Thugs and Kisses

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

Joan gasped, and her eyes immediately pooled in sympathy. Kelsey crossed her arms over her chest and stood straight.

  “And why in the hell would he do a stupid thing like that?” she asked.

  “Because,” I started to say, then paused to clear my throat. I took another gulp of coffee and straightened my shoulders. I would get the words out if it killed me. “Because I’m a corpse magnet.”

  “Huh?” they said in unison.

  I waved a hand as if to erase what I’d just said. “Actually, there were several reasons, but the central one is he’s tired of worrying about me. He said it’s not normal for someone to get into the trouble I do and have people trying to kill me all the time.”

  “Well,” Joan said, pausing for diplomatic effect, “he has a point.”

  “Yeah,” Kelsey chimed in. “Especially after that murder at the reunion.”

  “Oh my gosh!” Joan clapped her hands to her mouth and nearly fell off her chair. “That was your reunion on the news this weekend?”

  Ignoring Joan’s drama, Kelsey cut to the chase. “You said that was the central reason. Were there others?”

  I nodded and felt my face grow warm. “Something I did at the reunion, something stupid that set off the whole fight.”

  Again, the two of them waited for me to say something, this time to confess what had set Greg off. Kelsey still stood with her arms crossed over her chest, but now her eyebrows were raised. Joan sat prim and proper, with her hands clasped demurely in her lap.

  I took a deep breath and let the words come out in one big gush of hot air. “Greg was sick so I took Dev Frye to the reunion without telling Greg I know it was wrong but I didn’t want to upset Greg but when he found out he was livid and that started the fight and then he told me he was tired of worrying about me all the time and then I told him that Seth Washington called me a corpse magnet and Greg said he didn’t want to marry a corpse magnet then Dev called and Greg got even more pissed and announced we needed a break from each other.”

  When I was done, I felt like I needed a hit of oxygen.

  “Wait a minute,” Joan said, holding up a delicate hand. “Greg said he thought you needed a break from each other?”

  “Yes,” I told her, nodding. “That’s pretty much it.”

  “Well, technically, a break isn’t a break up.” Joan looked at us, pleased with her theory. Looking over at Kelsey, I could tell she was considering it as plausible.

  I threw up my hands in frustration. “Of course it’s a break up.”

  Kelsey unfolded her arms and wagged an index finger at me. “Now, now, Odelia, don’t be too hasty about dumping this relationship into the ground and throwing dirt over it.” She paused and looked over at Joan for backup, getting it in the form of a nod. “It’s true, you did do a pretty stupid thing, and you do seem to get into more jams than a bushel of strawberries. But Greg loves you. Hell, he even wants, or wanted, to marry you. Feelings like that just don’t die overnight.” She moved over to my desk, bent down, and wrapped her arms around me once again. “Just give him time to cool off.”

  Joan reached forward, took both my hands, and squeezed them. “Yes, Odelia, he’ll be back. I’m sure of it.”

  I sighed deeply. A few days or weeks might prove them right. But at this point in time, it crossed my mind that they’d both been sniffing Wite-Out.

  We broke our huddle, and they started to leave. Joan had just opened my office door when Jolene McHugh charged in, almost knocking Joan on her butt.

  “Okay,” Jolene started to say to me, then, catching herself, she turned to the startled Joan. “Sorry, Joan.” Like lightning, she turned her attention back to me. “So, where is the despicable slime ball?”

  “Woooeee, that comment has Mike Steele written all over it,” Kelsey said, slipping past Jolene. “And on that note, we’re outta here.” She directed the still-shocked Joan out the door and closed it behind them.

  Jolene plopped herself down in the chair Joan had just vacated and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desktop. She stared at me, her blue eyes hot and piercing, like the flame from a welding torch. Jolene McHugh is a long, lean, and leggy redhead of Irish descent. When she’s emotional, like this very minute, the freckles on her pale face look like paprika sprinkled over milk.

  I took a minute to clear my throat and mentally shelve my personal issues. “Okay, what has our despicable slime ball done now?”

  “You don’t know?”

  I shrugged. “I just got in. And for that matter, Steele isn’t even here today.”

  “I know that, Odelia.” Jolene scrunched up her face and pressed further. “So, where is he, and when is he returning? And how can he be reached? I tried him on his BlackBerry, but there’s no answer. I want to scream at him now, Odelia. Not later and not in an e-mail. I want my pound of flesh now !”

  Generally, Jolene McHugh is a sweetheart with a very even temperament. Whatever the slime ball—ahem, Steele—had done, it had to be big. And as much as I’d like to see Jolene go the distance with him, I knew I had to calm her down. After all, Michael Steele is a partner, and Jolene is not. Associates, even brilliant senior associates like Jolene, cannot extract even an ounce of flesh, let alone a pound, from a partner. Not unless said associate was ready to look for work.

  “I’m not sure if he’s due back tomorrow or Wednesday. I just know he took a few personal days. He didn’t tell me why.” I picked up my phone and punched in Rachel’s extension. “Rachel might know something.”

  As the extension at Rachel’s desk rang, Jolene reached over and punched a button, disconnecting my call. “That’s the problem, Odelia. Rachel’s gone—poof, like the wind.”

  Still clutching the dead phone, I stared at her. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Jolene leaned back in the chair and ran a hand through her curly red hair. “The best secretary we’ve ever had in that spot, and she’s gone. She called Tina this morning and said she did not want to come back. Not now, not after the baby, never. And I just know Steele has something to do with it.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “But she seemed happy enough on Friday, and she and Steele got along famously. I thought we finally had a winner.”

  My phone rang. The display said it was Tina Swanson, our office manager. I picked it up and said, without bothering with a greeting, “Jolene’s with me right now, Tina. So, it’s true?” I listened as Tina repeated what Jolene had just told me. Rachel Keyo, dream temp, was gone. She didn’t give a reason—just told Tina she didn’t want to work here anymore.

  In the past three days, I had lost a high-school classmate, a boyfriend, and a secretary. That had to be some kind of record. My only comfort was that I was sure I had nothing to do with Rachel’s leaving. My money for that dirty deed was on the slime ball.

  We got through Monday with little problem. Tina called an employment agency, and they sent a new temp over. His name was John Warren, a budding musician who needed occasional office work for occasional cash. John had worked in our office before, and while he wasn’t suited for the long haul at Woobie, he could type fast and accurately and knew how to follow instructions. Jolene needed help, and Steele had left several dictation tapes before leaving for his mysterious trip. We could deal with a more permanent replacement in a few days.

  When the Monday workday was over, I looked at the clock with dread. I didn’t want to go home. Even though Greg and I didn’t see each other that much during the week, I knew my evening would be empty without his nightly call. Zee had called earlier to invite me to dinner, but I had declined. I didn’t want to be with well-meaning friends, either. It was almost seven o’clock when Joan Nuñez stopped by to say good night.

  “I was afraid you’d still be here,” she said from the doorway.

  I looked up from the document I was reading, or trying to read. “Well, so are you.”

  “Yes, but I’m working on trial prep, not avoiding a painful situation.”

  “Sweetie, I’ve done trial prep,�
� I told her. “It is a painful situation.”

  We both laughed, then I stopped short. Something I just said had jarred a rock loose in my thick skull: trial prep. There was a possible trial brewing, and it was a matter that Steele was involved with.

  “Joan, Steele didn’t call in all day today, at least not to me. Did he call you?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe he’s embarrassed about Rachel. Maybe he did do something to make her quit.”

  “Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “When have you ever known Steele to be embarrassed about anything? Remember that incident with Trudie? He wasn’t embarrassed about that in the least, and that was a 9.5 on the shame scale.”

  Joan blushed as she remembered the short-lived Woobie career of Trudie Monroe, one of Steele’s conquests and short-lived secretaries. Trudie and Steele were caught with their drawers down when vandals broke into the law firm.

  “Joan, doesn’t it seem strange that Steele didn’t call either one of us, especially with Silhouette heating up?”

  Steele was a corporate attorney, but often he got involved with high-profile litigation matters involving business issues. The current brouhaha was between Silhouette Candies, our client, and Sweet Kiss Confections, another candy company started up by a former owner of Silhouette. The issue involved trade secrets, proprietary information, and unfair competition—all right up Mike Steele’s alley. The litigation attorneys on the case were Carl Yates, a name partner, and Fran Evans. That jarred another rock loose.

  “Both Carl and Fran asked if I’d heard from Steele today,” I told Joan. “And Jolene said she’d tried to call him, but he didn’t answer.”

  “That’s definitely not like Michael Steele,” she agreed.

  I got up and walked the few steps down the hall to Steele’s office. Joan followed on my heels. Switching on the light, I went straight to Steele’s chrome-and-black-lacquered desk and checked out his phone. The message light was blinking. I pointed at it.

  Joan looked at the light, then at me. “But he could have picked up his messages and then received some more.”

  I hesitated. “Of course, you’re right. It doesn’t prove anything.”

  We went back to my office, and I closed up shop while Joan waited. Together, we left for the night.

  As soon as I got home, I kicked off my heels, grabbed my address book from my tote, and headed straight for the phone in the kitchen. The thing with Steele was bothering me. I had to make sure about the messages.

  Mike Steele and I might butt heads more times than not, but there was one thing we did have in common—mutual trust. He may be an ass, but he’s an ass I can take to the bank on his word and his actions. And he felt the same about me. Since Steele lived alone and didn’t have any family in the area that I knew of, I had an emergency key to his home and kept track of all of his passwords and codes, including the one for his office voice mail. He had entrusted this vital information to me after he’d been assaulted in the office just over a year ago, during the time of the Trudie Monroe debacle. I kept the passwords in two places: in my address book, carefully scattered throughout, and taped under a desk drawer at the office. The key to his Laguna Beach condo was upstairs in a desk drawer. I could have retrieved the voice mail password at work, but I didn’t want Joan to know about it. It’s not that I don’t trust Joan; I do. But Steele also trusts me to keep quiet about it.

  I called the office voice mail number and punched in Steele’s extension. When prompted, I poked out his code on my dial pad. In short order, I was in his voice mail. He had twenty-three new messages and seven saved messages. Fortunately, the voice mail system automatically gave me the earliest-dated message first. Steele’s first unheard message was from Saturday, two days earlier, the day he left town. He had not picked up messages since. In the past, even when Steele had gone out of the country, he had picked up messages at least once a day. He was extremely conscientious about his job and giving his clients quality attention, if not quality personality.

  I sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the phone, wondering what to do next. I wanted to check his home phone, but that was one password I didn’t have. Except for the spare key to his apartment, I had no access to Steele’s personal life. Seamus, upset that I hadn’t said hello to him yet, jumped onto the table and sprawled in front of me. I rubbed his belly with my free hand and listened to him purr while I pondered what this could mean. Another thing that nagged at me was that Jolene had tried to reach him on his BlackBerry and failed, nor had he responded to the message she had left. Anyone who even remotely knows Steele knows that the ubiquitous electronic device is nearly fused to his hand like an extra digit. He goes nowhere without it, and he almost always answers it. And he always returns calls.

  Something was wrong, I just knew it.

  My thoughts were interrupted by my own ringing phone. My heart did a leap, then dashed to the floor when I saw on the display Dev’s name and not Greg’s. Not that I wasn’t happy to hear from Dev, but Greg was the one person I’d give anything to hear from.

  “Hello,” I said, after punching the answer button.

  “Hi, it’s Dev. Just checking to see if you’re okay.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Not dandy, but fine.” I paused. “And thanks for checking up on me. Any news about Donny?”

  “Not a thing yet. I gave the information you gave me to the guys in charge, but you still might have to answer their questions.”

  “Whatever I need to do, I’ll do.” My voice was like cardboard, flat and dull. Too many things had happened in a short time. I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. Dinner, a hot bath, and an early bedtime were clearly in my future.

  “Good girl,” Dev said with forced cheer.

  “Woof,” I responded and panted into the phone. It got a half-hearted laugh, followed by a pause.

  “I assume you haven’t heard from Greg.”

  “Not a peep.” I didn’t want to talk about Greg. I didn’t want to think about him either. Today was the first day in a very long time that I hadn’t heard Greg’s voice, and it was killing me, squishing my heart like it was in a garlic press. I decided to switch to another worry.

  “Dev, when someone goes missing, how long before you can report it to the police?”

  “Someone missing, Odelia?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think Mike Steele is.” I told him about the day and Steele’s uncharacteristic lack of contact with the office.

  “Steele said he was going to be gone, Odelia. And you know it was for personal business, so maybe he needs to focus on whatever called him out of town. I’ll bet he’ll be back by Wednesday. If he’s not, then give me a call and we’ll see what we can do.”

  What Dev said made sense, but only if we weren’t talking about Michael R. Steele, Esquire. Whether I liked it or not, Steele had me as fused to him as the BlackBerry. Even when Greg and I took vacations, I had to set down ground rules with Steele about how often I would check in. It didn’t stop him from leaving messages on my cell phone, but at least I controlled when I returned the calls. And two years ago, when Steele’s mother passed away, he left quietly for a week to attend the funeral and take care of family matters. No one knew where his family lived, but one thing was for sure, he had called me every day, sometimes two or three times, to make sure things were still running smoothly in his absence.

  The two men who called me the most were now not calling me at all. One left me sad, angry, and confused. The other left me curious. Both worried me.

  I said goodbye to Dev, saying he was probably right about Steele, even though in my heart I didn’t believe it.

  A few minutes later, while I was scrounging in the refrigerator for some dinner, my phone rang. I jumped for it, only to be disappointed yet again. This time the display showed no data, meaning an unknown caller. I answered and got a huge shock.

  “Odelia,” the caller said after hearing my hello. “This is Sally Kipman.”

  “Sally?”

  “Yes, q
uite a surprise, huh?”

  I grimaced at the phone. “Yes, but a pleasant one.”

  She laughed lightly. “You never were a good liar, Odelia.”

  She was right, so I cut to the chase. Between Greg and Steele,

  I wasn’t in the mood to play polite parlor games. “What’s up, Sally?”

  “It’s about Donny Oliver. I was wondering if we could get together to discuss what happened.”

  “Whatever for? Did you kill him?”

  “No, of course not, but the police are questioning me and have me in their sights.”

  “You?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

  I tried to remember where Sally was when Donny came staggering into the reunion, shot and dying, but couldn’t. But at that exact time I was dancing with Dev with visions of white gowns and flowers parading through my head. A pang shot through me like an electrical shock at the memory. Suddenly, dinner didn’t seem important, but a box of Thin Mints definitely was in order.

  “Why would the police suspect you?” I asked her while rummaging through the freezer for my private stash of the minty chocolate cookies.

  She hesitated, no doubt weighing her answer with care. “Because Donny and I were … well, we were involved in a legal action many years ago.”

  “You?” I said again. After retrieving a box of cookies, I shut the freezer door and concentrated on the call.

  “Yes, me. And the police are nosing around to see if it might be some sort of revenge killing.”

  “I take it Donny won the legal battle.”

  “Yes, Odelia, he did.” Her voice was curt.

  “May I know what it was about?”

  Another pause. It made me wonder if she was going to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, or a watered- down version.

  “Donny is the father of my son, Lucas.”

  My eyes popped open at the news. There was nothing watered down about an answer like that.

  “When Lucas was eleven,” she continued, “Donny found out he was the father and fought for custody. He won.”

  “He won? Who’d give that jackass a kid?”