by Koontz, Rena
And as everyone grew older, they grew closer. Seeing them now, in their golden years, outsiders would never know they were once a signature away from splitting up. But he knew. He still had the papers to remind him. Ironically, he had believed his own marital woes would resolve the same way. He’d believed that right up to the second she signed the divorce documents.
When his parents decided to relocate to the retirement community, they turned their apartment buildings over to their kids. Together, Clay and Maggie managed Cestra Chalets I and II, which were actually luxury apartments in an upscale part of the city. Clay lived in Chalet II, which sat directly behind Chalet I, where Maggie, Dan, and six-month-old Jack lived. They each had taken over a major portion of the first floor of their buildings, demolished walls and gutted the insides, and converted the new, enlarged space to their own sprawling apartments with two bedrooms, two baths, an office, formal dining room, and eat-in kitchen. Maggie transformed a portion of her office into a nursery after Jack was born. Clay swore he’d never need to do that. One divorce was enough for him.
He threw himself into being a cop. There had been several fascinating women in his life, but nothing serious. Unlike Maggie, who wore her heart on her sleeve and embraced passion, love, and commitment, he put the brakes on whenever a woman’s expectations got too high. Funny. He always broke up with them at their kitchen table.
Happiness now centered on his role in a uniform helping people and the electrical, plumbing, painting, and other maintenance chores that came with operating two large apartment buildings. All service oriented, he often said. He enjoyed working with his hands, fixing things, and thought after several years of learning on the job he was pretty good at it. Dan also helped with building maintenance; the two of them swore there was no repair or maintenance problem they could not solve with a six-pack of beer and their combined talents.
“Call Mrs. B and tell her I’ll be there this afternoon to change her faucet,” he told his sister. “I’ve got one more midnight shift and then I have a day off. I’ll clean the Osborne apartment then. We weren’t planning to show it before that were we?”
“No. That’s fine. But wouldn’t you like to do something fun on your day off?”
He laughed. “Fun? Ah, I think I had some of that in tenth grade.”
“I keep telling you there’s more to life than work, big brother.”
“Put it on my to-do list one of these days,” he told her. “I’m pulling into The Packing Place to drop off some samples. I’ll talk to you later.”
He gathered the two evidence packets on the front seat and stepped out of his truck. As he approached the store, he saw Amber and the new girl through the storefront windows. He liked Amber, despite her over-the-top attempts to flirt with him and her criminal record. She made him laugh and there was nothing phony about her. She put it all out there for anyone to see, like it or not.
The new girl had seemed a little edgy yesterday. He chalked it up to first-day jitters.
“Good morning, ladies.”
Cassidy stood beside Amber watching her process a shipment. Amber smiled and winked at Clay, then turned to Cassidy.
“You should be able to handle that. Remember to get him to initial the label.”
Cassidy moved uncertainly to the first shipping register and punched the keyboard. She looked at Clay and swallowed hard. He tried to ease her nervousness.
“Don’t worry. By next week you’ll be able to do this blindfolded.” He pointed to a shelf on the back wall. “Take a form from that second slot, punch in the codes on these samples, and then process it. I’ll initial it after your label prints.” He smiled but watched her hand shake when she reached for the shipment form.
He snagged a pen from the pen cup. “Do all customers make you this nervous or just the cops?”
That generated a reaction that surprised him. Her head jerked up, her hand flew to her throat, and the color drained from her face just as Amber walked over.
“You got it, Cass?”
“You better check it,” she whispered. “Excuse me.” She turned and scurried to the back office.
Clay cocked his head and raised a questioning eyebrow. His cop’s instinct had jumped to high alert. “Is she like that with all the customers?”
Amber punched numbers on the touch screen as she answered. “No. She’s doing really well.”
“She talk much?”
“Not hardly. Plays it real close to the vest. We were busy yesterday, so there wasn’t much chance, really.” Amber slid the computer-generated receipt toward Clay. “Don’t get too interested. I might get jealous.”
Clay smiled as he folded the receipt and tucked it in his back pocket. He winked at Amber. “You know you’re the only woman in my heart. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Amber laughed as he walked toward the door. “I wish you meant that!”
A good cop has a sixth sense, always on low, spinning silently in the back of his brain. Even when Clay tried not to notice, he picked up signals from people. Body language. Facial expressions. Eye movements.
Cassidy appeared more nervous than she should. The Packing Place had a high employee turnover. It was hard work for minimum wage and, if Amber’s stories were true, the owner liked to get a little too familiar with his female hires. Clay had seen a lot of workers come and go in the three years he’d been shipping evidence to the state crime lab. Cassidy’s nervousness appeared to be on a different level, more intense than the average new kid on the job.
He shrugged off his thoughts as he turned the ignition and headed home. Whatever was the matter, it wasn’t his problem.
• • •
Lunch offered the first break of the day. Amber jumped up on the packing table, crossed her legs Indian style, and slid a hoagie from a takeout bag. She took a big bite from the heel and eyed Cassidy as she gingerly removed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from a plastic sandwich bag.
“That all you gonna eat?”
Cassidy smiled at the dressing smeared on Amber’s chin. “Yes. I don’t eat much.”
“Not me. I love to eat.”
That made her chuckle. “You seem to love everything, Amber.”
Amber grinned, her mouth too full to respond. Cassidy nibbled at the edge of her sandwich.
“I saw you walking from the bus stop this morning. Where you living?” She wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“I rented an apartment on Fortieth Street.”
Amber crinkled her nose. “Fortieth Street? That’s not exactly a nice neighborhood. Lot of drive-by shootings around there. It doesn’t seem like a place you’d want to live.”
“It’s all I can afford right now.”
“How’d you end up there? I don’t peg you for a druggie. And that area is a hangout for dealers. Probably why so many shootings.”
Cassidy examined a corner of her sandwich bag. “I’ve heard gunfire. It’s pretty scary. It’s only temporary. Until I can get some money together for something better.”
“Yeah, better. ‘Cause you sure don’t look like you belong there.”
That scared Cassidy. She worked so hard on this disguise. “Why do you say that?”
Amber waved her hand in the air. “Look at you. You’re cleaned and pressed. Your nails are done, your hair is fashionable. The glasses are over the top, but you can’t help your eyesight, I guess. But you reek of class, not someone who came from the poor side of town. Not someone who lives on Fortieth Street.”
Cassidy hadn’t considered the need for a back story, a history she could easily recount if someone asked about her past. Amber wasn’t prying, she was simply being friendly. Still, if she asked too many questions, Cassidy did not have ready answers.
Amber eyed her curiously.
“You got furniture and stuff?”
Cass
idy looked up and edged the glasses up her nose with her forefinger. “No. But I saw an ad in the paper that was here yesterday that someone was selling a couch and a chair. I called and can go look at it tomorrow. I’m off at one o’clock.”
“You ride the bus. How you gonna buy furniture from someone and get it to your place?”
The entry bell chimed and Cassidy stood up. “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
• • •
Domestics. Clay hated responding to a domestic disturbance call. A lot of them hit too close to home. The shouting. The fighting. The fear that it would escalate to something so much worse. It was bad for the cop responding to the call and bad for the poor schmucks fighting. He’d had a year of that in his own home. One long marital year of picking and bickering and that final slap.
Only one hour left in his shift when this call came over the radio. His luck. He mentally reviewed his anger management training. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind.”
Clay strived for peace of mind, rarely losing his temper any more. He had pretty well mastered the respond-instead-of-react technique. When he felt his temper rise, he consciously opened his hand and splayed his fingers. The exact opposite of making a fist. It served to keep him on balance. But it had taken a hard year of marriage to Lauren to get him where he was today. And that slap.
He stopped the patrol car in front of the address dispatch had given. His police sergeant stood on the front porch with a heavyset balding man wearing a Cleveland Browns sweatshirt. A can of beer lay on the top porch step, and the man pointed toward the front door, showed the sergeant a red spot on his head, then motioned toward the can.
Getting out of the car, Clay chuckled. Beer this early? It served him right.
• • •
Day three on the job and the assistant manager, Rosie, was on the schedule with Amber and Cassidy. Rosie made it clear she didn’t like Amber and that she would assume Cassidy’s training. Rosie had the most seniority of all the store employees and she did her job efficiently. But she acted like a jail warden watching Cassidy’s every move.
Unlike Amber, who let Cassidy think through the process so she could learn it, Rosie stepped in and took over, pushing her hands from the keyboard and correcting Cassidy in front of the customers.
She shredded the small bit of confidence Cassidy had in the first twenty minutes of her shift.
Amber smiled and winked reassuringly when Rosie took a phone call and walked into the back office to check a customer’s account. “Don’t let her scare you,” Amber whispered. “You’re doing fine. And you’re outta here in a couple hours. I’m stuck with her all day.”
“She makes me so nervous.”
“Don’t let her. She knows she can’t boss me around because I know this job better than her. So she has to boss you around to feel important.”
She nodded toward the two copy machines at the front of the store.
“When you hear her hang up, go check the paper supply in the drawers. She’s a stickler for that. It will impress her.”
Amber reached under the counter where the pens were stored and grabbed a handful to fill the customer pen cup. “You still gonna go look at furniture this afternoon?”
Cassidy nodded.
“You figure out what to do if you buy it?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, if it’s not giant pieces maybe we can tie it into the back of my trunk or something. If you decide to buy it, I’ll try to help you move it.”
Amber drove a ten-year old faded green Ford Escort with a dented rear bumper, a stone-chipped windshield, and oversized pink fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror. It didn’t look like it could make it until tomorrow, let alone serve as a U-haul. And Cassidy couldn’t afford to get friendly with anyone.
“Thanks, Amber, but I don’t want to put you out.”
The entry bell chimed. Amber turned and broke out into a wide grin.
“Hey C.C. You have a truck, don’t you?”
Clay nodded yes.
“Cassidy needs to borrow a truck. Will you rent her yours? She needs a driver, too,” Amber added, laughing. “She’s gotta go pick up some furniture.”
Cassidy fought her panic. “Ah, no. Really. Amber’s kidding. I’m fine.” She held up her hands in front of her and signaled no, like a hockey referee signaling no goal.
Amber turned and raised her eyebrow, causing the tiny star on the eyebrow ring to twinkle. “He’s a police officer. It’s his job to help the public. And you just said you don’t know how you are going to get your furniture to your apartment. I’m sure C.C. won’t mind helping, will you C.C.?”
Cassidy stood shaking her head. “I haven’t even seen the furniture yet, Amber. I’m not certain I’m going to buy it.” She turned to Clay. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“I do have a pickup. If you need some help, I’m off tomorrow. I could help for a couple hours,” he offered.
“No, really. That’s very kind, but I don’t think so.”
“She’s scared of her own shadow, C.C. She needs the help. Don’t take no for an answer.”
“Amber! Stop! I don’t need any help.”
Amber raised both eyebrows but tightened her lips and used her thumb and forefinger to motion that she’d zipped them closed. Cassidy turned to Clay again.
“Really, I’m fine.”
“What time do you get off work? I’ll pick you up here at the store. Where do we have to go to get the furniture?”
“You have to go in the morning. She’s on the schedule to come in at two and work until close,” Amber said. Cassidy glared at her and Amber re-zipped her lips.
“That works better for me actually. Do you want me to pick you up here or at your place?”
“You really don’t have to do this,” Cassidy said. Suddenly, her stomach knotted and her body temperature soared to a thousand degrees. The last thing she wanted was a cop asking her questions. Damn Amber.
Clay waved his hand. “It’s not a big deal. What time and where?”
After he left the store, Cassidy turned on Amber, her nostrils flaring. “Why did you do that? I don’t even know him. I don’t want him knowing where I live or taking me anywhere.”
“He’s a cop. You can trust him,” Amber shot back. “And he probably doesn’t care where you live. He’s seen worse places than Fortieth Street. If he is willing to help, you should let him. I don’t know what it is with you. Somethin’ funny. But you need to trust somebody. And he’s hot.”
“I don’t care how hot he is. You have no right to butt into my life.”
“Well sorry. When he shows up tomorrow to help you just look a gift horse in the mouth and tell him to go home.”
Chapter Three
Clay took a final sip of coffee and rinsed his mug in the sink.
“So how did you get stuck helping her move?” Dan asked.
“Not helping her move. Picking up some furniture. I don’t know. Amber at The Packing Place kind of ambushed me. I walked in when they were talking about the new girl getting furniture and she pretty much railroaded me into helping. The more the girl said no thank you, like she hated the idea of me helping, the more I wanted to.”
“Amber? The same Amber we arrested?”
“Same Amber.”
“So this is one of Amber’s friends?”
That was laughable. “Not hardly. This girl is the exact opposite of Amber’s friends. Skittish like a rabbit.”
“Shy?”
“No.” He paused, searching for the correct word. “More like scared.”
“Of what?”
Clay laughed. “Of cops, for one thing. At least she seems anxious around a badge. Maybe she’ll react differently today when she s
ees me in street clothes.”
“Maybe it’s that Cestra charm that unnerves her,” Dan teased. “It sure as hell did me in.”
Clay nodded, playing along. “I haven’t tried charming her yet, but I’m sure my magnetism is so overwhelming, I don’t recognize when it’s putting people under my spell. Seriously, though, there is something off about her, like she is not comfortable in her own skin.”
“Maybe she’s just not comfortable going furniture shopping with a strange man. You have to admit,” Dan grinned, “you can be pretty strange.” Clay laughed and nodded.
“You only saw her on her first day, right? She probably just wasn’t comfortable with the new job yet.”
“Could be, but that’s not what I’m sensing. She’s afraid of something.” He shrugged. “We’ll see what this little furniture adventure brings.”
• • •
Cassidy stared out the bus window, watching the rundown two-story homes lining Fortieth Street roll by. Most of them had been converted to apartment buildings with wooden fire escape steps climbing up the brick sides, allowing access to the second floor through a window widened to serve as a door. She doubted the structures complied with building code standards.
Paint peeled from the fiberglass siding on most of the buildings and several gutters sagged in awkward configurations. Even the homes that remained single-family units begged for repairs. Trash peppered most of the front yards. Slowly, the bus rumbled down the potholed street, transporting her from shabby to swank as it rolled into the more affluent neighborhood of Greenbrier and The Packing Place. Dark and dreary morphed into a bright energy.
Lush trees and rolling lawns were dotted with multi-colored flowers exploding from oversized pots, window boxes, and pristine landscape islands. The windows sparkled and reflected the sun, casting the homes in halos of light. Even the children seemed different.