Accidental Bodyguard. Sharon Hartley
FIFTEEN
CLAUDIA GOODWIN DROVE into her assigned parking space at Brasilia Apartments, turned off her demon car and held her breath. This time the engine kept chugging for only about five seconds before it finally hiccupped to a stop. With a weary sigh, she pulled herself out of the old clunker and into the cool late-January evening.
Thank the nursing gods she was off tomorrow and could sleep late. Although first she had to check on Maude Spalding.
Claudia entered the pleasantly lit courtyard of the small complex and reminded herself she loved her job at West Miami Children’s Hospital. She’d chosen the option of working three days straight and then four off. One of those seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time deals. Funny how lots of things seem like a good idea at first and later prove, hey, not so much.
Pushing away useless regret, she took a deep breath and inhaled the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine. She closed her eyes to savor the scent and relaxed her shoulders. The courtyard was filled with tropical foliage—towering palms, hibiscus, terrestrial orchids and bromeliads. Even a live oak or two. Meant to remind visitors of a mini rainforest, this garden-like refuge was why she’d moved in.
And she’d move again as soon as the trial was over. A niggle of worry about her testimony crept into her thoughts, but Claudia shrugged it away, rapping on her downstairs neighbor’s door.
Though it was after midnight, Maude would be up. The feisty eighty-six-year-old seldom slept. She’d lived by herself in the Brasilia for over thirty years and refused to go into assisted living.
“Maude?” Claudia called softly.
“Come on in,” Maude answered in her breathy voice.
Claudia entered and, as always, felt like she’d been transported into an over-the-top holiday extravaganza. Every available surface contained some red-and-green or gold ornament. There were Santas, Mrs. Santas, snowmen, elves, wreaths, twinkling lights and hundreds of Christmas trees, big and small. Glitter everywhere.
Claudia called Maude Our Lady of Perpetual Christmas.
December 25th was long gone, but Maude kept Christmas year-round, never putting away any of her knickknacks. They reminded her of happier times, of her family, now all dead.
Claudia approached her tiny, gray-headed neighbor in the large recliner where she spent most of her time watching television, noting she was using her oxygen.
“You been upstairs yet?” Maude demanded, with an odd, excited expression. Her eyes appeared huge behind her thick glasses.
“No,” Claudia answered, feeling for her neighbor’s pulse. “Any palpitations tonight?”
“Was some kind of ruckus in your unit,” Maude blurted.
Claudia dropped Maude’s wrist. “Ruckus?”
Maude nodded. “Sounded like furniture being moved, dishes being thrown every whichaway. I almost called the police, but I didn’t want to get you in no trouble.”
Claudia stepped back, her stomach cramping hard. Had Carlos finally decided to take action against her? “Why would you think—”
“I been around a long time, Miss Claudia. I can tell when someone’s got something in their past they’re not proud of.”
Claudia looked up. Her unit was directly over Maude’s. “I promise I’m not wanted by the police. My problem is I agreed to help them.”
“You may not be hiding from the law, but you’re keeping your head down trying to avoid trouble.”
Hoping my ex forgets about me. Claudia swallowed, suddenly worried about Moochie, the black stray cat who’d adopted her when she moved in to the Brasilia.
“Did you see anyone?”
“Two men ran down the stairs after the commotion. I didn’t notice them going up.” Maude sighed. “With my eyesight, I couldn’t tell you nothing about the way they looked.”
“I’d better go see what’s going on,” she said.
“You still got that stun gun?”
Claudia nodded and patted her purse.
“Have it at the ready.”
Claudia hurried up to her apartment. Had Carlos decided she was a liability? Maybe it was time to go in to hiding.
Her front door stood open. Not closed and locked as she’d left it. She took a deep breath. Now the jasmine seemed sickeningly sweet, making her faintly nauseous.
Most people would call the police before entering, but she couldn’t do that. Not because she was hiding from them as Maude thought, but because she didn’t trust them to protect her. Cops could easily be bought. Her ex, the infamous Carlos Romero, had taught her that. So she’d made her preparations months ago. The day she realized she was being followed.
She was on her own.
Everything she needed, courtesy of a grateful patient’s father, waited for her in a safe-deposit box.
Claudia pushed the door wide and gasped. She waited at the threshold, absorbing the chaos before her. Maude’s description had nailed the condition of her home. Furniture had been tossed and ripped. Drawers opened and thrown. Dishes and appliances smashed on the kitchen floor.
No doubt they were looking for her journal.
“Moochie?” She stepped into the living room, her heart beating so hard and fast her blood pressure had to be off the charts. “Moochie,” she called again. “Where are you?”
She entered the bedroom and discovered more destruction. They’d ripped her nursing scrubs into shreds. Fearing the worst, she kept searching.
In the bathroom she found Moochie, drowned in the toilet.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Oh, Moochie. You poor sweet thing. I’m so sorry.
She raised her eyes to the mirror and stared at words scrawled in red lipstick: KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.
* * *
JACKSON RICHARDS ACCEPTED the coffee he’d ordered from the dark-haired barista, thanked her and took a hesitant sip. Strong and hot. Just as he remembered. No one brewed a better cup than the Collins Island Café.
Jackson