“That makes sense. With that much money, it would’ve been broken into several accounts and investments, right? Do you have any paperwork?”
“None. Everything is kept at my accountant’s office.”
I perked at the news. “Did you talk to your accountant?”
“His office is dark and the phone just rings to voicemail. I tried to reach him several times.”
“You don’t think . . . could he and Jessica have run off together?” I asked, seeing the possibility of two intelligent, albeit greedy, people walking off with millions of their client’s money.
“That’s my theory. I ran it past Peter and he’s looking into the accountant. If he can’t locate Jessica, maybe he can find Adam.”
“Wow,” I uttered.
“I feel like an idiot,” Caleb admitted, stirring noodles into the boiling water. “I was so busy playing poker and dodging Jessica’s demands, I never stopped to think about securing my money. I just expected it to be handled.”
“Don’t feel like an idiot. Their job was to keep your calendar and money in order. Your job was to play at the tables.”
“True, but I learned my lesson. I’m keeping an eye on everything now.” His eyes swept over to mine. “Including you.”
Chapter 14
I traipsed into the chapel the next morning to find Frankie and Mark arguing. What they were arguing over wasn’t clear. Their wide, gesturing arms and fiery red faces didn’t give me any clues, except to point out that I should retreat and come back when the chapel returned to normal. I snorted. Normal.
“Nadia!” Frankie called, peering around Mark’s shoulder. Mark swiftly turned in my direction.
I bit back a sigh. Caught with no escape. I stepped farther into the room but left plenty of distance between me and the warring couple.
“Can you explain to Mark why I won’t change the theme to All Celebrities!”
“Since you never told me why,” I said, grasping for a reason, “I can only assume it’s because you’re good at celebrity impersonations and that it’s the name of the chapel. And, therefore, you’d have the hassle of changing signs and business cards,” I concluded, hoping that answer would relieve me of having to come up with additional theories.
“Exactly! And it’s mine! My chapel!” Frankie bellowed as if even the clouds dared to dispute his claim.
“You’re being unreasonable. We have enough space to create more themes,” Mark argued. “We could have it all!”
“That is assuming I’d want to move my business over to your building. I like my theme and my building!”
“My building is better,” Mark huffed.
“Your building is missing a turret!” Frankie barked.
“And whose fault is that?” Mark snipped.
“Yours!” Frankie argued. “You brought Muffin down upon yourself.”
Mark bristled. “You know damn well it was your fault. You and your misfits have been nothing but a plague!”
Misfits?
“Are you calling my staff misfits?” Frankie gasped. “I have a hard-working and loyal team. Well, except for Nadia who jumped ship and left me stranded.”
“Left you stranded?” I interrupted, knowing it was a bad idea to cut in. But, really, I was the one forced out of my apartment.
“Yes! But that’s not the point. The point is: I’m not going into business with a pigheaded man!”
“Pigheaded!” Mark fumed. “How dare you! If anyone is pigheaded, it’s you! How many times have I tried to arrange the cupboards so it’s easier to find things? Every time I move something, you move it back.”
“They’re my cupboards, and I like the way they are.”
“The glasses should be near the refrigerator and sink. The cooking utensils should be near the stove. I nearly burnt Gus’s mahi mahi looking for a spatula!”
“They’re my glasses and utensils!” Frankie snapped with flaring nostrils.
My eyes volleyed between the two chapel owners, and it dawned on me what the real problem was.
“Aren’t the two weeks of servitude up?” I asked, halting the bickering. Frankie and Mark whipped their attention to me in a mixture of bitterness and horror. And there it was; the reason for the arguments. Neither wanted to separate and yet neither was willing to say the words.
After a moment of stunned and awkward silence, Frankie gave a tight nod. “That’s right. The two weeks are up. I guess that means I no longer require your services, Mark,” he said to the floor.
Mark’s mouth hung open. He quickly collected himself and replied, “Then I will be on my way. Just give me a moment to pack my things.” He bustled out of the chapel.
Frankie’s eyes lifted from the floor to see Mark bound up the stairs. His eyes never left Mark’s trail. I waited for a moment but there was no sign of movement from Frankie.
“Frankie, I’m sorry I brought up the two weeks,” I said.
He shook himself out of the trance and kicked at the floor. “No. It had to be said. We’ve been fighting like this the last few days. I didn’t want to tell him his time was up. It was easier to fight.”
“Why not admit you want him to stay?”
“Because I don’t know if I do,” Frankie said with a helpless shrug. “I like my chapel the way it is. I like being single.”
“But do you like Mark more?”
Frankie blinked against misted eyes. “I don’t know. Will you excuse me? I have some business to take care of.” He didn’t wait for a response as he escaped to the parking lot. I watched as he climbed into Lucille and started the engine.
Poor Frankie.
I walked upstairs to find Frankie’s door wide open. I caught a glimpse of a stuffed lion lounging on the couch. The lion was a little too tubby, like he ate one too many hot dogs.
“Gus?” I wondered. A scowling-faced lion yawned. I crossed over to the couch and peered down. It was definitely Gus. The lion costume strained against his pudgy belly. “I thought you’d be dressed as a princess,” I said as I gave him a few pets. He pawed at the fringed lion’s mane made of yarn.
“Frankie said I should stop dressing him in princess outfits for a while,” Mark sniffled, rolling his suitcase out of the bedroom. “Gus was starting to think he was a princess and was quite demanding.”
I eyed the sprawled-out Gus with a disbelieving brow. “He seems the same.”
“It’s the lion costume. It’s really helped his self-esteem. I guess Frankie is right,” Mark said, sniffling louder. “Sometimes I try to make something into what it’s not and people into who they aren’t.”
“I don’t think Frankie believes that. He just needs time.”
Mark shook his head and snatched a tissue from a quilted pig on the end table. “He’s right. I’m a meddling fool. I’m always sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong. I’ll just go home and reopen Fairytale Chapel. Pretending to be Prince Charming is easier than . . .” Mark broke into a full-body sob.
Ah, geez! I knew I shouldn’t have stopped.
“Don’t. Mind. Me,” he said between sobbing hiccups. “I’ll. Leave. And. Never. Return!”
My eyes rolled to the ceiling. Dear Lord.
“Frankie will come around,” I said. “He needs time. I understand how he feels. It’s too fast and too much all at once.”
“What about how I feel? While he’s keeping me at a distance, what do I do? How should I feel?” Mark blew his nose. “I’d wait for him for an eternity if he’d give me a sign. Any sign. I’ve already waited a long time. Years! But he doesn’t say anything. I think it’s time to move on,” he said, grasping onto a thread of thought. “I’ll close the chapel and move. It’s the only way for me to get over him.”
“Don’t do that,” I hurried to say. “He’ll come around. I know he will.”
“How do you know?”
“If he didn’t like you, he’d never have let you stay in his apartment.”
“He let Leopard Pants stay in his apartment.”
&nb
sp; “Just to make you mad, and then he sent him home after a day or two. He didn’t send you home.”
“That’s because I was his servant. He had to let me stay.”
“He let you stay because he enjoys your company. If he didn’t like you, there’s no way he’d let you into his hallowed bachelor pad. He’d have made you show up every morning and then go home every night.”
Mark gave a defeated laugh. “He just doesn’t care for me enough to keep me around. I give up. It hurts too much to hope for something that will never happen.” He turned and headed for the door. “Come on, Gus. It’s time to go home.”
Gus watched as Mark walked to the door. When Mark opened the door, Gus stood with a stretch and waddled down the doggy stairs toward Mark. They moved companionably together down the hall.
Mark had his cell phone at his ear. “Fix the turret as soon as possible. I want the building on the market by next week.”
He’s leaving for good, I thought as they walked downstairs and out of sight.
And he stole my cat!
Huh.
Do I run after him and get my cat back? As much as I hate to admit it, Gus did receive more attention from Mark. He seemed happy even though he was dressed in embarrassing costumes. And he did leave of his own accord. Gus had never followed me unless baited with a hot dog. A sobering thought.
Gus will be okay. I’ll check on him and Mark in a day or two.
Mark’s words replayed as I walked upstairs. He’s right. If he wasn’t given any sign from Frankie, why should he wait? Another sobering thought: Why should Caleb and Greyson wait for me, especially after I left Caleb after dinner?
I had run.
Again!
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I shouted in the stairwell. What if they’ve finally had enough? I’ll make a decision today. Enough is enough! I refuse to prolong this and drag everyone’s heart through the muck. But how do I decide?
I listened at my apartment door. It was quiet. Did Muffin and Piñata leave? They could be asleep. It was ten o’clock, but that doesn’t mean anything in this building. In fact, I was surprised Frankie and Mark were awake.
I knocked on the door, thinking I’d rather be safe than sorry. Some images can’t be erased from memory no matter how much alcohol you consume.
I waited a few moments before knocking again. When I was confident Muffin and Piñata were gone, I placed the key in the lock. I should call Caleb and apologize. Actually, I should go over and apologize in person. I know exactly how to beg for forgiveness. I smiled. I’ll just grab a few things from the apartment and head over. God, I hope he’s not too mad.
I turned the key and cracked the door open to peek inside. I heard a click before the air shifted as if caught in a vacuum, then it blew out in raging force. The door slammed, ripping the entire frame from the wall as the apartment exploded into a fireball.
I crashed into the hallway wall. The flying door sandwiched me in place. Burning debris caved in around me, trapping me in my spot. Smoke billowed from the apartment as fire engulfed the ceiling with licking flames. I struggled with the door so I could escape. The knob was jammed painfully in my side. I couldn’t budge it—especially not with only one working arm.
“Dammit!” I cried, pounding against my prison. “Help!” I screamed to an empty building, coughing as thick smoke infiltrated my lungs.
Oh, God! I’ll never see him again, I thought as his face flashed through my mind. How could I not have seen it? How could I have been so confused?
Coughing as the smoke suffocated the air, I clawed at the door, holding onto my last bit of consciousness. My eyes burned as though carpeted in ash.
A shadow ran through the smoky stairwell and stopped in front of me. Was it my dark spirits again?
Damn spirits!
I coughed, drifting into unconsciousness.
Chapter 15
“Holy crap!” I sputtered, wiping the water from my face. I looked up to find Muffin standing over me with an empty bucket. “You saved my life.”
“You burned down my apartment,” she growled, tossing the empty bucket to the side.
Distant sirens had Muffin doing her I-need-to-escape dance.
“You called the cops?” she hissed at Piñata.
“I called 911. The building is on fire!”
“You know cops give me hives!” she exclaimed.
“Go hang out at the diner down the road,” he said. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Muffin barreled down the sidewalk.
“Hey!” Piñata called to her. “Get a paper and start looking for places.”
“I thought you were already looking for places,” I said, eyeing him in suspicion.
He rubbed his jaw. “Let’s just say I’m biding my time.”
“You could have escaped several times by now.”
“I won’t have to escape. Not when . . .”
His words were drowned by the sirens of emergency vehicles descending into the parking lot.
“How did the fire start?” Piñata yelled over the noise.
“I don’t know. I opened the door and the apartment exploded,” I hollered back.
His brows pinched together. “Stay here!” he ordered. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I studied him for a moment as he spoke rapidly into his phone and headed to where a cop pulled in. There’s something different about this guy. There’d have to be for him to put up with Muffin for any length of time. I couldn’t help but feel there was some duplicity at work.
An EMT rushed over. He had me in the truck and hooked up to a contraption in a matter of minutes. I watched the fire from the back of the truck. The entire top floor was engulfed in flames. Two fire hoses battled the inferno. The wail of more emergency vehicles sounded in the distance.
Everything I owned was destroyed.
Not that it was much . . . but still. It was mine. Thank goodness Mark took Gus with him. The fire may not reach Frankie’s apartment, but I’m sure there will be at least smoke and water damage.
I yanked out my phone and texted Frankie to return. I don’t think he has to worry about his cupboards anymore.
When he arrived at the chapel, I couldn’t see him, but I heard his shriek. “Oh, my God!”
“Frankie!” I called, sending me into a coughing fit.
“What happened?” he demanded. “Did Mark set my building on fire?”
I shook my head, wheezing from the coughing attack. An oxygen mask was pressed to my face.
“Breathe,” the EMT said.
“Was Muffin trying out her new fried chicken recipe? I knew that woman was dangerous in the kitchen!”
I shook my head again.
“Then what happened?” Frankie demanded. “Why is my home and business on fire? Oh! My fine Italian leather shoes! All my costumes! Everything!” His face blanched into a sickly white tinged with a hint of green. “It’s all gone. I’m homeless. I’m out of business.”
Frankie fainted on the spot.
* * *
“Frankie, it’s only temporary,” I said, letting him into Sergio’s apartment. “You’ll have your business up and running in no time. You can stay here until you get back on your feet.”
“All that work!” he cried miserably. “I slaved over those costumes. I built All Celebrities from the ground up. That building was a toxic dump when I bought it. So much time! So much effort! And for what? It burned to the ground!”
“You did a great job making All Celebrities a success, and you’ll do an even better job creating something new. You already know what pitfalls to avoid. You have experience and knowledge. Just think of the possibilities!” It was really hard to feed Frankie positive lines when all I wanted to do was curl up in my pity corner. I was channeling serious Mya energy to keep up such a farce. But the last thing I needed was a hysterical Frankie.
“I can’t think of anything right now. I just want to sleep,” he said, looking around the empty loft. “Where’s the furn
iture?”
“There isn’t any.”
“You brought me to a place with no furniture and expect me to stay here?”
“Think of it as a clean slate,” I offered, trying to keep the glass half full.
He shook his head with a sigh and turned to leave. “This just gets worse and worse. I’ll go buy blow-up furniture. It looks like we’ll have to make do.”
I watched him leave with slumped shoulders. Poor Frankie.
He wasn’t the only one feeling powerful emotions. Mine ranged from fear to anger. Unfortunately for my killer, I let anger rule my world.
I sent a quick 911 text to Remy and David.
Let the war begin!
* * *
Remy squeezed into a lime-green blow-up chair. He shifted uncomfortably, making the chair sound like a . . . well, like a fart.
David’s lips trembled as he attempted to bite back a laugh.
“Don’t you dare!” Remy warned, making the unfortunate sound again.
David’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. Between Remy’s scowl, the chair noises, and David’s losing battle, I did my best to hold in an escaping laugh. My shoulders shook as violently as David’s.
“Damn it!” Remy barked, attempting to stand. “I can’t get out of this thing!” He leaned forward to crawl out, tipping the chair along with him. He grappled with it, flinging it off in a last-ditch effort to free himself.
David and I wailed with laughter. Tears streamed down my face as I tried to stifle the chortling giggles. Remy, freed from the blow-up chair, gave it a kick, hurtling it across the room, causing us to laugh even harder.
Remy winced. “I didn’t mean to kick it that hard,” he said.
I snorted and wiped the tears from my eyes.
“Stop laughing,” he warned.
I couldn’t. Even if he threatened to pepper spray me, I couldn’t. The laughter was infectious.
Remy took a menacing step forward, making me convulse in giggles. No matter how tough he attempted to appear, the image of him stuck in a lime-green blow-up chair was enough to tickle my funny bone into an uproar.
Squeeze Play Page 11
