LITMIR.BIZ

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woman did a spaniel impersonation and cocked her head. ‘‘Julie Beth?’’

      ‘‘Julie Fasano. She’s about so tall.’’ He held his hand at shoulder level. Maybe the size of the shop was deceptive, and the lady had employed so many merry messengers that she couldn’t keep track of them all. His guess was confirmed when someone came into the building from a back entrance and made a small commotion beyond the Employees Only door.

      He continued his description. ‘‘Long dark hair, petite figure,’’ he said, emphasizing the latter with a wavy motion of his hands, ‘‘and short leather skirt. Really great legs…and an even better kisser,’’ he added with enthusiasm. ‘‘Oh, and she wears strawberry-flavored lipstick.’’

      The woman’s perky demeanor vanished. ‘‘You were the, er, birthday boy?’’

      ‘‘No, actually, I was just a bystander who happened to get lucky.’’

      Her tone fairly bristled now. ‘‘I’m afraid I can’t help you with your search.’’

      ‘‘But you must know her.’’ How could anyone meet Julie Beth and not recall her exuberant spirit and playful attitude? ‘‘She was the one who delivered a kiss-o-gram to the Oltmeier-Matthews Agency this morning. Perhaps you could check your receipts. It’s bound to be in there.’’

      ‘‘There’s no need for that,’’ she said, her voice curt and cold. ‘‘Merry Messengers is a respectable business. We don’t deliver…kiss-o-grams.’’ If a person could sneer her words, that’s exactly what she did. ‘‘And we don’t encourage fraternizing between our employees and the clients. I’m afraid you’ll have to find some other way to enlarge your social circle.’’

      She stepped out from behind the counter as if to escort him to the door, but he moved to one side to gain an opportunity to set straight her misperception. ‘‘No, it wasn’t like that at all. You see, it was only a birthday song and greeting card, followed by a little peck on the birthday boy’s cheek…sort of a congratulations kiss.’’

      The woman folded her arms across her chest. ‘‘I’m going to ask you to leave now.’’

      He didn’t need a two-by-four over his head to get the message. It had been a stupid idea to come by here and an even stupider idea to try to reconnect with his former neighbor. If he really wanted to find her, it would be a simple matter to look her up through other methods. After all, he was a private investigator.

      But he convinced himself it was best they hadn’t reconnected. As a kid following her wacky impulses, Julie Beth had driven him crazy. He consoled himself about the aborted search with a mental reminder that, despite the passage of years, she probably hadn’t changed much in that regard.

      Julie waited until the bell jangled over the main door to signal Hunter’s departure before she eased into the front room. She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop on their conversation, but the familiarity of the customer’s strong masculine voice had captured her attention, and when he’d spoken her name, she’d been hooked. Julie couldn’t help smiling as she remembered what he’d said about her legs.

      The look on Mrs. Quarles’s face melted the happy expression from her own. She was really in for it this time.

      ‘‘First there’s the ongoing matter of your attire,’’ her supervisor said. She gestured toward the door Hunter had left through, indicating the matter he had brought to her attention. ‘‘And now this.’’

      ‘‘I can explain….’’

      ‘‘Will it be as imaginative as your excuse for stopping traffic on Main Street by swinging like Tarzan from the stoplight to deliver a rush-hour proposalgram?’’

      Julie thought she had made it clear why she’d donned the silly costume and stopped traffic for the occasion, but she explained once again. ‘‘The client’s girlfriend works at the zoo. It seemed the logical thing to do.’’

      ‘‘So you said. And then there was that incident of the adoption-gram on horseback on the courthouse lawn.’’

      ‘‘The little girl loves horses. The adoptive parents wanted to celebrate the event with something fun that the child would remember.’’ Her supervisor wasn’t any more impressed with her reasons today than she’d been shortly after they had occurred. Julie wrung her hands.

      ‘‘You can still see hoofprints in the rose beds.’’

      ‘‘They say rose petals are very tasty, so you can’t really blame the poor horse for wanting to sample them.’’

      ‘‘Those weren’t the only unscripted performances you’ve given,’’ Mrs. Quarles said, ‘‘but kissing the clients will certainly be your last.’’

      ‘‘The way he told it sounds worse than it was,’’ she began. Her boss seemed cynical, but Julie gave it her best shot. ‘‘You see, I’m actually doing serious research on the subject of kissing, so I don’t wind up with a dud of a dude. So I got this spiral notebook and numbered the lines from one to a hundred and drew columns for the date, the name of the kissee and where it took place.’’ She paused. ‘‘Do you want to see it?’’

      ‘‘Absolutely not.’’

      ‘‘Anyway, I’ve got something like forty-seven names in my book now. Most of them—especially the ones I got while delivering my singing telegrams—were just little dry ones on the cheek. I don’t really know how that would tell me anything about the guy, but I suppose they all count.’’

      ‘‘I’ve heard all I need to know about this.’’

      ‘‘But wait, I haven’t finished. The scoring column is where it gets difficult. People with B.O. get the lowest rating…thank goodness I haven’t run across that yet. The highest score is a ‘Zinger.’ Only one has come close to that.’’ With an uncharacteristic display of prudence, she decided not to volunteer that Hunter had been the one to earn that particular honor.

      ‘‘You may pack up your belongings, Miss Fasano. Merry Messengers won’t be requiring your services any longer.’’

      Chapter Two

      Then there’s the matter of expediency. Sometimes one of the partners in a kissing couple is a bit more…hesitant, shall we say?…than the other. Hesitation does not necessarily signify reluctance, but it sure can add to the frustration level.

      Back at Oltmeier-Matthews, the receptionist got up to lead her to Hunter Matthews’s office.

      ‘‘Please don’t bother,’’ said Julie. ‘‘I want to surprise him.’’

      With the ukulele strap slung over one shoulder and her purse over the other, she headed down the right corridor past a glassed-in meeting room toward the man who had wrecked her carefully laid plans.

      The secretary’s desk outside his office sat vacant. Except for the fact that it was devoid of papers and folders, she might have assumed that the employee had stepped away momentarily. A deep voice floated to her from the inner office—a voice that only hours ago had set her heart aflutter, but now filled her with an urge to use her ukulele as a weapon over his head.

      ‘‘Yeah, Pete, I told you I’d look into it. Don’t worry, I’ll make it a priority. But I still think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.’’

      Taking the musical instrument in hand, Julie pushed the office door open, stepped inside and pointed the neck of the ukulele at him.

      ‘‘You used to be like a big brother to me,’’ she announced. Well, not really like a brother, but she wasn’t about to admit that she’d once had a long-term teenybopper crush on him. ‘‘Is that any way to treat family?’’

      ‘‘Pete, I’ll have to call you back.’’ Hunter hung up the phone and rose from

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