Harry was, er, an escort. And he knew Jean-Claude.
Oh. My. God. Was Jean-Claude moonlighting as a gigolo?
“I have to go talk to her, right?” I asked. “Try to explain.”
It was early Saturday morning and I should have been helping Kit with a “mini”—a mini makeover reserved for smaller yards or certain problem areas—but I knew the McPhains’ yard was perfectly fine in his capable hands.
Plus, he had Marty and Jean-Claude with him. Despite my determination to fire Jean-Claude, I’d taken pity on him since he had been at the Grabinsky site after all—helping Kit.
I was such a sucker. How many chances was I going to give him?
Kit had plenty of manpower to transform a small nonde-script brick patio into something special. Plus, if he needed help he could always call Deanna or Coby, who were at the office.
Instead of helping out, I’d driven over to see Tam.
“I don’t know,” Tam said. “It might make things worse.”
64
Heather Webber
“Worse than getting sued?” I asked.
The tortuous beltlike contraption around her waist was still there. And it had a friend. I could see two squarish lumps underneath her hot pink silk pajama shirt. She’d explained to me that one monitored contractions, the other the baby’s heart rate. As of right now, everything was normal.
The medication she was taking had stopped the contractions.
But she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Which meant I had to find a temp for her.
But not Harry.
I didn’t dare tell her about Jean-Claude possibly being a gigolo. That might send her into irreversible labor.
A notepad balanced on Tam’s belly. She tapped a pencil on it. “You have a point.”
“For once,” Brickhouse Krauss piped in.
“Don’t you have some oxygen to suck?” I asked in a too sweet voice.
“Oh!” Tam said, clutching her stomach.
“What? Is it the baby?” I glanced at the monitors, but everything looked okay. “Should I get the doctor?”
“No, no,” Tam assured me.
Brickhouse had looked ready to leap out of the bed to be of assistance. Actually, she looked rather healthy to me.
Pink cheeks, softly glowing skin. What was she still doing here?
“The baby just kicked a rib is all.”
I glanced at her stomach in time to see a bump move from one side of her body to the other.
Tam laughed.
“What?” I asked.
“You should see your face.”
“Does it always do that?” I asked, horrified. It was like something out of a horror movie.
65
Tam nodded. “You get used to it.”
“Oh.” I didn’t believe her for a minute. You get used to swimming in lukewarm water. You get used to doing your hair the same way. You get used to infomercials. You do not get used to someone poking you from the inside out.
“How about the name Jake?” Tam asked, picking up the notepad, pencil poised.
Mrs. Krauss clucked. “Jake Munroe used to pick his nose in my class.”
Tam crossed that name off her list. “Jane?”
I made a face. “Jane Albertson stole my boyfriend in the first grade.”
Tam and Mrs. Krauss stared at me.
“What?” I asked. “I’m not allowed to hold a grudge?”
Tam crossed that name off her list. “Kevin?”
I gave her the Ceceri Evil Eye.
“All right.” She scratched off that name too.
I got to thinking again about Greta Grabinsky. Maybe going to see her, pleading my case, wasn’t the wisest
