Medium Well (9781101599648)

by Benjamin, Meg

  “How are you feeling? Are you still working too hard?”

  Danny’s jaw clenched. “Hard as I need to, Ma. It’s a tough racket.”

  “I worry about you, Danielo. You need to take a little time for yourself. Slow down a little.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll try.” In a couple of years. When I’m managing one of the branches.

  This time his mother sighed. “Danny, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

  “You don’t need to do anything with me, Ma. I’m fine. I’ll call you later about dinner.” No guilt trips here. No siree!

  “All right, Danielo. Take care. I love you.”

  Danny disconnected, feeling like a prime shit. Oh, yeah, no guilt trips here. Except nobody told his mother not to send him on one.

  ***

  By two o’clock the next afternoon, Danny had convinced himself the whole experience at the carriage house had been a misunderstanding. He’d probably hit a nerve when he touched the stove that had made his arm feel like it was on fire—the heat hadn’t really passed from one hand to the other, like an electric shock. Just his overreaction. And there hadn’t been any blood on his hand. Just a shadow, or reflected light. Or something.

  He stood outside the building, looking up at the cracked stucco walls. The carriage house was old, dirty, and ugly as a three-day drunk. He’d dealt with ugly houses before. Usually he could still find something to recommend them. He closed his eyes for a moment. “C’mon house, give me a hint.”

  Herman Zucker would be there to meet him in twenty minutes. So would Biddy. Danny’s money was on Zucker getting there first, but Biddy actually arrived with five minutes to spare.

  “Got the specs?” Danny raised an eyebrow.

  Biddy nodded. “I brought the inspection report, too. I thought he might want some proof that the place isn’t going to fall apart.”

  Today she wore a maroon skirt and jacket that were the color of dried blood, with a pink blouse. The blouse had some kind of weird floppy bow that tied beneath her chin, sort of like an eighties power ensemble. Danny wondered briefly if she actually bought these outfits new or if she shopped secondhand stores. Surely nobody made stuff like that deliberately anymore. Almost like camouflage, although he wasn’t sure what she could be disguising. She stood in the shadows beside the door—turquoise eyes, silvery hair. Knock it off, Danielo.

  Herman Zucker arrived promptly at two thirty, wearing a suit he’d probably bought off the rack at a big-and-tall shop. Herman didn’t believe in wasting money on clothes. Not when he could be using it to buy real estate. In his honor, Danny had put on a pearl gray Hart Schaffner Marx suit his father had talked him into buying three years ago. He figured Herman would relate.

  Danny estimated Herman’s weight to be somewhere in the three-hundred-pound range. He only needed a Panama hat to double for Sydney Greenstreet in Casablanca. It was always a bit of a shock when he didn’t speak with an English accent, but Herman was more universal than that. He spoke money.

  “Ramos,” he barked. “This the place?”

  Danny nodded. “The Steadman carriage house. Built circa 1890.”

  Herman pursed his lips. “Not by Steadman. She didn’t buy this house until the sixties.”

  “Right.” Danny nodded. He checked the printout on the available history of the house that Biddy had put together for him that morning. “Built by Marcus Templeton?” He glanced at her. “Sure about that?”

  “He built the Steadman house,” she explained, “but apparently he didn’t live here. The house supposedly changed hands several times. The carriage house was built a few years after the house itself, maybe by Templeton, too.”

  Herman nodded gloomily. “Not exactly an architectural landmark, is it?”

  Ah, let the games begin. Danny restrained his grin. “It’s a classic carriage house design, though. Excellent construction. Although it’s had a period of neglect.”

  “Period of neglect?” Herman snorted. “That’s the understatement of the century. I suppose you’re gonna tell me those are D’Hanis bricks.”

  Danny did grin this time. “Now, Herman, give me more credit than that. D’Hanis didn’t start making bricks until 1905. Take an honest look around this place. An imaginative architect could do great things with it, Herman.”

  Herman sniffed. “We’ll see.” He squinted up at the leaded glass windows over the carriage doors. “Needs work.” His gaze took in the sparse lawn around the building and the straggling basket of petunias over the door. “A lot of work.”

  “But worth it, Herman. Definitely worth it. Potential for a real showplace here.” Danny gave him a smile just warm enough without overdoing it, pulling the key from his pocket.

  The carriage house hadn’t improved from the day before. If anything, it looked gloomier and dirtier. Zucker walked around the lower floor, peering into corners and studying the open space with half-closed eyes.

  “What’s the square footage?” he growled.

  “Eighteen hundred.” Danny gave him a bland smile. “Give or take.”

  “Bathrooms?”

  “One upstairs. But lots of room to expand.” Danny waved his hand to indicate the multitude of bathroom locations. “This floor has plumbing, too.”

  Biddy flitted to the side of the room, rubbing her arms again. It wasn’t that cold. Zucker looked like he was sweating.

  “Bedrooms?”

  “One. But . . .”

  “Lots of room to expand. I get the drift.” Herman gave him a wry smile. “All right, the downstairs I can work with. What about the upstairs?”

  Danny smiled back, not wryly at all. “Let’s go up and take a look around.”

  He started for the staircase, motioning Zucker before him. For a moment, Biddy stayed rooted in place, her gaze locked on the stairs.

  Come on, Biddy, a little help here. Danny narrowed his eyes in her direction.

  She moved forward stiffly, her arms folded across her chest. In the dimness of the lower floor, Danny couldn’t quite make out her expression. He followed Zucker to the upper entrance.

  Zucker stood just inside the door, gazing around the living room. “Lotta crap here.”

  “Mr. Petrocelli could have it cleared out after the sale, assuming that was part of the contract.” Danny grinned again. “Unless the buyer would like to hang onto it. Could be some valuable collectibles here.”

  Zucker grimaced.

  Danny dialed it back a notch. “Or not.” He moved into the room, gesturing toward the far wall. “Fireplace looks like native limestone. Another one downstairs.”

  “That one’s bricked up,” Zucker grumbled.

  “Easy enough to unbrick it.” Danny strolled across the floor. “Good wide planks here. Probably pegged pine.”

  “Hard to tell with all this dirt.” Zucker scuffed the toe of his shoe along a floorboard. “Have to refinish it.”

  Danny ignored that statement as too obvious for comment. “Three good-sized windows here over the carriage doors. Looks like leaded glass.”

  “Not much light.”

  Danny shrugged. “There’ll be more light after the windows are cleaned. The leaded glass gives it period charm, Herman.”

  He grinned in Zucker’s direction again. Zucker scowled back. Okay, the man had no sense of humor. Time to move on.

  “Look, Herman, the place needs to be cleaned up and restored, but we both know the potential is here. Take out the carriage doors down below and put in new windows. Restore the leaded glass up here. Refinish the floors. Clean up the fireplace up here and open the one downstairs again. Now you’re talking at least two hundred fifty thousand, probably more like three hundred thousand, maybe more with the right buyer.”

  Zucker squinted at him. “After I lay out all that cash to restore it.” />
  Danny shrugged again. “That’s a given, Herman. But it’s still a hell of an investment. And if you take both houses, you’re looking at major money here.”

  Zucker studied the room again, stone-faced. Near the doorway, Biddy rubbed her arms again. Danny willed her to stand still for a few moments.

  “Where’s the kitchen?” Zucker raised an eyebrow.

  “Through here.” Danny started toward the door at the side, ignoring the faint prickling along his palms. Just a freakin’ kitchen, not the doorway to the Hellmouth.

  He pushed on the door before he remembered that it stuck. “Stubborn doorknob,” he improvised. “You’ll probably want to take the door off anyway so you can open up the room a little more.” He pushed harder.

  “Who the hell has an upstairs kitchen?” Herman grumbled from behind him.

  “You could always move it downstairs.” Danny gave the door one more shove and felt it swing open. He stepped through the doorway and froze.

  Everywhere he looked he saw blood.

  Crimson fluid leaked across the floor and up the front of the sink. More red spread across the countertop, pooling in the grout between the tiles.

  A line of bloody handprints marked the far wall, as if someone had tried to steady himself before collapsing into the large pool of red in the corner.

  Danny staggered against the cabinets, then jumped back, staring down at the sticky red smear across his hand. He felt something drip on his forehead and looked up.

  Blood seeped from the ceiling. Something dark was spattered across the plaster.

  Danny felt his stomach lurch. “Holy Christ,” he gasped. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

  “Ramos?” Zucker’s voice sounded behind him.

  Danny whirled toward the door. “Herman. Don’t come in. Something’s happened. I don’t know . . .”

  Zucker pushed past him. “What the hell are you talking about?” He stood in the center of the room, turning slowly. “What do you think happened here that didn’t happen out there? A dirt bomb?” He narrowed his eyes, mouth twisting. “What are you trying to pull here, Ramos? Something I’m not supposed to see?”

  “Oh, Mr. Ramos,” Biddy cried. “I’m so sorry. I know I should have gotten this cleaned up.” She fluttered her hands helplessly. “Mr. Zucker, I apologize. I was supposed to take care of all this.”

  Danny stared at her. Take care of all this? This slaughterhouse? This abattoir? He jerked away from the kitchen counter. A slash of blood stained his pearl gray slacks. His stomach lurched again. He raised his hands and saw smears of red across his palms.

  “Jesus, I’ve got to . . . sorry!” Danny turned to the sink and vomited up the gorditas he’d had for lunch.

  “What the hell, Ramos, are you drunk?” Zucker’s voice radiated outrage.

  “No, sir.” Biddy fluttered toward him again. “Mr. Ramos has had the flu for a couple of days. He got out of his sickbed to see you today.”

  “Terrific,” Zucker snarled. “Now I’ll probably come down with it, too. Call me when you’re healthy and/or sober, Ramos.”

  “Let me give you the specifications and the engineering report, Mr. Zucker,” Biddy bounced frantically at his side like a terrified Jack Russell terrier. “Then you can talk to Mr. Ramos next week.”

  “I’m not talking to Ramos again until he pulls himself together,” Zucker growled. “You can bet I’ll be calling Big Al, though.” He lurched through the door without glancing back.

  Danny stood with his eyes closed, listening to Zucker’s heavy footsteps down the stairs. He could still smell the blood, feel it on his hands. His breath rattled in his chest. What the hell was happening?

  “Mr. Ramos?” Biddy’s voice was quiet. “Danny? Are you okay?”

  Was he okay? Oh, yeah, absolutely swell. He’d just tossed his cookies in front of a client, who apparently couldn’t see that the room they were standing in was covered in blood.

  But then, of course, neither could Biddy.

  “Danny?”

  “Okay,” he muttered. “I’m okay. We need to clean this up.” He turned to look at her, where she stood in the middle of the kitchen.

  The suddenly bloodless kitchen.

  Danny stared at his hands. Slightly dirty, but otherwise unmarked. He looked down at his pant leg. Pearl gray, no stains. He didn’t bother to run his hand across his forehead—there wouldn’t be any blood there either.

  Wonderful. He was a lunatic.

  “Danny?” Biddy still stared at him, blue eyes wide.

  He swallowed hard. “It’s okay. I’ll clean up the sink. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not worried about the sink.” Her brow furrowed. In the gathering twilight she looked about ten years old. “What happened to you?”

  “I thought . . .” He shook his head. “What did the kitchen look like when you first walked in?”

  “Look like?” She blinked at him. “Like it does now.” She turned to look around her. “Dirty. Dingy. Dark.” She rubbed her arms. “Cold.”

  “Not . . . anything else?”

  Her concerned look had returned. “Like what? What did you see here, Danny?”

  “I saw . . .” He took another deep breath. “Nothing. I didn’t see anything. The room looked a little . . . off at first. Just for a minute. Weird light. That’s all.” Danny stuck his hands in his pockets, doing his best imitation of a real estate salesman. “We need to get this place cleaned up before anybody else looks at it.”

  “Maybe Mr. Zucker . . .” Biddy bit her lip.

  Nice lips. Full and dark pink. Okay, he was clearly returning to some version of normal. “Herman won’t be back. He’ll figure I’m some kind of nut job and he won’t want to work with me. But he may try to work with your sister.”

  “Araceli gave this to you,” Biddy said staunchly, but he had the feeling even she didn’t put much store in her sister’s ethics.

  “Yeah, and I’m going to sell it.” He squared his shoulders. “Zucker isn’t the only buyer who’ll see the potential here. But we do need to get the place cleaned up.”

  “Right.” She pulled a notebook out of her purse. “I’ll make a note to call the service tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday.” He turned on the tap in the sink, watching the rusty water rinse the surface. “You can call on Monday. Unless you’re going back to the office after hours tonight.”

  “Tonight?” She gave him a startled look. “No. I’m . . . busy tonight.”

  “Good for you.” He stood straight again. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll come back Monday and see what we can do.”

  “Right.” She nodded, heading toward the stairs.

  Danny turned in the doorway, taking one more survey of the kitchen. A lot of dirt and trash. A large antique wood stove. A couple of smeared windows. No handprints. No blood smears. No dripping ceiling.

  He closed his eyes for a moment. Trick of the light. Yeah, right. He placed his hand on the doorknob and felt the prickling in his palms again.

  Okay. Next time he’d let Biddy show the kitchen.

  Chapter 3

  Unfortunately for Danny, Zucker had made good on his threat to call Big Al. Big Al, in turn, had called Araceli. Saying Araceli was unhappy when they got back to the office was like saying Mount St. Helens belched.

  “You threw up?” she cried. “In front of a client? What were you thinking?”

  Danny gritted his teeth. “Trust me, I didn’t think about it in advance, Araceli. If I’d been able to think about it, I wouldn’t have done it.”

  “Why did you go on a showing if you felt sick? Why didn’t you postpone? Or call me? I could have shown the place to Herman.” Araceli began straightening her desk again, always a bad sign.

  “I didn’t feel sick before I
got there.” Unlike now, when he still felt faintly nauseated.

  Behind him he could sense Biddy vibrating with tension. He sighed. “Just a little flu, Araceli. I thought I’d beaten it.”

  “Well, you didn’t. Herman was furious. It’ll take me days to get him back there, if I can get him there at all.” She tapped her notepad slightly to the right with her fingernail. “And it looks like I’ll need to show the place myself the next time he wants to see it.”

  “But Mr. Zucker is very interested in the place, Araceli. Dan . . . Mr. Ramos did a great job up until he got sick.” Biddy sounded like a six-year-old defending her big brother.

  Danny clenched his jaw harder. Don’t help me, Biddy! “I’ll send him an apology. Maybe a box of those chocolate pralines he likes.”

  Araceli shook her head. “A box of pralines won’t make up for what happened. He won’t talk to you now.”

  “No, but it might get him to talk to you or somebody else in the office.” Danny pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment. The headache might be part of the nausea or it might be the result of this particular conversation.

  Araceli narrowed her eyes, considering what Danny’s concession might net her in the long run. “All right, give it a try. But in the future if you feel lousy, stay home!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gave her his best boyish grin, or as close to it as he could come at the moment.

  She waved an impatient hand. “Go. Lois took a couple of calls from your San Diego buyers. They had some questions.”

  Danny blew out a relieved breath. San Diego. Normalcy, or something like it. “Okay. I’ll get right on it.”

  ***

  Biddy watched Danny stride down the hall toward his office. Maybe if she just trotted after him, she could get away before her sister realized she’d gone.

  “Biddy? Don’t just stand there. Close the door and sit down.”

  So much for escape. Sighing inwardly, she slid into the chair beside Araceli’s desk.

  “What the hell went on over there, Biddy? If Ramos had the flu, why doesn’t he look sick now?” Her sister’s eyes had the kind of flinty gleam that meant she was on the trail of something.