Boyfriend from Hell (Saturn's Daughters)

by Jamie Quaid

  With no small degree of trepidation, I opened my Facebook page.

  Some jackass had posted video of the fiery crash. Who in hell had been there to film the fireball and thought it cool to show me? My invisible thief? That gave me cold shudders. I couldn’t watch it. I left a message saying I was home and coping and deleted the video.

  Before I signed out, an instant message arrived from Themis Astrology and Tarot. Weird. I hate letting people know when I’m online, so I always had my IM turned off. Probably some kind of computer burp. I scanned the odd message. Could IMs be sent in cerulean blue with birds twittering in the corner? It wasn’t as if I was any expert. . . .

  Your Saturn transit is almost complete and the asteroids are in position. Conga-rats, newest daughter. Use your talent more wisely next time.

  My talent? Was this some sick reference to Max’s death? Appalled at the thought, I deleted the message and ran a search-and-destroy mission on “Themis” in my address book, but nothing called anything similar was there. Maybe the message wasn’t even meant for me. I really didn’t need to add paranoia to my growing list of neuroses, but I was beginning to feel hunted. I slammed the machine shut.

  The possibility of a grocery and Laundromat run popped into my head, but my energy wasn’t there. Saving it for the next day, I went into the bedroom for my law books—forgetting I’d left them on the dresser.

  The instant I brushed against the mirror to pick up the books, a flare of fire appeared that I could have sworn looked like a scared and furious Max.

  The room spun. I clung to the peeling veneer of the dresser, refusing to pass out, forcing myself to look. Shadowed eyes resembled deep dark pits of despair, without their usual laughing cynicism.

  In my hallucination, I could have sworn I heard him shouting, “I didn’t do it, Justy!”

  6

  Needless to say, I didn’t get much done all weekend. I freaked out and took the Miata and Milo to a pet store and spent my paycheck on cat supplies. I contemplated moving out of my newly haunted apartment.

  I don’t know a whole lot about love, so I couldn’t say if I’d loved Max while he was alive, but I certainly didn’t love the idea of his ghost throwing accusations at me from my mirrors. But moving would have cost more money and time than I could conjure up and might not solve the problem if it was in my head.

  On Sunday evening, Detective Schwartz finally returned my call to let me know that no drugs or alcohol had been found in what remained of Max. Max liked his beer and a joint at a party, but he wasn’t into heavy stuff, so that told me nothing new.

  “What do I do now?” I asked, sitting in a park and watching Milo pounce on a cricket while we talked. “I don’t think he had life insurance for a funeral.”

  “His next of kin have already been notified. The funeral home will take care of everything for the family,” he said reassuringly.

  I wasn’t reassured. His family? What family? The one he’d told me he didn’t have? He’d said he was estranged from his parents, like me. I’d thought we were alone together.

  Max had lied. My big bad biker boy had lied. Big surprise.

  Maybe I should go back and confront the bastard in my mirror. Since I obviously knew nothing about him, maybe Max was actually a serial killer, and I’d fouled up his plans by not dying.

  Did this have something to do with the old guy warning me away from “his” family? Max’s family?

  Too much gloom and doom. I took down the name of the funeral home and hung up. I was getting mad at Max all over again. Was I too shabby for him to introduce to his parents? Did they even know I existed?

  I called the funeral home and secured the time and date. I wondered if his family would even want me there. Did they all blame me for Max’s death? Or was that just my guilt talking?

  Milo attacked my ankle, and I gave up my morose thoughts.

  Picking up the kitty, I went home and pounded on Lily’s door to see if I could find out about the creepy gray-haired guy. No one answered. Still outraged and confused, I returned to my place, fired up Facebook, posted the funeral arrangements, and let the world take care of itself.

  Before I went to bed, I stopped in front of my dresser mirror and dared Max to put in an appearance so I could yell at him. True to form, he didn’t show when I wanted him.

  I flung a blanket over the mirror and went to bed with Milo.

  • • •

  On Monday, I left Milo in his new kitty bed and drove my sassy new hair and semi-sassy Miata over to the university, where everyone had their noses buried in books and didn’t notice my existence, thank the Universe. I sank into the security of normal, where I could study the wonderful logic of torts and contracts until after two.

  After two, I parked the Miata at the apartment, limped up to grab a sandwich and tuck Milo into my bag, and nearly broke my neck dashing for the three o’clock bus. Monday deposits were usually my biggest. I knew I had little chance of making the five o’clock bus back on Mondays, so I didn’t bother rushing once I reached the Zone.

  I stopped for the deposit at Discreet Detection first to check in with Cora. The magnifying glass on their sign had an image of me in it today. I wondered if Frank, the real detective running the place, had a hidden camera and a setup posting those photos. I didn’t want to know badly enough to ask, though. Up until now, noninvolvement in Zone business had seemed best. Still, I was starting to doubt that policy, since I wouldn’t have made it past Friday without the help of Andre, Cora, and Schwartz.

  “Hey, look at you,” Cora crowed as I entered. “Enjoying that convertible?” Spotting Milo, she left her desk to tickle his tufted ears. “Where did your new fella come from?”

  “The alley up by the bank. If you know anyone missing a ginger tabby Manx, let me know.” I would have a hard time parting with Milo if anyone claimed him, but I figured the chances of anyone reporting a missing cat were small, so I opted for honesty. “Did you find anything on those license plates?”

  Cora leaned her hip against her desk and reached backward to grab a file folder. “Four with those first numbers on black, limo-size vehicles. Leaves a lot of room for error, kiddo, starting with the boy remembering the numbers right.”

  “Yeah, I know. What I need is someone who can hack the bank’s drive-through teller for transactions just before five or get into their security cameras. I should have taken computers instead of accounting and law. They’d be more useful.”

  “Not down here.” Cora flipped through her old-fashioned Rolodex and produced a business card. “Tell this guy it’s Andre’s business. Boris doesn’t live in the Zone but he knows Andre.”

  I whistled in appreciation and tucked the unassuming card into my shirt pocket. “Do I need to be making anonymous deposits to your account for all your help?”

  “Karmic deposits, hon. Buy me a beer at the bar in the meantime. I hear you retrieved the boss’s big check over the weekend. He’s plenty happy, so I’m happy.”

  “If Andre makes the bank cover it, then deposits it again, he should be doubly happy. So maybe karma works.”

  “Not today,” she admitted. “Andre was just in here snarling because the bank’s been giving him grief about our deposits. One too many checks shifted numbers and a few too many laughing Georges in the tally. They’re talking about canceling Zone accounts.”

  We’d had several dollar bills with Washington’s usually solemn figure sporting a big grin. The banks didn’t approve. I grimaced. The banks had a point, but we were treading a slippery slope. The Zone inhabitants had earned that money. Could they help it if the government hadn’t fixed their chemical waste zone? “Got anything in the till today?”

  “Not even a George. Go forth and make an honest man of Legrande.” She waved me off.

  Both the machine shop and the florist had had a good weekend. I had to wonder how Andre had accumulated so many businesses in the Zone—and why—but he was employing a lot of people in a poor neighborhood, so I continued keeping my big m
outh shut.

  I ran into the new girl at Chesty’s sweeping floors. For the first time, I noticed she had a tattoo on her shoulder blade, sort of like Lady Justice’s balance scales. “Hey, glad to see Andre found you a place. I’m Tina Clancy.”

  Still a little wary, the big-breasted blonde turned to look more at Milo than me. “I’m Sarah. Pleased to meet you, Tina.”

  She sounded as if she were repeating rote phrases learned in a foreign language class: Mucho gusto, señor. ¿Cómo está usted? has been permanently emblazoned on my brain since high school Spanish. But this was the Zone. If I could have mink-brown model hair, she could have big breasts and language problems. After watching Max die and haunt my mirror, I wasn’t having any difficulty with minor weirdnesses.

  “Is it okay if I let Milo loose? It will take me a while to count the cash.”

  “Why isn’t it tallied electronically?” she asked hesitantly, reaching for Milo with a more open smile.

  “Something about the Zone and computers and Andre’s paranoia equals keeping me employed. So I don’t complain.”

  I’d occasionally had reason to wonder if Andre didn’t just create jobs for people in need, but then he’d do something particularly obnoxious—like buying another business and firing all the employees—so I didn’t give him bonus points. I had concluded he just liked people to owe him.

  “Lookin’ good, Tina,” Ernest Modesto—Ernesto to most of us—said, surprisingly. Ernesto ran Chesty’s. He was a rotund, bald man not much taller than me. Think Danny DeVito without the charm. He liked his employees to be towering Barbies, so he usually didn’t notice my existence, and I was fine with that. “Done something different with your hair?”

  Ewwww. Leave it to Ernesto to notice. “Singed it,” I said wickedly. “Guess that makes me too hot to handle, huh?”

  He backed off at that reminder of what had happened to my last boyfriend and unlocked the safe without further comment. I don’t know if he really believed I was responsible for Max’s fiery demise, but I was okay with him considering it. Ernesto had happy hands and I didn’t want them on me.

  I could have sworn Milo growled when Ernesto tried to give my ass an absentminded pat of farewell an hour later. I dodged his grimy fingers and tucked Milo into my bag without further ado.

  “You’re not a pit bull, Milo,” I warned him. “Cute is your key to prosperity.”

  He gave a kitty snort and hung out of the bag to see whom I’d bring for him to play with next. That would be Bill.

  Lady Justice dipped left when I entered. So maybe she just tilted with the wind and not to any scale of justice. Unless, of course, she believed I’d killed Max. I was obviously off my rocker if I was starting to worry about how tin statues thought of me.

  “Is Andre here?” I asked as I entered and saw only Bill behind the bar. I needed to make arrangements to pay back the car loan, and the closest thing Andre had to an office was here. This was where I left my reports and collected my paychecks.

  “He said to tell you the car is a finder’s fee for the deposit you recovered. Which means he’s cheating somebody else, so you might as well take it.”

  Keeping my mouth shut, I didn’t comment on Andre’s Robin Hood complex but dropped my messenger bag on the bar Bill was wiping down.

  He warily examined my cat. “Health department frowns on animals in food establishments.”

  Bill served burgers and fries at most, but he was one of the good guys, and I respected his rules. “When was the last time the health inspector set foot in the Zone?” I asked, proceeding to the till but keeping Milo in my purse.

  He conceded the point with a nod. “I like to keep high standards. It’s too easy to let things slide down here.”

  “I appreciate that. I’ll keep Milo off the floor. Will that be okay?” Sliding my glasses on, I began listing receipts and counting cash.

  “He looks like a good mouser.” He tickled the tabby under his chin. “I used to live on a farm and had a cat this color.”

  This conversation constituted more words than I’d ever heard Bill string together at once. I hid my surprise.

  “Do we have mice in the Zone?”

  “Got one the size of my shoe living in the alley. Bigger than Milo here. Some of the roaches are mouse size. Maybe he could catch them. I could let him loose in the storeroom. That shouldn’t be against rules.”

  Who was I to come between a six-foot-seven hulk and his mouser? Milo eagerly crawled out of the bag and into Bill’s hands and the pair ambled off together. Wow, I never knew pets had such an effect on people! I’d picked up stray kitties and once even a hamster in my peripatetic childhood. Since I hated keeping creatures caged, they’d seldom earned anything but kicks and shouts from my mother’s friends.

  Maybe it was time to start making friends of my own, ones who liked cats.

  The lights flickered slightly, and I had the uneasy feeling of being watched again. But Bill was within shouting distance, so I kept a close eye on the cash and continued counting, easing my aching muscles by sitting on a stool.

  I didn’t like the idea of an invisible being snatching cash and my bag. If I believed in invisibility or ghosts, I would have to believe Max might live in a mirror. Wasn’t going there.

  But a little superstitious trash talk wouldn’t hurt. “I dare you to touch this cash,” I snarled aloud. “I can break boards with my hand.” I might have managed to crack a few bones, although probably not on a ghost.

  Regretfully, no one gave me an opportunity to express my pent-up rage. When I shouted at Bill that I was done, he returned, rubbing Milo’s head and carrying a sack that smelled like fish. I raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “It’s been in the freezer,” he said with a shrug. “If you can get it back to your place quick enough, it shouldn’t defrost. Cats need real food sometimes, not that cardboard garbage they sell in stores.”

  I’d just spent my grocery money on that “garbage,” but I nodded in agreement and returned a very satisfied Milo to my messenger bag. Obviously, Andre had not provided the requested bodyguard, but I hadn’t really expected him to. Surely a thief wouldn’t strike the same person two times in a row.

  But just in case, I’d bought a new lock and handcuff for my deposit bag. Of course, if the thief could break the old ones, he could break the new ones. I didn’t have a better solution for super thieves except for more caution. After slinging the messenger bag strap over my head, I tucked the shackled deposit bag under my armpit and gripped it for extra measure.

  Outside, Leibowitz was berating a skinny teenager with tats and nose ring. I slid into the shadows under the awnings and hoped the cop didn’t notice me. He’d been no help whatsoever when my bag was stolen the first time, so I preferred my normal avoidance of authority.

  Andre was just coming out of the office building across from the bank as I passed by. I didn’t know if that was coincidence or him keeping an eye on his assets.

  “If you think I need a babysitter, you might as well take the deposit on your own,” I told him ungratefully.

  “I just thought the bank ought to be more aware of my presence,” he replied, striding across the middle of the street without regard for jaywalking laws.

  I knew how Andre normally operated—under the radar. So making his presence known had another purpose, and given the size of the missing deposit and his argument with the bank, I could surmise what.

  “The Monday deposit is pretty hefty,” I acknowledged. “You’re hoping to impress them with your importance when you file an insurance claim on your lost money.”

  He flashed a wicked white grin. “Yeah, and that, too.”

  Damn, even though I knew he was a lying cheat, he rattled my hormones when he smiled like that. I had always been a sucker for a bad-boy smile. And we all know how well that had worked out.

  Max had been fun, but Andre was just plain toxic.

  7

  I’d had such a normal day that I’d forgotten about reporters. Since
they’d left me alone all day Sunday, I had just assumed I was no longer a person of interest. Wrong. Milo’s growl woke me from my stupidity the moment I emerged from the stairwell into the hall to my apartment.

  The slumped figure leaning against my door did not inspire fear. Wearing frayed khakis, a blue button-down shirt that needed ironing, and a long brown ponytail, she didn’t look much older than the kids I went to school with. She didn’t even glance up until she heard me walking down the tiled corridor.

  Warily, she crawled her back up the wall until she was standing. She was taller than me, naturally, but not by much. I’m fairly toned and she wasn’t. And she didn’t have a camera. Bonus points for her.

  “Miss Clancy?” she asked. “I’m Jane Claremont from the Baltimore Edition. Could I ask you a few questions?”

  The Baltimore Edition was an online newspaper run by unemployed journalism graduates and older reporters who had been laid off from all the major rags in the area. I never read it. I didn’t think anyone else did, either. That made them underdogs, and I was a sucker for underdogs.

  “You can ask. I may not answer,” I said, unlocking my door.

  “First, I’m sorry about your loss,” she said hastily, as if she’d been practicing the line all day. “Even if he did try to kill you.”

  I wasn’t as comfortable with that spin as I had once been. Hallucination or not, Max’s panicked cry in the mirror had twisted my thinking. Of course, just the possibility that I was seeing Max in the mirror was enough to warp my brain, but now that the shock of that was passing, so was my anger. I simply couldn’t believe Max wanted me dead. He had been perfectly capable of saying “’Bye, babe,” and walking out. Besides, he’d never been a violent person.