She nodded. "It's just that, well, what if we have to sell? Is this all it's worth?"
"Not by a long shot," I said. "Knowing Gary, it's probably worth ten times that."
Crystal lifted her head. "You think so?"
"Trust me," I said.
But did I trust myself? I wasn't so sure.
Later that morning, I tore apart the book room, figuring it was as good a time as any to clean the display cases. I was sitting on the floor, cross-legged amidst stacks of Tarot decks, when a pair of black boots appeared in my line of vision.
I looked up and saw Bishop, staring down with a mixture of concern and amusement. "So this is why you're too busy to see me?"
Chapter 83
I returned my gaze to the Tarot decks, all in their original boxes. "Yeah, well, it's gotta be done sooner or later," I said, looking at the neatly arranged piles.
I'd stacked the decks by type. There were at least forty stacks. Some stacks teetered ten to fifteen decks high. Other stacks had one lone deck.
Bishop crouched beside me and picked up the nearest deck. "Tarot of the Cat People?" he said. "You've got to be kidding."
I shrugged. "That's why there's just one. It's not our biggest seller."
Bishop returned the deck to the floor. Reaching across my lap, he plucked a deck from the tallest stack. He read aloud from the box. "The Rider-Waite Tarot deck," he said. "This your biggest seller?"
I nodded.
Bishop studied the card pictured on the box. I didn't have to look. I knew the image by heart. It was the Magician. The card served as a reminder that with a little creativity and a lot of hard work, anything was possible. It was one of my favorite cards.
"I remember this card," he said. "This the deck you use?"
"Not anymore," I said.
"Why not?"
"It's the deck they found, well, I guess you'd say, on, Scruffy."
Bishop joined me on the floor, lying sideways with his head on his hand, propped by his elbow.
I studied the deck in my hands, wondering how many more decks we'd be able to sell. At this rate, it wouldn't be many. For me, it would be a bump in the road. For Crystal, it would be devastating. I set the deck on the floor and wiped my eyes.
Bishop reached out to squeeze my hand. "That bad, huh?"
"Sorry," I said, not looking up. "I guess I'm not the best company right now." Still, I was insanely glad to see him. In spite of our recent argument, just having him nearby made everything just a little bit better.
Bishop stood. "Come on," he said, pulling me to my feet.
"Where to?"
"You'll see," he said. "I know just the thing to cheer you up."
"But what about the store?" I asked.
Bishop took in the empty shop. "I think Crystal can handle it alone for a while."
I eyed the stacks of Tarot decks littering the floor. "I need to clean up this mess."
"Tell you what," he said. "Go on up and grab your coat. I'll pick up the decks while I'm waiting."
When I returned ten minutes later with my ski jacket and a freshly washed face, Bishop was setting the last Tarot deck in place.
"Wow," I said. "You're fast."
He smiled. "Only in some things." He reached for my hand. "Now, come on. A change of scenery will do you good."
Bishop was right. After an hour at the shooting range, I felt a lot better. When we finished, Bishop studied my paper target, fatally wounded many times over with a small cluster of shots near the center.
"I still can't get over your shooting," he said.
"You should talk," I said, studying his target.
Bishop's paper form had been executed with laser-like precision. If the shooter had been anyone but Bishop, I'd have found the results chilling. The human-shaped form was missing its kneecaps, both eyes, its heart, and the central region of both hands.
But Bishop wasn't looking at his target. He was looking at mine. "So what'd you do?" he asked. "Spend all your free time at some shooting range?"
"Pretty much," I said. "I figured if I ever ran into you–"
"You'd shoot me?"
"No," I said, poking him in the side, "I'd beat you at your own game." I studied his target more closely. "Funny thing is," I continued, "you've gotten better too. At this rate, I'll never catch up."
"Already, you're a better shot than most people I see," he said. "If you were any better, it'd be scary."
"Yeah, I can tell you're terrified."
"Tell me," he said, his smile fading, "if you had to shoot someone, could you?"
I studied my paper target, so easily destroyed, yet so easily replaced. "I don’t know. I guess it depends."
"Oh what?"
"If I needed to."
"Let me put it this way," Bishop said. "Let's say you ran into Conrad in some alley again, and nothing else worked, could you shoot him?"
"I don't know."
Bishop's expression was grim. "That wasn't the answer I was looking for."
"How about you?" I asked. "Could you shoot him?"
Bishop didn't hesitate. "No doubt about it."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I'm sure," he said. He turned the gun over in his hands. "And if he comes near you again, it's a very real possibility."
"You're not serious."
"I'm not saying I'd kill him."
I eyed Bishop's paper target, with its chilling array of non-fatal wounds. "Gee, that's a comfort."
"It's better than he deserves," Bishop said.
We were quiet for a moment, and then, unwilling to fight with him, I changed the subject. "I'm glad you stopped by."
"Feeling better?" he asked.
I nodded. "A lot better."
Bishop smiled. "Good."
He turned to tug my target off the clip. As Bishop reset the range, I leaned against the concrete wall and drank in the sight of him. Even in faded jeans and a plain black T-shirt, he looked better than most men would in Armani.
Silently, I watched him work, enjoying the simple pleasure of watching someone who's good at what they do, doing what they do best. I smiled. Actually, it wasn't the only thing he did best.
Bishop finished with the targets and turned his attention to the guns, ejecting the clips and resetting the safeties. He worked with a skilled precision that went a long way in explaining why he was such a good shot. He wasn't one to rush things, and not only when it came to shooting.
Bishop glanced up and caught me looking. "I know that look," he said.
"Huh?"
"You're thinking about a mocha."
I shook my head. "I was thinking about you."
That caught his attention. "I rate a mocha smile?"
"Sometimes," I said. "When I don't feel like shooting you."
What happened next was entirely my fault, and it took up the whole afternoon. One minute we were standing in the shooting range having a normal conversation. The next minute we were entangled on one of the shooting benches, not saying much of anything.
When the hard surface grew distracting, we made a mad dash for his vehicle and returned to the hardware store, where the sofa in the back room proved more accommodating.
By the time afternoon turned into evening, we had run out of places, positions and stamina. We were lying on his sofa sleeper, covered in a faded blue sheet and nothing else. I was on top, with Bishop's arms wrapped around my naked back. I rested my cheek on his chest.
"I've missed you," he said. "So damn much."
My heart fluttered, and my eyes grew moist. "Me too," I said. "There's been no one like you. Ever."
We were silent a long while, anchored in the moment. I felt his strong arms encircle my back and his muscular chest hard against my damp face. I was lost, and I was found, and I never wanted the moment to end.
A rumble in my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten all day.
He laughed. "Hungry?"
I smiled against him. "Maybe." I disentangled myself and sat up. "How about
you?"
"After that? I'm starving." He turned over on his side, facing me. "What are you hungry for?"
"Anything."
"What's your favorite?" he asked.
"Luciano's."
"Want to go out?" he asked. "Or stay in?"
I recalled the last couple times I'd been to Luciano's. It had been with Conrad. "Let's stay in," I said.
"Why don't you wait here," he said, "and I'll be back with something in fifteen minutes, a half-hour tops."
I glanced around. "That's probably a good idea. It'll take me at least that long to find all my clothes."
"Just so you know," Bishop said, "if you don't find them all, I'll understand."
Chapter 84
By the time Bishop returned, I was fully dressed, minus one sock. As he set down the bags, he looked pointedly at my bare foot. "You check the broom closet?"
"We were never in the broom closet."
He took a seat next to me. "Gives us something to aspire to," he said, setting the bags on the coffee table.
"Do you even have a broom closet?" I asked.
"No," he admitted. "But I'd be willing to put one in for you."
Digging through the bags, I spotted the container of artichoke dip almost immediately. I tore open bag of tortilla chips and scooped up a sample of dip. "See anyone at Luciano's?" I asked, popping the tortilla chip into my mouth.
"Like who?" he asked.
I shrugged.
Bishop studied my face. "You mean Conrad?"
"Just curious," I said. "I know he goes there a lot." I looked down, feeling myself frown. "I still wish you hadn't done that to him."
When I looked up, Bishop was studying my face with an intensity that made me feel naked from the neck up. "He asked to see you again, didn't he?"
I saw no point in lying. "Yes."
"That son-of-a-bitch," Bishop muttered.
"I know," I said without much feeling.
"Don't tell me," Bishop said. "You feel sorry for him?"
I shrugged.
"I don't get it." Resting on the sofa, Bishop’s free hand clenched into a fist. "The guy practically rapes you on the street–"
"That's an overstatement."
"Only because he underestimated you," Bishop said. "How can you feel anything for him after what he did?"
"I can't help it."
"Then help me understand. Is it because you're both having trouble with the city?"
"Do we have to talk about this?" I asked.
Bishop was quiet for a moment, and then said, "No. Not if you're not ready." With that, he grew silent.
I placed my hand on his. "Alright," I said. "It's not because we're both fighting City Hall."
Bishop turned to give me his full attention.
"It's because," I continued, "other than the rest of my life majorly sucking, I'm the lucky one." I squeezed Bishop's hand. "Conrad hasn't found what he's looking for. I like to think I have. It makes it easy for me to pity him."
Bishop smiled. "Your logic stinks. But I like what you're saying."
"Besides," I said, "these days, Conrad's fighting City Hall all by himself."
"You're giving up?"
"You been watching the news?"
"I see your point," he said.
"The funny thing is," I said, "we've probably done Conrad a big favor."
"How so?"
"With all the fortune-telling drama, no one even cares about his condos anymore." I tried to laugh. "He could probably build condos over every boat launch in the city, and no one would even notice."
"You've got a point," Bishop said. "Before you guys came along, Conrad was front-page news."
"Yeah. We even got his picketers," I said. "Lucky us."
Bishop looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"You know," I said. "The jailbirds."
"What about them?"
"We inherited them from Conrad."
Bishop shook his head. "Those guys never picketed the condos."
"Yes they did." I dug through the bag, spotting a shiny container that held the promise of lasagna.
"No they didn't," Bishop said.
I set down the container. "Are you sure?"
"Positive," he said. "I'm familiar with the development. Remember?"
"Because of your time share?"
He paused. "Something like that."
"Wait," I said. "Are you saying that no one picketed the condos?"
"There were picketers," he said, "but it was a bunch of fishermen. Not ex-cons."
"What happened to them?"
"The fishermen?" Bishop asked. "The river froze over."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"One word," Bishop said. "Walleye."
"You mean they stopped picketing to fish?"
"You gotta ask?"
I sat back, trying to assimilate what Bishop had just told me.
"What's wrong?" he said.
I looked away and rubbed the back of my neck. "Is that why we've been having so much trouble?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's about the condos." I looked at Bishop. "And fortune-telling. There were all these coincidences, the same negative news coverage, the same picketers. I thought it meant Conrad and I were on the same side. Maybe even that the same person was out to get us."
"And now?"
"Now," I said, "you tell me those jailbirds never picketed the condos."
"What made you think they had?"
"Conrad told me."
"And you believed him?"
"Why wouldn't I?" I said. "That’s when I still thought he was a nice guy."
"He'd be nicer with a couple of bullets in the kneecaps."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Maybe."
I switched gears. "You know what Conrad told me the first time I met him?"
"Do I want to know?"
"Oh stop it," I said, "He told me his condo issue was boring, and that it couldn't compete with fortune telling." Conrad's words came back to me, and I repeated them for Bishop's benefit. "He said we'd steal his thunder."
"So," Bishop said, "you're thinking Conrad has been using your mom's store as a smoke-screen?"
"I know it sounds crazy. And then there was that cell phone."
"The one you found?"
"Yeah. There was this call to Tampa, some resort called the Boca Loca."
"You call there?"
"I didn't bother," I said. "The place is huge. And I didn't even know what to ask."
"You know what you need?" Bishop said.
"What's that?"
"A nice warm getaway."
The next morning, we were on a plane to Tampa. In my carry-on, I had a small stack of printouts, mostly internet photos of everyone remotely involved. Bishop had the window seat. I'd insisted. I hated to fly.
"Thanks for coming with me," I said.
"Like I'd let you come alone."
"What do you think we'll find there?" I asked.
"Hard to say." Bishop smiled and leaned back in his seat. "As for me, I hope we find Conrad."
"We won't find Conrad," I said. "We might find he was there a few weeks ago, but not now."
"One can only hope," Bishop said.
"Why's that?" I asked.
"Better if you don't know."
He was probably right. I changed the subject. "I called Riley," I said. "She's having the background check done as we speak."
Chapter 85
By early evening, we were checked into the Boca Loca under Bishop's name. I threw open the balcony doors and drank in the tropical air. From our fourth-floor vantage point, we had a bird's eye view of the nearest pool, a patch of blue surrounded by tall palm trees. I felt Bishop come up behind me.
"I wish we were here on vacation," I said.
He wrapped his arms around my waist. "That could be arranged."
I turned to face him, wondering what was more tempting, the pool or him. I brushed my lips against his neck. It only confi
rmed my suspicion. Bishop was more tempting. Definitely.
An hour later, we lay amid a tangle of sheets. "I am such a loser," I said.
"Why's that?" he asked, stroking my hair.
"I'm supposed to be here to learn something."
"You didn't find that educational?"
"Educational?" I laughed. "That's not the word I'd have picked." I pulled away and peeked over the side of the bed. My clothes were in a jumbled heap, but all were accounted for. Maybe I was learning something after all.
A half-hour later, we were on our mission. By that evening, I learned just one thing – that wandering around a posh resort, asking people if they've seen a bunch of unfamiliar people in a bunch of unfamiliar photos, is no way to make friends.
The only real news came from Alabama when Riley called to tell me what she'd learned about Conrad. Turns out, Conrad was in hock up to his eyeballs and in danger of losing the entire development to impatient creditors.
After I disconnected the call, I relayed the information to Bishop. We were sitting side-by-side on the balcony, overlooking the grounds below.
I'd thrown on a new yellow sundress he'd insisted on buying for me at the gift shop, saying it would help me blend with the touristy crowd. As for Bishop, he wore khaki shorts and a white cotton dress shirt, unbuttoned.
"What do you make of it?" he asked.
"I think he's desperate," I said. "It explains a lot."
Bishop's voice hardened. "It doesn't explain what he did to you."
"He's desperate and a pig," I said.
As we sat together, I relayed the rest of what Riley had said. On top of Conrad's other financial troubles, there had been several large cash withdrawals from his line of credit.
The amounts were large enough to raise red flags with his financial institutions. At least two of his accounts had been frozen pending official investigations.
When I finished speaking, I gave Bishop a good, long look. He looked magnificent, but oddly unsurprised.
"You know all of this already," I said. "Didn't you?"
"Maybe."
"How?"
He shrugged. "I heard things."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
He turned away, looking out over the lush, landscaped property. He was still looking away when he finally spoke. "Because," he said, "I didn't want to win by default."
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