Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil Page 6

  Again I turned to leave.

  “Am I forgiven?” he asked.

  I reached in my purse and took out a one-hundred dollar bill. “Swap this out for British money. I’m taking a cab back to the Hyde Park Hotel. I need British bucks. I’m going to get cleaned up, spend the night at the hotel at your expense, and in the morning return to Miami. You play games with the lady with the inflatable boobs. I’m gone.”

  “But, Wendy…” Roger reached for my hand.

  “Don’t!” I said. And he knew I meant it.

  With British money in my pocket, I went outside, flagged a black cab and head held high, exited Doctor Roger Jolley’s life.

  ***

  I cried in business class until we were halfway over the Atlantic, then I mopped my tears and ordered a glass of champagne. “Keep them coming,” I said to the flight attendant.

  He had a kind smile. “Broken heart?”

  “Close call.”

  Chapter 16

  It was dinnertime when I rented a car at the airport and headed for my home, carrying a feeling of loss. Hitting the China Bucket drive-through, I grabbed some fried wontons and shrimp with lobster sauce.

  Roger Jolley and his double life… He wasn’t the first man to disappoint me. And I was kidding myself if I thought he would be the last. But for now, I was returning to people who really needed me. Little kids like Treanna who were straight up, straight forward, and never played dirty tricks.

  I wondered if the police had anything on my car. I missed Goldie just because she was a piece of my life here in Miami. And I felt stupid for being duped so easily. The guy handed me a dry cleaners ticket! And Roger handed me a line of bull!

  It was sunset when I got to my condo. Every afternoon the plastic princesses left their high-rise apartments, trotted out our gates, and sauntered down the boulevard toward the outdoor cafés, tugging their pups on rhinestone leashes as they trolled for men and swilled wine. The pathetic part of the urban myth was that stats supported it. A dog on a string will get a man on a ring ninety-percent of the time.

  My place was on the ground-floor corner of a beachfront high-rise. I waved to José, the daytime guard, as he raised the gate. I pulled into my garage, unloaded the plastic trash-bag luggage from the rental car, and greeted my apartment. It wasn’t as hot as London inside, but it ran a close second. The only thing that gets mustier faster than a closed-up beachfront apartment is a relationship.

  When I left for London, I’d set the thermostat to eighty degrees so as not to waste the air conditioning while I was away on my big adventure with Dr. Roger Jolley. Talk about hot air. I slid the button to sixty and hoped for a quick cool-down. I nibbled on fried wontons while I listened to my home phone messages. Four were from my sales agents needing help with contracts and seven were from Grandma Matty.

  Her voice was trembling when she picked up, “Can you take Treanna? She’s pining and hasn’t eaten a thing since you left. Well, maybe a nibble.”

  I let Matty blather on without mentioning my talk with Elana or that I knew about the granny’s little bolita business. “Can you come see us tomorrow? Mr. Smith is coming to visit. I’d feel better if you were here.”

  “Who is Mr. Smith?”

  “I owe him some money. The man frightens me. I would just feel better if you were here.”

  “What time is he coming?”

  “Eleven tomorrow.”

  “I’ll get there at ten. We can talk.”

  Chapter 17

  Next morning, Treanna greeted me at the door, grabbing me around the legs and hanging on as if I would fly away. “You’re back! You’re back!”

  “Sweetie, I’ve only been away a few days. It’s not even time for our regular Saturday visit.”

  Matty patted Tre on the head. “Chile… go play quietly in your room. We got us some grown-up talking to do.”

  Treanna groaned but trotted off to her bedroom.

  I took a seat on the plastic-covered sofa while Matty brought me an iced tea. It was laced with artificial sweetener. I took one sip and hid a shudder. Tinkerbelle jumped into my lap and drooled dog spit all over my neck. Germs.

  “Well…” Matty sighed. “Thank you for coming, Wendy. I think I got me more than I can handle. I need some business advice.”

  My mind was two steps ahead of her.

  “I run a little home-based business,” she said.

  “Bolita?”

  “Why, yes.” She looked surprised and relieved. “A while back, I was forced to extend credit to my nephew Leon for his bets. Nothing big at first, but pretty soon he wasn’t paying his gambling debts. He was hanging around here all the time… acting like a vulture waiting for a carcass.”

  She smoothed her apron and resettled in her recliner, “Three weeks ago, I was expecting the usual cash pickup. It had been an above average, good week. I went into one of my dozes for a few minutes. When I woke up, the money was gone. So was Leon.”

  I dabbed at the dripping glass with a tiny paper napkin, my eyes never leaving Matty’s face. “How much?”

  “It started at $5,200. The interest is added on daily.”

  “How much is it now?”

  Yesterday it was $22,250. It’s growing like a fire fed on gasoline. Now Mr. Smith, the guy I owe the money, says he’ll put a mortgage on my house so I can pay him off gradual.”

  “That doesn’t compute. That’s a trillion percent interest!”

  “That’s why I’m asking you to look at the mortgage paperwork he’s bringing me to sign. You know about such stuff. I paid for this house long before my fiftieth birthday. It has no mortgage, and it pains me to think I’d set myself back again.”

  “When he gets here, don’t reach for those papers. I’ll take them with me. One more day of his wild-ass interest won’t hurt.”

  A hard rap on the back door sent us both jumping. Matty eased out of her plastic-wrapped recliner with a smacking sound. “It’s him!” The fear in her eyes made me mad.

  I heard her at the back door. “Mr. Smith, come in. I got me a friend visiting. This way…”

  The numbers dude strode in like he already owned the house. He was carrying a walking stick with a duck on the head. He looked like a young Sammy Davis Jr., or a skinny hamster. Smith shot me an amused look.

  He was about five-nine, thin, and wearing a ton of pomade on his rippling hair. His Armani suit was a chocolate color that exactly matched his skin. He was tone on tone except for a bright white shirt and a robin’s egg blue necktie. He was followed by a three-hundred pound bruiser in a tan suit with a grey polo.

  Tinkerbelle jumped on the dapper dude’s leg, her nails dragging over the silken threads of his trousers.

  “Get that white rat off this here expensive suit before I’m forced to sue you!” He turned to the bruiser. “Ox… get this here animal off me!”

  Ox stammered, “Mr. Smith, sir? I got a thing about small dogs. They’re like crazy teeth on short legs. The little ones, they bite… they got no fear like the big dogs.”

  Matty grabbed Tink who managed one more snap at the visitors.

  I stood from the sofa with an embarrassing peeling sound. The skinny guy extended his hand, honey dripping from his fangs. “Mr. Smith.”

  Giving as hard as I got, I squeezed his hand in return. “Your first name?”

  “Mister.”

  “Ah… of course. Wendy Darlin,” I said.

  “Darlin Realty? You’re in the wrong part of town, Miss Darlin. Ain’t no mansions here.”

  The bruiser attempted a steroid laugh. It came out a burpy growl.

  “I’m here as Matty’s friend. I have no real estate interest in this,” I said.

  “Suit yourself.” He sat on the far end of the sofa. “Matty owes me money. Guess she told you. She’s agreed to give me a mortgage on her house in return for the debt.”

  Matty snapped out of her trance. “I didn’t agree… yet.”

  He kept his eyes on me as he spoke to her. “You ain’t got a lot
of choices, Miss Matty.”

  “Mr. Smith, are you a mortgage broker? Do you have a card?” I leaned back, acting as if I were in control of the situation.

  “I’m in personal finance.” He handed me a crime-scene yellow card with black letters.

  “Let me see the papers.” I was taking more of a dislike to hamster-man as the clock ticked. He passed a wad of documents to me. A quick scan told me all I needed to know. “We’ll get back with you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow this woman is gonna be owing me more interest.” He rose and exited twirling his walking stick. I think it was meant as a threat.

  Matty followed him to the back door.

  “Don’t do anything you might regret,” I heard him say to her, then I heard Tink snap her little jaws.

  Matty was shaking as she returned to the living room. She handed me Tinkerbelle and settled back in her recliner, looking ever so much like Treanna. The child was still in there, even if the face had aged.

  “You can’t sign these papers, Matty. That twerp will own your house before the year is out. The way it’s written, he can refuse your payments and force foreclosure on you. What’s this guy Smith really do for a living?”

  “He works in a very expensive shoe store.”

  “Listen, Matty…”

  Tears filled her big brown eyes. Instead of speaking, she looked around and then nodded off, sound asleep.

  I touched her hand. “Matty?” She was out cold. A narcolepsy nap.

  I went into Treanna’s room. “I have to go home now, sweetie. I’ll see you this weekend.”

  “Here, kiss Polyester.”

  I kissed the fluffy white unicorn.

  “Wait, wait, China wants to kiss you, too.”

  I let the brown bear make a kissing sound on my cheek.

  Matty was awake when I walked back into the living room. I bent down and hugged her. “Don’t worry. He’s not going to get a mortgage on your house. I’ll take the papers with me tonight and think on it.”

  Once again I left Treanna, feeling like I was treading water.

  Chapter 18

  I spent the rest of the day thinking of ways to stop Mr. Smith. Each idea dead-ended in his getting revenge on Matty and Treanna.

  That night, I flipped around in bed like a jumping bean worrying about the little girl and her granny… and Roger. Even the sounds of the ocean waves couldn’t lull me to sleep. I got up and took a sleeping pill. As I swallowed the last gulp of water, I heard a dog bark. A light switched on in my brain.

  I dialed Matty knowing a late night call would scare the poor lady. But brilliant ideas wait for no man, woman, or dog.

  “Matty, I’m sorry to call at this time. But I have an idea.”

  Her disembodied voice sounded like Ella Fitzgerald. “Yes? What is it?”

  “How about you and Treanna come and stay with me for a few days until I straighten out this Smith guy? I know it’s not much notice, but throw some things in a bag. School’s out this coming week. We’ll tell Tre it’s a surprise holiday. I’ll pick you up at seven in the morning. No one will notice us that early.”

  “Huh?”

  “You, Treanna, and Tinkerbelle are coming to my house for a vacation!”

  “Oookay…” she roused herself. “You wants Tre and me to stay at your house? That’d be fine.” She hung up.

  I didn’t really have a plan, but I knew I’d think better if they were safe. And I possessed the perfect safe house. Since Smith and Muscle Head were afraid of small dogs.

  The pampered pooches surrounding my condo would be our first line of defense. Lexington Seidelbaum was a mini-Pincher who lived next door and barked night and day. Across the courtyard was Precious Grunstein, a Bichon Frise who waggled her fanny at all the boy dogs and had taken a piece out of the FedEx man.

  If Smith dared to show up, I was sure Dakato Tishler, a Miniature Schnauzer, would hump his leg until he fell over. Once the puppy posse circled their wagons, nothing carrying testicles was going to get near my condo. Treanna and Matty would be safe in Dogville.

  I finally fell asleep, dreaming Roger and Darcy were getting married in front of the pyramids and Mr. Smith was officiating. I woke up in a dizzy sweat at four and couldn’t get back to sleep. The threats I would unleash on Smith started to filter through. Why is it thinking is so much easier in the wee hours of the morning?

  At exactly seven in the morning, I pulled into the alley behind Matty’s house in the Lemon City section of Miami and knocked on the door. She and Treanna were ready with their bags in their hands. I grabbed Tinkerbelle’s leash and popped her in the car, then threw their luggage in the trunk. The whole operation took less than five minutes.

  Treanna jumped up and down until I scooped her into the car. She chattered during the entire drive from her house to the beach. As we approached the towering building I called home, she gulped and became silent. This was the child’s first real holiday, and her fears surfaced as we pulled past the guard gate.

  “I don’t want to meet anybody here. I already know a lot of people, and until one of them dies, I couldn’t possibly meet another,” she said as she put on her big dark glasses.

  “It’s okay honey. My neighbors are all very nice, but I don’t expect you to talk to them. You just have fun watching videos and coloring with Grandma Matty. I’m going to buy you the biggest box of crayons you ever saw. With double magentas.

  As I drove into my garage, Tinkerbelle began scratching at the window. “Grab her leash,” I said as I swung open the car door. Dog and child went flying with Tink choosing one of the pack’s favorite bushes to pee on. Treanna laughed as she scolded her pup, “Naughty dog.”

  Poor Matty had that wide-eyed displaced disaster victim look on her face as she stepped from my car. I wished I could offer more comfort but the rest of my super plan hadn’t materialized yet.

  Cocoa Weiner, a silky Shih Tzu, and Bentley Goldman, a mini-Maltese, ran into my garage howling like an eight-legged beast. Tinkerbelle barked in response, her shrill voice bouncing off the garage walls. Pop! A manicured hand yanked the intruders’ leashes. The pooches rose in the air and flipped out of sight. I pressed the button and lowered the door.

  Treanna clung to me. “It’s okay Tre… they’re friendly.” Terror and trust tangoed in her dark eyes as we carried her small purple backpack into my living room. She plopped down on the floor cuddling Tink.

  Chapter 19

  Treanna and I spent the morning building a tent out of sheets and lightweight blankets. When “Fort Tinkerbelle” was complete, I crawled into the tent like a dog, carrying a bag of pretzels in my mouth and a bottle of chocolate milk tucked in my belt. Tre hooted with laughter while Tinkerbelle barked in fear. “It’s me Tink!” I rolled over on the floor trying to convince the dog I wasn’t a monster.

  CNN played quietly in the background. The drone of news from London hadn’t changed in days. A record-breaking heat wave had invaded the British Isles. No one was immune. City folks were dying as they sought respite in many of the ancient stone buildings. Air conditioning was rare in the UK and frequently inadequate. Only old, damp structures might provide escape from the heat that continued at over one hundred degrees.

  Treanna tapped my arm. “Please turn that off so we can have a private conversation.” She sounded so grown-up it startled me.

  I flicked off the set and crawled back into our tent. Matty snored softly on the sofa.

  “Here’s what I really want to know.” The child looked up at me, her pupils lit like two iridescent marbles. “What color do you see me as?”

  The question was so direct, it caught me off guard. I snuggled next to her and gave her my most honest answer. “I don’t see you as any color.”

  A grin spread from her lips to her chubby cheeks. She slipped her little arms around my neck. “Good, because I don’t see you as any color either.” She settled down, resting her head in my lap and waving a pretzel in the air like a tiny wand. “Can I lick off all the salt?” />
  “Only if you intend to eat it when you’re done.”

  “But the salt’s the best part. I’ll give you the pretzel after I clean off the salt.”

  “You lick the salt, you eat the pretzel. In every life there comes a time when you have to eat the pretzel, too.” I tickled her under the arm and she squiggled away. “Speaking of pretzels, I have to make a private call. You keep Tink quiet while I’m on the phone.”

  She put her hand to her mouth to cover her giggle. “Are you calling a pretzel?”

  “It’s very important the pretzel not hear Tinkerbelle barking or you talking. Okay?”

  “I’ll read my nursery rhyme book to her until you come back. She flipped to the middle of the book… “Pussy cat, Pussy cat, where have you been?”

  I did a double take. Haunted by a friggin’ nursery rhyme.

  Scrambling out of Fort Tinkerbelle, I walked into my den. Two rings and I had the skinny hamster on the line. It was time for some little white lies.

  “Mr. Smith, I’ve sent Matty and her granddaughter on a vacation.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “I’ve turned your paperwork over to a fed friend of mine. Now hear me and hear me good. I highly recommend nothing happens to Matty’s house while she’s away.”

  “But… but…”

  “No buts, Mr. Smith. That is if you want to hang onto your butt. You’re being watched,” I fibbed. “Anything happens to the house or to Leon, Matty, or the child, and my fed friend stands ready to take you down. He pulled up your record and he sure didn’t like what he saw. You’ll be feeling his teeth in your neck for the rest of your life if you step out of line. You doubt me? Run my name through Google. See who I hang with and the criminals I’ve run aground or buried at sea.” I was impressed with my ability to bluff using my imaginary fed friend.

  I clicked off just in time, as the noise from the tent grew louder.

  “I’ve been to London to visit the Queen!” Treanna belted out, with Tinkerbelle howling along with her. “Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you doooo there? I frightened the little mouse under her chair!” She sang at the top of her voice.