“Yup.”
“Is that why you were pacing?”
“Partly,” I sighed. “I also don’t know how I’m going to cough up the money for the repair and the tow job. I haven’t started to sub yet, and we haven’t done anything for Reed to merit a payment either.”
“You’re a smart girl, Mary. I’m sure you’ll figure out a solution.”
“I hope so. Otherwise, I’ll have to find another job.” There’s no way this gal is driving the Topaz any longer than I have to. It’s a piece of junk.
Chapter 13
The morning was just about shot when I finally entered the bathroom and tossed my bed clothes off to scrub up. As the warm cascading water began to flow from the old-fashioned shower head, it gingerly rinsed the soap residue off my skin and brought back fond memories of Playa Los Muertos Beach in Puerto Vallarta, helping me forget my woes for a few measly minutes. That abundant supply of gorgeous, muscle-bound Mexican men ogling my every move really made me feel sexy. Sure would be nice to feel that way now. I stared at my left hand. I bet if I had stayed in Mexico just a little while longer I’d have a big shiny stone on my ring finger, something no male stateside has managed to do yet.
I shut the water off now, and Puerto Vallarta swiftly vanished down the drain along with the soap suds. That’s life. Some days stank more than others. The bright purple towel I purchased from Kohl’s the day before I received my pink slip still dangled over the shower rod. It had been a steal, half off, so I didn’t return it. I yanked it off the rod and wrapped myself in its luxury.
The minute I shoved the shower curtain aside, I discovered the rest of the room had been entombed in thick fog due to my overly long stay in the shower. Of course, it didn’t help that the Foley neglected to install exhaust fans either. Not wanting to discard the comfortable towel pressed against my skin to wipe down a mirror that needed to be replaced, I decided to forego my minimal daily makeup regime for today. Instead, I groped for the non-enhanced undergarments I had left on the toilet lid. I only wore enhanced ones, the type that turns your face blue and caused you to come up for air every five seconds, when attending a special event, like a blind date. Too bad grandmothers, members of the girdle-wearing generation who think it’s so easy to get a guy’s attention nowadays, don’t understand how tough it really is.
What’s that? You don’t need enhanced lingerie? Well, lucky you. You probably only have a bran muffin and a glass of water for breakfast. Am I right? Ah huh. That’s what I figured.
Well, this gal’s size-sixteen bod didn’t get a second glance unless the extra fat was neatly tucked away.
As long as I was hanging it all out there, you might as well know the pull-in-your-tummy lingerie wasn’t the only thing I passed on. Everyone who knows me can testify it’s an extremely rare day when I step out of my dwelling without wearing one of the million pairs of pierced earrings I own. I feel naked without them, and, quite honestly, they do make a person look snazzier. Today was one of those rare days. I was only visiting an optical store, and one definitely doesn’t have to dress up to go there. Right? The only things staring back at you were 1000 pairs of glasses.
I threw my shirt on and then stuck my legs into my jeans. The minute the jeans closed ranks on my butt, the zipper insisted on playing tug-of-war with me. Weight gain’s not the issue, Mary. It’s the twenty times they’ve been laundered. That’s all.
I left the partially steamed bathroom behind and went to the living room where I assumed Aunt Zoe was since the room served a dual purpose; living room and bedroom. My assumption was correct. She was sitting on the couch deeply engrossed in her novel. “You must be at a really hot spot in that book,” I said purposely trying to break her concentration.
“Why do you say that?” she innocently inquired without looking up.
“Your forehead has a million ridges on it.”
Unfortunately, my remark didn’t succeed in breaking my aunt’s eye contact with the pages of her novel as I had anticipated. “Well, you’re right, Mary. I am at an exciting part. Picture this, war time—World War II—two lonely people keep bumping into each other at a VA hospital. The woman’s husband is severely wounded and hasn’t got long to live. The man, a doctor, has been a widower for a few months now. Sparks ignite.”
“Hmm. Sounds like those sappy novels written by Nicholas Sparks and Nora Roberts. My sister can’t get enough of them.” Personally, I’ve never understood what people saw in romance novels or movies. I hate them with a passion. Such utter nonsense. When in our lifetime has a Prince Charming ever come charging in on a white stead to sweep a gal off her feet? Name one?
“Are their books made into movies too, Mary?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“Maybe you’d like to read my book when I’m finished. The story could end up on the Hallmark Channel next month. You never know.”
Where’s the mouth wash? How dare she suggest I read a romance novel or watch Hallmark? “Not right now,” I forced myself to reply. “I’ve recently reached a plateau in my reading, and I’m not sure which direction I want to take next. Perhaps a good mystery. Matt left a few on his nightstand.” I removed my overly large bright blue sunglasses from the highly waxed coffee table now and perched them on my nose.
My roommate’s red head bobbed this way and that. “Isn’t Griffin’s case mystery enough?”
“It’s not the same. One is fact; the other fiction.”
Aunt Zoe finally peeled her eyes away from her book and locked them on me. “Hmm? I guess I can’t argue with that. Well, I see you finally got dressed. Why the sunglasses? Are you going out?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I thought I’d take a walk to the Singis’ optical store and see if I need stronger lenses for my sunglasses. Care to tag along?”
“No, thanks. Perhaps if I was further along in the book.”
“Well, I’m off then.”
“Ah, Mary . . .”
“Yeah?”
“Are you sure you want to go like that?”
“Why?” I cautiously asked as I searched for any telltale signs of toothpaste stains.
“Your top’s inside out.”
Oh, crap. I had forgotten to turn the shirt back to the right side after it came out of the dryer. I treaded further into the room in case someone came to the door, and then I pulled off my shirt and reversed it. “There. Is that better?”
My roommate smiled broadly. “Much,” and then her eyes drifted back to what she was reading prior to my interruption.
Gracie had been laying low while I was chatting with my aunt, but as soon as my hand hit the doorknob leading to the fourth floor hallway, she leaped into action. She loved getting her exercise, or rather she loves making us work out. “Wuff. Wuff.”
I flung my free hand out in front of me. “No, girl. Not now. Later.” I felt bad the mutt couldn’t join me, but shops around downtown Minneapolis didn’t permit dogs to roam inside their buildings like other out-of-state metro areas did.
Gracie hung her head and let loose with a couple whimpers before she backed off and ran to Aunt Zoe’s side and whimpered some more.
I scooted out the door now and left the pleading wails behind.
*****
Shards of sun rays greeted me the instant the elevator door burst opened and I stepped out onto the Foley’s newly scrubbed tiled floor with a bounce to my step, knowing I had made the right decision to get out and forget about Fiona for a few measly minutes. I quickly cut a fine path through a group of residents to reach the double-glass entrance doors and exit to the neighborhood sidewalk. Once there, I turned right and walked approximately nine feet before I stopped. There’s no way a person could miss Raj Singi’s medium-sized optical sign peeking out from underneath a dark-green awning. It displayed a huge metal pair of eyeglasses.
The buildi
ng’s exterior, which appeared to be as aged as the building I lived in, a half century old, was covered with old reddish-brown Chicago brick, the same as the Foley’s, which helped the two blend nicely together, but there were no ivy vines clinging to it, and it was only one-story tall. The front entrance was flanked by two enormous picture windows a passerby couldn’t ignore. Each was tastefully decorated with display racks showing off the latest in optical wear: RayBan and Oakley sunglasses, funky reading glasses, children and adult eye wear and a variety of optical needs for fun at the beach.
I suddenly realized the sun was going to turn me to mush if I stood outside staring at the façade much longer, so I prepared to go in. I stretched out my hand to grasp the store’s door, but before my fingers made contact, a young woman wearing a very tight short white skirt, crinkled black sleeveless top, spiked heels and long stringy washed-out blonde hair flung the door open and paraded out. Thankfully, my stance was far enough back. Otherwise, I’d be short a few teeth and several hundred bucks. She never apologized—too absorbed with her texting.
Unfortunately after the woman fled, the door waited for no one. I just barely managed to squeeze through the entrance opening before I was smacked in the caboose. A light bell rang now. Kamini, who was situated in the outer office, glanced up from her work behind a long narrow counter and presented me with a wide smile. I automatically flashed one back. “You have come to see us, how nice.”
Wanting to say something about their picture windows before I forgot, I swiftly diverted her attention away from me and pointed to them. “I was admiring your displays, Kamini. Who does them?”
“Me,” she shyly replied, and then she broke into her native tongue. I glanced around but found no one else in the waiting room except me.
Before long, a short thin man, somewhere in his mid-forties, with thick coal-black hair and deep set almond eyes, popped into the outer room. His smart pair of silver-colored wire glasses decorated his tan-skinned face. The husband.
Kamini swiftly turned her attention to the man in the charcoal suit. “Raj, there is someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Ah, good,” the man with the generous black mustache said, “Our sign on the door is working.”
What sign? Where? That dumb blonde dimwit had my full attention before I stepped in here. Since I wasn’t a regular customer, I didn’t inquire if there was a sale going on.
“No, Raj,” Kamini corrected gently. “This is the woman who lives above us.”
“Oh, Miss. Zoe, so nice to meet you. Kamini has spoken of you many times.”
No, she hasn’t. Wrong again.
Raj had picked the right woman for his mate. She had the patience of a saint. Kamini took her husband’s smooth hand in hers and said, “This is Mary not Zoe. She’s her niece.”
“Ah, Mary, the unemployed lady.”
I was taken aback. I didn’t expect Kamini to share that with her husband. What else had she told him? “Ah, I’m only sort of unemployed,” I explained defensively. “I hope to substitute teach this summer.”
“A teacher?” Raj looked through his rimless glasses with wide-eyed wonder. “Kamini, you didn’t say she was a teacher. People trust teachers. They listen to what they say.” He began to rub his palms together. “A teacher would do nicely here. Don’t you agree?”
His wife stroked her extended tummy. Wrapped in silk the color of the Caribbean, it appeared much bigger than yesterday. “Yes, Raj. I think Mary would do well here.”
“The baby is coming soon,” the optometrist hurriedly explained. “We need someone to fill in for my wife.”
“But . . . but I didn’t come here to apply for a job. I just want my sunglasses checked to see if they’re strong enough.” I pulled my prescription out of a pocket.
“Sure. Sure. I will do that.” Raj whisked the prescription and sunglasses out of my hands and quickly disappeared to a room beyond the counter.
Kamini and I stared at each other for a couple seconds, and then she finally spoke. “Mary, you must think about working here. My husband is very practical and does not put up with nonsense. Surely you can see you have impressed him.”
Five minutes later, Raj rejoined us and handed my belongings back to me.
“Is there much of a difference?” I asked.
“Very little. If you want, you can change the lenses after your next exam.”
“Well, that’s that then. Thank you,” I said. “How much do I owe you?”
“No charge,” Raj assured me, “Just a small request.”
Oh, oh. Lookout, Mary. When people say something like that around you, it usually ends up being something major. But what could the man possibly want from me?
“Apply for the job.” Well, that definitely was a short and to-the-point request.
“But I don’t know the first thing about the optical industry, and I’ve already committed myself to substituting for summer school.”
“No problem,” Raj replied as he readjusted his glasses. “Kamini works part time. Try for a month. If you like, I teach you the optical business.”
I shook my head. “Ah, I don’t think so. It just wouldn’t work for me.” I started to leave.
Kamini wasn’t about to let me walk out the door without taking one more stab at convincing me to apply for her position. “Before the baby comes, I show you what to do, Mary. It’s not hard.”
I hated being backed into a corner with no escape hatch. There should always be a way out. Ah, come on, Mary. This isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself in such a tight spot. You’ve always been a sucker for people in distress. Just tell Kamini what she wants to hear, and you can escape. “Ah, Kamini.”
“Yes?”
“I’ll take that application.”
Chapter 14
I had been gone from the Foley Apartment complex for a little over half an hour, and when I returned, it still didn’t look like our caretaker had put in an appearance, but the nonagenarian who lives across the hall from me certainly had. Even though the elderly woman’s back was to me and she was heading to the elevator, her bright pink Isotoner slippers gave her away. They were poking out from under light, beige cotton pants. Since I hadn’t run into Mrs. Grimshaw on the way in, I assumed her mission to the lobby had pertained to mail delivery.
“Wait up, Margaret,” I called out as I ran to catch up.
The nonagenarian twisted her upper body in my direction. “Oh? Hello, Mary. What a pleasant surprise. Are you coming or going?”
“Coming,” I informed her. “I just ran an errand.”
My theory for Margaret’s trip to the lobby proved to be accurate. “I don’t know why I bothered to come check the mail,” she quietly stated as her tiny fingers squeezed the few items found in her mailbox. “It’s all junk.”
“But just think, if you hadn’t come down here, we wouldn’t have bumped into each other.”
A small smile escaped Margaret’s lips. “That’s true.”
The elevator was waiting for passengers, so we obliged.
As soon as I pressed the button for our floor, I stepped back and casually ran my hand across the nape of my neck, hoping my neighbor wouldn’t notice.
She did. “I understand it’s pretty warm out today.”
“Ah, yeah. That’s putting it mildly,” I cheerfully replied as I swabbed my damp hand across the leg of my jeans. “It actually feels like you’re walking in an oven. Thank goodness it’s comfortable in here. So, what’s your agenda for this afternoon, Margaret? Baking or dancing?”
“Neither. I’m just going to cut up vegetables for a dish I’m preparing for supper. How about you?”
“Nothing much,” I replied as the elevator suddenly ground to a halt with a hard jerk. “Just laying low. Hey, Margaret, why don’t you come over later? It will give us three gals a chance to g
et caught up on the latest gossip.” The door slid open now.
“I’d like that. Should I call first?”
I waved my hand for emphasis. “No. Come whenever.”
Another neighbor entered the hallway now before Mrs. Grimshaw or I had a chance to unlock the doors to our abodes. “Hello, Margaret. Well, look at you, Mary. You really do own more than one outfit,” Rod Thompson sarcastically proclaimed while pointing to my clothing. “How about that? Of course, that number you had on the other morning can’t be beat. It rates right up there with Fourth of July fireworks.”
My hands flew out in front of me. Just what I need, another item to add to the already crazy morning I’ve had so far. First the car, then the job application and now being razzed by Rod Thompson.
Mortified by Rod’s comments, I felt myself preparing for battle, but then I quickly reined in any such notions. I couldn’t lash out with Mrs. Grimshaw standing only a few feet away. What would she think?
Unfortunately, Rod’s stupid words drew interest from the older woman. “What on earth?”
“Nothing to be concerned about, Margaret,” Rod explained. “Just passing through. Got a hot date. Can’t keep her waiting,” and then whoosh, the man vanished into the stairwell like he had never been here.
“I can’t imagine anyone dating him,” I said distastefully, not realizing I had spoken aloud.Thankfully, Mrs. Grimshaw didn’t pick up on my real feelings concerning Rod. “You’re right, Mary. He’s here and there so much.”
“A real flighty fellow,” I added.
Mrs. Grimshaw permitted a sly smile to escape. “I know. Perhaps, he dates a stewardess.”
I grinned. “A flight attendant? Yes, that would have to be the type.”
“Is that what they’re called nowadays?”
“Yup. New era. New name.” Determined to sidestep any unwanted questions bound to come forth now concerning Rod’s personal comments to me, I swiftly turned and shoved the key in the lock.
Death at the Bar X Ranch Page 10