Crime Seen (6 page)

‘‘Got it,’’ I said, making another check mark. ‘‘Leave Candice out of it. Anything else?’’

‘‘Yeah, I need to know how you’re doing physically. And don’t sugarcoat it. If I help you with this, I’ll need you along for the ride, and I’m concerned that it may wear you out so soon after your injury.’’

‘‘I’m okay,’’ I said with another shrug. Candice dropped her chin and gave me a ‘‘yeah, right’’ look. ‘‘Seriously,’’ I insisted. ‘‘Yes, I do get tired more easily, but as long as we’re not running any marathons I should be good to go.’’

‘‘Can you run at all?’’ she asked me. ‘‘There have been lots of moments I’ve needed to get the hell out of a situation fast, and throwing you over my shoulder would just slow me down.’’

I smiled as that visual came to mind. ‘‘If I were being chased, you mean? Yes, I could probably run a short sprint, but I’d need a milk shake or some French fries or a combo like that really soon afterward, you know . . . to get my strength back.’’

Candice smiled broadly. ‘‘French fries and milk shakes—the other Gatorade,’’ she said.

‘‘Is it in you?’’ I giggled.

‘‘You’re making me hungry. Still, I think it would be good if you trained with me in the mornings.’’

‘‘
Trained
with you?’’

‘‘Yeah. If we’re going to do this partnership right, you’ll need to get your butt in shape. I work out every morning at six a.m. sharp. In fact, before I came over here, I joined that gym right down the street from Nan’s. We’ll need to get you a membership too.’’

‘‘Whoa, hold on there, gal pal,’’ I said, holding up my hands. ‘‘I don’t think my physical therapist is going to go for that so soon after my injury.’’

‘‘Baloney,’’ Candice said. ‘‘I used to be a certified personal trainer, and I had plenty of accident recovery clients training under me. I figure your injury’s got to be similar to a car accident, and I know exactly what regimen to put you on.’’

‘‘Regimen? You want to put me on a
regimen
?’’ I asked. My heart rate picked up, and I felt my palms go sweaty. I’ll admit it: I’d gone soft in my thirties. I hadn’t done more than take a few yoga classes, along with the two flights up to my office.

‘‘Yeah, low on the cardio at first. You’re looking a little scrawny anyway, and we don’t want you to lose weight. We’ll build up some muscle first, then ease you into some endurance work.’’

‘‘Who sent you?’’ I asked, leaning way back in my chair like she was contagious. ‘‘Did my sister put you up to this?’’

Candice laughed and reached out to put a calming hand on my knee. ‘‘Abby, relax. This will be good for you. It’ll give you confidence and you won’t be as tired all the time. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.’’

‘‘How about this?’’ I suggested. ‘‘How about I just come to your gym and root you on? Wouldn’t that be fun? Your own personal cheerleader!’’

‘‘Tomorrow morning,’’ she said to me, and her eyes meant business. ‘‘Six a.m.’’ I gulped and she continued, ‘‘Now, about that rent payment . . .’’

For the next twenty minutes, we firmed up the financial part of our new partnership. Afterward, I showed Candice her office area and told her that I’d make room for her in the third room, where I kept my computer, fax machine, filing cabinets, and assorted other business equipment. ‘‘That’s okay,’’ she said at my offer. ‘‘Theresa’s old room is bigger than your reading room, and I don’t need any extra space. I can fit everything in there.’’

‘‘Great. Here’s the extra key, and you’ll need to see Yvonne on the third floor in the management’s office about getting a parking space assigned to you in the structure across the street. It’s a little pricey, but it beats feeding the meter every two hours.’’

‘‘Got it,’’ she said, taking the key. ‘‘I’m having my new office furniture delivered here tomorrow at nine a.m. Is that going to disturb your appointment schedule?’’

I smiled. ‘‘No. I haven’t had an appointment in a long time now.’’

‘‘No clients are calling, huh?’’ she asked as she went around my desk to my phone, which had a little red light on it blinking furiously.

I sighed. ‘‘Would you look at that,’’ I said as she held up the phone and pointed to the light. ‘‘Better return that call, huh?’’

‘‘Time to get back on the horse, Abs.’’

‘‘Yee-ha,’’ I said woodenly.

‘‘It’ll be good for you,’’ she insisted as she nosily hit the caller ID button and clicked through the calls. ‘‘Holy cow! There are like six new calls here since yesterday.’’

‘‘Really?’’

Candice extended the phone toward me and I took a look. ‘‘Five-one-seven area code, hmmm. That’s the same as for Kalamazoo, isn’t it?’’

‘‘Coincidence,’’ she said with a smirk. ‘‘I
may
have told a few friends of mine I was moving in with this really amazing psychic and they
might
be interested in a reading with you.’’

‘‘I’ll call them later,’’ I said and set the phone down.

‘‘Abby,’’ Candice said with a sigh.

‘‘I will,’’ I said as I turned around. ‘‘Really. But right now I gotta get going. I promised Dutch I’d go grocery shopping if he cooked.’’

‘‘Okay,’’ she said, but she didn’t look convinced.

I left Candice in the office to make a few phone calls and get acquainted with her new surroundings. As I hurried to my car, my cell phone beeped. ‘‘Hey there, Cat!’’ I said happily. ‘‘I was just about to call you.’’

‘‘So you got my message?’’

‘‘Dutch said you called while I was taking a nap, and I’m so glad you did, because we got an offer on Fern!’’ I said excitedly. I was really hoping that I could convince her through my enthusiasm that no matter what the offer, we needed to close on that house before Dave went crazy.

‘‘How much?’’ I told her and there was a slight pause on her end. Then I heard the sound of fingers clicking on a calculator. ‘‘That’s not bad,’’ she said when she came up with our profit. ‘‘We should counter for ten grand more.’’

I stifled a groan. ‘‘Huh,’’ I said instead.

‘‘What’s, ‘huh’?’’

‘‘Oh, nothing. Just . . . my radar is buzzing like crazy!’’

‘‘Really?’’ she asked, and I could imagine her leaning in over her desk and giving me her full attention. ‘‘What’s the crew saying?’’

‘‘Well, the moment you said counteroffer, I really felt my left side go heavy. . . .’’

‘‘Your sign for no,’’ she said.

‘‘Yep. And then when you said to counter by ten thousand, I saw the back of this couple walking away.’’

‘‘I see,’’ she said, and again I could just see her deep in thought, nodding her head. ‘‘So your radar says that if we counter we’ll lose the deal?’’

‘‘That’s about the gist of it.’’

‘‘Then I think we should accept. After all, the longer we wait for a better offer, the more we lose to interest and mortgage payments.’’

‘‘You sure?’’ I asked.

‘‘Yes. But do you think David will agree?’’

I smiled as I opened my car door and hopped inside. ‘‘Gosh, Cat, I don’t know. I’ll call him and see if I can’t convince him. I mean, he’s the one that’s really been working to make the house salable.’’

‘‘Should I call him?’’ she asked.

‘‘No!’’ I barked, then followed quickly with, ‘‘I mean, let me give it a shot first, and if he balks at the idea I’ll have him call you and you can convince him, ’kay?’’

‘‘Fabulous,’’ she said and I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘‘How are you feeling?’’

‘‘Fine. How are you feeling?’’ I asked, pulling out of the parking garage.

‘‘I’m serious, Abby. Have you been following through on your physical therapy?’’

Ever since I’d been shot, my incredibly overprotective sister had been mothering me to within an inch of my life. She’d gone so far as to check up with my doctors (who told her nothing), my pharmacist (who told her nothing), and my physical therapist (who seemed to be telling her
everything
). Of course, I could hardly blame her. Cat had been showering Lori, my therapist, with ‘‘tokens of appreciation’’ since I started therapy. ‘‘I’ve got an appointment tomorrow,’’ I said as I gritted my teeth.

‘‘It’s very important that you continue to go until you’re back to one hundred percent full range of motion,’’ Cat advised.

I paused at a stoplight and rolled my eyes. ‘‘Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. And speaking of which, did you put Candice Fusco up to getting me into the gym?’’

‘‘How is Candice?’’ Cat asked, completely ignoring my question.

‘‘You did, didn’t you?’’

‘‘That girl is so fabulous, Abby. You should really hang out with her now that she’s moving to Royal Oak.’’

‘‘How did you find
that
out?’’

‘‘Dutch told me. Sometimes that man can’t find a way off the phone, and the only way I’ll let him go is if he gives me a juicy nugget.’’

‘‘This is an invasion of privacy,’’ I snapped. ‘‘Seriously, Cat, you’re driving me crazy.’’

‘‘What did you expect, Abby? You’ve been so tight-lipped ever since you got back from Denver, and you won’t fill me in on
anything
that’s going on with you.’’

‘‘That’s because there is nothing going on with me,’’ I said with a sigh. ‘‘Listen, I’ve gotta go. I’m at the grocery store and I’m doing the shopping for dinner.’’

‘‘Dutch said he can’t wait to see what you bring home this time,’’ she chuckled. ‘‘He says that the last time he let you go shopping for steaks for the grill, you brought home a rump roast!’’

‘‘Bye, Cat,’’ I said and hung up the phone. Sometimes my sister drove me batty. I headed into the grocery store and made my way over to the meat aisle. Pacing back and forth, anxious about selecting a cut of meat that wasn’t going to make me the butt end of a joke, I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a voice say, ‘‘It can’t be that bad, can it, Abs?’’

I looked up and smiled. ‘‘Hey, Milo,’’ I said. ‘‘Dutch sent me for meat.’’

Milo nodded and looked at where I was standing. ‘‘Is he into chitlins these days?’’

‘‘It all looks the same to me,’’ I said.

‘‘What did he tell you to get?’’

‘‘Something good for the grill.’’

‘‘I see. Well, if I know my old partner, which, lucky for you, I do, I’d say he’s more of a rib eye steak-eater.’’

‘‘Right.’’ I nodded firmly. ‘‘Rib eye . . .’’ I moved away from the gross-looking innards and toward something that looked like steak.

‘‘That’s the pork section, kiddo,’’ Milo said.

‘‘I knew that,’’ I said, quickly changing direction and heading back toward the other end of the aisle.

‘‘Yoo-hoo,’’ Milo called, still farther down from me. ‘‘Over here.’’ I saw he was holding up a package that looked exactly right.

‘‘This is a rib eye?’’ I asked, looking at the package he held out to me.

‘‘Extra rare,’’ he said and wheezed his funny laugh. ‘‘Now, you’ll want three of these,’’ he said, loading up my basket.

‘‘Three? You think Dutch’ll eat two?’’

‘‘No,’’ Milo said with a wink. ‘‘I think he’ll put two on the grill and then hear the doorbell ring, and it will be me just dropping by, and what a coincidence, you all just happen to have an extra steak to grill.’’

‘‘This is the price I pay for your silence about what I almost brought home, huh?’’

‘‘Why?’’ Milo asked me with a twinkle in his eye. ‘‘Did you almost bring home something else?’’

‘‘I see how we’re going to play this,’’ I said. ‘‘And what can you do for me in the corn section? Last time I brought home a can of creamed corn and Dutch about split his sides.’’

‘‘Over here,’’ Milo said and tugged me to the produce section. ‘‘Honestly, Abby, one of these days you’re going to have to learn your way around the grocery store.’’

Milo helped me pick out corn and potatoes and a brownie mix for dessert, which I knew from experience was his personal favorite. ‘‘Not planning on eating with the family tonight?’’ I asked as we headed to the checkout counter.

‘‘Nah. Noel’s mother is over, and those two will be doing nothing but looking at wallpaper samples and paint samples and tile samples. . . .’’

‘‘Not your cup of tea, huh?’’

‘‘I just provide the money. Noel’s job is to find ways to spend it.’’

‘‘Well, you’re welcome anytime, Milo.’’

He smiled broadly at me and gave my shoulders a squeeze. ‘‘How you doin’, by the way?’’ he asked me as we edged closer to the cashier.

‘‘Good,’’ I said and looked at my shoes. ‘‘You know, just about there.’’

‘‘Your strength coming back?’’

‘‘Yeah. It’s getting there.’’

‘‘How’s your head?’’

I looked at him quizzically, then dodged the question. ‘‘Doesn’t hurt a bit.’’

Milo wheezed again. ‘‘You know what I mean. How you doin’ up here?’’ he said as he tapped his temple.

Without warning, tears formed in my eyes and embarrassingly, I began to openly weep. As it happened, it was our turn to put the groceries on the conveyor belt, and Milo took the basket from me, set it on the belt, then pulled me close and gave me a squeeze. ‘‘Hey there, honey,’’ he said into my hair.

‘‘Sir,’’ I heard the cashier say, ‘‘I’ll need you to take your items out of the basket.’’

I could feel Milo stiffen, and I tried to pull myself together, but the more I tried to suck it up, the more the tears flooded down my cheeks and I continued to sob into his shirt. I could see the cashier out of one eye. She looked tired and in no mood for my theatrics.

Milo squeezed me again, then tucked me under one arm and overturned the basket with the other hand. ‘‘There,’’ he said at the pile on the belt. ‘‘They’re out of the basket.’’

The cashier scowled at him but didn’t say another word as Milo pulled out his debit card to pay. ‘‘I . . . have . . . mon . . . eeeeey,’’ I blubbered, trying to pull back from him to dig into my purse.

‘‘I got it, Abs,’’ he said and wouldn’t let go of me. ‘‘Hang in there—we’re almost out of here, okay?’’

I nodded against his shirt, and in a few moments Milo had our dinner and we walked quickly out of the grocery store together. Milo scooted me over to his big, black, beautiful BMW and held the door open while I got in. He then came around to the other side and settled into the driver’s seat. ‘‘Here,’’ he said, reaching into the glove box to fish out some tissues.