Crazy Little Thing (13 page)

I STRUGGLED TO GET THE brush through Paige’s hair. It was knotted and crusty and smelled suspiciously like raspberries. The kids and I were in the kitchen with Dody while she made her morning cauldron of gloppy oatmeal.

“Ouch,” Paige complained.

When the phone rang she jumped away. “My turn! I’ll get it.” She picked up the receiver. “Hello? Aunt Dody’s house.” After a minute, she giggled. “No, silly. Princesses don’t answer the phone. I’m Paige.” She paused again, one hand on her hip, the other holding the phone to her ear. I was struck with a vision of my future teenage daughter.

Paige nodded. “Yes, she’s brushing my hair, but she’s not being nice about it at all. Just because I dipped it in yogurt.”

“Is that what that is?” I said. No wonder it was such a mess.

Paige giggled again. “No, it tasted the same. OK, I will.” Then she handed the phone to me. “Des wants to talk to you.”

There went that annoying and persistent buzz of anticipation again. That must be what the Highlander feels whenever another immortal shows up.

“Hello?” I tried to sound skinny.

“Sadie? Hi, it’s Des.”

“Hi.”

Dody stopped stirring to blatantly eavesdrop.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but I’m in a bit of a bind. I wondered if you could help me out.”

Dear God, please, please, make him need help taking off his pants
.

“What do you need?”

“I’m waiting on a package that’s supposed to arrive by ten, but I just got called in early to work. Is there any chance you could come down here and sign for it?”

That sounded easy. And platonic. “Sure. I can do that.”

I heard a sigh of relief from his side. “Really? Fantastic! Thank you.”

“No problem. Should I come right now?”

“If you could. Sorry to mess up your morning.”

“Oh, I think my social obligations can wait. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Realistically I needed twenty to sufficiently beautify, but what would be the point of that? We were ships passing in the night anyway.

Dody clapped her hands together as I hung up the phone. “Oh, my!”

I held up my hand to silence her. “Dody, he just needs somebody there to sign for a package. Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s just a neighborly favor.”

She crossed her arms. “Alberta Schmidt lives right next door to the Pullmans’. Why didn’t he ask her to do it? She’s closer.”

“Probably because we owe him, like, ten favors already. And because she smells like bad cheese.”

“She is a little gassy,” Dody admitted. “Ukrainian, you know.”

I had no idea what that meant, but didn’t have time to get into it. I had five minutes to splash water on my face and find an outfit that displayed casual sophistication while hinting at dormant sensuality. Even a ship in the night wants to look good.

Fifteen minutes later, Des greeted me at his front door.

“Thanks so much for doing this,” he said. “I really have to run. Just lock the door when you leave. There’s coffee, if you want some.” He pointed over at the counter with one hand and scooped up his keys with the other. “If the package isn’t here by ten and you have to leave, don’t worry about it.”

“No, I’m good. Dody’s got the kids.”

We stood at the front door like a little old married couple, with him heading off to work while I stayed home to clean the house and drink vodka from a coffee cup. I half expected him to kiss my cheek. But he only smiled and left, waving from the driver’s seat of his sporty convertible and zipping away to his glamorous job saving lives.

I shut the door and leaned back against it.

Wait a second.

I was alone in Dr. Desmond McKnight’s house. Well, shit. I had free rein to snoop to my heart’s content. He’d never know.

Oh, where to start? The bedroom? The bathroom? The family room?

I stepped into the living room and felt a queasy rush to my stomach. I paused and turned toward the bedroom, feeling another roll of unease. I waited. Technically going through his stuff was a) unethical; b) unwise; c) inevitable; or d) all of the above. This situation required a second opinion.

I pulled the phone from my pocket and called Penny.

“Hey,” she answered.

“Hey, guess where I am?” A quiver of adrenaline squeaked in my voice.

“Um, the secretary of state’s office?”

I stomped a foot. “No! Why would I call you from the secretary of state’s office?”

“I don’t know. Why do you always call me from Dody’s pantry?”

“Because it’s the only place no one ever looks for me.” It was also because I loved gazing at the pristine splendor of the newly labeled shelves and alphabetized canned goods. “Anyway, I’m at Des’s. He asked me to wait here for a package because he had to go to work.”

“Interesting.” I waited, knowing Penny’s mind would travel the same yellow-brick road as mine. “So, what have you learned, Dorothy?”

“That’s why I’m calling. I’ve had an attack of conscience. Do I look around or mind my own business?”

“Oh, please! You have to look around!”

“But what if I find something awful? Like kiddie porn or a Josh Groban poster.”

“Shut up. I love Josh Groban.”

I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn’t see me. “Focus, Penny. What should I do?”

“At least look in the bedroom to see how messy he is.”

That seemed like an acceptable option. The master bedroom was on the first floor, so it wasn’t as if I was really snooping. Not if I didn’t go upstairs. I peeked in from the doorway, feeling nervous, as if I had Des whispering into my ear instead of Penny.

The bedroom was nondescript, full of the Pullmans’ very traditional furniture. The bed itself was half-made, with a champagne-colored spread pulled up but not tucked in at the top. I could see the slight indentation on one pillow where Des’s head must have been. I felt an insatiable urge to run my fingers over the spot or maybe slip my hand between the sheets to feel his warmth. I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat.

“Penny, I don’t think I should go in his room.”

“What’s the matter, Colonel Sanders? Chicken?”

“No. It just seems wrong somehow.”

“Why? Because it’s calculating and invasive?”

“I love that you realize that and yet still encourage me to do it. You are a terrible sister.”

She laughed into the phone. “Why do you call me with your own bad ideas and then judge me for supporting you?”

“Sorry. I guess this just bothers me because it’s what I used to do to Richard, you know? Go through all his pockets looking for receipts and condom wrappers.”

“Yeah, but what difference does it make what you find at that house? Unless you come across some kinky gizmo in the goodie drawer.”

“Ick! I am so not looking in Joanna Pullman’s goodie drawer. I don’t care about their junk. I’m interested in his junk. Wait, that came out wrong.”

“Uh, like Freudian wrong.” Penny laughed. “Anyway, I still don’t see what difference it makes what you find. Unless...are you starting to like this guy?” My sister’s voice lifted.

“No,” I said, sounding as defiant as Jordan when I tell him it’s bedtime.

Penny laughed again. “It’s OK to like him, you big coward. Maybe he’s one of the good ones. Like Jeff. There are a few of them out there. And you deserve somebody awesome, especially after what The Dick put you through.”

“But what if this guy is as much a jerk as Richard was?”

“If he is, then tell him to go fuck himself because you can find somebody better. You really can, Sadie. I’m not making this up to make you feel better. Dick was a cheating shmuck, but you’re still acting like the divorce was your failure. It wasn’t. And if you like this guy, hell, even if you don’t, you should go for it.”

“But that’s no good. Eventually he’ll get assigned someplace else, and I’ll be back to Glenville in September. We’d be breaking up as soon as we got started.”

“So you’re not even going to try? Honestly! Is there a mirror in that house?”

“What?”

“A mirror. Find a mirror and stand in front of it.”

God, my sister was pushy. I stepped inside the master bedroom and planted myself near the mirror over the bureau.

“OK, Miss Bossy-Pants. Now what?”

“Now say, ‘I am fabulous.’”

I laughed in spite of myself. “You sound like Fontaine. Now
he’s
fabulous.”

“Stop trying to change the subject, Sadie. I’m doing an intervention here.”

Big sigh. I looked into the mirror at my frazzled self. There was a nice, rosy glow to my cheeks. And I had a little tan going on. And come to think of it, my hair was sort of pretty.

“I am fabulous,” I murmured into the phone.

“Louder, and less sarcastic.”

“I am fabulous.”

“Good,” Penny said. “Now say this. I deserve a really great guy because I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and, darn it, people like me.”

I burst out laughing. “Isn’t that what Al Franken used to say when he was a comedian instead of a politician?”

“Isn’t that the same thing? Anyway, say it.”

I shook my head, still laughing. “Look, I get where you’re going with this, Penn, and I appreciate it. I really do. I hear you, and I’ll think about it. OK?”

“Promise?”

“Yes! Geez, I only called so you’d absolve me of guilt for going through his stuff. What a pain you are.”

“I’m your sister. That’s my job. And speaking of job, I’m really sorry, but I have to get back to work. Call me later and tell me what you find, deal?”

“Deal.”

I slipped the phone back in my pocket and stared at myself for another moment. I wasn’t half bad looking. OK, if I was totally honest, I was pretty OK looking. I’d held up. One nice byproduct of Richard’s cheating had been my nearly psychotic drive to stay in shape, thinking I could cardio-boot-camp my way into a secure marriage. I couldn’t, of course. But I sure as hell could’ve kicked the redhead’s ass in a street fight. Well, not a street fight because I was too ladylike for that. But I bet I could run faster than her.

In the mirror, the reflection of Des’s half-made bed caught my eye. That enticing pillow dent was calling. I kind of wanted to smell it. But that would be weird, right?

Bitchy the cat sashayed past me from whereabouts unknown to jump onto the bed. She lay down right in the center, glaring at me. Then just to prove how her derision of me knew no boundaries, she pointed one hind leg at the ceiling and proceeded to lick herself.

I glared at her, hoping to make her bashful, but she was one bold ho. Giving up, I turned to leave the room, and the doorbell rang, startling me. I’d forgotten all about the package.

I ran to the door and yanked it open, accidentally smacking it against the table in the foyer. A chubby, unshaven delivery man in a mustard-colored shirt about three sizes too small greeted me. He was holding a big envelope and a clipboard.

“Hello,” he said, squinting at the clipboard and running a thick, stubby finger down the list. “I have a package for...a Mr. Delmondo McNaught?”

“Desmond McKnight?” I asked.

He pushed his glasses against the bridge of his nose. “Close enough.” He handed me the board and a sticky pen.

How to sign this? Should I put Des’s name or mine? I decided to go with his, partly because I had yet to outgrow that schoolgirl thrill of doodling a cute boy’s name. And also because if I inadvertently authorized a delivery for some nefarious mobster named Delmondo McNaught, I didn’t want anyone to trace it back to me.

“Thank you, Mrs. McKnight,” the delivery man said. He turned and waddled back to his truck.

Mrs. McKnight? My, my, didn’t that have a lovely ring to it?

I stepped back, and the door bumped against the table again. I pondered that for a minute, finally deciding to be outrageously presumptuous and move the table to the other wall. Maybe Des wouldn’t even notice. Most men didn’t pay attention to things like that. Then I set the envelope down on the relocated table. My work here was done. Still, I wasn’t quite ready to leave. I liked being inside his space, even though it clamored loudly of the Pullmans’ presence.

I wandered through the living room, sitting on the suede L-shaped sofa, reveling in the cush factor. I imagined, for one secret moment, reclining on the sofa with Des next to me.

Bitchy came out from the bedroom, thoroughly washed. I sensed what was going on in her little feline mind. She wanted me out of there. She was going to take kitten chow pellets and spell out a message on the floor for Des. It would say, “Weird neighbor lady stayed all morning. I hate her.”

Cats are so vindictive.

“Come on, baby. Let Mommy get your jammies on, please?” I was tired. I wanted to get my kids through with their baths and into bed. Paige was in her nightgown but Jordan was wiggling in front of me while I tried to dry him off. Somehow I always ended up the wettest during their bath time.

Murmured voices floated up from downstairs. Kyle was coming by to pick up Fontaine for some interior-designer event. Dody had a date with a man from her scuba-diving class since Harry was away visiting his grandson, and Jasper had a date with Beth, who had finally returned from her lengthy business trip. It would be a full house for a while, but soon they’d all go on their way, and then I could get the kids to bed and have a little peace and quiet.