Excerpt of Batteries Required by Jennifer Apodaca

Chapter One

The slot machine tricked me. I dumped in my money, believing I’d win the big prize. The Daystar Indian Casino in Temecula, California, gleefully sucked up my last twenty-dollar bill and suggested, in that innocent way of machines, that I try again.

Probably I would have if I’d had any more cash on me. Since all I had remaining was my pride, I left the gambling area, swept past a long bar, and went into the Nova Room. I looked past the bathroom-size wooden dance floor in the center of the bar to see the band playing onstage, the Silky Men.

They were a group of men who cross-dressed and sang in a comic routine. One of them, Rick Mesa, was the head soccer coach for the Soccer Club of Lake Elsinore. I had found out about his secret life as a cross- dressing entertainer while working on a case earlier that year.

I’m not actually a private detective. I’m a romance expert. I own the Heart Mates Dating Service, which is what brought me to the Daystar Indian Casino that night. My best friend, Angel Crimson, had provided the lingerie for the Silky Men, and she promised to pass out flyers for the open house I was having for Heart Mates on Wednesday night.

We figured lonely people go to the casino looking for love and companionship, so maybe we could interest them in my dating service in Lake Elsinore. It was only about thirty miles or so from the casino. That’s not too far to travel for love, now is it?

But Angel had forgotten to pick up the flyers I’d had made to take to the casino. That meant I had to bring them to her at the casino after work on a Friday night. I found Angel and joined her at one of the small tables ringing the dance floor. Her long red hair was shiny straight, and she wore a green satin top that matched her emerald- colored eyes. Underneath the table, her black micromini skirt showed off her long legs. Angel looked like she could model lingerie for Victoria’s Secret, but she’d rather sell lingerie than model it.

She was there to get bookings for her Tempt-an- Angel Lingerie line, which she sold through home parties. Sort of like Tupperware, only a hell of a lot more fun. At some point during their set, the lead singer for the Silky Men, Rick, would mention that their lingerie was provided by Tempt-an-Angel Lingerie. I don’t know how, given that the band was men dressed up as women, but several women usually booked parties off that sales pitch. Go figure.

After ordering a glass of water, I pulled the stack of brochures promoting my open house out of my purse and slid them across the table. Then I asked, “Are you coming back here tomorrow night? Don’t forget, I’m coming over to your house Sunday morning to pick up the couch.” Angel was giving me a brown leather couch for the waiting area in Heart Mates. That couch would be a big step up from the metal folding chairs that I currently used.

Angel glanced down at the brochures. “I decided to get a room and stay the night, instead of driving back and forth.” Then she looked up. “Why don’t you stay with me? It’ll be fun!”

Tempting, but . . . “I’m going to paint Heart Mates tomorrow, so I have to get up early. I want to have it all ready for the open house Wednesday night.”

Angel ran her fingers down the length of her Cosmopolitan glass. “Damn, we could have heated up the place and set off the sprinklers.” She grinned. “There’s a rumor that a promoter might be here tonight or Saturday night, so I might be really late getting home tomorrow night. Make it ten or so on Sunday morning to pick up the couch.”

Leaning forward, I said, “A promoter? To see Rick’s group? That’s great for them! And who knows, maybe it’ll be good for your lingerie line, too.” I shook my head at the way things were turning out for us. “When we made our pact to find our careers, I didn’t quite imagine this for you.” Angel and I had had a little party one night a couple of years ago, fueled by margaritas, where we acknowledged that we’d both married losers and had no lives. We had vowed to change that. I had found my career in Heart Mates. Angel had taken a little longer, but now she was working hard to build her lingerie line.

“Good evening, ladies.”

Angel and I both looked to my right to see a doppelgänger for Richard Gere. Thin silver streaks ran through his wavy dark hair. Shaped brows over brown eyes, elegant face, and nicely draped suit—this man should have been on a private European island. He carried an expensive-looking briefcase.

Angel recovered before me. “Hello,” she held out her hand, “I’m Angel.”

He reached for her hand, and I swear to God, I thought he was going to kiss it. But instead, he smiled, revealing a row of white teeth. “Ah, the very woman I was searching for. I have been hearing very good things about you and your business venture. My name is Mitch St. Claire.”

Angel took her hand back. “Really? And where would you have heard about me?”

“In the high-stakes gaming room. It appears you have made quite an impression on several future clients.”

When had I become invisible? “Ahem.”

Angel glanced at me. “This is Sam.” She picked up a flyer from the stack in front of her. “Sam owns the Heart Mates Dating Service. You might be interested in attending the open house Wednesday night. She’ll be serving wines from the Temecula wineries.”

He turned to fix the full weight of his gaze on me. “Sam? Short for Samantha? Quite a lovely name.”

I held out my hand. “I usually go by Sam.” I just have a need to be contrary.

He wrapped his fingers around my palm. “I believe I may have heard of you. Perhaps you’ve been in the newspaper?”

Every time I stumbled onto a dead body, I ended up in the newspaper. Usually it wasn’t a flattering article. I decided not to mention that. “Perhaps you’ve heard of my dating service, Heart Mates?” I glanced down at the flyer Angel had slid over to him.

He let go of my hand. “Perhaps. May I join you ladies?”

“Sure,” Angel said.

I stifled a yawn. It had been a long week, and I wanted to get home to have ice cream with my two sons, TJ and Joel. I’d had a fast dinner with them, but there was never enough time.

Mitch pulled over a chair from another table and sat between us. He set down his briefcase and fixed his gaze on Angel. “I wanted to meet with you, Angel, to discuss a business proposition.”

Angel sipped her Cosmopolitan and said, “What would that be, Mitch?”

She was mildly flirting. I wondered if she was interested in Mitch the man, his business proposition, or both? It had been a while since Angel had had a boyfriend. Stalking her ex-husband tended to cut down on her time for a social life.

“I’m in distribution and thought you might be interested in offering some of my merchandise through your home parties.”

Trent Shaw popped into my head. “My dead husband was in distribution. He sold condoms.” He had also sold coke sealed up in those condoms.