Show Her The Money

Lucky for me, Sam wasn’t personally involved. Unlike Mom, who clucked after me all the years I was growing up, who was now roaring like a mother bear, Sam couldn’t care less what happened to me. Well, that’s not really fair. I’m sure he cared, but obviously not like Mom does.

While the cop stood by and listened, nodding as though he agreed completely, Sam said to Mom, “This guy wants to scare Pink into giving up, but I don’t think he’ll cross the line and hurt her, or anyone in the office. He’s bluffing.”

“How do you know? Are you a mind reader?” Mom turned her anger and frustration toward Sam and I felt for him.

He shot a look at me, then focused on Mom’s very red face. “Because, Jane, if he wasn’t bluffing, she’d already be dead.”

After answering police questions for over an hour, I was finally able to leave. Mom said she had to pick up some tax information from a homebound client, so I had a brief reprieve from her nervous, worried looks and angry grumbles.

Relaxing a little, I drove to her house, anticipating a float in the pool. And the Corona. Maybe two. Or three.

It wasn’t until I drove up to her house that I realized I’d never gotten a key. Dammit. I parked in back, in the driveway, climbed through a window and hurried to shut off the security alarm before time ran out and the cops were called. But when I got to the control box, I realized the security alarm wasn’t on. The hair on the back of my neck rose up when I heard someone whistling. Stepping close to the door so I could haul ass if it turned out to be a burglar, or the stalker, I called out, “Hello! Who’s there?”

A medium-built man with a small beer belly and thick, brown hair stepped into the living room and smiled at me. “I’m Harry, the air-conditioner guy.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, I smiled at him. “Hi, Harry. Mom having trouble with her air conditioner?”

“Just needed a little Freon.” He narrowed his brown eyes. “So you must be Pink.”

“Yes.”

“How’d you get a name like that?”

“Remember Pink Pearl erasers?”

“No.”

“Well, they’re erasers that are pink and they’re Pink Pearl brand and lots of accountants used to use them. When I went to work as an accountant, I got the nickname because my last name is Pearl and it just sort of stuck.”

He still looked confused, but I wasn’t going to discuss my stupid nickname any further.

“You don’t look like your mother.”

I sighed and leaned against the column. “No.”

“Does your dad have blond hair and blue eyes?”

“Yes.”

“Because your mother is dark, with dark hair and eyes. She almost looks Italian.”

I resisted being sarcastic and thanking him for telling me what my mother looked like. “Indian.”

“How’s that?”

“Her grandmother was Cherokee. She’s dark because of the Indian thing.” I turned away and said as politely as possible, “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll unload my car now.”

“Sure, sure. Do you need some help?”

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

Forty-five minutes later, Mom got home and came outside. “Whitney Ann!” She walked to the edge of the pool and stared down at me with one of those You’ve Been A Naughty Girl looks.

“If you say one word, I swear to God, I’ll leave and never speak to you again. And I am not kidding.” I held my second Corona next to my face, loving the feel of the cold glass.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so—”

“Mom, I’m warning you.”

“Fine,” she snapped in a voice that indicated it was anything but fine. She glanced at her watch. “Already past seven. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Then go get some clothes on. I brought fajitas home and we’re having company.”

“Aw, Mom, gimme a break! I’m so tired, I’d have to wake up to die. And I’m half-looped. Who’s coming for dinner?”

“A lawyer named Ed.”

“A lawyer? Are you dating him?”

“Of course not! You know I don’t date. Besides, he’s young enough to be my son and that would be weird.”

“Well, I know you wouldn’t be trying to fix me up, so what’s with Ed?”

“He refers a lot of his divorce clients to me for tax advice, and I send him my tax clients who’re getting divorced. Now, he and Sam work together on our mutual clients. He’s a good attorney, I think, but besides that, he owes me a big favor.” Mom took a seat at the end of a teak chaise lounge and watched me float around with the beer. “Since you got rid of that overpriced Washington attorney, you need another one, so I coaxed Ed into helping you for a discounted fee.”

“How much discounted?”

“Two grand, plus expenses.”

“And he’s a lawyer? You musta done one helluva favor for him. What’d you do? Spring him out of prison?”

“Ed won a very large case last year and failed to make his estimated payments to the IRS. I got all of his penalties abated.”

“What’s with this guy not paying his taxes? Is he a deadbeat?”

“No. Ed’s just…well, he’s sort of a free spirit.”

“Which means he’s a bum. Your only daughter, about to be crucified on the altar of the U.S. government, and you find me a bum of a lawyer.”

She stood and walked toward the back door. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’ll like Ed. Trust me.”

After dragging my exhausted, half-drunk ass out of the pool, I showered and dressed in a loose, cotton sundress, one of my better Target finds, and went to the kitchen to help Mom get supper on the table. She was just pulling the fajitas out of the oven, saying, “I love Rosario’s fajitas, but I guess maybe they’re better when you eat them there.”

A deep voice responded, “They’ll be okay.”

I moved farther into the kitchen and spotted a tall guy leaning against the opposite counter. In a faded red T-shirt, he was buff, with longish, dark hair that didn’t look like he wore it long on purpose. It looked like he either forgot to go get a haircut, or blew it off. Glancing at the hole in his jeans, I voted for blew it off. Ed was not a guy who cared what he looked like.