Time Off for Good Behavior (16 page)

I nodded in agreement. He was quiet, watching me. The air around us slowed to a full and complete stop. I couldn
’
t hear a sound but my own breathing.

He reached over and t
ouched my cheek with his fingers, and then with an almost audible crack the air started moving again and the spell was broken. Walter picked up the folded kitchen towel and refolded it, putting it back on the counter before looking at me again.

“
Wanda, I t
hink you should stay here. Just until your ex is found. I
’
m not here much, I won
’
t be bothering you. I just...
”
He sighed and looked around, then back at me and smiled.
“
To be honest, it
’
s nice having someone here. I think it
’
s a good
—
temporary
—
solution fo
r both of us.
”

I stared at him for a minute.

“
Wanda?
”

I held up one hand.
“
I
’
m thinking.
”

It occurred to me that I was a horrible decision maker. Look at George. Look at Shooter. Hell, in college I
’
d been faced with a number of useful majors and chosen lib
eral arts. I glanced up, and my eyes caught on Walter
’
s. He was wearing the most genuine expression of concern I
’
d ever seen. Where did this guy come from, anyway? Did he not have problems of his own? What the hell did he want with mine? Was he crazy? He
m
ust be crazy. Crazier than me? Not likely. But still...

He was obviously just plain nuts.

I sighed, craned my neck, stared down at the little kitchen towel folded in thirds, and before I realized it, I heard the words come out of my mouth.

“
Okay. Thank you.
”

Little crinkles formed at the edges of his eyes. I wanted to touch his face, to express to him how much his help meant to me, to be sincere. Instead...

“
But if you think you
’
re getting any sex out of this, you
’
ve got another think coming, buddy.
”

He lau
ghed.
“
You just can
’
t leave a nice moment alone, can you, Wanda?
”

I shook my head and gave him my best wiseass grin. He pulled me to him in a gentle hug, his chin resting on the top of my head. I closed my eyes and inhaled, trying to imagine that I could h
ave this, that it wasn
’
t a pipe dream, that pursuing Walter could make sense. It was a big fat lie, but my life was in the shitter and I indulged myself. So sue me.

***

“
This is Tony
’
s number, the private investigator looking for your ex. Don
’
t forget to
use the peephole before answering the door. This is the code for the security system.
”
Walter rambled on, referencing a list he
’
d printed out, taking the occasional sip of coffee, which seemed to jog his memory to another detail.

“
Avoid going places where
George might look for you. Call me if anything happens; my direct line at the office and my cell phone are right here.
”

In my defense, I did try not to laugh. He took another sip of his coffee and caught my barely suppressed chuckle.
“
What?
”

“
Nothing,
”
I
said, looking down at the sheet.
“
You do this on the computer?
”

He nodded, and his neck flushed a bit.
“
I
’
m sort of a details guy-
”

I handed him his briefcase.
“
That
’
s why they pay you the big bucks, Walter.
”

He gave a sheepish smile and took the briefcase
.
“
Okay. I
’
ll see you tonight, then? Unless you have other plans...
”

I shook my head and laughed.
“
My dance card was pretty clear, last time I checked.
”

He smiled.
“
Okay.
”
He leaned over, kissed me on the forehead, and left. I watched the door for a while
after it had closed, then rubbed my forehead to get the tingling to go away. I rolled my eyes at myself. Tingling.
Good God.

I took a quick tour through the house. It was big for a single guy: three bedrooms, a living room, a dining room, kitchen, an offic
e, and a finished basement. All of it immaculate. All of it sterile. I thought about stuffing a pair of my panties into the sofa just for fun but decided against it.

Not on my first day, anyway.

The only sign that anyone actually lived in the place was the
mantel in the living room, loaded down with framed pictures. In one of them, a smiling woman who could have been Walter
’
s sister was acting as a human playground for three stair-step kids. In another, an older couple who could have been his parents smile
d
while dancing at what appeared to be an anniversary party. There wasn
’
t a single picture of Maggie, or of Walter for that matter. Hell, the others could have been the pictures that came with the frames. If the smiling woman hadn
’
t looked so much like Wal
t
er, I
’
d have entertained that possibility.

I went into the guest room and fell back on the bed. I imagined Maggie selecting the quilt I was lying on, carefully straightening the sunflower baby picture until it was perfect. I bet it never occurred to her th
at someone like me would stay in that room someday.

I sat up and looked around. Maggie was purple flowers and color-coordinated interior design. I was milk crates for bookcases and cheap, do-it-yourself furniture from Wal-Mart. Walter deserved a Maggie. Wh
at the hell kind of wiseass God would take her from him and send me instead?

I stood up, suddenly feeling like an intruder in a place I didn
’
t belong. I had to get out. I was a little nervous about leaving, but as long as I didn
’
t return to my apartment or
to Hastings Channel 8, I figured I
’
d be okay. George wouldn
’
t know to look for me anywhere else, and I
’
d taken Walter
’
s business card with me when I left the apartment, so there was nothing there linking me to him. Besides, George wasn
’
t a connect-the-do
t
s kind of guy. If I wasn
’
t at my apartment when he came to kill me, he
’
d probably just drink all my booze, pee on my stuff, and be on his way.

Ah. My Prince Charming.

I grabbed my denim jacket off the coatrack and rifled through the pockets for my keys. I
needed to be around people who didn
’
t know about George, who wouldn
’
t feel sorry for me, who would give me a healthy dose of shit and make me feel at home again.

I needed Bones.

***

“
Ow! Dammit, Bones!
”
I turned around from where I was standing in line f
or coffee at Osgiliath
’
s, Tennessee
’
s largest used bookstore, to find Joe Bones standing behind me, his cane still raised from giving me a good thump between my shoulder blades. Bones is the oldest, crankiest, and blackest man in Tennessee and the biggest
pain-in-the-ass client ever to darken the doors of Hastings Channel 8. Those were just some of the reasons why I loved him.

“
What you doing here, girl?
”
he croaked. Bones croaked everything.
“
And on a weekday, too. Don
’
t you have a damn job or something?
”

I threw him a look and moved up in the coffee line.
“
I
’
m between jobs now, Bones.
”

“
You
’
re unemployed is what you are,
”
he said.
“
I called the station looking for you. They said you got yourself fired. Sheesh.
”

I grinned, and my tone turned to teasing.
“
Aw
, Bones. You missed me.
”

“
I didn
’
t miss nothin
’.
”
He huffed and turned around, thumping the floor with his cane.
“
I
’
ll be in my office.
”

The line moved. I watched him stutter his way out of the coffee shop area, taking a left in the bookstore and making fo
r the back. I smiled and stepped up to the counter.

“
I want a mocha grande,
”
I said to the kid taking orders.
“
Bones says it
’
s on the house.
”

***

“
That Blaine Dowd is a damn fool,
”
Bones grunted when I finished my story about getting fired from Channel 8
. No need to tell him any of the stuff after that; the story about Blaine had already gotten him worked up enough.
“
I
’
ve got half a mind to pull all my advertising from that station.
”

“
Yeah, that
’
ll show
’
em.
”
I sat back in the comfy chair opposite Bones
’
s
desk and sipped my mocha.
“
When are you gonna give Shelley the big office, Bones? She does all the work around here, anyway
”

“
I work,
”
he huffed.

“
You know, you could go straight to hell for making your granddaughter run the place from the women
’
s bathroo
m.
”

“
I
’
m going to hell anyway, so might as well do it from a comfortable office.
”
Shelley had a fine office, just a tad smaller than Bones
’
s, but Bones and I had to maintain a level of antagonism in order to conduct a conversation, and arguing about his of
fice typically did the trick.

Bones raised a wiry white eyebrow at me.
“
You come here looking for a job?
”

“
I
’
m taking some time off.
”

“
You
’
re not gonna work?
”

I shrugged.
“
I came into some money.
”
Between my savings, Dowd
’
s check, and the garnished wages f
rom George
’
s paychecks, I could afford to be a bum for another six months or so. But we both knew that wasn
’
t what Bones was talking about.

He pointed one craggy finger at me.
“
That
’
s what
’
s wrong with you kids today. I
’
m eighty-seven years old, and I
’
ve n
ever missed a day of work in my life.
”

I laughed.
“
Did you just actually say
‘
you kids today
’
?
”

“
You gonna sue that son of a bitch Dowd? You got yourself a good lawyer?
”