Sink Trap (3 page)

He had a point. Just that week we’d fished a Tiffany wedding ring out of a kitchen trap and a ruby belly-button ring from a shower drain. But I figured this brooch was special, the kind of thing that would have Miss Tepper on the phone to a plumber to retrieve it the very day it was lost.

“Barry, this isn’t the kind of thing you leave sitting on the sink, or wear in the shower. She wore this on her jacket every day.”

“And she probably came in here for a final inspection before she left.” He shook his head. “She owned the building, after all. That pin is old. It probably broke or unpinned itself and fell off, and she didn’t even notice.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“I’m sure she’s missed it by now, and doesn’t know where she lost it. Think how happy she’ll be to get it back.” He grinned at me. “You’ll be her hero.”

It was my turn to shrug. “If you think so,” I said slowly.

Barry laughed. “Now you’re sounding like Paula, and I get enough of that at home! Always has to be a dramatic story with her.”

“Okay.” I would have raised a hand in surrender, but I had a toolbox in one, and the bucket in the other. “You’re probably right. I bet she’ll be glad to see it again.”

I dumped the bucket, Barry stowed his tools, and we made a last sweep through the job site. Another one of Barry’s rules: Leave the job site as clean, or cleaner, than you found it.

“I’ll take this pin over and show it to Paula tomorrow,” I said. “Maybe she’ll have Miss Tepper’s new address.”

“Why not bring it over now? Join us for dinner.”

It was my turn to shake my head. “Got a date. Besides, Paula just might want to see her husband alone.” I shoved the brooch in my pocket. “Rain check? Later this week?”

Barry nodded. He stepped up into his big Dodge Ram with the dual rear wheels. “Sure. I’ll check with you tomorrow.”

Next to the hulking pickup, my thirty-year-old Beetle looked even tinier than it was. The car had been a high school graduation gift from my dad, who had stored it for me when I moved to San Francisco after college. Now it served as my primary transportation.

I dodged through the late rush hour, my mind still on that brooch. Fortunately, although suburban Portland traffic had grown worse in the last few years, there were still back roads around the gridlock of the east side.

Then again, maybe not.

The traffic gods cursed me, and the single-file line of cars I was driving in slowed to a crawl, then stopped entirely. An endless stream of SUVs and pickups stretched around the next curve and stacked up in my rearview mirror, lights on as far as I could see.

We crept along so slowly the speedometer of the Beetle refused to register. Each time we moved, I hoped it would be a break in the traffic jam, but it wasn’t happening.

Wade had promised me dinner in Portland, I was at least twenty minutes from home, and I needed time to shower, do something with my hair, and change. The forty-minutes-in-good-traffic drive back into town meant we were already going to miss our reservation.

I glared at my cheap plastic watch, then shrugged and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. Might as well get this over with.

Wade answered on the first ring and I wondered if he had been expecting me to call.

Caller ID ratted me out even before he answered the phone, and the wary tone in his voice confirmed my suspicions.

“Georgie?”

Wade had used my high school nickname since I came back to Pine Ridge, a reminder that we had been high school sweethearts. What we were now was anybody’s guess. We had started dating again, but the relationship was still in that early, getting-to-know-you-again stage, and neither one of us was sure where we were going.

Or where we wanted to go.

“Yeah, Wade. It’s me.”

“Where are you? I’m just getting in the car. I should be at your place in five minutes.”

Every place in Pine Ridge was five minutes from everywhere else. So far. But the suburban sprawl that was responsible for my current predicament was getting closer.

“That was why I was calling,” I said. I swallowed hard
and continued. “I’m stuck in traffic, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to get better anytime soon.”

“You want to meet me somewhere? Or we can take two cars and I’ll meet you at Ray’s?”

I laughed. “I wish I could. I’ve been under a sink all day, and I wouldn’t even go to Mickey D’s without a shower.”

Traffic surged ahead and I had an instant of hope, a moment when I thought we could salvage the evening. But we stopped as suddenly as we had started. I’d moved about fifty yards.

So much for that plan.

I stopped laughing, and real regret filled my voice. “Really, Wade. I wish I could. But there’s no way. We’ll miss our reservation. Can I have a rain check?”

As I waited for his answer, I debated inviting him to my place. But it was too soon, and I wasn’t sure what he might think it meant. For that matter,
I
wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Wade? Is that okay?”

“Sure, Georgie. No problem.” He chuckled, though it sounded a little hollow. “To tell the truth, the City Council meeting ran long this afternoon. I could use the time to catch up on some work.”

Wade had been elected to the City Council shortly before I moved back to Pine Ridge, and he took his position seriously. It took up a lot of his time, so much that I suspected his political ambitions were aimed a little higher than Councilman.

Make that a lot higher.

“I really am sorry,” I said. After we exchanged good-byes, I hung up and turned my attention back to the traffic.

Forty excruciating minutes later, I pulled the Beetle into my driveway and went inside the house, which suddenly stank like week-old garbage, thanks to my odiferous presence. I desperately needed a shower after working in a filthy warehouse all day.

Daisy and Buddha greeted me at the door, joyfully appreciating my reeking attire. But they had their own emergencies to tend to. They wanted out, and I hurried through the house to open the back door. They dashed for their favorite bushes, relieved to get outside.

I closed the back door while I went to shower. The dogs wouldn’t want to come in until they were through smelling every blade of grass. I couldn’t leave them outside while I was away—they had performed the Airedale version of “Lonely Boy” a few too many times—but they were fine as long as I was home.

Ten minutes later, I toweled my short hair dry. I’d kept it long and styled when I lived in San Francisco, but since I started working for Barry the Plumber, short hair was a lot more practical. I was liking practical a lot these days.

I’d also given up the expensive highlights and tints, letting my hair revert to its natural dark brown. Someday, I was sure, I would have to start coloring it again, or resign myself to going silver. But that was still several years away.

I hoped. I certainly couldn’t judge by my mother. I didn’t think she’d seen her natural hair color since I was a little kid.

I’d laid out my black silk trousers and pale gray cashmere sweater before work, with a pair of black flats and sterling silver hoop earrings. Instead, I grabbed jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt and put the slacks and sweater back in the closet. Maybe another day.

The clothes, and the jewelry, were all that were left from my fast-paced trip through the world of high tech and dot-coms.

Those, and the “toy” I kept in the garage. I bought the candy apple red vintage Corvette when I cashed my first stock options. It was completely impractical for Silicon Valley, but it was proof I’d made it.

Eighteen months later I drove the Corvette back through Portland, loaded with the remains of my Union Square wardrobe, and parked it in the garage of my rented bungalow.

Samurai Security was no longer mine, thanks to the double-dealing of Blake Weston and his partners, and the dot-com crash hadn’t helped matters any.

The Jimmy Choos went to a consignment shop, along with the Italian suits and a couple of Fendi handbags.

But I kept the Corvette.

Not that I got to drive it much. It wasn’t any better suited to the great North-wet than it was to the hills and congestion of San Francisco. But on the occasional sunny summer afternoon, it was still heaven to drive over the sweeping curves of Mount Hood.

I opened the back door, and Daisy and Buddha bounded through. They knew the drill. It was treat time.

I grabbed a couple green treats and told them to sit. Daisy sprawled on the floor and Buddha squatted, his tail sweeping the floor in anticipation.

Close enough.

I tossed each of them a treat, which disappeared in a microsecond.

Dinner was my next objective. I stared into the refrigerator, looking for inspiration.

My mother would have a fit if she could see this. Even now, with a full-time job, she kept her refrigerator stocked with fresh vegetables, fruit, and carefully arranged plastic containers of casseroles. She planned her meals in advance, and she always knew what she had on hand.

That much organization made me crazy.

My refrigerator, on the other hand, contained a half can of dog food with a scrap of foil on top because I couldn’t find the snap-on lid, some leftover chow mein from the weekend, half a six-pack of local microbrew, two cartons of low-fat yogurt, a jar of salsa, and a shaker of parmesan cheese.

It was a bachelor fridge, a bad habit I’d picked up while working eighty- and hundred-hour weeks.

Somewhere there had to be a happy medium, but I hadn’t found it yet.

I thought about calling Barry and taking him up on his
offer of dinner, but he’d said Paula was waiting for him, so they would have already eaten. I could wait until tomorrow to talk to Paula. No telling how long that brooch had been lodged down that pipe. It was old news—and it would keep.

The microbrew and parmesan cheese did give me an idea. Garibaldi’s had been our favorite hangout when Wade and I dated in high school. I hadn’t had their pizza in years, and just the name had me craving tomato sauce and pepperoni.

A quick check of the local phone book assured me they were still in business and still delivered. I grabbed the cordless phone, and had the promise of a large pepperoni with olives and onions in twenty minutes.

I thought again about calling Paula while I waited. I glanced at my watch. 9:05. A bit late—she and Barry weren’t night owls like me. They were early morning risers. She’d be busy cleaning up, or halfway to bed at this hour. I curbed my impatience and told myself to wait until tomorrow.

I set out a plate and napkins, and thought about the microbrew in the refrigerator. Daisy and Buddha tried to convince me they needed more treats, but I wasn’t falling for their begging. I’d learned not to give in, no matter how cute they looked.

Instead, I grabbed their leashes and called to the dogs. I’d discovered the therapeutic value of dog walking when I lost Samurai Security. I realized I thought better on my feet with a couple of Airedale companions. Besides, it helped keep me slender enough to fit in the handful of size 8s I’d brought back from San Francisco.

I debated calling Sue Gibbons, my best friend in the world. For Sue, it wasn’t too late to call. It wouldn’t bother Sue if I called at midnight—she was a night owl, too, and would be reading a murder mystery, or watching TV, or both at the same time—but there were standards of decorum in the Neverall household, and calling anyone after 9 p.m. was forbidden except in cases of extreme emergency.

Someday I would defeat my mother’s training, but that day wasn’t today. I grabbed my keys and phone, and snapped the leads on the dogs’ collars.

I was on my way out the door when my cell phone rang. I fished it from the pocket of my Gore-Tex wind-breaker and glanced at the caller ID, in case it was my mother.

I fully expected her to call and ask how my date went, though I figured noon tomorrow would be the earliest she’d try that ploy.

She had been trying to fix me up with men she considered appropriate ever since I came back to Pine Ridge. Wade, with his degree from a local university, a seat on the City Council, and political aspirations, was very appropriate, in my mother’s opinion.

Instead, as if on cue, I saw Sue’s number. Well, the number of Doggy Day Spa, Sue’s grooming business. I flipped the phone open, wondering why she was calling from the shop at this hour.

“Why are you still at work?” I asked.

“Why are you answering your phone?” she countered.

“Uh, because it
rang
? You know, the telephone rings, a person answers, the other person talks to them? You’ve heard of this procedure, right?”

“I expected your voice mail. You always turn the phone off when you’re on a date. You said you were going to dinner with Wade tonight.”

I squeezed the phone against my shoulder so I could calm the dogs, who were now straining toward the door, anxious for their walk.

“We canceled—”

“Do tell!” Sue interrupted. “I don’t need
all
the dirty details, but . . .”

“I got stuck in traffic and we missed our reservation. I came home and ordered a pizza. End of story.”

“If you say so,” she replied. I could imagine her waving her hand in dismissal. “Any pizza left?”

Talking to Sue was like an amusement park ride. The
conversation dipped and swooped like a roller coaster, all dizzying turns and sudden changes of direction.

“Hasn’t been delivered yet. I was taking the guys for a walk before I ate. We have twenty”—I looked at my watch again—“make that eighteen minutes before the delivery guy gets here.”

Daisy and Buddha tried to trip me up with the leashes as they dragged me toward the front door.

“Garibaldi’s, right? Pepperoni? Olive? Onion?”

“Yeah . . .”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. You said pizza, my stomach reminded me I hadn’t had dinner. This stuff ”—I heard her shuffling papers atop the disaster area she laughingly calls her desk—“will still be here morning.”