Sink Trap (5 page)

Either way, it looked like she really needed to have a big garage sale. It would cost her a fortune to move all this stuff, especially the heavy, old-fashioned furniture. It looked like family stuff, so maybe she’d want to keep it after all, despite the cost of transporting it halfway across the country.

The house, though small and crowded, had been kept up, and we hadn’t found nearly as many problems here as we had at the warehouse.

That should please Gregory, which in turn would please Sandra.

I tried not to speculate about the relationship between my mother and her boss, but some things refuse to be ignored, even by my scattered mind. My father had been gone for three years, and I wanted Mom to start dating again. I just wasn’t sure I wanted her to date Gregory Whitlock.

It wasn’t that there was anything obviously wrong with Gregory. At least nothing that I could put my finger on. He was a little too smooth, a bit too perfect, to be believed. I’d had my fill of smooth men, and I’d learned not to trust them with my heart or my business.

I suspected my mother was trusting Gregory Whitlock with both.

“Georgiana?” My mother’s voice echoed down the hallway of the empty house. She peered through the door.

I was lifting the lid off the toilet tank, while Barry made notes on the condition of the fixture. It was functional, but an older, high-flow model. Once it was removed
to retile the floor, the local building ordinance said it couldn’t be reinstalled.

I lowered the slab of porcelain back into position. It thunked loudly into place, despite my efforts to lower it gently. Someday, I swore, I would learn how to do that without making a sound.

“Yes?” I avoided calling her “Mother,” since we were on the job. Instead, I didn’t call her anything. At least that wouldn’t bother Barry.

“Are we still on for Tuesday night?”

I glanced at her in confusion. “Tuesday?”

“Yes, Georgiana. Tuesday. Dinner with me and Gregory? You do remember we talked about this, don’t you?”

I shook my head. “Tuesday’s class night. I’m sure I told you that.”

Barry motioned for me to turn on the water in the bathtub, then flushed the toilet while the water was running. The tub stream slowed to a trickle, and he scribbled in his notebook.

“Are you sure you can’t make it?” Sandra Neverall was not a woman to take no for an answer. But this time she would have to.

I turned off the pale brown dribble in the tub, and looked up at her. “No way I can miss my class. We’ll have to make it another night.”

“Monday, then.” The note of triumph in her voice told me she knew exactly which nights I had class, and had maneuvered me into her schedule. I had to admire her negotiating skill.

“Monday,” I conceded. “Just so I don’t miss my class.”

“I really don’t see why you have to go to some class,” she said. “You already have more education than you need.”

Barry slid in front of me and stepped into the hall, gently forcing my mother back toward the kitchen. “Now, Mrs. Neverall, you know Georgiana has to log the classroom hours if she wants to get her certificate.”

“I know,” she said, leading our little parade down the
hall. “Though I really don’t understand why she doesn’t just settle down and get married.” She looked back over her shoulder at Barry. “Would you want your daughter to be a plumber?”

Barry laughed, a hearty rumble from deep in his chest. “I don’t think I’m going to have much say. She told me last week that she was going to be a doctor.” He chuckled again. “The thought of paying for medical school had me wishing she
did
want to be a plumber.”

Sandra muttered something under her breath. I had a good idea what. Money and medicine were a bad conversational combination when it came to her. I needed to change the subject, before she brought up my dad.

The thought crossed my mind, as it often did, that he was a large part of my problem with my mother. His death had left her with massive debts, and I was putting every penny I had into Samurai Security. I hadn’t been able to help her when she needed it, and by the time I could, she was established with Whitlock and didn’t need me.

I remembered the brooch, in the pocket of my jacket, hanging on a hook by the back door. I decided it was time for a distraction.

“Hold on a second, there’s something I want you to look at.” I walked back through the kitchen, and fished the brooch out of my pocket.

When I came back, my mother was glaring at the kitchen sink, as though she could heal the worn and pitted surface through sheer force of will. Barry was looking uncomfortable, and my mother’s bitterness filled the room like an invisible elephant.

Definitely time for a change of subject.

I held out the brooch to my mother, who hesitated a moment before taking it. She held it at arm’s length to look at it, turning it over in her hands. She was at the age where her arms were never quite long enough to focus, but she wouldn’t admit it in public. She swore she could see every bit as well as she could when she was a kid. I knew better, though, since I’d seen the reading glasses
she’d stashed in several places around her house. She knew what the problem was, but she was prepared to will it out of existence. My mother, the queen of denial.

“This is Martha Tepper’s,” she said after a moment. “She wore it every day.” She looked at me accusingly. “How did you get hold of it?”

I plucked the brooch out of her grasp before she could put it in her purse, which she had been preparing to do.

“Found it in the warehouse.”

From behind me I heard footsteps. I turned around to find a couple standing in the doorway. The man was about my height, maybe five-eight, and slight. He wore a cheap suit and brown wingtips, and his sandy hair needed a trim.

The woman would have been a hippie—forty years ago. Gauzy skirt, negative-heel clogs, her dark hair an untamed mane that trailed over her shoulders. I was willing to bet she didn’t shave her legs, but the hem of her skirt swept the floor so I couldn’t be sure.

“You found something in the warehouse? Give it to me,” he demanded.

I held the brooch where he could see it, but I kept a firm grip on it. “And you are?”

“Rick Gladstone. I’m Martha’s attorney.”

The woman cleared her throat loudly.

“
We’re
Martha’s attorneys.” He gestured to her. “My wife, Rachel.”

I nodded at her and turned my attention back to Mr. Gladstone. “This is Miss Tepper’s brooch, I believe. I’d like to return it to her.” I put a slight emphasis on “her.”

Mom’s cell phone beeped, pulling her away from the conversation. My relief when she moved into the other room was outweighed by my irritation at Rick Gladstone.

For some reason, his attitude had lit the fuse on my infamous temper. I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the things my sensei had taught me about self-control.

“Do you have an address for her in Arizona?” I asked, a little more politely. “I really would like to return it personally.”
I smiled, even though I didn’t feel like it. “We’re old friends.”

“And you are?” Rachel mimicked my earlier question.

I was pretty sure it was deliberate, and I added her to my list of irritants.

“This is Georgiana Neverall. She works for me.” Barry interrupted our little hissing match. He’d clearly had enough drama for one afternoon and he was also clearly putting himself in charge.

“We found the brooch in the warehouse.”

Somehow, the information that it had been in the drain suddenly seemed important, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell them exactly where we’d found it. I noticed Barry avoided giving any more details, too.

I thought of Miss Tepper, and I could see her in the library, behind the tall counter with its spinning rack of stamps, the brooch on the lapel of her jacket in the winter, or the collar of her shirt in the summer.

There was no reason that brooch should be here.

That woman would have moved heaven and earth to find it if she’d lost it. It was my responsibility to get it back to her.

“Here’s my card.” Barry handed each of the Gladstones a business card with the office phone number on it. “You can just call the office with Miss Tepper’s new address.”

“Well,” Rachel said slowly, “if you’re sure.” She glanced at her husband. “I think we have her new number back at the office. We’ll get it to you as soon as we can.”

Rachel looked over at me, and gave me a little smile. “She probably didn’t even realize it was gone.”

“Has she asked about it?” I said.

Rachel shook her head. “It’s so hard to keep track of everything when there’s so much going on, I’m sure she just hasn’t missed it. We haven’t talked to her for several days, but I’m sure everything’s fine.”

Rick nodded. “If you’ll excuse us, we came out to check a couple things, but we really need to get back to the office.”

Rachel made a show of checking her watch, and sucked in a big breath. “I had no idea it was so late.”

The two of them hurried out without checking anything, and a moment later I heard a car drive off.

Somehow, I wasn’t reassured. They hadn’t talked to Martha Tepper in several days. Something could have happened in the meantime, and they wouldn’t even know.

There really could be something wrong here.

It was time I started looking into this for real.

2

something smells here

To keep your garbage disposal odor-free, run a citrus rind—orange, lemon, grapefruit—through it about once a week.

—A Plumber’s Tip from Georgiana Neverall

chapter 5

“I’ll check with Paula at lunchtime,” I said, and dropped the brooch into the pocket of my coveralls. “Maybe I can get Miss Tepper’s new address from her.”

Mom came back in from the dining room, shaking her head. “I don’t think anyone has it, except the Gladstones.”

The Gladstones were old friends of Miss Tepper’s. They were handling all the paperwork on the sale of the properties, and I knew Gregory and my mother had been working closely with them.

Still, I was the one who had found the brooch and rescued it from the pipe. It was my responsibility to return it to its rightful owner.

Mom held out her hand, as though to take the brooch back, but I just shook my head and left the jewelry in my pocket. After a few seconds, she let her hand drop.

She’d learned a few things about me over the years, too.

“You don’t think Mr. Whitlock has the address in the real estate records?” I asked.

“I really don’t know. I guess he might have it.” Her expression brightened, and she gave me a dazzling smile. Whatever she was selling, I decided, I wasn’t buying. “Why don’t you ask him at dinner on Monday?”

Barry had disappeared. I could hear rustling near the back door, and I realized he was fiddling with the water heater, in what he called a service porch. Coward!

“Georgie?” he called to me. “I need you to give me a hand with this water heater.”

I shot a glance at my mother. “I better go. If you want the estimate this afternoon, we need to finish up here.”

She started to say something, but her phone rang, and I beat a retreat as she switched to business mode. “Sandra Neverall here. How can I help you?”

Barry was doing just fine with the water heater, and he grinned at me. “You owe me, Neverall,” he said softly.

I grinned back. “I’d offer you my firstborn, but you’d have to settle for an Airedale.”

He shook his head. “Paula has her heart set on a Jack Russell.” He stopped to scribble in his notebook.

“And you said ‘never,’ as I recall.”

“Yeah, but her birthday’s coming . . .”

I laughed. For all his bluster, Barry was devoted to Paula, and if she wanted a Jack Russell, she’d get one.

I heard Sandra end her phone call, her voice sharp with annoyance. Her heels tapped across the kitchen floor, and she peered through the door to where Barry and I crouched at the base of the water heater.