Deadly Dosage (2 page)

“Whoa!” he said joyfully, “what’s the hurry?”

“Hot date,” I lied.

He smiled wide, showing off perfect, white teeth; a smile
that reached his warm chestnut brown eyes and turned my legs to noodles.

“You aren’t Summer Kramer, are you?” he asked, still holding
my arm.

“Yeah, have we met before?” I said through my scarf. It was a
mystery to me. For all I knew, he could be one of my neighbors considering how
infrequently I saw any of them.

“Not exactly. My dad, Eugene Harper, is always talking about
a pretty, dark-haired bookkeeper with green cat eyes.”

Great, I had no problem attracting a seventy-year-old man
with incontinence. I was ready to go home and shoot myself when he said, “I can
see why.”

Hold on Sunny; let’s not get too excited I told myself. He’s
probably married with eight, creepy children. I grinned like an idiot under my
scarf and felt my nose start to run from the cold. “Well, gotta run, it’s
freezing out here.” I held my scarf closer to my face to prevent nose leakage.

“Wait, I needed to speak with you,” he said before I ran off.
“Will you be here tomorrow morning?”

“No,” I said. Absolutely not. Wild horses carrying Prince
Charming couldn’t drag me into work on Saturday. And based on his looks and
mannerisms, he might be Prince Charming at that. “I’ll be in on Monday.”

“Well, it’ll have to be then.” He nodded and continued his
walk to the front entrance. I glanced over my shoulder just as he was walking
inside, and I could have sworn he saw me watching him.

Chapter 2

I live in
one of the newer apartment complexes that are popping up all over the city.
Named Deer Creek for its proximity to the creek of the same name, it offers an
enormous clubhouse, which I never utilize, pool, and affordable, adequate-sized
apartments. I can’t throw parties on my salary, and even if I could, I have no
one to invite.

My sister Autumn and I shared my current two-bed, one-bath
apartment until she moved in with her boyfriend, Alan Leif, a Milwaukee county
police investigator, homicide division. When introduced to him, I actually
laughed out loud. I mean, seriously? If they got married, her name would read
Autumn Leif. She did not appreciate the humor. He seemed used to it.

Autumn and I are like two peas in a pod. Now I share the
apartment with a slob named Brandi and I really, really, miss my little sister.
I admit I was desperate for the rent money at the time. Brandi is twenty-eight
with the maturity level of a girl seventeen. She enjoys all fads, some of her
own creation.

Last month she bought a bunny to match her rabbit fur coat.
When I came home one evening to find bunny poop scattered like Cocoa Puffs
throughout the apartment I told her she was welcome to keep Mr. Fluffy if she
moved out immediately. She managed to pawn it off on a college kid living one floor
down. Actually, I love all animals. I just don’t appreciate living like one.

I opened
the apartment door and enjoyed the rush of warm air as I stepped onto the tan
plush carpeting. I did most of the decorating and it was in comfortable earth
tones with a few splashes of bright colors reminding me of autumn leaves.

“Hi, Sun,” Brandi called from the kitchen. I hated to be
called Sun and I narrowed my eyes at her wishing she could read my mind or
vaporize into thin air. Something smelled disgusting and I swear I saw smoke in
the room.

“What in the world are you cooking,” I asked, knowing I had
no intention of eating it. I turned the fan on over the stove.

“Pot roast. It’s almost done.” She opened the oven door to
show me and I gagged on the fumes. “The carrots got a little burned.”

A little burned? They looked as black as the pan. The phone
rang and I grabbed it. “Oh. Hi, Sam. Okay, see you in a bit.” I hung up and
turned my attention back to Brandi. “Gee, Brandi, Sam made reservations at the
Mariners Club tonight. I’d stay home but you know how hard it is to get in
there.” Sam and I were going to eat a Wal-Mart rotisserie chicken he picked up
on his way home from work.

“That’s okay; I’ll save some for you.” She turned off the
oven and opened a can of peas. These she ate cold out of the can. 

She seemed happy as a puppy with a milk bone, so I went to
change my clothes. I wore corporate casual to work and casual, casual on dates.
Jeans, turtleneck, bulky sweater, and wooly socks were the outfit of choice for
tonight until I remembered my lie to Brandi. The Mariners Club had a strict
dress code. “Shit!” I swore softly. I stuffed my comfy clothes in a tote bag,
and slipped on my little black dress and spiked heels. Sam was going to think I
was either nuts, or wanted sex.

“Hot mamma,” Brandi said when I returned to the living room.

I ignored her and went to the window to check if Sam was out
front. My apartment had a private entrance, so waiting in a warm lobby when it
was nineteen degrees outside was not an option. Minutes later I saw his red
Silverado 4x4 pull up. He made no attempt to leave the vehicle, one of the
reasons I wasn’t too fond of him. I waved to Brandi and left the apartment.

I live on the third floor, which is a pain in the behind when
bringing groceries home and even worse when the stairs are icy as they are
tonight.

Carefully, I walked down the stairs and just when I thought I
had it licked, I slid down the last three steps and landed on my ass, busting
the heel off one pump. Sam finally got out of the car to retrieve me. He wore a
tan, Mohair overcoat, plaid cashmere scarf, and sensible shoes.

“Why are you wearing those heels? Are you nuts?” he said
without concern for my well-being, hands on hips looking down at me.

“Don’t bother to ask if I’m all right,” I quipped back,
already knowing I should turn around, go back upstairs to my apartment, and
call it a night. Problem was, the pot roast would be waiting for me, and my
stomach soured at the mere thought of it. I crawled onto my knees and pushed
myself up.

“Since you’re not crying and you’re standing, I can deduce
that you’re fine,” he answered back, brushing a wayward strand of dark brown
hair from his forehead.

Not the point, I thought. He tried to escort me to the
truck’s passenger door but I shook off his arm. “I’m fine, remember?” I
couldn’t resist. Of course now I had to open the door and try to hop up into
the truck in my tight dress. I cursed Brandi, Sam and the world under my
breath.

Sam can be rather selfish. I discovered this a few months
into our relationship. If Sam was comfortable, that’s all that mattered. Right now,
I was wet from falling and freezing and he made no attempt to turn up the heat
in the truck. I gave him ten minutes to recognize the obvious. Finally, I had
to say something. “Do you think you could warm it up in here,” I remarked with
a bit of attitude.

“What are you, on the rag tonight?” he asked with impatience.

“That’s it!” I shouted. “Turn this flipping car around.”

“It’s a truck, not a car.” He rolled his eyes and he adjusted
his seat belt.

“Fine, whatever.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Just take
me back home.”

“Just settle down,” he said in a condescending tone. Then he
smiled. “I know what will get the crabby out of you.” He winked and patted my
knee.

I looked at his possessive hand on my knee and the words just
blurted out. “It’s over between us, Sam. We’ve had some fun, but for the most
part, you’re a selfish, arrogant, asshole.” There, I said it. I felt relieved
but a bit sad and more than a tad guilty. Maybe it
was
close to my time
of the month, however I wasn’t about to admit to it.

He looked at me stunned. “Have a bad day at work?”

God he was intolerable. “Every day at work is bad. You never
listen to me. I try to talk and you put your damn ear buds in and listen to
your iPod.”

“Maybe you just need to eat,” he reached over and pushed in a
CD that he burned on his computer. Current pop songs gushed forth from the
speakers.

He really had no clue. Now I realized why our relationship
wasn’t going anywhere. Poor communication skills. He talked; I listened. I
talked; he zoned out or talked over me. It seemed to be a reoccurring theme. I
wondered if his problem stemmed from being an only child. However, I didn’t
feel like playing psychologist and my patience had run out.

I reached over and turned off the nauseating music. “I’m
cold, I’m frustrated, I’m angry, and I want to go home. I am not hungry!!” I
shouted.

“Rotisserie chicken,” he said in a tempting voice, as if he
were really offering lobster thermidor with a side of caviar served with Cristal
Champagne.

I rolled my eyes in contempt. “Let me out now. I’ll walk
home.” I made an attempt to open my door and the door alarm dinged.

“Christ!” he yelled. “Fine, I’ll take you home, Bummer.”

He always called me Bummer when he was peeved. Just another
thing that annoyed the hell out of me.

He turned the truck at the next intersection and raced back.
He hit the brakes hard when we got to my apartment lot and my head almost hit
the windshield. For a moment he said nothing, he just studied me with dark,
angry eyes.

“Sometimes I don’t get you.” He turned his gaze from me.
“I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Please don’t. It’s over.” I opened the door and hopped out
with my tote bag in hand. I managed not to fall down, and I carefully limped up
the stairs due to my broken heel. I heard Sam squeal out and added immature to
my mental list of what was wrong with him. Then I cried. I don’t know if it was
relief or sadness, but which ever it was, it was honest. I wiped my face on my
coat sleeve before I went inside my apartment.

The big stink-a-roo hit me square in the face. Brandi sat at
my pine, dinette set. A steal for $50 at an overstock discount store; minor
assembly was required. Notice I said my table. When Autumn left, I let her take
the best of the furniture with her. I replaced what was needed with nice but
economy priced stuff. Brandi brought only her clothes when she moved in. Not
only does she abuse my furniture, she raids my closet as well.

“Hey,” Brandi said, “Didn’t want to pass up my roast, huh?”

“That’s it,” I said with a tight smile. I tossed my coat on
my worn, brown, plush couch and pulled out a chair. Brandi got up and fixed me
a plate. You had to appreciate her enthusiasm if nothing else. “Do you have any
more of that wine?

“Sure,” she said. She placed a plate of poorly sawed meat
with the burnt carrots in front of me and returned to the refrigerator. She
grabbed a bottle from inside the door, closed the door with her hip, and
grabbed a mug off the mug-tree with her little finger.

I took the mug and wine from her, and poured until the golden
liquid reached the rim of the cup. If I got drunk, maybe I could down her food.
The wine didn’t taste much better than the food looked. I wasn’t sure what I
would be throwing up first tonight, still I knew deep down it would happen. I
didn’t care much for Sam at the moment, but breakups are never easy and the
combination with this dinner, were more than I could bear.

Dinner ended at five and by nine, I was riding the porcelain
bus. Brandi thought I couldn’t hold my liquor. She gave me some aspirin and I
crawled back into bed with puke breath.

Chapter 3

Saturday,
February 11
^th

I slept
like the dead until ten in the morning when the smell of bacon woke me up. Here
she goes again I thought. I pulled the pillow over my head but the bacon smell
was intoxicating. Something strange was happening. Could Brandi be learning how
to cook?

I rose from bed in my usual kitty-printed, nightshirt and
slid into my slippers. Warmth triumphs over style in my world of fashion, however
I do have a bit of lingerie for those special occasions.

Slowly I walked into the kitchen, summoned by the smell of
hazelnut coffee and pork bellies. I wear clear contacts for my
near-sightedness, so my vision is not the best in the morning without them. I
knew someone was near the stove. It sure wasn’t Brandi. I stepped closer, but I
still did not recognize the person, who I knew now to be a man in a robe.

“What’s going on?” I asked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
“Isn’t that Brandi’s robe?” Shocking purple with pink skulls did not do him
justice. He stood around Sam’s height and looked to be around the same weight.

He turned around. Sonofabitch if it wasn’t Sam. “I repeat,
what the hell’s going on here?” I was stymied.

“Well, I’m cooking bacon,” he said as if he did it every
morning and I was the queen dunce.

“I know you’re cooking bacon. Why are you here and why in
heaven’s name are you in Brandi’s robe?” He winked at me and I wanted to hit
him in the head with the frying pan.

“Jealous?”

“Huh?” Did I miss something? I checked my mental list on Sam
and I didn’t remember putting cross-dresser on it.

“I came here at nine this morning but you were still sleeping
off your drunk. Brandi told me all about it. I spilled coffee on my shirt and
Brandi took it with her to the laundromat. I got cold so I grabbed this; it was
lying on the couch.

“Why are you here? We broke up last night.”

“You broke up. I didn’t.” He reached for me and I drew away.
“You can’t stay mad at me, Sunny. You never do.”

My stomach was making those ‘feed me now’ sounds. The bacon
looked crisp, just the way I like it and he started to fry some eggs. I knew I
shouldn’t, but I poured a mug of coffee and took it to the table where I added
creamer and a packet of sweetener. Certainly eating breakfast with him did not
constitute reconciliation. My mouth watered in anticipation.