Saving Grace (What Doesn’t Kill You, #1): A Katie Romantic Mystery
Page 31
Chapter Twenty-nine
When we pulled up in front of Ava’s nondescript white masonry house, I decided I’d have just enough time to shower before I went to see the investigator if I could get her to pick up the futon. I pulled out a fistful of bills.
“Ava, could you get someone to run you out to buy a futon? I smell awful, and I only have time to shower if I don’t go to K-Mart.”
“No problem, mon,” she said, taking the money and getting out of the car.
I ran into the house and made a sharp right into the shower. She had decorated her blue bathroom with swirls and twirls of seashells glued right to the wall in a Nautilus pattern. The room was so small that I had to stand partway in the shower to blow-dry my hair. I donned a yellow linen sundress. I wanted to feel put together when I saw Walker, and this appointment had me out of sorts. I’d left three voicemail for him the week after the McMillan trial, none of which he’d returned. Then, of course, I’d seen him last night, only to have him pretend he didn’t see me.
“Jacoby on his way to get me,” Ava said as I left.
“Thanks,” I yelled as I ran out the door.
I cruised past the farmer’s market downtown, where for half a block, islanders displayed their wares in wooden bins under thatch-roofed huts. Big green breadfruit. Ovals of avocados. Bunches of tiny babyfinger bananas and their larger cousins, the starchy plantains. I couldn’t wait to do my shopping there. A round-bellied black woman sat in a rocker on the sidewalk, legs splayed, fanning herself with a paper plate as a handful of customers milled around between the bins.
I found a parking place on King’s Cross street about a half block from Walker’s office. As I pulled into the spot, a paw reached out and pushed on my thigh. Oso used my leg as leverage for his stretch, raising his hindquarters until he was in the perfect downward dog position. I guess I’d learned something in the Peacock Flower’s yoga class, after all.
I wasn’t used to carting a half-grown dog around town. What was I supposed to do with my new pal? I couldn’t leave him in the truck on our first day together. He’d feel abandoned. I clipped the leash to his collar and tugged.
“Let’s go, Oso,” I said.
Oso pulled back against the leash. OK, so he needed some training. No time like the present to start. I tugged again. He shook his head back and forth and chuffed. I looked at the clock on the dashboard. Emily would arrive in one hour. I had to hurry.
I approached Oso through the passenger’s side door and scooped the sixty-five-pound dog into my arms. Whoa, some puppy. I hefted his front legs over one shoulder to take some of his weight, then I slung his leash and my purse strap over the other shoulder. I’d just put him down when we got to Walker’s place. I shut the door with my hip and started down the street, then caught a glimpse of myself in a window. I was a red-haired version of a 1950s movie star, and Oso was the giant beaver stole over my outfit. Pretty ridiculous. I couldn’t do this again or I’d have escaped my crazy cat lady reputation in Dallas only to become the crazy dog lady on St. Marcos.
Walker’s office was only four doors down from my primo parking space, which was good, because I don’t think I could have dragged Oso any further. I didn’t have to go even that far, though, because Walker was leaving his office and locking his door behind him as I approached. I’d passed a law firm and a surf shop before Walked turned and saw me. He grunted.
“Mr. Walker, good afternoon,” I said. Oso squirmed.
“I’m on my way out,” he said.
“I can see that. Would you mind if I just walked with you for a moment?” I looked at the dog. “Oso, be still.”
“Actually, yes, I do mind. I’m not ready to discuss your case with you, and I don’t hold private client conferences in public.”
We were the only two people within one hundred yards in either direction, but I decided not to debate the relative public-versus-private aspects of conversing with me here. Oso decided he wanted down right that second, and he made it happen. Okay, then. I caught the end of his leash and wound it around my hand twice.
“When will you be ready to update me, Mr. Walker?” At this point, I just wanted a report, and to be done with him. Then I could regroup.
Oso lunged toward Walker and growled, nearly pulling my shoulder out of socket. I didn’t mind at all. Rashidi might be right about this dog escort business. Oso’s instincts were spot on. I didn’t like Walker much, either.
“Mind your dog,” he said, stepping back.
“Oh, he won’t hurt a fly,” I cooed, hoping I was wrong. “As to you updating me, since I’ve moved to St. Marcos, I’m available tomorrow. Or the next day. Any day. You name it.”
He didn’t remark upon or react to the news of my relocation. What great manners. “Wednesday. Wednesday at ten,” he said.
“Perfect. Oso and I will meet you here Wednesday at ten.” Walker was already backing away again when I remembered that I had another question to ask him. “Oh, Mr. Walker? Who was that man you were sitting with at Toes in the Water last night? The guy staring at my friend Ava and me?”
Now Walker was turned away from me and striding in the opposite direction from me and my truck. “I wasn’t at Toes in the Water,” he said, not even slowing down.
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