Woke Up Dead Page 11

“I don’t know,” she said to Rick, looking embarrassed at Maxine having caught her even considering a date. “All those machines would be hard to get around. Besides, there’s snow outside.”

  “There’s only an inch of snow out there. It’s not hard to get around in the arcade at all. It took me six months, but I finally nagged the owner into making the place accessible.” Rick leaned his chair back against the island in the kitchen, his small legs dangling mid-air. “Besides, you can walk.”

  He had both women’s attention on that one. “What do you mean?” Maxine asked.

  “They have this booth with a virtual reality device in it. It’s the most awesome thing. Gabby, you put this headpiece on and you can see yourself walking. You can feel yourself walking.” The excitement in his voice made Maxine want to try it, and she already was walking. “We could dance,” he added as extra incentive.

  Gabby and Maxine traded looks. “Go, Gabby,” Maxine heard herself saying. Not so much to discover virtual reality, but to get out and live life again. She’d spent far too much time hiding, sulking and being angry at the world’s injustice. “It sounds like a good time.”

  Rick gave his head a twist. “Guarantee it.”

  Maxine could see the idea intrigued her, but Gabby was too stubborn to relent that easily. “Let it go, Gabby.”

  She looked at Maxine. “That’s easy for you to say. Everything’s different now.”

  Maxine knelt down beside her and spoke softly. “Don’t think I’ll ever forget. It’s time for me to move on and accept my new life. And it’s time for you, too.” She nodded toward Rick, who was looking around the kitchen and pretending not to listen. “You always gave me advice about my life, about Sam. Now it’s my turn. Go.”

  “But this is different. Sam was… .” Gabby nodded subtly toward Rick and whispered, “He’s not.”

  Maxine lifted an eyebrow. “No?”

  “No.” She glanced over at Rick. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re welcome to come along, too,” Rick said to Maxine.

  He meant it, though Maxine knew he’d rather be alone with Gabby. He’d be so good for her. Nothing stopped Rick, not from driving, riding horses, or getting something on the top shelf in the supermarket. Maxine had seen him actually climb up the shelves and grab the item he wanted. Startled the heck out of one of the clerks, though. She grinned at the memory.

  “Thank you, but I have some other things to take care of.” She gave Gabby a pointed look, then grabbed up her purse. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll keep in touch.” She took Gabby’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “Have fun.”

  Maxine had gone to Temptations with the intention of questioning some of the employees about James’s whereabouts the day of her supposed accident. She’d even gone to the door, phrasing the questions she’d ask in her mind. She chickened out before walking inside. Neither place was officially open, though she figured both James and Sally were there working. Armand was there somewhere, too, and she didn’t feel like running into him. Just the thought of him had her sticking her hands in her pockets.

  The problem was, even though she’d worked for a private investigator, she wasn’t actually equipped to be one. To start asking questions would only arouse suspicions. How did you ask about someone’s whereabouts on a certain day and time without sounding like a cop?

  It all came down to Sam. She needed him, and he didn’t want to help her. She was going to have to appeal to him as a friend to take on her case. Maybe this was the big case he’d been after all those years. She frowned when she remembered his words about not wanting to go after the big case anymore because he couldn’t deliver on his promises to Jennie. Well, she would make him want to fulfill those promises again.

  Just the simple act of walking felt wonderful, and she filled the rest of her day doing just that. She felt a little vain, pausing in window reflections admiring the way she walked and the sway of her hips. It was all wonderful; window shopping, easily dodging people, not having to search for the access ramp on the sidewalk. People didn’t look at her in that curious way, or worse, in that sympathetic way. She blended in now. They didn’t look at her at all. She was one of them.

  Five o’clock filled the sidewalks with people rushing to get home again. The crowd would have worried her before: would they see her down there? Bump into her chair or worse, simply move her out of their way as if she was a piece of furniture? Now she just plowed right through them. She headed to her car and drove past Sam’s office building for the third time that afternoon. He still wasn’t there. She had a feeling where he might be on a Thursday after five: Bernard’s.

  Almost every Thursday he and Jennie had gone there after work, unless Sam was on a case. It was one of the few restaurants in the area that was wheelchair accessible. Her heart did a thump-de-thump when she saw his car outside. She parked next to him and walked up to the entrance. The ramp had been built after the fact, always making her go several yards out of the way where it started. This time she took the steps straight in. This time she could part the soft, black curtain as she walked through instead of feeling it graze her face unless Sam moved it.

  Bernard’s was deep and narrow, filled with tables in close proximity with one another. Sam was sitting there at their usual table, by himself. Pepe, their waiter, poured a coffee and said something that made Sam smile before he absorbed his thoughts back to the papers in front of him. Maxine realized it had been a long time since she’d seen him smile. Maybe even that last morning when he’d looked up from his desk and said good morning to Jennie. She wanted that Sam back. Her bossman. How she longed to call him that, but she knew it would just spook him. And he’d never call her ‘kiddo’ again.

  “Hi,” she said softly from beside him.

  He didn’t look at her for a moment, but stared in front of him. Then, very slowly, he turned to face her. “I cannot be looking at you standing there. I refuse to believe that I’m not imagining it, so I’m just going to ignore you.” And he did, going back to the papers spread out in front of him. Same old chicken scratch writing, same long fingers.

  She sat down opposite him, leaning forward. “Sam, I’m not your imagination. Sam?”

  He looked up at her. “How did you find me here?”

  “Ah…” Did he come here when they were married? Probably not. She forced a smile. “I was driving by and saw your car out front.”

  He pointed at her. “You are out to make my life miserable, and I want to know why.”

  “Aw, Sam. I’m just sitting here.”

  “My point exactly. What now? Did you find ketchup stains in the bedroom?”

  She leaned her chin on her laced fingers. It was so strange to see this sarcastic side of Sam. “You have to take on my case. I can’t do this investigation on my own.”

  “No kidding. I was going to turn over my case load to you. I already told you I’m not taking your case.”

  “You said you’d give your business a couple more months.”

  He leaned back in his chair, running his finger along the rim of his coffee cup. “I said I’d think about it.” After a moment of her worried expression, he added, “I asked for another month before starting the job. I figured I’d probably need it anyway, but it doesn’t change anything. I told you I don’t take on cases I have a personal interest in.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Are you saying you have an interest in me?”

  “No,” he answered too easily. “But we’re friends, remember?”

  “Ooh.” She tossed a sugar packet at him. “Shame on you, turning my words around on me.” He only shrugged in his defense, if that’s what you could call it. “Fine,” she said, though she was far from giving up.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Pepe said from beside her.

  “Yes, a coffee, please.” When he brought it a minute later, she said, “Thank you, Pepe.”

  Both Pepe and Sam looked at her strangely. Pepe only nodded and returned to his duties. Sam didn’t quite let it
drop that easily.

  “How did you know Pepe’s name?”

  “I’ve been here before. I remembered.”

  He glanced around. “This place isn’t quite your style, Maxine. Dinners here cost less than twenty bucks. You on a downhill slide?”

  She was ready to toss the whole container of sugar at him, but she tapped her fingers on the linen tablecloth instead. “Maybe my priorities have changed.”

  “I doubt that.”

  She’d just have to show him. She fixed her coffee with a large dose of cream and two packs of sugar. Sam was watching her.

  “Since when do you put cream in your coffee? You always said it contaminated the true flavor of the coffee, or some such horse pucky.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  Sam chewed on the coffee stir stick he brought with him; he always said there was something not right about stirring coffee with a spoon. Although, she remembered with a shake of her head, he didn’t have a problem stirring his coffee with a pen now and again.

  He regarded her across the table. “So, where’s your little Italian fellow? I’m surprised he let you an inch from his grasp.”

  “You think it’s funny, don’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  Her lips twitched. “Well, it’s not.”

  “Then why are you trying to hide a smile?”

  “Ooh, you think you’re such a great detective, don’t you?”

  He was smiling; not that sweet smile he used to give her, but something close. “I have my moments.”

  For a second, she could pretend she was Jennie and they were having their Thursday dinner together. But that didn’t feel right anymore. She braced her chin on her upturned palm.

  “Don’t do that,” Sam said.

  She looked down at herself. “What?”

  “Sit like that, with your chin in your palm. Just don’t do it.”

  Why, she’d done that a thousand times, right there in that restaurant, listening to him talk and laugh that rumbly laugh of his. She laced her fingers instead.

  “Better?”

  “Fine.”

  When Pepe came to take the dinner order, Sam passed.

  “Sam, you need to eat,” she said.

  Sam shook his head, looking up at Pepe. “You think you get rid of them when you divorce them.” He shrugged, lifting his hands up. “It don’t work that way. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.”

  “He’ll have chicken cordon blue,” Maxine said, ordering his favorite. “Me, too. That’s all,” she said when Pepe paused, waiting for Sam’s approval.

  Sam shrugged. “You heard the lady.” When Pepe left, he asked, “How did you know what I usually get here?”

  “I knew you liked chicken. It was a lucky guess.”

  He chewed on his stir stick again. “Sure. Lucky. You ought to play the lottery, what with all your lucky guesses.”

  For so long, she’d kept her feelings from her eyes. Now she had to retrain them, just as she had to retrain her brain to talk to her legs. But not too soon.

  “Sam, you don’t think we can be friends, do you?”

  He started to say something, but stopped. “No. Not us. I mean, we can be…polite. Anything beyond that would be inappropriate, not to mention impossible. Eating dinner together, for example, falls under the inappropriate category.”

  She tried to keep the twitch from her lips this time. “I suppose you’re right. It was silly of me to think we could. So we’re acquaintances then?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  She finally let her smile to the surface. “Good. I’m hiring you to take on my case.”

  He opened his mouth, but held back the words. Instead he gave her a narrowed-eyed smile. “You’re a conniver, just like I thought.”

  “Maybe, but you’re in business, at least for now, and we’re not friends. I’ll pay you a retainer and we’ll go from there.”

  For a moment, she thought he might still refuse her. Sam had his integrity, though; that she would bet on.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Maxine. I think you’re full of it. I suspect you’re making an accident into something a lot more. I can’t imagine why you’d want to retain me for the job, but you got me in a corner. If we haven’t closed the case by the time I start working for Chuck, then it’s back in your lap.”

  “Okay.” She smiled, biting her lower lip. “Thanks.”

  For a moment he just stared at her. Then he shook his head. “No problem,” he said, but she was sure he didn’t mean it. He dug out the notepad beneath the other papers he’d been working on. “So, tell me what you know.”

  She was just another client. Well, that’s what she’d worked out.

  “I think James is behind it. He has the most animosity toward Ma—me. He thinks I’m marrying Armand for his money.” By Sam’s expression, she could tell he suspected as much, too. “Aida seems protective of her boss as well.”

  “She looks like she could protect a boxer. Go ahead,” he said when she gave him a stern look at interrupting her.

  “And she was there when the supposed accident happened. Sally doesn’t seem close enough to her father to try to get me out of the picture. Or ambitious enough. Those are my three suspects.

  “I get the impression that Maxine—I mean, I’m sure they got the impression that I spent a lot of time in the greenhouse. I think someone worked on those brackets to make it look as though they’d corroded. They stood at the window and waited for me to walk beneath before dislodging the box. There was something James said that first night after the incident. He asked if anyone was going to comment on how strange the box fell the same way…and then Armand cut him off. Maybe there was another supposed accident.”

  Sam was scribbling as she spoke. After a moment, he looked up. “You mean before you started dating him? An accident that happened to someone else?”

  “Er, yes.”

  “I noticed you’re not including Armand in your list of suspects. Any reason?”

  “Why would he try to kill me?” She forced a smile. “He hasn’t even been married to me yet.”

  Sam grinned at that, and she felt warm inside. “Yeah, well. Let’s not discount him entirely. Don’t get defensive. I know you have feelings for the guy, but—”

  “I’m thinking of postponing the wedding,” she blurted out. Might as well start the demise of her engagement now.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t go jumping to hasty decisions. Just because I don’t want to eliminate him as a suspect doesn’t mean you should dump the little fellow.”

  She took a sip of her coffee. “No, it’s not this or even the accident. I don’t think he’s the right man for me.” Looking up at him, she asked, “Do you think he’s my type?”

  Sam raised his hands. “Oh no, I’m not treading on that ground. All I can tell you is the kind of man who’s not your type.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” she caught herself saying. “I know what your type is.”

  “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

  Well, she’d gotten herself in it now. “Mostly blondes with large”—she gestured to her chest—”and long legs.”

  He was grinning again, and her throat tightened. “Yeah, I like my women with legs that go all the way down to the floor.”

  Her lip twitched. “Don’t they all do that?”

  “Yeah, well, some do it the long way.”

  “Why don’t you pick one with a brain once in a while?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “How do you know whether my women have brains or not?”

  “It goes with the…” She made the long legs, big chest gesture, though she knew she was being unfair to women with those attributes. That was the only way she could think of to get out of the tight spot she’d put herself in. “You want to know what I think?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Uh oh. Dare I?”

  “I think you pick those women because you know you won’t get involved with them.”

  “Whew. I thought you wer
e going to get deep on me or something. And what’s wrong with that?”

  “What’s wrong with that? Don’t you wonder why you don’t want a commitment? What if there’s some not-so-gorgeous woman who could handle your job, but you’re overlooking her because she’s not your type?”

  Pepe brought their food, but Sam only toyed with the green beans. She realized her own appetite wasn’t as hearty. It was too strange, sitting here like usual, and yet not at all usual.

  “Actually,” he said, setting his fork down. “One of the prettiest gals I ever knew didn’t fit that description at all.”

  “Really?” She tried to remember if she’d seen any women without the long legs. Maybe a brunette. Of course, once a redhead. “Did it last long?”

  His expression seemed far away. “Yeah, it did. For four years.”

  Four years? Her heart squeezed into a tiny ball. That had to have been during the time she worked for him, and yet he’d never let on there was anyone serious in his life.

  She pushed the words out. “And are you seeing her now?”

  He slowly shook his head. “She was my assistant, Jennie.”

  Maxine’s heart went from hard and tiny to exploding into vibrations that shook her to the tips of her fingers and toes. “Jennie?” she sputtered in disbelief.

  “Yeah. She was a brunette, wasn’t real large in the chest, and was in a wheelchair, so I could never really tell how long her legs were. It didn’t matter; she was still the prettiest lady I ever knew.”

  Maxine had to put her fork down before her trembling gave her away. Sam focused in on her.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’re so shallow you don’t think I could find someone in a wheelchair pretty? Or are you mad because I didn’t say she was the second prettiest?”

  “I’m not mad,” she said on a whisper. She could hardly swallow. “It’s just that…I mean, did she know?”

  “That I thought she was pretty?” He shrugged. “I don’t think I ever told her, no. We worked together. I didn’t want her to think I was coming onto her or anything.”

  Only then could she breathe fully. “She probably wouldn’t have thought that.” Maxine had to look away for a moment. Of all those women Sam had known, he’d thought she was the prettiest. Dull Jennie with her plain brown hair that wouldn’t take a curl with a prayer; with her average body and average looks. With her wheelchair.