Maybe Baby (7 page)

“Good morning, ma’am.”

She grinned at him. “Call me Babs.”

Finn tried to conceal his surprise. Most of
Chez Animaux
’s clientele preferred he walk ten feet behind them and never make direct eye contact. He liked this woman already.

“Okay, Babs,” he said. “Can I help you with anything this morning, or will you just be browsing today?”

She pulled off her sunglasses and smiled at him. “Actually, I’m hoping you can help me. I need supplies for a bird.”

A bird. Hmmm.
“We have a wide selection of bird supplies. What kind of bird is it?”

“It’s from New Zealand.”

Finn started checking off the possibilities of valuable New Zealand birds in his head. Not that he was going to steal from her. She seemed like a nice lady, and he tried to steal only from the assholes. But still. Habit is habit.

“New Zealand. Nice place. Do you know exactly what kind of bird it is?”

“It’s a parrot,” she said.

A parrot. From New Zealand. And she was being cryptic about it. People didn’t tend to hide things unless there was something to hide. All signs pointed toward a job worth doing, which would be one job closer to getting away from birds forever.

Too bad he wasn’t going to steal from her.

“Where’d you get it?” he asked. “Just curious.”

“Gift. From a friend.”

Finn smiled. Again with the cryptic. “I see.”

“I’ll need a cage, too, I think. Something I can carry it around in.”

“We have an excellent selection of cages. How big is the bird?”

“Big. Chicken-sized.”

Something clicked at the back of his head. He eyed her for a moment. “Flightless?”

“Yes.”

Big. Flightless. New Zealand parrot.
Finn scanned his memory for something specific, but came up dry. He was sure he knew what this bird was, though.

“So, what do you think? Regular parrot food or… Oh!” She made a face. “You don’t think it’s one of those birds that eats living things like mice and smaller birds, do you? Because I don’t think I could do that. I have difficulty killing spiders. I’ve been known to carry fleas outside and release them. Not that I don’t believe in the food chain, I do, I’m just all soft inside.”

“It’s the rare parrot that’s actually carnivorous,” Finn said, leaning forward amiably. “For future reference, though, you’ll want to avoid owls and hawks.”

She smiled at him. “Great. Do you think you can help me?”

“Absolutely.”
Big. Flightless. New Zealand. Damnit.
“Let’s take a look at what we’ve got.”

Finn hopped out from behind the counter and directed her through the store, writing up the order on a receipt as they chose a cage, some parrot food, and various chew toys, all the while trying to figure out what the bird was.

“I’d like it all delivered to this address,” Babs said, after they’d returned to the counter. She grabbed a sticky note from a pad by the register and scribbled down her address. “Today, if at all possible.”

Finn glanced at the Beekman address, which promised swank digs with beaucoup security. Too bad he wasn’t going to steal that bird. He sure loved a challenge.

“That should be just fine,” Finn said. He punched the numbers into the register. “That’ll be three hundred and sixty-two dollars and eight cents.”

“Great.” Babs pulled out her card.

Finn grinned, swiped the card, and handed it back. He drummed his fingers on the counter and waited for the transaction to approve.

Big. Flightless. New Zealand.

And, suddenly, it hit him.
A Kakapo.

This woman had a quarter million dollars of bird sitting up in her penthouse. It was like a gift from heaven, dropped right in his lap.

Forget three jobs. This one would be it. The last bird job he’d ever have to work.

Ever.

He pulled the slip out and handed it to Babs to sign.

“Thank you so much for your help,” she said as she scribbled her signature.

“We’ll get that delivered for you this afternoon,” Finn said.

Babs smiled and handed him back the slip. “I’ll let my doorman know to expect you.”

“Excellent.” He separated the slip and handed her the receipt. “Have a nice day.”

Finn watched her as she picked up her bag and headed out the door. Sure she was nice, but not nice enough for him to pass up a quarter million dollars.

No one was that nice.

***

Babs slipped on her sunglasses as she walked down the street. She couldn’t help but smile. It was a beautiful October day in the city. The sun was shining. The air was crisp.

And life was very, very good.

She’d woken up to find that Dana had gone, and had been disappointed at first, until she saw the envelope from Nick on the kitchen table, and her heart had soared. Perhaps Dana had been awake when Nick stopped by, and the two of them had a nice conversation, perhaps gone out to breakfast together. Which could lead, perhaps, to some mended fences, which could lead, perhaps, to a few dates. By the time Babs finished her coffee, she was planning their second wedding, including super-adhesive to keep the bride’s feet in place.

Just in case.

She’d showered, dressed, stuffed the envelope from Nick—which she assumed contained Vivian’s check—into her purse and headed out to run her errands. The first thing on her list was getting supplies for the bird, which had been extremely pleasant—especially since that clerk had been so nice. And young and handsome, with light green eyes and spiky red hair. If she were thirty years younger, she’d have asked him out to dinner.
That’s
how good she was feeling.

Now, it was off to St. Jude’s, then she’d go back home and call Nick—maybe Dana would even answer his phone—and have him drop off the bird. The matter of finding a way to sell it on the black market would be tricky, but she’d navigated rougher waters than that before. She could do it again.

Bach’s
Minuet in G Minor
played from her bag. Maybe it was Dana; she was glad she’d remembered to charge her cell phone last night. She pulled it out and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Babs. Vivian Bellefleur. Is the bird alive?”

Babs stopped walking. “What?”

“I need the bird back,” Vivian said. “Can you have your guy bring it over? Like now?”

“Well, no, Vivian,” Babs said. “You can’t have it back.”

“I’m sorry,” Vivian said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I said I need the bird.” Vivian’s voice was laced with desperation and just a touch of hysteria, and a thought occurred to Babs.

“Well, maybe,” she said slowly. “How much is it worth to you?”

“Worth?” Vivian screeched. “It’s my bird.”

“Not anymore,” Babs said. “It’ll cost you.”

“You bitch,” Vivian snapped, then followed it almost immediately with, “How much?”

“A hundred thousand.” That should be enough to get the winery opened again. And now no birdie black market to deal with.

The day just couldn’t get any more perfect.

“Fine,” Vivian said. “We’ll add it to my tab. But I need that bird.”

“Your tab?” Babs reached into her purse and pulled out the envelope she’d found on the table that morning.

“I need that bird, Babs, unharmed,” Vivian ranted on as Babs opened the envelope and began to read the letter tucked inside. “The psycho you hired drugged it and tossed it out the window and I need it.”

Babs looked up from the letter. “What?”

“I don’t know what kind of people you work with, Babs, but he was crazy. I bumped into him. I was afraid for my life.”

Babs glanced down at the letter. “What did he look like? The guy who drugged it and tossed it out the window?”

“Tall. Dark. Cheekbones that could cut glass.”

“Yeah, that’s my guy.” Babs skimmed the last of Nick’s report, her heart sinking as she read.

Well. If I’ve ever wondered how quickly a day can go downhill, now I know.

“Look, Viv,” she said with a sigh as she folded the letter and tucked it back into her purse. “We don’t have the bird.”

There was a long pause, then, “What?”

“We don’t have it. Someone else stole your bird.”

“But I
saw
him,” Vivian said. “I saw him drug it and throw it out the window. And you just said that was your guy.”

“The guy you saw was my guy. The guy who took your bird was another guy.”

There was a slight pause, then a dramatic, “Oh. My. God.”

Babs put her hand to her head to ward off the headache that was forming. “Viv? You okay?”

“No,” Vivian said. “We have a problem.”

“Viv,” she said loudly into the phone. “You’re breaking up, sweetie. Look, stay there. I’ll be right over.”

Babs pulled her phone away from her face and stared at it before flipping it closed and stuffing it back in her purse. She stood out in the street and raised her arm to hail a cab. Whatever Vivian’s problem was, she was sure she could solve it.

After all, that’s what she did.

Eight

Dana stood out in front of Murphy’s Wine Bar, staring up at the building to the windows on the third floor.

Nick’s windows.

She hadn’t planned on coming here. Well, obviously she’d thought about it—she’d looked up the address for Murphy’s in the phone book before she left. But she hadn’t definitively
planned
on it. She was just going to walk around Manhattan, maybe get a cup of coffee. It was purely coincidence that she’d ended up in front of Murphy’s.

Or something like that.

She played absently with the empty coffee cup in her hand as she stared up at the building, her heart beating faster with every second. She could walk away, play it safe, go on with her life as planned, and just let it go.

Or, she could take the chance. It had to be a sign that Nick popped back into her life right after her moment of clarity. And that kiss. That kiss had nearly knocked them both over. It had to mean something.

Didn’t it?

She exhaled. Three hours she’d been wandering around Manhattan, thinking of signs and coincidence and what might be meant to be. Her winery was the only one in the Finger Lakes to have diseased grapes. If that hadn’t happened, she never would have come down to see Babs last night. What were the chances that on the one night she was at her mother’s, Nick would just happen to show up? On the very day she’d had a moment of clarity? What if her moment of clarity wasn’t misplaced anxiety, but a message? What if the kiss this morning—which was still tingling on her lips no matter how much lip gloss she applied—actually meant something? What if all this convergence pointed to her one chance to make it right, and she blew it?

That would be bad. Then again, what if she went up there to talk to him and he told her to get lost, that he was over her, that he wanted no part of her?

That would be infinitely worse.

Better safe than sorry.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“They’re closed.”

She turned around to look at the source of the gruff voice, and saw a hot dog vendor about three yards away. She took a few steps toward him, tossing her coffee cup in the garbage pail next to his cart.

“Yeah. I know. I’m just… I know the guy—”

“Who?” he said. “Nick?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Nick.”

The hot dog vendor whistled and shook his head. “All the ladies want Nick.”

Dana blinked. “What do you mean, all the ladies? What ladies? Who ladies?”

“Dana?”

She spun around to see Nick standing right there, holding a cardboard box in his arms.

Oh, Jesus, he looks good.

“Hey,” she said. Her throat went dry.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, Nick,” the hot dog vendor said. “Who’s your friend?”

Nick smiled. “Out of your league, Oscar.”

Dana tugged on Nick’s jacket. “The hot dog guy’s name is Oscar?”

Nick looked back at Dana, and his smile faded a touch. “Yeah. Why?”

She giggled nervously. “Is his last name Mayer?”

“Gee, never heard that one before,” Oscar said flatly from behind her.

“Sorry.” Dana turned back to Nick and motioned toward Murphy’s. “Can we go inside for a minute?”

Nick nodded. “Sure.” He shifted the box onto one hip and dug into his pockets, pulling out the keys. Dana waited behind him as he unlocked the front door, giving a quick wave to Oscar before following him inside. It was a gorgeous place, a big fireplace in the back, wine racks lining the sage green walls, and hardwood floors so golden they practically glowed.

“Wow, Nick,” she said, her voice echoing in the empty space as she stepped inside. “This place is incredible. How many varieties do you serve?”

“About fifteen hundred,” he said, setting the box down on a table close to the front. He leaned against it and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her with almost no expression. She took in a deep breath and motioned toward the box.

“Shipping some stuff?”

“Yeah.” Something flashed in his eyes. “Babs didn’t tell you?”

Dana blinked. “Tell me what?”

“Nothing. It’s… not important.” They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Nick shifted his weight. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah,” she said, feeling her throat constrict as she watched him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice was telling her that she wasn’t off to a stellar start, but the din from the blind panic kind of drowned that voice out. “Dana?” he prompted. “Are you all right?”

“Have you ever had a sudden moment of clarity?” she blurted.

Nick’s eyebrows knit. “What?”

“A sudden moment of clarity,” she repeated, feeling almost as stupid as she sounded. Still, she pushed on. “You know, like when people just know something.”

He blinked. “Just know something?”

“Yeah, like when they just know that they’re in love, or that something bad has happened to a family member, or”—she looked down—”that they’re going to throw up all over glowing hardwood floors.” She took in a deep breath and forced herself to meet his eye. “Have you ever had one?”

He watched her for a moment, then shook his head. “Don’t think so.”