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Not going to lie, though. I’m hurt. I wandered around my apartment for a good thirty minutes thinking he was just grabbing coffee for us.
No.
He didn’t leave a note, nor did he send me a text message. He was just gone. Poof.
Do you want to know something? It irks me. Trust me when I tell you that I’m not easily irked.
It’s okay. It’s fine. He doesn’t owe me a goodbye kiss or even a sweet note telling me how adorably I snore or I’m gorgeous in the morning—neither are true, by the way. I snore, yes. Is it adorable? According to Molly, no. It is not.
Speaking of Molly, I need to quit lollygagging about and get to work. I’m supposed to meet a prospective client up in Lincoln Park this morning, after which I’m meeting up with Molls to go back over the plans for an event this weekend.
I choose a cute dark brown corduroy jumper (jumpers are back), white turtleneck, burnt-orange tights, and brown boots for the meeting. My hair is up in a loose bun, my makeup light and natural. I realize I’m running late, so I rush over to the next block and catch a cab up north. I really shouldn’t be wasting the money, but I’ll take a bus home to compensate. I make it to the door of the large brownstone just in time. Ringing the doorbell, I wait several minutes. But no one answers. I knock this time. Still nothing. Reaching into my purse, I pull out my phone to see if there are any messages.
There is one, and it’s from this client. I press the voice-mail icon and list. “I heard what happened this weekend from Hazel Konig. I will not hire a thief to plan my anniversary party.”
Right then. I knew it was the beginning of the end of my fledgling business.
“Shit.” No. I don’t cuss, ordinarily, but occasionally, life calls for some profanity. This morning is turning out to be one of those occasions.
Taking the steps down to the sidewalk, I head south. I’m not sure where I’m going; I just know I need to walk. I’m tempted to cancel my meeting with Molly and devote the entire day to feeling sorry for myself. As I aimlessly make my way down Michigan Avenue, I attempt to cross the street without thinking. The honking starts. It’s coming from all around me. It’s so loud, I’m forced to cover my ears. I feel my body being pulled back hard. So hard, I end up on my ass half on the street, half on the sidewalk. In other words, I was kicked to the curb. “Jesus, lady. Are you okay?”
I blink up at a man in a suit. He’s good-looking, for sure, but he looks flawless. His hair is so perfectly coifed, it shines. And… “Are you wearing makeup?”
Crud. Did I say that aloud? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
“No worries.” His hand is in front of me. I place mine in his so he can help me out of the gutter. “I’m Kip Konrad from Good Morning Chicago. I’m doing a segment on the mean streets of Chicago this morning.” Leaning closer, he whispers, “Makeup is just part of the job.”
Behind him, there’s a man holding a large camera and several others hovering nearby. “What’s the segment about?”
“It was supposed to be about voter turnout, but so far, no one is willing to speak to me about politics.” He frowns. “Should I interview you, Ms.––”
“Locket. Lucy Locket.”
“What a great name.” He looks over to his crew. “I don’t suppose you plan to vote in the next city-council elections?”
“Um––when are those?”
Kip Konrad shakes his head and not a hair moves. Not one. And we live in the Windy City. Just as Kip Konrad was turning to walk away, I remembered something that Molly suggested. And since I’m a firm believer in fate, I think this is my chance to head off the bad publicity from the other night. “I do have a story for you. It’s about a stolen, ancient, family heirloom.”
Kip Konrad turns back to face me. “I’m listening.”
And do you want to know something. He does listen. To the entire story––even the part where I admit to trying to steal the locket back.
I sign a waiver that allows them to show my interview on television, and before I know it, they’re gone. “I hope I did the right thing.”
“You did.”
I turn and see a woman about my grandma’s age. “You heard the story?”
“I did. It’s a sad one.” She pats my arm. “I hope you get your destiny back, my dear.”
“Me too.”
Me too.
Chapter Ten
Feeling out of sorts, I go ahead and cancel my meeting with Molly for today with plans to meet tomorrow. I explain about the lost work, my interview with Kip Konrad, and my morning with, or in this case, without Garrett.
