Flamingo Realty Mystery Box Set

by CeeCee James

  I’d forgotten to take one the day before. Forgotten, or had been too lazy, take your pick. Anyway, I felt like I’d finished a huge achievement when I climbed out. TaDa world! I took a shower!

  I dried my hair when my phone dinged. I ran over, hopeful that it was a new client but it was just Kari. —can’t wait to see you for dinner!

  I groaned like I was ready to heave up breakfast. How did I let myself get talked into stuff like this? I knew exactly what it was going to be like… awkward small talk with some strange man while Kari and Joe blinked cartoon heart-eyes at us with satisfied smiles.

  Blech.

  Still, she had brought up an important fact. Yesterday was a good start, but I needed to continue to shake loose the complacency that made me act like a home hobbit, like she inferred. But, since I really didn’t want a repeat of what happened yesterday, I needed to find a new place to run.

  Which meant only one thing.

  I needed to join a gym. The introvert in me screamed, but I reasoned that it was the best of both worlds since I could wear headphones and zone out, but I was still around people.

  Pulling up the search engine, I hunted for a highly rated local gym. Finally, I found one that seemed like it would work. The tag-line even said, “No pressure, no judgment. Work at your own pace.”

  That’s exactly what I needed.

  With no clients to help, I decided to head over there. There was no time like the present.

  About twenty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot for Pump gym—coincidentally located in the same lot as a teriyaki place and a cinnamon bun store; whose sweet scents nearly sabotaged my exercise plans. I persisted, marching past the bakery and up to the gym door, my chest swelling with pride that I was such a strong person.

  I was met at the door by a very fit man. Very, very fit. Muscles bulged on top of muscles, all tan and shining, and he made sure they were on display in his tight tank top. He glanced at me, taking in my oversized sweats, baggy shirt, old shoes and ponytail, and probably marked me as a wannabe gym loser.

  Well, he had that right. I definitely was no gym rat.

  “Thanks,” I said as he held the door open. I was surprised when he flashed me a friendly, slightly flirty grin.

  “Hey there. New here?” he asked.

  I was right that he marked me as a newbie. Still, the smile was amicable. I smiled back and nodded. “Yep. New in town. I need a place to run in this weather and thought I’d try it out here.”

  “Of course!” he said. “My name’s Robbie. Come on over to the counter and I’ll get you set up.”

  I followed him to the counter, a sterile piece of white Formica brilliantly lit by overhead fluorescents. Behind him were colorful displays of water bottles and fitness supplements.

  “So, you must work here?” I asked as he pulled a keyboard up onto the counter from some place underneath the desk.

  He grinned, perfect white teeth on a perfectly tanned face. “This is my place, actually. I’ve owned it for the last three years. I’ll tell you what, it was a mess when I first got it but I’ve been working on it. Updating it. It’s a nice place now. I think you’ll like it. Your name?” he asked.

  “Stella O’Neil.”

  He frowned for a second as he typed it in, using just his index fingers in a funny pecking motion. I braced myself for what I knew was coming, the infamous Flamingo accusation.

  “You’re the one with that flamingo?” he asked, jabbing a finger toward me.

  “Yup,” I nodded.

  “Huh. That’s funny.” He grinned. “Tell me, what’s a flamingo doing representing a realty company up here in Pennsylvania?”

  “An old bet gone wrong.”

  “Not too wrong,” he noted with a final tap to the keys. “It brought you out here.” He smiled and turned the keyboard toward me. He also tipped the screen so I could read it. “If you could type how you found us and make sure I have your name right.”

  I eyed it and stifled a smile. He’d typed my name in hot pink.

  “For the flamingo,” he said, raising a thick eyebrow.

  I typed in internet and passed the keyboard back. He read it, typed some more, and then put the keyboard away. Then he came out with a thin card which he stamped 10 times.

  “Here, take this. This will give you a good long time to test out our gym. I think you’re going to like it here.”

  I accepted the card and tucked it into my wallet. “Thank you.”

  He walked from behind the counter, showing a gracefulness that belied his size. Along with him came a scented spicy cloud. Maybe cinnamon. Not too strong and it smelled nice. “All right, follow me. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  We walked into the gym where the scent was stronger, along with an undercurrent of sweat.

  “It’s our disinfectant that you’re smelling.” He pointed to spray bottles that were scattered about with towels. “We have those available for everyone to spray down the equipment after they use it.”

  “Smells zesty,” I noted.

  “It’s all natural, made from those essential oils. I’m not too big into chemicals. Still, don’t spray it on your skin or anything. Your body can absorb it.”

  “What about my hands?” I said, lifting my palms.

  “They’re tough. They’ll be fine. Just wash them when you’re finished. You should do that anyway, with all the viruses nowadays.”

  My eyebrows flickered at his little biology education, but I nodded.

  He showed me the classrooms where I could take any class, from dancing to spin, and then pointed out the men’s and women’s locker rooms, each with their own steam baths.

  As we walked past the area for the weights—lined with mats and walls covered in mirrors, he asked me if I lifted.

  I shook my head. “No. Running is my thing. I’ve done it since school.”

  “Well, we have the state-of-the-art treadmills right over here.” He pointed toward them. Each had its own mini TV screen built in, among all the other options. “What did you run?”

  “Mid-distance.”

  “Nice! In high school?”

  I thought about my brief experience in college, and almost didn’t bring it up, but then I decided I was going to be okay with the good, the bad, and the ugly. “I did one season in college, but I ended up losing every race.” I shrugged. “I quickly found out I wasn’t the star I’d thought I was in high school.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Same experience here.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “Well, for me it was football. I really thought I was something else. College sure brought me down a peg or two.”

  Interesting. There definitely was more to him than I’d originally suspected.

  He led me over to the treadmill and spent a little longer than he needed to in explaining to me how it worked. Finally, he left, and I started a warm up.

  I brushed my hair behind my ears and caught a hint of spiciness. He wasn’t joking that your skin picked up those essential oils.

  I jogged for thirty minutes, not bad for my second time back in it. My ankles felt strong, and my muscles remembered why I loved this. When I finally turned the machine off, I was hot and sweaty and starving. Grabbing the spray bottle, I sprayed the machine and wiped it down, then headed to the locker room where I cleaned off as best as I could. A few minutes later, I headed out.

  “I’ll be seeing you!” Robbie called as I approached the door.

  “Washed my hands,” I joked, waving them at him.

  He laughed, and I waved again before swinging my backpack up on my shoulder. My stomach growled, and I knew just where to go.

  Chapter 14

  To be honest, I didn’t go where my stomach was calling me. Between resisting that cinnamon bun place and Darcy’s Doughnuts, with their sweet jelly-filled confectionary delights, I was feeling like the queen of self-control. Instead, I chose the Springfield Diner. Ostentatiously, I told myself I would be good and order a salad. However, the scent o
f freshly cut French fries changed my mind faster than a Vegas dealer shuffling cards. I mean, there was only so much self-control a person could have.

  The waitress waltzed over to seat me, but not before Marla Springfield spotted me from the kitchen. She was the founder of this restaurant, and we’d become friends over the last few months.

  “Stella!” Marla walked up, and I smiled. She wore her characteristic chintz apron and tiny glasses. “How are you, love?” The woman was old, in her eighties, and thin as a matchstick. I swear I could see the nobs of her spine through the back of her dress. But she had that wiriness and determination in her steps that warned you not to underestimate her.

  “Well now, Miss Stella. What are you hungry for today?” Her eyes twinkled behind her glasses.

  “I’m starving,” I admitted.

  “You here for my five-alarm chili?” She led me over to a table and pointed for me to sit.

  “What’s that?” I asked, slightly concerned.

  “Little anchos, smoked meat, no beans.” She leaned over to straighten the napkin.

  I’d never heard of anchos. “What’s the first thing you said?”

  “Anchos. They’re little peppers.”

  “Aw, we should get them a hat.”

  She looked confused.

  “You know, because they’re little chilly.” Proof my blood sugar was low. I was cracking corny jokes.

  Her lips puckered, crinkling with wrinkles at the edges, like the rays of the sun. I thought I’d either lost her or offended her. I was gearing for trouble when she busted out a cackle. Patrons at the table next to me smiled at the sound, and I grinned, too. Who wouldn’t? Here was this cute eighty-year-old woman practically busting a gut.

  “Get them hats! I’ve got to tell that one to Ralph!” She squinted at me. “Now what are you doing here all sweaty-like? You still working at the realty office? You don’t go to work looking like that, do you?”

  I plucked at my t-shirt to fan myself out and then winced, imagining the wave of sweat I probably just gave her. “Just got back from the gym.”

  “Huh. Gym, hmm? You know, I don’t abide in all that fancy paying-to-sweat-in-a-building stuff. Good hard work will keep you in shape.” She flexed her arm, and the muscle jumped like a rubber band. “Keeps me strong.”

  “You definitely are,” I admired.

  “Now, what have you been selling lately?” She leaned a bony hip against the table and watched me expectantly.

  “Right now, I just have one client. They were going to buy the Stuber’s place until—” I left it there, figuring she was so on top of the gossip that she’d understand.

  Her near non-existent eyebrows puckered their few white hairs together. “Ahh, I see. So you’re trying to find them a new place?”

  I nodded.

  “Well good. They may have squeaked out of a bad deal and need to be thankful.”

  “I’m not sure about that. They loved that place.”

  Her mouth pursed and she stared me straight in the eye. “There’s such a thing as a house of love, and then there’s a strange home. Those two couldn’t be more different. That place there is a strange home. And the neighbors made sure to do their part to keep it that way.”

  There was something alarming in the way she said that. “I know they didn’t get along, but they seemed to have patched it up at the end. Or is there something I’m missing?”

  She leaned down so her joints cracked in her back. I winced at the sound.

  “Those two were sitting just over there. A couple of weeks ago.” She pointed to a table about three over from mine. “Talking ugly talk. Gordon told Ian that he could send the gardener back in a box if he gave them any more trouble. Gave me the shivers to hear.”

  “Wow, they seemed so nice at the party.” I held back that Oscar had mentioned that Gordon had mob ties.

  “Not everything is as it seems, young lady. And it’s high time you learned that. Now, how about that chili? It’s won more contests than you can shake a stick at.”

  “Mm, I’m thinking a chicken wrap this time,” I said with an apologetic shrug. Chili and I weren’t the best of friends, and I only had one roll of toilet paper left at home.

  Her joints crackled again as she leaned away from the table. “You know, I saw the Valentines the other day.”

  “Really?” Those two octogenarian siblings had been on my mind for a while ever since I saw Charity at the nursing home. It was interesting that Marla was bringing them up, considering there’d been a long-standing grudge between both her and the Valentines for going on sixty years now. “Did you actually talk with them?”

  Her eyes softened as she smiled. “They say that time heals all wounds. I’d say that in the case of our squabble, it sure did.”

  “She apologized?” I gasped, a little dubious.

  “Pshaw. At our age, you don’t apologize for nothing. No. She asked for a slice of my pumpkin pie, and then she said it was right good. Course, then she tacked on that she seemed to remember giving me the recipe, of which I had to give a sharp rebuttal.”

  “And?” I asked, trying to picture this argument.

  “And, we’re right as rain. She’s changed a lot through the years. They come to have their Sunday night pot roast here along with the rest of the folks.”

  “Aw, that makes me happy. I saw Charity volunteering the other day. It’s nice to see they’re doing well.”

  The bell rang from the back. She sent a scowl in that direction that would’ve made a truck driver shiver. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” And then back to me, “The Valentines are tough. They’re survivors. And they’ve learned to survive by keeping their nose out of other people’s business. You know, Miss Stella, you could learn that trick yourself. A young woman like yourself needs to be careful.”

  I swallowed hard, thinking about the black truck. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Ian Stuber had some enemies.” She leaned in close and I swear her ancient body creaked again. “Some bad people who are hearing tell of you asking questions.”

  “Bad people? How do you know this?”

  “I may be old, but I've always been a listener.” She tapped her ear. “And these things haven’t failed me yet.”

  Her ears were large and stuck out prominently from under her hair that was held with several bobby pins on top of her head. The lobes dangled, wrinkled. Still, there were no hearing aids.

  “What have you heard?” I asked. “And who’s talking?”

  “I’m hearing rumors is all. Little airy rumors.” She waggled wrinkled fingers. “About some pretty young brunette who is poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. I’m telling you right now, you leave that stuff to the police."

  “How come these rumors aren’t going after the police?” I asked. “They ask harder questions than I ever have.”

  “The police know how to do their dealings in this town. And it’s not by ruffling feathers. You want to make sure you don’t ruffle any yourself. You’re just one lonely chick in this great big world, and you’re catching the eyes of a few too many chicken hawks.”

  The bell dinged again, and this time the cook yelled, “Order up!

  She sighed and straightened her apron ties. “Now, I’ll go put your order in for that chicken wrap. And, while I’m at it, can I get you a piece of my homemade apple crisp?”

  “Sorry, just the chicken wrap today,” I said, a little stunned and mortified that people had been talking about me. What had I said to get them starting? And who was it? The guy in the black truck?

  I took a sip of water, trying to sort through what she said. I’d seen cops in here eating breakfast before. Was Marla trying to warn me that the cops were dirty?

  Prickles rose on my neck like I was being watched. My gaze darted around the restaurant, but everyone seemed to be focused on their food and table guests. Seconds ticked by. I waited for the feeling to pass, but it didn’t.

  Someone was staring. I could feel it.

 
The waitress named Tammy, came over with my lunch and sat it down. I grinned to see a small cup of chili sitting next to my wrap. I raised up my hand to order a drink, but she blazed away like there was a million-dollar tip on some table in the back. For some unknown reason, she’d never liked me, and always gave me a hard time whenever she had to serve me.

  That must be it, I convinced myself. I must have subconsciously seen she was here and felt that animosity. That’s why I thought someone was watching me. Feeling better, I picked up my chicken wrap and was gearing to take a bite, when my eyes locked onto a man sitting a few tables away. He stared brazenly back. I hurriedly glanced away, only to see a woman watching me from two tables over. My cheeks flushed, and I glanced down at my french fries.

  You’re just freaking out, after what Marla said. After a moment, I peeked at the two of them again, and both were seemingly absorbed with their conversations.

  After I finished, I waved down my waitress. Tammy came over, her hand in her greasy apron pocket.

  “I was just wondering if I could get my check.”

  “Oh, I meant to tell you. It’s been paid for.” She looked down her nose like I didn’t deserve it.

  “Really?” I smiled, thinking Marla must have treated me.

  “Yeah. Some man. He said he’d been watching you real close, and he wanted to remind you that you’re never alone.”

  Her words hit me like I’d just opened the door of an arctic freezer. “What are you talking about?” Some man? Watching me? “What did he look like?”

  She gathered my dishes. “I’m too busy to pay attention to stuff like that. Left me a twenty and said to tell you what I just said.” She leaned back with her hands full and an impatient look on her face. “Now will there be anything else?”

  My mind was spinning. “Have you seen him before?”

  She shrugged. “You work in this town long enough, you’ve seen everyone. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get to my other tables. I don’t have time to be yakking.”

  I rubbed my forehead, wondering if I should call the police. Just then, goosebumps prickled my arms. Someone was watching me again. Right now. I could feel it. Staring at me from somewhere behind. Slowly, I turned around. There, at the window, a figure darted away.