The counter tops continue over the front load, stainless steel washer and dryer. The heavily tumbled marble travertine tiles on the floors are laid in a Venetian pattern and are three shades darker than the counters. The room is spotted with seeded glass apothecary jars, a gift from me, of all sizes and shapes filled with items such as clothes pins, cleaning powders and cleaners. I am sure Megan will never use any of them, I’m not even sure she even does her own laundry, but they’re cute and cried out to me when I saw them since they matched the seeded glass in the upper cabinets.
Megan, in her hot pink sundress to match her perfect shoes, goes on. “Seriously, you don’t charge enough. It’s amazing.”
This does make me roll my eyes because I charge plenty for my services.
“Please, Megan. You’ve paid your invoice—you know that’s not true. I just stopped by with the final touches, do you like the apothecary jars?” At the end of any project, I always find a little something-something for the space as a gift to my clients, a thank you from me.
“I never would have thought to put them there myself. Looks like a magazine, I can’t wait for Trevor to see it. He’s on his way out of town this morning, had a quick trip come up at the last minute and left right before you got here. My girls are here cleaning so I’ll get them in here to show them around. The kids’ll be back soon from the park with Pam and we’ll get their stuff loaded into the lockers.” As she walks around the island still admiring her new room, she turns to me. “My next project is the playroom in the basement. As soon as Trev gives me the green light, I’ve got to get on your calendar. I don’t know if it’s too much to hope for, but it would be great if we could have that done by Christmas. I’m thinking Pottery Barn-ish, ya know, but Gabby-style. I’m sure you can come up with something even better. Why you ever went into accounting, I’ll never know.”
Just when I was about to pretend to check my calendar, knowing full and well there’s no way I can fit that project in before Christmas with the five others I am currently juggling, we heard the ruckus. The ruckus that led to me being cuffed and tossed upon Megan’s sofa by the tall, dark, big guy with messy-sexy hair.
As I calm down while retracing my crazy-ass morning, I’m finally able to take in the activity around me. There has to be six to eight of these police-like guys prowling around, in and out of the room. I look across the entry way to the dining room to see Megan’s three cleaning ladies seated in dining chairs separated by a good amount of space, all looking pale and freaked. I find myself wondering if I look the same, all the while, pondering where they put Megan.
“Miz Carpino?”
I look up to see an older man in his black macho police uniform. He’s big in a way you can tell he could still take down a bad guy even though he’s carrying some weight that isn’t muscle. His salt and peppered hair is short and the smile lines coming out from his eyes make him seem a little less scary in his black formidable police getup.
“Yes?”
He’s walking toward me holding my purse, what looks like either my driver’s license or Conceal and Carry Permit, and my little Bodyguard Smith and Wesson 380. If you could call a gun cute, mine would be super cute. It’s small, fits my hand well and almost every purse I own. Gun manufacturers have begun making guns in different colors in recent years to attract women buyers. But this was a gift from my uncles and even though there was a little pink handgun I had my eye on, they put all three of their right feet down simultaneously and denied me the pink little gun. They said this is the one I need, it has a safety, a laser, and a long trigger pull that my uncle Gino said, “You’re gonna have to mean to pull that trigger, sweet girl. No accidents with that trigger,” but added, “besides, we’re men and hunters, Gabby. We’re not buying a pink gun.”
So, there you go. I own a black gun. But black matches everything, right?
“Your C and C checks out, but we gotta keep this until we’re done here and if you’re released, you can have it back,” he informs me tersely.
“If I’m released? If I’m released? What’s going on? Am I under arrest? And why am I handcuffed?” I shoot off every thought that pops into my head.
“We’ve got a warrant to search the home and land. Agent Ortiz will be around in a sec to ask you some questions. If he clears you, you can go.”
“Can I call someone?” I shoot back.
“Maybe in a minute,” Salt and Pepper says.
“Well, I know my rights.” I decide haughty is the way to go. “I’m not answering any questions until I speak with my attorney. I’d like to make that call now…please…if I may.”
I could be haughty all the live-long day, but in the end my mother’s southern manners that are so deeply ingrained, win out.
Salt and Pepper looks down at me and his lips barely tip. “Sure. You can call your attorney.”
The way he says it I’m surprised he didn’t hold up both hands making little air quotes. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he found me amusing.
“Thank you, my phone is in my purse,” I inform and he starts rummaging for my phone.
“Ortiz,” Salt and Pepper yells while digging through my things. “This one wants to make a call, can I uncuff her? Says she won’t talk to any one until she calls her,” he looks up at me before finishing, “attorney.”
Yep, he’s clearly making fun of me. I give him a glare and small frown.
“Yeah,” I hear coming from around the corner. I look up to see Hot Helmet Hair, who also must be known as Agent Ortiz. Hmm, maybe I was right about the Latin in him. “Just don’t let her move, we’ve gotta find out why she’s here.”
Salt and Pepper comes over with a ring of keys, I turn as ladylike as I can in my pencil skirt with my hands cuffed behind my back and he bends over to unlock me. Since I’ve never been cuffed before, I never would have thought that removing cuffs would feel so damn good.
He hands me my phone, I slide the lock on the screen, go to my favorites, find who I need and hit call. Feeling a bit self-conscious, I pull myself up to full posture and cross my legs hoping to muster a bit of decorum after being squished up against a wall, searched for weapons and cuffed. Looking up, I see Agent Ortiz and Salt and Pepper towering over me. Agent Ortiz is observing me with a cocked eyebrow with an incredulous look.
Dropping my head to find some make believe privacy, I say the only thing I can say when Tony answers. “Hey…um…I’m in a tiny bit of a situation.”
Chapter Two
You’re An Accountant?
I hear the front door open, look up, and find Tony stalking into Megan’s entry way wearing an infuriated expression. Always the picture of perfection at work, he’s now lost the suit jacket, his tie is loose with the top button undone with the sleeves rolled. His ultra-dark brown wavy hair is rustled and I can tell he’s been running his hands through it.
Even though we are on the heels of August and it’s still freaking hot outside, I doubt his state of appearance has much to do with the weather. I wonder if he’s pissed for being pulled out of a meeting with a new client? Or maybe he’s pissed because his favorite cousin—and although he won’t admit it—one of his favorite people ever, has been caught in the middle of some big raid, being detained and questioned by two federal agencies. I’m praying it’s the latter. I’ve never been a fan of a pissed off Anthony Carpino, Jr.