When Drake first opened his eyes, he wasn’t completely sure where he was. He blinked rapidly, trying to break the gumminess that held his lids together, and when that failed, he rubbed them with his fingers.
I’m on the couch, he realized. He tried to rise, but his head started to ache and he sat back down.
“Shit,” he grumbled. He clucked his tongue, and his stomach lurched.
Somehow, he made it to the kitchen, where he chased two Advil with a glass of warm water. As he waited for the medicine to take effect, he had a cool shower and got dressed.
“What the hell happened last night?” he asked himself. He remembered going to the bar, to Barney’s, but he didn’t remember coming home.
He had no idea why his ass was sore, either, which was something of a concern for him. Just thinking of how that might have happened made him cringe.
By the time he was finally dressed and ready, it was nearing ten o’clock. He scooped his phone off the table, and saw that the red light was once again blinking. It seemed like every time he picked the damn thing up he had messages waiting. Drake was beginning to think that letting Screech convince him that he needed a smart phone, when he was technologically dumb, wasn’t the best idea.
So long as it’s not Beckett again.
It wasn’t.
It was a message from Screech, and Drake read it out loud.
Drake where you at? It’s nine-thirty and Mrs. Armatridge has been waiting for nearly an hour and I’m running out of prune juice to offer!
He shook his head, chuckled, and then hurried outside to his rusty Crown Vic.
Screech’s voice reached him even though the door to Triple D was firmly closed.
“I’m sure Drake will be here any minute, Mrs. Armatridge. He’s probably… he’s probably doing some police work. You know he used to be a police officer—a detective, don’t you?”
Drake put his hand on the doorknob but didn’t immediately open the door. Instead he listened.
“Yes, I know he was a detective. But not anymore. He works for me now. And you’ve been telling me the same thing for the past hour.”
“Can I get you anything while you wait? A pastille maybe?”
He heard the elderly woman scoff.
“Pastille? That would do wonders for my IBS. How about a glass of water? Filtered, of course. Perrier would be even better.”
Drake took a deep breath and put on his best smile. Then he opened the door.
Mrs. Armatridge was sitting in one of the burgundy chairs, Screech’s crane-like body hovering over her. The other chairs were occupied by more geriatrics.
“Mrs. Armatridge,” Drake exclaimed loudly. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Had to help out with the NYPD.”
The woman pursed her lips.
“No need to shout. I’m not deaf.”
The woman sitting beside Mrs. Armatridge looked over at her and said, “Pardon me?”
Her question went ignored.
“Yes, of course. Please, come into my office,” Drake said, trying his best to keep the smile on his face.
The woman pulled herself to her feet, and Drake followed her into his office.
He frowned when he saw the still open bottle of Johnny on the desk and the two glasses. Hurrying around the woman, Drake quickly replaced the cap and put the bottle and glasses in the top drawer of his desk.
“I hope you’re still capable of functioning, Damien.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry for the wait. Now, how can I help you?”
Mrs. Armatridge eyed him from across the desk.
“I see that your office is full, and I suspect that you had more than a few visitors yesterday as well.”
Drake admitted as much.
“I think you’re smart enough to know that that was my doing, Damien.”
“Yes, of course. I want to thank you for your support, Mrs. Armatridge.”
Another hmph.
“And I just wanted to remind you that I was here first, and I expect that my… how can I say this… my case takes precedence.”
“Of course.”
Drake had no problem swallowing his pride. Four ten thousand dollar checks would do that to a man. And yet something told him that this wasn’t the only reason for the woman’s visit.
“Is there anything else I can do for you today, Mrs. Armatridge?”
The woman’s thin fingers went to the pearls around her neck, and Drake realized that she was nervous.
“I’ve been reviewing the video from your home.”
Her eyes shot up.
“And?”
“And, unfortunately, I have nothing to report at this time.”
Mrs. Armatridge’s face drooped, and Drake immediately raised a hand to calm her.
“But, I assure you, I’ve been following the movements of your maid… of Miss Ortiz… very carefully. So far, she appears to be doing nothing but keep the place clean, and look after your husband, of course.”
The mention of her husband made her expression harden.
Mrs. Armatridge stood and started toward the door.
That’s what this visit was about… a fishing expedition. She wants something to be wrong. She wants me to find something, and won’t be satisfied until I do.
“Remember, Damien, how important I have been to your business. And think about how quickly it can all be taken away.”
“Yes, of course. I will let you know as soon as I notice something out of the ordinary.”
Mrs. Armatridge left his office, and when he heard the outer door open and close, Drake took a deep breath.
“Screech! Send the next one in,” he shouted, trying to put the fake smile back on his face.