by A W Hartoin
“What are you going to do?” Fats asked. “Carry a bag of spiders?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Answer your phone.”
“I don’t want to. We’re late and I’m not going to dinner,” I said.
She looked at me, produced another toothpick, and said, “I already canceled during the crying.”
“Is Chuck pissed?”
“Who cares? I still haven’t forgiven him for taking the side of that douchebag, Julia.”
Fats peeled out and we careened through the streets until we merged on highway forty at nearly a hundred miles an hour. That’s how I knew she was serious. Fats was a great driver, but that’s where her anger came out. Julia was a cop who’d given me some serious problems during the case where I broke my arm and Chuck backed her, not me. He had his reasons and we were working on it. Fats still wanted to pummel him.
“Answer your phone,” she said, snapping her toothpick in half dramatically.
“Fine,” I said. “Hello.”
“What the fuck did you do?” Uncle Morty yelled.
So many things.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Screw that. You did something.”
“I got Maggie’s personal effects from her family,” I said. “What’s wrong with that?”
He thought about it. “Nothing. That ain’t it. What else?”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s lighting up like a friggin’ Christmas tree over here.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve got emails flying left and right. What did you do? I know it’s you. Nobody kicks up a crap heap like you.”
He wasn’t wrong. I was a crap heap kicker, but that time it was totally innocent. About the time Fats and I were heading into Pat and Nancy’s basement, the church started talking. Bishops to the archbishop and back. The priests at the cathedral to the priest at St. James. They were all talking about Sister Maggie’s murder.
“How do you know?”
“I freaking tagged the bastards, of course.”
“You mean you put a worm in the church’s computers,” I said and Fats raised an eyebrow at me. I raised my palms back.
“Like you’re surprised. It’s what I do and it’s a damn good thing I did,” said Uncle Morty.
“Why? What’d they say?”
The answer was not much and I mean that. They were talking about Maggie and Dominic, but they knew less than we did. Uncle Morty said that when he started poking around in the church records, he came up with nothing on Maggie. She was there, listed as a nun in Aunt Miriam’s order, birth and death date. No details. Her murder had been glossed over. We knew that, but didn’t know that Father Dominic had been scrubbed. He wasn’t listed anywhere. No pictures. He wasn’t in the hospital archives. There were records from his home state of New York, birth, school, and where he was ordained. But nothing from St. Louis, not even a death certificate.
“He was never declared dead?” I asked.
“Not that I can find. What’d you do?”
I yawned. “I’ll tell you when I get home.”
“I ain’t there.”
Yes!
“How come?”
“I don’t have to keep you on it. I gotta get you off,” he said.
“Huh?” I said.
“I gotta get it done so we can leave.”
I should’ve known, but I wasn’t about to complain. I told him about the confirmed timeline and Father Bernard.
“That’s interesting. I don’t think the current guys have a clue about what went on.”
“So what are they worried about?”
“What do you think? Looking bad again. You going through that box tonight?” Uncle Morty asked, but it was really more of an order.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” He started a fresh rant and I hung up. I planned on curling up with big dose of Tylenol and a new episode of Outlander, not some poor murdered woman’s things. It was too depressing. I wasn’t sure I even wanted it in the apartment. The smell of roach spray, mold, and misery pervaded the truck and I didn’t fancy living with it indefinitely.
Fats turned onto my street and said, “What’s going on here?”
We couldn’t pull into the street behind my building to park. There were construction vehicles totally blocking it up.
“Are they done?” she asked, leaning forward to look at the building behind mine.
“Not even close,” I said. “Go around the front and drop me.”
Fats parked illegally on the sidewalk, but I knew better than to warn her about a ticket. Calpurnia’s people didn’t get tickets or even a sideways glance. I got out and opened the front door for Fats since she was carrying Maggie’s box. I was behind her when I heard Chuck’s voice ring out. “Mercy!”
“What?” I kept a groan on the inside. I so didn’t have the strength to deal with whatever his deal was. I barely had the strength to put on fresh Calamine lotion, which I sorely needed.
Chuck tried to get around Fats. “Did you get that worksite shut down?”
Holy crap. The rookie came through.
“Me? With what? My magical control of the building inspectors?”
“Goddammit, Mercy. Command is all over me on this.”
“I didn’t do it and, even if I did, it’s not your deal,” I said.
“You are my deal.”
Fats dropped the box with a thud and radiated anger. “You got a problem?”
Chuck paled. “Hey, Fats. I…uh…no. I just need to find out what happened—oh my God what happened to you?”
“Spiders,” I said.
I guess there was nothing to say about that because my hot boyfriend has never looked blank like that before or since.
“She was working on Sister Maggie’s case and got attacked by spiders,” said Fats. “And you want to talk about some douchebag construction site? Be my guest. Give that a shot.”
Chuck woke up and squeezed past Fats to hug me. “Spiders? Seriously?”
“Yes. I was attacked by tiny carnivores.”
“Where’s your cast?”
“Had to cut it off.”
“Are you mad?” he asked as he shifted from foot to foot.
“I’m mad,” said Fats, squatting to pick up Maggie’s box. “We’ve got things to do and we’re not doing them.” She stomped up the stairs, leaving a kind of heat behind that made Chuck nervous. I totally enjoyed that.
“Do you want me to carry you?” he asked.
“No. I’m fine, itchy but fine.”
“But spiders. Were they poisonous?”
“We’ll find out.” I trudged up the stairs with Chuck fretting behind me and offering to go get me a Worf burger from Kronos. That sounded fantastic, but I was still wearing Fats’ clothes, an unsightly reminder that I needed a salad with oil and vinegar dressing.
Fats stood at my door with the box, eyeing my boyfriend with expectation.
“Let me take that,” said Chuck.
“About time,” said Fats.
I opened the door and sniffed. No Morty stink. He really was gone. I led them in and Chuck set the box on the floor next to the TV. Skanky ambled in, probably wondering what was for dinner, took one look at the box, went up into spiky arch, and began a constant hiss. My sentiments exactly.
“What’s in there?” asked Chuck. “It stinks.”
“Sister Maggie’s stuff.”
“Really?” He went and got himself a beer. “Where was it? The convent?”
“Her family had it in their spider-infested basement,” said Fats.
“And they just gave it to you? No receipt? No nothing?”
“Nope,” I said.
He took a long swig. “Why? Families never just hand me their stuff. Half the time I have to get a search warrant and that’s when they want me to catch the perp.”
“The cousin has a crush on Fats and he wants it solved. There’s a lot of family pain there,” I said. “Nobody else is interested.�
��
He nodded. “I get it. Now about that construction site.”
“I didn’t do it.”
Chuck tried to approximate Aunt Miriam’s stink eye, but he just looked constipated. It was oddly adorable. “Come on. You did something. You are all over this.”
“The rookie did it,” I said.
“What rookie?”
“Gordon and, before you ask, I did not ask him to.”
Two spots of pink appeared on Chuck’s high cheekbones and his voice went an octave lower. “Why?”
Fats sat down on the sofa and mimed eating popcorn, which made him scowl more.
I laughed and said, “He heard the guys calling me a skanky whore.”
“What else?” Fats ground her toothpick to powder and her hands went to fists.
“Smelly slut,” I said. “Among other things.”
Chuck didn’t say a word. He did an about-face and left, slamming the door. I ran after him and yelled down the stairs. “Where are you going?”
“I’m taking care of it!” he yelled back.
I groaned. Men. Nothing could stop it. If it wasn’t the construction workers, it was guys on the street. I hated it, but I’d yet to find a cure for asshole.
And then it got worse. I went back in my apartment to find Fats on the phone saying, “Get me Calpurnia. I’ve got a situation.”
I dove for the phone, but Fats stiff armed me. I did everything I could to get that phone, but it wasn’t going to happen.
“Do not tell her. The rookie handled it,” I said.
“That’s not handling it. They’ll be back.”
“Chuck’s on it.”
She snorted. “Cops. You’re under the Fibonacci umbrella and they will be made to understand that.”
“I don’t want to be under anything. No. Do not do it.” I charged her and she batted me away, accidentally brushing my injured arm. I gasped and she let down her guard for a second, but a second wasn’t long enough. I still missed the phone by a good foot.
“Give it up,” she said, amused. “You can’t best me.”
“I can do it.” I believed because Mom said that was half the battle.
“That’s adorable.”
I was starting to get the feeling my mother was wrong about a lot of things.
“Hang up.”
“No,” said Fats. “What was that? How long is the massage? Okay. I’ll wait.”
On the other hand.
“I won’t talk to Tiny,” I said.
Fats gave me a look designed to make a man think twice, but I wasn’t a man. It didn’t work on me. I knew she could pound me. I also knew she wouldn’t.
“I love you and I love him, but I’m not owing Calpurnia for one more thing,” I said.
“Hey, Cosmo,” said Fats. “I might’ve found another angle.” She paused and then said, “I’ll call back if I need it. Thanks.”
I tossed myself on the sofa and sighed. “Thank God.”
“You’re welcome.” She sat down next to me and the springs underneath us groaned.
“Somebody’s full of themselves. You may be built like you came from Olympus, but you are not a goddess.”
She said nothing and knotted her hair up on the top of her head in a way that was perfectly messy and in style. When I tried that, I looked like I spent the night in the drunk tank. “You love me.”
“When I say love, I mean you’re alright,” I said. “Let’s not go overboard. We’re not picking out china patterns here.”
“Love means something in my world.”
“Mine, too, but, keep in mind, I love Uncle Morty, so the bar isn’t that high.”
“You are my best friend,” she said, not looking at me.
I thought about all the other women in my life. My friend, Ellen, who I rarely saw since she had kids. Claire, Mom, Aunt Tenne, my nursing school friends, and Aaron, who I know wasn’t technically a woman but didn’t really qualify as a man either, and wondered who was my best friend and how did you rate that anyway. I spent the most time with Fats and Aaron, but that wasn’t so much by choice.
“I don’t know who my best friend is,” I said.
“Not me,” she said with just the tiniest hint of sadness.
“We’re new friends and we’re always getting shot at.”
She grinned. “If that isn’t friendship, I don’t know what is.”
“You’re weird and I don’t understand you,” I said.
“Have you seen yourself lately?”
“Point taken. Don’t get me wrong. You’re up there. Ellen’s my oldest friend and she’s been there through the parent stuff and the…other things.”
“The boyfriend disappearing?” asked Fats and I jerked to attention. I didn’t know she knew, which was stupid. Calpurnia had me researched. She probably knew what kind of tampon I preferred.
“Yeah. She knows it all,” I said.
“For me, that’s Gibson.”
“I thought you didn’t have any female friends.”
She laughed. Gibson was her trainer and she started with him when she was ten. He was a sixty-five-year-old former middle-weight boxing champion from Detroit and he served as friend, surrogate father, confessor, and occasional punching bag. I thought that was sad, but she clearly didn’t. To say she adored Gibson, who apparently didn’t have a first name, was an understatement.
“Well, I’m not Gibson,” I said.
“And I’m not Ellen.”
But we were both there and that counts for a lot in the world of friendship.
“Let’s go through that box,” said Fats.
“Let’s don’t and say we did.”
The door opened and Chuck sauntered in. I recognized that look. Somebody was pretty proud of himself. “Done. You will not hear another word from that site.”
“Great,” I said. “Now go out and yell at every dude with low self-esteem and a general dislike of women.”
“What?” he asked.
Fats stretched and all the vertebrae in her back popped. It was disturbing. “She gets yelled at daily. Where have you been?”
“By who?”
“She just told you.”
“Bastards.”
“Pretty much,” I said, getting up and laying a kiss on him. “But I like you.”
“That’s good.” He nuzzled my neck.
Fats stood up and forcibly parted us. “Aren’t you going to Kronos?”
Chuck looked at me and I weakened. “The usual would be great.”
“I’ll have two double Worf burgers, double cheese, cheese fries with that sausage Aaron makes, and an extra-large Metaphysical malt. Hot fudge and sprinkles on the side.”
We gaped at her, but Fats didn’t seem to notice. She went over and used a pen to open the top of Maggie’s box, in case there were spiders at the ready.
Chuck mouthed at me, “Is she okay?”
I mouthed, “Long day.” And then I said out loud, “I’m going to shower again and put on more Calamine lotion.”
“Do that. Pink polka-dots are a good look,” said Fats as she pulled a veil out of the box. “I don’t know if there’s anything useful in here.”
Chuck left and I waited until he was definitely gone before I said, “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know you’re pregnant?”
“I don’t.” Fats looked up. “Why?”
“Two double Worf burgers? Cheese? You eat kale salads with dressing on the side.”
“Is that going to give it away?”
“Only in a huge way.”
Fats considered that and it was a conundrum. She wanted fat, a new experience for her. When Chuck came back, I cut him off from the barrage of questions that were coming and got him back out the door with his own sad little bag of food to go.
“Why am I leaving? I bought the food.” he said. “I yelled at an entire construction crew.”
I kissed him so hard and long, he didn’t know which end was up or even what he was complaining about.
“Y
ou’re right and I will make it up to you,” I said. “It’s a girl night tonight.”
“How will you make it up to me?” he asked.
“I’ll go look at houses.”
Chuck grinned. “Yeah? Tomorrow good?”
“Aren’t you working?” I asked.
“Dammit.”
“I’ll look at the new listings you sent me.”
He grudgingly agreed and was on his way. Sadly, I went back to the hungry and hormonal. We sat up half the night, talking wedding plans for the wedding that wasn’t happening yet and the baby, who for the record was a girl and would someday love boxing, her mama, and low-carb diets. I had a feeling that Fats was in for some tough times.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I COULDN’T MOVE. I tried up, down, right, and left. Nope. Almost no movement and that’s when the panic started. I didn’t know where I was or why it was so damn hot. Then I heard a little wheezy snore to the left of me and I opened my eyes to see blackness, but it was a familiar blackness. Not in a good way.
I tried to lift my right arm, but it was pinned under Pickpocket’s body and I’d worn my brace and sling to bed so my left arm was equally useless. I don’t know when Chuck snuck in and brought his giant poodle to bed, but it was sometime after two in the morning when Fats finally got tired of surfing The Knot and watching Say Yes to the Dress. We picked invites, some bridesmaids, Fats’ cousin Carla Jean and her partner, Jana, who could be easily mistaken for a man in broad daylight. Fats believed we could get Jana into a dress for the wedding. I bet fifty bucks that we couldn’t. A woman that wears a bolo tie will not wear puffed sleeves and taffeta. It’s just not happening. I didn’t want to wear puffed sleeves and taffeta and I thought bolo ties were a plague upon fashion for both men and women.
Fats and I designed the entire wedding hoopla. It was an 80s theme, in case you couldn’t tell by the puffed sleeves and taffeta, and I sincerely hoped Fats could be talked out of that when it came down to it. The one thing we couldn’t figure out was how to get my cousin to propose without knowing about the future Ultimate Fighting Champion. Yes, that’s on the list of future baby accomplishments. I agreed to talk to Tiny and hint that I was thinking about marrying Chuck immediately and ask what he thought about that. It wasn’t going to help, but, without the proverbial shotgun, that’s all we had.
