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Table of Contents
About The Book
Nick Fashon is having a bad day. He's just found out his estranged grandfather has died mysteriously in the Arizona desert. Then he meets his potential father-in-law, who turns out to be an ex-cop with a screw loose and a penchant for bean dip. To top it off, he returns home to find his successful clothing shop has just burned to the ground and taken his upstairs apartment with it.
Love & Fashion was Nick Fashon and Vince Love's thriving clothing store until it went up in flames -- the work of an arsonist, police say. Suddenly Nick is homeless and disillusioned, and both the insurance investigators and the police want a word with him. Where can he turn for help? He's wearing out his welcome with his archaeologist girlfriend, Gretchen, who's developing her own suspicions about him. His business partner and best friend, Vince, isn't much help either, as Nick discovers more and more disturbing clues that point to Vince as the one who set the blaze.
Things begin to look up when Nick finds out his eccentric late grandfather has left him an unusual inheritance: a thriving pet-coffin business and a barn full of peculiar inventions, including one particularly interesting doohickey called the HandyMate. The HandyMate is the ultimate kitchen gadget -- a simple tool that can cut, core, chop, slice, and potentially transform the domestic world. Full of entrepreneurial zeal, Nick is determined to see one in every kitchen drawer in America.
But Nick isn't the only one planning to strike it rich with the HandyMate. Yola Fuentes, Nick's grandfather's irresistibly sexy business partner, is so determined to get the HandyMate that she makes Nick an offer he can't refuse. And Robo Fuentes, her jealous ex-husband, has a bullet with Nick's name on it if he takes her up on that offer. Nick quickly finds himself caught in a situation where a twisted thing of plastic might end up costing him his girlfriend, his self-respect -- and his life.
With the help of a cast of colorful characters, master storyteller Pete Hautman delivers a stylish and funny mystery with more twists and turns than the HandyMate itself.
Love & Fashion was Nick Fashon and Vince Love's thriving clothing store until it went up in flames -- the work of an arsonist, police say. Suddenly Nick is homeless and disillusioned, and both the insurance investigators and the police want a word with him. Where can he turn for help? He's wearing out his welcome with his archaeologist girlfriend, Gretchen, who's developing her own suspicions about him. His business partner and best friend, Vince, isn't much help either, as Nick discovers more and more disturbing clues that point to Vince as the one who set the blaze.
Things begin to look up when Nick finds out his eccentric late grandfather has left him an unusual inheritance: a thriving pet-coffin business and a barn full of peculiar inventions, including one particularly interesting doohickey called the HandyMate. The HandyMate is the ultimate kitchen gadget -- a simple tool that can cut, core, chop, slice, and potentially transform the domestic world. Full of entrepreneurial zeal, Nick is determined to see one in every kitchen drawer in America.
But Nick isn't the only one planning to strike it rich with the HandyMate. Yola Fuentes, Nick's grandfather's irresistibly sexy business partner, is so determined to get the HandyMate that she makes Nick an offer he can't refuse. And Robo Fuentes, her jealous ex-husband, has a bullet with Nick's name on it if he takes her up on that offer. Nick quickly finds himself caught in a situation where a twisted thing of plastic might end up costing him his girlfriend, his self-respect -- and his life.
With the help of a cast of colorful characters, master storyteller Pete Hautman delivers a stylish and funny mystery with more twists and turns than the HandyMate itself.
Excerpt
Chapter One
Does chocolate go with champagne? Nick wasn't sure, but he knew that Gretchen loved them both. He put the bottle of Dom Perignon in the refrigerator, took out the chocolate torte, and placed it on the counter to bring it up to room temperature.
Six-fifteen. He walked through his apartment, trying to see it through Gretchen's eyes. He wanted everything to be perfect. If everything was perfect, then nothing could go wrong. He straightened and smoothed the bedspread and plumped the pillows and turned the overhead fan to low. He rearranged the flowers on the Mexican tile table by the front door. He put a vintage Smokey Robinson LP on the turntable.
He had made a reservation at Platanos, Tucson's priciest restaurant. Would Gretchen like it, or would she find it too pretentious? Maybe Caruso's, inexpensive and familiar, would have been a better choice.
No, it had to be Platanos. Tonight was too special for Caruso's. Tonight he would celebrate two years in business and six months with Gretchen. They would have a marvelous dinner, then back to his place. For chocolate and champagne.
He checked himself in the bedroom mirror: long-sleeved linen shirt the color of strong coffee, dark olive chinos, suede Bally loafers. He slipped into his new sport coat, a natural-color vicuña/silk blend, casual but elegant. He turned away from the mirror, then quickly looked back, catching his reflection by surprise. Was his hair too long? Was he trying too hard? Was he too vain and shallow, or just vain and shallow enough?
The telephone rang, saving him from himself.
It was Gretchen. "Nicky, I just got back from Marana." She would be wearing grubby jeans and work boots and a sweat-stained T-shirt.
"That's okay," he said. "Our reservation isn't until seven-thirty."
"I just got your message. Nicky, I'm sorry! I forgot we had plans tonight."
Nick's heart shrank. "You're doing something else?"
"Yes. No. I'm doing something with you. Remember I told you my dad wanted to meet you?" Now she would be smiling, her teeth bright white against freckled tan.
"You mentioned that, yes."
"Well, I set it up for tonight. He's expecting us for dinner at seven-thirty. I guess I forgot to mention it to you. I'm really sorry. I know you wanted to celebrate your two-year anniversary."
"And our half-anniversary. You and me."
"Really? It's been six months? Now I'm even sorrier. Can we do it another night?"
"I suppose." Nick tried to sort out his immediate feelings. This isn't so bad, he told himself. Besides, he should meet the parent. Get it over with.
"Or I could call my dad and tell him we can't make it."
"No, no. I'd like to meet him. I really would."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. Where does he live?"
"Out on the east side, just off Old Spanish Trail."
"I'll swing by around seven."
Nick hated it when plans changed, especially his own. He liked things tidy and predictable. How odd that he was with Gretchen, whose plans shifted with the desert breeze.
He called Platanos and canceled the reservation, then sat on his black leather sofa and stared at the flowers by the front door, feeling completely ridiculous in the vicuña jacket and two-hundred-dollar Bally loafers. Who did he think he was trying to impress? Gretchen hardly noticed his clothes anyway. What did she like about him? It was a mystery. Sometimes he thought she viewed him as a curious specimen: Homo sapiens, male, early-twenty-first-century clothing salesman. And how did he see her? Nick smiled and felt his internal temperature rise a degree or two.
He would wear his vicuña sport coat to meet the father. He would be charming and attentive. They would have a nice time. The chocolate torte would keep for a day.
Still, it was a disappointment.
The telephone rang again.
"Hello?"
"Hello. Is this Nicholas Fashon?" The voice was unfamiliar.
"Yes it is," said Nick.
"Caleb Hardy's grandson?"
Nick hesitated before replying. No good thing had ever come to him through the agency of his grandfather, but he could see no way around it, so he answered, "That's right."
"This is Hardesty Chin, Jr. I'm an attorney working out of Bisbee. I did some legal work for your grandfather?"
"Yes?"
"He never mentioned me?"
"Not that I recall."
"Oh. I have some...Are you sitting down?"
"Yes."
Nick heard the lawyer clear his throat. "I have some very sad news."
Copyright © 2002 by Peter Hautman
Does chocolate go with champagne? Nick wasn't sure, but he knew that Gretchen loved them both. He put the bottle of Dom Perignon in the refrigerator, took out the chocolate torte, and placed it on the counter to bring it up to room temperature.
Six-fifteen. He walked through his apartment, trying to see it through Gretchen's eyes. He wanted everything to be perfect. If everything was perfect, then nothing could go wrong. He straightened and smoothed the bedspread and plumped the pillows and turned the overhead fan to low. He rearranged the flowers on the Mexican tile table by the front door. He put a vintage Smokey Robinson LP on the turntable.
He had made a reservation at Platanos, Tucson's priciest restaurant. Would Gretchen like it, or would she find it too pretentious? Maybe Caruso's, inexpensive and familiar, would have been a better choice.
No, it had to be Platanos. Tonight was too special for Caruso's. Tonight he would celebrate two years in business and six months with Gretchen. They would have a marvelous dinner, then back to his place. For chocolate and champagne.
He checked himself in the bedroom mirror: long-sleeved linen shirt the color of strong coffee, dark olive chinos, suede Bally loafers. He slipped into his new sport coat, a natural-color vicuña/silk blend, casual but elegant. He turned away from the mirror, then quickly looked back, catching his reflection by surprise. Was his hair too long? Was he trying too hard? Was he too vain and shallow, or just vain and shallow enough?
The telephone rang, saving him from himself.
It was Gretchen. "Nicky, I just got back from Marana." She would be wearing grubby jeans and work boots and a sweat-stained T-shirt.
"That's okay," he said. "Our reservation isn't until seven-thirty."
"I just got your message. Nicky, I'm sorry! I forgot we had plans tonight."
Nick's heart shrank. "You're doing something else?"
"Yes. No. I'm doing something with you. Remember I told you my dad wanted to meet you?" Now she would be smiling, her teeth bright white against freckled tan.
"You mentioned that, yes."
"Well, I set it up for tonight. He's expecting us for dinner at seven-thirty. I guess I forgot to mention it to you. I'm really sorry. I know you wanted to celebrate your two-year anniversary."
"And our half-anniversary. You and me."
"Really? It's been six months? Now I'm even sorrier. Can we do it another night?"
"I suppose." Nick tried to sort out his immediate feelings. This isn't so bad, he told himself. Besides, he should meet the parent. Get it over with.
"Or I could call my dad and tell him we can't make it."
"No, no. I'd like to meet him. I really would."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. Where does he live?"
"Out on the east side, just off Old Spanish Trail."
"I'll swing by around seven."
Nick hated it when plans changed, especially his own. He liked things tidy and predictable. How odd that he was with Gretchen, whose plans shifted with the desert breeze.
He called Platanos and canceled the reservation, then sat on his black leather sofa and stared at the flowers by the front door, feeling completely ridiculous in the vicuña jacket and two-hundred-dollar Bally loafers. Who did he think he was trying to impress? Gretchen hardly noticed his clothes anyway. What did she like about him? It was a mystery. Sometimes he thought she viewed him as a curious specimen: Homo sapiens, male, early-twenty-first-century clothing salesman. And how did he see her? Nick smiled and felt his internal temperature rise a degree or two.
He would wear his vicuña sport coat to meet the father. He would be charming and attentive. They would have a nice time. The chocolate torte would keep for a day.
Still, it was a disappointment.
The telephone rang again.
"Hello?"
"Hello. Is this Nicholas Fashon?" The voice was unfamiliar.
"Yes it is," said Nick.
"Caleb Hardy's grandson?"
Nick hesitated before replying. No good thing had ever come to him through the agency of his grandfather, but he could see no way around it, so he answered, "That's right."
"This is Hardesty Chin, Jr. I'm an attorney working out of Bisbee. I did some legal work for your grandfather?"
"Yes?"
"He never mentioned me?"
"Not that I recall."
"Oh. I have some...Are you sitting down?"
"Yes."
Nick heard the lawyer clear his throat. "I have some very sad news."
Copyright © 2002 by Peter Hautman
About The Author
Photo Credit:
Pete Hautman is the author of National Book Award–winning novel Godless, Sweetblood, Hole in the Sky, Stone Cold, The Flinkwater Factor, The Forgetting Machine, and Mr. Was, which was nominated for an Edgar Award by the Mystery Writers of America, as well as several adult novels. He lives in Minnesota and Wisconsin. Visit him at PeteHautman.com.
Product Details
- Publisher: Simon & Schuster (May 11, 2010)
- Length: 288 pages
- ISBN13: 9781439130377
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Raves and Reviews
Jan Burke author of Flight Pete Hautman is one of the most extraordinary writers of crime fiction published today...a master of the haunting detail.
Detroit Free Press Hautman is one of those rare authors who can love his characters while laughing at them.
The Denver Post Pete Hautman is among the writers whose name alone promises a great read.
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