The door of my office flew open.
“Help me,” Maria Chenier demanded. She slammed a large foam cup and white paper bag down on my desk, then collapsed in the black-and-chrome office chair across from me.
I reached for the cup. “How?”
“That’s a bribe,” she said. “I’m in desperate need.” She shook her curly black hair, spraying fine droplets of water across my desk blotter, then crossed her long, boot-clad legs. At almost six feet tall with strong, even features and a figure that sent most men into adolescent stuttering, she looked anything but desperate.
“Need is such a relative word,” I said, opening the cup lid and taking a quick sip of coffee. “What do we really need? Water, air, food ...”
“Sex.” She gave a low growl of a laugh that probably doubled her tips at Trigger’s.
“What is it with people today? Everyone’s mind is in the gutter. Besides, from a scientific point of view that’s not a need. That’s a want.”
“And where did you hear that lie?”
I looked in the bag and pulled out a large jelly doughnut. “I’d rather have money, but this’ll do.” I took a bite. “Tell me your needs. Your artistic ones, that is.”
“Well, if you can’t get me a good man, I’ll take the next best thing, time at the wheel.” She ran long, jagged-nailed fingers through her wet hair. “I’ve been behind in my pots since I got walking pneumonia last month.”
“Let me look at the schedule.” I reached over, pulled out a battered notebook with a tooth-marked pencil attached and flipped through. “One of the wheels is down and we don’t have money to pay a repairman.” I showed her the filled pages. “Sorry, it’s booked solid for five days.”
“What am I going to do?” She frowned as she twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “My car insurance is due and my mom’s got a thousand-dollar medical bill she needs to pay or the doctor won’t see her again.” She groaned and shook her hair again. “And I’ve got tons of people who have ordered pots for delivery by Christmas. I’d hate to get a flaky reputation. My pottery is the only good thing I have in my life right now.”
I chewed on the pencil and studied the filled pages. I wished she’d told me she needed more time sooner, but one of the earliest lessons I’d learned on this job was that failing to plan ahead was a foible of most creative people.
“You can use it after closing hours,” I said, making a quick executive decision I hoped I wouldn’t regret. “But only if you can find someone to stay up here with you. I don’t want you here alone. It’s against the rules, but we didn’t count on one of the wheels being down so long.”
Her face brightened. “Great! Why don’t you stay with me? We’ll dish the dirt on the other co-op members. The things I could tell you ...”
“Sounds tempting but I can’t. I have to be at Elvia’s bookstore at seven-thirty tonight for an author’s talk.”
“Anybody I’d know?”
“Not unless you’re a bird fancier. Elvia’s booked some guy who’s written about vultures or condors or some bird. According to Elvia, he’s very respected in his field, but she’s afraid no one will show up. She’s a real softie about her authors.”
“So why are you going? Are you into birds?”
I grinned, pulled some three-by-five cards out of my top drawer and waved them. “I’m a shill.”
“Like in Vegas?” She chuckled. “What are those?”
“My spontaneous questions.”
“You’re a better friend than me, Benni.” Shaking her head, she stood up. “I’ll check around and see if any of the others want to stick around tonight.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” I said, walking her to the door. “I’m breaking the rules letting you come up here after scheduled hours so we’d better not make it too obvious. Can you get someone outside the co-op to come with you?”
“I’ll see what Rita’s doing,” she said. “I think she’s off tonight.”
“That reminds me. Where is my dear cousin anyway? Her grandmother is in town and wants to see her.”
Marla dug into her large canvas bag, found a rubber band and pulled her hair back into a thick ponytail. “You know Rita, here and there. Our shifts haven’t overlapped for a week. She hasn’t been home for a couple of days, so I assume she found herself a cowboy and is shacking up for a while.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll hunt her down and tell her to give you a call.”
“Thanks.” I stood up and walked over to the door. “I don’t know how you stand living with her. It about drove me nuts.”
Marla pointed a long finger at me. “You got to live and let live, Benni. You were an old married lady for too long. Forgot what it was like to go weak in the knees at the sight of a man in a pair of tight jeans.”
Shaking my head, I gave my office door a push as someone from the other side pulled. I fell into a pair of strong, tanned arms.
“Whoa, darlin‘,” a deep, raspy voice drawled. “Always knew you’d eventually fall for me.” I smiled up into amused brown eyes, blue-shadowed with fatigue. Though five years older, two inches taller and twenty pounds heavier, my brother-in-law, Wade, reminded me enough of Jack to make my heart beat faster.
“Hey, Marla.” He ran a calloused hand through his gray-streaked chestnut hair. “Lookin‘ good.”
Her face stiffened as she squeezed past him. “You smell like a cattle lot.”
“That’s the smell of money, darlin‘.”
She frowned and turned to me. “Thanks for letting me come in tonight. I owe you.”
“You find Rita and we’re even,” I said. I gestured for Wade to come into my office. He pulled off his wet jacket and flopped down in my chair, propping his dirty boots on my desk. I smacked the side of his jean-clad legs. “That better just be mud on those boots.” I
