by Lynn, JB
“It is.” Tears of frustration prickled the back of my eyelids. I clenched my fists, willing the waterworks away.
“Must be hard on all of you. You’re all doing your best, but they probably feel like since your mother is, for all intents and purposes, out of the picture, that they’ve got to jump in and pick up the slack.”
Opening my eyes, I blinked quickly. “They’ve always had that responsibility.”
“And with Susan being the most responsible of the group…” He trailed off.
My shoulders sagged. “It makes sense that she’s the one I clash with most.”
“Families are difficult,” he opined. I got the distinct impression he was thinking of his own as he spoke. “It’s hard for an older generation to understand that the younger adults might be able to figure things out on their own.”
I glanced over at him and saw he was staring off into space.
“And it’s hard for us to remember that they still see us as children who need to be protected,” I agreed softly.
He nodded.
My phone buzzed, interrupting the moment.
“That’s my reminder I have to be across town,” I announced.
He tilted his head and smiled at me. “I’m glad we had a chance to talk.”
“Me too.” As I reached for the door handle, I realized I meant it.
Angel waited until I’d gotten into my car and started the engine before pulling out of his parking space. Even then, he waited for me to drive out of the lot ahead of him.
Giving a quick wave, I headed in the opposite direction, as he headed for the B&B and I went to fill out the paperwork at my new job.
I hadn’t driven two blocks when the cell phone underneath my seat began to ring.
“Crap!” I shouted eloquently. Yanking the steering wheel to the right, I pulled onto the shoulder of the road, threw the car into park, and reached under the seat in a mad scramble to get to the phone before it went to voice mail.
This wasn’t just any phone under my seat. It was the cell that Patrick had left for me.
After jamming my thumb against the track that allows the seat to slide forward and back, I finally grabbed the phone.
“Hello?” I shouted, since everyone knows that yelling while answering is the one trick that keeps the voice mail fairies away.
“Hey, Mags.”
Just hearing those two syllables made my day, but I played it cool. “Hey.”
“Sorry I had to leave town like that,” Patrick said.
“Where are you?” My thumb was starting to throb, so the question probably sounded cross.
“Safer that you don’t know.”
I rolled my eyes, but because this was a phone conversation, he couldn’t see me.
“How are you?” he asked carefully.
“Dandy,” I snapped. “Katie’s coming home, I found out my mom blames Kevin Belgard for Darlene’s disappearance, and Templeton’s got a revenge-seeking nutcase after him.”
I managed not to say, “And you’re not here” out loud, but I was thinking of it.
“You forgot to mention the Delveccio kid.” Patrick’s voice was deceptively bland, but I knew him well enough to hear the note of annoyance buried deep in his tone.
“He,” I responded, “is not one of my problems at the moment.”
Patrick didn’t reply.
“How do you know about him anyway?” I asked suspiciously.
“I’m keeping an eye on you.”
I twisted in my seat, looking in all directions, trying to spot him. “You’re here?”
“I told you, I left town.” His overly patient tone made it sound as though he thought I was a simpleton.
“And yet you’re keeping an eye on me? You don’t think that sounds a wee bit stalkerish?”
“A wee bit,” he mocked.
I blew on my thumb, which was really starting to ache.
“Mags?”
“What?”
“Be careful of Rivgali. He’s got a mean streak a mile wide.”
“You know him?”
“Know of him. Good guys and bad guys all slept better once he was off the streets.”
I bit the inside of my lip wondering if I should tell him how worried I was about the ex-con.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Patrick prodded gently.
“I think he may have already accosted Loretta and that Susan saw him hanging around the B&B,” I blurted out.
“Are they okay?”
“Loretta was shaken up and Susan said that Angel chased him off.”
Patrick sucked in a sharp breath. “What are you doing with that guy?”
“How do you even know about him?”
Patrick sighed. “Jack Stern. He mentioned that Rivgali was out and that you seem chummy with Delveccio’s nephew.”
My other cell phone buzzed, reminding me that I was going to be late for the appointment I’d been on my way to.
“Are you, Mags?” the redhead asked quietly.
“Am I what?”
“Chummy with him.” Patrick’s voice crackled with jealousy.
The fact he was jealous made me feel a little bit better. It cemented that he cared, despite his mysterious out-of-town trip. For an instant, my thumb stopped throbbing. “He’s the manny.”
“What?”
“Aunt Susan hired him to be Katie’s manny,” I explained, not trying to disguise the laughter in my voice.
“Oh.”
“Oh,” I repeated. “When will you be back?”
“Not soon enough,” he muttered unhappily.
I wasn’t sure whether he meant that he was frustrated with whatever he was stuck doing, or if he was eager to get back to me, but I took a gamble and said, “I miss you.”
I held my breath hoping he’d say he missed me too.
Instead he said, “Don’t do anything about Belgard until I get back.”
“I won’t have time with Katie coming home,” I replied, hoping he couldn’t hear the disappointment in my voice.
“Watch out for Rivgali,” Patrick warned.
Then he abruptly ended the call.
“Nice talking to you too,” I said, before tossing the phone back under the seat, where I hoped no one in my family would find it.
Then I pulled back on the road. I had paperwork to get to.
In addition to my hours spent in purgatory at The Corset, I was also going to be working at a real estate office. It was a job that I hoped would eventually provide me with enough income and flexibility to care for Katie. It was also a position that was a little awkward, considering my new boss, Lani, was the sister of Aunt Susan’s ex-boyfriend, Bob.
But everyone was acting like adults for a change and all involved had assured me that they were comfortable with my new job opportunity.
I pulled into the real estate office’s parking lot. The company was housed in an old, porch-fronted, three-story house that had been converted into office space. I approached the building with a sense of excitement about trying something new. And legal.
Before I even got in the front door, my past swatted me on my ass.
Literally swatted me. My butt stung.
Whirling around, I confronted whatever obnoxious man had thought he could put his hands on me. “What the--”
Instead of a cocksure grin or well-deserved mortification, I was met with laughter.
“If you could see your face, Chiquita,” my tormentor chortled.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, fighting the urge not to rub my sore backside.
Armani Vasquez, my best friend from my last job, grinned and tossed her shampoo commercial worthy mane. “Redecorating.”
It was then that I noticed that she held a yardstick in her good hand. No doubt that was what she’d used to get my attention.
“You could have just said hello,” I pouted.
She limped toward me and pulled me in for a tight hug. “If you hadn’t recommended us for this job, we wouldn�
��t be here.”
“We?” My voice was muffled since my mouth was pinned against her shoulder, as I hugged her back. Despite being annoyed with her, I was always glad to see Armani. She’d been a good friend during one of the roughest times in my life. Plus, it made me feel good that she was considered to be even weirder than me.
“Tara,” she reminded me. Letting go, she stepped back, wobbling slightly on her bad leg.
I nodded. Armani'd gone from working as an insurance clerk to running an interior decorating business with the former animal control officer who’d married our ex-boss at Insuring the Future. The world works in mysterious ways.
“What are you doing here?” Armani asked. “Lani’s out of the office.”
“I’m just here to fill out paperwork.”
“Good. Then you have time to talk to me.” She pointed to a row of wicker chairs that lined the front porch of the building.
I hesitated. I really just wanted to get this bit of business done before heading to the library to do some research on Kevin Belgard. “Susan and Angela are expecting me.”
“It’s important,” Armani said, grabbing my arm with her good hand and pulling me along with her as she made her way over to the ramp at the opposite side of the porch.
It was awkward to match her pace as she limped along so I made the mistake of asking, “How’s the whole business thing going?”
“The decorating gigs are starting to trickle in. Tara has some interesting contacts.”
“That’s great.” Personally, I’d thought she was crazy to quit her job and dive into business with a woman who also had no professional experience in the field, but I was happy that it seemed to be working out for them.
Suddenly she stopped, released me, plunged her hand down the front of her dress (which I must admit alarmed me slightly) and pulled out a hot pink business card. “Check it.”
She waved the piece of cardstock with more enthusiasm than a perfume salesperson chasing someone down in a department store.
I tried not to eye it distastefully. After all, I’ve been known to cart a lizard around in my bra. Who am I to judge using the same space as a business card case?
I took the card and peered down at the bold black lettering against the bright pink background.
PMS
I stared at it, not knowing how to respond.
“It’s discreet,” Armani declared proudly as she limped up the ramp toward the waiting chairs.
I stayed a step behind, wondering if the unfortunate Zamboni accident that had injured her hand and leg had done something to her brain too.
“What do you think?” she asked.
I turned the card over and saw that the only thing on the other side was a phone number. Thoroughly confused, I finally asked, “You’re advertising PMS?”
“Of course.” She sank into the nearest chair. “How else would I grow the business? It’s all about the Law of Attraction, baby.”
I slowly lowered myself into the seat beside her, choosing my words carefully. “I don’t think most people are too keen on attracting PMS.”
She glared at me, eyes sparkling with anger. “Just because you don’t believe, doesn’t mean others don’t.”
Her use of the world ‘believe’ gave me some insight into what was going on. “Hang on. What does PMS stand for?”
Looking at me like I was the dopiest person she’d ever met, she spat out, “Psychic Matchmaking Service. What did you think it meant?”
“PMS,” I replied weakly. “Premenstrual Syndrome.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why would someone advertise that?”
I shrugged helplessly.
“P for Psychic. M for Matchmaking. S for Service.” She frowned at me sternly. “Pay attention.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“Some people won’t want the world to know they’re using a matchmaker.” She eyed me suspiciously. “You do know that’s me, right?”
I nodded.
“That’s why I figured I’d make the card discreet.”
Deciding that the conversation was just going to devolve into further ridiculousness, I tried to redirect it. “How’s that business doing?”
“Not as well,” she admitted grudgingly.
“I’m sure it takes a while for word-of-mouth to spread,” I soothed lamely.
She nodded with a lot more confidence than I felt. “Of course it will.”
“If anybody can do it, you can.” I stood up. “Now I’ve really got to get to that paperwork.”
“Sit down,” she ordered imperiously. “I told you this was important.”
I sank back into my seat. “I thought PMS was important.”
“It is, but not to you.” Armani grabbed my hand. “I have a warning for you, chica.”
I swallowed hard, a wave of nausea welling up within me. I may not be a psychic but even I know that getting a warning from a reporter and a psychic so close together wasn’t a good sign. I squared my shoulders to brace myself by asking, “What is it?”
Armani tilted her head to the side and regarded me carefully. “Is something wrong?”
“You just told me that you’re delivering a warning,” I reminded her with more than a touch of sarcasm. “So I’m guessing the answer to that question is a resounding ‘yes’. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You should use my dating service. You’d be the perfect candidate since you already believe in my powers.”
I winced. I wasn’t an ardent believer in her “powers” but she’d said too many things that were semi-accurate predictions for me to ignore what she had to say.
“I’d give you the friend’s discount,” she continued.
I shook my head, refusing the offer.
“Okay, I’ll do it gratis.” She flashed a magnanimous smile.
“No thanks.”
Her smile turned upside down. “Why not? Do you want to be an old maid? No life left in you? Dried up like a corn husk?”
The corn husk analogy made me chuckle.
She wasn’t amused.
“I’m serious, Maggie. You haven’t been out on a date since that Paul guy.”
“He tried to kill me,” I reminded her.
She shrugged. “You win some. You lose some.”
I bit my tongue to prevent myself from mentioning that her last relationship had resulted in her being kidnapped by a ring of deadly criminals.
“We should at least go out for a drink before you’re saddled with the kid full time,” she declared.
“I’m not going to be saddled.”
She rolled her eyes. “You. Me. Fruity drinks, some cute guys and a good time.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. I’ve got too much going on.”
Armani narrowed her gaze. “You’re turning down a cute guy?”
“You make it sound like I’m addicted to dating and am doing something out of character.”
“Who said anything about dating?” She winked at me. “That’s so old-fashioned.”
I shook my head and pantomimed that I was zipping my mouth closed, effectively ending the discussion.
Realizing she wasn’t going to win the argument, she returned to the original subject. “About that warning.”
I waited, trying to ignore the dread that pooled in the pit of my stomach.
“It’s going to sound weird,” my PMS friend warned.
I rolled my eyes. Her messages were always weird.
She looked away as though maintaining eye contact was suddenly too difficult to bear. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“Just tell me.”
“It’s about your niece…” she began.
My entire body went cold. The thought of something happening to Katie paralyzed me.
Armani hung her head and whispered, “Don’t let her near the ocean. I keep seeing her drowning.”
I let out a shaky sigh of relief. “She’s nowhere near the ocean. She’s safe.”
Armani nodded slowly.
I jumpe
d up. “She’s fine. She won’t be near the ocean any time soon.”
