“Leland,” Uncle Bob said, “I don’t think Charley needs to be working right now.”
“That’s what I said. She insisted. Said she was going stir-crazy. Threatened to put a curse on me if I didn’t let her.”
“That’s not the way I remember it.”
“Can you do that?” Ubie asked. “Can you put a curse on someone?”
I loved that man.
Flashing him an evil grin, I went back to work, wiping the bar. It seemed like the right thing to do, since I was getting paid to be there.
And here came the last member of the gang.
“Twitter!” Cookie said, pointing at me as she sat beside Agent Carson.
I tossed my rag on the bar and stood up for myself. “Don’t tell me what to do, missy!”
“No, that’s how all these women know about your man and where he works. He has his own hashtag. It’s crazy.”
Why that would surprise me, I had no idea. He had entire websites dedicated to him while he was in prison – why should I have expected any less when he got out?
“Does he really have a Ferrari?” she asked.
“A what?” I asked, stunned.
“According to the Twitter-verse, that man is decked out.” She waved at the rest of the gang as she settled onto the barstool.
A Ferrari? Clearly we needed to bang less and talk more. If he did, where was he keeping it? I would totally have noticed a Ferrari, especially if one were sitting beside Misery.
Uncle Bob quit staring at my receptionist, sat on the opposite side of Agent Carson, and told Dad, “I need that new cook of yours to whip me up some nachos.”
“You gonna pay?”
“Do I ever? Oh, and I found out who bought the asylum you’ve been so worried about, pumpkin.”
I’d just picked my rag back up. I stopped wiping the bar again, realizing it was never going to get clean at this rate. “And?”
He handed me a thick envelope and hitched a brow as though I should already know. “It seems you did.”
“That’s odd. I don’t remember buying an abandoned mental asylum. I’ll have to look at my bank statement.”
“According to this, you’re the new owner.”
I paused, befuddled, then after a quick succession of blinks that got me nowhere fast, I opened the envelope to find a deed with my name on it. “Reyes,” I said, stunned. “It had to be Reyes.”
“Reyes Farrow?” Dad didn’t know about Reyes and me and our sordid past or even sordider present. If he’d known, I wondered if he would’ve hired him.
“Yes, it had to be Reyes. Who else? I knew that man had a million dollars. And he drives a Ferrari?” I looked toward the kitchen. “But why would he do this?”
“Well, I didn’t know how to tell you this, pumpkin,” Dad said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “but Reyes Farrow bought this place as well with the stipulation that the offices upstairs be yours. I was wondering about that last part. Is there something you want to tell me?”
“No. And what?” My voice raised an octave. “You sold Calamity’s?”
“We were supposed to hammer out the details yesterday, but he said he had a sick friend to look after, so we’re going to the abstract company tomorrow.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m retiring. And after what he paid me, I can do it very comfortably. I’ve decided to do some traveling.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “Alone.”
“Just a man and his thoughts, huh? What about the old ball and chain?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this way, but your mother and I are separating.” When I pressed my mouth together, he corrected, “Stepmother. We’re just – We’re going in different directions.”
“I don’t know what to say, Dad. ‘Hurray’ just seems wrong.” And it did. He loved her. Or at least he did at one time. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of Charley went into that decision.
I looked down at the deed in my hands. Surveyed the bar. My offices upstairs. I just didn’t know what to say.
“Well, I think a round of nachos are in order,” Uncle Bob said, still thinking about his belly instead of my newfound —
Wait. What the heck was I going to do with an abandoned mental asylum?
“We’ll discuss this as well as other things later,” Ubie added, the threat almost crystal clear, only not because it had a milky film on the top. He shot me his glower again and I had to resort to coughing behind my closed fist.
When one side of the room quieted and a scorching heat crept around me, I turned to watch my man bring two plates out of the kitchen. He smiled and placed two plates of nachos in front of my initiated gang members.
“Enjoy,” he said, flashing a nuclear grin when Agent Carson only stared. Who could blame her?
“Mr. Davidson,” he said, acknowledging Dad before leaning over the bar to hand Uncle Bob some extra napkins. His mouth brushed across my ear. “Can you take a break?” He wore a cook’s apron. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen in my entire life, and I fell just a little harder.
“From what I hear, you’re the boss, so you tell me.” I raised the deed. “What’s this?”
He lowered his head as though embarrassed. Reyes Farrow embarrassed? Unfathomable.
“It’s yours,” he said, fiddling with a small piece of paper in his hand. “I know how important Rocket is to you, so I just thought I’d buy it. Make sure the city doesn’t tear it down or anything. We’ll need to fix up the outside a little to keep the city off your back, but the inside is all Rocket’s.”