Backscratching for Beginners
Delaney
Exiting the elevator, I stopped short at the sight of him. Beer Guy.
He didn't even turn around. Instead, he kept polishing the coffee table in the lobby's seating area. One hand moved a white rag across the glossy surface while the other held a bottle of Lemon Pledge.
I tightened my grip on the eviction notice and cautiously approached, half-wondering if this was a mistake. "By any chance, are you Walt?"
He startled and whirled to face me. "Jeez. You scared the snot out of me."
I winced. "Sorry. But you are Walt, right? We talked like five minutes ago? You said to come down so you could see it in person?"
The "it" was the eviction notice, along with the receipt showing the eviction had been canceled.
It was Sunday morning, and I'd woken early, determined to discover what was going on with Tessa.
I should've done it last night, but after saying goodbye to Maddox in the crowded elevator, it was all I could do to stumble into Tessa's apartment and collapse onto her couch.
I'd woken in a wrinkled dress with a crick in my neck and renewed determination to solve the mystery of Tessa's non-eviction. This had led me first to the internet, where I learned a lot more about the mysterious Ryder Vaughn who had paid her rent.
Except he wasn't really a mystery.
A simple Google search had revealed plenty, which only made me more curious.
When Beer Guy said nothing, I tried again. "I'm Tessa's sister. Remember?"
He looked at me like I was nuts. "Of course I remember. I saw your picture."
It was my turn to be startled. "Really? Where?"
He gave me the squinty-eye. "Is that a serious question?"
Oh, great. Now I'd made him suspicious. Belatedly, I recalled that framed photo of me with Tessa. Walt had probably seen it while doing maintenance in her apartment. I tried not to look shifty as I quickly said, "Sorry. I just forgot about the photo, that's all."
Finally, he relaxed. "Alright. Just making sure. I'm not a fan of funny business." He grunted. "And I've got a bone to pick."
"You don't mean…with me?"
"The heck I don't." He grimaced. "Thanks to you, I had three complaints yesterday."
I wasn't following. "About what?"
"That mess you made, remember?"
No way. From the hydrangea collision? "But you couldn't have," I protested. "I cleaned everything up – and right away, too."
"Yeah, well…tell that to Mrs. Stelter."
I recalled the silent, persnickety woman who had seemed overly bothered by the mess. "I did tell her. And I cleaned it right after she saw it. But who else called?" I shook my head in confusion. "The lobby wasn't that busy."
True, there'd been that couple holding hands who'd come down with me in the elevator. But they'd simply stepped around the mess like it was no big deal. Had a whole bunch of other people walked through the main entrance while I was upstairs gathering supplies?
Walt snorted. "Nobody."
I blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Nobody else called," he said. "It was Mrs. Stelter." His expression soured. "Three times."
Damn it. I should've known that woman was trouble. "Oh."
He glanced up toward the ceiling. "And I'm telling ya. Nobody needs that times three."
The phrasing made me pause. "Times three?"
"Yeah. Times three," he repeated. "Like triple the fun, except it wasn't."
Now, this I could believe. "She did seem pretty crabby – except she was really quiet about it."
"Hah! She wasn't quiet to me." His gaze drifted toward the elevators. "Just because she lives in the penthouse..." He frowned. "Well, one of the penthouses, like that's so special."
As he said it, my thoughts strayed to Maddox. The location of his apartment remained a mystery. Last night's elevator ride had been oddly chaotic, thanks to that large group crowding in to ride up with us.
By the time everyone hit their buttons, I had no idea who was going where. I only knew I was the first one off.
Just before I'd squeezed out, Maddox had given me the massive takeout bag from the restaurant, along a final reminder of the time and place we'd be meeting today for coffee.
He had even offered to walk me to Tessa's door. But I had politely declined, because I wasn't quite sure what that meant. Plus, there was no way I'd be inviting him inside – not with me being a guest myself.
Even worse, I was an uninvited guest, which was ten times trickier.
Now, here in the lobby, I glanced down at the eviction notice still clutched in my hand. The paperwork had contained two phone numbers – one for the main office and another for after-hours emergencies.
Desperate for answers, I'd ended up calling both. The main office had been closed for the weekend. No surprise there.
That left the second number. And even though my curiosity wasn't technically an emergency, I'd called it anyway, expecting to get another automated message.
Instead, my call had been answered by a real-live person – an older man who told me he was the building's onsite manager and said he'd be happy to help me make sense of the notice.
But he didn't look happy now. Mostly, he looked irritated, like Mrs. Stelter had just called with complaint number four.
Still, I gave him a hopeful smile. "Thanks a million for agreeing to help. That's really nice of you."
He didn't smile back. "I'd be more helpful if you brought me beer."
I hesitated. "You mean…to make up for yesterday?"
"Forget yesterday," he said. "I'm just saying, you scratch my back. I'll scratch yours."
Shit.
So, he wanted a bribe? I didn't even have beer.
Scarier still, I didn't have money to buy any.
Plus, how much beer did one guy need?
With a nervous laugh, I said, "But it's barely nine in the morning."
"I'm not gonna drink it now," he said, as if I'd just suggested snorting coke off the coffee table. "There's a ballgame later. I figure I'll drink it then."
"Oh. I guess that makes sense." Desperately, I tried to think. "Would you settle for some bacon-wrapped shrimp?"
It almost hurt to offer them up. I loved bacon. I loved shrimp. And I loved the memory of being at that restaurant with Maddox. But I loved my sister more.
He asked, "How much bacon-wrapped shrimp?"
The portions had been decent, but not oversized. "Maybe… half a dozen?"
He looked unimpressed.
I rushed to explain, "And it's not like anyone touched them. The waiter boxed them straight from the serving plate."
"Forget the plate. I'm just wondering about the quantity, that's all." He frowned. "They're called shrimp for a reason."
"Oh. Okay…well…how about if I threw in some crab cakes?"
"Eh, those don't warm up so good. Got anything else?"
I gave it some thought. "Truffle fries?" And then, at his blank expression, I explained, "They're like regular fries, but with truffle oil and parmesan."
He reached up to stroke his chin. "But they're still made from potatoes, right?"
"Definitely." But then I paused. "You do like potatoes, right?"
He snorted. "Everyone likes potatoes. It's the truffles I'm worried about. Aren't those the things pigs eat?"
Did they? "Actually, I don't know. But trust me, those fries are really good." I plastered on my best salesy smile. "I'm sure they'd go great with a ballgame."
After a beat, he finally nodded and held out his hand. "Deal."
I reached out and shook his hand with gusto, just happy to have the negotiations over with.
For some reason, this made him laugh.
I stopped in mid-shake. "What's so funny?"
"I don't mind a good handshake," he said. "But mostly, I figured you'd hand over the paperwork."
"Oh. Right." With a surge of relief, I handed it over.
But then, things got seriously weird the moment Walt saw the second page.