by Erin Huss
"I thought Antonio was hurting Stormy."
"I understand that. Which makes this ten times more infuriating because I can't even be mad at you for wanting to save your friend."
"A friend who turned out to be a psychopathic murderer."
Chase ran his hand down his face. "Will you please, from now on, take your own safety into consideration? Please?"
"Yes." I made a cross over my heart.
"Good." Chase kissed my forehead. "I'll get the nurse." He drew back the curtain, revealing a busy ER. Nurses and doctors rushed around, sorrowful-looking individuals lay on gurneys, and police paced the narrow halls.
Nausea crashed over me, and I draped my arm over my eyes.
I hate hospitals.
The headache, the stomachache, the buttache, none of it rivaled the pain I felt knowing this incident could have been avoided had I left well enough alone, though. Had I stayed hidden behind the cabinet and not run into Antonio's office, he might still be alive. Chase wouldn't be on paid leave. Stormy and Antonio would have both had their day in court, and I'd be at home.
Note to self: stop solving murders.
I needed a new hobby, like crafting, or blogging, or needlepoint, or antiquing.
With my arm still draped over my eyes, I heard the curtain close. Chase grabbed my hand and held it close to his chest. Except it didn't feel like Chase. I lifted my arm. "Tom, what are you doing here?"
"Mr. Nguyen called me."
I moaned. Chase was already upset with me—the last thing the situation needed was my baby daddy. "Tom, I'm—"
He shushed me. "Don't speak. Save your energy, sweetheart."
Sweetheart?
Tom kissed the backside of my hand, and I peeked up at the bag attached to the IV pole next to my bed, wondering what was in it.
"You scared the hell out of me, Cam." Tom knelt at the side of my bed, still holding tight to my hand. "We'll get you the best care. Don't worry."
"I'm not worried," I said. "I was shot in the butt and have a minor concussion. Chase went to get the nurse so I can be discharged."
Tom blinked a few times. "That's not so bad," he almost sang.
Easy for him to say.
"Mr. Nguyen said you'd been shot and were rushed to the hospital," said Tom. "I didn't pay attention to anything else and got into my car and rushed here."
"I appreciate the gesture, but I'm going to be OK." I tried to pull my hand free, but Tom wouldn't let go.
"No you won't. We've been through way too much over this past year, and I'm sick of it."
"Don't worry," I said. "I'm seriously considering retirement. Except I'm not sure what else I could do."
"I do." Tom cupped my face gently in his hand. "I'll get a job at a bigger firm and take on paying clients. You can stay home with Lilly, or go back to school, or get a job where people aren't constantly trying to kill you."
OK. This had to be the pain meds. But just in case it wasn't, "Can you repeat that?"
"Cam, I want to have a life together. I want our family together."
Chase is a liar!
He lied to me. Two stitches and a minor concussion? There was no way. I must have lost half-a-body worth of blood, and hit my head hard enough to cause a brain bleed, and be on enough drugs to where I was hallucinating, because it sounded an awful lot like Tom was…
"I love you, Cambria," he said, and my heart skyrocketed into my throat.
The room spun, and I wasn't quite sure what to say or what to do or if this was even real.
"You don't have to say anything now." He stood and ran a hand through his mane. "Just think about it. We could get out of LA and go someplace where you can buy a house for less than a million."
"Like Montana," I said.
"I was thinking more like Inland Empire or Fresno. I don't want to take the bar again. But we can talk about it." He unleashed his flirty side smirk, and I was reminded of the night we met.
The curtain flung open, and Chase stood beside a woman wearing blue scrubs. "Tom," he said. "I didn't know you were here." He forced a smile.
The nurse removed the needle from my arm and replaced it with a piece of gauze. "Are you ready to go, dear?"
My eyes cut from Tom to Chase and back again.
"No."
CHAPTER THIRTY
—Leaving the property in the hands of someone else while you're on vacation is much like dropping your child off at day care for the first time.
You just cross your fingers everyone will behave and your kid won't bite anyone.
One week later.
"You're not going to a funeral." Mrs. Nguyen picked up the black dress I'd flung into my suitcase and returned it to my closet. She reappeared with my blue Anthropologie dress I reserved for interviews and first dates only. "You look good in blue." She folded it carefully and placed it in my suitcase. "I still can't believe Amy made it to the finals," she said, shaking her head.
"What does New York look like?" Lilly asked.
I folded my jeans into thirds and placed them beside my blue dress. "It's a big city with really tall buildings and the Statue of Liberty."
"Do they have donuts there?" Lilly asked. "And ice cream?" She cared more about the food than the landmarks.
Obviously we shared the same DNA.
The office phone rang, and I patted down the bed, searching for the cordless phone, and found it under a blanket. "This is Cambria," I answered.
"We're at the building in Burbank, and we'd like to see a two-bedroom apartment. Do you have any available?"
"We do." I went to the bathroom and collected my toiletry items. "Apartment 21C is a spacious two-bedroom apartment with two bathrooms and ample closet space. The door is unlocked, and applications are on the counter. Please let me know if you have any questions."
We hung up. Every morning, I'd unlock the vacant units, tidy them up, then return later in the evening to lock the door. I'd found it easier to leave the vacant units open and applications available than to sit in a hot closet the local teens used as a brothel and wait for prospective renters to show up.
Rather genius if you asked me.
Also, the residents there hated me.
With a passion.
Yes, they'd rectified all infractions, but they'd bashed me on Yelp, Apartment Ratings, and Rent or Run dot com, and now gave me evil stares when I was there. The iron fist approach did not work out so well.
Not so well at all.
I dumped my toothpaste, toothbrush, and mouthwash into a Ziploc and grabbed my makeup bag.
"What's this for?" Lilly held up the inflatable butt donut and stuck it on her head like a crown.
"For me to sit on in the plane," I said.
"'Cause of your hurt bum?"
"Yep. My hurt bum." I wasn't looking forward to the six-hour flight. Now I understood the appeal of a high-tech toilet seat.
I finished packing and rolled my suitcase down the hall. "You're sure you'll be OK manning the office while I'm gone?" I said to Mrs. Nguyen. I'd decided to use my vacation time, leave a day early, and spend a full week in New York.
"I can handle it. No problem."
"I made you an instruction manual for while I'm gone." I grabbed the binder on the kitchen counter and flipped to the table of contents. "I made a tab for each day. What to do in case of an emergency, and under Emergency I have subtabs: Fire, Murder, Flood, and Lockout."
"What's PIMA mean?"
"Aw yes." I flipped to page twenty-two. "PIMA stands for pain in my…" I glanced down at Lilly. "Bum. Here you'll see Silvia, of course. Though she's been less grouchy since she began seeing Hampton."
"I never would have put those two together," Mrs. Nguyen said.
"You and me both, but he's been here every night this week." He'd show up around sunset with flowers in hand and wig on head, then leave around sunrise the next morning.
"He's too young for her," Mrs. Nguyen said.
"If he's happy and she's quiet, I don't care what the age gap i
s between the two." I flipped the page. "And there's Daniella."
"Does she know about the dead lady in her apartment?"
"Not yet. She's still out of the country and not answering her phone. I left her a detailed voicemail. Julia said she's supposed to return home any day now. So…um…good luck with that."
"And Larry." She pointed to his name.
"Aw, Larry. He can now hobble around his apartment, so he shouldn't call you for help."
"Is he still suing?"
"Yes, but not me." He'd called the day after I was released from the hospital and asked for me to fill up his water for him. I refused. He apologized and said he'd decided to sue the manufacturers of the boots he was wearing instead. If the boot hadn't fallen off, then he'd have been able to walk the roof more adequately.
I gave up trying to understand.
"The last on the list is Fox. He's the new resident in Burbank. He's not so much a pain as he is obnoxious. He gives his keys out to his girlfriends-of-the-day then asks to get his locks changed when he dumps them. I told him to use a locksmith, but it doesn't stop him from asking anyway."
The bell chimed from the lobby, announcing a visitor. I started to go, and Mrs. Nguyen stopped me. "Vacation officially starts now. Let me handle it."
I gave her a hug. "Thank you."
She padded off to the office, and I checked my phone to see how far away my Lyft driver was.
"Will you bring me back a present?" Lilly asked.
I mocked offense. "Do you think I'd travel all the way to New York and not bring you back a present? Why do you think I'm going?"
"Can it please not be rice?"
"I promise." I picked her up and kissed her cheeks. Man, I hated leaving her, but I needed this vacation. It had been a hellish year. I'd been responsible for putting several individuals behind bars, and I only hoped they were all in separate prisons and weren't able to communicate or start an I Hate Cambria Club and plot their revenge.
Yikes
Mrs. Nguyen returned. "There's a man and woman here looking for you, Cambria. They say it's important."
I thought about the club. "What do they look like?"
"Old and rich."
To my knowledge, I'd not put anyone old and rich in jail. Not yet anyhow.
Waiting in the lobby were a man with white hair and a pink polo vest over a plaid shirt and a woman with a bob of gray hair, pearls, and a cardigan tied around her shoulders. I'd never seen them before in my life.
"I'm Cambria Clyne. Can I help you?" I said.
The woman spoke first. "My name is Patricia Dashwood, and this is my husband, Dick. We own Cedar Creek Luxury Living next door."
So these were the Dashwoods. Oddly, they looked exactly as I pictured them.
Old and rich.
"I'm so sorry about everything." I gestured to the couch, and they each took a seat.
Mrs. Dashwood crossed her ankles and rested her hands on her lap. "We heard about your involvement in catching Stormy and Antonio," she said. "We're embarrassed to say we had no idea what our employees had been up to. Violet was so difficult to work with that we found it easier to stay away and let her manage than to get too involved."
"You should consider using a management company. They have more checks and balances," I said, thinking of how much Patrick would like to get his hands on that property.
Mr. Dashwood opened his mouth, about to speak, when Mrs. Dashwood tapped him on the knee, and he snapped his mouth shut. "We don't need a management company," she said. "We just need to be more involved. Right, dear?" She looked at her husband.
"Right," he replied.
She shifted her focus to me. "Which is why we're here."
Ugh. Please tell me they're not suing me.
"How many units is this place?" she asked.
"Forty."
Her face fell. "How long have you been managing?"
"Not long, honestly," I answered, unsure why they were asking, still scared she was about to serve me papers. "This is my first place, and I manage one in Burbank, too."
Mrs. Dashwood perked up. "You manage two properties?" She glanced at her husband. "We'd like you to interview for the property manager position next door."
I nearly fainted.
"We pay very well," she said. "If you get the job, you'll get a discounted apartment should you choose to live on-site. We'll be hiring a new leasing agent and maintenance supervisor as well, obviously. Which, we would allow our new property manager to interview first. It's important everyone work as a team."
I had no idea what to say. My plan was to quit, not get promoted. "When are you interviewing?" I asked.
"It's going to take awhile to figure out this mess. We plan to start the interview process next month. If you're interested, please send me your resume."
She handed me a business card with her email address on the bottom.
Dr. Patricia Dashwood, PhD
Licensed psychiatrist
I walked them out and slipped the card into my back pocket. Should I decide not to interview for the position, it didn't seem like a bad idea to have the number for a psychiatrist handy. Not in this business.
"Who was that?" Mrs. Nguyen asked as soon as I stepped back into my apartment.
"The Dashwoods. They want me to interview for Violet's job."
"You'd actually consider going next door after what happened to their other manager?" Mrs. Nguyen asked.
I looked over at Lilly, who was hanging upside down off the side of the couch watching television. "I don't know if I'm cut out for property management. I don't know what to do about anything, to be honest. I hope this vacation will bring me clarity." My phone buzzed. My Lyft had arrived.
I gave Mrs. Nguyen a hug and Lilly a kiss good-bye. I wheeled my suitcase through the office, out the front lobby door, and down the brick walkway. A gray sedan waited at the curb, and I compared the driver behind the wheel to the picture on my Lyft app to be sure it was the same person.
All appeared well.
I placed my luggage in the trunk.
"Cambria!"
I knew that voice.
Crap.
I slammed the trunk closed. Standing on the sidewalk was Daniella, wheeling her own suitcase behind her. "Cambria!" She held her phone in the air, waving it around like she just didn't care. "I get your messages. Where is my cat?"
"We've been over this. You're not allowed to have pets. Did you not get my other messages?"
"Yes, some man is looking for me, and a lady died in my apartment," she said, as if it was of little consequence.
So close…so close to getting away without having to tell her.
Ten more minutes and she'd have to take this up with Mrs. Nguyen. She was nicer to Mrs. Nguyen. Everyone was.
I took a deep breath and gave the spiel Hampton had me rehearse. I told her CSI did a full sweep of her apartment, since it was a crime scene. I told her the apartment had been released, and Mr. Nguyen fixed her window, and we hired a professional biohazard cleaning company to take care of the mess. I apologized for the inconvenience and offered to give her a glowing recommendation should she choose to move.
"I'm not moving. I want to keep my cat."
Crap.
I opened the car door. "You can't keep the cat. This is a no-pet property. We placed the cat at a very nice animal kennel. You can get the specifics from Mrs. Nguyen. I'm on vacation." I slipped into the back seat and closed the door.
Daniella tapped on the window. "You can't take a vacation. We need to talk about my cat."
"Please go," I told the driver, and he pulled away from the curb and drove away.
I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and mentally switched my brain into vacation mode.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
—I am resilient.
If there is such a place as hell, I imagined it would look like LAX on a Saturday. Cars bumper to bumper, cutting each other off, and driving like drunken snails around the departure circle. Horns. Busse
s. Cop cars. Charter busses. Limos. Planes overhead. Hordes of stressed and tired travelers. Ticket lines zigzagged a mile long. Groups of smokers huddled in the permitted smoking area, blowing nicotine into the air for all to breathe.
I stood under the Delta sign and waited for my travel companion, anxious to get going. This vacation couldn't have come at a better time. My life was a mess. It wasn't just my job either. Even though I had no idea if I was going to continue managing, switch careers, or go back to college. The Dashwoods' offer certainly threw me for a loop. More money. More responsibilities. Nicer apartment. A gym. It would be a huge promotion. I didn't gamble or embezzle, so I wasn't concerned about ending up like Violet. The fact no one noticed Stormy climbing down the fire escape, told me there was no Silvia Kravitz there.
A major plus.
Then there was still the matter of Chase and Tom. Chase had been cleared of any wrongdoing and was off probation. Still no word on when FBI training started. Tom had not wavered in his feelings or gone looking for other female companions to fill his time (like he normally would). It was so like him to waltz into my life and declare his love as soon as I'd given up on the idea.
It was impossible to know what to do.
I'd spent the last 168 hours agonizing over the decision until my mind was made up.
An Uber car pulled up to the curb with the man who'd be accompanying me to New York. He stepped from the vehicle and threw a backpack over his shoulder.
"You didn't have time to change your clothes?" I asked.
Kevin looked down at his coveralls. "No. I rushed straight from work." He pulled a duffel bag from the back seat. "I had to quit."
"You quit your job?"
"My boss wouldn't let me have a week off on such short notice."
"You need a job more than you need a trip to New York. What about rent?"
Kevin slammed the car door shut. "Are you my apartment manager, or are you my friend on this trip?"
"Friend, but when I asked you to come, you said taking time off work wouldn't be a problem."
"And it's not. We can stay as long as you want," he said with a smile. "I don't know why you're upset. If you'd given me more than a day's notice, then I wouldn't have had to quit."