And a bull is just as bad as a bear, anyway. I’ve seen plenty of them.”
“You’ve probably seen milk cows, you dolt.”
“Well, what about those other animals, the deer and the moose? And those owls hooting in every tree after dark? I tell you, Paul, it’d scare you, too.”
“Don’t count on it. Listen to me. You get into my ex-wife’s apartment, find that little book with the brown cover and get your butt and the journal back here. I know she still has it because she would rather burn in hell than throw out a book. She probably unpacked her zillion books without even noticing that one, so it’s on a bookshelf somewhere in that apartment. Stop your damn sniveling about bears and owls and get the job done. I’m tired of your whining. I want results, and I want them now!”
“I’ll get the job done, Paul, I swear it.”
“See that you do. The next time you call, I had better hear that the journal is in your hands!”
“It will be.”
In his office at the back of his restaurant, Fioretti’s, Paul slammed down the receiver. He never should have trusted Alfred Wallinski with this job, which was even more crucial to Paul’s good health than he’d told the little worm before sending him off to Montana. That journal contained enough information about his illegal bookmaking ring that if it ever fell into the wrong hands and Paul’s partners got wind of it, he’d be pushing up daisies faster than he could say “Alfred Wallinski.”
Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. This was the worst mess he’d ever gotten himself into. What in God’s name had made him think he had cleverly figured out the ultimate hiding place for the journal? He’d been positive that Linda had so many books she would never notice the addition of one thin, nondescript volume. And she hadn’t. But then everything had gone upside down.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Paul mumbled, recalling the day he had rushed to their house to discover strangers living there. She’d sold the house! He’d left in a daze, calling himself names, calling her names, cursing the night she’d told him that she could no longer tolerate his dishonesty, his adultery or his disgusting friends. Their marriage was over, Linda had coldly said, and then she’d asked him to move out.
He’d been shocked to near speechlessness. How had she found out those things about him? He’d always been so careful. She had no proof, he’d decided. She was just in a mood. Thinking that she would come to her senses with a little time, he had taken his clothes and left her alone to think things over.
Well, she’d meant everything she’d said, and she had rushed to Nevada for a quickie divorce. He’d been stunned to receive his copy of the divorce decree, and that was when he’d driven like a madman to what he had still considered “their” house. Linda was gone.
And so were her books.
He’d panicked. Hell, who wouldn’t have? And he’d racked his brain to come up with some guy he could trust with a life-and-death mission. It had been another blow to realize he had no real friends, no one in whom he could confide something so serious without worrying the story would be bandied about until it reached the wrong ears. And then he’d thought of Alfred Wallinski, not a friend but a guy who hung around the fringes of Paul’s crowd with a hopeful look in his eyes. He wanted to be part of the group so badly the poor slob was like a homeless puppy, doing everything he could to be noticed.
Alfred was, sadly, the best that Paul had been able to come up with, and he’d sent Alfred to the old neighborhood to ask around about Linda. To Paul’s surprise she hadn’t kept her whereabouts a secret, and Alfred had discovered in one day that she had moved to Rumor, Montana. Alfred had been so proud of the good job he’d done that he’d told Paul all about it with tears in his eyes. Paul had been touched by the man’s apparent sense of loyalty and decided on the spot that Alfred deserved a real break. “You, my friend, are going to Montana for me,” he’d said, and then watched the little guy wilt.
“I ain’t never been out of L.A.,” Alfred had said in a shaky voice.
“Hell, man, you’ll love Montana. I’d love to go there myself, but I couldn’t do what you could. Linda’s never set eyes on you. You’ll be able to get in and out of her place the first time she’s not at home.” Paul had explained what Alfred would be looking for. “You’ll be back in L.A. in a week.”
“Yeah, probably,” Alfred had said weakly.
But it wasn’t going the way it should have, the way Paul had figured it would. Thinking of Alfred’s idiotic fear of animals—probably of his own damn shadow, too, the little wimp—he slammed the top of his desk with his fist. That fool is probably hiding in his motel room instead of watching Linda’s place! This should have been over and done with weeks ago.
Paul was more right than he knew. When Alfred exited that stifling little phone booth, he hurried back to his motel room. Worried because Paul was so angry with him, he began defending himself in front of the mirror above the scarred dresser. “Yeah, Paul, it’s real easy for you to be so tough in that cushy office of yours. You have no idea what I’m facing in this burg. Sheriff’s cars everywhere, animals everywhere, that yapping little dog in your ex’s apartment, people coming and going all the time around her building. Yeah, Paul, you ain’t got a clue about what I’m going through here.
“And now there’s some guy living with her. What am I supposed to do about him, huh?”
Chapter Three
Shortly after four that afternoon Tag began packing up his tools and supplies. Linda heard what he was doing from where she sat on the living-room sofa, using the coffee table as a desk. Not that she was bogged down with teachers’ homework. There was really very little planning needed to finish out the school year; her students were mostly working toward completing projects with an eye on receiving a good grade for their efforts.
Linda, with Tippy on her heels, went to the kitchen door. “You’ve finished all the walls,” she said, amazed that he had accomplished so much.
“And the ceiling,” he said with a grin. “These cupboards could use some sanding and fresh stain, but I’ll have to check with Heck on that.”
“Well, that’s between the two of you,” Linda murmured. “The cupboards look fine to me. Oh, there are a few places that could use some touching up, but overall they’re in pretty good shape.”
“We’ll see what Heck says about it.”
“Fine. You must be very fast. I had no idea you’d do the whole kitchen in less than a full day.”
“It’s a small kitchen, Linda.” Tag smiled at her. “But I am pretty fast, all right. And good. These walls just shine, don’t they? I used semigloss in here.”
“I see you’re very modest, along with being fast and good,” she stated dryly. “But yes, the walls look wonderful. At least ten shades lighter than they were. You know, when I moved in, I washed down everything in here. The walls were sort of tacky to the touch. Not horribly dirty, but the former tenant must have done a lot of frying. Anyhow, I thought I had done a good job.”
“You did. It’s just time to rejuvenate this old building.”
“It’s not that old, is it?”
“About six, seven years,
