Better Read Than Dead (15 page)

I had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the last I would see of Andros; his cryptic message about persuading me to work for him left a haunting feeling in my bones. I didn’t know how the hell I was going to get myself out of this mess, but Dutch might.

The problem was that he was unreachable. All I knew was that he was somewhere out of town on assignment, undercover and unavailable. Oh, and with a woman who was more than ready to comfort him on a lonely night if he needed it. I sighed heavily, suddenly wanting to cry, but straightened up abruptly as Goon looked over at me, a question mark on his face. I ignored him and continued to stare out the window, concentrating on willing the car to hurry.

Finally we pulled into the parking garage and up the ramp to my car. The driver flipped a switch again, and before anyone had a chance to change their minds I was out of the car and bolting to my Mazda. I already had my key out and quickly inserted it into the door, shoving myself into place and slamming the door closed with one hand while I hammered down the lock with the other. I had the key in the ignition and the car in reverse before you could say “Yankee Doodle,” and I peeled out of the garage much faster than the posted speed limit allowed. I had only one brief glimpse of the Kapordelis car behind me, as I turned right out of the parking structure, noting with a fragment of satisfaction that my kidnappers wisely turned left.

I took side streets home, vigilantly checking my rearview mirror for any signs of a tail. I made it home and pulled my car quickly into the garage, then bolted inside, slamming the front door closed behind me.

Dave was upstairs in my attic, and I walked tiredly up to greet him.

“Hey, there, how’s it—” He stopped midsentence and scrutinized my face, nearly dropping the hammer he was holding and stepping over several beams to get to me quickly. “What happened to your face?” he demanded.

Belatedly I remembered my split lip and swollen cheek, and my hand went up to cover the area. “It’s nothing,” I said dismissively. There was no way I was going to involve Dave in this.

“Horse hockey,” Dave said, setting down the hammer and taking me by the arm. He led me downstairs and into the kitchen, where he sat me on a chair and walked over to the freezer. He extracted a package of frozen peas, closed the door and handed them to me.

I gave him a muffled, “Thanks,” and put the cool package against my cheek. It felt wonderful.

“So you want to tell me about it?” Dave asked, reclining against the sink crossing his arms and looking at me like an errant child.

“No,” I said flatly, staring at the ground.

Dave looked at me for a long moment, anger brimming behind his eyes. Finally I watched him straighten and walk over to stand tall above me. In the sternest voice I have ever heard him use, he said, “I’ll kill that son of a bitch Dutch if I ever see him again.”

I couldn’t help it; I had to smile.

“What?” Dave asked, offense creeping into his voice.

“Dutch didn’t do this to me, Dave, so please don’t kill him,” I said gently.

Dave cocked his head, assessing whether or not I was telling the truth, then demanded, “Well, then who the hell did?”

“It’s embarrassing,” I said, stalling for time to think up a story.

“Then I promise not to repeat it,” he said stubbornly.

“Well, the truth of it is that I got into a fight in the parking structure by my building. See, I have an assigned parking spot, and I saw this woman pull into it before I had a chance to, and I boxed her in with my car and we got into it. . . .”
Liar, liar, pants on fire . . .

Dave looked at me for a long moment; then a grin spread across his face, and a chuckle escaped him before he had a chance to muffle it. “Road rage?”

I nodded and tried my best to look chagrined. “Guilty as charged,” I said, holding up my palm.

“Does she look better or worse than you?” Dave asked.

“ ’Bout the same,” I said.

Dave chuckled again and patted my hair. “You’ve had a tough couple of days, haven’t you?”

“You wouldn’t believe the half of it,” I said.

“Well, sorry to add more bad news to your plate, but I’m gonna need a check for the replacement lumber today.”

Son of a bitch.
I looked at the kitchen floor as I said, “Yeah, about that . . .”

“What’s up?”

“Well, remember that party I was supposed to work last night to pay for the repairs?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it turns out the party got canceled, so I’m afraid we’re going to have to hold off for a couple of weeks.”

“You know, if you’re in a money crunch I can spot you for it.”

I smiled up at him. He was such a good guy. “No, no, Dave. I’d really rather not. Why don’t we just stop where we are and give me a couple of weeks to get the money together, and then we can pick it back up then?”

Dave nodded but avoided my eyes. “Sure, whatever you say.”

Dave had worked for me solidly since March, and it was going to feel really strange coming home to a quiet house. “Besides, don’t you have a job for your cousin that you’ve been putting off?”

Dave nodded again. This time he met my eyes and said, “Yeah, I’ve been brushing him off for a while. Listen, this is no sweat for me, but I’ve pulled all of the insulation and most of the rafters in the attic section down. It’s pretty cold in your bedroom. You definitely want me to finish this job before it gets much colder, and if we have to work out a payment plan then that’s fine with me. Really.”

I smiled at him and stood up, squeezing his arm playfully. “I can’t imagine that it will take me any longer than two weeks to get back on track.”

“Okay, I’ll get my things then and be on my way. Call me when you want me to come back okay, Rocky?” he said, and phantom-boxed with me on his way out of the kitchen.

I saw him off and closed the door, then looked quickly at the clock, which read eleven thirty. I had only an hour and a half before my first appointment, so I raced upstairs and got underneath the showerhead, letting the hot water console my anxious heart. Still, it was a long time before the cloying scent of cigar smoke and malice snaked their way down the drain.

Sunday night found me chatting happily away to my sister, who had completely forgiven me and was back home from her trip to New York. The excitement in her voice wasn’t from her success in the Big Apple, but more about the book she’d read on the plane ride home,
Fifteen Minutes to Tarot Magic!

“Abby, this book makes it really simple. I’ve already memorized all of the meanings for the major arcana.”

“The major what?” I asked. Even with my lesson from Kendal—the expert—I still had no clue.

“You know, the
major arcana,
” she insisted in a tone that meant I should know this. The face cards like the fool, the magician, the high priestess . . .”

“Oh, okay, I get it. And the other suit cards are called what?” I asked, suddenly curious.

“Those are the
minor
arcana, silly. You can’t have a major without a minor.”

“Uh huh,” I said, losing interest again.

“So anyway, I think I may try to put together a party of my own next week.”

“A party of your own?” I asked.

“Sure! Why not? My book club meets on Tuesdays, and I thought it would be fun if instead of talking about some boring book we could have a little psychic party.”

My eyes had grown large. Cat was so successful at everything she tried that she tended to try everything, but this . . . well,
this
was different.

As her sister, however, it was impossible for me to try to insert a word of caution without coming across as a doubting Thomas. I’d have to tread carefully. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked tentatively.

Cat’s voice immediately grew defensive. “What do you mean, do I think it’s a good idea?”

Oh, crap.
I’d blown it. “Well, it’s not that I think you wouldn’t be good at this. . . .”
Danger! Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!
“It’s just that it really takes a lot of practice to become proficient enough to offer your skills to an audience.”

“So you’re saying my party isn’t a good idea?”

Warning, minefield ahead!
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that intuition is a tricky thing to master. It’s harder than it looks, and maybe you’d be better off giving individual readings to one or two close friends first, then working your way up to a group setting.”

“You don’t think I can do this, do you?”

Duck and cover!
“Uh, well the thing of it is, Cat, that reading an entire group of people puts a lot of pressure on you. It sets a level of expectation, so to speak. You know what I mean?”

“You think I’m going to fall flat on my face, don’t you?” Indignation and hurt were clearly evident in Cat’s voice.

Arrroooga . . . ! Abort! Abort . . . ! Arrroooga!
“Of course not. I know if you put your mind to doing something you absolutely will do it. You know what, honey? Go for it! Do the party!”

“Really?” she asked me, nearly pleading for me to believe in her.

“Of course. You’ll be fantastic!”
Left side, heavy feeling.
“Really, I think you’ll do great!”
Liar, liar, pants on fire . . .
“You should absolutely go for it. I mean, if you can’t practice on a few friends, how will you ever learn. Right?”
Brruck, bruck, bruck . . . Chicken Little!!

“Exactly,” she said, relief in her voice. “So I’m thinking that I’ll give everyone a written survey after each reading so I can get some honest feedback; what do you think?”

“Great idea.”
Liar, liar . . . pants on fire . . .
My sister couldn’t help but insert her business sense into everything she did.

“I know! It is, isn’t it? Well, listen, on that note I need to go; I’ve still got mountains of memorizing to do, and Tommy will be home with the twins soon. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Sure, sure. Have a great night, Cat,” I said, thankful to have gotten away with it, and I hung up the phone, easing backward into the comfort of the overstuffed chair and ottoman my sister had purchased for me the previous summer. Eggy was curled up on my lap, and a down throw was spread over us as the television played across the room.

Normally at this hour I would be upstairs curled up in bed, watching the telly in my bedroom, but it was freezing up there, even with the heat on high, so I’d given up going up to bed until the last possible moment.

I could, of course, pull the hideaway out from the settee in my study and sleep on that, but it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as my own bed, and I sighed again at the bleak financial picture I’d painted for myself.

With the readings from this weekend added to the abysmally low balance in my checking account, I’d just barely be able to make my office rent and mortgage payment, which, by the way, was being automatically withdrawn from my bank account on Monday.

As it was I’d even resorted to calling ten clients on my waiting list and booking them on my two days off, tomorrow and Tuesday, just so I’d have a little something higher than a goose egg in my bank account for the next few days.

If I kept adding a few clients here and there I figured I’d be back on my feet in a couple of weeks, and then I’d be able to call Dave and get him back to work.

I could, of course, ask my sister for a loan, but that was an absolute last resort. Cat wouldn’t hesitate to “loan” me the money—she was famous for her generosity—but that was just it; she wasn’t the type who allowed you to pay her back, and even though, in her mind, I would never be indebted to her, in my mind I always would.

Take my furnishings. While I was unconscious in a hospital bed, Cat had worked some major magic and refurnished my entire home. It was always in the back of my mind when I sat down on a chair, or made my bed, or did a load of laundry that it was my sister’s doing that allowed me these small luxuries. I wish I was the type of person who could receive a generous gift like that and think nothing of it, but I wasn’t. Privately, it bugged the hell out of me.

I sighed again as I thought about the other opportunity that I’d completely blown off. If I’d accepted Milo’s check, or even a small tiny fragment of it, I wouldn’t be in this predicament. It was too late to call him and tell him I’d changed my mind too. I’d already gotten a large gift basket filled with homemade chocolate-chip cookies, a ceramic ashtray, and a large card with the signatures of everyone at the Boys and Girls Club thanking me for my generous donation. A plaque with my name would be permanently displayed at the park once renovation was complete.

In a state of depression I’d eaten every cookie, and was now feeling a little sick to my stomach. My eyelids were feeling droopy when the phone rang unexpectedly, startling me out of my stupor. Quickly I picked up the receiver and whispered, “Hello?”

“Why are you whispering?” came a familiar baritone.

“Dutch?” I asked, sitting up, blinking my eyes awake.

“Yeah, babe, I just wanted to call. . . .”

My heart flip-flopped in my chest. A peace offering! “I’m really glad you did,” I said, squeezing the receiver.

“I don’t know what happened the other day. . . .”

“I know, I know. Me either.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Silence, as we both searched for something else to say.

“You sound tired,” he said after a bit.

“I am. It’s been a bitch of a week. Where are you?”

“South, babe,” he said evasively.

“How’s it going?”

“It’s going.” Dutch was never a man of many words. “So I have a small favor to ask you.”

“How small?”

Dutch chuckled. “Teensy-weensy.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “I’m listening.”

“Virgil’s being looked after by my neighbor’s kid while I’m away, but I was hoping you could stop by my house and check on him to make sure he’s getting enough food. I think he’d really like to see a familiar face.” Virgil was Dutch’s pet cat, and although I’ve never been big on felines, I had to admit that I had a particular soft spot for Virgil.