Tymber Dalton (3 page)

It also meant anyone, like Ruth or Grover, could do all the prep work for her if necessary, and leave the detailed decorating to her. And there had been days Grover forced her to sit on a stool at the decorating table and not move from it while he and Ruth did all the other prep work.

Dr. Smith nodded. “Don’t worry, it’s naproxen, not a narcotic,” he assured her. “It’s just a stronger version of what you can buy over the counter. And you can get it in a generic form, so it won’t cost you an arm and a leg. It’ll help you with the arthritis pain somewhat, although it might also give you some relief for the fibro pain. It probably won’t help much with the fibro fog, though. If you will quit being so stubborn and come in for a full workup, I can look at trying you on something like Cymbalta or Lyrica. I have samples of those and a couple others we can try to see what might work. There are even several other drugs we can try that have inexpensive generic alternatives. But I can’t put you on any of those until I get baseline blood work results for you.”

He stood to go and waggled a finger at her again. “Remember, you wouldn’t want to deny an old man his best pleasure in life.”

“Thank you,” she softly said.

“I’ll make sure she gets and takes them,” Grover told him, patting the doctor on the shoulder as he passed. “Thank you for coming.”

“No problem.”

When he left, Grover took his place in the folding chair. “I’ll go get these filled for you.”

She started to reach for her purse, but he put out a staying hand. “Don’t you dare reach for money or I’ll spank you.”

“But you already do so much. And there’s tomorrow. And—”

“Stop. I’m paying for this one. If I couldn’t afford it, I wouldn’t offer.” He grinned. “If they’re cheap, you buy the next batch. But you need something to help you out.” With all his kids grown and away from home, some of them already with families of their own, Grover had turned all his fatherly powers on Libbie.

The only reason she accepted his help was because she suspected he used it to escape his grief and loneliness after Connie died.

It didn’t mean, however, that she didn’t feel guilty about taking it.

She slumped back in her chair and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t you be thanking me yet. Jeneese heard what we were doing and now has her sisters and their men involved. You’re going to have a house full of Johnsons tomorrow.” He grinned. “And I’m bringing the big barbecue cooker. It’s going to be like a family reunion.”

* * * *

Grover had already left for the drugstore a few minutes later when Mandaline Royce came in for her daily order. Libbie smiled. “I’ve got it all boxed up. Let me go get it for you.”

Mandaline had inherited Many Blessings when her friend, Julie Prescott, was murdered earlier that year. The New Age shop sat almost directly across the town square from Libbie’s bakery and sold coffee and other beverages. But they purchased all the baked goods that they sold every day in the coffeeshop from Libbie.

When Libbie returned with the three boxes of assorted items, she noticed Mandaline’s frown. “What’s wrong?”

Mandaline gently took Libbie’s hand and turned it palm down in her own. “I should be asking you that.”

Libbie felt her face heat as she carefully pulled her hand away. “I’m okay.”

Mandaline, who at five four stood three inches shorter than Libbie, planted a hand on her hip. “You can’t lie to a witch, you know.”

Libbie considered Mandaline a close acquaintance, but they were almost friends. “It’s just the cool weather getting to me.”

Mandaline chewed on her bottom lip. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“No. Why?”

A beaming grin broke out across her face. She placed the pre-written check for her order on the counter and scooped up the boxes. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t you want your receipt?”

“I’ll get it when I come back. Don’t go anywhere.” She practically ran out of the store, her long brown hair flowing behind her as her multicolored ankle-length skirt swirled around dark blue leggings and tan Ugg boots.

“What’s going on?” Jenny asked.

Libbie shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Mandaline returned a few minutes later, carrying a small paper bag with the curly, bright pink Many Blessings logo on the side. She handed it to Libbie. “This is for you. A gift. Let me know if they help you. If they do, I’ll keep them in stock.”

Libbie handed her the receipt before looking in the bag. A small tube and a small, brown, glass bottle lay inside. “What are they?”

“The tube is a homeopathic ointment we’re stocking that we just got in a couple of days ago. All natural ingredients. It’s supposed to help with pain. No odor, either. And in the bottle is an essential oil blend of my own concoction. Rub a little on the backs of your hands, especially before you go to bed, and see if it helps.”

Libbie forced a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” She’d tried every over-the-counter ointment she could buy at the drugstore and hadn’t found one to give her anything but the slimmest of relief, and even then for only a short time.

And they stank.

Mandaline leaned across the counter to give her a hug. “These aren’t your normal drugstore snake oil cures,” she teased. “Give them a try and let me know. Hey, can’t hurt.”

Libbie’s eyes widened. “How did you know I thought—”

Mandaline tapped her forehead again with a giggle. “Witch, remember? I’ve got to go. I’ve got students coming in half an hour.” She gave Libbie a gentle hug and headed out the door.

Libbie watched the slim woman race across the town square again. Libbie wasn’t much of a believer in psychic stuff, or witchcraft, or any other religious beliefs to speak of. But she didn’t hold it against anyone who did.

She looked into the bag again as Jenny also took a peek. “She’s right,” Jenny said. “Can’t hurt. I saw a TV documentary once about the rain forest and how there are a lot of plants and stuff that are natural cures for diseases.”

“Well, right now I have another batch of cupcakes to get decorated, so I can’t put anything on my hands. I’ll try it later.” She carried the bag back to her office and set it on her desk.

* * * *

The rest of the day went quickly. By the time Libbie closed up shop at three, she felt exhausted. But at least the prescription Grover brought her seemed to help take the worst edges off the pain.

She crawled upstairs and flopped down on her couch. Galileo looked down at her from where he lay sprawled across the back, taking in the last of the afternoon sun through the window.

“Mwrao.”

“Back atcha, buddy.”

The cat slowly stood, stretched, and then made his way down to where she lay and took up residence on her chest. His deep purring rumbled through her body as she stroked his head.

She didn’t mean to fall asleep, but when she next opened her eyes the sun had slipped behind the buildings on the western end of the square, casting deep shadows across the courthouse. The time on the cable box read 6:37.

“Damn.” She looked up into Galileo’s face. The cat hadn’t moved. He stared down at her with half-opened green eyes. “Why did you let me fall asleep?”

“Mwrao.”

“Right.”

He craned his neck and sniffed at her chin before head-butting it and rubbing his head against her.

“I get it. You’re hungry.”

He slowly stood and stretched before jumping down and padding across the living room to the kitchen, where he sat and waited.

“This is my life,” she said with a groan as she sat up before following him into the kitchen. “Sleep, bake, feed the cat, and scoop his pan.” She flexed her hands, which were starting to scream again as the medicine wore off. “And hurt like hell.”

She realized as she emptied fresh dry food into the cat’s bowl that she’d left both the bottle of pills and the stuff from Mandaline down in the office. With a heavy sigh, she stepped into the hall.

But not without stopping at the door to the other apartment. That was tomorrow’s major feat.

She opened the door and walked in. She never locked either apartment, because few people rarely came up here besides her and Grover.

I suppose I’ll have to get used to locking the door to the bakery. And my apartment door.

A separate staircase from out back led directly upstairs as well. The tenants would have a way to get inside without having to go through the bakery door. Since she rarely used that door, she kept it locked all the time.

I’ll need to get extra keys made for it.

She resented the thought of losing her privacy, of not being able to come and go freely without worrying about someone else in her domain.

But the extra money would be nice.

She’d already thought about it and felt comfortable charging five hundred a month, including utilities.

But as she looked at the apartment in the fading light, she realized how much darker it was than the one she called home across the hall. The smaller apartment faced the back of the building. And while it had a nice view of some wooded property to the south, it also lost the afternoon sunlight a lot sooner.

It was smaller, too. It only had one bedroom, whereas the apartment she lived in had two. Albeit small bedrooms, but the entire square footage of her apartment was more than this one.

She leaned against the doorway and looked across where she’d stacked furniture in the living room area. Some of it she could use as furnishings for the rental, ask a little more money that way.

Libbie picked her way through a path to the kitchen. As she studied the appliances, she realized she’d forgotten the kitchen had been completely remodeled by the previous owner not long before the sale. It had brand-new appliances which had been barely used.

She eased around another pile of boxes, to the bathroom, and flipped on the light.

The deep, sunken tub beckoned to her, larger than the standard one in her apartment.

“Hmm.”

I don’t really use the other bedroom for anything but office work anyway. I don’t need two desks. I can use the office downstairs for my paperwork.

The living room was only marginally smaller here than across the hall. She could take the leaf out of her dining room table and send two of the six chairs to storage with Grover. It wouldn’t be a huge sacrifice to downsize a little.

Not like I ever have anyone over to eat except Grover and Mandaline, and sometimes Jenny and her boys.

The more she thought about it, the more she talked herself into it.

A furnished, two-bedroom apartment, with utilities?
She did the math in her head. She could easily charge seven hundred. That would cover her utilities for the building every month, as well as a few other incidentals.

The stress relief that alone provided would take a weight off her shoulders.

As she worked her way back to the door, she nodded, decided.

Tomorrow’s moving day.

Although Galileo would, no doubt, express his extreme displeasure with the move.

“Okay, this looks like shit. Tell me again why I had to dye my hair?” It was after eight o’clock Friday evening, and Allan Donohue felt more exhausted than he had in his entire life. They’d just checked into the hotel a few minutes earlier after making their way up the state from Miami, using back roads all the way.

He turned from the mirror over the vanity and shot an evil glare at his twin brother, Benjamin. Before they’d left Miami early that morning, Ben had dragged Allan down to Homestead, where the hairdresser wife of a retired cop friend of Ben’s had turned Allan into a blond beach bum in her bathroom.

And beach bum was a look he despised. He had an image to maintain, and scruffy wasn’t it.

To be fair, Allan wasn’t the only one who’d changed his appearance. Ben had shaved his thick beard and moustache, which he’d worn for three years. The same friend’s wife cut Ben’s flowing brown hair into a short, neat yuppie style. Years working undercover meant Ben’s face hadn’t even had time to catch up. His lower face looked far paler than his tanned forehead.

“Because no one expects to see Mr. Preppie Lawyer as a scruffy, dirty blond surfer dude,” Ben snarked. “No offense, Counselor.” The edges of his blue eyes crinkled in amusement. “Sorry it’ll conflict with your South Beach party boy persona, but it’s not like you’re going to be hitting the nightclubs anytime soon.”

Allan looked in the hotel mirror again and tried to ignore the jibe. “My eyebrows are darker. It’s obviously a dye job.”

“That’s okay. In a couple of weeks, as your hair gets longer, you’ll look totally different. Just wear a hat.”

“I can’t help but notice you now look like me.”

“You mean you missed that while we were growing up? We’re identical twins. Duh. For a prosecutor, you can be awfully freaking dense. Those club girls you hanging out with sucking your brains dry instead of your dick?”

Allan swallowed back another retort as he ignored the shot and turned to his brother again. “I meant it’s odd that you now look like I used to look.”