Back at Tony's, I entered the house without knocking. He rose from his chair in front of the news and came to greet me. Stump kept her seat.
The sight of him made my breath catch, as it always did. Broad shoulders, warm brown eyes, nice smile. Check that—not nice. A dazzling, dreamy smile.
I sat on the sofa and he joined me. “I saw the press conference. So it's definitely him.”
Stump, annoyed that Tony had moved from the recliner, grumbled, wobbled to the edge of the chair, and dropped to the floor with a thump. She stumbled over to us and backed up so I could pick her up.
“It was definitely him.”
“That's too bad. They sure didn't give a lot of information at the press conference. What happened?”
“Who knows? Viv was going to pump her source at the Medical Examiner's office to see what she could find out.” I stretched my legs out in front of me, a trifle concerned that my hamstrings seemed sore. Didn't soreness usually hit the next day? “Oh, guess what?” I said, remembering. “Viv has a new love interest. A British guy at Belle Court named Nigel.”
“Nigel?”
“I know, right? I mean, that's the most British name I think I've ever heard. Viv is besotted. I think she's actually trying to convert herself to British. Tonight she said crikey, smashing, and she said jolly good, like, three times.”
“Sounds like she's got it bad.” He lifted my legs up into his lap and leaned close to me.
I winced as his hand closed around my calf.
He pulled away. “I told you, I don't care if you haven't shaved.”
“It's not that this time. It's just that my muscles are already kind of sore from the yoga. I thought yoga was supposed to make muscles feel better.”
“You'll probably feel better tomorrow.” He massaged my calf gently.
I leaned my head back against the sofa and closed my eyes. “That feels very nice.”
He murmured and massaged a little more.
Very nice indeed...
After a few minutes, I said, “What does crikey mean, anyway? I thought it was that weird game they play with the flat bats, but it didn't make sense, given the context.”
“I think it's like...dang.” He laughed and leaned over me, his face close to mine and drew the word out. “Daaang.” He kissed me.
“Crikey,” I said, when I could breathe again.
“I'd like for you to spend the night,” he whispered, his forehead to mine, his brown eyes deep and dark.
“I could spend the night,” I whispered. This would be the first time I'd actually spent the entire night at his place. It felt...momentous. Which was scary. “I'd need to be home early so I could get ready for work.”
“Nope,” he said. “Last time I was at your place, I wrote down the name of every beauty and personal hygiene product I could find, so you now have a matching set of everything here. Plus, I had Flo order some of those scrub outfits you wear to work. So you're good to go.”
I snuggled into the crook of his arm. “Well, dang,” I said, kissing him. “I can't think of a single reason to say no.”
“Which was my plan all along.”
Later, as we lay spooned together, our heads on one pillow, Tony said softly into my ear, “I'm glad Viv has a new boyfriend. Maybe now she'll settle down and you two can quit chasing after people with guns.”
I was silent, unsure what to say.
“She can be like we are and not need the thrill of chasing after bad guys anymore.”
“Mmmmm,” I said. I had to admit, tonight had been pretty thrilling and a lot more fun in general than having a gun pointed at me.
“You don't sound convinced,” Tony said, lowering his head to kiss my shoulder.
“It's just that I'm not sure this guy is as into Viv as she is into him. She didn't mention anything except that he was charming and fascinating and talked with a British accent.”
“You could play matchmaker. Get them together. Then maybe he can get her to take up canasta or something. Then I can quit worrying that you two are going to end up dead in a back alley somewhere.”
I rolled over and kissed him. “I don't even know what canasta is, but it's probably no guarantee that we won't still end up dead in a back alley somewhere.”
He brushed a thumb over my lower lip. A smile played on his lips, but it was a sad smile. “I'm serious, Salem,” he whispered. “We're just getting back on track, you and me. The thought of something happening to you now is just....” He kissed my forehead, then brought his gaze back down to mine. “Doesn't it sound like one of those heartbreaking, ironic stories? The soldier killed on the last day of his tour of duty? The couple in the plane crash, taking the dream trip they saved for all their lives?”
I swallowed and didn't answer, the thoughts in my head spinning too fast to choose just one. I wanted to joke. “It would have made a much better story if I had died when your aunt tried to kill me,” but I couldn't because now was clearly not the time. And these analogies he was making—our separation like a soldier surviving a tour of duty in a war zone. Our reunion like a dream trip we'd saved for. It all made a hard lump in my throat that I couldn't speak around.
I kissed him and snuggled into the crook of his shoulder. I wanted to assure him, but I didn't know what to say. I could definitely say that every single time a gun had been pointed at me—without exception—it had not been my idea.
I could understand how Tony would like for that to stop, though. It seemed reasonable to expect that your wife—who groomed dogs for a living and had no real reason to go chasing down killers—would not be repeatedly held at gunpoint.
Still. Viv, playing canasta? I couldn't imagine it.
––––––––
I woke to Stump whining to be let out. I slid out from under Tony's arm and hurried to let her out the back door, wearing nothing but one of Tony's t-shirts. It was still full dark out, the early morning air chilly on my bare legs.
I went into the kitchen and pushed the start button on the coffee maker, doing my best not to wake Tony. I was touched that he'd set everything up for me to spend the night, but also a little freaked out. Okay, a lot freaked out.
In my colorful past (aka: when I was drinking every day), a freak-out would have me searching for things to support my freaked-out-edness. Like now, when I felt uncomfortable and uneasy in Tony's house, I would look for all the reasons I didn't belong there. Wonder of wonders, that kind of thinking led me into one conflict after another.
Now when I felt uneasy, I dug out my Bible. At the moment, though, my Bible was back in the tiny spare bedroom in my place in Trailertopia.
The truth was, I often woke up feeling out of sorts. Overwhelmed by the day ahead. Sometimes even depressed before I started the day. But over the past year and a half, I'd created a routine of a morning prayer time and devotional reading. God spoke to me through those readings. Every day, there was something in what I read that either spoke to something I was experiencing already, or that came up as I went through the day. My devotional and my candle were also back in Trailertopia, but it was a safe bet that Tony had a Bible I could read.
While the coffee brewed, I let Stump back in and grabbed a throw off the back of the sofa. I wrapped up in it and studied Tony's bookshelves. Six Bibles, actually, plus commentaries and a bunch of books about the Bible. I pulled out a Bible marked New International Version, poured a cup of coffee, and curled up in the corner of the sofa by the lamp and let it fall open. Bible roulette. Whatever verse I landed on would be the one I read today.
Romans 12:4
For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift is prophesying, then prophesy in accordance with your faith; if it is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously; if it is to lead, do it diligently; if it is to show mercy, do it cheerfully.
I contemplated that for a while. I knew the Apostle Paul probably meant his analogy to be a comfort. We all have our part to play. Everyone has a job and heaven on earth is when we all do our job. That's probably very encouraging if you know what your job is.
In my more cynical times, I've honestly felt like my job was to screw things up. There is purpose in every pain, right? Some way for God to be glorified no matter what we're going through? There was a time when I believed that my purpose was for things to go wrong so that others could look at me and be thankful for what went right. I didn't even realize that's what I believed until I had a conversation with Les, my AA sponsor, about this very passage.
Les was confident that his part of the body of Christ was to be a hug for those who were down. He didn't care how a person came to be down, either. In fact, if it was a self-inflicted downing, he was even more the hugger. “When your life has gone off the rails because of something out of your control—a crime committed against you, a serious illness, a natural disaster—there are lots of people willing to step in and help you out. When you've done it to yourself, you're on your own. Everyone wants to let you stew in your own juices for a while. And I get that. But I was off the rails one time, from choices I made, and someone reached out to me. It made all the difference. Now that's my job. To reach out to those no one else wants to touch.”
He'd done that for me. And it made all the difference.
He'd laughed when I said I thought perhaps I was born to be a cautionary tale.
“I think God has bigger plans for you than that, Salem. It's good to learn from your mistakes, and it's good to share what you've learned with others. But there's more to your purpose than just to be the example of what not to do.”
I hadn't even wanted to admit it to him, because it was just silly, but part of me had secretly come to hope maybe my gift was solving crimes. No, I wasn't great at it. And, no, I wasn't the least bit qualified. But since Viv and I had started hanging around together, we did seem to have a knack for asking the right questions and insinuating ourselves into situations where we ferreted out the truth.
Viv had no qualms about it. After we had solved the murder of Tony's former girlfriend—a murder he'd been suspected of committing—she’d had PI business cards printed up for us. Horrible things with dangling handcuffs and lipstick font that read “Discreet Investigations” across the top. Those horrible cards made it look like we might be in the business of providing something both immoral and, perhaps, painful as well. I was mortified every time she pulled one of those awful cards out of her pocket. I didn't think we were actual private detectives. I didn't particularly like chasing down bad guys, and I definitely didn't care for being on the receiving end of a gun.
But I did like helping people. I liked solving problems. I liked being useful.
If it is serving, then serve.
Did this count as service? Surely it did. Did that mean this particular service was my gift, given according to the grace given me?
I lay down, resting my head against the arm of the sofa and remembering what Tony had said last night. He assumed that Viv was just bored and that I was only going along with her because I had nothing better to do. But we both had better things to do now. So it made sense that—Peter Browning's suspicious death or not—we would steer clear of trouble now.
It shouldn't have made me sad. Probably I just felt sad because it was early in the morning and I was out of my comfort zone. It wasn't the idea that I couldn't go chasing after trouble with Viv anymore. That would be silly.
But...what was my gift? If it wasn't being a living, breathing, cautionary tale, and it wasn't chasing down bad guys, what was it?
Stump chose that moment to root her nose under my hand, and she scootched and flopped around until I could rub her fat belly. Maybe my purpose was to love Stump. There were worse fates, I decided.
I heard Tony stir in his room. He went to the bathroom, then walked slowly down the hallway, stopping near the entryway. He stood, motionless, not saying anything for so long that I started to wonder if he was sleep walking.
“I hope we didn't wake you,” I said from the sofa.
He jumped, whirling on me with bug eyes.
I couldn't help but giggle. I rose and walked to him, still carrying the throw around me. I wrapped it and my arms around his shoulders. “I'm sorry,” I said.
“Well, I'm awake now,” he murmured into my hair, snuggling under the blanket with me. His heart was thudding a bit.
“I started the coffee.” I pulled away and poured two cups, carrying one to him. He still looked shell shocked, and it dawned on me why he'd jumped when I spoke.
He thought I'd left. He woke and found me and Stump gone from the bedroom and assumed I'd left while he was asleep. Despite all the trouble he'd gone through to get me to stay.
I would have liked to react with righteous indignation, but the fact was, I had left him before. I'd left him and he had no reason—other than my word, which, historically speaking, wasn't worth much—that I wouldn't leave again.
All I could do was put down my cup and wrap myself around him again. I could tell him a million times that I was different now. I could tell myself that, too. But neither one of us were going to believe it without proof.
I kissed the side of his neck and laid my head against his shoulder. “I need to get in the shower,” I said.
“Me, too.”
“I'll hurry.”
“We could save time. Shower together.”
“You,” I stood on tiptoe and kissed his forehead, “are so practical.”
I had to admit, it was nice staying at Tony's house instead of my trailer. For one thing, everything worked. When I turned the hot water knob in the shower, hot water came out. At my trailer, I had learned the complicated sequences of turning the knob to exactly 17 minutes past the hour—not fifteen, not twenty—and then tilting the wobbly knob forward to get almost enough hot water to wash my hair and shave both legs before icy spray started shooting out.
Plus, Tony was there. Tony, who had looked to see what kind of shampoo I used and bought the exact brand for me to use in his shower. Tony, who made sure I had healthy stuff to eat and even stocked the freezer with special Fat Fighters frozen breakfast sandwiches and fresh fruit.
I remembered what he'd said the night before, about me and Viv no longer chasing bad guys, and in the light of day, it sounded like a highly sensible idea. I could have all this. A nice, normal life. Why would I go chasing after trouble? Surely Viv and I could find something else to do.
I poured a cup of coffee and filled up Tony's cup. He sat at the bar, reading the newspaper. “Help me think of something Viv and I can do together that's not chasing bad guys,” I said. “I really don't think she's the canasta type, but I want to think of something to keep her busy.”
“How about this?” He folded the paper over and slid it to me, tapping an announcement surrounded by a thick border.
Volunteers needed at Lubbock Arboretum. No gardening experience necessary—you provide the muscles, we'll show you what to do with them.
“Gardening,” I said. “Wow.”
“Yeah, it could be great. My aunt always has a garden, and she grows the best tomatoes you've ever tasted. How cool would it be to have dinner picked from our very own garden?”
“I'm fairly sure I have a black thumb,” I said.
“It's okay.” He nodded toward the paper. “They'll show you what to do. And since it's fall, there's no real growing involved. This is probably all about cleaning out the beds, getting things prepared for the next growing season.”
That sounded like something even I couldn't mess up. And he had wanted me to stay badly enough that he replicated everything he could find and even bought me breakfast sandwiches so I would have something to eat before work. It's hard not to fall completely in love with a gesture like that.
“I'll put it to Viv today. And I'll see what I can do to encourage this thing with Nigel the Brit. Maybe by this time next year we'll all be playing canasta over a plate of sliced tomatoes and cucumbers that Viv and I grew ourselves.”
Each member belongs to all the others.
As I groomed dogs at my job at Flo's Bow-Wow Barbers, that verse kept running through my head. I had to admit, I didn't care for it. I didn't like to think of myself as being obligated to anyone else—and certainly not to everyone else. To be honest, the Apostle Paul and I don't always get along.
That didn't mean that I necessarily thought he was wrong. He did, after all, write half the New Testament. That had to give him some credibility right there. I just didn't like it. The truth was, though, that everything we did affected those around us. I had learned that lesson a million hard ways when I was drinking. No one lived in a vacuum.
It was a slow day at Flo's, and one of the great things about working there was that we didn't have to stay until closing time. If we got done with our dogs, we could leave. So when I realized I was going to be through with work by two o'clock, I decided to use whatever gifts I had to help Viv.
“Windy, call Viv.”
Viv didn't even say hello. She must have seen it was me, because she answered with, “What time are you getting off?”
“I'll be done in about fifteen minutes,” I said.
“Ooooh, that's perfect! Come straight over. I have a job for you.”
“Does this involve Nigel?”
“It does! I had a fantastic idea but I need someone to help me play it out.” She hung up.
I frowned at the phone. She needed someone to help play it out? What mortifying scene was she getting me into? I swept up and cleaned my tools, thinking that this could help pay back some of the shampoo and breakfast sandwiches Tony had bought.
That was a thought I immediately checked, though. Tony would never owe me. I would forever be in Tony's debt. I decided that while I was helping Viv capture Nigel the Brit, I would also bring up the volunteer thing at the arboretum. It was the least I could do.
When Stump and I got to Viv's apartment at Belle Court, she was in a tizzy. She had written out a scene for us to act out as Nigel walked by.
Although my part was crucial, I wasn't exactly playing Lady Macbeth. Viv rushed us to one of Belle Court's numerous hallways and positioned me and Stump, then stood back and surveyed the effect.
“Bend your knee a little.”
I bent my knee.
“No, the other one. More. No, not that much.”
“What look are you going for here? Tell me that, and I can bring my own interpretation.”
“We're just two friends engaged in casual conversation. Do you remember your line?” She checked her lipstick in the mirror that hung above a huge flower arrangement on the hall table. We were in one of the many byzantine hallways in Belle Court’s main building, where an alcove held two floral print wingback chairs for a chance to sit and watch the world go by.
“But Winston Churchill was Prime Minister during World War II,” I stated. Again. I mentally tried to force my body into the stance of someone engaged in casual conversation about World War II.
“You're not selling it,” Viv said. She leaned forward and ran a thumbnail along her lip to edge away a stray lipstick smear. “Say it like you're honestly confused.”
I was honestly confused. I wanted to help Viv, but I couldn't believe she was working so hard to get this guy's attention. She had, after all, already had as many husbands as Elizabeth Taylor. Wasn't that enough? I hefted Stump to my other side, trying to be supportive but also trying to figure out what the urgency was. “What do you hope is going to happen? What is it about this guy that has you working so hard to impress him?”
“I'm not working that hard,” Viv said. She turned and stood on tiptoe, checking her butt out in the mirror. “I'm just...he's...” She stopped and frowned. “He's British.”
“And?”
“And it's so cool. You need to hear him talk—Oh! Here he comes!”
I turned to look down the hall.
“Don't look! For crying out loud!” She whirled around and visibly tried to catch her breath.
I could hear Nigel's group—consisting of himself and what sounded like four or five “old widder women” as G-Ma called them—coming down the hall toward us. Viv took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, then held a hand up to me in a wait-for-my-signal gesture.
The women were all talking at once, though. I could see why Viv had named them The Gaggle. It was bizarrely like a group of tweens walking through the mall. One of the ladies was Anne, one of my favorite people at Belle Court. Privately I thought of her as Apple Annie because of her round red cheeks. She was every sweet little old lady you've ever seen—Mrs. Santa Claus, the lady who owned Tweety Bird, etc.
Behind Anne was Imogene, a gruff old bear of a woman who was like the opposite of Apple Annie. My nickname for her was Intimidating Imogene. I never knew if I had somehow, at some point, managed to disappoint Imogene without knowing it, or if she just went through life looking like that, but every time I saw her I felt like slinking away with my tail between my legs.
“Shut up, Anne,” Viv hissed through her lips. “For once in your life, just shut up!”
They were on us, then, and the moment was about to be lost. With a frown, Viv signaled to me and whispered, “Loud!”
“But Winston Churchill was the Prime Minister during World War II,” I shouted.
“Oh, Salem! Hahahahaha!” Viv threw her head back and laughed hugely. She slapped her leg. She checked the mirror to see if the group passing behind her had noticed. “That's all anyone remembers. The good ol' British Bulldog! But he became Prime Minister halfway through the war. Neville Chamberlain was Prime Minister when war broke out—” She started as if she'd just realize we weren't alone in the hallway. “Well, hello there, Nigel.” She smiled brilliantly. Then her mouth went flat. “Ladies.”
The snub was lost on Anne. She stood at Nigel's side, smiling her cherubic smile. “You should join us at the pool, Viv. We're about to do water aerobics.” She reached out and rubbed Stump's ears with her soft little-old-lady fingers. “Right, Nigel? Viv would enjoy water aerobics, don't you think?”
“That's right,” Nigel said. “The more the merrier.”
I had to admit, for an old guy he was kind of hot. His silver hair swept back from his high forehead. He had the requisite old man bushy eyebrows, but they were still somewhat dark. He sported a mustache and a very narrow goatee, both darker like his eyebrows instead of full silver like the hair on his head. The effect reminded me of a rakish riverboat gambler, except with a British accent.
“I fear we're not able,” Viv said.
I looked at her. I fear we're not able?
“We're working a new case. Got to catch the baddies, you know. Gotta...crack on.”
“That's right!” Anne said. She beamed up at Nigel. “Viv and Salem are private detectives.”
“He knows, Anne. You've told him at least five times that I know of,” Imogene said.
“Yes, well, we'd best be on our way or we'll miss the class.” Nigel turned to Viv and me with a bow. “Perhaps another time.” He took Anne by the elbow and steered her back toward the pool area.
Viv and I watched him go in silence. She frowned. “Did you see the way he was holding Anne's elbow?”
“Probably just trying to make sure she didn't fall.”
She latched on to that. “He is very considerate.”
“Viv, what is it about this guy that has you so bowled over?”
She looked at me like I was crazy. “Did you see him? Did you hear him speak? The more the merrier,” she parroted in a sad imitation of his accent. “I mean, he really meant that, I could tell. That was sincere.”
“Do you think he's impressed by your knowledge of British history?”
“Of course! He's a war hero—did I tell you that? He flew Spitfires in World War II.”
“That is impressive.”
“And you should hear him read poetry.” She turned back toward her apartment, lost in the memory of Nigel's voice. “It's like...you know that feeling you get after a nice brandy? Warm in the center of your body, relaxed, content? Nigel reading poetry is like that.” She swanned around the hallway like someone in a half-swoon.
I remembered the way Nigel had taken Anne's elbow. I didn't want to say anything to Viv, but that hadn't looked merely considerate to me. He'd been almost proprietary. I could imagine that sweet Apple Annie would bring out the masculine nature of a retired war hero.
Poor Viv. She wasn't the kind of person who dealt graciously with not getting what she wanted. She told me one time that she'd keyed the car of a romantic rival. Not exactly blood sport, but still, I was starting to become a trifle concerned for Anne.
My phone bleeped as I followed Viv back to her place. It was the sound I'd set for G-Ma.
“How's it going, G-Ma?” I said in answer.
“Serena had a vision about that reporter fella and wants you to tell the police.”
Five questions immediately began to clamor for top billing. I chose the most obvious one first. “Who's Serena?”
“She's the new card reader in room 6, with all the crystals and stuff. She had a vision.”
G-Ma had recently converted her rundown strip motel to a cute little shopping center full of individually owned and unique shops. All the former motel rooms were now small businesses—a coffee shop, a nail salon, a used book store-and, of course, the yoga place Viv and I had been to on Tuesday night. This was G-Ma's innovation after her regular clientele of prostitutes—which she still swears she knew nothing about—were forced to either find other operating quarters or change lines of work. G-Ma made the offer to help any of the girls who were willing, get training and small business loans, and started advertising the place big time. A few of the girls took her up on the offer, and although the place was still undergoing some renovations, the shops that were open were getting by.
I had seen Serena's shop when Viv and I had been there for yoga, but I hadn't met her. I liked her shop, though—she’d had a big blue and silver swirl painted on the front window that spiraled out into what looked like a starry sky.
So anyway—that was question number one out of the way. On to question two. “What kind of vision?”
“She said it was more of a feeling, actually. Not like a clear vision. She doesn't get them like tuning into a TV show or something.” She said this with a tone that told me these were the exact words Serena had said to G-Ma. “They're more like just feelings. Like when you're watching a movie and a bad guy comes on the screen, and you know he's a bad guy because the music changes. It's like all that, without the visual, though. You just hear the music and get the sense that there's a bad guy. It's subtle like that.”
“What kind of feeling did she get?”
“She said that fellow had been wrestling with demons.”
I waited, but nothing else was forthcoming.
“Demons?”
“Right.”
“Like...what kind of demons?” Since we were in Viv's hallway by now, I let Stump down to trot alongside us. The other residents on her floor were used to Stump and didn't freak out that she would pee on the carpet or anything.
“Just demons. But she thinks it's important that the police know this.”
“Okay, well...” Does Serena not have a phone? I wanted to ask.
“I told her you had that boyfriend who was the cop and that you would tell him.”
“G-Ma! Bobby is not my boyfriend. You do remember that I'm married, right?” Somewhat.
“Colleague, then.”
I let that one slide, but I couldn't help but grin at what Bobby would think about me and him being colleagues. “Why doesn't she want to tell the police herself? I think police work with psychics sometimes. They would probably want to hear about her having a vision about Peter Browning's death.”
At this, Viv whipped her head around. “Psychic vision? Peter Browning's death?”
I took Viv's key from her—because she'd suddenly lost interest in unlocking the door and was focused on my phone call—and opened the door. “I can give her Bobby's number.”
Viv took the phone from me. “We'll be happy to pass on the information. Now give me all the details.”
I knew how G-Ma was going to react to that. G-Ma did not like Viv. She thought Viv was a snobby old biddie who'd had nothing but good luck and thought she was better than everyone—‘everyone’ meaning G-Ma specifically, who'd had to work her own fingers to the bone and never had a break from anyone. To her credit, G-Ma was right about parts of that assessment, but dead wrong about other parts. It was true that G-Ma worked like nobody's business and always had. She'd had to make her own breaks, and it made me happy to see how well the motel was doing now, after years of mere subsistence on the side of a highway that people rarely used anymore. And it was true that Viv had seen some good fortune in the last couple of husbands, in that they'd had fortunes to see, and left it all to Viv. But Viv had also had her share of bad breaks in life before that, and she wasn't a snob. She most definitely didn't think she was better than anyone. She just really enjoyed annoying my G-Ma. Nothing made her happier than winning a point in the Battle of Viv vs. G-Ma.
“No, I think you should give me the information so I can convey it to the proper authorities,” Viv was saying. “Yes, give it to me. What is her phone number, then? I'll call her myself. Just tell me!” Viv frowned and dropped her Jimmy Choo handbag on the floor. “Lady, do you want to be cited for obstruction of justice?”
I could hear G-Ma laughing from the other end of the line.
Viv scowled and jabbed the End Call button, then thrust the phone back at me. “She won't tell me.”
“It's okay, we can go see Serena ourselves.”
Viv picked her handbag back up. “I'll drive.”
“Right now?” I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to be steering Viv away from murder investigations and onto less dangerous territory.
“Of course, right now. Come on. We're taking your car and I'm driving.” Apparently, the point loss to G-Ma needed to be made up somehow.
Fine by me. I was still not comfortable driving that bus. But I wasn't sure about the whole psychic thing. Would Tony consider this dangerous? Was it okay for a Christian to talk to a psychic? Plus, I hadn't even mentioned the cleanup at the arboretum yet.
But Viv was already headed out the door.
“Hang on,” I said. Stump grunted as I picked her up and chased Viv down the hall to the elevator.
On the elevator I said, “Listen, I need to talk to you about this whole private investigator stuff.” Might as well just be honest. “Tony isn't comfortable with this.”
“That's fine. Tony isn't doing it.” Viv pushed the first-floor button.
“He's not comfortable with me doing it, as I'm sure you understand. What with all the guns being pointed at me and stuff. He doesn't care for that.”
“Has that man forbidden you from conducting investigations?” She put her hand on her hip and glared.
Viv liked Tony—I mean, everyone liked Tony. He was a great guy. In fact, Viv had worked hard to help me prove him innocent of murder, in fact, when his aunt had tried to frame him. But that didn't mean she would hesitate to go full feminist on his butt if she thought he was exercising overbearing male authority over me.
“Of course not. But I think I owe it to him to try and stay out of trouble.”
“No problem. We're going to see a psychic. What's the worst that could happen?”
I shrugged. “I'm sure nothing will happen. I just...the thing is...” I grimaced. “I kind of told him I would encourage you on to other endeavors that aren't so...rife with bad guys.”
“Such as?”
“Such as...gardening.”
Viv drew her head back. “Gardening?” She wrinkled her nose.
“The arboretum put out a call for volunteers to help clean up the place. You know, rake up dead leaves and clear out underbrush and stuff. I promised him I'd talk to you about it.”
“Okay, well, check that one off your list. We talked.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Viv perched designer sunglasses on her nose and waltzed out the door, a woman who would not be denied her mission.
I handed her the keys and loaded Stump into the passenger seat. I didn't bother locking the doors anymore. No one wanted a 1974 Monte Carlo, except to marvel that it was still running.
I studied Viv as she swung the Monster Carlo out of the Belle Court parking lot, her chin set. It was clear I needed to take another tactic with this.
“You know, it was his idea that I help things along with Nigel,” I said casually. “That's why I called today.”
“Whose idea? Tony's?”
“Yes. He really liked the idea of you being in a relationship with such a distinguished man.” Or any man. Any person. Anything that would burn off some of her energy without involving gunfire.
“Nigel is very distinguished.”
“Exactly. I think Tony is hoping you and Nigel could become our couple friends. You know, hang out on weekends and stuff.”
“We could go skiing together!” Viv said. “Weekend trips to Santa Fe!”
“Exactly!” Never mind that I didn't ski, and it was somewhat debatable whether Viv and Nigel should ski. Tony was back on Viv's nice list, so I could now strike while the iron was hot. “Like I said, he didn't forbid me from doing investigations. He's just uncomfortable with it, so I think I need to lie low, kind of, until he gets used to the idea.” Or until you find a new hobby. I sent up a silent prayer that Viv would discover a heretofore untapped love of gardening. It would take a miracle of Biblical proportions.
She chewed on her lower lip and seemed to consider it. “Well, okay. I could do some volunteer hours at the arboretum. It would look good on my resume for Nigel, anyway. Last night I saw a documentary about land girls—the women who worked the fields during World War II while the men were gone.”
“That's fantastic! That would give you a great talking point for him.”
“Well, I didn't actually watch the documentary. I read the description, though.”
“Well, that's a starting place. You can watch it tonight, and there's a work session at the arboretum tomorrow afternoon. I think I can get off in time to make it. I'll meet you there.”
“Nope, we're taking your car and I'm driving. That's the plan. For now, though, I want to hear what this psychic has to say.”
That reminded me of another question I had. “Is this okay for us? I mean, talking to a psychic? Can Christians do that?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“I don't know. It feels like dabbling in the occult or something.”
“Nonsense. The Bible said God gives some the spirit of prophecy.”
I gasped. “Hey! I read that verse just this morning!” That had to be a sign, right? If God had not wanted me to go see a psychic, He would not have given me that verse two times in the same day, surely.
That reminded me of my own low spirits that morning, though. I rubbed Stump's belly. “Do you ever think about what your gift is, Viv? That verse I read said that we're all part of the body and we all have our parts to play. Do you know what your part is?”
Viv looked at me with a crooked grin. “We have been friends for over a year now. I should think that would be obvious.”
I ran through the what I could remember – prophesying, obviously. Giving – well, I couldn’t honestly say I’d seen much of that. Teaching – maybe. Encouraging – when she felt like it.
“I give up,” I finally said.
“Salem. Clearly, I have all the gifts.”
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chapter three