Home for a Spell (7 page)

“That’s kind of bold, don’t you think?” I pressed. “Breaking into an empty apartment like that. What could she possibly have wanted? I didn’t see any sign of forced entry when we came in—you should probably check for an unlocked window somewhere.”

But no matter what I said or asked, Locke was ready to move on to other things. “I’m sure it’s nothing. An annoyance, but unoccupied apartments are always at risk. It will solve itself. Let’s go take a look at the other rooms, huh?”

It was his apartment complex. Or more accurately, his to manage. But as I made a walk-through of the bathroom (utilitarian, but clean and fresh), past a small bedroom-office combo, I couldn’t help wondering why he didn’t seem overly concerned about it as a security risk. I mean, sure, if it
was
just hijinks, I suppose the threat to a future resident was probably minimal. Maybe I was worrying about nothing. I had seen with my own eyes that it was just a girl, a teenager, with enough mascara and eyeliner surrounding her luminous green up-tilted eyes to rival Marcus’s semi-goth cousin, Tara Murphy, and blond braids poking out from beneath her hat that made her look younger than she probably was.

Finally, we moved into the main bedroom, and I was pleased to find a bit of luxury. Plush carpets and a walk-in (
be still my heart!
) closet. There was one surprising feature that claimed center stage: a huge, heavy mirror, presumably in the place where the bed would be situated. I didn’t like it. It was too large, and besides, something about a mirror over the bed made me cringe. I also discovered what I could only assume was the cause of Locke’s earlier outcry when he was searching the apartment: a spiderweb of cracks radiating from a center point in the glass.

“Oh, what a shame,” I commented, though I didn’t really mean it. “The mirror is broken. Perhaps it could just be removed.” As in, hope hope, hint hint.

Locke shook his head adamantly. “No. It’s a built-in. Dammit, it’s the second time I’ve had to have it replaced, too. The owner is going to have a cow. But don’t worry. I’ll put it on the list of items to be repaired. It will be taken care of.”

Hmm. Just my luck.

“So, Miss O’Neill,” he said, making his voice light and conversational as we exited the apartment at last and he turned the key carefully in the dead-bolt lock, “now that you’ve seen the place, what do you think?”

Locke, evidently, was a man to cut straight to the chase. Then again, it was late in the afternoon. Maybe he just wanted to get his hands on his new computer.

“I don’t think you’ll find another housing complex like this,” he continued in his sales pitch. “Predominantly female, which in my mind would be reassuring to the single young woman like yourself, no children under the age of eighteen, stable tenants. Good people. The rear of all the apartments face the manager’s office; you can’t beat security like that. You would have a neighbor just overhead. The building next door is fully occupied but for one. Buildings three and four are unoccupied, and currently under renovation. The last building, five, was the first to be renovated, and is fully tenanted. What would it take to put you in this particular apartment?”

I didn’t know if I was quite ready to make a commitment. I mean, there was the issue that the Hollister guy had brought up. I decided being straightforward was the only way to go. “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m a little concerned because of what that gentleman brought up about the lease agreement not having a termination clause.”

“Oh, it does have a termination clause,” he assured me. “It just wasn’t to Mr. Hollister’s liking. You can’t please everyone.” He shrugged as if that proved his point.

“I would have to review the contract.” I shrugged right back at him.

He laughed. “How about I let you do that, and . . . now, I’m not supposed to do this, but Lou is a lodge brother, and one of the perks of belonging to the Eternal Order of Samaritans is, we take care of our own . . . What would you say if I offered you a special deal?”

Hm. Something told me if I played this right... “What
sort
of special deal?”

“Normally, I’m sure you know, a lease is a lease. But, I’m prepared to offer you this: how does a short-term lease sound, just to get your feet wet? Six months, with the option to extend the preliminary low monthly rent to a term of two years.”

“And how low are we talking?”

He named a figure that was, in fact, surprisingly affordable. “And, because I like Lou and he was kind enough to recommend his nephew to me for that hot new piece of equipment I have waiting for me back in my office, I am prepared to also forgo a security deposit
and
offer you two months’ free rent. Beginning with October, though you could move in any time that you like, so essentially you will be receiving three-plus months’ free rent. How does that grab you?”

I had to say, it was a
very
tempting offer. My rental agreement for my basement apartment allowed me to leave at will with thirty days’ notice—like I reminded Steff, old school—and I was already paid up for September. Three months’ worth of free rent would give me two whole months with no rent payments whatsoever. Rainy day money, anyone? Still, I hedged. “I’m not sure. I’m just not comfortable making snap decisions. Will you let me think about it?” I asked.

He looked disappointed. “Sure. But not for long. I do have other people that are interested.” He took his cell phone out of his pants pocket and consulted his messages.

Of course he did. Isn’t that what they all say? “I will get back to you shortly,” I assured him.

“I appreciate it.” He held the door to the office for me, and I swung past him, over the threshold.

Lou was there, waiting for our return. He looked up as I entered the lobby with Locke bringing up the rear. “How did it go?” He directed the query to me.

“Good,” I told him. “Mr. Locke has made a very tempting offer. And, I believe he was about to get me a copy of the lease so that I can look it over.” I glanced over at Locke inquiringly.

Locke nodded. Circling the desk, he pulled open the top drawer from the file cabinet behind it. He pulled a few pages, stapled together, from the nearest file and handed them across the desk to me. I accepted them and, folding them in half, tucked them into my purse.

“I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can,” I told him.

“I’ll let you know if someone else is interested in the apartment,” he replied.

I glanced over at Lou and smiled. “Ready, then?”

Lou nodded and handed me his keys. “Why don’t you go on ahead? Locke and I have some business to take care of. I’ll be along in a jiffy.”

Said business had to do with the computer, I was positive. I knew Marcus was waiting for payment. I took the keys and gave them the privacy to complete their transaction. It was a beautiful afternoon, and I had a lot to think about. Like whether or not I could feasibly uproot myself on the spur of the moment, for instance.

I have always been a spontaneous person. My mom might say impulsive was more par for the course. But these were big changes we were talking about here, and as ready as I might have convinced myself I was to bring the sweeping winds of change into parts of my life, when actually faced with making it happen, I hesitated. Something was telling me without words that I should take a moment. A sense of uncertainty that stiffened the muscles between my shoulders and settled in the pit of my stomach. But then, if I looked back at the last year, it was easy to see that change had been a part of my life for quite some time. It had actually started occurring the moment I walked (
fell!
) through the front door of Enchantments to discover a witch in residence . . . which then led to me finding the witchy woman within myself. I had been up to the challenge then, even though at the time I would never have guessed it. Was I up to the challenge now? Could I pull up stakes in the apartment on Willow Street once and for all? Could I pull away from Marcus’s temptingly sweet arms in order to give him back his autonomy?

As far as I was concerned, that might actually be the best reason.

The pool and health center might come in a strong second. Perhaps even enough to outweigh one slightly creepoid complex manager who was probably harmless, despite ringing my Early Pervy Warning System.

I shoehorned myself into Lou’s little car and started it up, powering down the windows to enjoy the temperate temperatures and afternoon breezes. While the car was roomier than I’d expected, it was still a bit crowded with the bulk of my knee-high cast and with the crutches, which I had to situate just so over my shoulder in order to fit them in with the rest of me. Once in position and as comfortable as I could possibly make myself, I pulled the folded-up pieces of paper that Locke had given me out of my bag and smoothed them out over my knee to read all the jargon and legalese that made up the leasing agreement.

Locke was right—there was a termination clause. Unfortunately, it was completely one-sided, offering the option of termination only to the apartment complex at their own discretion; hence, its inclusion was not helpful to the prospective tenant in any way. And there was nothing in the lease that said anything about the actual offer he’d made me, including the monthly rent itself. All of that would need to be changed. Assuming, of course, that I was going to accept his offer. Everything else looked fairly standard. I made a few notes on the back of a receipt I found tucked into the coin pocket of my purse.

Off in the distance I saw Lou just exiting the manager’s office. At the same time, a car pulled up next to me and parked. A woman stepped out, trim and cute in high heels and tights, a sober knee-length skirt that hugged her slim hips, and a structured jacket. Her hair was long and lush, bra-strap length with loose, perfect curls in a warm, glossy, honey brown. Envy struck me—the color almost matched my own, but the soft, nonfrizzy curls? Want, want, want, didn’t have, didn’t have, didn’t have. She bent over to reach into the backseat and pulled out a saddle brown leather satchel briefcase. Stuffed full, the thing must have weighed a ton, but she pulled it out with nary an exhalation of breath. Instead, she slung it over herself in one movement, then picked up an equally loaded handbag and the usual suspects of keys, cell phone, and to-go beverage of choice, which in her case appeared to be some sort of fountain drink in a big foam cup. Given the shape of things—her killer figure—I was guessing it was diet.

It was enough to make a girl feel . . . somehow a little less than. I looked down at my perfectly acceptable wide-leg summer pants and a perfectly serviceable cami and unbuttoned cardigan, and I sighed. Serviceable and acceptable, yes. But some days, all a girl wants is to rock an awesome pair of heels and know that she owns ’em.

I sighed even more when she strode purposely to the very same apartment building I had toured earlier and began to climb the stairs, her killer calf muscles and slim legs screaming of endlessly repetitive hours on the stair-stepper machine. Of course she would live in the self-same building I was hoping to sign on to. Nothing like a daily reminder of your insecurities living over your head. I’d bet I could wear those shoes just as well, though. I wiggled my toes and flexed my foot up and down within the close-fitting confines of the cast, just to prove the point . . . and sighed when pain shot through the offending appendage.

Sigh, sigh, sigh, sigh. And sigh.

Yet another reason to bring a little bit of change into my life. Because if I was in the middle of trying to find my sea legs (without the despised cast, of course), I would be too busy to worry about anything else.

The door opened to my left, and Lou eased himself into the small car with a grunt and a sigh. “Was that Alexandra Cooper I saw?” he asked me.

“The woman going upstairs? I don’t know her, but the manager mentioned that a teacher lives upstairs. You know her?”

He nodded. “English teacher at the high school. Don’t know much about her, really. She’s been with us awhile. Not my department. I see her around the teacher’s lounge, and of course I’ve seen her at all the functions—the administration likes to get us all together under one roof, no matter where we teach. Supposed to give us a feeling of comradery. Very kumbaya, doncha know.”

“I see.”

“She seems nice,” he offered as he searched behind us, over both shoulders, before backing out of the parking space. “Quiet. Keeps to herself at the functions a little more than some of the others. An introvert, I expect. That’s pretty common with the English department. They like the books and writings. But nice.”

That was good to know. Nothing like having a raging lunatic living overhead, either.

“The strangest thing happened while we were touring the apartment,” I mentioned offhandedly.

“Oh?”

I told him about the apartment and the sounds that we heard and how it set Locke off on a mission to inspect the entire kit and caboodle, while in the meantime I had been standing three feet from what we discovered was an actual intruder who had been hiding in the entry closet. Who, as it turned out, was probably no more than a high schooler run amok, but I couldn’t blame the manager for going around like a chicken with its head cut off looking for the wielder of the hatchet.

“High schooler?” Lou frowned. “What did she look like?”

We were just passing one of the town’s small community parks, where the neighborhood children could play in peace and relative safety. Nothing much to look at, just an expanse of parched grass and the requisite swing set, merry-go-round, and curly slide, rutted in the usual places by the scuffing of thousands of pairs of feet over the last half century or so. And there, sitting on the grip bars of that merry-go-round, was the girl I last saw bursting from the closet.

I nodded past Lou at the playground on the left. “She looks like that, actually.”

He slowed the car to a crawl, staring in the direction I had indicated to where the girl was sitting, sheltered, in the lee of a boy’s arms and legs. I got a good look at her this time. She and the boy only had eyes for each other, as wrapped up in each other emotionally as they were physically. Neither of them turned to look at us, even though we might as well have been stopped in the middle of the road, two faces gaping in their direction from within the confines of the car. It was only when a car horn sounded a quick blip from the road behind us that it spurred Lou into motion again.