on the seat cover while reaching over to answer the summons. I wouldn’t have bothered except that my cell phone is listed on my business cards and I can’t afford to ignore a possible client.
“D.B. Hayes,” I snapped out, hoping for a red light so I could use a tissue to mop the blood before it stained. Between the rivulets of sweat dripping down my body, the throbbing gouges on my hand and the noise emanating from both cats, I was not in the best of moods.
There was a pause on the other end that made me regret my tone. Then a familiar voice—one that sounded as if the speaker had swallowed gravel shards—spoke in my ear.
“Ms. Hayes, this is Albert Russo.”
I cringed. Clenching the cell phone against my ear, I prayed he wasn’t calling to cancel tonight’s job. The rent was due next week and I’d counted on that money.
“Mr. Russo!” I exclaimed, trying to infuse my voice with enthusiasm. “What can I do for you?”
This time the pause was enough to send my heart in my throat.
“Have I called at a bad time, Ms. Hayes?”
“Of course not.”
Sam Two contradicted me with a plaintive yowl. The sound filled the interior of the car. I grimaced.
“Sorry about the noise, Mr. Russo. I’m transporting a pair of unhappy cats, uh…for a friend.”
What else could I say?
He sniffed. “Nasty creatures, cats.”
I wasn’t about to argue the point. At the moment they didn’t rank high in my esteem either. I only hoped they had all their shots. And why hadn’t I thought of that before I’d gone and picked them up with my bare hands?
“Ms. Hayes, I’m wondering if you could see your way clear to start the assignment a bit earlier this evening than we agreed?” he went on. “It seems my wife made dinner plans with some acquaintances and just communicated this information to me. I’m sorry for the short notice, but she intends to leave the house a little past six. You will need to be in position before then.”
I glanced at the dashboard clock. It was a few minutes past five already. Rush hour. And his address was clear across town in an area I wasn’t familiar with. There was no way I could go home and change clothes and still make it to Shaker Heights before six. I glanced down at my shorts and stained blouse and bit my bottom lip.
“Is your wife going somewhere fancy for dinner?” I asked. If so, I was doomed.
“I believe she mentioned Bergan’s in Legacy Village. Is that a problem, Ms. Hayes?”
His cold tone indicated it had better not be a problem.
“Of course not,” I lied. “I’m on my way.”
“Excellent. I’ll send someone by your office tomorrow morning for a copy of the pictures and your report.”
“Ah, that’ll be fine, Mr. Russo, but, well, there isn’t anyone at the shop before nine. If you like, I can bring everything by your office earlier than that.”
“Nine o’clock will suffice, Ms. Hayes. My associate will call on you then.”
“Okay, if that’s your preference.”
“It is. Good evening, Ms. Hayes.”
“Too late for that,” I muttered at the sound of the click on his end.
Actually I could have gotten to the shop earlier than nine, but I’m not a morning person. Besides, I didn’t want to risk any flower shop customers coming in when I was there alone with a client. Or in this case, a client’s representative.
The cat in the box on the seat beside me was scrabbling furiously at the cardboard and swearing at me in cat. The one in the back had settled for piteous mews of unhappiness. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
“Look, guys, let’s just make the best of this, all right? Whichever one of you is Mr. Sam is going back home tomorrow. The other one gets to go to the animal shelter to find a nice new home, so let’s be quiet and let me drive, okay?”
Not a chance. Time stretched unbearably between the cats and rush-hour traffic. All in all I made decent time to Shaker Heights, but then I got lost on the side streets trying to find the address.
I was sweating profusely by the time I stumbled on it through sheer dumb luck. The sweat was only partly due to frustration. Mostly it was a result of the lack of cool air in the small car. I didn’t dare open the windows, even the wings, more than a crack, for fear Sam Two might prove suicidal.
The east side of Cleveland is different from my part of town. Binky wouldn’t raise eyebrows on the west side, but here he stood out like hot pink at a funeral. Somehow I was pretty sure no one in this neighborhood was apt to mistake him for one of the trendy reissued Bugs that had come out a couple of years ago. Binky made no pretenses about what he was. His numerous rust spots had been sanded, filled in and painted with primer, but I’d broken things off with Ted Osher again before the mechanic got around to putting any paint on Binky for me. Bad timing on my part.
I’ve known Ted since high school. We graduated together. He’s a nice enough guy when he isn’t being a jerk, but our relationship is not exactly the romance of the century. More like a comfortable habit when we’re both at loose ends. Ted’s happiest when he’s covered in grease, with auto guts spread all around him. Whatever our relationship at any given moment, I have to give him credit for keeping the important parts of Binky running all these years past their prime.
As I drove past the address I’d been given, I wondered what it would be like to live in a place this fancy. Somehow I didn’t think I’d be comfortable behind an ornate fence in a neighborhood where even the houses managed to look snobbish.
Since there was nowhere I could park and look inconspicuous, I pulled to the side of the road a few houses down and spread out the map I’d been trying to read when I’d gotten lost. I had the perfect cover story ready in case someone came along demanding to know what I was doing here. I’d tell the curious that I was trying to deliver a pair of lost cats to their owner. I’ve found it always pays to use what you have to hand.
Besides, I wasn’t the only car parked along the street, even if the other vehicle was a burgundy Honda that looked far more presentable in this neighborhood than Binky. Tough cookies, as Trudy liked to say. I was here and I was staying here until my quarry appeared. I had her picture, her license plate number and a description of her car. All I had to do was wait and pray Elaine Russo hadn’t left before I’d found her house.
My hand had stopped bleeding, so I used tissues and spit to clean up as best I could. I was running out of saliva when I realized the car had grown ominously silent. No sound came from inside the box. Worse, there was nothing from the backseat.
My shoulders tensed. My neck prickled. Was Sam Two preparing to spring over the seat and attack me? Or worse, had he died of asphyxiation back there? The last thing I needed was a pair of dead cats. I hadn’t thought to poke any air holes in the box since I hadn’t expected him to be in there for any length of time. But cats like heat, right? They were always pictured curled up in front of a roaring fire.
I lowered the
