In Deep Shitake (A Humorous Romantic Suspense) (46 page)

Mo chuckled a bit. “I’m tired, hungry and grimy, but otherwise okay.”

The edge of Leo’s lips quirked into a smile.
“You’re always hungry.”

“Looks like you both can go home,” Officer Tim said.

“Cheers,” Ross said with a grin.

“Just don’t leave town,” the officer warned with a scowl.

Omigod
,
Mo thought.
Were they still suspects?

“You can’t leave town until...” Officer Tim smirked. “I get another autograph from Mr. Grant.”

Relief.
Thank
gouda
it was over.

“I’ll be glad to oblige any time,” Ross said with a smile.

After giving them a wave that resembled a salute, Officer Tim hopped in the cruiser and pulled out of the parking place at the curb. But before Mo could relax, a rust bucket pulled into the space and Stewart Milton jumped out.

“What the jalapeño,” Mo exclaimed. “Did you install some kind of GPS device on me? How do you know where I am at all times?”

“I’m a reporter. It’s my job to know,” he said with a smirk.

“What do you want?” Ross demanded, gripping Mo’s hand more tightly.

“I thought Mo might like to see a draft of my new article.”

“Do I have to?”

Ross’s eyes met hers and dropped a brief kiss on her lips. “It’ll be all right.”

Milton held out a sheaf of pages. To Mo they looked like a scorpion ready to sting. She tentatively took them in hand and felt Ross’s breath on her neck as he peered over her shoulder.

The headline on the first page proclaimed ‘Superspy stud Ross Grant’s gay affair’ and featured a large photo of Ross dressed in a
Phantom of the Opera
cape and kissing an androgynous looking ninja Mo.

“Son of a peach.”

“I have you to thank, Ms. Tuttle, for the story suggestion,” Milton crowed.

“I didn’t give you this story,” Mo insisted. She was afraid to look at Ross. He must be furious.

Milton took a notebook from the breast pocket of his polyester suit and opened it. “You did say, and I quote, ‘good suggestion’.”

Did she? She couldn’t remember. “If I did it was a sarcastic comment.”

Scanning the article quickly, Mo saw that it only got worse:
"The celeb is not satisfied to keep his gay attentions to just one paramour. The star of
SpyMatrix
also attempted to force a married father of two into an illicit relationship. DeWayne Stubbs of
Massacopa
North Carolina found himself the victim of Grant’s sexual harassment at a local motel. ‘He thought I was gay too. The super spy said he wanted to bang me. He called me a cutie but didn’t want me to tell my wife,’ said Mr. Stubbs. Stubbs’ wife,
Marvelene
, said that after Mr. Stubbs refused Grant’s attentions, the celeb repeatedly refused to give the couple an autographed poster. He seemed to want something in exchange. Mrs. Stubbs now realizes this was an attempt to extort sexual favors from Mr. Stubbs.

“He came on to me too,” said twenty-eight year old Calvin
Hobin
. “I was minding my own business in the men’s room at the Magnificent Movies convention when this
perv
in a scary cape started eyeing me. I’m not sure what he was doing under that cape. Anyway, he made me very uncomfortable with his attentions.”
Hobin
is consulting his attorney about filing a lawsuit to compensate him for his damages from the incident. “I didn’t realize at the time that it was Stephen Dagger (Grant). Now I think I’ve been traumatized for life.”

Ross’s hand fell away from Mo’s. She gulped but forced herself to read on.

“And the star’s romp did not stop in the men’s room. Grant was later ejected from the convention center by security after an episode of necking with an unidentified young man in a stall of the women’s restroom. “I was shocked and appalled,” said Mildred Evans, age fifty-seven, who witnessed some of the illicit groping. “I never would have expected Stephen Dagger (Grant) to act that way. I mean would you believe it? The young man that he was kissing wasn’t even good looking.” Mrs. Evans reports that the young man was dressed like a mime. “Who could find a mime attractive, except a real pervert?”

“You
gotta
be kidding me with this,” Mo said, throwing the papers to the ground. “Nobody would print this pack of lies.”

Milton gathered the scattered pages and picked them up. He nudged at the heavy glasses on his nose. “Sure they would. I’m selling this story for big bucks to the National Star.”

Shitake. Having seen the National Star a few times, Mo was pretty sure that they would print the article, true or not. Even if Ross sued the paper for libel, it would be too late. His film deal would likely be ruined before he could win the case.

Mo's hand fisted and Leo stepped between her and the rat-like reporter. Apparently, he thought she might strike the guy. She probably would have.

“There are some photos in Mo’s office you might be interested in before you finalize your story,” Leo said to the reporter.

“Leo, what the flaxseed oil
are
you doing?” Had her brother gone crazy?

“I’m going to leave you two to sort out this bloke,” Ross said. “I need to call my agent and get a change of clothes.”

His expression impassive, Ross dropped a kiss to her forehead. The forehead. What did that mean? Was he just trying to cover his rage because Milton was there?

“But Ross. What—”

Ross strode off into the direction of his hotel. “I’ll see you later,” he called back over his shoulder, just before he rounded the corner and Mo lost sight of him.

Crêpe. She was about to demand an explanation from Leo, but saw him dragging Milton up the stairs to the agency offices as the door to the building swung shut.

Mo quickly followed behind, running to catch up with them.

“Leo, what are you doing?”

“He deserves to see these photos, Mo.” Leo stormed through the agency’s door, past an astonished Harry and into Mo’s tiny space. Milton ran gleefully behind.

“Hi, boss,”
Mo
said as she jogged through.

“Is that who I think it is?” Harry called.

“I’m afraid it is.”

Mo joined Leo behind her desk. “Frosted flakes. What are these?”

Leo held up a photo. Obviously taken by the security camera network at the convention center, the picture contained a mass of figures. Mo didn’t see the importance of the photo until Leo pointed to a portion of the glossy. Leo picked up two others and showed them to her. After the shots for a few moments, Mo understood their significance.

“See this photo?” Mo held out the first one to Milton.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“If you’ll look in the background behind the
wookie
, that’s you in the chipmunk outfit, right?”

“I’m not making any admissions." Milton pushed the glasses up his nose and then crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well, look at this second photo in the series.” Mo produced a glossy from her portfolio and thrust it toward Stewart. “Leo’s blown up a section of the first photo to show this part. You’re holding the ‘head’ of your costume. Looks like you’re taking a break for refreshments.” She pointed toward the center of the photo, which clearly showed Stewart pushing food into his mouth.

“Yeah, what of it? So I was there with a chipmunk outfit on." Milton's tone was confident, but his shifting from one foot to the other indicated something different. "I was doing some undercover investigating. You know that. You saw me there. We talked.”

“So you weren’t participating in any of the other— shall we say—activities?” Mo asked, not really trying to contain her gleeful tone.

“Certainly not!”

“Then I can’t imagine why we have this last photo in the series.” Mo withdrew another glossy and held it out.

Stewart avoided touching it as if it was tinged with
ebola
. In fact, it was just a photo of Stewart in his chipmunk outfit and a person in a poodle costume.

“Wow, Milton. It looks like you’re getting along really well with that poodle. I wonder how Mrs. Milton will feel about this?” Leo commented dryly.

“Mo,” Harry warned from the doorway.

Mo ignored her. “That’s pretty interesting behavior wouldn’t you say?”

“That dog was humping my leg. I had nothing to do with it. You can clearly see that here." Milton threw the photos on the desk. "So if that’s all you got, I’ll be leaving.”

“Oh, did I say that was the last photo? Oops, there’s one more photo after all.” Mo took yet another from the desk top and looked at it. “I see that you’re absolutely right. You weren’t making out with that poodle. You swing another way completely.”

She handed him the photo showing his chipmunk with a rabbit doing something Mr. Disney never envisioned.

“It looks like your interests go to wildlife, not to domesticated animals,” Leo said with a laugh.

The air seemed to go out of Milton.

“What do you want?” the formerly puffed-up twerp asked.

“I want every picture you have of Ross Grant. All negatives,
digi
-cards, anything. And I want all your notes.”

Milton nodded.

“By the end of today,” Mo finished.

He gave a resigned little salute.

“And, Milton, if any article appears, with or without your byline, in the National Star, the Savannah Tribune or, any other media outlet— even the Podunk Shopper—about Ross Grant and any of this mess, I’ll see that these interesting wildlife photos go directly to Mrs. Milton.”

The reporter pivoted on one heel and marched out. As he passed Harry, he gave her a hard glare.

When he was gone, Mo hugged Leo ferociously. “You are the best brother a girl could have. How did you know I would need those?”

“You told me to see if I could find something on the convention footage yesterday. Remember?”

“But you brilliantly ignored me when I said to forget it.” Mo grinned and stepped back to gather the photos into a folder.

“What have you done, Mo?”
Harry’s
expression was as harsh as her tone.

Mo glanced up, folder in hand. “I did what I had to do to protect Ross.”

Harry opened her mouth, but Mo interrupted before she could speak.

“I know, boss. You told me not to mess with him.”

“And didn’t I say I’d have to—” Harry began.

“You don’t have to fire me, I quit.” As Mo said the words, it was as if a ton of potatoes had been lifted from her chest. Even though it meant her financial problems would get even worse, Mo knew it was for the best.

Her boss blinked at the statement. “I didn’t mean I was actually firing you.”

“That’s okay, because I actually quit.” Mo marveled at the lightness she felt. She’d wanted to win
Harry’s
approval and get that bonus for so long. But now quitting felt great. “It’s okay, Harry. No hard feelings.”

“Mo—”

Not stopping to hear what she had to say, Mo strode to the door. “I
gotta
go see Ross.”