Dirty Tricks: A Kate Lawrence Mystery (17 page)

Fourteen

After Monday evening’s excitement,
we were all happy to sink back into familiar routines. May took a couple of
days off to engage in what she called yard work therapy, pruning back
rosebushes, raking leaves and generally tidying her little yard for the winter.

“The best way to get to know a
place is by getting your hands dirty,” she told me on the phone Wednesday
morning, “and I’ve got the ruined manicure and the aching back to prove how
well acquainted I am with my new property.”

“No further incidents?” I asked as
we prepared to end our call.

“All is quiet,” she confirmed and
excused herself to help Tommy. He was repairing the gutter torn down by the
hapless Myron, who had indeed broken his leg in the process. None of us was
particularly torn up about that.

It was
Strutter’s
day at Vista View, and Margo was trotting her Jimmy
Choos
off, escorting prospects to one showing or another, so it fell to me to keep
the phones answered and the copious paperwork moving in the right direction,
mostly to Emma in Glastonbury. Our recently acquired scanner, which allowed our
two offices to exchange documents via e-mail, was proving to be a wise
investment. Glastonbury was only a few miles from Wethersfield, but traffic on
the Putnam Bridge across the Connecticut River was regularly complicated by
accidents and repairs.

I wondered if Mack Realty would be
able to continue our comfortable working arrangement with my daughter if Emma’s
Oregon visit evolved into something more permanent. “Don’t get ahead of
yourself
, Sugar,” Margo advised. I knew she was right, but I
couldn’t help speculating.

During a midday lull, I dashed up
to the coffee room to microwave some Ramen noodles, which offered little in the
way of nutrition but were filling and quick. I watched the container circulate
behind the glass door and wondered what news Armando would have for me when he
returned from Southbury that evening. His abbreviated telephone reports had
been uninformative, as Armando tended to keep things close to the vest if
anyone else was within earshot. Sometimes I wondered why he bothered to phone
at all when he was traveling. I never learned anything from his veiled
references and hints, which were thus merely annoying.
Best
to wait and talk face to face.

The microwave beeped, and I put
the steaming container on a plate to carry back to the Mack office. As luck
would have it, my return journey was interrupted by three giggly young women in
leotards and sweatshirts, who burst into the lobby with questions about the vacant
space on the second floor of the Law Barn.

“What kind of work do you do?” I
inquired, trying my best to keep the impatience out of my voice. I was
starving, and my deprived stomach grumbled in protest.

“We’re starting our own exercise
studio,” said Leotard No. 1, “you know,
Zumba
, hip
hop, Jazzercise—all the fun,
dancy
stuff people like
to do now. It will be lots of short sessions throughout the day with working
people and older folks in mind.” She looked me up and down appraisingly. “You
might want to give it a try.”

The idea of an exercise studio
over our heads horrified me. I had visions of thumping feet and blaring music
all day long. Would the old floors even take the abuse? Our landlord had
threatened to raise our rent if we couldn’t find new tenants soon, but were we
desperate enough to invite an endless procession of exercise enthusiasts to
torment us? The idea of a geriatric matron taking a fall on the tricky
staircase to the second level made me cringe. I thought fast.

“Gosh, that sounds so fun, but I
seriously doubt these old beams and floorboards would bear the weight of
treadmills and exercise bikes,” I said with what I hoped was a disappointed
face.

“Oh, that stuff is so over,”
sniffed Leotard No. 2.

No. 3 nodded vigorous agreement.
“People who want that old stuff can go to a gym. Our operation will be nothing
but mats and music. In fact, that’s what we plan to call it, Mats & Music.”

Another round of giggles followed
this pronouncement.

“Cute,” I agreed with feigned
enthusiasm as I scrambled for another negative point to make. “I think you’d
find restroom facilities a bit difficult, though. There’s only one bathroom
upstairs and no room to put in another. The downstairs bathrooms are for our
employees and clients only.”

“Huh,” scoffed No. 1, “only one
bathroom. That sucks.” She eye-rolled her companions and shrugged
philosophically before pulling a folded list from her shoulder bag. Tote? Hobo?
Whatever they called them this time around. “On to the next place?” she asked
her friends brightly, snapping her gum. They nodded and reversed course, making
their exit without bothering to say goodbye.

“You’re welcome,” I called out as
the Law Barn door swung shut behind them and went to retrieve my cooling lunch,
mightily relieved. One more crisis averted.

Instead of retreating to the Mack
office, I took the stairs to the second floor on impulse. When I flipped on the
lights and confronted the barren space that had once been Emma’s domain, my
heart twisted. I realized that my appetite had deserted me and set the cup of
noodles on the floor. No point in forcing unwanted calories down your throat,
advised Emma’s voice from somewhere in the past.

Trailing over to the big rear
windows that admitted the only natural light on this level, I felt memories
flood over me … the day Emma and her boss moved in … the sound of Emma’s voice
reassuring yet another frantic client on her endlessly ringing phone … the cage
she kept next to her desk for mice recovering from the neighbor cat’s unwanted
attentions … the night we rescued a fat squirrel from where he was stuck in the
back fence … the fire that had almost been the end of the Law Barn—and me.
So many memories, so many changes.
I wondered what was next
for my girl, for Armando and me, for all of us.

“What happens now?” I said aloud,
but if the mice and the spiders knew, they weren’t talking.

“For openers, we could find some
new tenants for this place,” said
Strutter
. She and
Margo stood on the top step, regarding me with worried expressions.

I looked at my watch, startled,
and gaped at my partners. “It can’t be after three o’clock already.”

“Actually, Sugar, it is. Miss
Thing here and I bumped into the exercise queens in the parking lot and had
quite a conversation. They said they got the
feelin
’
you were
tryin
’ to discourage them from
leasin
’ space here, so they were
goin
’
over to check out some space for rent in the church basement,” Margo reported
with a poker face.

The hilarity of that scenario
struck us simultaneously, and we all whooped.

“If the leotard ladies thought
they got a chilly reception from
me,
wait until they
see what they get from Felicity,” I choked and wiped my eyes on my sleeve.
Felicity Dobson managed the business affairs of the local Methodist church with
an iron fist, and a less felicitous individual I hoped never to meet.

“So what’s with the abandoned
lunch?”
Strutter
asked, pointing to the now congealed
noodles.

“And the
unanswered phone
ringin
’ off the hook downstairs?”
Margo added. “Is this about Emma?”

I looked at the faces of my best
friends, neither of which revealed a whisper of reproach, only affection and
concern. How could I hold back anything as momentous as my possible defection
from them? So I didn’t.

“Emma’s not the only one who might
be relocating,” I began slowly, and out it all came.

Telling Margo and
Strutter
about the pending Telecom-
OmniFutures
merger and its likely repercussions for Armando and me had accomplished
nothing, really—and yet, it had. Despite their inability to do anything of
immediate practical value, I was sufficiently cheered, after unloading my
troubles on them, to resume an outward semblance of calm. After what I
suspected had been a hellish two days, Armando didn’t need to come home to a
hysterical mate.

I heard the garage door go up just
as I was sliding sheet pans of mustard roasted chicken and fresh asparagus into
a hot oven, closely supervised by Gracie. What can I say? The cat has a thing
for garlic.

“Your person is home,” I told her,
carefully setting the oven timer for thirty minutes. Whatever Armando’s news
might be, a burned dinner wouldn’t improve things.

“So how did it go?” I asked ever
so casually after hugs and kisses and
scritches
had
been exchanged all around. I accepted the glass of chilled white wine Armando
held out to me. Gracie and I followed him into the living room, where we lined
up in our usual formation on the double recliner.

“Do you know, it was not bad at
all,” he said, and as I searched his face for clues, I could see that it truly
had not been a bad experience. He’d been tense and apprehensive when he left me
on Monday, but instead of coming home frazzled after two days and nights of
jumping through hoops to impress the
OmniFutures
brass, he seemed calm and relaxed. Serene wouldn’t be too strong a word. Good
grief, had the acquisitive fiends brainwashed him? I felt myself frowning and
occupied my mouth by taking a large swallow of wine. It was surprisingly tasty.

“
Mmm
,
this is wonderful.
Something new?”
I asked.

He sipped from his own glass and
nodded. “Dave and Frank recommended it. It is a blend of chardonnay and pinot
grigio
. I know you enjoy both of those varieties, so I
picked up a bottle on my way home. They were correct; this is very good, light
but flavorful.”

“Wine snobs, huh?”
I
snarked
.
“I know the type. Did
they spend the whole time showing off for the
TeleCom
crew, or did they give it a rest once in a while and allow you to order for
yourselves like big boys and girls?”

Armando looked a bit surprised.
“They were not like that,
Cara
. This
wine happened to be among the selections at dinner last night, and Dave
remembered he had tried it and enjoyed it. When I mentioned your preferences,
Frank remarked that his wife liked it a lot, too. She used it to make wine
coolers in the summer. That is all.”

I squirmed under his puzzled scrutiny
and changed topics. “Are Dave and Frank
OmniFutures
people you might wind up working with?”

“That is very possible,” he
agreed, “but then, it is also true of everyone else who was in attendance. I
have to say, it turned out to be a very interesting two days.”

I struggled to keep a straight
face as my heart sank. They like him, I realized as he described, not the
idiotic games and role playing that had characterized such gatherings back in
the days of my corporate servitude, but brainstorming sessions on real,
practical issues interspersed with short rounds of golf, volleyball games and
lively conversation over excellent meals. Worse yet, he likes them, too.

“Do you think the merger will go
through?” I asked when he finally ran down, carefully keeping my eyes on Gracie
as I stroked her. Her toes spread in bliss as she plastered herself even more
closely to her favorite person in the world, beside herself with feline joy at
having him back.

Armando’s answer was fast and
matter of fact. “I know it will. At the end of our stay it was announced that
both companies’ boards of directors were recommending it to their shareholders,
who in turn are expected to vote overwhelmingly in favor of the merger. There
is no reason to believe there will be any objection from the SEC, so …” He turned
his palms up as an ecstatic smile spread across his face. “I have been assured
there will be a place for me in the new entity.”

My heart thudded in disbelief as I
stared at him, unable to process his apparent change of heart. Who was this
person? I put down my wineglass and spoke through stiff lips.

“So you will be going to Florida,
then?” I wondered if it would be possible to murder one’s husband before dinner
on a Wednesday evening in suburban Wethersfield and get away with it. Oh, what
difference did it make? My life wasn’t worth living now anyway.

“
We
will be going to Florida, yes,” he corrected me, “and very soon,
too.” I swear the evil stranger who used to be someone I loved had a twinkle in
his eye when he said it.

The words burst from my mouth
without my even trying to stop them. “You may be going to Florida, but I am not
going to Florida, not now, not ever! I was lying when I said I’d be willing to
move. I hate the heat, and I am not going to spend the rest of my life marinating
in sunscreen and my own sweat!”

The oven timer went off, and I
leaped to my feet, dislodging Gracie before I dissolved into tears and ran for
the kitchen, where I gulped and sniffled over the stove. Removing hot sheet
trays from a four hundred degree oven was beyond my ability, so I turned the
thing off and yanked open the door so the hot air could disperse, sobbing with
rage the whole time.

Armando came up behind me and
handed me several tissues before turning me gently to face him. I refused to
look at him, the uncaring beast, the infidel.

“
Cara
, I am so very sorry. How is it possible that I have made you
so unhappy by trying to make a little joke of telling you my news? Had you
allowed me five more words, I would have said, ‘but only for a
visit.
’ I thought you would then understand that we will not
have to relocate to Florida at all, and we would have a good laugh about it. I
did not know how worried you must have been about this possibility. I
apologize.”