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Bob gave me a sideways glance. He knew perfectly well what was happening. He’d been there the whole time. If he could have talked, he’d have told me I was a nincompoop for even asking the question. The answer was obvious. I was going to marry Ranger. I was going to be Mrs. Rangeman.
The thought was terrifying. And hard to believe. I wasn’t unhappy. Which by default left happy. Although sometimes happiness and panic feel awfully similar.
“We aren’t telling anyone,” I said to Bob. “I need to figure this one out.”
I cut across town to Hamilton Avenue. I stopped for a light,and I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. My eyes were deer in headlights. Damn! I cruised around for an additional ten minutes until I could feel my heart rate return to normal and I was capable of blinking.
We reached the office, and I parked behind the glass-installation truck. Two men were fitting a new pane of glass in the large front window. Connie and Lula were inside, watching the replacement operation.
“That’s really fast service,” I said to Connie. “I’m surprised they had glass that size in stock.”
“They said they keep it on hand because we get so many bullet holes.”
I bypassed the doughnut box on Connie’s desk and went to the coffee machine.
“How was dinner last night?” I asked Lula.
“It was excellent,” she said. “He made some spicy Mexican thing in a fry pan. There was chicken and sausage in it. And his house is nice. He keeps it real neat.”
“Did he get to use his big hammer?” I asked her.
“He didn’t have any occasion for the hammer, but I got to see the tool that counts. It wasn’t sized like his hammer, but he knew how to use it to good advantage. From my experience, which as you know is vast, I’d always take small but clever over big and dumb. Not much you can do with a big dumb tool.”
Connie and I didn’t have Lula’s depth of experience, but we nodded in support of her point of view.
“I checked on Frankie Plover,” Connie said. “He got treated in the ER for his gunshot wound and car crash abrasions. No overnight stay.”
“Did they do a drug test or a sobriety test on him?”
“No,” Connie said. “My sources tell me he was coherent and needed medical attention.”
“This isn’t good,” Lula said. “He’s going to be all cranky over this. He could decide to bomb the office. That would be bad since I got all my clothes and my wigs in the storeroom. I got some personal overnight sleeping arrangements made but they don’t include my extensive wardrobe.”
“What’s happening with Simon Diggery?” Connie asked. “Has he turned up anything helpful?”
I selected a doughnut from the box on the desk. “He texted me this morning. He said he has a promising dig site, but he needs the right circumstances.”
“What does that mean?” Lula asked. “No moon? Full moon?”
I did a palms-up. “Don’t know.” I looked over at Connie. “Any new FTAs?”
“No. The end of the week is always slow. I’m sure we’ll have one or two on Monday.”
“Then I’m going to look in on my apartment. The restoration people were there yesterday.”
“Is it ready for us to move back in?” Lula asked.
“No,” I said. “They need to dry it out. I’ll let you know what I find.”
I drove to the supermarket, cracked a window for Bob, and ran in and grabbed a basket full of essentials. I parked in my apartment building’s lot and carted the bags of groceries upstairs. A lone workman was in my apartment, checking on the fans.
“How’s it going?” I asked him.
“It’s good. All of your rugs and upholstered furniture havebeen cleared out and carted away, and the fans have done their job of drying things out. We’ll leave the fans here for another day or two. If you’re moving back in, you can turn them down when you’re in the apartment and put them back on high when you leave.”
Bob snuffled his crotch.
“Sorry,” I said, “he has no manners.”
