by E J Cochrane
Chapter Eight
Having reluctantly departed from Leigh’s not long after arriving (and with little to show for her efforts), Maddie sat in the momentary quiet of the Little Guys office, shaking her head, puzzling over her schedule and wondering how she was going to make this work. She’d secured a pledge from Leigh to meet later that day—a semi-promising development in her mind. The sooner she got started hunting down proof of Leigh’s alibi, the sooner she could focus her attention on other matters that occupied her mind, things like Nadia and bowing to Dottie’s domestic whims. The downside, of course, was that Leigh had insisted on meeting at a bar, an arrangement that hadn’t thrilled Maddie.
“Wouldn’t it be better to talk somewhere more private?” she asked, trying to dissuade Leigh. “I think a bar will be kind of, um, boisterous.”
“It shouldn’t be too bad on a Monday night,” Leigh answered dismissively.
She didn’t have another ready excuse and didn’t believe Leigh wouldn’t have an easy answer for any pretense Maddie could dream up. But she couldn’t mention her real objection—Leigh’s newfound disregard for moderation and her liver. She wanted to talk to sober Leigh, not recent party girl Leigh, which seemed unlikely in such a setting. Nevertheless, she’d agreed, hoping she would have an opportunity (however brief) to get information from Leigh before her indulgence had the desired effect of washing away her memory. Even if that didn’t work, she couldn’t possibly leave the bar less informed than when she entered.
Her investigation on hold, she settled in to tend to some business in the hour or so before her walkers showed up to start their day. She had a busy day ahead of her—in addition to her regular duties, she and Patrick now had a four o’clock appointment with potential new client Jennifer Wolf and her toy poodle, General Stevery. It seemed like a big name for such a little dog to live up to, and Maddie was torn between hoping his personality matched his name and dreading that particular symbiosis. Packed schedule notwithstanding, she had some personal business to address beforehand. First on the agenda: calling Nadia.
The more she thought about dinner with her possibly former ex, the more she looked forward to it. She didn’t know where the evening would lead, though it seemed clear that Nadia wanted to rekindle their brief romance, not that she’d exactly said as much. But even if Maddie misread the situation (always a possibility when Maddie and women mixed), at least she wouldn’t have to eat alone.
“What time tonight?” she asked, glad she had caught Nadia before her day got so hectic she couldn’t answer the phone. Something about voice mail magnified Maddie’s awkwardness by about a million percent.
“Is eight o’clock too late?”
“Not at all,” she answered, though she wished that didn’t give her doubt quite so much time to run roughshod over her minimal composure.
“Wonderful,” Nadia responded. “I wish I could see you sooner, but I’ve got a crazy schedule today.”
“We don’t have to do it today,” she offered, disappointed at the possible delay.
“Yes, we do. I’m not sure I can wait twelve hours to see you. Don’t think I’m going to opt for waiting longer.”
“Tonight then.” She caught herself beaming at the empty room and scowled. Had she already forgotten the hurt Nadia had caused? Reminding herself not to be so easily swept off her feet, she asked, “Where should we go?”
“Why don’t you come to my place?”
“Your place?”
She had expected to end up at a restaurant—possibly a dimly lit, romantic place, but one with plenty of other people and no bedrooms nearby. She had little enough willpower around Nadia as it was. Pairing the persuasive and tantalizing Dr. Sheridan with readily available tools of seduction suddenly felt like the precursor to regret.
“It’s not far from my practice, so I’ll have a good chance of beating you there, Miss Punctuality. And this way the dogs can come too. Everybody wins.”
“Perfect.” Maddie, not entirely certain she’d won anything, gulped and felt panic set in.
Almost as soon as she ended her call with Nadia, her phone rang.
“Tell me you’re available at five.” Harriet, as usual, eschewed the pesky formality of a salutation.
“What’s happening at five?”
“You’re visiting the future site of Little Guys.” Harriet answered more enthusiastically than the prospect of wandering through an empty building warranted.
“You sound awfully confident about this, considering how many future sites I’ve already seen and rejected.”
“And you’ll see why at five.”
“If I’m available.”
She bristled at her sister’s presumption. Already irritated by her own plentiful acquiescence that morning, she felt obliged to offer at least minimal resistance to her sister. Even so, she felt confident that her overloaded schedule didn’t include any appointments between her new client meeting and bar time with Leigh at six.
“Looks like I can make it,” she said after consulting her schedule.
And once she’d seen (and most likely vetoed) this place, she could give up the search with a clean conscience. Plus, it would occupy her mind for at least a portion of the time she had dedicated to fanning the flames of her anxiety over dinner with Nadia.
“I’m telling you, Maddie, this is the place,” Harriet raved before giving her the address. “You are going to fall in love when you see it.”
“We’ll see at five,” she said and wondered at her sister’s optimistic enthusiasm. It was unprecedented, and she suspected, not long for this world.
She considered the familiar address her sister had given her. It was a bit north of her current location but not by much. She walked a few dogs in that area. In fact, she spent a good portion of her day traversing several nearby blocks, but she couldn’t picture a shuttered business waiting for her to fall in love with its hidden charms. She didn’t even remember seeing any For Sale signs around there. She hated to think she was so oblivious to her surroundings that she’d failed to notice commercial real estate, but no amount of head scratching brought the property in question to mind.
Not that she had an inordinate amount of time to ponder the situation. A short while after hanging up, her phone rang yet again, and she gave up all hope of making headway on any of the projects currently demanding her attention.
“Is this Miss Smithwick?” a female voice inquired, saying the “th” like a “d.”
“It is.” She grinned at the rare correct pronunciation of her name.
“This is Murphy. We met over the summer.”
Her smile grew larger both at the memory of Officer Murphy and (ridiculous though it was) because of the way Murphy described their initial contact. Rather than reminding Maddie of the unfortunate circumstances that had led the charming cop to her door, Murphy had made it sound like a chance and (if her delusion hadn’t taken complete control) pleasant encounter. As distractions went, this was one of the better ones.
“I need a cat sitter.”
“I’d be happy to help you out with that.”
“Great,” Murphy said, and to Maddie’s hopeful ears, she sounded excited. “How does this work?”
“We need to set up a time to meet you and—what’s your cat’s name?”
“I have two cats, Stanley and Herbie.”
She allowed herself a moment to squeal internally at the adorable old man names. “So, we’ll set up a meeting to make sure Stanley and Herbie are comfortable with Eric and to sign the contract and get keys.”
“Eric?” For the first time, Murphy sounded hesitant.
“He’s my cat guy. Don’t worry. Cats love him. I think he rolls around in catnip or dabs tuna behind his ears.”
“It’s just, well, I thought you would be watching the cats.”
“That’s certainly possible, but I assure you, Eric is excellent with cats.”
“Oh, I’m sure he is. It’s not that. It’s just that I want you.”
&n
bsp; She felt her face flush at Murphy’s words. She’d already been enjoying the sound of her voice more than she should. Murphy was a potential client after all, and even though Maddie was, technically, still single (at least until eight) and free to swoon over anyone she pleased, it would benefit no one for Maddie to feed a massive crush on a client. She wouldn’t act on it, so what was the point? But Murphy had a great voice, and (unprofessional though it was) Maddie hoped the conversation went on far longer than necessary.
“Stanley prefers women,” Murphy blurted to her slight disappointment. “Plus, they’re my family. I just want the best for them if I can’t be here.”
“Well then,” Maddie, soaring again, answered. “I’d be honored to look after your kids. When are you available to meet?”
“How does tomorrow night around six work?”
“It’s a date.” She cringed and dropped her head onto her desk as soon as the words left her mouth. She’d been doing so well. “I mean, it’s not a date. It’s an appointment.” Because that’s a thing people said. Couldn’t someone just kill her now?
“I’ll see you then,” Murphy said after giving Maddie her address.
“Unless I die of embarrassment first,” Maddie muttered and then lifted her head to see several of her employees staring at her.
Her day was off to a great start.
Chapter Nine
Given the number of concerns weighing on Maddie’s mind, she felt the need to seek advice, and her mind instantly turned to her best friend. Not that Dottie typically served as a source of reason, sound judgment or wise counsel, but sometimes hearing her preposterous take on life offered Maddie clarity (something she had in short supply at the moment). So she texted between her walks with barking connoisseur Baxter Collins and sniffing aficionado Hazel Taylor, then again before her jaunt with the adorably stubborn Bunny Baginski, a big brown mutt who flouted every rule. She squeezed in another text and a call before her walks with unrepentant howler Thora Nguyen and Alphonse the super poodle, respectively. Her attempts to contact Dottie were numerous (and increasingly desperate), but her excessive communication efforts were to no avail. And the longer she went without hearing from Dottie, the more she worried, adding one more item to her list of concerns.
They’d only ever gone this long without communicating during each of Dottie’s honeymoons, a realization that conjured a startling question in her mind—had Dottie eloped? Was she off on a tropical island adventure with the financial overlord of some megacorporation? As soon as she finished the thought, she dismissed it. Dottie would never voluntarily pass up the opportunity to be the center of attention. Something else was going on, and eventually Maddie would figure it out.
But for now she had real business to tend to. As she and Patrick walked the few blocks from Little Guys’ current location to its alleged new home, the wind picked up speed and strength, impeding their progress and buffeting them with debris and dead leaves. He squinted and braced himself against the assault, and she vowed to show her appreciation through dinner or baked goods (possibly both) in the very near future.
They both stopped short when they approached the address Harriet had given them, though Maddie suspected their collective astoundment had, at its source, very different origins.
“That’s your sister?” he asked. Though he spoke softly, she could still hear the infatuation in his voice.
“All my life,” she answered and prepared herself to witness his undoing.
Growing up in Harriet’s comely shadow had, at times, been as difficult as being Dottie’s unremarkable best friend. Where Maddie was short and freckled, Harriet was a comfortable five foot ten and had a model-worthy complexion (with or without the makeup she knew how to apply flawlessly). Unlike Maddie’s naturally frizzy and untamable hair, Harriet’s long, reddish brown tresses always seemed to behave for her—no matter the humidity—and her large brown eyes missed nothing, especially not her effect on smitten men. When they went out together, she could almost always pinpoint the exact second she faded into the background, becoming scenery rather than a human being. Since this phenomenon mostly excluded her from the notice of men she had no interest in anyway, she didn’t usually care, but Patrick’s faithlessness (no matter how temporary it might be) stung.
As Harriet approached, he ran his hand through his hair, and Maddie turned her attention to where it would matter—the latest building in Harriet’s long string of potential properties.
“A firehouse?” she asked her sister. When she got no response after a lengthy pause, she turned to find that an equally enamored Harriet had completely ignored her sister to introduce herself to Patrick. They stood silently, smiling and nodding, their motionless clasped hands the only evidence of a forgotten handshake.
“Good lord,” she sighed and stepped closer. “If you just open the door for me, I can look around on my own while you two make eyes at each other.”
“Oh Matilda.” Harriet snapped to attention, and finally releasing her hold on Patrick’s hand, straightened her already perfect skirt. “Shall we?” she said, inclining her head toward the reason they were there, her focus ostensibly back on business even though she spoke to Patrick rather than Maddie.
“Don’t mind me,” she grumbled as she followed the pair into the defunct firehouse.
Her first thought once inside was that the place needed work. The floor dipped and buckled in places, and the windows that hadn’t been broken had outlived their usefulness. Several walls needed attention beyond what a fresh coat of paint would provide.
“It’s a bit of a fixer-upper,” Harriet echoed her initial impression.
Only half paying attention to her sister, she nodded and drifted toward the stairs. “So you said earlier.”
Before ascending to the second level, she turned slowly, taking in the whole first floor. It was a mess, but she saw the potential. Upstairs there was room for an office and space for any special needs dogs to hang out away from the rowdy, rough-and-tumble play of dogs downstairs. That area was large enough for kennels, a dog wash, and a training area in addition to a space for her employees and customers to move around comfortably. And she felt good in the space. It was filthy and quite possibly falling apart around her, but she felt like she belonged there. It wasn’t what she thought she wanted, but now she couldn’t see herself anywhere else.
“There’s definitely work to be done, but I bet it’s not as bad as it seems.” Back downstairs, she examined the floor closely and then rose to take it all in again. “I wish Dad was here. I’d like to know what he thinks.”
“I can show him the space tonight.” She spoke over her shoulder to Maddie before returning her full attention to her next conquest. “Maddie and our father make an amazing team,” Harriet told an enraptured Patrick (who had been to Maddie’s house and already knew what she and Mr. Smithwick were capable of). “Of course, you don’t look like a stranger to manual labor.” Harriet tossed a wink at Patrick, but at least she didn’t fondle his biceps.
Maddie’s eye roll went unnoticed as he blushed, grinned and looked ready to offer to fix something, anything of Harriet’s. Before he could start flexing and strutting, Maddie cut him off.
“Can I afford this place?”
“It’s a little higher than you wanted to go, though I suspect you played it safe with your budget.”
She scowled at her sister’s perceptive comment but said nothing.
“And I’ll cut you a deal on my commission.”
“No way. You’ve already done so much work for me. You deserve to be paid fairly.”
“I agree, but you’re the reason I’m working with Dottie, and considering the bundle I stand to make on her place, I can lose a little here.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that.”
“I’d think she’d be oddly pleased to be seen as a cash cow.”
“Absolutely she would, but if she catches you calling her Dottie instead of Gwendolyn, you won’t make a dime.”
“Don
’t worry. I know the rules,” Harriet reassured her. “I haven’t heard a no yet. Does that mean it’s a yes?”
She realized she was nodding as she looked around once more. She could picture herself and her business so clearly in this place. Though the boarded-up windows allowed no light to pass through, she easily imagined how the soft rays of sunlight would stream across her pristine walls and floors as she, her walkers, customers and dogs milled about the wide-open space. It could work and give Little Guys plenty of room to grow. Though she’d brought him along specifically for his opinion, she didn’t even need to consult Patrick.
“If Dad tells me it’s not a money pit, it’s a yes.”
“Yes!” Harriet pumped her fist in a manner that was neither professional nor ladylike, but Maddie understood exactly how she felt.
Now if only the rest of her evening would go this easily.
The end of Maddie’s bar-hopping days coincided with her graduation from college, although even before then, she’d been more bookworm than night owl. So despite its status as an independent, lesbian-owned fixture in her neighborhood, she had never set foot in Pi. She didn’t look forward to changing that fact. Not only would she be walking into a bar alone, but she would almost certainly have to relive her long history of rejection when she sidled up to whatever ultra-hot, baby-faced eye candy the owners had installed as a top-notch lesbian lure, regardless of her limitations as a bartender. In this instance, her deniable appeal to women, particularly those in the service industry, was grating but probably for the best. A little lubrication before her outing of an undetermined nature with Nadia would be a good thing, but she didn’t want to risk too much loss of her inhibitions. They were her friends, and she didn’t want to send them off on a booze-fueled vacation.
At first glance, she had no regrets over not supporting this particular local establishment. It seemed little more than a dive. The walls sported the usual collection of beer signage (some in glorious neon) as well as flyers for upcoming events, and the floor had that low-grade persistent stickiness particular to taverns and movie theaters. Except for a small section in the back with pool tables, most of the floor space was taken up by scarred and worn lacquer-coated wooden tables and highboys, all of them occupied. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that Pi had been catering to the lesbians of Rogers Park for fifty years rather than five. In the small blessings department, the absence of a dance floor meant that the music pouring out of the jukebox and reverberating off the walls wasn’t that repetitive, unimaginative computer-generated stuff that made her head pound in time with the synthesized beats.
