While waiting for the much-needed coffee to brew, I called Brenda down at the ranch.
“Monica? You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I retorted as if she had asked me if I was responsible for the dead body on the Dumonts’ floor. Breathe, Monica, breathe. “Sorry, Brenda, didn’t mean to jump at you. Kassandra just called me, and...”
“Your office’s Kassandra? Is she still seeing Tommy?”
“What? No. She broke up with my ex-husband months ago. No. Kassandra said she saw on the morning news that there was a dead body over at—you know—Tristan’s place.”
“Wait, wait. It’s nine a.m. Judging by your mood I assume you just woke up and didn’t have your coffee yet... and the office secretary or whatever her title is, called you to discuss a dead body found at the Dumonts’ residence? Why? I mean, why you?”
Didn’t see that coming.
“Oh, you know Kassandra. She likes to gossip. She wants me to watch the news at the office, because I don’t know... she... I...”
“Spit it out young lady. You what?”
Mercy me, what now? “Apparently the dead person is an older woman, according to the news people, so Kassandra is—betting.” God, what was I saying? “Huh, guessing that it’s Angelique. Brenda, Brenda, I don’t believe it. Please, don’t tell anybody. This is so confusing. Maybe I should get some coffee.”
“Good idea. While you do that, I’ll go tell Angelique to get in her car pronto and get to Phoenix to figure out what’s really going on. Possibly before Tristan gets home.”
“Tristan? Oh, he’s home. I picked him up at the airport. Him and Jessie Smith, don’t know if you remember her. Dropped them off and came home. Okay, coffee is done,” I lied. “Catch you later.” OMG! Why did I call Brenda? What did I start? Well, now I could tell Kassandra that Angelique was down at the ranch, alive and well.
The next hour was like a fog, I did all I had to do, trying to function normally on three hours’ sleep with so many nefarious thoughts twirling in my head I couldn’t imagine making it through the day without doing something stupid like phoning Tristan.
By the time I got into the car, I was so depressed I even considered calling Officer Clarke, Brenda’s ‘just friends’ buddy. Luckily before I succumbed to more stupid decisions, I saw his car parked across the street, in front of the widow’s house, and by the dew on the windshield, he hadn’t just come by for morning coffee either.
Brava, Monica, really good. Kassandra wasn’t the only one with her mind in the gutter. I was right behind her and catching up fast.
I drove all the way to the office with my sunglasses on looking straight ahead, afraid someone would recognize me. Hello? Recognize me? Such a well-known celebrity I was.
The only vehicles in the parking lot of Desert Homes Realty were Kassandra’s, Scott’s, and a white Honda with a temporary plate belonging to a woman who transferred her license from another real estate brokerage. Kassandra said she was a social media influencer who’d come highly recommended by Dale Wolf, our soon to be business partner.
The moment I crossed the threshold some funky smell crawled up my nostrils, and I heard giggles and laughs coming from the kitchen. No one had bothered to see who had just walked into the lobby. What is that thing both Americans and Italians alike say? When the cat's away the mice will play. Time to check out the mice’s status.
Kassandra wasn’t kidding when she suggested we hole up in the kitchen. Both Kassandra and Scott sat around the small table, he had his boot-clad feet propped up on the back of the only unoccupied chair. A third person who I assumed to be the new hire sat with them—what was her name again? Couldn’t think of it, and since the three of them seemed hypnotized by something on the table, I announced myself in a rather cranky way.
“What are you all up to? Who ran over a skunk and then stepped on it?” Chaos followed my innocent questions.
Scott’s feet dropped to the ground with a thud. New hire, holding a glass object that reminded me of the glass tube Brenda’s friends smoked weed from, almost jumped out of her skin. And Kassandra, the keeper of the front door, turned to look at me with crazy eyes. No doubt whatever they had smoked was a contributing factor to their reactions and to the stink.
Before I could say another word, the new person walked toward me, brandishing the glass thingy as if it were a weapon. “I’m allowed to smoke,” she screeched. “I have a medical marijuana card that says so.”
For a long moment no one spoke. I looked at the three fools who must have shared the skunky stuff, and before really pausing to think, I said, “Hold on to that worthless piece of paper. It may come in handy to wipe your butt after you get fired.” I turned around and stamped to the back of the office where my personal cubicle awaited.
I sat there without opening my briefcase or turning on my computer. I had no idea why I acted that way. This wasn’t my house; this was the place where I worked, and I had always tried to be kind to everyone—okay, with the exception of Celine, Sunny’s spoiled brat daughter. One thing I was sure of, while medical pot was legal in Arizona and easy to get, there was no smoking at Desert Homes Realty, of any kind.
Talk about first impressions... I bet Ms. Medical Marijuana will have no problem remembering me. Although I wasn’t willing to admit it, I had been looking forward
