Of Mall Cops and Fresh Meat
Delaney
From his open doorway, Walt frowned at the foil-wrapped plate. "Nah. You keep it."
I glanced down at the plate in my hands. "Sorry, what?"
"I don't need it," he said. "Keep it for yourself."
I gave the plate another look. Had I messed something up?
Back in Tessa's apartment, I'd found a large glass casserole dish and pre-heated the oven to exactly three hundred degrees.
I'd lined the casserole dish with foil, arranged the bacon-wrapped shrimp so they wouldn't touch, added the truffle fries on the side, and waited until everything was nice and toasty before pulling the dish out.
Then I'd transferred the food – foil and all – to a sturdy disposable plate so I didn't accidentally give away Tessa's casserole dish in the process. I'd wrapped the whole thing in bonus foil to keep it perfectly warm during the trip up the stairs.
Yes.
The stairs.
Because there was no way on Earth I'd be taking the elevator. Plus, it was only one flight.
To Walt, I said, "But that was part of the deal." I tried to think. "Did you change your mind or something?"
His gaze lingered on the foil-covered plate. He was still frowning, but now he also looked hungry.
I nudged the plate closer. "I warmed it up like you asked."
"I know." He visibly swallowed. "I can smell it."
Did he smell something funny? I lifted the plate and sniffed through the foil. All I smelled was pure deliciousness. Still, I had to ask, "It doesn't smell burnt or anything, does it?" Again, I offered the plate to Walt. "Do you want to pull back the foil and try a shrimp? See if you like it?"
He took a half-step back. "Nope."
"But why?" Now I was the one frowning. "Do you want something else instead?" Call me selfish, but there was no way I was giving up the bisque.
But already, Walt was shaking his head. "Nah, I'm good."
I studied his face. "Are you worried I used the microwave? Don't worry. I warmed it up in the oven, just like you asked."
This made him scoff. "I know you did. You can't use foil in the microwave."
I hated to quibble, but I felt compelled to point out the obvious. "Well, technically, someone could use a microwave without foil, and cover the food after."
"I know." He gave a derisive snort. "I've seen that trick before." He stepped aside and asked, "Why don't you come in for a minute?"
I glanced past him. The apartment looked warm and comfy with a big, plaid sofa that had a knitted blanket folded over one arm. A large television occupied the far wall with two recliners facing it. And just above the TV were three ceramic fish similar to the trout on his door.
I was still eyeing the fish when Walt said, "Hey, I've got something you need."
My thoughts immediately went to Tessa. "Like information?"
"No. Like groceries."
I blinked. "Did you say…groceries?"
"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Listen, I know it can be rough out there, so I dug in my cupboards. It's not much, but I figure it'll get you by for a few days at least."
Huh? I looked deeper into his apartment and sure enough, spotted a modest stack of groceries sitting on his kitchen table.
There were several boxes of macaroni and cheese, a jar of peanut butter, a big box of crackers, and a half-dozen cans of tuna fish, plus a loaf of plain white bread.
My stomach sank. Oh, no. I gave a little groan. "Don't tell me, you heard about the trash thing?"
He reached up to rub the back of his neck. "What trash thing?"
I didn't know whether to hug him or die of shame. "You talked to Mrs. Stelter, didn't you?"
He shrugged. "Well…yeah, she lives in the building, you know?"
"She told you I was digging through the trash, didn't she?"
He glanced away. "She might've mentioned it."
I sighed. "This is so embarrassing."
"Hey, don't be embarrassed," he said. "Life kicks all of us once in while."
My face was flaming now. "No, not about that. I'm embarrassed because I've got a confession."
Now he was looking a little wary. "Yeah?"
"Okay, yes, I was digging through the trash, but it wasn't for food."
"It wasn't?"
"No." I gave him an apologetic wince. "If you want the truth, I was, well…digging out that receipt."
Understanding dawned on his face. "You mean the rent receipt?"
"Yes, actually." Again, I glanced toward the groceries. "And now I feel doubly bad for making you worry."
"Why doubly bad?"
"One because it was sneaky to fish out the receipt and two because now you think I was dumpster diving for food."
"So you weren't?" He lowered his voice. "I mean…you could've grabbed the burgers and the receipt. You know…a twofer."
"Oh, come on! I didn't even open that burger bag. It was just in the way, that's all."
He studied my face. "You sure?"
"Positive."
He brightened. "Well, that's good."
If only it ended there. "But I should probably warn you...Mrs. Stelter seems convinced I've been turning tricks in the building."
He didn't look surprised. Or maybe he didn't even hear me, because his attention had returned to the foil-wrapped plate that I was still holding out between us. His eyes were gleaming. "So, that's the shrimp, huh?"
I perked up. "Not just shrimp. Bacon-wrapped shrimp." I lifted the plate higher. "So you'll take it, right?"
He made no move. "You remembered the fries?"
In spite of my embarrassment, I had to laugh. "Not just fries. Truffle fries." Again, my gaze strayed to the groceries on his kitchen table. Softly, I said, "And just so you know, I'm doing fine."
This wasn't quite true. My finances were still a mess. But I wasn't starving in the gutter, and there was no way on Earth I'd take Walt's groceries.
Still, my heart warmed as I said, "But that was really nice of you, so…thanks, seriously."
He snorted. "You won't be thanking me later when I call the cops."
I froze. "The cops?"
"Yeah. On account of you turning tricks."
My horror must've shown on my face, because he laughed.
"Relax, I'm pulling your leg." Finally, he took the plate.
"But come on in. The ballgame don't start for five minutes, so you can tell me all about it.
" He looked toward the ceiling. "Before I hear it from her. She's like this every year, you know."
I wasn't following. "What do you mean every year?"
"Every spring, ol' Herb – that's her husband – heads out to Montana for two whole weeks. Fly-fishing. Lucky bastard. And you know who gets to deal with his wife?"
It was easy to guess. "You?"
"Yeah, but not only me. It's everyone. For those couple of weeks, it's like she's bored without him, so she goes all mall cop on the building."
I felt an odd surge of relief. "So it's not just me?"
"Hell no," he said. "She's called me a dozen times in the past day alone. Only half of them have been about you."
"Half?" I considered the size of the building. "Actually, that sounds like a lot."
Walt gave a loose shrug. "Eh, you're fresh meat. What do you expect?"
"Oh, come on," I laughed. "You make it sound like prison."
"It is," he said. "That's why I'm counting down the days to retirement. Speaking of which…keep that rent receipt if you want, but don't go waving it around until I'm good and gone."
"Deal." I smiled. "So, do you know where you're going?"
"Yeah. Wherever there's good fishing." He flicked his head toward his apartment. "Now come on in. You've got just four minutes left."
He meant, obviously, to explain why Mrs. Stelter thought I was the building's new prostitute. I owed him that much, if only to give him my own version before he heard something ten times worse from Mrs. Stelter.
Four minutes wasn't a long time, so I followed him into his living room, watched him set the food on a side table near the TV, and launched straight into it, starting with the basics – that Mrs. Stelter had caught the tail end of me kissing the guy who lived on the same floor.
But instead of laughing it off, Walt looked genuinely puzzled. "You mean the second penthouse?"
I nodded. "Exactly."
He shook his head. "But that can't be right."
"Why not?"
He frowned. "Because nobody lives there."