by Неизвестный
Jessica said, “Great. I get you to come out one time, and now some handsome guy is going to steal you away from me.”
Laughing, I said, “That’s highly unlikely. Never mind me. What’s new in your love life? Have you got the usual crew of admirers wanting to find out how fiery a genuine redhead can be?”
“You’re so bad.” She slapped my knee playfully. “I’ve really missed having you around to keep me on my toes,” she said with a sigh. “Things haven’t been so great in the dating department, though. Maybe your friend at the bar has some friends he can introduce me to. How do you know him, anyway?”
“Stop trying to change the subject. What’s happening with your skateboard guy?”
“Oh,” she said, and soon the details were flowing.
While Jessica filled me in, I replied just enough to keep the conversation going while I observed Harper. Whenever someone walked in the door of the pub, she didn’t just glance up casually to see who it was, the way the other people in the pub did. She would stop talking and freeze, like a prey animal looking out for the big, bad wolf. Was she watching the door for the cops, or for someone else? What was her story?
When the conversation came around to her, I asked, “Where did you say you were from, Harper?”
“Here and there. Nowhere interesting.” She leaned in and settled her chin on her palm, pretending to be at ease, but leaning to one side if I moved my head enough to block her view of the entrance.
“And what brought you here? Did you move here just to fulfill your lifelong dream of working at the Olive Grove?”
Jessica reached across the table and flicked my arm. “What’s next, Stormy? Asking the poor girl what her five-year plan is? Gosh. Lighten up.” Jessica explained to Harper, “Stormy owns that cute little gift shop. She’s looking for someone else to work part-time so she has more time to…“
Jessica trailed off, looking perplexed. “Stormy, what exactly will you do on your days off? Besides hang out with me. Do you have any hobbies?”
I crossed my arms, unhappy with the way the conversation had turned. “Fine,” I admitted. “I’m a recovering workaholic. Maybe I’ll take some arts and crafts classes at the community center. I might try yoga, or meditation.”
Jessica laughed, leaning forward as she shook, dropping her wavy red hair around her face like a modesty curtain. She kept laughing until she was wiping the corners of her eyes.
Harper bobbed her head, a forced smile on her lips, her eyes on the door.
Jessica wiped her eyes and said, “I might be down to my last twenty dollars, but I’d pay good money to see you in a meditation class. You can’t sit still for five minutes, let alone an hour.”
“I could if I wanted to.”
“Do you want to?”
I frowned at my cider. “Not really,” I admitted.
They both laughed and began talking about various exercise classes they’d tried.
As we emptied our mugs of mulled cider, I warmed up to Harper. I wondered if my suspicion of her had any logical basis or was part of some reluctance to meet new people. Making friends was hard. You had to take a risk and feel insecure. Compared to me, Harper was so young. I kept glancing over at Logan to see if he was looking at her, but he seemed focused on the game playing on the TV.
Jessica reached over and wrenched away the napkin I’d been twisting in my hands. “It’s dead now,” she said. “You strangled that napkin expertly.” To Harper, she said, “You can tell when she’s stressed about something because her hands won’t stop moving. If there’s paper around, she’ll start making lists.”
“Cool,” Harper said. “That must have been scary when you found that man in the snow. Did you know he was one of our regular customers? He came for the early senior’s dinner a few times a week.”
“He came by himself?” I asked.
Jessica answered, “Table for one, and he brought one of his cowboy novels to read.” Her brows knitted together. “He seemed happy enough. He’d talk to the waitresses, and most of the girls didn’t like him much because he didn’t tip, but he never did anything awful. I can’t see why someone would kill him.”
I asked, “Did you mention he was your landlord or something like that?”
“I heard he was an investor in the holding company that owns our apartment building. Harper lives in my building, too.” She snapped her fingers. “Wait. That’s how I know. Harper, he was talking to you about where you lived, and he said he was basically your landlord, so he wondered if he could get a discount.” She smiled. “He was funny like that. We never caught him, but I think he took things from the table. Spoons and salt shakers.”
Harper jumped to his defense. “He only took one salt shaker. He wasn’t that bad. I worked in this other restaurant before, and we had this one family who’d clean us out, everything from ketchup to sugar packets and the big rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom.”
Jessica asked, “What restaurant? I thought you didn’t have any experience waiting tables before.”
Harper’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, I was just the cashier, and it was only for a few weeks.” She took a sip of her drink and looked at me. “Poor Mr. Michaels. I hope it was painless. You saw his face, right? How did he look?”
I considered my response. The muscles of the face contort with rigor mortis, and it’s only in extreme situations, such as a painful death from strychnine poisoning, that facial expression gives any hint of the deceased’s emotional state on passing. The peaceful expressions seen on loved ones at open casket services are the result of the good work done by caring embalmers and funeral cosmetologists.
Harper was leaning in, looking both sad and hopeful, giving the impression she cared about how Murray Michaels had felt as he passed into his next adventure. She didn’t want to hear forensic science. With her sweet expression and the flickering light from the fireplace making her pale hair a golden halo, she looked like an angel who’d come to watch over the man’s final days, refilling his coffee cup and looking the other way while he snagged silverware. She didn’t look at all like someone who’d snuff out his life. I felt slightly guilty for even considering a suspect.
“Well?” Harper bit her lower lip. “Did he look scared?”
“He looked peaceful,” I said. “Very peaceful, considering.”
“Good,” she said softly. “May he rest in peace.”
Chapter 23
It was midnight when I got home. I’d avoided bumping into my tenant at the house so far, but by the look of the bright windows on his side of the duplex, he’d beaten me home from the Fox and Hound.
I bypassed the driveway and pulled up along the sidewalk, where I could catch a glimpse into his place. The curtains were wide open, showing off his living room furniture, which was all modern and enviably stylish. His color blindness hadn’t hampered his decorating efforts. While there were some unpacked cardboard boxes stacked in the corner, he had, in less than twenty-four hours, made his side of the duplex look more like a home than my side.
“What a jerk,” I muttered with equal parts indignation and amusement.
My car was still running.
The mature thing to do would have been to get out of my car, walk over to his door, knock politely, and properly introduce myself. There would be an awkward transition when he realized he’d made crude remarks about his landlady to his landlady, but we could get over that. We could be friends. He could tell me where he bought his very attractive standing lamp.
My eyes wandered from the lamp to the framed prints on the wall to a man’s bare chest. I let out a girlish squeal. Logan was shirtless, walking around the brightly-lit living room half naked. He brought a laundry basket full of clothes to the sofa and began folding clothes.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. He flexed and stretched, his appealing torso completely changing my feelings about laundry. When he was done folding and placing everything in neat stacks, he nestled everything back into the laundry basket and disappeared down the h
allway.
Now what? If I knocked on his door now, would he answer shirtless? Or was he down to his underwear by now? Or naked?
I didn’t have to knock on his door tonight. I could go straight to my side and put off the introductions until tomorrow. So why couldn’t I shut off the car’s engine and get out?
I was spooked. The bubbly feelings I got from seeing Logan with his shirt off terrified me. After breaking off my engagement, I’d planned to take a long break from anything romantic. I thought it would be easy to ignore the flirtations of men, that I’d feel numb, closed off from so much fighting and acrimony in that department. But I didn’t feel cold and dead inside after all. Some naive part of me felt as girlish and optimistic as I’d been as a teenager, before I’d ever known heartbreak. Naivety was a vulnerability, the exact opposite of being numb.
Now fate had practically dropped into my lap this handsome, single lawyer. It was too good to be true. Like a big chunk of cheese resting on a ten-cent mousetrap. I knew a trap when I saw one.
The only thing worse than having a girlish crush on a guy was dating him, losing him, and having to live next door while he carried on with other women. That exact scenario had never happened to me before, but I was able to imagine it with such perfect clarity, I wondered if it hadn’t happened to me in a previous life.
I reached over to my purse to grab my phone. Jessica had made me promise to call her again soon. She wouldn’t be expecting me to do so within an hour, but she’d laugh at my predicament and probably have some words of encouragement. Her own relationships were disasters, but she gave sage advice to others. I had a feeling she’d tell me to go for it, go knock on Logan’s door, even if he was shirtless. She’d cheer me on, the way she always had in high school whenever I got uncertain about something. It was because of her that I learned how much fun could be had when I stepped outside of my comfort zone.
If Logan was indeed a trap, she’d tell me to step right in and enjoy the ride.
Instead of my phone, I accidentally pulled out a cloth satchel of something crunchy. It was the parting gift of catnip the Calico Veterinary Clinic had sent me off with, as a pick-me-up for Jeffrey during his recovery. At the thought of his sweet face, my heart filled with a different type of longing. All plans to call Jessica for girlish encouragement evaporated. I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I had responsibilities.
The little guy was at my father’s house. I’d assumed Pam would be back and taking care of him, but what if she wasn’t? I hadn’t spoken to her since the day before.
The cloth satchel smelled faintly of mint but mostly like my father’s wool socks.
I put the car in drive and steered away from the curb.
Chapter 24
I woke up to more unwanted eyebrow licking.
“Jeffrey, you’re insatiable,” I said.
I rolled onto my back, and he settled on my chest, his chin hovering over my chin.
“Why are you in my room?” I asked him. “Don’t you want to sleep on Dad’s bed with Pam? She’s your real owner. Not me. I’m only here because I’m too chicken to return to my duplex and… make nice with my tenant.” Jeffrey twitched one ear. “Plus I was worried about you.”
He began to purr, a loud rumble that expressed his loyal devotion to me, the amazing person who had fed him twice as much canned food as he was supposed to get for each meal.
“You do love me,” I said.
His purr got even louder, in agreement. And also to let me know it was time for breakfast. Now, please.
I got out of bed and went down to the main floor bathroom for a shower, as the upstairs bathroom was only a powder room. I passed through the kitchen to give Pam a quick good morning.
She looked up from the pots she was banging in the sink. “The woodchuck is awake!” she exclaimed. “Can you see your shadow? Will it be an early spring?”
“You’re thinking of the groundhog,” I said.
She blinked. “No. Your hair reminds me of a woodchuck.” She looked down at my legs, bare from the knee down below my sleep shirt. “Is that what you’re wearing today? I have some leggings you could borrow. It’s still winter outside, last time I checked.”
I glanced longingly at the coffeemaker, which was running but not finished brewing. “Shower first,” I said. “Then coffee. Then I swear I’ll be a better audience for your jokes.”
“You people and your coffee.” She rolled her eyes. “Shower fast and you can have some french toast.”
I thanked her for the offer I couldn’t refuse and hustled off to the bathroom.
While I showered, Jeffrey sat on the counter and howled, deeply concerned that I was getting wet. I had to leave the shower curtain partly open so he could see that I was okay. After the terrifying (according to Jeffrey) shower, I got dressed in some of the new casual clothes I’d picked up the day before. The brown cords and emerald green blouse looked smart and chic and were a different look for me.
When I’d lived in Portland, I’d alternated between ultra-conservative gray business suits at work and comfortable jeans and polar fleece on the weekends. I didn’t have much in the dressy casual range, but thanks to my new favorite boutique, that was about to change.
I found her in the kitchen, making enough french toast to feed five of us. Jeffrey made happy warbles as I put some food out on his plate.
“You’re spoiling the cat,” she said.
“He’s still growing, Pam. I would hold back on the canned food if he was getting chubby, but he’s perfect. Lots of good muscle. Right, Jeffrey?”
She kept frying french toast at the stove, her back to me.
“I didn’t mean with the food,” she said. “I mean the way you talk to her.”
“Not her. Him.”
“Whatever. I heard you in the guest room, carrying on with him. If you talk to the cat like he’s a person, there’s not going to be any room in your life for a real man.” She sighed. “It’s bad enough you went and practically shaved your head.”
I turned to Jeffrey, who had gobbled his wet food and moved on to the bowl of dry kibble Pam had set out for him.
“Jeffrey, you tell Pam there’s nothing wrong with this haircut. Modern men aren’t afraid of a woman with some style. Tell her about the handsome lawyer who bought me a drink last night.”
“Lawyer?” Pam coughed. “When did you meet with a lawyer? Why?”
“He was at the Lost and Found. I mean the Fox and Hound.”
“But why? Why was he there?”
“To drink beer and watch sports on TV, same as half the other guys there.” I hovered near her shoulder. “Do you need a hand with anything?”
“Sit,” she commanded. “Eat.”
I helped myself to coffee and french toast, taking both to the kitchen table.
“This is great,” I said. “For the last few years, breakfast has been something I cram down my throat while I stand over the sink.”
“Hmm.” She didn’t turn around. “The corporate lifestyle. Busy, busy.”
“I’m not complaining,” I said. “But it could have been better. I wanted to have dinner parties, but my fiancé wasn’t social. He was competitive, actually. We had another couple over to play board games, and he put them into bankruptcy.”
“Hmm.”
“Not real bankruptcy. Just inside the game.” I could smell something burning. “Pam, are you burning something?”
With her back still to me, she said quietly, “I suppose it’s a good thing the two of you didn’t get married or have children to fight over.”
“Sure,” I said. People kept saying that to me, along with how good it was we didn’t have children. It never made me feel like any less of a failure, but I’d learned it was easier not to disagree.
“What about him?” she asked. “Is he having a fresh start?”
I snorted. “Probably.”
“Younger women?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I said. I told her how I’d blocked him on my social m
edia accounts so I wouldn’t have to be informed of his every move. Unfortunately, we still had some friends and business contacts in common, so I did see him in group photos, often with his arm around one or more young women. When we were a couple, he avoided loud music and crowds, but now that he was single, he sure popped up at a lot of parties for someone who hated to go out.
Girls flocked to him, of course. They didn’t care he was the kind of guy who screamed when he saw a harmless little spider under a plastic cup. They wanted to get on board with someone who had both family money and a future that promised fat bonuses.
“Men!” Pam exclaimed angrily. “Always one eye roving around for something better and younger!”
I was surprised by how upset she’d gotten. As far as I knew, her previous marriage ended five years prior when her husband passed away. She’d been with my father for less than a year, and I didn’t think there’d been anyone else in between.
“Pam? Is something bothering you? Has Finnegan done something? You know he’s always been friendly to people. That’s just his way. He’s very friendly.”
By now, the kitchen was full of the unmistakable smell of burning food. She still hadn’t flipped over the french toast, and by now it had to be blackened.
“Friendly,” she said with distaste. “Of course you’d take his side. You people stick together.”
“What people?” I asked lightly. “Do you mean the Irish?”
Instead of answering, she started cursing under her breath. I hadn’t spent enough time with her to know if she was genuinely outraged, or if this was her weird, funny side coming out. I’d seen her rant about my father before, and it usually sputtered out after a few minutes of running its course.
The smoke detector let out a warning chirp. It would go off any second unless I did something. I reached carefully over Pam to flick on the fan in the range hood and then opened the window over the sink. I looked across into Mr. Michaels’ kitchen and felt my stomach knot instantly. It was hard to forget about what had happened next door when the crime scene was your kitchen view. I’d talked to Pam for a few minutes the night before, about how Leo Jenkins was no longer in police custody. She hadn’t seemed worried, saying at least she knew who to look out for, but then she’d suddenly remembered seeing another man lurking around the neighborhood a few weeks earlier. I’d tried to get more details to pass on to Tony, but she’d been tired.