Electric Blue. Nancy Bush
to the Coffee Nook the next morning. The air was cooler, as if autumn had suddenly lifted its head, looked around, and decided it was time to come to the party. The air felt heavier, not quite foggy, but full of moisture. I’d left Binkster at home, still curled in her bed. She’s not the earliest riser.
Out of breath, I sank onto one of my usual stools. Julie, The Coffee Nook’s owner, asked me if I wanted a latte but I went for my usual black coffee. I looked around for Billy Leonard who generally shows up about the same time, but I was alone this morning. My only fellow coffee fiends were strangers. They sat on the end of the bar, a man and a woman dressed for the office. There was something going on with their hands beneath the bar that had her laughing and playfully slapping at him. He just had a grin on his face and wasn’t giving up.
I can’t say why, but it sort of pissed me off. Get a room.
Julie set their drinks in front of them and they headed out the door. He slipped one hand in the back pocket of her jeans. I could see him squeezing her butt all the way to their separate convertible Mercedeses. Both had their tops down and neither bothered to put them up as they shot out of the parking lot with rather more speed than necessary.
“That’s Spence and Janice,” Julie said, aware that I was watching them. “They’re always like that. Usually come in a little earlier.”
“Are they married?”
“To other people.”
“Ahhh….”
“They work together in downtown Portland. They’re both hotshot lawyers at some law firm. Their spouses come in sometimes, but they’re always alone.”
“Think they know?”
Julie shrugged. “‘Spence and Janice aren’t exactly keeping it a secret.”
“Do you know the Purcells?”
Julie didn’t find my change of subject odd. I have a sneaking suspicion she expects strange behavior from me. “I know of them.”
“I’m meeting Orchid Purcell today. The family matriarch.”
“Are you working for her?”
“For her grandson. Jasper Purcell.”
Julie shook her head. Clearly she’d never had contact with the family. As she turned to serve some newcomers I slid off my stool and jogged back home.
Binks was awake and hungry. I gave her some kiblets, then stepped into the shower. She can let herself out my new dog door to the backyard for bathroom purposes.
Forty-five minutes later I was dressed in tan capris, flip-flops and a black T-shirt. I grabbed a bottle of water and walked onto the back deck. Binks was in the fenced yard, rooting through a few fallen leaves. With the help of a handyman friend, Dwayne had cut the doggy door into my back wall. Mr. Ogilvy, my landlord, had been duly informed of the renovation and had okayed the change, though he’d come by several times to suspiciously eye the work. I’d paid for the improvement myself, but Ogilvy’s always looking for a way to charge more. I wouldn’t be surprised if he called it “added value” to the property and upped the rent. The term “skinflint” doesn’t even come close to describing him.
Once The Binkster was back inside and had begged a couple of extra kiblets from me, I was ready to go to work. There were still hours before my meeting at Chez Purcell, so I took the time to go over my finances. Fifteen minutes into the task I had a blinding headache. There was no way I could see how I was going to make it to the end of the month. I keep a certain amount in savings—enough to eke out a six-month stretch if work drops off—and I refuse to dip into it unless I absolutely have to. This had only happened once so far and I like to keep it that way. What it meant for today was that I needed extra cash.
I drank a glass of water for my headache, which subsided to a dull throb. I could take aspirin, but hey, you actually have to have some on hand. I decided to see how far I could go without drugs. Snagging the keys to the Volvo, I headed to Greg Hayden’s office.
I was halfway there when it occurred to me that I should call in advance. Greg answered his cell on the fourth ring. He’s even more electronically challenged than I am, so I half-expected to be cut off before we made contact.
“Hello,” Greg greeted me.
“It’s Jane. Got any notices to post?”
“Nah. Everyone’s paying on time.”
I stared out the windshield. Just my luck that the deadbeats weren’t out in force. How was I supposed to make a living? “Nothing?”
“Are you anywhere near here? I’ve got a twenty. Get a couple of Standish’s burgers and keep the change.”
“It’ll take a thirty.”
“All right.”
Well, okay, free food was worth it. Especially since I’d already eaten up the gas for this trip. I stopped in at Standish’s, which is a Portland institution known for their plate-sized burgers, and placed the order. Greg’s always concerned about calories and nutrition so I didn’t order the mammoth-size burgers. We each got a normal-size one.
Twenty minutes later I was at Hayden’s office, transferring his burger to him. He gave me thirty dollars and I congratulated myself that I’d cleared over ten. The food and cash took care of the headache and I was good to go.
I took a slow drive back to my cottage. Coming up my drive, I was surprised to see a familiar, slightly battered Honda parked in my usual spot. Cynthia, my arty friend who is the new owner of the Black Swan Gallery, was still seated inside the car. I parked to one side of her and came around to peer through her windshield at her. She had one hand in a death grip on the steering wheel, the other clenched around her cell phone. I signaled her that I was heading inside and she gave me a curt nod. I was pretty sure the curtness was for the caller.
Binks was thrilled to see me. She did her little happy dance and ran to her bowl. She seems to feel that any homecoming requires food. I hated to break her gluttonous little heart, but I have to be firm. Instead of food I opted for one of her stuffies, a pink elephant with drunken looking eyes. It was the only dog toy that called to me the last time I was at PetSmart. Or, Pets R Us. Or, Petco. I can’t be required to remember the names of these stores, can I? Pet ownership should not be so taxing.
Binks and I were playing a game of tug-of-war when Cynthia entered in a rush of air that seemed to vibrate with her own internal outrage. Binkster’s ears lifted and she eyed Cynthia with interest but her jaw remained clamped on the elephant.
“Everyone who works for me is either a moron, a backstabber or a fucker.”
“What constitutes a fucker?”
“They need to get the fuck out of my life.” She threw herself onto the sofa. I didn’t have time to warn her about the dog fur. She wore a black knit skirt and matching jacket with a silky chartreuse blouse underneath. “God, I hate being management. What was I thinking?”
“You wanted your own gallery.”
She ran tense fingers through her spiky, dark brown hair and made a growling sound. Binkster dropped the elephant and stared at her. “I started sleeping with Ernst.”
I ran the names of Cynthia’s friends through my mind and drew a blank. “Ernst?”
“He works for me. A painter…sort of.” She snorted. “He’s like forty, going on six. He’s a moron. And a fucker,” she decided as an afterthought. “I’m an idiot.”
“I take it you’re not sleeping with Ernst anymore.”
“Not for a good six hours.”
“Oh.”
“Do you know what that piece of shit said to me? He said I was too old for him.”
Cynthia is around my age, thirtyish. “He’s forty? Does he want to be killed where he stands?”
“He