Fool's Puzzle Read Free Page A

melted like fresh butter from her father’s dairy farm into helpless desire. When he pressed his throbbing sword of manhood ...”
    “That’s terrible,” I said, groaning. “I can’t believe you actually read that out loud to a classroom of strangers.”
    “It must be good,” he said, grinning his two-hundred-watt smile. “Three women have asked me out for coffee after class. I think I’ve found my calling.”
    “You’re despicable,” I said, laughing in spite of myself. “You’re just taking that class to hit on women.”
    “Nah.” He grinned and winked. “Really, there’s a lot of money in this stuff. Women buy these books like candy. It’s a gold mine.” He went back to tapping. “Sybillia says I have real potential. She’s helping me.”
    “Who?”
    “My teacher.”
    “Her name sounds like a social disease. Anyway, you have a job to do. You can get back to your throbbing swords later.”
    “One sword, Benni. He only has one. How long has it been for you, anyway?” He waved me away as if I were a pesky horsefly. “One more page.”
    I walked across the room to the outlet. “File it now or I pull the plug on Dack and Cassandra.”
    “Just a minute.”
    “Now.” I reached for the plug.
    “Oh, all right.” He punched the file key on the word processor with a flip of his hand. “If you were nicer to me, I might have considered dedicating the book to you. But now ...” He heaved an exaggerated sigh.
    “I’ll try and live with the disappointment. I need you to hang those quilts. Constance will kill us, or rather me, if things aren’t perfect on Friday night.”
    He slipped the data disk into the black plastic file on my desk. “Mine has the red label,” he said. “Please don’t read it without my permission.”
    “Out.” I pointed toward the museum. “Work.”
    “Slave driver,” he said.
    “Reprobate.”
    His dark eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.
    “You want to be a writer,” I said. “Get a dictionary.”
    He tossed his head and marched, in what I assumed was an artistic snit, through the door, slamming it with a bang.
    I sat down at my desk and contemplated what I should do next. Knowing Dove would ask the next time she called, I made an attempt to locate my cousin Rita. After calling her house without luck, and trying Trigger’s Saloon, where her boss said he hadn’t seen her since night before last, I left it at that, figuring I’d made a semi-valiant effort. She’d wander back around eventually, probably when she needed money.
    The door of my office flew open.
    “Help me,” Maria Chenier demanded. She slammed a large foam cup and white paper bag down on my desk, then collapsed in the black-and-chrome office chair across from me.
    I reached for the cup. “How?”
    “That’s a bribe,” she said. “I’m in desperate need.” She shook her curly black hair, spraying fine droplets of water across my desk blotter, then crossed her long, boot-clad legs. At almost six feet tall with strong, even features and a figure that sent most men into adolescent stuttering, she looked anything but desperate.
    “Need is such a relative word,” I said, opening the cup lid and taking a quick sip of coffee. “What do we really need? Water, air, food ...”
    “Sex.” She gave a low growl of a laugh that probably doubled her tips at Trigger’s.
    “What is it with people today? Everyone’s mind is in the gutter. Besides, from a scientific point of view that’s not a need. That’s a want.”
    “And where did you hear that lie?”
    I looked in the bag and pulled out a large jelly doughnut. “I’d rather have money, but this’ll do.” I took a bite. “Tell me your needs. Your artistic ones, that is.”
    “Well, if you can’t get me a good man, I’ll take the next best thing, time at the wheel.” She ran long, jagged-nailed fingers through her wet hair. “I’ve been behind in my pots since I got walking pneumonia last month.”
    “Let me look at the schedule.” I