Crunch Time

“Yeah, I know what you were just trying to do.” I forced myself to soften my tone as I pointed to the far end of the kitchen. “Meet me over there.” When we were by the back door, I said, “Please don’t tell Kris they’re staying here.”

“He says he loves Yolanda more than life itself,” Penny whispered. She crossed her small arms over her chest. “He’s not a bad person, really, I mean, not really, really bad, he just has a hard time being faithful—”

“Penny?” I said, interrupting. “You want to keep your job with Marla, don’t you?”

She gave me an angry frown. “All right! I won’t tell Kris she’s here. You don’t have to threaten me. And anyway, Zeke and I have been talking about getting some dogs just forever.”

My heart warmed toward her. “You’re helping us by taking the dogs.”

She hugged her sides in anticipation. “Won’t Zeke be surprised when he hears I’ve adopted three beagles?”

I merely smiled and said, “Yolanda and I are about to leave for our catering assignment. Would you like to take a latte with you?”

I ground more coffee beans while Yolanda packed up the dogs, along with a can of Jake’s food and some old towels I’d given her to line the cardboard box. She began weeping when she handed the container to Penny.

Penny, misreading the situation, said, “Kris will take you back, Yolanda.” She heaved up the box, sending it slightly askew. The puppies slid sideways in the box and began whining. “No worries. I’ve got them. Look, Yolanda, Kris really misses—”

“I don’t care about Kris! I’m just sad to lose the dogs, Penny,” Yolanda said, dashing the tears from her eyes. “They belonged to a friend.”

“Oh?” Penny was immediately curious. “Who?”

I set the wand to steam Penny’s milk on High. This was a neat trick to drown out conversation, because it sounded as if the space shuttle was taking off in the kitchen. Yolanda gave me a grateful glance while I pulled the shots. I quickly poured Penny’s latte into a paper cup, and was glad when Tom and Boyd tromped into the kitchen to say the ramp was done and they were leaving.

“Let’s us go, too!” I cried merrily as I used my non-latte-holding hand to grab Penny’s arm, the way that Tom had taken Humberto Captain’s. I stopped Penny in front of the hall closet, where she put down the box. I helped her into her coat. She gave a curious glance back at the kitchen before again picking up her box of dogs. “Yolanda,” I said over my shoulder, “could you open the front door so Penny can walk to her car without having to put down the box again? I don’t want to spill her coffee.” Yolanda did so, and soon Penny and I were outside, where the chill seemed to be deepening by the minute.

“Goldy, just tell me,” Penny said as she scrambled along beside me down our walk, “who had these dogs before you? I mean, why do you have so many? What’s the big secret?”

“There’s no secret.” I noticed she had no purse. “Where are your keys?”

“Coat pocket.”

I rummaged around in Penny’s pocket and pulled out a tangle of keys. After opening her Jeep door, I placed the latte in the cup holder, took the box of puppies from her, and laid them on the passenger-side floor. In back were all manner of brooms, mops, and vacuum cleaners. Once again, I felt immensely sorry for her. It wasn’t her fault her husband was a criminal; she’d been forced by his car kleptomania into a brutal schedule of housecleaning.

“All right, Penny,” I said. “They belonged to a friend who used to be a cop. He adopted them . . . and then he . . . died suddenly.”

“That sucks.” This seemed to satisfy her, as she got behind the wheel. “Well, I gotta go if I’m going to get these puppies home and then be at my first job.”

“Wait. Penny? I need to ask you something. What day do you work for Kris Nielsen?”

She tucked in her tiny chin. “Why?”

“I just want to know who will be taking care of the dogs that day.”

“Thursday,” she replied. “Look, Goldy. I work every day. The dogs will be fine in our fenced backyard over in Spruce. If it snows, I’ll put them in the basement. You don’t believe me, you can come over on Thursday and check on them. Kris usually does his shopping that day, so I can get finished in just a few hours.”

This answered my second question, which was if Kris was there when Penny cleaned.

“Thanks!” I said, then waved and walked back to the house. I was catering that day, the next, and Thursday night. But on Thursday during the day, I had absolutely no intention of checking on the dogs.

9

In the Rockies, a storm is often preceded by strong winds, followed by a period of icy calm. Then the gale starts up again and the storm hits. Maybe that was what it was like when you were in the eye of a hurricane—minus the ice. As we passed Aspen Meadow Lake, the entire tinfoil sky, the pines, the aspens on the banks, were reflected in its silver surface. Frost had coated each pine needle and blade of wild grass. The effect was magical.

That morning, unfortunately, I was not able to appreciate the beauty of nature. If I thought Yolanda would not fret on the way to Denver, I was mistaken. Her frequent checks of the rearview mirror were punctuated by worries about Ferdinanda.

“She’ll catch cold if she stays outside all day. What if she can’t remember the security code to get back in?”

Then, “She smokes too much.”

And finally, “What if the person who burned down Ernest’s house finds out where we are and comes over and attacks her?”

“Yolanda,” I said as we drove down the ramp to the interstate, “please. Your aunt strikes me as someone who can take care of herself.” I wanted to ask whether she knew Ernest had made her such a huge beneficiary of his will. Another issue continued to niggle the back of my brain: What was the nature of Yolanda and Ernest’s relationship, exactly? She’d said they were just friends, but did you leave a “friend” your house and property? Or did you leave it to a lover because you were afraid you were going to die soon?

Either that was the possible title of a morbid country song or I needed more coffee.

Anyway, Tom would kill me if I broached these subjects. So . . . I tried to stay nonchalant as I asked, “Do you want to talk about Ernest?”

“I am afraid. I’m afraid of his clients. I’m afraid of Kris. I’m afraid of whoever burned down our rental, of whoever burned down Ernest’s house. I never used to be afraid, and now I live in fear.”

I took a deep breath and tried to remember how I used to deal with Arch when he had unreasonable panic attacks during the divorce from the Jerk. I’d get him to catalog the fears, and then I’d try to defuse each one.

“What are you most afraid of? It doesn’t have to be sensible.”

“Kris. He hurt me.”

“He hurt you,” I repeated, and glanced over at Yolanda. Her spill of russet curls glinted in the cold light. She stopped talking and stared at her lap. This immediately made me paranoid, and so I felt it was now my duty to check the rearview mirror for . . . well, for what, exactly? I’d seen one Maserati in my entire lifetime, and I’d thought it was a sports car made by Chrysler.

“Yes,” she said, and her voice caught. “I keep thinking about what he did to me and how I failed to protect myself, protect Ferdinanda—”

“You know what? Enough already,” I said as I signaled to exit the interstate.

“Enough of what? Where are you going?” Yolanda said. She looked around wildly. “Why are you taking this exit?”

“I’m just removing the threat.” Or trying to, I added mentally.

I headed back west, took the exit for Aspen Meadow, then zipped through the entrance to Flicker Ridge. Yolanda shook her head as I raced to the top.

“You are making a mistake, Goldy,” she warned, and in that moment, she sounded like Tom. Oh, well. I was going to do what I’d always wished I’d done with the Jerk: confront him, damn it.