It started so innocently, with those keys. My hair was still wet from the shower by the time Reddy got back to my place. The cuffs of his pants were soaked, as were his formerly immaculate white tennis shoes.
“Done,” he said lightly, handing over a cashier’s check for the entire $43,000 purchase price of the Lincoln, plus a set of keys I didn’t recognize.
“How?”
He waved off my questions. “Those are the keys to your grandfather’s Buick Electra. And listen. It’s probably best if you don’t go back to Mitchell Motors any time soon. Tyler Mitchell is not your biggest fan.”
“But—”
He put his forefinger across my lips. “No big deal. Oh yeah,” he added casually. “I stopped by the carriage house and shut off the water at the street.”
“Thank God,” I said. “I called the plumber, but he wasn’t going to be able to get over there until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“It’s all fixed,” Reddy repeated. “I took a shop vac over and siphoned off most of the water, and opened a window to air the place out. But the hardwood floors are ruined. And you’re going to need paint and wallpaper in all those flooded-out downstairs rooms. That place was a pigsty,” he said, making a face. “How’d you hook up with her in the first place?”
Now I was the one making the face. “She’s the niece of an old school friend. I made an exception to my ‘no-students’ rule for her, and that’s the thanks I get.”
“Don’t you check your tenants’ references before you rent to them?” Reddy asked.
“No.” I sighed. “I guess I’m not that organized. Usually, I just find tenants through word of mouth, the Savannah way. I’ve been lucky up to now. Never been burned before.”
“But you make your tenants give you a deposit of first and last month’s rent—right?”
“No,” I said meekly. “I’ve always been a trusting soul. Dumb, huh?”
He shrugged. “Not the best property-management policy I’ve ever heard of.”
“I know. I just stay so busy with the restaurant, and the rentals take up so much of my time and energy. I’ve thought seriously about turning them over to an agency, but I’ve never quite gotten around to it.”
“How many units do you have?” Reddy asked.
“Besides West Gordon, there’s the town house on East Liberty—which has three units, counting a studio over the garage; the little house on President—that’s two units; and then the house on Gwinnett, in the Victorian district, that’s just one unit, but it’s empty right now.”
“How come?” he asked, sipping his wine.
“I’ve got electrical problems,” I said. “The last tenant in there was a self-styled electrician. He decided to rewire the kitchen and damn near burned the place down.”
“How long has it been empty?”
“Since November,” I admitted. “I’m terrible at this, aren’t I?”
He kissed me. “Not terrible. Just over-committed. Where shall we go for dinner?”
I glanced at my watch and shook my head. “I can’t. I’ve got to take some groceries over to Granddaddy’s and fix him supper.”
“Afterward?” Reddy asked. “It’s early yet, and I had a late lunch.”
“Afraid not,” I said reluctantly. “I’m going to sleep over there tonight, at the very least, to make sure he takes his medicine and goes to bed. With Grandmama in the hospital, he hasn’t been taking care of himself. He stays up all night tracking storms and eating Kit Kat bars.”
“I thought you had family here in town,” Reddy said, sounding exasperated.
“I do. Three of my brothers live right here in Savannah. Another lives in Hilton Head, one’s in Atlanta, and the other’s in Jacksonville.”
“So? Can’t one of them step up to the plate?”
“They could, but they’re probably not going to,” I said. “Arch, at least, helps out sometimes. But Bert has four kids, a wife who’s manic-depressive, and he travels all the time.”
“Brother number three?”
“Carlton. Don’t remind me. He thinks of himself as an only child.”
“Which leaves BeBe,” he observed.
“I don’t mind,” I said, and I thought I meant it. “I’m the only one who’s single. I don’t have kids, and just between us, I’ve always been Granddaddy’s favorite. And the boys know it too.”
“Still, it’s a lot of responsibility, and you’re already running full tilt with the restaurant and the rentals and your own life.”
“What life?” I asked gloomily. “I work. I eat. I sleep. And sometimes,” I said, giving him a wicked grin, “I play.”
“That’s what we have to make more time for,” Reddy said. “The play part.”
“You’ll get no argument from me there,” I said. “I know I’m doing a lousy job of juggling everything, but I just don’t know how else to keep all my bases covered.”
“I do,” he said.
“Yeah?”
We were standing by my front door, and I was wrapping my scarf around my neck because I could hear the wind whipping around outside. So much for spring.
“Let me help out,” Reddy said. “At least with some of the business stuff. I’m pretty damned good at it, you know.”
“I couldn’t,” I said quickly. “You don’t have any idea how much is involved. And I wouldn’t begin to know how to explain everything to you. My files are in a mess, and I won’t know how much time I’ll be spending at my grandparents’ until I talk to the doctors.”
I kissed him warmly. “You really and truly are an angel to suggest it. But I couldn’t take advantage of you like that. I really couldn’t.”
He kissed me back. “Take advantage of me, please.”
The phone rang then. “Hold that thought,” I told him, and I dashed for the kitchen.
“Miss Loudermilk? This is Robert Walker. Dr. Walker. I’m your grandmother’s internist. I understand you were trying to reach me?”
“Yes,” I said eagerly. “I saw my grandmother in the infirmary at Magnolia Manor today, and I was shocked by her condition. She’s lost so much weight, and the nurses say she sleeps most of the time.”
“Well, she was in a good bit of pain from the urinary-tract infection, so we’ve been giving her something for that, and to help her sleep.”
“I counted seven different kinds of pills she’s taking,” I said. “All that medicine can’t be a good thing.”
“Seven?” he said, his voice sharp. “I’ve got her on Flagyl and Cipro, for the bladder infection, Vicodin for the pain, and Ambien to sleep. That’s only four. Plus, of course, we’re treating her now for a kidney infection.”
“Kidney infection?” I yelped. “Since when? Nobody said anything about a kidney infection to me when I was over there today.”
“I stopped by to see her on rounds at four, and didn’t like the look of her blood levels,” Dr. Walker said. “So we got her started on something for that right away.”
“God,” I groaned. “But there were two other medicine bottles at the apartment. My grandfather said she’s also been taking Lasix and Digoxin, and Atavan.”
“Oh?” he said.
“You didn’t know?” Could things have gotten any worse? I glanced up at the kitchen ceiling, wondering when it would fall in on me.
We hung up, and I went back to the front door, where Reddy was patiently waiting for me.
“Sorry,” I said. It seemed as though I’d been saying that all day. And it had really been a very sorry day. “I had to take that call. It was Grandmama’s doctor. Now she’s got something else wrong with her. He says there’s something going on with her kidneys.”
“Anything I can do?” Reddy asked. “I told you before, I’m good at a lot of different things. Except hospitals and sick people. That I’m not too good at.”
“Nothing,” I said. But then I remembered.
“Wait. There is something.” I rummaged around in the big copper dish I keep on the table in the foyer. It was where I kept all the keys to the rentals, plus the extra keys to my own town house.
“I want to be at the hospital in the morning, to talk to the doctor, but in the meantime, the insurance adjuster is supposed to meet me over at West Gordon at ten. And the bug guy is supposed to be here at noon to spray. I’ve got silverfish. I hate to ask, but you’ve been so sweet to offer. Would you?”
He held out his hand, and I gave him the keys. “This one with the red tag is for here, and the green one is for West Gordon. Tell Jerry, the bug guy, to be sure and spray the attic this time.”
Reddy nodded. “I’m on it. See you tomorrow?”
“I hope so,” I said. “Things can’t get any worse between now and then, can they?”