Foods, Fools and a Dead Psychic by Maria Swan (read a book .TXT) 📗

pulling her leg. Pulling her leg. Americanism in its purest form. Loved it. Try to translate that into Italian.

As anticipated, I beat Kassandra to the office. The front door was unlocked and I could smell coffee. I walked straight to the kitchen where I found Kay munching on some muffins. Blueberry I hoped. She had today’s paper open in front of her but managed to slide the box with two more muffins my way. I went to get my mug and couldn’t help notice that she was wearing the exact same clothes she had on yesterday. Interesting.

“Did you get my message?” Her voice spooked me, busy as I was mentally judging her assumed clothing faux pas.

“N-n-noo.” Fingers crossed she wasn’t a mind reader. I entertained myself removing the paper from the muffin. “That girl, the redhead. Her boss said she’s good. She’s covering for Al, that’s why you ended up with her. You’re one of Al’s regulars. Anyway, the boss likes her. He plans to keep her on even after Al is back from his honeymoon. Let me see the photos when she sends them. You should be getting them today. I want to see just how good she is. Maybe I’ll switch to her, too.”

I mumbled okay, assembled my coffee and muffin, and headed to my cubicle. Hoped someone didn’t take me for a trespasser, as I wasn’t a familiar face around here before nine. But apparently Kay and I were the only early risers, or in her case, well, maybe she had yet to hit the sack. Oh, I should rephrase that. Later.

Kassandra arrived five minutes after I sat myself down at my desk. I waved at her from the cubicle. She headed to the kitchen and I could hear her talking and laughing, then the phones started to ring. I had four voicemails from Max. The last one must have come in just as I got into my Fiat. I checked the phone and sure enough, the ringer was off. Cool, Monica, really cool.

That’s what professional realtors do, ignore their phones. I didn’t recognize the number of the other two messages so, of course, I clicked on those first. Oh no, it was the assistant to the Esquire. I totally forgot about returning that call. Maybe it no longer mattered and they already settled without me. That would be a good thing, I told myself. Regardless, I had to call them. So that was the first message I returned, plus it counted for two.

The person at the other end sounded rather young and perky, for it being barely nine a.m., I mean.

“Oh, yes, Miss Baker, thank you for calling back. We would appreciate it if you could come by as soon as possible as everything must be signed and delivered by eleven o’clock.” Eleven o’clock? It was after nine-thirty and I had no idea what she or her boss wanted me to sign.

So I asked her. There was a long pause before she answered. “Perhaps you would like to come in and review the documents? Should I let Mr. Dumont know you’ll be stopping by so he can meet with you and go over everything?”

Just the mention of his name sent my blood scurrying all the way to my scalp. Great. I looked around. I was all alone. What a relief.

“Huh, no, no, that won’t be necessary. If Mr. Dumont approved, it’s all good. I’ll be there within an hour, thanks.”

I jotted down the address she gave me, same as on the fancy business card. It was in Scottsdale, not too far from my new listing. Perfect, I could swing by the Fashion Square Mall and pick up a few towels for the master bath. Within twenty minutes I was ready to hit the road, and had already explained to Kassandra and Kay. Two Ks, what a coincidence. The television jingle about every kiss begins with K stuck in my head like clumpy mascara on fake eyelashes for the rest of the morning.

The law firm office occupied the second floor of a building on the opposite side of the mall. The young lady in the lobby was the same one who answered my phone call. It all happened quickly. A beverage was offered, I declined. The documents were laid out on a huge, marble table in what could have been the conference room. A much older woman, a lawyer, greeted me and went over page after page of legalese. It all boiled down to the fact that I was about to get a $10,000 check as soon as everything was finalized. And that was for pain, suffering, stress and I didn’t know what else. The lawyer assured me everything had Tristan Dumont’s seal of approval and there was a strange gleam in her eyes when she pronounced his name. Almost like mentally letting me know she knew all about the two of us.

Stop it Monica. Yes, the same gleam the front desk girl had while walking me into the conference room. What? Did they think I was his mistress? Suddenly, I needed to get the hell out of there, go breathe some fresh air. I scribbled my name where the little yellow arrow pointed, no questions, no hesitation. I wanted to be done, wanted not to be there.

Then I rushed back to my car as if someone was chasing me. And I remembered I had, h-a-d, to get the car to the tire shop. So instead, I crossed the road and went shopping, hoping, praying, the hurt in my chest would subside. I picked up two large bath towels and two smaller ones, all white so I could use them for my own bath once the house sold. By then it was lunchtime so I stopped by the food court, something I hadn’t done in a long time. Maybe by the time I was done with lunch I would no longer feel like calling Tristan. After all, thanks were in order.

I loved to eat and watch the