Once Upon a Spy (Humorous Cozy Mystery) (3 page)

“Did I do that?” Yvonne shook her head commiseratively. “I’m so sorry, Matt. I guess I don’t know my own strength.”

A chuckle sounded next to her, and when she glanced over, she saw that another man stood staring down at her. He was older than Matt, his leathery face a maze of wrinkles and his shock of hair completely white. His eyes were the clearest electric blue she’d ever seen.

“It’s not funny, Brian,” hissed Matt.

“Oh, I think it is. Being taken down by a woman. Three times no less!”

Yvonne stared at the man. “Well, I didn’t do it on purpose.”

This made him laugh even harder, and Joe’s scowl deepened. He planted his hands on the table, lowering his face to hers.

“You’re going to tell us all you know about the operation and you’re going to do it now.”

Yvonne, finding herself at such close proximity with this man, quickly agreed. “Aye aye, sir.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Garbage disposal.”

She jumped when he thumped the table hard. “Nonsense! You two are Grant’s handlers, aren’t you?”

“Grant? Who’s Grant?”

“Hugh Grant,” Izzy piped up behind her. “British actor? Famous for his comedic parts in such masterpieces as Nine Months, Mickey Blue Eyes and Did You Hear About the Morgans?”

“NOT
Hugh
Grant!” thundered Matt, annoyed.

The grinning man called Brian was still laughing. “Just give them the juice, Matt. They’re hardened pros, can’t you tell? They won’t tell you a thing.”

Yvonne licked her lips. She was a little thirsty. “I would love some juice, Matt.”

“Me, too,” chimed in Izzy. “And if you have apple juice? My stomach doesn’t react well to orange juice. Gives me cramps.”

“Or mango, if you have any. I love me some mango juice.”

The juice theme seemed to upset Matt for some reason. His handsome yet damaged face twisted into a grimace. “There will be no juice! No juice, you hear me! No juice!”

Izzy, always easy to please, said, “Oh, all right. Perhaps a glass of water, then?”

There was another ripple of laughter emanating from the elderly man, which only exacerbated Joe’s annoyance. His jaw set, he stalked off in the direction of a small office, shaking his head. He reminded Yvonne of a bull charging a matador. The man might be handsome, but he had quite a temper.

Then she thought of something. “You know? You should probably warn Jack DeLantern that we won’t be able to finish our shift.”

Brian immediately appeared interested. “Jack DeLantern. Is that your contact?”

“Yep. He’s the big cheese. You better tell him we’ve been unavoidably detained.”

“Good thinking, V. I hadn’t even thought of DeLantern. He’ll be royally pissed when we don’t finish our shift.”

“You girls are really good,” murmured Brian.

“We have to be. There’s a lot of competition for the position of sanitation worker.”

“Is that what they call you in Moscow nowadays?”

Izzy giggled at this. “I don’t know about Moscow, but you should see the jealous looks we get when we drive by in our truck.”

“Enough of this garbage,” said Matt, who had returned. Yvonne watched with interest as he laid a small pouch onto the table in front of her. Opening it, he took out two syringes and two vials. Her eyes widened. Now it was dawning on her. “Oh, jeez.
Now
I get it. I’m so sorry! I should have told you this right from the start.”

Matt smiled, and looked over at his elderly colleague. “Not so tough now, huh?”

Yvonne wriggled in her seat, and tapped Izzy’s fingers with her. “Remember what I told you about the flu thing, Iz? How I told them we’d come in and we never did? They’re going to do the thing now. The flu shot thing.”

“Oh, my God! Is that what this is about? Oh, we’re so sorry, Matt, sir. We meant to drop by, didn’t we, V? But it just completely slipped our minds, right?”

“That’s exactly how it went, Matt. You have to believe us. We were going to drop by the clinic, but then we forgot.”

“If I’d known DeLantern was so strict about these shots, we’d have come in sooner, right, hon?”

“Of course. We know how important it is to be protected against the flu.”

Matt, whose jaw had dropped more and more throughout this exchange, burst out, “What the hell are you talking about?”

With her head, Yvonne gestured at the needles. “The shots. The flu vaccination campaign?” She gazed into Joe’s eyes, happy she’d finally solved the mystery.

Shaking his head disgustedly, Matt expertly filled the needles with the fluid, and walked over to Yvonne.

“Thank you, Matt. I know we should have—ouch!”

Matt grinned. “This hurts me more than it does you, honey.”

Yvonne scowled at him. “I wouldn’t be too sure.”

She could feel Izzy wriggling against her back. “Ouch! Hey, that hurts!”

A third man had joined them, and Yvonne recognized him as Frank. The moment Izzy yelled out in pain, he hurried over to her. “Are you all right, Izzy?”

Annoyed, Matt waved him away. “Disappear, Rottmeyer. Out of my sight.”

“I’m fine, Frank. Thanks for asking,” Izzy purred.

Yvonne sighed with relief. The company had a strange way of delivering their vaccinations, but she couldn’t really blame them. These shots were important. She wriggled in her seat again. “Well. Now that that’s over, I think it’s time you released us, don’t you—”

Suddenly, she felt faint, and next thing she knew, the room started to spin and the bottom dropped out from beneath her.

When the wooziness wore off, she shook her head, dazed. Weird. She’d never had this kind of reaction before to a flu shot. Perhaps she’d suddenly developed an allergy or something?

Then she noticed Matt sat eyeing her intently.

She gave him a friendly smile. “You’re quite the looker, aren’t you?”

His smile faltered.

Brian’s lips twitched. “Could you… elucidate, Yvonne?”

“Well, I mean, look at the man. He’s probably the hottest thing that ever walked this earth. With that rock-hard body, those chocolate eyes, that patrician nose, that lock of hair nonchalantly sweeping across his noble brow…”

“This is neither here nor there,” murmured Matt, pursing his lips. “Now tell me about Grant.”

“I like him. He’s not everyone’s taste, but when Iz and I organize one of our girls’ nights, we always watch one of his movies, don’t we, Iz?”

“Damn right we do, V! Notting Hill forever!”

Matt closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not Hugh Grant.
Oswin
Grant. The man who’s been selling you state secrets for the past 18 months.”

“Oswin Grant? Is he related to Hugh? Cause if he is, I wouldn’t mind watching one of his movies either. Iz and I are down for anything the Grant boys have to offer.”

“Damn skippy!” echoed Izzy.

Matt blinked a couple times, then slowly lifted his gaze to Brian.

“They’re good,” murmured the latter. “They’re damn good.”

Matt gritted his teeth. “Not good enough. Tell me about the Russians. When did you start working for them?”

“The Russians? Oh, you mean DeLantern. I didn’t know Jack was Russian.”

“Neither did I. That explains why he likes the vodka so much, V.”

“It certainly would. Well, lemme see. When did we start working for Jack?”

“Nine months ago? Something like that?”

“Nine months sounds about right. Right around the time Lindsay got pregnant from that no-good skunk Billy Clapper. And since she’s due any day now, I’d say nine months is exactly right.”

Matt blinked. “Who’s your contact? Who got you involved?”

“Eileen McCartney. Though my pops been telling me to join up for years now.”

“Your… pops?”

“Yeah. He considers the sanitation business our family business. Been working for the company for coming up on forty years now. And his dad before him, of course. And since all of my brothers are involved as well…”

“All eight of them, huh, V?
And
your uncles.”

“Yep.” She grinned. “You might say the Assenheimers
are
the Department of Sanitation. Each time a new baby boy or girl is born, pops says ‘here’s another little garbage hauler!’”

“So funny.”

“Pops
is
funny, isn’t he?”

“Hilarious.”

“Now
my
family, on the other hand, isn’t that well connected. I really owe my job to V.”

“Aww.”

“No, it’s true. Dad always wanted me to be an architect, but drawing isn’t my strong suit.”

“Or math.”

“Or any of the other skills involved.”

“Too true.”

“So that’s how I got into the business. I owe it all to V.”

“Aww.”

“It’s true!”

Suddenly a soft whistle sounded. Searching around for the source of it, Yvonne was surprised when it seemed to emanate from Matt. His face was all red again, and he seemed to be blowing through his teeth.

She then saw Brian staring at her with something of awe in his eyes. “They’re good. They’re really good.”

“I’ve had it,” declared Matt, shoving back his chair. It scraped on the floor with a horrible sound. Just like a piece of chalk scratching across the blackboard. She hated that sound. “I’ve had it with you two!”

Yvonne felt her own temper rising. She knew where this guy was coming from. She knew it all too well. “We’re garbagewomen and we’re proud of it, buster.”

“Damn proud!”

“Too long the profession has been dominated by men. Well, we’re here to tell you that women can do that job and do it well!

“Do it better!”

“And if you don’t like it, you can lump it!”

“Tell him where to put it, V!”

“You can take your petty masculine prejudices and your wounded ego and shove it up your—”

“Matt! Brian!” Feet slapped the cement floor as Frank came racing into the room. Yvonne hadn’t even noticed he’d left. The angular agent was waving a tablet computer in his hand, and seemed extremely excited about something. Panting, he placed the tablet on the table, and pointed at something.

“What’s happening, V?”

“That Frank fellow you like so much just came waltzing in here with his iPad and now he’s showing it to the hot guy who’s jealous of the fact that women can pick up garbage as well as men.”

The hot guy held up his hand with a pained expression. “Please. Refrain from speaking.”

Brian tut-tutted. “You gave them the truth serum, Matt. Now don’t be cross when they speak their mind.”

“They’re driving me nuts. Now what do we have here?” He studied the information for a moment, then his eyes perceptibly widened. “It can’t be.”

Frank nodded excitedly. “It is.” He pointed at something else on the tablet.

Matt shook his head. “No way.”

“Way. Look.”

After a long pause, the three men looked up simultaneously, and gazed at Yvonne intently.

Matt was the first to speak. “You
are
a sanitation worker.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Uh-huh. And if you’ve got a problem with that, you can shove it up your—”

“Your whole family works in the waste management industry.”

Yvonne lifted her chin. “Assenheimers
are
the waste management industry.”

“You tell em, V.”

“You don’t know Oswin Grant.”

“Well, unless he’s Hugh’s brother, I’ve never heard of the man.”

She noticed with interest how a small vein on Joe’s left temple was throbbing. The man definitely had anger management issues. “So what the hell were you doing there?”

“Picking up garbage of course. What do you think we were doing there?”

He angrily stabbed at the tablet. “I have your schedule here. You weren’t supposed to be anywhere near Canal Street!”

Yvonne’s eyebrows shot up. Oops. “I, erm…”

“Did I get it wrong again, V? Is that what they’re saying?”

“It’s all right, Iz. I’ve got this.” She glared at Matt. “We thought it more
time efficient
to do Canal Street first, sir. After all, we
are
professionals and, being professionals, we sometimes like to interpret the schedule in a, erm, creative way.”

“I took the wrong turn again, didn’t I?” Izzy gave a short laugh.

“Let me handle this, Iz.”

Matt eyed her blankly. “You took a wrong turn?”

“
Not
wrong per se, sir. Just different.”

“Third time this happened to me this week. Duh.”

“Don’t say another word, Iz. You’re discriminating yourself.”

“Incriminating,” Brian intoned automatically.

“We are sanitation workers and we like to do things our way. And that’s the last thing I have to say on the matter.”

She would have folded her arms across her ample chest at these words, but since her hands were still strapped behind her back, she found it difficult to accomplish that particular feat.

For a moment, silence reigned supreme as the three men stared at her, seemingly lost for words. Then the oldest one, the white-haired one, gave a short jerk with his head, and as if on cue, his two younger colleagues joined him for an impromptu meeting out of earshot of Yvonne and Izzy.

Yvonne gave a deep sigh. “We’re
so
busted.”

“I’m sorry, honey. Each time that GPS thingie says left, I always think it really means right.”

“It’s fine, Iz. They can’t fire us over a little thing like that. Can they?”

“Of course not. They’d be crazy to fire two fine workers such as ourselves.”

“We did forget to take our shots.”

“That’s true.”

“And we did mess up the schedule.”

“True, too.”

Yvonne closed her eyes with a groan. “Pops will kill me. No Assenheimer has ever been let go from the DSNY before.”

Finally, the three men seemed to have concluded their little meeting, and approached. Judging from their inscrutable faces, Yvonne feared the worst.

“You’re going to fire us, aren’t you? Hottie Matt?”

“Don’t fire us, Hottie Matt. I promise I’ll learn to distinguish left from right.”

At the mention of the moniker, Matt furrowed his brow. “Would you stop with the hottie thing already?”

Yvonne knew it was all over. “If you don’t fire us, I’ll bear your children! I mean, I’d bear your children regardless, cause you’re so hot—the hottest man I’ve ever seen—”