Lethal flip, p.6
Lethal Flip, page 6
“You kept this from the boxes Fernando disposed of?”
“Yep. I didn’t have a lot of time to go through them before Don absconded with them.”
She viewed the print. “Yes. It looks like the eighties or early nineties. Remember those shoulder pads?”
“Do I ever?” I chuckled.
“He doesn’t know you have this?”
“Well. No. I took it before I knew he wanted the cartons. Besides, there’s probably another copy in the containers.” I was on the defensive. “When I retrieved the boxes, they were on my property, trash. Anyone could have taken them from the dumpster.”
“True enough,” she said, and offered, “If anyone else had removed them without your permission, it’s trespassing.”
“Yes. Legally, it’s my trash in the roll-off. If anybody wants old carpet, have at it.” I smiled.
“Uh huh. She was beautiful,” she commented, scrutinizing the picture. “Beauty can be a problem,” she mused.
“Yeah. So, they say.” I chuckled.
“Humm. They’re both tall. He looks Swedish, Nordic?”
“Guess who he’s related to?”
“Who?” She sniffed; her brows furrowed.
“Randy, my new plumber.”
“You have been busy. How did you learn that?” She laid the photo on the table between us, perking up.
“I had Randy change out the sink top for the vanity at the rehab.”
“How do you like him?” she asked, adding, “I can always use a good plumber.”
“He was efficient. A little prickly,” I said, remembering his annoyance that I’d used a credit card. “But he did the job. He answered his phone and was available.”
“Good to know. A reputable plumber is hard to find.”
“Uh huh. So, he’s finishing up, and I ask about the woman across the street. How long he’d been doing plumbing in the hood, and all that. He told me his dad was married to Sarah.”
“Sarah was his mom?”
“No. She definitely was not his mother. He said his dad and Sarah were married. He didn’t say anything more. My impression was he wasn’t a fan of the union.” I reflected on what Fernando had revealed about him and Sarah enduring unhappy marriages.
She raised her brows, perplexed. “So he worked for his father’s ex-wife?”
“Business is business. Doesn’t mean you have to like your customers to do the job.” I shrugged. “Maybe, she felt guilty about marrying his father? It must have ended badly.”
Myra nodded. “Goodness. It’s a small world. Did he say anything about her death?”
“He didn’t know the medical examiner had ruled it a homicide.”
“The police must have questioned him. They likely know he was a stepson. They may not have wanted to tip their hand that it was murder, until they have more evidence,” she offered. “Both Randy and his father could be suspects.”
“They could.” I recalled the plumber’s cool, efficient manner and how he’d tackled removing the vanity top. “Fernando could’ve told him, but why? Doesn’t sound as if he’d have hired him for work. That was Sarah’s thing.”
“I leave bill!” Katarina swooped in and slapped a ticket on the table. A snort of laughter caught in my throat and I tried to squelch the giggle. Failing, I choked back laughter, fervently trying to stem the sound. Myra caught my case of the giggles. Finally, we sobered up, finished our food, and paid the tab.
I was driving home when I realized I hadn’t asked Myra about the progress on the Hiptown house.
“Yowl!” Boots greeted me as I came through the door.
“Chow time, huh?” I fed him and stroked his fur. We settled in on the sofa.
The townhouses were far too quiet with Wayne and Gillie in Vegas and the unit Ariel had once lived in still vacant. The spare room, where Eddy would stay occasionally, echoed emptiness. The rehab was a solitary pursuit.
“How about joining me tomorrow, Boots?” I continued petting the cat.
He shot me a wary look, scurried away, and hopped up to rest on the back of the couch.
“You’re coming with me.” My mind made up, I picked up the laptop, determined to find more information on Sarah and her union with Randy’s dad. I retrieved his plumbing receipt from my bag and Googled Sarah Anderson Jackson, on the off chance she’d used Jackson along with her maiden name. Jackson was Randy’s last name on the invoice. I added Arizona to the search line, and the article popped up, “Mesa Woman Fends off Cougar While Cooking on Backyard Grill.”
The story went on, stating the mountain lions were losing their natural habitat and increasingly foraged for food in more settled areas of the state. The woman had faced the wildcat and had successfully staved off an attack. The article warned people to be on the lookout for wild animals that could be mistaken for a golden retriever.
“Wow. Sarah was lucky, or just very feisty.” Boots licked his paws, and yawned.
“Okay. Let’s call it a night.” I powered down the computer and headed to bed.
Chapter 8
While loading an indignant Boots into my car the next morning, the phone rang. I secured the latch to the crate, shushed the cat, and snatched up the receiver, “Hello!”
“Hey, Kiddo!”
“Wayne! It’s so good to hear from you!” The sound of his voice overwhelmed me with emotion. It hit home how much I missed my friend, neighbor, and handyman. “How’s your vacation?”
“It’s dang awesome. That’s how!”
“Glad to hear it.” I tried to sound happy for him. In the back of my mind, I was dreading another go at the mirror project from hell. “When do you think you and Gillie will be home?”
“Here’s the deal. I thought we’d be back in a week, but we’re having such a great time, gambling, seeing the shows, and the gosh darn wonderful weather, we’re gonna stay a while longer. It’s seventy degrees nearly every day! Plus, we scored a great deal on a condo.”
“A condo?” I frowned.
“Yep. Rents from month to month. Hardly makes sense to stay in a room when we got all this space.”
“So, it sounds as if you’ll be away a month, or more?” I ventured, my stomach sinking.
“Yep. Couple of months. Figure we should be real snowbirds.”
“Sure, Wayne. Do you want me to send you and Gillie’s mail?”
“That’d be great.” He read off an address. “Only letters. Don’t need the junk mail.” He laughed. I heard Gillie’s high giggle in the background.
“Say ‘hi’ to Gillie for me. I don’t blame you.” Minnesota weather was a challenge. March was usually the snowiest month of the year. Mother Nature hadn’t dumped any more of the white stuff, and the end of the month was in sight. But it could happen in April, May, or even June.
“How’s the new rehab coming?”
“It’s coming.” My voice trailed off. “It’ll get done.”
“You got problems?” He heard the evasiveness in my tone.
“No, it’s fine. I’m framing out the mirror. I used your compound miter saw to cut the boards. You said it was okay.”
“Heck, yeah. Just be careful. That machine will mangle a finger if you ain’t watching.”
“Yeah. I noticed.” Remembering the blade’s teeth. “How’s Gillie?”
“She’s loving it! We’re doing our Elvis commitment ceremony this weekend. It’s gonna be a hoot!” He guffawed.
“That sounds like fun. I expect pictures and a full report when you get back.”
“Ya got it!”
“Take care.” I hung up and exhaled. Who was I to stand in the way of love?
“Dang it, Boots.” I grabbed my bag and lifted the crate with the protesting cat. “Shush! You’ll love my company!”
I pulled into the driveway of the rehab, determined to conquer the mirror project.
Up the six stairs to the main living level, I deposited my bag and unlatched the carrier. The cat darted out. Spooked, he investigated all the rooms up and down. While he wandered, I placed his bed in a corner of the living room, along with dishes for food and water. Satisfied after roaming, he curled up snug as a bug.
“Just like home, huh, Boots?” I grinned at the cat.
Avoiding the sight of the glass and the framing boards, I trekked to the bathroom. The vanity looked spiffy. I viewed the rest of the room with a careful eye. The tub shower combination needed deep-cleaning, and a new toilet seat was in order. The fixtures were in good condition. A thorough cleaning and paint job might be the best place to use my energy that day. I got to work.
With a mixture of warm white vinegar and dishwashing soap, I sprayed the bath bay and let the solution soak. After several minutes, I started scrubbing. While I scoured, the doorbell rang.
“Dang!” I slipped off my rubber gloves and hurried to the door.
“Hello, Katelyn.” It was Fernando. His eyes lit up and his face brightened.
“Hey.” I nodded and brushed stray locks from my face.
“I would like to speak with you, if it is not too much trouble?” His presence was calming, his accent enchanting. “I do not wish to interrupt you.” He glanced at the cleaning gloves in my hand. Boots was at my feet, and I stooped to pick him up.
“Sure. Come in.”
We stood in the small foyer of the split entry, sharing a space of approximately six feet by six. I was very conscious of his body’s warmth. He had a couple of inches on my five-and-a-half feet, with a compact build. Standing eye-to-eye, I couldn't believe this soft-spoken Latino man could have done anything to injure his wife. Boots protested my grasp, and he slipped from my arms to the floor.
“How can I help you?”
“I saw Randy’s truck here yesterday, and I wanted to see how you liked his work.” His earnest gaze caressed me.
“Yes. He replaced a vanity top.” Was he fishing about Randy? I hesitated. “He was very professional. It looks great. Would you like to see it?”
“I would be pleased, if it is not too much trouble.”
“Follow me.” I headed to the bathroom, wondering if I should broach the subject of Randy’s father.
“It is splendid.” His face beamed, as he viewed the granite top. “He does excellent work.”
I took a deep breath and dove in, “He said his father had been married to Sarah. Was that in Arizona?”
An expression of surprise flitted across his face. He recovered, saying, “That is correct. His dad was my wife’s second husband.” He chuckled. “I was number three.” He smiled with even, white teeth. His eyes glowed.
“Oh? Three’s the charm,” I offered.
Fernando chuckled. “Yes, three is the charm. We were very happy. I am lost without my Sarah.” Silence hung in the air and his soft gaze turned sad.
I coughed lightly, and looked away. He went on, “Randy is an unhappy man. He was angry that his father married Sarah so fast after his mother died. Yet, he was glad to get her work. Sarah felt guilty too. We met when she was married to Randy’s father. She was very lonely.”
“Sarah found you while she was still with Randy’s dad?”
“It is true.” He shrugged, and his gaze forgiving. “She was complicated.”
“I guess.” One had to be in awe of a woman who could pull that off. For me, it’s one relationship at a time. Unlike Eddy, or it appeared, Sarah. Fernando seemed to justify or forgive Sarah’s wandering. He didn’t appear angry or jealous.
The doorbell chimed. I started, puzzled. “Who could that be?” Fernando followed me to the exit.
“Hey, wifey!” Eddy pushed the screen door open and rested his long, lean frame against the side of the entry.
“Hi. What are you doing here.?”
“Yowl!” Boots made a break for the outside. Eddy tried to stop him by putting his foot between the doors. The cat darted under his foot. I leaped for the bundle of black and white fur and missed.
“Boots!” I yelled. Distracted by a squirrel, he ran for the brown, bushy-tailed rodent. As he closed in, I yelled louder, “Boots!”
“Boots!” Eddy called. Suddenly, there was a whoosh, and a huge owl swooped down, its claws extended. Its talons dug into the cat’s body, and he screamed, “Ryowwl!” I waved my gloves at the bird, desperate to distract it from its prey.
“Go! Go away!” Frantically, I threw my gloves. One mitt hit the mark, and the bird released the cat. Boots hit the ground with a thud. His eyes were wide and frightened. He panted. Blood oozed from his coat, staining his fur.
“Eddy, why are you here, anyway?” I was angry and scared.
“I’m sorry, Kate.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. You can take us to the vet and pay the bill!”
“Sure, Kate. No problem. I’m sorry.” His deep brown eyes, normally sparkling with mischief, looked hurt.
“Okay,” I relented. “Get my handbag and a towel for Boots. Get his crate, too. I’ll stay here.” I was beside myself, stroking the cat, comforting him. He relaxed with my touch; his breathing evened out.
Eddy came back with the towel. “Here.” I wrapped Boots and cradled him in my arms.
“What can I do?” Fernando appeared at my elbow.
“Would you lock up? The inside knob?” That would have to do. The dead bolt had a separate key, and I didn’t want to take the time. “Eddy will get us to the veterinarian.”
“Of course, Katelyn. Do not worry.” Fernando headed to the front door.
I stood up with the swaddled cat, his body heavy. “Too many treats,” I tried to joke while stemming his wounds with the towel.
“Let’s go!” I motioned towards my Ford.
A police car cruised up slowly and stopped.
“What now?” I groaned. It was the sheriff. He hopped out of the squad and hustled to where I held the animal.
“Boots is wounded,” he remarked, concerned.
“Yes. I have to get him to the vet. I can’t talk.”
“Hop in. I’ll drive you.” His solid presence commanding.
“What?” I asked, nonplussed.
“Get in. Remember, the squad has sirens and flashing lights?” He chuckled, his arm raised, and pointed to the back seat of the car. “You don’t mind, do you, Eddy?”
Eddy was mute. I snatched up my purse and Don picked up the crate. I reiterated, “Eddy, you won’t mind? The faster Boots gets help, the better.”
“No. It’s okay. You’re right,” he said, his voice subdued.
Don held the back door, and I eased into the seat beside the cat. He slid into the driver’s side, and with one smooth movement pulled from the curb and started the emergency lights.
“You can do this?” I asked, stroking the cat. “Is this considered a police matter?”
He grinned. “I serve the public. It’s not the usual task, but I witnessed the whole thing. The bird attacked Boots. He’s a great cat. Now, where’s your vet?”
“His name is Dr. Katz, at the Animal Veterinary Clinic on Main Street.”
“Katz?” He studied me in the rear-view mirror, laughter in his cobalt blues, his mouth twitching.
“Yes. Katz.” I was in no mood for humor, even though the name was amusing in saner moments.
With that, he turned on the siren, and traffic cleared to let the vehicle pass. He drove the police car as if he were driving the Corvette.
I held Boots close as he gained speed. He whimpered, and I whispered, “It’s okay. We’re getting help.” His body tensed, and he squirmed. We pulled up in front of the veterinarian’s office, Don parked, and opened the back.
“Thank you. I can take it from here.” I was grateful we’d arrived in such a short time.
“I’ll walk you in.”
“Okay.”
He waited while I stepped out, my arms full with the frightened cat. He collected the crate.
I struggled to hold Boots while he twisted and yowled.
The young receptionist who sported black hair, thick black eyeliner, and a nose piercing watched. Her eyes widened and flickered over the cat cradled in my arms, with Don, in full uniform, escorting us.
“It’s an emergency. I need to see Dr. Katz. My cat was mauled by an owl.”
“I’ll let him know.” After taking my information and Boots’ particulars, she said. “A tech will take you back.” While we waited at the counter, I surveyed our surroundings. The reception room held two dogs and their owners. One dog, a sleepy older terrier, woke up long enough to give a short bark. An owner held a rambunctious puppy of undetermined breed on a leash while the owner shushed him.
A stocky, red-headed woman wearing a white lab coat came from the back that led to the examining area.
“Call me when you’re done. I want to know how Boots comes out. If I’m not on a call, I can take you home.”
“Thanks.” I nodded, appreciative. I think I’m in love.
He pivoted, leaving. The view of his broad shoulders and muscled form which filled out his uniform momentarily distracted me. It was then; my cell phone emitted a muffled FWEET FEW! Don hesitated and stiffened. Puzzled, he scanned the people waiting in the reception area, shook his head, and strode out.
“Nice.” The twenty-something receptionist smirked. She sported pale makeup and purple eyeshadow along with black hair and eyeliner. “Police escort.” Grinning, she took the crate and handed it to the technician, who ushered us into a small examining room.
I must change that tone. My face hot, I dug out the phone, read the text. It was Eddy. “How’s Boots?” I powered down and stuffed the cell back in my pocket.
The technician took the cat behind closed doors into another part of the clinic, leaving me to fret alone. After much pacing during a half hour wait, the doctor entered the tiny room with the cat. “Boots will be fine. The X-ray doesn’t show any internal damage. I stitched him up and gave him pain medication. He needs to wear a collar to prevent him from licking his wound. Keep him quiet for the next few days. He had quite a scare.” He was a friendly middle-aged man with a breezy manner and a sense of humor. He had brown hair and wore polo shirts and blue jeans, never a white coat, and spoke with a slight lisp.
“Thank you, doctor.” I cuddled the cat. Now that he’d been medicated, he was calm.
