J.M. Redmann - Micky Knight Mystery 7 - I'll Will

by J. M. Redmann

  “Good. I’ll pass your number along, and you should hear from someone in the next few days. And when’s a good time for you to restock your inventory? I’m going to be at our office tomorrow afternoon if you can do it then.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can, Grant. But let me see if I can rearrange some things.”

  “Or you can talk to Vincent. He’s more available than I am.”

  More available in multiple meanings of the word.

  “I’ll make it. At four?”

  “Four. I’ll see you then.”

  The phone clicked off. He’d spent about five minutes with me and earned thousands of dollars. At least he thought so. I got up and paced around the office. Deborah Perkins, were she real, was simply a means to an end to him. He was willing to damage her and her sister, and I doubted she was more than just a sideline. The thousands he would bilk from her would be a night at the casino, not the houses and cars and flush bank account he was really after. The man chilled me, and I understood why Rafe’s clients wanted revenge.

  If I hadn’t already decided to help him, this would have done it for me. But I wanted to calm down before I called Rafe. Right now I was too angry. Grant Walters had only a rotting hole where his soul should have been. Despite Rafe’s assurances, he was dangerous. He covered himself well, clearly had layers between him and his deeds, but we planned to corner him, and with his back up against the wall, he was capable of anything. I needed to be calm and rational before I agreed to whatever Rafe was planning.

  And out of the airport.

  I drove home. The cats were happy to see me. Cordelia was still at work, but arrived just after I threw my dirty laundry in the washing machine.

  She looked tired. I could clearly see the dark circles under her eyes.

  But she smiled at me and gave me a long hug to show that she had missed me. To prove that she was better she suggested we go out to eat so I wouldn’t have to cook anything after flying halfway across the country.

  We agreed on a place in the Quarter about five blocks from where we live. I changed from my airplane clothes and she changed from her professional clothes—more laundry—to something more comfortable.

  We walked there. I started slow, but she kept at our usual pace. I could tell she’d lost weight. Her clothes draped more loosely.

  She captured my hand as we crossed Dauphine, holding it as we walked.

  “I’m partly through the cycle,” she said. “Probably why I feel better. It’s far enough along.”

  “So you get to feel better just in time for the next chemo?”

  “Pretty much,” she said with a wry smile. “Enough to kill the cancer has to be enough to make me sick. But I think it’s going well. Another few weeks and we’ll do a CT scan and check.”

  A breeze came off the river, lifting her hair, still mostly auburn and thick. I reached up and smoothed it out of her eyes.

  “Will you still love me when I’m bald?” she asked.

  “You think that’s going to happen?”

  “Mostly likely. After about the third or fourth chemo, that’s when it starts to happen. Already I’m noticing more hair after I shower or brush it.”

  “Your hair is gorgeous. But it’s not the reason I love you. I will still love you if you’re bald.”

  She squeezed my hand.

  “Promise me we’ll take advantage of the times when I’m feeling okay and do something like this.”

  That was a promise I could easily make.

  We held hands until we were seated and needed to look at menus.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Debbie needed to be more pink than my wardrobe allowed.

  After going to my office and taking care of the basics—checking e-mail, phone messages, eating a breakfast croissant (I couldn’t live on Cordelia’s plain oatmeal alone)—and calling Rafe—voice mail—I headed for some secondhand stores to augment my wardrobe. I had to remind myself that Dudley was still on the loose—at least last time I’d been updated.

  The fairies of pinkness were with me today. The first place I stopped had a decent pink short-sleeved sweater and, best luck of all, a hot pink jacket that I could wear over it and my gun.

  After that for most of the morning I alternated between paperwork and goofing off by reading news stories online. It really is fascinating to discover that some people (usually male and inebriated) forget to put their pants on before they take a drive.

  Just before I moved on to the big lunch debate, Rafe returned my call.

  “Grant needs more NBG money,” I told him, updating him on our conversation.

  Again he replied, “Not a problem.”

  I didn’t repeat that I’d need twice as much as Grant had given Debbie double her first amount.

  “I’ve still got the crap in my trunk,” I told him. “Want to help with storage?”

  He agreed, said that we could meet in a convenient parking lot. He’d take the NBG out of my trunk and give me the money.

  We agreed to meet at a large lot just over the parish line. It served several different stores. We were so agreeable.

  I ate a quick lunch, then put on my new pink wardrobe and went to meet Rafe.

  When I got there, I quickly spotted him, but drove around the parking lot just as if I was one of those obnoxious suburban ladies who is sure life owes her a parking spot so much closer to the store.

  What I was really doing was checking it out. It wouldn’t do to run into Vincent.

  Or Dudley.

  But Rafe was the only man waiting for me today.

  I pulled up beside his big blue SUV.

  As I got out I said, “You know this is the small end of what he’s doing. A few thousand dollars is a lot of money to someone like Deborah, but nothing to him.”

  “That might not be a bad thing. He’s not stupid, and the longer he’s gotten away with it, the more he thinks he’s always going to outsmart the people after him. He’ll be paying less attention to the small end of the deal.”

  “He likes to play with people like Deborah, but this is the—just barely—legal end. If he’s smart, he’ll be a million miles away from peddling The Cure.”

  “Naw, he likes to watch.”

  “What? This isn’t porn.”

  “It is to him. He’s a sick enough bastard to like to watch people like Deborah get taken for the ride of their life.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “You get more of this NBG crap and wait for another phone call. I and my team keep on watching him. We take it from there.”

  He handed me the envelope. I again tossed it on the passenger seat. We loaded the still unsold—and likely to never be sold—NBG bottles from my truck into the back of his SUV.

  Then it was time for another tête-à-tête with Grant.

  As before, the parking lot was almost empty. I was a little early this time, so maybe he wasn’t here yet.

  I again took the money out of the envelope and did a quick and dirty count. Almost five thousand in cash. A big pile of paper. I stuffed it in my purse. If I’d actually sold as much as I claimed, I’d be making decent money.

  I waited until a minute before four but no one else arrived. It was time to climb the stairs and see what waited for me. I could only hope that my guardian angel—or devil—would be kind enough to prevent Grant from thinking he actually had to have sex with me.

  But when I got there the room was empty.

  Maybe his game this time was to see how long Debbie would wait.

  I glanced at my watch. I had to give him fifteen minutes at least.

  But I didn’t have to do it here in this empty room. There were no windows, the only natural light coming from the entrance; the only other illumination was from a wall sconce near the back. The room hadn’t been high end to start with, and the shadows and dim light brought out the dingy.

  I turned to go.

  And almost crashed into Grant Walters.

  He had been quiet, deliberately so.

&n
bsp; “Grant!” I said. “I didn’t hear you.” I didn’t need to act startled because I actually was.

  “Sorry, soft-soled shoes. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

  Oh, yes, you did, I thought. Rubber soles alone aren’t quiet enough to sneak up a flight of stairs and halfway across the room. Not on someone who was listening like I was.

  “Oh, that’s okay. I know you didn’t,” I answered. “I spent most of last night with my sister—she just had chemo and was feeling pretty sick—so I didn’t get much sleep. At this point a truck could crash in front of me and I might not notice.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. I’m still waiting for my contacts to get back to me. I hope to hear something in the next week.”

  “I hope you hear something soon,” I said. The sooner the better. I wanted no more one-on-one meetings with him.

  “How are you doing on getting the money?” he asked. “That sounds crass, doesn’t it? I don’t mean to be. I don’t want you left out. Often there are more people who want the treatment than we can give it to. I don’t have much control—otherwise I’d see to it you’re taken care of—they usually have to dispense it to those who bring the money first. And they have to do that because the money is the only thing allowing them to continue.” The silver tongue was in full flight.

  “I understand, really I do. I sent some copies of the pictures to my ex, plus I hocked my engagement ring. At least he wasn’t a cheap enough bastard to demand that back. I’m really working on selling, so even after I buy more, I think I’ll clear about a few thousand. I’d do anything to help my sister.”

  “You’re very dedicated,” he said. “A lot of families wouldn’t go as far as you have.”

  “She’s a couple of years older than I am, practically raised me. My parents weren’t…well, let’s just say they weren’t perfect. My sister at least made sure the ramen noodles got heated up.”

  “What’s her name?”

  Of course my sister had a name. I just needed to make it up. “Donna.” Donna and Deborah, nice alliteration. To cover my slight hesitation, I said, “That’s her official name. I usually call her Dough because that’s how I pronounced it as a kid. The family calls her Park Place because that’s where she always wanted to land in Monopoly.” If I gave her three names maybe I’d remember one.

  We were still standing facing each other. I hadn’t moved farther into the room, mainly because I didn’t want to have any more distance between me and the door. But Grant was blocking my way.

  “She also really helped me through my divorce, gave me a place to stay right after and helped me get back on my feet. So I feel I owe her,” I added. I didn’t want to throw in too many details. They can trip you up, but I had to make him believe Deborah would scrape together the thousands of dollars required for her sister.

  “She sounds like a special person. It must run in the family,” he said and smiled at me.

  “She is. I’m lucky to have her as a sister. But I know you’re a busy man, Grant, and you didn’t give me a chance just to listen to my problems.” I turned from him and walked to the table.

  No, his shoes weren’t that quiet. I could hear his steps behind me now that he wasn’t trying to be concealed.

  I put the money on the table.

  The piles of bills got his attention. I doubt he was even aware of what his expression revealed—money was his true interest, his one real passion. Everything—and everyone—else was just a means to an end.

  This time I didn’t even count, but let him. I was more interested in watching his expression as the bills slide through his hands.

  “You’re doing quite well,” he said when he finished. “That’s almost five thousand.”

  “It does include what was left over from the last time,” I said. “I’ve been hustling. My sorority sisters have been buying like hotcakes. Guess we’re all hitting the age when we have to be better about taking care of ourselves.”

  “Look, I’m going to do you a favor. Two thousand will cover the costs of a full order of product. I think you’re ready to go for the high end of sales.” He slid enough bills to cover that amount to his side of the table. “If you let me take another two—if you can spare it—I’ll tell my contacts that I already have a down payment on your sister’s treatment. If I vouch for you and show some money, it’ll almost guarantee that you’ll get something from the next shipment.”

  He kept his hand on the remaining bills.

  I swallowed as if this was a hard decision for Debbie. That kind of money would mean something for her. Hell, it was a fair chunk of change for Micky Knight. “Okay,” I said with another swallow, as if this was hard. “Thank you for doing this for me. For us.”

  “I’m doing this for you.” He looked directly at me the perfect smile on his face. He kept his hand on the money. “I know this is hard. My mother died of breast cancer, so I can feel what you’re going through.”

  I dabbed my eyes as if I was about to cry. He slid an additional two thousand dollars to his side of the table, leaving the smallest pile for Debbie.

  “I’m sorry, I know this is hard for you,” he said. The money now safely in his grasp, he put an arm around Debbie’s shoulder.

  I leaned my head into him, smelling his expensive aftershave.

  Like him, I’d heard the footsteps on the outside stairs.

  In best heroine fashion, I laid my hand against his manly chest.

  Vincent came through the door.

  Grant jumped up as if we were doing more than just a comforting arm around the shoulder. “I thought you were going to wait out in the parking lot,” he growled.

  Even in the dim light, I could see the red in Vincent’s face.

  “Sorry, I…uh…sorry. I knew you were in a hurry and didn’t want to keep you…waiting,” the poor puppy stammered out. “I’ll wait downstairs.” He hastily left the room.

  I stood up. “Thank you, Grant. You’ve been very kind to me.” Steeling myself, I leaned into him and kissed his cheek. “But I know you’re also a very busy man, and I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness.”

  He smiled at me, perhaps even a genuine smile at me not being a clinging type of woman who mired him down.

  He scooped the money into his briefcase, then took my hand and led me down the stairs.

  “I wish I weren’t so busy,” he said as we got to the parking lot.

  “It’s part of who you are. I don’t want you to change.”

  I just want you in jail.

  I smiled at Vincent as he loaded my little car with more of Nature’s Beautiful Gift. Grant helped again, insisting that it wasn’t something a woman like me should do.

  I let them. It would save me a dry-cleaning bill for Debbie’s pink wardrobe.

  Grant again kissed me good-bye on the cheek, this time resting a hand on my waist and letting it slide toward my breast as if he had permission to touch there, only stopping as if suddenly remembering that we were in a parking lot.

  Vincent was staring.

  I got in my car and drove away as quickly as I could.

  Back at my office the first thing I did was strip off the pink clothes and take a shower. The smell of Grant’s expensive aftershave was causing me to gag.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Lydia blew me off. This week won’t work, she texted, the coward. Maybe next week. I’ll let you know.

  I met Rafe in another parking lot up on Carrolton, one that was still desolate. I claimed it was to update him, but it was mostly to dump the piles of NBG boxes on him. All the weight was affecting my gas mileage.

  Grant was truly a busy man. I heard nothing from him.

  “Maybe you should call him,” Rafe called me to suggest, the first hint his Dallas clients weren’t bottomless pits of money.

  “He’s playing with me, let him play a bit longer.” I would be happy to never see Grant Walters again in my life. His encore might be having Vincent walk in on us actually doing it, and I wanted no part o
f that.

  I had to spend a month in Alabama tracking down heirs. Okay, it was just a week, but because it was Alabama, it felt like a month.

  Cordelia again had a needle in her arm and chemicals in her body. This time she made it home before throwing up.

  In the evening, when I was taking the garbage out, Torbin came over carrying a big pot.

  “Crawfish bisque,” he said. “It’s the best apology I could make.”

  It’s a hard dish to make; you have to stuff the crawfish heads and cook for a while.

  I put my arms around him and gave him a hug. I didn’t take the pot.

  “Thanks, but…this isn’t the right time.”

  “You’re turning down my crawfish bisque?”

  “Right now, yeah. It was a chemo day. Cordelia can’t do much more than a few spoonfuls of white rice. Even strong smells can set her off.”

  He put the pot down on the sidewalk. “Bad timing on my part. I’ve missed you—both of you.”

  “I missed you, too. Both of you. Only the timing is bad. Everything else…is okay.”

  “Andy’s hand looks fine. I think he kind of likes the scar. He certainly uses it as an excuse not to chop veggies.”

  “Did you get the job?”

  “No, they were nice, but it was between me and someone with fifty years of HIV experience and who speaks Spanish. I’ll keep looking. Andy now has work with coverage, so we’re much better off. Maybe it’s time for drag queens to unionize.”

  “Maybe it is. I could hire you. You could work under my license, join one of the professional associations and get insurance through them. It costs, but it’s a group rate.”

  “Drag queen detective. Has a nice ring to it. Let me cogitate on it.”

  “Cordelia has good days between when they actually pump the stuff in her. She can probably eat most anything that’s not fried in about a week.”

  “I’ll make it again,” Torbin said as he picked up the pot.

  “No, you won’t. We’re going to all the restaurants we’ve been meaning to go to. Join us.”

  He smiled at me. “Done. Let me pick the next one. You can’t even know which one it is.”