Trouble

If I’m going to survive, I’ve got to pick up more clients. Scrubbing my hand across my forehead, I glance at the book still sitting on our table. “Come on, ancestors. Don’t let me down.”

Finally, after Court has her lunch, she agrees to drive to the station. I know she’s nervous. She thinks they won’t believe her. She thinks they’ll take Oliver away. I try to distract her with my serious need to find more backs to rub.

“I can talk to the guys at Palmetto Rehab and see if they need an extra pair of hands.” She’s still in her navy Palmetto scrubs from her last appointment.

“You think they’d hire me? I’ve never worked in a clinic.”

“I was straight out of school when they hired me. No promises, but I’ve been there a while.”

“That would be fantastic, Court.” My chest swells with optimism only to deflate as quickly when we pull into the parking lot of the precinct.

I’m just stepping out when my phone pings with a text. Is this Joselyn Winthrop who does massage? Are you still taking new clients?

“Hey, you go on inside. I’ll be right there.”

She pauses to give me a panicked look. “Joselyn!”

Stepping forward, I pull her into a hug. “I’ll be right inside, and you know these guys. We were just here last week getting the order. Talk to the desk clerk, and I’ll be with you before anything else happens.”

“You have the pictures.”

“Right!” I text them to her. “Just let me set this up, and I’ll be there.”

She’s not happy, but after crunching the numbers, I can’t pass up an offer. I quickly reply. Yes. If you would, who is this?

I wait as the gray dots float. Basil Santiago of Santiago and Associates.

Sounds legit… Would you give me an idea of your needs and schedule?

He answers fast, as if he knew I’d say yes. Strained my back. In a lot of pain. Can we do Fri at Member’s Mark, 5:30 pm?

Chewing my lip, I hesitate. Member’s Mark is one of the downtown high-rises, and I did leave a card at the front desk there.

Still, at that time on a Friday, it’ll likely be deserted. I typically don’t see new clients after hours in their offices unless I know them or they’ve been referred to me by someone I know.

My stomach tingles, and I wish I had an alternative location. I don’t, and these are desperate times. I can’t go around leaving my card in office buildings and turning down follow-ups. When I first started out, Elliot worked in Member’s Mark, and Santiago and Associates sounds like a legitimate organization.

I pull up Google and do a quick search. It’s an international marketing firm, but they only list their services and contact numbers.

I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or not.

Fuck it. We need the money, and I’m sure it’s fine. There’s always a security guard on the first floor anyway.

I tap out my reply, Sure. Which office?

Suite 22, third office on the left.

Making an appointment in my calendar, I shoot over a verification text then tuck my phone into my pocket before heading inside to support my friend.

Chapter 18

Spencer

“A left-handed Fender Stratocaster!” Heather Olsen holds out the glossy white guitar, turning it side to side. “A vendor in Kansas had it, complete with case and papers.”

“Kansas?” Daisy’s eyes are bright as always, and as much as I tease her about her zeal, she does make our mundane work feel more like Christmas.

“Can you believe it?” Heather is equally enthusiastic. These two are a match made in antiques heaven, which is why they’ve been close since the time Daisy worked for us. “I was on a road trip with my husband, and I always make him stop at the flea markets.”