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    Field of Screams
    Field of Screams
    Field of Screams
    Ebook291 pages4 hours

    Field of Screams

    By Elise Sax

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    About this ebook

    “Fans of laugh-out-loud romantic suspense will enjoy this author as she joins the ranks of Janet Evanovich, Katie MacAllister, and Jennifer Crusie.”—Booklist

    Perfect for fans of Janet Evanovich, Jennifer Crusie, and Katie MacAlister, Elise Sax’s wickedly funny Matchmaker Mysteries series proves that the road to love comes with a few dead ends.

    Gladie is back with the fourth installment of the hilarious Matchmaker Mysteries series.

    Since joining the family matchmaking business run by her eccentric and psychic Grandma Zelda, Gladie has had little success. Involved on one level or another—hot sex, almost committed, and crying in her pillow—with three men, Gladie distracts herself by giving up on matchmaking and starting a new career. But when Gladie stumbles on body parts of dead baseball players all over town, she’s dragged into solving yet another murder mystery. With her life in chaos and the killer getting closer, Gladie has to come to terms with the fact that love is murder.

    THIS IS THE RE-RELEASE OF PLAYING THE FIELD. IT IS THE SAME BOOK WITH A NEW COVER AND TITLE.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherElise Sax
    Release dateJan 9, 2017
    ISBN9781370129966
    Author

    Elise Sax

    USA Today bestselling author Elise Sax writes hilarious happy endings. She worked as a journalist, mostly in Paris, France for many years but always wanted to write fiction. Finally, she decided to go for her dream and write a novel. She was thrilled when An Affair to Dismember, the first in the Matchmaker Series, was sold at auction to Ballantine.Elise is an overwhelmed single mother of two boys in Southern California. She's an avid traveler, a beginner dancer, an occasional piano player, and an online shopping junkie.Like her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/theelisesax?ref=hlFriend her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ei.sax.9Or just send her an email: elisesax@gmail.comYou can also visit her website and get a free novella: elisesax.com

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      Field of Screams - Elise Sax

      CHAPTER 1

      Blood is thicker than water, bubeleh. You hear what I’m telling you? Family is important. Only your Aunt Tilly is going to hold your hand during your hemorrhoid surgery. Your girlfriend from high school isn’t going to want any of that. I speak from experience. So, don’t poo-poo family. But on the other hand…family isn’t necessarily always right or helpful or kind. That’s why we’re in business, dolly. Aunt Tilly may be great for hemorrhoids, but she has no place sticking her nose in her family’s love life. So, tell your matches to ignore their mother’s/sister’s/cousin’s advice. It’s all drek. Tell them to smile and nod and make a beeline for our house. We’ll set them straight.

      Lesson 69, Matchmaking Advice from your

      Grandma Zelda

      Grandma handed me a platter of cut vegetables, and I tried to make a place for it over one of the three sweet potato casseroles in the filled to bursting refrigerator. The casserole topped with pecans instead of marshmallows.

      Who eats pecans when they can eat marshmallows?

      And who eats sliced cucumbers for Thanksgiving? It sounded unpatriotic to me.

      Grandma handed me a bowl of Cool Whip and canned fruit. Meryl calls it, ambrosia, Grandma said. I don’t know why they ruined a perfectly good tub of Cool Whip with fruit. I think you can wedge it between the cranberry sauce and Sister Cyril’s potato salad.

      I had my doubts that there was room for Meryl’s ambrosia, but I had piss poor spatial skills, and Grandma was usually right about those kinds of things. I gave it a shove, managing to get the ambrosia in by knocking Sister Cyril’s potato salad against the refrigerator’s light bulb and breaking it to smithereens. Light bulb shards flew everywhere, covering every plastic-wrapped dish that Grandma’s guests had brought in advance of Thanksgiving.

      We stared at the destruction in the now-dark refrigerator. There was a good chance that someone was going to chomp down on the stuffing tonight and wind up with internal bleeding.

      See? You did it, Grandma said. Everything’s in nice and tidy. Let’s have a snack.

      I closed the fridge and ordered a pizza. Grandma adjusted her breasts in her Ann Klein knockoff power suit and took a seat at the kitchen table. I poured us both some cola and sat down across from her.

      Is it gross to order a pizza four hours before Thanksgiving dinner? I asked her.

      No, I think that’s fine. It’s bad to let your blood sugar dip.

      Our pizza arrived a few minutes later. Ever since Grandma fixed up Angelo Pitoro, the owner of the pizza shop, with a pretty, double-jointed gymnast, we never had to wait more than fifteen minutes for a pie.

      I chomped down on my second slice. Is it possible to have too much of a good thing, Grandma?

      I was afraid of her answer, but I was definitely having a lot of a good thing lately, and I was worried about it.

      How could there ever be too much of a good thing? she said, taking another slice of pizza.

      She had a point. Good was pretty good.

      Unless the good thing isn’t really a good thing. That’s a common mistake. Are you sure about your good thing? she asked.

      Well…

      Sometimes, we can confuse good and bad, especially when it makes our toes curl, she added, wiping the pizza grease off her lips with a napkin.

      I had a lot of toe curling going on recently. I thought I was keeping my sort of relationship with Detective Remington Cumberbatch on the down low, but Grandma had a way of knowing things that couldn’t be known. It was feasible for her to be perfectly aware that I had been doing the dirty mambo with a muscle-bound hottie.

      I had lived with her for the past six months after she asked me to help her in her matchmaking business. Since then, I made a handful of matches and got myself into more than my share of trouble, and now I was stuck between three men. One was angry with me, one wanted more than I could give him, and one…well, I kept falling on his penis.

      I might be confusing good and bad, I said, taking a third slice of pizza. I was eating a lot these days, even more than I had been eating since moving to Cannes, California to live with my junk food-eating Grandma. Sex and carbs…good or bad? What should I do?

      Go with your heart. Always go with your heart. We’re in the heart business, and that’s always my advice.

      I tossed my pizza onto my plate, my appetite suddenly gone. I’m confused about my heart, I said.

      Who isn’t, dolly? Congratulations, you’re human.

      I didn’t want to be human. Being human was confusing, too.

      Grandma patted my hand. Ovaries are demanding. Little bitches. Thank goodness mine stopped demanding years ago. It’s going to be fine. Eventually. But right now Meryl and Bird are walking up the drive, fighting about mashed potatoes. This is going to be a hell of a Thanksgiving. Why don’t you get some fresh air and come back at three? Save yourself.

      Are you sure? I was dying to get out of there, but I felt guilty leaving Grandma by herself. Not that I could help her. She was an expert at handling large groups of crazy people, which was pretty much the entire population of our town.

      Yes. Go quickly, or you’re going to run into them on your way out. And don’t spend too much time curling your toes. Thanksgiving is at four o’clock.

      I hopped up from my seat and skipped out of the kitchen. I was wearing jeans and a turtleneck, but it was freezing outside, and there was no way I could go out without a coat. I bolted for the hall closet and grabbed it just as the front door opened.

      Meryl walked in first. She was the town’s blue-haired librarian and came to Grandma’s house every Monday to give her a selection of books, since Grandma never left her property line. I was more of a sitcom rerun type than a bestseller hardback type, so we didn’t have a lot to talk about with each other.

      She walked in with Bird Gonzalez, who owned the most popular hair salon in Cannes. Bird believed in the power of a good rinse and set, and there was no way she would ever let her hair go blue. It must’ve taken a lot of self-control for her to not attack Meryl’s head with a bottle of auburn hair dye.

      Are you going somewhere? Meryl asked me as I put on my coat. You’re not staying for Thanksgiving? You got someplace better to go? Did someone die again?

      Since I moved to Cannes, I got a reputation for stumbling over dead people. I was like a bloodhound for corpses. A one-woman dowsing rod of death.

      Nobody died, Meryl, I said, affronted. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

      You are kind of like a murder magnet, Gladie, Bird said. She held two large paper grocery bags, and she handed me one of the bags after I put my coat and hat on. You could at least help with the groceries. Besides, I have something to talk to you about.

      I couldn’t imagine what she had to speak to me about. Bird was a business owner with toned arms and a knack for cutting hair. I was a struggling matchmaker, living with my grandmother, who just ate three slices of pizza and couldn’t button her jeans. I hadn’t gotten my hair done in a month. Perhaps she wanted to chide me on my split ends. But I was saving my money for other things, like tampons and soap.

      Last month I made the most money I’ve ever made as a matchmaker, and I was trying to make it last. Still, I didn’t have any more clients on the horizon. Most people went to my grandmother to get matched, and why wouldn’t they? She had the gift, whereas I just had a gift for murder and mayhem.

      Don’t look at me like that, Gladie, Bird said. I wasn’t going to chastise you about the state of your hair, which is terrible, considering you’re not one hundred years old like the rest of the people in this town. You should keep up your appearance. Don’t you want to attract a man?

      Meryl snickered. Don’t you know anything, Bird? I thought you were up on all the gossip. Gladie is swimming in men.

      Is that true? Bird asked me. I thought that was done.

      It was totally true. I was swimming in so many men, that I was taking on water and drowning fast. I was going down for the second time, waving my arms in distress, but there wasn’t a lifeguard to be had.

      No, that’s not true, I lied, wagging my finger at Meryl. I’m not swimming. I don’t even have a toe in the water.

      Meryl and Bird stared at me for a moment. You’re a terrible liar, Gladie, Bird said.

      I followed them into the kitchen with the groceries. Grandma was still sitting at the table. She was totally relaxed, even though it was Thanksgiving and her house was about to be invaded by hordes of hungry people.

      I warned you to be quick, Grandma said to me.

      I put the bag down and helped Meryl and Bird organize the groceries. I didn’t take off my coat, because I was still determined to get out as soon as I could, and I didn’t want to get roped into cooking. Food preparation and I don’t get along.

      Well, bye, I sang.

      Wait. Take this, Bird said. She rummaged in her purse and handed me a large jar of peanut butter.

      Uh, I said.

      It’s your new diet. I’ve noticed that you put on a few pounds to go along with your split ends, Bird explained. I sucked in my stomach, but it was no use. Swimming in men packed on the pounds. Did you know that the average Thanksgiving dinner is five thousand calories? she asked.

      That sounds like a lot, I said, but I was probably eating the equivalent of a couple of Thanksgiving dinners every day for the past month. I had grown especially fond of brownies.

      Starting after dinner, you’re going to do just what I’ve been doing. It’s great. Every time you want something sweet, just shove a spoonful of peanut butter in your mouth. Oh! Bird spun around and dug a spoon out of one of the drawers and handed it to me. You’ll need this, too. Take the peanut butter and the spoon wherever you go. Trust me. It works.

      Bird, you have more diets than socks, Grandma said.

      Zelda, I’m forty-two years old, and you can bounce a quarter off my ass, Bird said, proudly.

      I didn’t know what it meant to be able to bounce a quarter off your ass, but I was pretty sure nothing would bounce off mine. It would probably sink in and disappear. Eww. Maybe Bird was right. Maybe peanut butter was the answer to buttoning my jeans and having a firm butt. I was nowhere close to forty-two, but Bird was beating me in the in fit race.

      Thanks, Bird. I’ll give it a try.

      Now that that’s done, Meryl said. Can you talk some sense into this woman about mashed potatoes, Zelda? She’s going on about olive oil. Olive oil! In mashed potatoes! Can you imagine?

      I tucked the peanut butter and spoon into my coat pocket and left before they inducted me into peeling potatoes or worse. I’m not a slacker, but I’m not a cook, either. Not since my tragic two days as a sous chef for a fine eatery in New York.

      I walked outside and closed the door behind me. I shivered and turned up my collar. It was a colder than usual winter, and it usually got pretty cold in Cannes. The town was settled in the 1800s after a gold rush, but the gold dried up pretty quickly. Located high in the mountains east of San Diego, Cannes was now known for its apples, pears, and a glut of antique shops in its historic district.

      Grandma’s house was right in the center of the historic district, one of the oldest houses in town. It was a large Victorian, beautiful and perfectly preserved. It was also the center of activity for most of the townspeople, not only for matchmaking but for every committee, group, event, and holiday.

      I turned the corner and walked down the street toward Tea Time, my favorite place to get coffee, despite its name. Tea Time was located in a converted western saloon, but was now devoted to exotic teas and scones. It still had the original bar, but hand-knitted tea cozies sold for ludicrous prices next to it. The shop was run by Ruth Fletcher, an eighty-five-year-old crotchety woman, who despised coffee drinkers.

      I tried to open the door, but it was locked. Through the window, I could see Ruth standing at the bar, wiping it down. I knocked on the window. Ruth! Ruth! It’s me, Gladie. Open up. I need a latte.

      There was a good chance I was risking my life, asking Ruth to open her store on Thanksgiving to give me a coffee. I would probably get a better response if I was asking for lapsang souchong or at the very least, Earl Grey.

      I know damn well who it is, she yelled from inside the store. I can see you. You think because I’m old, that I can’t see or I’ve lost my mind? I’ll have you know that I see better than you, and for sure I have a better mind than you. Go away! I’m not opening up on Thanksgiving. This isn’t Walmart. I’m a Democrat, for Christ’s sake.

      I didn’t know how to argue with that. Ruth was pretty vocal about labor rights. I cupped my hands on the window and peeked inside. Come on, Ruth. Please! I need coffee. You don’t know what it’s like. I’m swimming. They’re fighting about mashed potatoes.

      She waved her towel at me. Get your hands off my window. I just had it replaced. Wasn’t it enough that you demolished my shop?

      I wasn’t the one driving!

      Last month, two cars in two separate incidents crashed into Tea Time. Ruth paid contractors double to get her shop up and running in record time. I figured there was some kind of connection between her long life and the shop. Like it was her beating heart…if she actually had a heart.

      Or maybe there was something to the health benefits of tea.

      Ruth marched toward me and unlocked the door. I skipped over, but she blocked me from entering.

      What’s wrong with you Burger women? You all have a screw loose. Go away. It’s Thanksgiving. I’m busy. I’m not opening to you.

      She tried to pull the door closed, but I stuck my foot in the doorway and I pulled on the door for all I was worth. We did a tug of war, but Ruth was stronger than I was and was closing it on my foot.

      What was it with everyone? Even though they were all older than me, they were in better shape than I was.

      Geez, Ruth. Do you eat peanut butter? I grunted.

      What?

      She stumbled, and I ripped the door open and hopped inside.

      Please, Ruth. Just one latte. What could it hurt?

      She pursed her lips. Don’t get me started. I’m sick and tired of you latte, mocha, caramel macchiato people. Where’s the culture in this town? Shakespeare is dead, I tell you. Dead!

      I wasn’t a reader and I had dropped out of school, but I was reasonably sure that Ruth was right. Shakespeare was dead. Despite her protests, she walked toward the bar, intent, I guessed on giving me what I wanted. She probably figured it was better to do it and get rid of me, than have me continue to bother her.

      Zelda’s house is filled with wackos, I guess, she said, turning on the espresso machine. Same thing every year. That woman opens her house and lets all the Looney Tunes inside.

      She had a point. There were a lot of loonies coming to Grandma’s today. They’re not loonies, Ruth. Just people trying to get together for a holiday. I guess you don’t go in for holidays.

      Of course I do. What do you think I am? You’re the Philistine, not me.

      I didn’t know what a Philistine was, but it probably wasn’t good.

      I have the turkey cooking upstairs, and I have a few guests coming over, she explained.

      Julie? Julie was Ruth’s niece and some-time employee at Tea Time.

      Are you kidding? That girl would burn down my place or worse. I haven’t let her around here since I renovated. I got her a job at the ice cream shop. Let them deal with her. Anyway, isn’t she going to Zelda’s with Fred?

      I had matched Fred and Julie up a couple of months ago and they were still sweethearts. I gulped. Julie’s coming to the house? It was a terrifying prospect. She was known for wreaking havoc, even more than me. Well maybe not more than me.

      How’s that latte coming? I asked Ruth.

      If you wanted instant coffee, why didn’t you just stay home? Everybody wants immediate gratification. You wouldn’t know finely crafted, good quality if it bit you on the ass.

      As if on cue, the door opened and Detective Remington Cumberbatch walked in. He was tall and massive, a lot like The Rock but even better looking. I knew that under his clothes his body was painted with tattoos. Seven of them. My pulse quickened, and my mouth watered. I almost forgot about my coffee.

      We’re not open, Ruth snapped. See what you started, Gladie? Now the whole world is coming in here. What do you want?

      Remington gave me a pointed look, which said so much… Sex. Raunchy roll in the hay. Even Ruth caught on.

      Oh, she said, raising an eyebrow. Well, bless those who still have hormones.

      She handed me the latte and I gave her a few dollars. Without saying another word, I left Tea Time with Remington. He held the door open for me and I stepped outside. Ruth was right. I still had hormones. In fact, I was following Remington in a cloud of hormones, unaware of most of my surroundings except for the muscular backside of my hot lover and a stream of thirsty people walking into Tea Time, now that it was open. I thought I heard Ruth yell at them, but I was too distracted by Remington’s massive body and the nakedness I knew was underneath his jeans and pea coat.

      We really should stop doing this.

      Remington stopped and turned toward me. You want to call it off? You’re in charge. I’ll follow your lead.

      I bit my lower lip. Giving up on casual sex was like stopping heroine or even worse, chocolate. Did I say that?

      CHAPTER 2

      There’s all kinds of love, bubeleh. Remember, I’m a very open-minded old lady. There’s also all kinds of ways that love blooms. Usually, love needs one on one time. Bonding. But some of your matches get nervous when they’re one on one. They prefer social gatherings. These are the social butterflies…people who need to flit and fly around to be happy. So let them flit. Let them fly. What does it hurt? If they like to kibitz around at a party, give them a party. But while they’re at the party, go ahead and slip them a surprise while they’re flitting and flying. They got to land sometime, so make them land on their love match. Turn that butterfly into a happy caterpillar.

      Lesson 88, Matchmaking Advice from your

      Grandma Zelda

      Remington Cumberbatch was all about the easy. He was kind and gentle and a terrific lover. But I wasn’t in love with him, and he wasn’t in love with me. We just seemed to fit together nicely and he was a great distraction.

      And orgasms are nothing to sneeze at.

      We laid in his bed side by side. I rested my head on my arm, staring over at his Fast and the Furious poster, which hung next to a poster of Princess Leia in a metal bikini. Remington was a geek in a sexy tattoo, muscly kind of way.

      I like when you’re on top, I said.

      I like when I’m on top or you’re on top or we’re side by side or I’m behind you or we’re standing up…

      Okay. I got the picture. Bless the people with hormones.

      That was the extent of our usual conversations. I didn’t

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