She layered a turtleneck, sweater, and another sweater. It was warm in the apartment, but not outside. The windows behind the sand-colored curtains were fogged up.
“Ready,” she said as she emerged. Sam was on the phone.
It hadn’t occurred to her, in her narrow-minded mission, to think that Sam might be seeing someone right now. Not Petula. What about someone else? The thought secured her stomach into a neat little knot. Well, she didn’t die and come back just to watch Sam marry someone else.
“Interesting,” Sam was saying as he leaned over and jotted down a date. He was wearing blue jeans and a corded beige sweater. The jeans weren’t tight, yet they molded his derriere just so. She sighed. Just so nice. Gabby had once commented that he had a model’s butt, small and tight.
“Aren’t you ever tempted to just reach over and give it a squeeze?” she’d asked during the small Christmas party he’d given a few months back.
“Gabby!” Warmth had flushed over Jennie’s cheeks. She took a sip of her eggnog and leaned closer. “Well, maybe once or twice.”
Gabby had given her a friendly shove on the arm. “Yeah, right. I think you should go over right now and give it a try. Maybe you’ll give yourself a little extra Christmas present this year. A bonus that’s better than bankable. Go on.”
“Right now?” Maxine heard herself answer, then realized she’d said it aloud and was staring at his butt. Luckily he was facing the other way and didn’t see her. She hoped.
“Yep, that’s exactly what I wanted,” he was saying. “Thanks, I owe you one. I know, two. Bye.”
“Ready,” she said again. Well, that didn’t sound like a girlfriend on the phone.
He turned to face her, and she found herself staring at him again. In that sweater, he looked like a football player with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. His blond hair waved just down to the back of his neck, and it caught the light above him.
“What?” he asked.
She clamped her mouth shut. She was acting like a damned teenager. Then again, she’d lost most of those years; she had some time to make up for.
“Nothing. Nice sweater.”
He glanced down, then shrugged. “Thanks.” He folded up the paper and slid into his leather jacket. “We got our first lead. A friend of mine is on the force. I asked Dave if he could remember anything concerning the Santinis.” Sam opened the door for her, and she wrapped her coat around her and walked onto the landing. Romeo stood in the doorway looking out hopefully. “Not today, buddy. It’s too cold.”
Maxine gave him a scratch on the head. “Bye, guy.”
When they got into the car, she asked, “So, what did you find?” She rubbed her arms against the cold as the car slowly warmed up.
Sam’s car might look like a rattle-trap, but she could tell a highly-refined engine when she heard one. It purred to life like a Mercedes.
“Apparently there was another accident at the Santini residence. Not the same house. This one had balconies with fancy concrete fixtures at the corners; one of those just happened to break loose and fall when the first Mrs. Santini was walking under it.”
Dread filled her chest. “Same type of thing?”
Sam nodded, rubbing his moustache thoughtfully. “The police checked it out, of course, but found nothing suspicious about it. No one could say that the Santinis were having marital or financial problems. She had a small insurance policy, not enough to murder her for. So it was deemed an accident.”
“Sounds like what happened to me.” She found herself duplicating his motion, rubbing her fingers over her upper lip. She stopped before he caught her. “So all we know for sure is it’s not Mrs. Santini who’s trying to get rid of me.”
“No, but whoever did her in is probably the same one trying to do you in.”
She shivered. “Why would James do his own mother in? She probably wasn’t a threat to his inheriting the nightclubs, not like I am.”
“That’s what we’re going to find out, after I take care of my other case.”
Sam leaned in the back of the car, where a basket of laundry sat on the back seat. As he stretched, his sweater revealed an intriguing slice of his waist. He lifted the hinged top of the hamper, revealing a compartment beneath it.
“I think this guy I’m watching for Ned is suspicious. He gave me the evil eye the last time I walked past his house.” He pulled his blond hair up into a baseball cap that already sported a black ponytail, then slipped on sunglasses. “I don’t want to burn the surveillance. Maybe you’ll throw him off; he’s not going to expect a P.I. to have a woman with him.”
“I always wanted to go on a case with you,” she said wistfully, then realized what she’d said.
Of course, Sam let nothing slide by. “You did?”
“Well, yeah. I never told you, but the thought fascinated me.”
He gave her that skeptical look. “It’s not like in the movies or in paperbacks. It’s boring for the most part. I’ve spent hundreds of hours just sitting here watching this guy. He’s suing one of the largest companies in the area because he claims he slipped on their lobby floor and permanently injured himself. I have a gut feeling the guy is lying, and his doctor’s probably in it for a few bucks, too. Ned wanted me to lay low, but he’s getting worried. The case comes up in three weeks. Besides, I want to wrap this up before I close the shop.”
“Sam, you said you’d think about that. Weren’t you the one telling me—twice—that I shouldn’t make a rash decision during an emotional time?”
“It has nothing to do with emotions. My heart isn’t in the business anymore. When your heart goes away, it doesn’t come back.”
“Oh Sam, don’t say that.” He turned at the heartfelt plea in her voice. “Let me work for you, at least while you’re protecting me. Since I’ll be with you all the time, it only makes sense.”
When he stopped at a light, he turned that skeptical look at her again. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not kidding. I can help.”
“You can’t read my handwriting. Can you transcribe?” He laughed. “Type?”
“As a matter of fact, I can. I’ll show you. Let me help.”
“All right, if you want,” he said, shaking his head as he pulled away.
“As long as you provide the coffee,” she said, wishing to take back the words the moment they left her mouth.
Sam’s expression went dark, remembering Jennie’s last trip downstairs no doubt.
“So how much is this guy suing for?” She was trying to get the conversation back to friendly again.
“Fourteen million dollars. He won’t get that much, even if we couldn’t prove anything. The worst part is, between his lawyer and his doctor, he probably won’t net much anyway. But it’s going to hurt the company he’s suing, especially with the publicity.”
A while later, they pulled into a nice residential neighborhood. Sam looked strange without the blond waves gracing his collar. He reached into the hamper again and pulled out what looked unnervingly like a gun.
“Sam, you’re not going to shoot at his feet and make him dance, are you?”
He smiled. “That’s not a bad idea. But no. This is a high-powered BB gun. I’m going to shoot his tire out.”
Sam pulled out a camera and some tiny binoculars and watched the house across the street. He set down the glasses and turned off the engine. “Sorry, but I can’t leave the engine on. One guy I knew died from the exhaust fumes when they backed up into his car.” He opened the glove box and tossed her a pair of knit gloves. “These’ll help keep you warm.”
A half hour later, she was starting to shiver, and trying darn hard not to let him know about it. She wrapped her gloved hands around her sides. “I’m surprised you don’t bring a thermos of coffee with you,” she said, hoping he didn’t catch the tremor in her voice.
“You don’t drink much of anything while you’re on surveillance duty. ‘Cause when you have to go, you have two choices. You leave and h
ope the suspect doesn’t decide to walk out at that moment, or you pee in a jar. Neither is especially appealing.”
“Oh. I guess I s-see your point.”
“You’re cold.”
“A b-bit.” She wanted to get out and jog around the block for a minute to get her blood going again. “Goes right to the t-teeth.”
“Come here.”
He pulled her over the bench seat so that her back pressed up against his chest. Then he slid his arms around her shoulders to anchor her even closer. Suddenly she wasn’t cold anymore. Nope, not one tiny bit. Her blood was heating up in every extremity.
“Better?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” she said on a sigh. She fought the urge to snuggle even closer. “What do you do to keep warm when you’re by yourself?”
“I stick Romeo in my coat.”
She turned to see if he was kidding. He was smiling, but not in a joking manner. “Hey, it works. He doesn’t mind either. Even with his fur, he gets cold, too.”
“The P.I. and his dog,” she said with a laugh.
“I’ll tell you what; Romeo has been worth his weight in dog biscuits. People aren’t threatened when you have a dog with you. They usually pay more attention to the dog. Besides, what guy could be up to no good if he has a dog. It’s so…American.”
With the music playing softly in the background, and Sam pressed against her, she found herself with the sudden desire to neck in the car. She’d missed out on all that fun teenage stuff. And the adult stuff, too.
“Have you ever made out in a car, Sam?” Then she hoped Maxine-the-first hadn’t made out with him.
“Don’t you think that’s a little personal?”
“Well, we were married once. If you can grab my thighs, I can ask you personal questions.”
He laughed, and the sound filled her with bubbles of joy. That deep, sudden laugh she’d listened to for years. My, life was good.
“Well, I guess you have a point. And you still have nice thighs, by the way.”
She felt her face flush. He’d looked so businesslike when his hands were moving up and down her legs. Maybe not….
She lifted one foot. If she thought hard enough, she could still imagine just how his hands felt on her. “Thank you. And you still have nice hands.”
She hoped he couldn’t tell just how widely she was smiling at that statement. She felt those hands flex against her. He made a deep-in-his-throat kind of sound and shifted back, taking her with him.
After a moment, she said, “Sam, you never did answer my question about making out in a car.”
“Ah, yes, we got sidetracked on hands and thighs, didn’t we?” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Sure, I’ve made out in a car. It’s been a while. If you’ll remember, I tried to get frisky with you when we were dating. You wouldn’t hear of fooling around in a car. Tacky, you called it, but it has its moments, like most tacky things do.”
She heard herself sighing. “Someday, I’d like to make out in a car. I think it’s high time I gave it a try, tacky or no.” She turned around to see his reaction.
“Don’t look at me. Ask your snookums.”
“Kissums,” she said, then shook her head. “I don’t want to make out with him.”
“Now that sounds like a bit of a conflict to me. You want to make out in a car, but not with your fiancé.”
When she turned around again, her cheek brushed against his. He’d shaved that morning, and his skin smelled of citrus and felt smooth. The tip of his moustache tickled her cheek. What would it be like to kiss him? Would those tiny hairs tickle her lips? She felt a tightness spreading through her insides, sitting there cheek to cheek with him like that. His warm breath washed over her chin, and she moved closer.
“Sam, are you seeing anyone right now?”
“Why, you wanna set me up with someone? A friend with a great personality maybe?”
She nudged him, but didn’t move from her position. “No, I don’t want to set you up with anybody.” Except me. “Well, are you?” she prompted again when he still didn’t answer.
“No, I’m not seeing anyone.” He turned his head, pressing their cheeks even closer together. “Why are you asking?”
“I didn’t know if my staying with you was going to put a strain on any…relationships you might have.”
“The only strained relationship I have is ours.”
She smiled, feeling their cheeks slide against each other with the movement. “Are you saying we have a relationship?”
“Oh yeah, we have a relationship all right. A client-private investigator relationship.”
“Oh.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you sounded disappointed. What kind of relationship do you want us to have, exactly, Miss Snookums-to-be?”
Her heart jumped inside her at the question. She decided to ignore the Snookums part. This was as good a time as any, and since he’d asked…” Sam, I want—”
Suddenly Sam lurched forward, setting her away from him. His attention wasn’t on her. It was on the man wheeling out of his house in a chair. He opened the door and transferred to the driver’s seat, then folded his chair and pulled it in after him. The familiarity of that action made it hard for her to swallow.
Sam leaned across her and lowered the window. He aimed the BB gun and squeezed out a couple of shots.
“That tire should give out a few blocks from here,” he said, rubbing is hands together after closing the window.
“Sam, he’s in a wheelchair.” Something dark swirled through her, a feeling of affinity with the man in the chair. “Maybe he’s not faking it. He got in his car the same way I—I’ve seen other people do it.” She covered her mouth, hoping he hadn’t caught on to her gaffe.
“The schmuck’s faking it, Maxine. Trust me.” He glanced at her. “Why the look?”
It wouldn’t sound right for her to be so upset, but still. She couldn’t imagine someone following her around after the accident, waiting for her to get up on her own. Not that they’d had anyone to sue, but the thought of it sickened her.
The schmuck, as Sam so kindly called him, pulled out of his driveway. The tire was already a little flat. Maxine’s fingers clutched the armrest on the car door. Sam was right on target; a few blocks away, the tire went completely flat. Sam pulled over to the side of the road a distance behind him. He got out and removed something from the trunk. Well, what was he going to do now? Bribe him to get out of the car with a jack? She looked through the misted windows, watching Sam put out a large sign by the roadside. He jumped back in the car, energy fairly crackling from him.
The man in the car had opened his door and was getting his wheelchair out when they passed by. He waved for them to stop, but Sam just kept on going.
“Aw, Sam, this is so unfair. What do that sign say?”
Sam was too busy watching in the rear view mirror. She turned around to see the man looking at his flat tire. Sam was already out of the car and placing another sign on the side of the road. It was blank on her side.
Then he pulled into a driveway and grabbed the camera. “They say, ‘Disabled person in training. Do not assist.’“
“Sam! I can’t believe you’re doing this. It’s freezing out there.”
“That’s the point exactly. He’s not going to want to wait around long, and no one’s going to stop to help. See.”
A car drove by, but didn’t stop even when the man waved.
“I can’t believe how unfair you’re being.”
He looked at her. “That sounds like something Jennie would say. I always wondered what she’d think about being with me on surveillance.”
“You did? I mean, she probably wouldn’t like it, not this part of it anyway.” She tilted her head. “Do I remind you of Jennie?”
“No way. You’re nothing like her.”
He got out of the car and crept around to her side just behind a tangle of leafless branches. From over Sam’s shoulder she could see that poor man gett
ing the jack out of the trunk of his car and trying to turn the lug nuts. His chair kept rolling backwards. Didn’t he know to lock the wheels? He waved at another car, but they kept on going, courtesy of Sam’s signs. What a heel. The poor man’s shoulders slumped as he watched the tail lights disappear. Then he looked around, desperate to find someone to help him.
Then he stood up and wrenched the lug nuts free.
Her hands tightened into fists as she watched him jack the car up and deftly change the tire as fast as he could. A couple of minutes later, he was back in his wheelchair, looking around to make sure no one had seen him.
Sam jumped in the car with a whoop. “Got the wascally wabbit.”
“Ooh. That man was faking it the whole time.” Her voice rose high in her anger.
He leaned over and winked. “Told you so.”
“I know, but…Oh, Sam, how could someone pretend to be disabled like that? He probably takes the handicapped parking spaces away from someone who really needs them. He probably uses people’s pity to get extra help. He makes everyone in wheelchairs look bad.”
“Geez, Maxine, get a grip. He’s not victimizing other disabled people. He’s a greedy opportunist. And an oaf. Let’s get the signs and get out of here.”
On the way back to the office, Maxine said, “I’m sorry I doubted you, Sam.” She had transcribed reports about frauds before, but seeing it was far different.
“Aw, that’s all right. It was kind of cute, the way you got all riled up like that. It’s not like you to take up a cause that doesn’t look good on you.”
“Well, maybe it’s about time I do. I’ll just be careful about which cause I take up,” she added with a wry grin.
“You do that.”
They took the elevator up to the office; Sam hadn’t even considered taking the stairs. It was strange to be back at the shop again with the purpose of working. She started a pot of coffee while Sam went in his office to call Ned.
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