by JB Lynn
I stared at my work friend, marveling at how she could turn my bad news into her own good news. “Congratulations.”
Missing my sarcastic nuances, Armani bobbed her head. “Thanks. Thanks. I can’t believe it.”
I turned away and strode toward my car. I should got to HR right now and tell them what that scumbag had just done to me, but I couldn’t take the chance now.
“Maggie?”
I didn’t break stride. Harry couldn’t say shit about my leaving. Not if I kept quiet.
“Maggie, watch out for the disco ball I told you about!”
Ignoring her, I started cramming minty fresh Life Savers into my mouth. They didn’t make me feel any better. In fact I felt worse as I realized that Patrick was going to kill me for almost getting fired.
I CONSIDERED CALLING Patrick and asking him to kill my boss, but I wasn’t in the mood for a Life Lesson lecture.
Instead I drove over to the hospital, thinking I could get a visit in with Katie without risking running into Delveccio and getting pressured for an answer about the job. I’d been sitting with Katie for over an hour, reading books to her and singing songs, when I heard the familiar clickety-clack of an aging sex kitten’s stilettos tattooing their way down the hall. Looking up, I wasn’t surprised to see Aunt Loretta arrive in the doorway. I peered around her to see if she had her fiancé, Templeton, in tow. The rat was nowhere in sight.
“Oh my!” Loretta exclaimed breathlessly. “Is everything all right? Has there been a change in Katie’s condition? Has she gotten worse?”
I sighed. Aunt Loretta could be such a drama queen. “She’s fine. No change.”
“Then what are you doing here? It’s not even noon yet.”
Realizing that it was my presence that had alarmed her, I felt guilty for labeling her a drama queen. “I’m sorry I startled you. I . . .” If I told her that I’d almost lost my job, it would just give her, Leslie, and Susan something else to worry about. They already had too much to lose sleep over. It had always been pretty easy to get away with lying to Aunt Loretta, since she was the most gullible. “I took the day off.”
“Good for you! You’ve been looking tired lately. A day off is probably just what you need.”
I stood up and motioned for her to sit in the visitor’s chair.
She bent over the bed and blew air kisses at Katie before sitting down. Taking the child’s limp hand in her own, she confided in a whisper, “Your Aunt Maggie has met the most delightful fellow. His name is Paul. I think he might be the one.”
“I don’t think so, Aunt Loretta.”
“And why not?” She turned her heavily mascaraed eyes on me. “He’s very interested in you. Asks a ton of questions about you. That’s a good sign, you know. A man being interested in his woman’s secrets.”
“I’m not his woman.”
“He’s a good catch.”
“How would you know?”
“He’s got a good, stable job in law enforcement.”
Unlike your ex, Jose Garcia, I thought.
“And he’s not hard on the eyes.”
I had to agree with her on that. Paul Kowalski is a fine looking man. “He has his faults.”
“Such as?”
“He has a temper.”
Loretta shrugged. “All that means is that he’s passionate. You wouldn’t want a man who didn’t feel anything, would you?”
It was my turn to shrug. It wasn’t as though I could tell her that both Patrick and God didn’t trust him.
“You should go out with him. You could use some love in your life.”
It took all my self-control not to roll my eyes. Taking love life advice from a woman who’d been married as many times as my aunt sort of felt like listening to a hooker preach abstinence. Wanting to get her attention off Paul, I changed the subject to another topic I knew she loved to talk about. “Last night I went to The Big Day with Alice.”
“And did she find something?”
“Mmmm.”
“Is that a yes or a no, Maggie?”
“Yes.” The absolute joy in my best friend’s eyes when she looked at herself in the mirror had been touching. Technically it had been Zeke who had found the perfect dress for Alice. He’d reached into the racks and pulled out the wedding gown of Alice’s dreams. She’d practically babbled her gratitude at him, which had been . . . unsettling. After all, I was her best friend, but there she was gushing over the moment with him. “Zeke’s back in town.”
“I always liked that boy.”
That was the problem. Everyone liked Zeke. Everyone except me.
“I HAVE NEVER understood how Zeke’s able to fool so many people. He’s tricky and conniving and . . . evil, just downright evil.” I poured out my troubles to Doomsday as we walked. Well, as I tried to walk and she kept stopping every three-point-five inches to sniff something.
“Fetch he does?”
“What?” Unlike God, I was still having some difficulty understanding the Doberman’s grammar . . . or lack thereof.
“Fetch he?”
“I don’t know if he plays fetch.” I thought about her question for a moment. “I doubt it. If memory serves, it says Most Likely to Iron His Underwear under his picture in our high school yearbook. I’m thinking that means he probably wouldn’t pick up anything that’s covered with dog spit.”
“Squirrel!”
That was the only warning I received. Suddenly Doomsday was doing her damndest to dislocate my shoulder. She bounded away. If I hadn’t had her leash wrapped around my wrist she would have been gone. Instead, she dragged me with her. Fighting to stay upright, I screamed, “Stop! For the love of—”
Twisting my ankle, I lost my balance and took a knee-skinning header for the second time that week. Except this time, my journey didn’t end when I hit the ground. I kept moving. “Doomsday!”
My battered body bounced along the ground.
I’m not sure if it was my desperate shriek or the fact that she was now dragging my dead weight across the ground, but she seemed to realize that we were attached. “Game!”
“No, it’s not a game. You almost killed me. You can’t—”
Ignoring my protestations, she enthusiastically licked my face. “Maggie love. Maggie love.”
Pushing her away, I struggled to my feet. “Don’t do that again. You almost broke my wrist.” I held it up, pointing at the red welts where the leash had cut into my skin. “See what you did?”
Doomsday hung her head.
I glared at her. “You hurt me.”
“Sorry.” The apology came out as a pathetic whine.
My knees hurt, my wrist ached, and I’d almost gotten fired. I had every right to be pissed at the badly behaved mutt. Didn’t I?
Doomsday pawed at my shin. “Doomsday sorry.”
“Margaret?”
I closed my eyes. Like my day wasn’t bad enough.
“Margaret?”
I turned around to face the car that had pulled to a stop behind me and forced myself to smile. It made my cheeks hurt as much as my knees. “Hi, Aunt Susan, what are you doing here?”
“Move slowly, Margaret. Don’t startle it. Just get in the car.”
There was no missing the panic in my normally calm and collected aunt’s voice and face. My fake smile morphed into a genuine one. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. That’s a dangerous animal. Get away from it!”
Doomsday turned around to look behind her. “Animal where?”
Throwing open the door of her car, Susan leapt out brandishing a folded-up umbrella.
“So much for moving slowly.”
“I’ll hit it.” She raised the umbrella overhead. “You jump in the car.”
“No.”
“Margaret, that dog is dangerous.”
“Doomsday?” the dog whined.
“Shoo!” Susan shouted.
Doomsday ran behind me, burying her head into the back of my knees, almost knocking me over.
&nb
sp; “Calm down, Aunt Susan. She’s not going to hurt anyone. She’s a good dog.”
“Good dog,” Doomsday repeated.
“Get away from my niece, you vicious beast!” Susan took a wild swing in the canine’s direction.
“Give me that!” I shouted, grabbing the umbrella and yanking it away from her. “She’s my dog and you’re scaring her.”
Aunt Susan’s eyes went wide and her jaw dropped open. The only other time I’d witnessed such an expression of horror on her face was when the police had broken her favorite vase as they tried to arrest my father in her living room. Aunt Susan is not an animal lover. In particular she complains about the smell and mess dogs make. But the truth is, she’s absolutely terrified of the four-legged creatures.
Doomsday ripped the umbrella from my grip and chomped on it. It made a sickening crunch.
“Bad dog! Stop that!” Grabbing it away from her, I held it out to my aunt.
“It has . . . teeth marks.”
She was right. There were distinct puncture marks ripping through the material. “Sorry about that. She didn’t mean it.”
“It’s a dangerous animal, Maggie. I think it has rabies. It could attack at any second.”
Doomsday rolled on her back, belly exposed, in the most submissive posture imaginable. She wiggled her stump of a tail.
“Oh yeah,” I drawled. “She’s definitely vicious. I can see why you’re afraid.”
“I can understand that you’ve been shaken up by all that’s happened,” Susan said slowly. “Heaven knows, we all have been.”
I felt a twinge of guilt as I heard a slight waver in my aunt’s voice.
She cleared her throat, regaining control of her emotions. “And I understand that you’re probably feeling alone, but that . . . thing . . .” She slid a sideways glance in Doomsday’s direction.
The dog grinned back at her, displaying all her sharp teeth.
Susan shuddered. “That thing is not the solution to your problems. You should move back home.”
“Never!” I spit out automatically. I’d rather have monkey sex with Harry than move back home.
“Would it be so bad to be with your family who loves you?”
I resisted telling her that their love was smothering. More than that, they drove me crazy. “I like being on my own.”
Turning away, she got back in her car.
“Is that why you came by? To tell me to come home?”
“It’s nice having Alice hanging around. It would be nicer if you were there too. You wouldn’t have to pay rent. You could eat something that isn’t designed to be heated in the microwave. It bothers the twins that you’re here all alone.”
“I’m not alone.” I pointed to Doomsday.
Susan shook her head. “You’re . . .”
“I’m what?”
“You’re the only one we have left, Margaret,” she said softly, before closing the door and driving away.
Chapter Five
THE NEXT MORNING as I was taking my shower, before I went to work at Insuring the Future, I heard a distant, unfamiliar ringing. It started and stopped, started and stopped, started and . . .
“Answer the damn phone,” God bellowed. His words echoed off the glass of his terrarium as though he’d shouted in the middle of the Grand Canyon.
Turning off the water, I stepped out of the tub. “It’s not my phone!” My house phone had a decidedly muffled ring because I kept it under my bed. I never wanted to speak to anyone who had that number. My cell phone quacked like a duck. I definitely heard a trilling ring, which stopped abruptly the moment I wrapped a towel around my torso.
“The bloody phone is in your purse!” God screamed when it started to ring again.
I’d forgotten that Patrick had given me a burn phone. One that only he had the number of.
“Answer it! Answer it!” The lizard was beating on the glass wall of his enclosure as though he’d been driven mad by the sound.
“Chill, big guy.” I rummaged in my purse while staring at him. If it’s possible for a lizard to be bug-eyed, he was.
“Hello?”
“Morning, Mags. I didn’t wake you, did I?” I could practically hear the warm smile in Patrick’s voice.
“I was in the shower. You could have left a message instead of calling a dozen times.” I tried to push Doomsday away from me, but she was intent on licking the shower water off my ankles.
“I wanted to talk to you before you left for work.”
“About what?”
“A lesson.”
I swallowed hard. The one and only “lesson” we’d had consisted of me learning to shoot a gun and then rolling around in the hay of a barn together. That close physical contact had left me considering the possibility of having sex with the cop/hitman . . . that is until I’d learned he was married . . . with two wives. Still, the memory of our bodies pressed together . . .
“Are you there, Mags?”
“Hey! That tickles! Will you get off of me for two seconds?” I shoved the dog, who’d worked her way up to my knees, intent on getting every last bit of moisture off my skin with her pink tongue.
“You should have said you weren’t alone.” Patrick’s tone was cold and hard.
“Stop licking my legs!” I shrieked.
“Jesus,” Patrick muttered. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Bad dog!” I swatted Doomsday’s nose.
The dog lay down and whined, “Sorry Doomsday.”
“Next time I’m going to lock you up.” My threat caused the dog to flatten her ears.
“You’re talking to the dog?” Patrick asked.
“Who else would I be talking to?”
God made a harrumphing sound, reminding me that he was a sterling conversationalist.
“I thought . . . never mind. I want you to meet me for a lesson.”
“I’ve got work and then I’m visiting Katie.”
“Afterward.”
“That’s usually when I eat dinner.”
“I promise you won’t starve. I’ll see you at the mall at seven.”
I looked at the dog, who’d rolled over on her back and was surreptitiously licking my big toe. “Can’t. I’ve got to let the dog out.”
“Bring her along. I’ll see both of you at the mall at seven-thirty. Have a good day.” He hung up.
It was my turn to harrumph. The idea of me having a good day was about as likely as my crazy mother saying something rational.
SPEAKING OF CRAZY women, Armani Vasquez was stalking me. Every time I looked up from my desk at Insuring the Future, she was watching me, but the moment she realized I saw her, she looked away, ducking behind her sheet of thick black hair. She not only observed me from her desk, but I saw her peeking at me through the fronds of the plastic potted palm by the ladies’ room, furtively glancing at me when she stood by the copier, and stealing a quick look from behind the coffeemaker.
I felt like I was under surveillance, but instead of Big Brother watching me, I had the semi-psychic, semi-paralyzed, totally loco Latina chick noting my every move.
I, of course, reacted with grace under pressure. Whenever I caught her staring I alternated flipping her the bird, sticking my tongue out, and circling my finger by my ear in the universal sign of You’re a fucking loon.
This netted me some strange looks from my other coworkers.
Finally, when lunchtime rolled around, I called her on her bizarre behavior. She was sitting outside at our favorite picnic table, her back to me, when I walked up to her and rapped my knuckles against the table to get her attention.
Startled, she turned toward me. “Hey, Chiquita,” she said, as though it was the first time she’d seen me that day. “Que pasa?”
“Don’t you que pasa me. What the hell are you up to?”
“What do you mean?” She had the sense to look away.
“What’s with watching my every move?”
“You should sit.”
“I don’t want to sit. I
want an answer.”
“Sit, Maggie.”
Her tone was so sad and serious that a sense of foreboding pooled in the pit of my stomach. I sank onto the bench opposite her. “Is something wrong? Are you sick? What’s going on?”
“I was worried about you.”
“Me? Why?”
“I started dreaming about the spider web again.”
A chill swept through me.
She had dreamed about a crystal spider web before the terrible car accident that had killed my sister, landed my niece in a coma, and bestowed the ability to talk to animals on me. Unable to make sense of her vision, Armani hadn’t told me about it until afterward, when she’d shown me the sketch she’d made of the web. It had matched the pattern of the car’s cracked windshield perfectly.
That, along with her bizarre prediction to “meet the man,” which ended up being the way I killed Gary the Gun, has made me a semi-believer in her semi-accurate prophecies.
“What do you think it means?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Interpreting isn’t my strong suit. I just get the visions. I suck at figuring out what they mean, but I’m thinking the web combined with RUF RIDE means you should stay away from cars.”
“Stay away from cars? How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
“I’m sure Harry would be happy to set up a cot for you in his office.”
“I’d rather die.”
She chuckled, but then grew somber. “Seriously, Chiquita. I’m worried about you. You need to be careful.”
“Is that why you were stalking me?”
“I was trying to read your aura.”
“My aura?”
She nodded excitedly. “My grandmother could read auras. Maybe I can too.”
“I thought you read Scrabble tiles . . . and had those prophetic dreams. Now you can read auras too? What the hell are you doing working here? I’m sure California Psychics would give you a job in an instant.”
Tears filled Armani’s eyes and she turned away from me.
I felt about two inches tall. She was my friend, trying to help me, and I’d gone and made fun of her for it. “I’m sorry.”
She ignored me. Not that I could blame her.