Family Counsel (The Samuel Collins Series Book 2) (18 page)

There was a time when I enjoyed the solitude of an empty house,
but that was no longer true.  A week without my family made me realize how spoiled
I’d gotten and how inept I’d become at amusing myself.  And there was no time
like the present to set myself straight.  I walked around the house telling
myself that a little peace and quiet was healthy, but I wasn’t buying it.  The
place was too damn still, too damn quiet.  As much as I hate talking on the
phone after business hours, I was relieved when its ring broke up the
emptiness.

Five words made my heart skip a beat then take off racing. 

“I’ve got something of yours.”

“Who is this!” I demanded, before the
line went dead.

I had to sit down because my legs were shaking.  I was trying
to figure out if someone could have gotten to Maddie.  The phone rang in my
hand and it scared me so badly I squeaked like a girl. I fully expected it to
be Mr. M ringing back, but it was a telemarketer, which, in my opinion, was
almost as bad. And even though my plight had nothing to do with the
water-conditioning device the guy was selling, I felt justified in telling him
where to stick it. I hung up on him and dialed Niki Lautrec.

“I had a threatening phone call.  Are Maddie and my kids okay?”

“They’re fine.  What kind of threatening phone call?” Niki
asked.

“He said he’s got something of mine.”

“Well, it’s not Maddie and the rats. I just talked to my
brother this morning and they were all fine.  I don’t think they even miss
you.”

“Ha ha,” I said irritably.

Niki laughed.  “What about the rest of your family? Have you
checked on your parents?”

“That’s my next call.  I might have you put some of your guys
on them for a while until this blows over.  And I think I’m going to need you
to find Rafael Mendoza too; that might be the only way I can get these people
off my back.  But don’t do anything yet; I’ll let you know.”

“Right.  I’ll give your wife a big kiss for you when I see
her.”

“And I’ll kick your ass when I see you.”

He hung up laughing.

I dialed my parents’ number and got their answering machine. 
Neither of my folks are up with technology, and in recording his message, my
dad had enunciated each word so that he sounded like a robot.

“You ∙ have ∙ reached ∙ the ∙ Collins
∙ residence . . .”

I left a message after the beep:  “Mom, Dad, it’s Samuel.  Give
me a call at home when you get in.  Oh and Dad, you might think about changing
that message. 
You ∙ sound ∙ like ∙ a ∙ machine
∙ when ∙ you ∙ talk ∙ like ∙ this.
”

I hung up and called my four siblings, all of whom were
accounted for.  I didn’t specify the purpose of the call; but in the process, I
stirred up suspicions all around.  I don’t call my family often and in placing
the calls, I set off a chain reaction of sibling calling sibling to report that
I had graced them with a phone call, only to find out that the others had
received a similar call.  By the time my brothers and sisters were through,
they’d collectively decided that something was gravely wrong.  I answered the
phone to find both of my sisters on the line; they had conferenced me in.

“We’re so worried,” they said.

 “Why?  What happened?”

“We know something’s wrong, or you wouldn’t have called us,” my
oldest sister said.

“Can’t I just call to say hello?”

“You never do,” she pointed out.  “And
all of us
?”

“There’s nothing wrong,” I said.  If Mr. M already had
something of mine, it wasn’t my siblings, so I figured there was no point in
getting into it.

“Maddie’s leaving you, isn’t she?”

“What?” I exclaimed.  “Why would you say that?”

“Why else would you call all of us, and Mom and Dad too?”

I was shocked that word of my phone calls had spread so fast. 
“Did you ever consider working in a small town beauty shop?” I asked. 

“See, you’re changing the subject.  She is leaving you.”

“My wife is not leaving me!  Maddie and I are very happy.  And
besides, if we were getting divorced, what makes you think it would be
her
leaving
me
?” I asked indignantly.

They both laughed, but otherwise ignored the question.

“Then you must be dying,” they concluded. “Do you have cancer?”

“I’m not dying.  There’s nothing wrong.  I’m hanging up.”

I hung up and picked the phone back up to make another call,
but the line hadn’t disconnected.  My sisters were still yakking about what
could be so bad as to warrant a phone call to the whole family.  I hung up
again before they realized I was back on the phone, then I walked around the
house and made sure all the damn cats were accounted for.  When I was sure my
immediate family was safe, I dialed the blue-hair hotline and left a message
for Felicia to call, then I sat back, satisfied that I’d done everything the
situation called for. 

The Siamese must have sensed that I wanted to be alone because
he suddenly became keenly interested in everything about me.  He sniffed my
shoes suspiciously; he climbed up in my lap then turned around and put his tail
in my face; and finally he ventured up to my shoulders, where he draped himself
around my neck like a fur and proceeded to chew on my collar, a terrible habit
he’d taken up in protest of Sherlock’s arrival.  I shoved his head away and he
bit my finger.  That’s where I draw the line.

“All right, Bastard,” I told him, “you’re outa here,” and I
scooped him up and tossed him out a patio door.  He gave an indignant hiss as
his feet hit the ground, then suddenly he assumed an on-guard crouch, his hair
bristling all the way down his back.  I stopped in the process of closing the
door to see what he had spotted, and much to my surprise, there was something floating
in my pool.  I took several steps toward the gate before it struck me.  There
was a plastic tray floating in the water with a basket and scrunched up napkin
on the tray. The kind of basket that Mrs. Howard brings over every morning with
my muffins.

The Siamese let out a yowl when I stumbled over him and stepped
on his tail as I sprinted across the lawn, through the back gate, and across
the street.  There was a van in Mrs. Howard’s driveway that I’d never seen
before. I didn’t even bother to knock.  It took all of five seconds for me to
make it through the door, down the hall and into the kitchen, where I did a
Michael Jordan and was airborne from the kitchen door to where the guy was
standing at the counter with an ice pick in his hand.  Mrs. Howard was nowhere
in sight. 

He was a kid in his 20’s with dark hair and dark eyes and he
looked pretty average, except  that his nose appeared to have been broken
several times.  He was clean-shaven in blue jeans and cowboy boots, but he
looked more like a punk than a cowboy.  I wondered if he was Mendoza’s brother
or maybe a cousin.

The guy had no way of knowing what hit him.  One minute he was
standing erect and the next he was sprawled on the kitchen floor with an ice
pick at his ear.

“Where is she?” I demanded.

“The b-bedroom,” he stuttered.

At that moment, Mrs. Howard appeared in the doorway, her bun
neat and tidy on her head, not a hair out of place.  The sense of relief was
overwhelming and I exhaled slowly trying to get my breathing under control. 
Mr. M’s henchman stared wide-eyed from me to Mrs. Howard.

“Samuel!” Mrs. Howard exclaimed.  “What in God’s name are you
doing, dear?”

The look on the henchman’s face changed instantly. “You know
this guy?” he asked Mrs. Howard.

“Of course I do,” she said.  “This is the neighbor I told you
about.  The lawyer.”

“Who are you?” I demanded, but Mrs. Howard answered before he
could.

“Samuel, what’s gotten into you? That’s my grand nephew.”

“Your . . .
nephew
?”  I placed the ice pick on the
counter and slid it into the sink, and I looked down at the guy in a whole new
light.  “You’re her nephew?”  He nodded his head without speaking, his eyes
wide with fright, no doubt at what his aunt’s psycho neighbor might do next. Then
a light went on in my head. “That’s right,” I said in recognition.  “I’ve seen
your picture out there on the mantle.” 

I got to my feet and helped the guy up.  “Sorry about that.  I
thought you were someone else.  Samuel Collins,” I said, but Nephew declined to
shake my hand.

Instead he turned to his aunt.  “
This
is the guy you
thought I should hire?”

Mrs. Howard gave me a reproachful look like I might have just
wrestled my way out of a client.  “He doesn’t always behave like that,” she
said in my defense.  She made me feel like a misbehaving child, but the truth
was, I’d have done the same thing again in the same circumstance.  I was
rationalizing the assault in my head and in the end, I had no remorse; I was
only looking out for my neighbor, but I apologized anyway.  Mrs. Howard and I
had been through a lot together and I didn’t think an apology would constitute
groveling.

“Sorry, Mrs. Howard.  I thought he was someone else,” I said,
and I left it at that. I think Mrs. Howard would have been content to do so too,
trusting me enough to know that I had my reasons for jumping the guy, but
Nephew wasn’t as inclined to let it go.

He stood up straight but he was still a good three inches
shorter than me and he hunched his shoulders forward like he was ready to take
me on.  “Who the hell did you think I was?”

I decided to be frank.  “I thought you were a mafia guy,” I
said, and that shut him up while he considered it.

“Why would a
mafia guy
be in Aunt Sara’s house?”

Without getting into specifics, I explained about the floating
basket, and Nephew seemed as perturbed by the fact that Aunt Sara brought me
muffins on a daily basis as by the fact that someone may be after her.

Mrs. Howard scoffed at the suggestion that she was in any
danger.  “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for the floating basket,” she
said.  “Maybe Maddie and the boys were playing and they forgot to take it out.”

Maybe.  Or maybe Mr. M. knew a lot more about my routine than I
cared to admit.  One thing was for sure.  I was a creature of habit and my moves
were way too predictable.  Starting the next morning, I would vary my routine
from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed.  Starting with the muffins.

“Hey, Mrs. Howard, how about a basket of mini’s tomorrow, since
it’s just me for a few days.”

She eyed me suspiciously like she was putting two and two
together.  “Where’d you say Maddie and children went?”

“I didn’t.”

She put her hands on her hips and hmphed me, but I gave her my
most charming boyish look and she cracked a smile.

“And can we make it 8:00?  And I’ll pick them up.” 
There
. 
I’d  varied the routine.

I gave Mrs. Howard a quick hug, not because I wanted to, but
because she’d come to insist on it, and I saw the irritation on Nephew’s face. 
I felt smug and self-satisfied that his aunt liked me more.  I left Mrs. Howard and Nephew with a smile and a frown, respectively, and returned to the scene of the
crime.  This time, I actually went inside the pool fence and examined the
evidence up close.  Had I bothered to do so before I’d gone tearing over to my
neighbor’s house, I’d have realized instantly that it wasn’t a menacing message
from Mr. M. at all.  In her zeal to teach our children their church lessons
without actually having to attend services, my wife had taken to re-enacting
biblical events for the boys.  For lack of a better Moses, Spiderman was
nestled in the basket, apparently having been cast into the waters by my
children.  I had a vague recollection of Oliver telling me about it the day
before they’d left, and I made mental note to brush up on the story in case
Oliver quizzed me on it later.

True to my resolution, I varied my routine as much as possible
the next day.  I woke up earlier than usual, but left the house later; I took a
round-about way to work; and for lunch, I frequented a spot off Commerce Street
that I’d driven past a thousand times but had never dared to enter.  It was a
Mexican joint that was so seedy that I actually sat with my back to the wall,
facing the door.  The enchiladas were almost as good as those at my favorite, more
upscale hole-in-the-wall, Taco Tex, but I decided the clientele were just a
little too dubious for my liking. I ate quickly and when I got back to the
office I got a terrible case of heartburn, which could only be alleviated by a
big glass of milk and a half-dozen Oreos, something I keep on hand for just
such an occasion.

When Russ knocked on my door, I was on the verge of falling
asleep in my chair.  I’d been looking through some documents that DIFCO had
produced in Earl’s case; information that related to other discrimination suits
filed against the company.  Under the influence of enchiladas and Oreos, the
material just didn’t have the punch to hold my interest and keep me awake. In
any event, I don’t like getting caught sleeping on the job, especially by
someone like Russ, who was conscientious to a fault, probably never having used
a sick day in his entire career.  I feigned sore eyes, like I’d been reading
too much, and rubbed them for effect. 

“This package was just delivered for you, sir.”

I needed to wake up.  I stood and stretched, spawning an
enormous yawn and thus giving up the pretense of being overworked, and I took
the package from my secretary.  My name was printed in big red letters; no
address, just my name.

“Shit.” 

“Something wrong, sir?” Russ asked.

“Probably.”

I stared at the writing, debating on whether I should call the
police or the bomb squad or some other agency that dealt in criminal
activities.  The box wasn’t ticking, or at least not audibly.  I shook it, but
there didn’t seem to be any movement inside.