shot off his stool and shook her hand. “I’m Holden Mains with GBI.” I noticed he always used his given name of Holden, rather than his nickname, when he was doing business. Jerking his thumb at me, Catcher added, “And this is Olivia Sullivan, she’s the coroner for Merriam County.”