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.