by Carolina Mac
“Come on in and have a drink with me.” Bob reached out his hand.
I smothered a gasp and struggled to keep my composure. “I would love to—I actually have something that I want to discuss with you.”
He motioned me into the kitchen and offered me wine. “I’ll have a beer if you have one,” I said, enjoying the surprised look on his face. Matthew always made me drink wine.
“What did you want to talk to me about, Portia?”
I dove right in. “I don’t know what kind of shit you and Matthew had going on or what kind of a game you’re playing, but there’s nothing in my house of any value—and if you or one of your low life scumbags comes around again, I will put a bullet in you.” I drained my beer and left Bob staring with his mouth hanging open.
THE evening was warm with no breeze and the air hung heavy with the fragrance of newly bloomed lilacs in the backyard. I clipped Angel’s leash onto her collar, walked to the park, following the river path for an hour. Darkness had fallen and we were both panting by the time we made our way home. Angel lapped up a bowl of water, cleaned up her kibbles and stretched out on the kitchen floor while I fixed myself some dinner.
The ringing of the phone snapped me out of my reverie. I had forgotten the flooring company was sending over a rep with samples tonight. Damn. I was emotionally drained and leaned towards cancelling, but the thought of looking at my blood-soaked carpet for another day spurred me on.
A salesman from Toronto Hardwood arrived a half hour later burdened with his wares. Mike Harrison was dressed in tan casual pants and a dress shirt open at the neck. He looked lean, fit and outdoorsy. His thick, black hair and swarthy complexion accentuated his rough attractiveness. When he spoke, I caught a faint bit of an Irish lilt. Those Irish guys are always such a turn on.
He spread out all of the wood samples on the dining room table and talked about the pros and cons of each. Twenty minutes later, I had decided on oak plank flooring with pegging in a dark stain. When we moved into this house, hardwood was my first choice for replacing the floors, but Matthew wouldn’t let me change anything. He said it was a waste of money and he wanted the whole house left the way his mother had decorated it.
Happily, neither he nor his mother was here now.
Upstairs measuring the bedroom, I thought there might be questions, but Mike stepped over the massive bloodstain without a glance in my direction. He took it in stride and no explanation was necessary. None given.
He sat at the dining room table, made a drawing of the bedroom, calculated the square footage and came up with a bottom line price. I agreed, then signed the contract and gave him a deposit. “When would you like this floor installed, Mrs. Talbot? We have lots of this wood in stock, so it’s your call.”
“How about Friday?”
“Friday it is, then. Ten a.m.? The men will remove and dispose of the old carpet, relocate the furniture and replace it when they’re finished.”
“I’m relieved. The furniture was going to be a problem for me.”
Mike glanced at my sling. “How did you break your arm?”
“Oh, fell in the kitchen. One of those freak accidents,” I said with a smile.
Mike nodded, looking at me sidelong and said goodnight.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THUNDER crashed and rain fell in torrents while I drank my morning coffee and searched the Yellow Pages for a cleaning service. For the next few weeks at least, I could use some help around the house. An attractive ad by ‘Homeshine’ caught my eye and after a quick call I had an in-home appointment for Friday morning. Let your fingers do the walking and someone else do the cleaning.
The humidity after the storm was hanging as heavy as a wet wool blanket. I chose a yellow sundress from my closet and opted to take a sweater in case the air conditioning in the hospital was on full tilt.
When I stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor, there was quite a commotion around the nurses’ station. Two police officers were asking questions and taking notes.
“What’s going on?” I asked Nurse Fraser, the only nurse I knew by name.
“Something terrible happened. A neighbor found Mrs. Winterstein’s husband sprawled on his front steps and called 911. Apparently, he had a massive heart attack and dropped dead.”
I gasped and steadied myself with one hand on the gallery desk. “I can’t believe this is happening. Does Marcy know?”
“No, she doesn’t.” Nurse Fraser gave me a look that didn’t translate.
“Can I see her?”
“Of course, you can.”
For the next half hour, I sat in the green chair by Marcy’s bedside and held her hand. I had presumed she was sleeping and didn’t want to wake her, but something was very different from the day before. She lay completely still. There was no moaning or groaning from the pain. Nothing. I shivered and sought out Nurse Fraser at the desk.
When I found her, I voiced my concerns.
“Let me call her doctor. He should be still in the hospital.”
I returned to Marcy’s room and waited for almost an hour watching her lay motionless.
“Mrs. Talbot, this is Doctor Driscoll.”
“Would you mind checking on Marcy? She isn’t moving around and moaning from the pain like she was yesterday. I’m worried.” I said stepping into the hallway.
The nurse closed Marcy’s door and the two of them didn’t emerge again for twenty minutes. Dr. Driscoll brushed past me as he hurried to the nurses’ station and barked out commands. I leaned on the wall, pain pulsing through my temples. Orderlies arrived on the fourth floor and went into four eighteen. Nurse Fraser walked down the hall towards me and the look on her face was not one of pleasant news.
“Mrs. Winterstein is being moved to ICU. She has slipped into a coma,” she said. As soon as we have her settled there, more tests will be run. You won't be able to see her again until tomorrow.”
I put my hand over my face.
Marcy did not deserve this.
Driving away from the hospital my chest was tight. My head throbbed behind my eyes and my breathing was rapid. An explosion was imminent. I was going to lose my mind.
LOOKING for some kind of a diversion, and not knowing why I was being drawn, I pulled into the Harley dealership on my way home. It wouldn’t hurt to look around. Glancing over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching, I pushed the door open and walked into a different world. A bike world. Everything a biker could want. I sucked in a deep breath and held tight to my purse. I wanted it all. Rows and rows of bikes in all sizes and every color of the rainbow sparkled and shone. I found it exceedingly hard to obey the “Don’t touch the bikes’ sign.
“Can I help you with something?”
I jumped and turned around.
Staring at me was a well-built young man with blond curly hair cascading down into his dazzling aqua blue eyes. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said softly.
“No problem. I was admiring the bikes and I was in a bit of a daze.”
“My name’s Billy. If you need help just give me a holler.” I watched him return to the desk in the corner.
I left the bike section and headed over to the racks of clothing. Men’s. Lady’s. Kid’s. They had it all going on. In ladies’ wear there was a vast array of soft, supple, black leather outfits waiting to be tried on and given a good home. Not in my nature to disappoint—the dressing room welcomed me and my stack of leathers. My pulse was racing. I slipped on a pair of black leather pants that fit like they were made for me. I never wanted to take them off.
The three jackets I had taken from the rack were all fabulous, but I settled on the one with zippers and a little chain dangling from the pocket. On my way to the cash, I passed the boot section and that required more trying on and more decisions.
Black leather boots excited me—where had they been all my life? In passing, I picked up a T-shirt that read ‘live to ride’ and added it to my pile. It took will power to drag myself to the checkout
without more merchandise.
Before I left the store, I took another walk over to the bike section, and strolled between the rows. There were all so beautiful, but I knew nothing about what would be the perfect first bike for a woman of my size. Luckily I had already met someone who would know.
George’s Guns and Ammo was only a few blocks from the Harley store, and he would be just the guy to help me with my problem.
“Hey, George,” I said as the bell jingled above my head.
George looked away from the customer he was helping and said, “What’s up, baby doll?” He gave me a nod and finished up with the man at the counter while I amused myself looking around the tiny store. George packed an extensive array of merchandise into a tight space. The customer left the store and I approached George. He looked wedged in behind the counter wearing a blanket of a shirt that read ‘Chrome won’t get you home’.
“I’m thinking of buying a motorcycle and I need your advice.”
“Fuck. Are you nuts? Look at the size of you,” George boomed. “What if you dump it, how are you going to pick it up, sister?” He lit up a smoke.
“That’s where you come in. I need you to help me choose a bike I could handle. That is if you have time.”
George chuckled. “Shit, this is gonna be good. When do you want to go?”
“Whenever,” I said. “And George, I also need to thank you for the shooting lessons. You saved my life. A guy broke into my house and I shot him.”
George doubled over laughing and started to cough. He straightened up and his eyes were watering. “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?”
“Nope, I aimed for his head, but I only got him in the arm. Angel helped out and took a big chunk out of his leg.” George’s laughter was contagious. “The cops took away my Beretta, so I need to buy another one.”
“Fuck, yeah. You might want to put a bullet in someone else.” Between smoking, laughing and coughing, George was dying. “You are so fuckin’ hilarious,” he said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Do you seriously need another gun? Do you want another Beretta?”
“Exactly the same, if you have one. I was just getting used to that one.” He unlocked the case under the front counter and came up with a 9mm just like mine. “Fabulous,” I said.
“Ain’t it?” he grinned and handed it to me. “Okay, Okay. When can I go bike shoppin’? How about tomorrow night? I close up here at seven and Harley is open until nine-thirty. I’ll meet you over there at seven-fifteen.”
“Perfect. Can’t wait,” I said. “While I’m here, I should get more practice ammo for the range.” I handed him my debit card.
“Don’t forget, the practice box has the green dot on it, little girl.” He pointed.
“I always forget which is which.” I said, giving my head a shake. “You’re the best, George.” And I meant it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE bell rang promptly at nine am. When I opened the front door, a happy face was smiling at me. Angel jumped up and down in her greeting mode.
“Hi, Mrs. Talbot, I’m Stacey from Homeshine.”
“Come on in, Stacey. Would you like a coffee?” She was five feet tall, dressed in jeans and a purple T-shirt with a sparkling house on the front. Cute. Her beautiful smile lit up her face and her bright blue eyes. Her long, blonde pony-tail bounced as she walked.
“No, thanks, I’m good. I won’t take up too much of your time—just a quick look at the house, find out what you need done each week and then I can give you a price.”
We did a walk-through upstairs and down, then sat in the living room to chat.
“I can see how it would be hard for you to clean with a broken arm.”
“It won’t be healed for another two or three weeks yet. That’s why I need you.”
Stacey arrived at a price I thought was more than fair and said she could schedule me for Friday mornings every week. We discussed Angel, the alarm system and made a list of special things that needed to be done. Very professional. As I closed the door behind her I sighed. Matthew had insisted on a spotless home and now it was just second nature to keep it that way.
Half an hour later the Toronto Hardwood truck pulled into the driveway to install the bedroom floor. After showing the men which room it was, I retreated to the patio with my book and waited until they completed the job. It was a long, beautiful day in the back yard, but when they finished and had replaced the furniture, I went up to take a look. The disgusting blood stain in the doorway was gone, replaced by plank flooring that made the bedroom look twice as big and accentuated the Victorian feel.
“Great job, guys. Thanks so much.” I handed the foreman the check.
BEFORE dinner I changed my clothes and tried to locate Matthew’s car keys. I hadn’t touched his vehicle since his timely demise and now, I dreaded having to clean it out before I took it to the dealership. I popped the trunk and removed a leather briefcase and a small duffle bag containing a few toiletries and two unopened packages of condoms.
Cheating bastard.
The interior of the car smelled like Matthew and the lingering scent of his cologne made my stomach turn. Checking the glove box, I found a few receipts, more condoms and a bottle of Smirnoff’s’.
Nothing like being prepared.
On the way to the dealership, I drove through a car wash to freshen up the exterior. I parked the car in front of the showroom window and went in to meet the manager.
Steve Underwood was dressed in a cheap gray suit over a white shirt with no tie. His hair matched the color of his suit and his shoes needed shining. He might have been attractive in high school, but that was decades ago, and the years had not been kind to him.
“I’m interested in selling my late husband’s car back to the dealership. How would I go about that, Steve?”
“Did you want to trade it in on something newer?” he asked hopefully.
“No thanks, I have a car already. I don’t need two.”
“Well, Mrs. Talbot, if you want to leave me the keys, I’ll have our mechanic go over it, then I can tell you what it’s worth. Can probably have it checked out by tomorrow some time and give you a call, if that’s okay.”
He closed the deal with a weak and clammy handshake and the dealership shuttle dropped me home.
After a quick bite to eat, I prepared for my bike buying expedition with George. My heart was pounding with anticipation. I changed into jeans, black leather boots and my newly acquired biker shirt. I stuffed my checkbook into my purse, swallowed two Advil, kissed Angel on her furry head and departed for the Harley dealership.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
GEORGE ROSS was leaning on the railing in front of the Harley store, smoking. He'd worn his mirrored sun glasses and black bandana adorned with skulls, tied around his long black hair. He smiled as Portia glanced at her watch to make sure she wasn’t late. Nope—right on time. She parked the Wrangler and got out, excitement drippin off her like an illegal substance. She smiled and he waved, flicking his butt into the boxwood hedge.
“Hey, you didn’t forget,” she said with a big grin.
“Shit. How could I. This’ll be the biggest fuckin’ laugh of the week,” he chuckled, holding the door open.
“Hey, George, long time.” The guy behind the parts counter gave George a thumbs-up.
“Hey Billy, getting’ any?” Didn’t see you at ‘The Bend’ on the 13th.”
“Hell no, had to fuckin’ work. Who’s your little friend? Hey I remember you.”
“Keep it in your pants, pervert. She’s just lookin’ to buy a bike.”
George put a massive hand on her back and steered her over to the bike area. “This is Kenny,” he said, pointing to the six-foot, tanned and tattooed lady's man.
“What can I help you with?” Kenny flashed her the smile that left chicks weak in the knees. His long shaggy black hair half hid his black eyes.
Portia was transfixed and temporarily mute and George touched her arm to get her attention. “Do you
want to sit on some bikes, little girl? I think we should start with a Softail. Might be the best one for you—a little easier to balance than the Sportster.”
“Try this thirteen-forty and we can make adjustments to the bars if we need to.” Kenny pointed to a turquoise beauty. “Great size for a lady.”
Portia threw her leg over and eased onto the black leather seat. The smell of the leather, oil and grease was heady stuff. The handlebars caused her a problem, her broken arm putting her off balance, but her feet touched the floor easily.
“Feels good. Can’t wait until my arm heals so I can ride,” she said.
“Need more than that, sweet cheeks.” George laughed. “Need a bike license.”
“I have a driver’s license.”
“No good. You need to take the government safety course for bikes.”
“Nuts,” she said, and Kenny laughed.
“Sit on a few more, so you get the feel of what’s right for you.” Kenny pointed down the line of shiny models. Metallic silver, Candy Apple Red, Harley Orange. She eyed the bikes like she wanted one in each color.
Portia tested five or six more, finally coming back to the original and sitting on it again. “I love this one. Comfort is good. Color is perfect. I think this is going to be my first bike.” She couldn’t wipe the grin off her face.
“Let me make a couple of adjustments to the bars and the seat.” Kenny indicated that she should stand up and let him custom fit the bike to her size. He touched her good arm to help her up and George frowned.
Don’t mess with her, fucker.
Kenny brought his tools out to do the fine tuning.
“What do you think, George?” she asked, “Is this the one for me?”
“As long as you have the strength for it, hon bun. Wouldn’t hurt you none to muscle up a bit if you’re gonna ride a lot. If you dump this baby in traffic, you’ll be in a fuckin’ mess.”
“Good idea. I have to strengthen my broken arm when it’s healed anyway. How’d you get so smart, George?” she squeezed his huge arm.
