Not Quite Perfect (Not Quite Series Book 5) (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Mary crawled out of bed the next morning long enough to call her clients and tell them she wasn’t well and needed to reschedule or risk making them ill.

Walt showed up just before noon. “I left the bio suit at home.”

Mary opened the door, wrapped her bathrobe a little tighter around her waist. “Dakota won’t let you back inside until you’ve gone through decon.”

“She’s not that bad.”

Mary laughed. She knew his wife better than he did sometimes.

He had his doctor bag and looked her up and around, asked her a bunch of questions.

“I think it’s viral.”

She knew what that meant. “No antibiotics.”

“Nope, just good old sleep and crap to make you feel better. Dakota has a ton of decongestants, nighttime stuff. Daytime stuff. Don’t drag yourself to the drugstore when you have one right across the street.” He suggested a few things by name. All of which she had.

Mary rested her head in her hand. “I’m stocked. But let Dakota know I’ll have her leave it in the middle of the street if I need something.”

She walked him to the door as the bell was ringing.

A delivery boy, not much older than eighteen, stood with a stuffed something and a half dozen balloons.

“Ah, Miss Kildare?”

Mary lifted a hand.

Walt stood back when the kid handed her the toy.

It took a minute for her to recognize what the mass of fake fur was. Then she started laughing until she was coughing.

The kid stood back and looked around.

“It’s a monkey.”

Walt blinked, stared, and blinked again. “Yep. It’s a monkey.”

“That’s funny.” She kept laughing. The boy at the door looked behind him toward his delivery van.

“Oh, a tip.” She twisted around, wondered where she’d left her purse as another coughing fit stopped her progress up to her bedroom.

“You know, lady . . . it’s okay.”

Walt removed a five-dollar bill from his wallet and helped her out.

In the back of her head it registered that the kid drove away and Walt said his good-byes . . . but all Mary could see was a silly stuffed monkey with sad eyes, holding a thermometer.

This time, Glen sent a card.

You didn’t even have to fight for it.

She set the balloons next to the flowers that were starting to turn and hugged the monkey to her chest.

When she climbed back in bed, her head ached, her chest felt heavy, but her heart was full.

The ibuprofen and cough syrup Glen suggested wiped her out for a good two hours. She felt a little better when she climbed out of bed the second time that day but still knew she wasn’t right.

Still, like anyone not on their deathbed, she tried to get a few things done. When she heard her doorbell for the second time that day, she thought of the monkey on her bed upstairs and wondered what Glen was sending her now.

A man holding an invoice greeted her with a smile. “You Miss Kildare?”

“I am.”

“You asked for delivery in the afternoon.” He looked down at her bathrobe and smirked.

Mary glanced beyond him to see the truck from the place she’d purchased her living room set.

“Right. Yeah . . . c’mon in.” She opened the door wide and pointed to the room behind her. “It goes in here.”

The man waved his hand behind him, signaling his help.

Then he bent down and picked up a box. “This was here.”

She turned away and left the door open while the deliverymen did their job.

In the kitchen, she opened the box to find a case of chicken noodle soup. The card with it said
get well soon
.

Smiling as she pulled a can from the box, she sent a quick text to Glen.
Thank you!

There wasn’t a reply, but then again, it was close to midnight in London.

The time difference was becoming desperately old.

Between the soup, the new living room, and the feeling of being cared for, even from thousands of miles away, Mary fell into bed at close to eight, hugging her monkey and dreaming of Glen.

The day Glen was supposed to be flying back to the States, she got a text saying he was delayed a full day. He ended his text with
I’ll make it up to you.

Between all the hours she’d spent in bed and the time change, they hadn’t spoken on the phone in two days. Mary used to think people who spent all their time texting polluted good communication. Now she realized that waking up to a text was her and Glen’s way of saying they were there, and that they cared.

Mary forced herself into the shower early. Her cough was worse, but her headache and fever felt better.

Much as she hated spreading, or possibly spreading, germs, she had two clients who’d already rescheduled once on her calendar for the morning.

With a cough suppressant onboard and antibacterial hand wipes at the ready, Mary drove to work.

The parking lot was full, leaving her to use the spaces behind the building. In the most recent past she’d moved her car at lunchtime when several employees in the building left for lunch. She felt bad, but in light of everything crazy in her life, she felt justified in claiming a closer spot to the door.

Another message from Officer Taylor was on her phone when she turned it back on after her second client left.

“We brought Mr. Golf in.”

Mary could tell from Officer Taylor’s voice he didn’t have good news.

“And?”

“He consented to the prints. He said, and I’m quoting here, ‘I was never in that bitch’s home, so go for it.’”

She closed her eyes. “He didn’t match.”

“Nope. There was a partial on the door to your office, but nothing matched what we found at your house.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“Someone who has been at your office has prints on your mirror. My first suspect would be a boyfriend . . .”

“Glen and I were in New York when this happened.”

“Right. The prints could have belonged to a friend who has been at the office and in your home.”

Mary thought of Dakota, even Walt. But neither of them had been by her office in months . . . not since several weeks before Leo was born. “That isn’t possible.”

“Which brings us back to your client list as suspects. Just not Jacob Golf. Do you have cleaning people come to your house?”

“No. I can’t afford that.”

Officer Taylor sighed. “Then I suggest you pull out your calendar and take another look. How often is your office cleaned?”

“Once a week. There’s a service that comes on Fridays.”

“Find out how good they are about cleaning door handles. If we can narrow down a timeline on when that print was left, we might be able to narrow down suspects.”

“There’s no way this was random,” she said.

“Not unless you bring people from your office into your home and have them in your upstairs bathroom.”

Mary went ahead and drove to the deli instead of taking the short walk. Her head was already starting to pound, and she had no desire to cook when she got home.

The counter wasn’t that busy. Mary flagged down Carla before she placed her order.

“What kind of soup do you have?” Mary asked.

Carla did a double take. “You sick?”

Mary puffed out her lip like a three-year-old. “I’ve felt better.”

“I’ve got you covered.” Carla scribbled something on her ticket and tossed it up for the cooks behind the counter to fill.

Mary caught the eyes of one of the cooks she didn’t know by name.
“Enferma?”

She understood the question and nodded.

The cook smiled with a short nod before placing a massive bowl up under the hot lights.

“This will do it.” Carla placed the soup along with a basket of crackers next to her.

Mary didn’t try to identify the type of soup before putting a spoonful in her mouth. It had a little kick of spice and a soothing feel as it filled her belly. “Perfect.”

Carla leaned against the counter. “Hector makes a special batch every time the flu goes around. It’s not even on the menu.”

She waved to the cook. “Thanks, Hector.”

Carla watched her take a few bites. “So where is your sidekick today?”

“My who?”

“You know, that guy who’s always here with you.”

Mary’s first thought was Glen, but he’d only been here once. “You mean Kent?”

“Right. The man is going to turn into corned beef.”

“He’s in here a lot, I take it.”

“Constantly. He always seems to be looking for someone when he walks in the door. My guess is that’s you.”

Mary felt her forehead getting hot with the soup. “I think you’re right.”

“He likes you.”

Mary set her spoon down. “I know. I’ve told him no, but I don’t think that’s stopping him from hoping I’ll change my mind.”

Carla leaned forward on her forearms. “So how is it going with the
exclusive
boyfriend?”

Mary found her happy place. “He’s fabulous.”

Mary decided she spent her life on the phone. She’d just put a tea pod into her Keurig coffeemaker and pressed the button when her cell phone rang.

“Mary Kildare.”

“You’re a bitch!” Female voice, hostile.

Mary stopped looking through her mail. “Who is this?”

“I cannot believe you had Jacob hauled into the police station. First you tell him about my affair, then you do this . . . to what? Cover your ass?”

“Nina.”

“You know, I was told that therapists were just as screwed up as their clients. But you take it to a whole new level.”

It took every ounce of energy to avoid engaging in an argument. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the Golfs could both benefit from seeing a psychiatrist. “I’m sorry you feel that way. Please understand that after my last conversation with your husband, I had to go to the authorities.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to walk away from that man, and now you’re giving him all kinds of ammunition to blame me for everything. You’re such a bitch. How do you even know a man was responsible for breaking in? Look in the mirror, women can be just as vengeful.” The woman was hysterical.

“It’s clear we’re not going to have a productive conversation. I’m truly sorry you feel the way you do—”

“You’re not sorry for anything. You will be. I’ll make sure of it.”

Nina hung up.

Mary tossed her phone on the counter. “I do not have the energy for this today.”

She took her lukewarm tea outside on her back patio and tried to call Glen.

It went to instant voice mail.

“Hey, Glen . . .” She sighed into her message. “It seems like we’re always missing each other. Let me start with the good news. I’m feeling a little better. Between the flowers, the monkey, and the soup, you’re making me quite spoiled. Thank you for all of it. The bad news . . . Jacob wasn’t a match on the fingerprints. Which puts us back at square one. Another one of my clients? Someone in the building . . . I don’t even know where to start looking. I’m frustrated, but at least everything has been quiet. No peeping Toms or anything like that.” She laughed at her words. “Now I have Jacob’s wife on a rampage. Nothing I can’t handle, but again . . . it’s frustrating. Doesn’t help that I don’t feel a hundred percent. And I miss you. I really hope you miss me as much as I miss you. I know that sounds selfish and completely high school, but I would hate to be the only one this pent up with longing. Boy, that sounded terribly sappy. I should probably delete this message. I won’t, but I probably should. Anyway . . . I’m home for the night. If you get this before ten my time, call me. I’ll be in bed working toward that hundred percent mark for tomorrow. Talk soon.”