That Touch of Ink (6 page)

EIGHT

“Who was he?” I asked.

“I don’t really know. I mean, I saw the guy, but I’ve never seen him before. He said he was told to drop off a bunch of boxes. I almost felt guilty when I saw the stuff.”

“Why?”

“It’s right up your alley. If he came to you first, you probably would have made him an offer. But he came to me. You and I could probably make some kind of deal.”

“I thought you said you felt guilty!”

“Your MO is to work with the dead. This guy was very much alive. Chances are, you would never have found each other.”

Joanie was referring to my practice of reading the obituaries daily, identifying women of a seventy- to ninety-year old range who had passed, and making an offer on their estates to the next of kin. Brad was the one who taught me to do this back when he trained me at Pierot’s. My first attempts at estate sale offers felt awkward and uncomfortable, but, with time and practice, I’d polished my approach. Reaching out to sons and daughters who had no interest in the never-renovated estates of their parents actually helped them. Most of the time they accepted my check and turned over the keys with gratitude. A few even sent thank you notes.

When I started Mad for Mod, I stocked my storage space and studio with pieces from these estate sales. My unorthodox business practice had been secret, until one particular estate turned out to be a crime scene. After the homicide was solved, the newspaper ran a profile on me and exposed my secret to the world, or at least, to the greater Dallas-Fort Worth area. Auction houses jumped on the bandwagon, outbidding me on estates but offering me a private viewing of the merchandise at their suggested prices. I’d had to come up with a different method for finding my inventory.

“Earth to Madison,” Joanie prompted.

“What?”

“You spaced out. I thought for sure that ‘working with the dead’ crack would get a reaction.”

“It’s not how I’d put it, but if you keep talking up my old method like that, maybe the auction houses will decide it’s too ick-factor for them, and I can go back to business as usual.”

“You seem to be doing okay.”

“So do you,” I answered. “What else can you tell me about the guy who brought this stuff in?”

“Oh, no. You’re not cutting off my supply. I have to make a living too.”

Rocky sensed that Joanie was challenging me. He backed a few feet away from her legs, tipped his head back, and issued two short, sharp barks. We both looked at him. He looked at me, then back at her, and barked again.

It was evident Rocky misunderstood our standoff, and Joanie misunderstood my interest in the man who had sold her the box. I scooped Rocky up and rubbed his belly.

“Fine, be a businesswoman. Do you know if this guy is planning to bring in anything else?”

“He didn’t say. Why?”

“If he had one box for me, then maybe he has something else I’d like. Do me a favor? If he brings in anything else, I want you to give me first right of refusal.” While I was talking, I reached into my wallet and counted out five twenties. Her eyes dropped from my face to my hands.

“What’s that for?”

“I’m buying this.” I held up the framed currency. Rocky wriggled around in my arms, and I set him on top of the glass case of vintage jewelry. He sniffed a bowl of marbles.

“What do you want with that piece of crap? You could download the image from the Internet, print it, and buy a better frame at a craft store, all for a quarter of the price.”

“Consider it a good faith investment in future purchases.”

She peeled off her rubber gloves and squirted hand sanitizer into her palms. She pulled a box of surgical gloves from under the counter and held it out to me. “If you’re taking that box, you might want to wear these.”

“This is an odd business for a germophobe,” I said.

“Since when do you know me to be a germophobe? This is precautionary. The guy who dropped that stuff off was covered with poison ivy. He warned me I might catch it from the cardboard and gave me the box of gloves. I don’t know if he’s full of BS or not, but I don’t plan on taking any chances.”

I wasn’t sure if poison ivy was transferrable by cardboard but didn’t want to insult Joanie, so I pulled on a pair of gloves.

“Poison ivy? He told you that?”

“He saw me looking at the rash on his hands. Small red spots popped up on his face, too, right by his hairline. The poor guy was trying his hardest not to scratch, I could tell, but he wasn’t succeeding. I gave him a bottle of Calamine lotion before he left and I saw him dot it on in his car before he drove away.” She laughed. “I sure hope he was heading home, because he didn’t make a very nice picture, all spotted up like that.”

She punched a couple of keys on the register and placed my twenties under the cash tray. She wrapped the frame in newsprint. I set it on top of the box, led Rocky back to the car, and drove home.

After parking the car and letting Rocky pee on the weeds behind my parking space, I unlocked the back door and climbed the stairs to my unit. There was a note from Hudson taped to my front door.

Once I had determined Hudson’s vision and skills far surpassed other contractors I’d hired, he became my go-to contractor. He outdid himself on most projects, understanding the simplicity of mid-century design, often taking the extra step of fabricating a necessary element from scratch instead of relying on prefab parts available at home renovation stores.

It hadn’t taken long for me to confide in him that I’d bought an apartment building. He was up to the task of taking on minor fixes—mostly electrical and paint jobs—but what really won me over was his agreement to spend a weekend with me, stripping all of the bathroom fixtures of the bland white paint the former owner had used to mask the original pink ceramic. When I started taking tenant applications, I knew only the right kind of people would appreciate the work we’d put in.

Because I preferred to keep my identity as landlord a secret, Hudson occasionally stepped in as the liaison to the Night Company. My neighbors didn’t know me as Madison Night, they knew me as Madison and Rocky. New tenants received Hudson’s contact information in their welcome packets and were encouraged to call him directly if they needed work done.

I often found invoices taped to the doorknob in the same manner I had him notify tenants of upcoming fire alarm inspections and water shut-off. I paid him immediately and constantly offered him partnership in either the business, the building, or both. He always thanked me and always refused.

I peeked inside the folded piece of paper before unlocking the door. Instead of an invoice, it was a note
. Madison, call me when you get a chance. –H
.

I folded the paper in half and in half again before going inside. Rocky ran ahead of me. I stopped, two feet in, and dropped my keys on the floor. They clattered against the newly exposed hardwood flooring. I stepped back two steps and checked the number on the outside of the door even though I knew I was home. I went back inside and shut the door behind me.

Soft yellow paint glowed in a satin finish from the walls. It was like stepping into a ray of sunshine. The apartment-grade carpet had been torn up and replaced with hardwood flooring, and the furniture had been repositioned. Vases of daisies peppered the room on tables, shelves, and window sills.

Above the sofa was a canvas, painted in vertical stripes of white, yellow, and ivory. It was about as wide as the sofa, six feet, and about two and a half feet tall. All in all, it was a beautifully designed room, and, being an interior designer myself, it surprised me that I didn’t want to change a thing.

I unclipped Rocky’s leash and he ran to the sofa and hopped up. His stuffed black panther had been carefully placed on top of a pink pillow, and he grabbed it with his teeth and shook his head rapidly, the legs flapping against the sides of his face.

A snaky tendril of anxiety crept up my back and chilled my shoulders. I turned around and looked at the room one more time.

Of course it was perfect.

Of course it was me.

Brad had done this.

But when? The only time I’d been away from the apartment was to go to dinner with him. He couldn’t be in two places at the same time. The initial delight I’d felt at finding the room so suited to me now faded.

I wasn’t ready to admit maybe Brad
did
know me better than anybody else in my life. I looked at the piece of paper in my hand—Hudson’s note. I turned my back on the room and called him.

“Hudson?”

“Madison.”

I smiled to myself. Hudson’s deep voice made me feel cozy and protected. It wrapped around me like an electric blanket on a cold night, though cold nights in Dallas were few and far between. “You wanted me to call you?”

“Yes. Are you free tonight? Can you come over? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Sure. What time?”

“Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be here.”

“Give me half an hour.”

“See you soon.”

I half considered wearing Connie’s clothes to Hudson’s house for a reaction, but once presented with the option of changing, I did. I set the pencil skirt and sweater on the bed and stepped into a lavender-and-white checkered dress with a drop waist. The pleated skirt of the dress grazed my knees, revealing my ACE bandage. I kicked off the white sneakers, stepped into purple ballerina flats, and fluffed my hair with my fingers. After a quick kiss to Rocky, I slicked on lip gloss and left.

Hudson stood in front of his house by an easel. A card table next to him held an assortment of paints and brushes. He waved to me as I pulled into his driveway.

“That was fast,” he said.

“I was happy to have an excuse to get out of my apartment. Besides, I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner plans.”

“Tonight, I’m planning on tossing a steak on the grill and enjoying this nice weather. I’d invite you to stay, but I only have the one steak.” He smiled. “Care for a glass of wine?”

“Love one.”

He wiped the bristles of the paintbrush off on a towel and set both on the card table. “Follow me.” He headed to his garage.

I snuck a look at the canvas as I passed it. He had just started it, or so I assumed by the amount of white space still on the canvas. Squares of color in orange, yellow, and purple had been painted at random, outlined with a thin line of black. The purple and black would have suggested rage to me, but the orange and yellow softened it, giving it a lighter hand.

I was happy Hudson was painting again. His artistic passion infused most of his projects with a sense of purpose, but I knew furniture repair was far from a fulfilling creative outlet for him. I wondered why he never took me up on my offers of partnership. The offer came from a place of appreciation, as did the selfish satisfaction I got when he repeatedly said no.

He wiped the back of his hands on his jeans and turned his amber eyes on me. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

We stood next to the door that separated the garage from the house. Mortiboy, Hudson’s black cat, slunk out of the narrow opening between the house and the garage, and glared at me. He walked to Hudson and brushed his whiskers against the legs of Hudson’s jeans.

Mortiboy was an unfriendly sort, except when in the company of his owner. I’d had the pleasure of cat-sitting him briefly a few months ago, and as much as I’d tried to create a bond with the furry black devil, he never quite accepted me or Rocky. Rocky, however, had taken to Mortiboy like fish take to water and followed him around our apartment despite repeated swats to the nose. Hudson scooped up Mortiboy and held him against his chest, scratching the cat’s ears until he emitted a rumble.

“Madison, I’ve been thinking about things differently now my past is cleared up. None of that would have happened if it wasn’t for you.”

“I never believed for a second you had anything to do with those murders.”

“I know. And your belief in me kept me going. There’s no way to thank you for what you did for me, but I’d like to try. Do you think we could go out some time?”

“Hudson,” I started. “My life is—just got—it’s complicated right now. I agreed to take on three new jobs, and the apartment needs repair, and—”

“Your complications don’t have anything to do with your business, do they?”

Mortiboy wriggled out of Hudson’s arms and jumped to the ground. I looked down at him. As much as I wanted to take Hudson up on his offer, my personal life was rooted in quicksand and until I found solid footing, I was in no place to start a relationship.

“My complications don’t have anything to do with business,” I confirmed. “You know how you had demons in your closet, demons that I learned of a couple months ago?”

“That’s all behind me now, thanks to you.”

“I know. One of my demons came knocking on my door yesterday. Can you understand what I mean?”

“I think so.”

We stood together, the golden sunset bathing us in a rich glow that gilded the moment.

“Madison, if you need anything while you’re sorting out that closet, don’t hesitate to ask. For anything.”

I thought about Hudson’s artistic talents. “Well, there is one thing you could probably help me with,” I said.

“Name it,” he said.

“Well, you’re an artist, and there’s something I was wondering about.” I looked up at him and took a deep breath. “Hypothetically speaking, how hard would it be to counterfeit a bill?”