One Hot Mess by Lois Greiman Read Free Book Online Page B

for other things, because the chocolaty goodness emanating from the bag was becoming a little distracting.
    Her eyes went serious. “It's a good thing what you're doing for him.”
    I peeked into the bag. I'd been right. Little chips ofgoodness all over the top of a dessert bar. Possibly goodness all the way through. “How do you mean?”
    Going to my mini-fridge, she pulled out a carton of milk and set it beside the bag. I glanced up in surprise.
    “You don't wanna mess with no osteoporosis. Mama— she's bent over like a candy cane. Thing is…” She narrowed her eyes, getting back on track. “Mr. Goldenstone needs help. You're helpin'.”
    “You think so?” I was feeling insecure and a little gooshy so I took the goodness out of the bag and broke off a piece. “Sometimes I feel like I'm just…” I shrugged and tasted, sending my salivary glands into a hastily choreographed version of
Riverdance.
    “Just takin' their money?” Shirley said. “Well, don't you be thinkin' that. You're helpin'. And not with the kind of sugar water some folks hose ya with. You're giving him the hard stuff, but he's drinkin' it down.”
    I took another bite and heard a taste-bud chorale join the dancers. “Really?”
    “Some folks take some hard knocks, but if they got the right person helpin' 'em, they can still get set right before it's too late.”
    “I don't know.” I stifled a weak-ass sigh. “Some days it feels like I should just pass out cookies and go home.”
    “Well…” She chuckled. “Cookies don't hurt, neither, but you keep doin' what you're doing and things'll get better.”
    I studied her a moment. There was wisdom in her eyes and strength in the set of her jaw. Turns out she was kind of pretty.
    “Thank you,” I said, and she nodded, all business suddenly.
    “I tidied up my desk, confirmed tomorrows appointments, and rescheduled today's no-show. Anything else you want I should do before I head home to my brood?”
    Marry me?
“No,” I said. “Thank you. That'll be fine. It's been really nice working with you.”
    “Pleasure's been mine,” she countered.
    After she left I sat there alone, ate my
Riverdance
bar, drank my milk, and wished, to my chagrin, that the Magnificent Mandy had never darkened her mother's womb. Aunt Shirley was so much better, and maybe she was right. Maybe I was doing some good. But maybe there was more good that could be done. Perhaps I should look into Kathleen Baltimore's death, regardless of the fact that Rivera was already spitting tacks. Maybe she was one of those people who just hadn't been given the right chances. Just because the senator had offered to pay me didn't mean it was the wrong thing to do. And just because his son insisted it was the wrong thing to do didn't mean it was. In fact, chances were good it meant the opposite. Rivera might not own the stupid market, but I'd say he had a pretty good share.
    Turning to my computer screen, I Googled Kathleen Baltimore.
    After fifteen minutes I had learned several things: She had died on Tuesday in Kern County, the hummingbird capital of California; she was survived by a single daughter; and the police had determined her death was an accident.
    I shut down my system and headed home.
    Harlequin met me at the door like an overwrought lover. Large, excited, and a little drooly.
    We had dinner together on the couch while watching
Grey's Anatomy.
I don't see a lot of television—except for Laney Brainy as the Amazon Queen, of course—but Harley has a thing for McDreamy I went to bed with dreams of my own and found
myself
a little drooly.
    But even thoughts of Patrick Dempsey couldn't steam the memory of Kathy Baltimore's photo out of my head. I wondered how the senator had gotten that photo and why he was so sure that she was the woman from his dream—especially if the police thought her death was accidental. In the morning my mind was still mulling.
    I dressed in an apple-green shift with a strand of pearls and sexy cork