“He’s a nice guy.”
She wrapped her hands around her throat. “The kiss of death.”
In the IT office, Eric sat at his desk, rubbing his head. He looked up and smiled when I entered. “Hey, Rose, you’re becoming quite a regular around here.”
“Actually, today I have a different favor to ask you.”
“I don’t know. This might cost you another sandwich.” When I handed him my computer his smile changed to a look of horror. “What the hell did you do, hurl it off a building?”
“My apartment was ransacked last night. Everything I own was broken, smashed or shredded.” I ran my fingers over my ponytail.
Eric jumped out of his seat and rounded the desk. “My God, Rose, are you all right?” Placing his hands on my arms, gave me a once over.
“I’m fine. I was at your place when it happened. Really, I’m fine.”
“You think Sullivan did this?” Eric asked.
Roxy propped her hip on the edge of his desk. “Yes.”
I stepped out of Eric’s hold, pulled up a chair, and dropped into it, rubbing a hand over my eyes. I was tired beyond belief. “I don’t know for sure. Probably.”
“Why?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Another warning? Quit looking for Axton, quit asking questions, blah blah blah. Anyway, I can’t afford a new laptop. Is this one fixable?”
Eric glanced down at the broken hinge and hit the power button. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks. I get paid next week, so let me know how much—”
“Rose, stop. I’m not charging you. This will be a test of my skills. I welcome it.” He stepped back to the desk and dismissed me, focusing instead on the laptop.
“Thanks, Eric, I’ll see you later.”
I dropped Roxy off at Ma’s and headed to Walmart, where I bought makeup, toiletries, two pillows, two bras, two packages of underwear and socks, a phone charger, and the largest coffee pot on the shelf. I swung by the grocery store and stocked up on generic pop tarts and ramen noodles, then I stopped by a mattress store and bought a new firm futon, which the salesman promised, would be delivered the next day. My last pit stop was Goodwill where I scoured the racks for a limited amount of jeans, t-shirts, and sweats. With my depleted bank account, I was lucky the volunteer at the counter took pity on me and tossed in two blankets.
Back at my apartment, the super left the new keys in my mailbox as promised. I hauled all the bags up the stairs. I didn’t even hesitate at the door. I was operating on fifteen cups of high octane coffee and zero sleep. If there was a destructive maniac waiting for me, I’d whack him over the head with my Walmart bags, then tase the crap out of him with my new stun gun for good measure.
It took less than twenty minutes to unpack my worldly goods. Wasn’t too hard since I didn’t even have a dresser to unpack things into. As I looked around my barren apartment and the empty futon frame, my anger grew. It was a craptastic futon, but it was mine. My futon, my clothes, my milk. Someone invaded my privacy and not only destroyed my stuff, but my peace of mind. Not someone. Sullivan. He followed me, kidnapped me, threatened my friends and family.
I whipped out my cell and the notebook paper Sheila gave and punched in the number I’d dialed just two days ago.
He didn’t answer, went straight to voice mail. Which pissed me off even more.
“Hey asshole,” I yelled into the phone. I paced from my bathroom door to my kitchenette and back again, my phone hand shaking with agitation. “I just want to know one thing. Did you get your rocks off when you slashed my panties, you perv?” I jabbed the end button and paced back to the living room. I was fired up and needed to get out of there.
I jumped in my car and drove to Roxy’s. She answered the door wearing a traditional, but super short pink and white kimono. “I’m going to talk to Sheila. You in?”
“Yep.” She slipped her feet into wooden sandals.
“Don’t you want to change?
“No, why?”
When we got to Sheila’s house, I parked on the street. Roxy whistled as we walked up to the front door. “Nice digs, huh? And you grew up in a place like this?”
“Not exactly, but close enough.”
“Do you miss it?”
I thought back to the house where I’d been raised with my mother’s coldness and my dad’s apathy. I’d never felt at home there. “No.”
“Well, I’d miss it.”
Sheila answered the door and she didn’t look good. Instead of the pulled together, suburban mom outfit she usually sported, she wore dirty jeans and a faded green t-shirt. Her hair looked limp and there were dark circles under her eyes.
“Hi, Sheila. This is my friend Roxy. We need to talk.”
Sheila’s gaze flicked from Roxy’s bright blue hair, down to her kimono, her bare legs, to the sandals on her feet. She paused a beat before her ingrained manners kicked in. “Hello, Roxy. Nice to meet you. Come in.”
Roxy openly looked around the foyer, taking in the marble tile and the crystal chandelier. “This is really nice,” she said, her voice a little hushed.
“Thanks. Would you like some tea or coffee?”
“Coffee would be great,” I said.
“This way.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen.
I spotted a pile of mail on a small table in the foyer. On top was a letter from Huntingford Bank and Trust.
“Roxy.” I pulled her next to me. “Keep her busy for a second.”
Roxy nodded and followed Sheila.
I quickly rifled through the mail. There were several bills from different credit card companies. I held the letter from the bank up to the light, but couldn’t see a thing.
I desperately wanted to know what was inside. If Packard had a gambling problem, a bank statement would reflect that. If he owed one hundred ninety-six thousand dollars to someone — cough, Sullivan, cough — he must be in real financial trouble.
“Rose,” Sheila called from the kitchen.
I jammed the letter in my purse, my heart beating so fast I thought I might have a heart attack there on the spot.
“Sorry,” I said, hustling into the kitchen, “I have to keep retying these stupid shoelaces.”
“I keep telling you to get new laces. Ones that aren’t so long,” Roxy said. She pointed to me and shook her head. “Every day we go through this.”
Sheila poured two cups of coffee and set them on the counter in front of us. She grabbed a bowl of sugar and a carton of creamer from the fridge and placed them with a couple of spoons next to the coffee. “Any news on Axton?”
“We’re making progress,” I said. “Are you okay, Sheila? You look tired.”
She ran a shaky hand through her hair and tried to smile. She failed. “I don’t know what’s going on with Pack.”
“I came to tell you we followed him last night.”
“He said he had a city council meeting.”
“Yeah, well he lied,” Roxy said.
I dug my elbow into her side and frowned.
“What’d I say?” she asked.
“He lied to me?” Sheila placed a hand over her heart. “If he didn’t go to the meeting, where did he go?”
“There’s an old school out in the country,” I said. “They have illegal gambling there.”
“I know Pack likes to gamble a little. Why would he lie to me about it?”
