Electric Blue. Nancy Bush

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      “I can do that.”

      “What if Jazz Purcell calls and wants you to take over as Nana’s jailer?”

      “Dwayne, it’s not going to happen.”

      “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

      “I mean it.”

      His answer was a smile that said he knew better.

      Chapter Four

      I made my nearly three-mile run to the Coffee Nook the next morning. I was still out of shape from a couple of months of recuperation after surviving a nasty fall in August. Consequently, by the time I arrived at the Nook, I ended up hanging on one of the door handles, struggling to catch my breath, dripping sweat. I’d thought about bringing The Binkster with me, but she’s really not in love with jogging. Even long walks cause her to try and sit down halfway through. A circle or two around the backyard makes her happy. Sometimes I force her to come with me, and afterward she acts like she needs to sleep for a week. So much for the myth that dogs have more energy than humans. Maybe terriers—or chihuahuas.

      Billy Leonard was inside, seated on one of the stools. “Hey,” I greeted him, glad to see a friend.

      Billy’s a CPA but you’d never know it. His appearance is not what I’d call buttoned-down. Today he looked like he’d just stepped out of the tumble dryer. “What are you working on, Jane?”

      “A job.”

      “Process serving?”

      “No…do you know the Purcells?”

      “The Purcells? Don’t know ’em personally. Know a few stories. Your job involve them?”

      “Jazz Purcell…Jasper…asked me to meet his grandmother and see if I thought she was still mentally capable of controlling the finances. The family’s worried she’ll give away the farm, the jewels, whatever isn’t nailed down in a trust.”

      “Orchid Purcell?”

      “That’s right.”

      Billy thought a moment, running his hand quickly through his hair several times. It had been pretty well combed before this ravaging. Now he looked wild. “What about the daughter? The one that went to the mental asylum?”

      “Lily was Jazz’s mother. She died at the asylum.”

      “Big investigation, right? Lawsuit…sanitarium responsible?”

      “I don’t really know.”

      “Something went on there. The old man die right afterward?”

      “James ‘Percy’ Purcell the…third, I believe? Orchid’s husband? I don’t think so. I thought he lived quite a while.”

      Billy snapped his fingers. “He was never the same. Kinda took his mind, I think. Killed his will to live. He was always a big mover and shaker, then bam. No more. What’s the son’s name? The older one?”

      “Garrett?”

      “Yeah, yeah. He’s the only one I’ve met. Saw him at Jake’s Grill one night. Really not a friendly guy. He was pushing and talking and telling everybody what he knew.” Billy laughed. “It wasn’t much, if you know what I mean.”

      “I do.” I could just picture Garrett thrusting his opinions on anyone within hearing range.

      “He was with his wife, I think. I thought she was drunk. She looked kinda glassy-eyed.”

      “That’s just how she looks. I just met her yesterday. Garrett might be worried Orchid isn’t capable of handling the money, but he wasn’t thrilled that Jazz brought me to meet her.”

      “Families…They don’t wear gloves in battle. Look out you don’t get your head knocked off.”

      Julie handed me a cup of black coffee. Usually I fill it up myself but sometimes Julie anticipates my wishes. I gave her a grateful smile. It makes me feel special when someone does something unasked for. Sometimes I worry that I expect too little. Maybe I need to raise the bar when it comes to acts of niceness.

      Billy left and I sipped my coffee. I debated on running back to my cottage or heading downtown. Dwayne’s cabana is just on the other side of Lakewood Bay. I could be there in twenty minutes to a half hour.

      I started out in that direction, then switched back to my original plan to run straight home. I needed the exercise and time to think. By the time I walked through my front door my cell phone was vibrating. I’d left it on the kitchen counter and it damn near walked off the edge. I just managed to snatch it up before it thrummed itself into a death dive.

      “Where ya been?” Dwayne demanded. “Miriam’s going to be at the spa at one.”

      “I know. I’m running through the shower now.”

      “The husband tried to meet her for lunch but she told him she was getting a massage. I need you to follow her today.”

      “I’m on it, Dwayne.” Sheesh. “I just ran six miles,” I added for good measure.

      “You walked a lot of it.” I made a strangled sound and would have argued with him just for the sake of it—even though he was right—but Dwayne swept on, “You got a two-hundred-dollar allowance to get yourself buffed and puffed as well.”

      I was impressed and worried. I wasn’t sure what kind of treatment that would buy me, but I knew it wouldn’t be anything I wanted. “How am I going to know Miriam?”

      “You can’t miss her. She’s a redhead, and the collagen lips will enter the door before she does.”

      “Okay…”

      “Try to enjoy yourself.” He hung up.

      I gazed in consternation out my back kitchen window. I heard Binks, who’d been sleeping in her bed in the corner, stagger toward me. Her doggy toenails clicked on the hardwood floor, heralding her arrival. She touched the back of my leg with a paw. Normally I pet her, but I was only half-conscious that she was even there. I was thinking about massages and mud packs and hot stones and steam. Sorry. I know a lot of people think this is the end-all/be-all in pampering but I find it slightly worrisome. So help me, I imagine foot fungi in communal dipping pools. I could get a skin rash from some so-called lotion that’s good for my body. And maybe I’ve seen too many horror movies, but there’s something about a mud pack slathered over my cheeks and nose that makes me fear I could lose a breathing passage.

      I wasn’t even sure what to wear. Knowing I was over-thinking the whole thing, I showered and washed my hair. Then I put on fresh sweats—the horrible baby blue ones my brother and his fiancée had given me after my fall and trip to the hospital. I’d thanked them and stuffed them in a drawer. Not that they weren’t pretty. But sometimes “pretty” makes me look like I’m playing dress up. When I’d donned them the first time, I’d had an instant vision of Barbie getting ready for an exercise date with Ken. Now I steadfastly zipped up the stretchy-tight jacket and slipped into my Rite-Aid flip-flops. Would a little eyeliner be too much, or maybe СКАЧАТЬ