Dalton Sikes Finds a Body

by Amy Spector

Grant Cooper has it made—a sweet job at Things in the Attic, cheap digs, and a line of willing partners. But that could all fall apart when he finds a corpse in the basement of the house where he rents a room.

Dalton Sikes has problems of his own. He just wants to deliver the flower arrangement that has been sitting in his shop for nearly a week, before it costs him a hundred and eighty dollars he can’t afford to lose—not if he wants to keep the lights on. What he doesn’t need is a stunningly beautiful man with a dead body in his basement. Well, maybe the man part, but definitely not the dead body. Especially if it looks like Dalton could be next on the killer’s list.

*** This is a Hidden Chapter short story only available with the purchase of Body of Work (Cold Fingers Book 2) by Amy Spector or Buried Desires 2 - a horror double feature. ***

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

The moral rights of the authors have been asserted.

Cover Design: Amy Spector

A special thanks to Al, Debbie, and Ofelia.

CHAPTER TWO

Six Months Later

Dalton Sikes was screwed.

The worst part of it all was that he knew it was his own fault. Well, it wasn’t actually his fault. It was Richard’s fault, but that didn’t change the fact Dalton had been the one draining his business dry just to keep a roof over his head. It was a roof connected to a mortgage far too big for Dalton to cover on his own, but that was where Richard came in, Richard and his wandering eyes and his inability to keep it in his pants.

If Richard had been able to live up to all those declarations of love and devotion, Dalton wouldn’t be stuck with both halves of a mortgage he couldn’t afford. He wouldn’t be in such an awful situation. Now, Petal Pushers, a store that had been thriving, was so close to the brink he was in danger of no electricity come Monday morning.

Damn it.

Dalton looked to where an expensive vase of flowers sat in his refrigeration unit. His credit card was maxed out, so was his line of credit, but right there was a $180 arrangement that could almost make his electric payment. Almost. It would take the last few bills from his wallet, but he’d rather spend the next week eating the wilted things from his refrigerator than have a dark shop come the first of the week.

People who walked into a shop that couldn’t keep its lights on didn’t walk into that shop again.

Sighing, Dalton slid open the glass door and retrieved the tag from the arrangement. He stared down at the neatly written information, the overly precise writing of his least favorite customer. Alicia Greenberg was the last person on the planet Dalton wanted to call. If he could have thought of someone else, anyone else, he would have called them instead. But there was no one, and Mrs. Greenberg was late picking up her arrangement. She was never late.

For a split second, Dalton had a flash of Alicia Greenberg lying dead on a kitchen floor somewhere. He forced it away, refusing to believe something so horrible would happen to him.

***

Alicia Greenberg believed in breakfast.

There were very few things her mother had given her, but an appreciation of breakfast was one of them. Protein for muscles, calcium for bones and fruit because it made for an appealing presentation. If you were going to eat, it was important to eat something that was nice to look at.

Grant Cooper was nice to look at, and Alicia could have eaten him with a spoon. Instead, she made him breakfast and served it on her best Royal Rose China.

She could hear him crashing around in her guest bath and didn’t even have to squash the urge to bang on the door and ask if he was being attacked by wild animals. Not that it would have done any good. The man was endlessly noisy and messy. Grant Cooper was very, very messy.

He entered the kitchen—just as Alicia was setting out the last of the silver—wearing olive-green pants and a black T-shirt, his hair still damp from the shower.

“This looks delicious,” Grant told her, smiling and dropping into a chair and rattling dishes. Alicia couldn’t help but forgive all the spills, banging, and broken things. None of it seemed to matter more than his smile and sleepy eyes, and how snug his shirt fit across his chest.

Alicia’s mother had hated tight clothing, never understanding why someone would want to display themselves that way.

There is nothing attractive about chafed nipples.

They sat across from each other at the small kitchen table, and Alicia calculated if enough time had passed that she could broach the subject of them sharing the same bed. She was certain Grant wanted it as much as she did. She could tell by the way he had paid his first month’s rent precisely on time. Not just on time and with an impersonal, personal check, but with paper money still warm from his pocket. It had been a crushed wad of bills, and inexplicably damp, but the message had been more than clear.

Before Alicia could say anything, though, the kitchen phone rang, and she ground her teeth. In fact, at that moment, she felt certain that she was angry enough to club a baby seal. But she knew better than to focus on her irritation. She would put it aside for now, excuse herself to answer the phone, and afterward, she would address the elephant in the room, the elephant that she was certain had been in the room since that first moment when Grant had walked through her front door with a box marked SHIT FROM UNDER MY BED.

***

Grant Cooper just knew it had to do with fucking a dog.

“I’m sure she’s in prison for fucking a dog.” He scratched at his ear, eyeing the clock, and tried to remember if he turned off the faucet after he brushed his teeth that morning.

“No, it wasn’t.” Jessie looked disgusted. “What is wrong with you? It was for unpaid parking tickets, and it’s traffic court, not prison.”

Was it? He would have sworn he heard the thing about the dog somewhere.

“You sure you want this in the window?” Grant stared down at the box of exceptionally ugly china. “It kind of clashes with that pink kitchen of tomorrow thing you’ve got up there now, doesn’t it?” He hoped he wasn’t going to be asked to switch out the kitchen set, too. That fifties shit was heavy.

“Nah.” Jessie moved the last dish from the current display. “Orange for Halloween. You watch, we’ll sell it in a week.

Hardly seemed worth all the effort of moving it into the window, then, Grant thought, but he didn’t say it. He lifted the box, maneuvering down the middle isle and around a kidney-shaped table that teetered with a tower of comic books and years’ worth of dust. He sat it on the raised floor of the window display next to the box full of what was left of a sputnik lamp he still hadn’t found the time to rewire. Maybe he could come in early one morning and see if there was enough of it left to get it working.

With fifteen minutes until the doors opened, Grant and Jessie worked side-by-side, laying out place settings on the Formica tabletop and filling the candy-pink hutch. Grant honestly thought the contrast was revolting, but he thought it also explained Jessie’s sense of fashion.

“Any chance you could come in tomorrow? Help me clean up some, and rearrange the storeroom?” Jessie asked, giving him a hopeful look. The shop had been so busy the last few weeks that any jobs that didn’t have to get done, didn’t. Sunday was the only day the shop closed, but the back room was trashed.

“Isn’t tomorrow your anniversary?”

“I know.” Jessie frowned. “But a truck is delivering the Atlanta auction purchases first thing on Monday.”

“I’ll do it myself.” Grant placed the last of the hideous plates in the hutch. “Between tonight and tomorrow, I’ll get it organized.”

“Really?” Jessie beamed.

“Yeah, sure. You just give Craig a kiss for me.” Grant smacked Jessie on the ass. “And use some tongue. He likes it when I use tongue.”

***

Dalton parked his car at the curb of a sprawling, two-story Colonial painted in a cheery yellow. It hadn’t been what he was expecting. He had always imagined Alicia Greenberg lived…well, he always imagined she lived in an asylum of some kind, and that she had somehow managed to earn unsupervised trips to his shop.

He double checked the address on the invoice and then checked the time. When he had spoken with Mrs. Greenberg this morning, while she hadn’t sounded pleased by the call, she had agreed he could deliver the flowers at exactly six p.m. He was thirty-two minutes late and didn’t see her giant SUV parked anywhere, but Dalton supposed the house might have had a detached garage somewhere in back.

He hopped out of the car with a mixture of both anxiety at having to see the horrible woman, and relief that he would be able to keep his lights on.

He grabbed the vase from where is sat inside a plastic milk crate in his back seat and made his way up the brick walk.

The place was lovely, the front yard dominated by a huge tree, the leaves of which had turned a bright orange. They had only just started to drop but still blanketed the grass like a colorful carpet. It was the reason Dalton loved the fall, loved October. He liked the chill in the air, and the smell of impending rain, but he loved the colors as the greens of summer faded away to make room for the bareness of winter.

At the door, Dalton took a breath before pressing the doorbell. He heard a crash, followed by another, and winced at the distinct sound of glass shattering. When the door finally opened, it wasn’t Mrs. Greenberg at all, but a man in the process of pulling a T-shirt off over his head.

Dalton stared. He knew he should stop, but he didn’t. He was well aware that shamelessly staring at someone’s body was bad form. But he also didn’t lean forward to lick the man from treasure trail to nipple ring, and that was good form, right? And some days you just needed to focus on the positives.

“Oh, you’re not Alicia.”

Dalton forced his eyes away from the man’s chest and up to a face that may have even been better. “Alicia?”

”No, I’m Grant. I thought you were Alicia.” The guy held up the T-shirt as if the mistaken identity somehow explained why he was half-naked.

Oh, God. That lucky harpy.

Dalton forced a smile. “No, afraid not. But I do have this delivery for…your wife?” Life really is unfair.

“It that your way of asking if I’m single?” The Grant guy winked at him, and Dalton nearly dropped the vase.

“Um…”

“You’re the flower guy, right?” Grant pointed to the flowers Dalton held and then tapped the side of his head. “I’m like Batman.”

Dalton had no idea what he was talking about. He only knew that, at the moment anyway, Grant was the sexiest name he had ever heard.

“Yes, I’m the flower guy.” Grant ushered him inside and, much to Dalton’s disappointment, started pulling the T-shirt back on. “You don’t have to get dressed on my account.” He really didn’t. Dalton wouldn’t have minded if he took off even more.

“Nah, it’s just that I broke Alicia’s favorite lamp.” Grant looked at him expectantly. “You know, that blueish one?”

Dalton didn’t know, but he nodded all the same.

“Well, when I fuck up, I figured out it’s just easier to take off my shirt, you know? She doesn’t get mad that way.”

“Oh.” Dalton looked down at the arrangement he held in his arms, happy to have something to do with his hands. “Could you try and fix it?”

“Cute and smart.” Grant winked at him again, spun around and, without knowing what else to do, Dalton followed him down the hall and into an extremely white living room. The rug was white, the couch, the chairs, and the tables were white. In fact, the only color at all came from accent pieces in teal that gave the whole place the feeling of a beach house even though the closest beach was probably 300 miles away.

A teal lamp, with a large white shade and a fat glass bottom with a crackle finish, lay on the floor next to a white pedestal table, the glass globe broken into a number of pieces.

“How did you break your… girlfriend’s lamp?” Dalton wondered if he was being too obvious.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Grant shook his head. “I was just walking through here and—”

“Sister?”

“What?” Grant looked confused.

“Is Mrs. Greenberg your sister?” Yeah, yeah, Dalton knew, but he didn’t care.

Alicia’s my landlady. Didn’t she tell you? I rent a room here.” Grant squinted at him. “You sure you’re the flower guy?”

Dalton had no idea what Grant thought being the flower guy meant, or why he was under the impression Dalton would have any relationship outside of taking her money and giving her flowers, so he just held up the flowers as proof.

“So, you think you can help me fix it?” Grant asked, and before Dalton could tell him he didn’t know anything about fixing lamps, lifted the hem of his shirt and used it to wipe at his face, flashing Dalton another glimpse of his perfectly toned stomach.

“Yes.” What the hell? Dalton could give it a try.

***

Alicia Greenberg discreetly checked her watch. While the meetings of the local landmark society always dragged on, this time it seemed endless.

She had almost not come. She had better things to do today than listen to a bunch of old people talk on and on about the importance of saving another rat trap of a property because some famous writer or other wrote a ghost story there, or pissed in it, or fucked a mistress on its filthy floor.

Alicia was pretty sure a whisper in the right ear could have the motherfucker burned to the ground, so they had better be wrapping it up.

She shifted in her chair, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs before giving up and excusing herself to the hall to make a call.

Out of the meeting room, the door closed behind her, Alicia felt like she could breathe again.

She took out her phone and dialed the house. She let it ring and ring, but Grant didn’t pick up. That may have meant he’d decided to go out after all. Or it could have meant he had company. The thought of either nearly had Alicia frowning, but she managed to catch herself.

Her mother had always told her that if she was going to spend her days frowning, she might as well draw wrinkles on with a marker. At thirty-six, Alicia didn’t have wrinkles, but with her birthday looming a few short weeks away, she felt an almost uncontrollable panic squeezing at her chest.

More agitated than before, Alicia dialed her number again. This time, after four rings someone picked up.

“Hello?”

It wasn’t a voice Alicia recognized, and she looked at her screen to make sure she’d dialed the correct number. She had. “Is Grant there?”

“Oh, um…I think he might need to call you back?”

Why was he asking her? Did Grant need to call her back or not?

That was the problem with most men, wasn’t it? They didn’t know what they wanted unless there was a woman there to tell them.

“Who is this?” Her tone was sharper than it needed to be, but then her day hadn’t been at all what she’d planned. It was already after seven, and she and Grant should have been sharing their first intimate moments, kisses over dinner—chicken casserole made with her grandmother's favorite recipe—followed by gentle lovemaking in her bedroom. “Don’t think for a moment you can have him.”

“I’m sorry?” There was that uncertain, wishy-washy tone again. It made Alicia’s skin crawl.

“Have no doubt, I’ve stopped the others, and I’ll stop you.” She ended the call and quickly pulled her car keys from her handbag. She needed to get home and keep her plans on track.

“Alicia?” She looked up at her name. “Come back inside, dear. We’re about to start voting.”

Alicia dropped her keys back into her bag and forced a smile. “Of course, that’s why I’m here.”

***

Dalton dropped the handset like it was on fire, looking up when Grant walked back into the room.

“Well, I checked the everywhere, even the desk in the study and the bathroom cabinet, but no luck on the glue, we might need to…” Grant trailed off. “Are you OK? You look like you’re going to faint.”

Do I?

“Sorry, your phone kept ringing, so I answered it.” Dalton forced a smile and tried not to look like whatever he looked like.

“That’s no problem.” Grant gave Dalton a reassuring smile. “Who was it?

Dalton chewed at his nail. “You’re girlfriend, maybe?”

“Don’t have a girlfriend.” Grant’s smile grew wider. “Or boyfriend for that matter. Must have been a wrong number.”

Dalton instantly relaxed. Of course, it had been a wrong number or a terrible Halloween prank. It was funny, actually. He was just on edge because Grant made him nervous—and horny—and he still needed to call and pay the electric bill.

“Must have been. So,” Dalton worked to give Grant his most sultry smile. “No boyfriend?”

“And no glue.”

Oh yeah, that.

“Wait.” Grant snapped his fingers before grabbing Dalton’s hand and dragging him back into the kitchen. “Help me find a key, a big brass one for the deadbolt. Alicia said she has a craft room down in the basement, but she keeps it locked up like a bank vault. She’ll have the glue down there.”

Dalton searched the hooks by the back door, then moved on to the kitchen drawers until Grant whooped in triumph. “Found it. How about we find the glue, fix the fucker, and then you let me take you out to dinner? I give a hell of a goodnight kiss.”

God, yes.

“OK,” Dalton agreed, only waiting long enough for Grant to unlock the deadbolt before pushing past him and taking the stairs two at a time. “Let’s get this done.”

Dalton stopped at the base of the stairs when the light from the kitchen no longer lit his way. He felt blindly at the walls until he found a light switch. When the lights came on, he was surprised to find, not a finished room, but an old, bare basement with a cement floor and rough block walls.

Now that Dalton thought about it, it probably made sense with the age of the neighborhood, the age of the house, but it seemed an odd place to keep your craft room when you lived in a place this large.

The air was rank. The smell of earth and damp and something fainter, but altogether less pleasant, scented the air.

A wall of plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling at the far end, and Dalton was drawn to it. His curiosity of what was behind it was more than he could resist.

He pushed the plastic aside, just as he heard the sound of Grant descending the steps. It concealed an everyday crawl space, the block walk stopping chest high, the gravel bed easily ten square feet. Here the smell—the unpleasant one—was stronger, and Dalton wondered if he was going to find a raccoon carcass half rotted among the gravel-covered expanse.

He was about to turn around when something in the space caught his eye. Several things, actually, and he pulled out his phone and hit his flashlight. With the additional light of the phone, he saw them, and his heart stuttered in his chest.

Fingers.

Dalton could hear Grant talking to him, but couldn’t make out the words over the sound of rushing in his head. He dropped his phone, pretty sure the glass of the screen shattered and not caring.

There were fingers, sickly gray fingers, poking their way up from the bed of gravel. And not just one but a whole set. There were fingers right in front of him and, deeper in the crawlspace, another set that couldn’t have easily been part of the same person. Unless, of course, the hands were no longer attached to the body.

“Oh, my god.”

“Dude,” Grant shouted from somewhere behind him. “Did you find the glue?”

Who the hell cared about glue? Mrs. Greenberg was going to kill him and bury him in her basement.

About Amy Spector

Amy Spector is new to writing and even newer to writing romance. She likes her stories to feature people who deserve a happy ending, and she tries her best to give them one. Admittedly, she likes to make them a little miserable first.

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Books by Amy Spector

Watching Elijah Fall (Short North Book 1)

Shiny Things

Almost But Not Quite

Buried Desires

Cold Fingers (Cold Fingers Book 1)

Mrs. Greenberg Sells a Watch  (Grant Cooper Book 1 / Cold Fingers Book 1.5)

Buried Desires 2

Body of Work (Cold Fingers Book 2)

Dalton Sikes Finds a Body (Grant Cooper Book 2 / Cold Fingers Book 2.5)

Coming Soon

Revenge and the Sinister Six

Smoke

Table of Contents

Chapter 1