Rocky Mountain Angels (37 page)

Mick looked over at the dark-haired beauty in a tight, bright floral dress, now chatting up the intern and flirting indiscriminately then back at Ted – balding, overweight, and easily fifteen years older than her.

“Sure, go for it, Ted.”

While Ted was daydreaming his approach, Mick slipped out the door.

What is wrong with me? Irena’s gorgeous. Why don’t I ask her out?
He pondered this question as he headed back to his office to get his coat and all the way to his car. Driving home, he tried to picture them together as a couple strolling arm in arm around the Plaza.

He shook his head. It just didn’t fit. They didn’t fit.

Tammy and I fit.

He shook his head again. Tammy had left him, so evidently this feeling of “fitting” was subjective.

***

“Oh, yes, Halloween. I’m sorry, I forgot,” Mick apologized into the phone. “No, no, it’s no big deal...Of course you have to take the kids out...No, don’t worry about me. I’ll just have this champagne all to myself. In fact, maybe I’ll go out... Well, you can stop by if you want, but I’m afraid I don’t have any candy to hand out, just the champagne...”

Mick, standing in the middle of his practically bare apartment, was still in the dark grey suit he had worn to work.

“Thanks, Sis...Yes, it was a long project – a long, tedious project...No, I’m fine, really. Like I said, I’ll probably go out on the town. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye.”

He hung up the phone and immediately kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie, and pulled the champagne out of the ice bucket.
Go out?

Like hell.

He popped the cork, poured a glass, and sank into the sofa.

***

Amanda stood waiting in the hall outside Mrs. Taylor’s apartment, again loaded down with fabric sample books. She loved the ornate woodwork of this old building – the crown molding, the sconce lighting – even the worn oriental hall rugs made her smile. She had tried to persuade Mrs. Taylor to choose a fabric for her draperies that blended with the style of this grand old building, but Mrs. Taylor had proved to have a different style altogether, and Amanda was having a hard time pinning it down.

The door opened, and Mrs. Taylor ushered her in with, “Oh, here you are, Love! I’m so glad you came!”

The door closed as the Bride of Frankenstein ushered Princess Peach and Buzz Lightyear up to the door across the hall and rang the bell.

***

The doorbell rang, but Mick didn’t hear it over the blender. He’d finished the champagne and had moved on to making margaritas. His mood had gone from bad to worse, and he had convinced himself that nothing short of a weekend bender would help. He did hear the loud knocking that followed immediately after hitting the off button and was just tipsy enough to think offering a blender of margaritas to Trick or Treat-ers a splendid idea.

He swung open the door with a cocky smile that faded as soon as his eyes locked with the Bride of Frankenstein, a.k.a. Detective Clarisse Whittington, a.k.a. his sister. Her family called her Clare.

The Princess and Buzz yelled, “Trick or Treat!” and held their hollow plastic pumpkins aloft.

“I told your mother I don’t have any candy, just champagne.”

Clare pushed the kids in past Mick and closed the door.

“What’s champagne?” asked the Princess, who on other days went by Lilly.

Mick continued this line of thought despite the stern look his sister was giving him. “Well, I guess I don’t even have the champagne anymore. Who’s up for a round of margaritas? How ‘bout you, Mr. Lightyear?”

Four-year-old Patrick nodded with excitement, his helmet’s face mask clattering up and down.

Clare took the blender unceremoniously out of Mick’s outstretched hand and marched it to the kitchen where she poured it down the sink.

He knew better than to protest. She was, after all, a police detective, and the Bride of Frankenstein look was fairly frightening as well.

“So, where is Frankenstein this evening?” Mick called toward the kitchen as six-year-old Lilly twirled, and Buzz flew around the room.

“Working late,” she called back.

Clare re-entered the room, her lady Frankenstein garb not really hiding the fact that she was seven months pregnant. The sternness had left her face, leaving only a kind of sadness.

“If you’re going for Dean Martin, I think the drink was a martini, not a margarita.”

“Right.”

Mick rocked back and forth on his heels uneasily as his sister seemed to size up his state of mind. Finally, she turned and eased herself down on the beige sofa. Other than the TV, it was the only piece of furniture in the room.

“I knew you wouldn’t go out. Mick, what are you doing? You just finished the campaign… you should be out celebrating with friends. Not sitting here alone, getting drunk.”

Mick grabbed the hands of the two children, who were making him dizzy running round and round him, and led them to the kitchen and sat them down at the table.

“What friends, Clare?” he called back as he searched through the cupboards for snacks. He finally plunked a box of croutons on the table for the kids and returned to the living room.

“I don’t really know anyone outside of work, and they are just too…too…”

“Happy?”

“No, not happy. I can live with happy. You’re happy.” He turned toward his bare window and looked out at the costumed kids scurrying below. “They’re clueless, vacuous. It’s like they’re made of fluff. If I blew on them, they’d blow away.”

Clare started to get up, and he quickly offered assistance. She gave him a hug then held him by the shoulders. “That substance you’re looking for is life. It’s hardship. It’s pain. Those who have never experienced it seem less weighty. But give them time, little brother – no one gets through life without it. It will catch up to them eventually.”

She stepped toward the door. “Come on, kids. We didn’t get all dressed up for croutons. Mama wants some chocolate.”

Lilly and Patrick grabbed their pumpkins and headed for the door. Clare took their hands and turned back to Mick. “And some people are just good at hiding their real selves. Sometimes you have to dig a bit for substance in a relationship, Mick. Not everybody wears their emotions on their sleeve like you. Give people a chance. Learn to see beyond the obvious.”

He smirked. “Is that Detective Whittington talking?”

Clare paused then nodded. “Yeah, I guess it is. When you’re looking for evidence, you have to see what’s there and see what’s not. Looking a second, or even a third time, usually brings something to light you didn’t see the first time.”

She made to leave, and he held the door open for the costumed troop. Frankenstein’s bride waddled a bit as Lilly and Patrick pulled her down the hall.

Mick was feeling suddenly sober but not so much that he refrained from calling after them, “Sorry about the croutons. I wish I had some chocolate.”

Just then, the door across the hall opened, and there was that redhead he had seen the day before. Even though she was once again carrying a pile of large books, she managed to reach into her pocket and pull out a KitKat. She handed it to Mick with a smile and headed down the hallway.

Chapter 2

Amanda is wandering from room to room in an expansive house, arm in arm with her grandfather. She’s wondering how she missed seeing all these different rooms in her own home. Exploring the richly ornamented architecture and furniture and marveling at the elaborate window treatments, she points out features to her grandfather. Going to the window, she fingers heavy velvet draperies in a rich purple, green, and gold floral design.

Next to this, there is a doorway to a room that is devoid of all furnishings save a small lavender flowered swimming pool. She enters, and her grandfather is no longer with her. An orange kitten is in the pool mewing and trying to swim to the edge. A rooster is perched on the edge watching it. Suddenly it jumps on the kitten in the water and holds it under. Amanda screams.

Amanda’s eyes opened with a start, and she clutched her pillow with a sharp intake of breath.

***

Mick sat at the mahogany bar and turned the card over and over in his hands wondering if the redhead had given it to him on purpose, or if it was mere coincidence that it had been stuck to the chocolate bar she had handed him the night before. Due to the entire bottle of champagne he had consumed, the whole event was a bit blurry. But he remembered the hair.

And the smile.

The front of the card said “Interiors by Design” in turquoise with gold swirls. The back said Amanda Billings, Interior Designer.

She had come out of the apartment across the hall. What was that woman’s name – the one that always called him Mick, love? Sylvia? Or was it Cynthia? Thomas? Tomlin?
I don’t know. I’m not good with names.

“Hey, Mick!”

He was suddenly assaulted by a slap on the back that nearly made him choke on the peanut he had just popped in his mouth.

“Chuck,” Mick coughed, “what’s new?”

Chuck, who was easily fifty pounds heavier than Mick, with slightly thinning black hair, sat on the stool next to him and ordered a beer. “Same old, same old,” Chuck singsonged his usual reply. “The kids are growing, and so is my wife.” Chuck patted his own pudgy belly with both hands. “But I guess you saw her yourself last night. She said she stopped by your place with the kids. I’m beginning to wonder if she’s got twins in there.”

Mick squinted his hazel eyes in thought. “Really? I guess I hadn’t noticed.”

“Hadn’t noticed?” Chuck paused to down half a mug of beer. “Oh yeah, Clare mentioned you had been drinking just a bit.”

“I did see that she was pregnant – I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t notice that – she just didn’t seem overly pregnant. Maybe it was the costume.”

“Hmm, she went as the Bride of Frankenstein, didn’t she? I had to work late, so I didn’t see it.” Chuck paused for a moment and his eyes widened. “That outfit isn’t too far from the truth these days. Clare does not like being stuck behind a desk.”

Mick pushed his empty glass toward the bartender for a refill. “Behind a desk? What is she doing behind a desk? Is she in some kind of trouble?”

Chuck cocked his head at Mick. “You are in your own world, aren’t you? Do you really think pregnant detectives should be out on the street tracking down criminals?”

Mick shook his head, feeling foolish. “Of course, I just hadn’t thought about it, I guess.”

Chuck noticed the business card lying on the bar in front of Mick. “What’s that? Thinking of sprucing up your place a bit? God knows it needs it.” Chuck took another gulp of his beer.

“No, not really,” Mick fumbled, picking up the card. “I mean, maybe. Maybe that would be a way to uh – no, I uh, don’t
think so.”

Chuck grabbed it out of his hand and flipped it over. “Amanda Billings. Anybody you know?”

“No.” Mick snatched it back. “I mean, I’ve seen her around my building a few times, but we’ve never spoken. She just…just…smiled.” Mick nervously picked up his drink and took a swallow.

Chuck grinned and downed the rest of his beer. Rising, he pulled out his wallet to pay his tab. “Well, I think you should call her. Your place is about as sterile as a hospital. It’s depressing.” He slammed a ten dollar bill on the bar. “And sometimes a smile dresses up the place better than anything.” Chuck winked and gave Mick another slap on the back before turning to head out the door.

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Interiors By Design
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