Not Quite Perfect (Not Quite Series Book 5) (27 page)

She looked at the phone in her hand and opened a picture that was taken of the two of them when they went to Catalina. If it wasn’t for the swimsuit, she’d make the image stick on her lock screen so that every time she glanced at the time, she’d see Glen’s face.

Mary’s phone started ringing every thirty minutes after nine o’clock. No one spoke, just called, breathed, and listened.

Her first thought was Nina. The woman wanted to upset her. What better way than to interrupt her sleep? By eleven, Mary turned off her cell phone altogether.

Eleven thirty her home phone rang.

The line was silent.

“This is the definition of harassment,” she said into the quiet line. “Something I’ll need to report to the police.”

The line went dead . . . and at midnight, it rang again.

Mary unplugged the second line in her room and turned the volume off on the phone downstairs. She’d unhook the thing altogether but her alarm system connected through the landline.

By two o’clock she finally fell asleep. When she woke, her throat was sore again and her headache was back.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Glen had to listen to Mary’s message three times to hear the whole thing. Reception over the Atlantic wasn’t always the best.

“I miss you, too,” he whispered to himself. “You’re not alone in that.”

“Now you’re talking to yourself.” Jason smiled from the captain’s seat of the cockpit.

“It was Mary.”

“So I guessed.”

“The only suspect they had just came back clean. His prints don’t match the house.”

“Maybe he wore gloves.”

“Yeah, but someone left fingerprints in her house that matched the door of her office. Now she has irate clients and she’s been sick all week. I just want to take her to the Bahamas until all this is past.”

“She might like that.”

“At least nothing new has happened. No dead cars or broken-in doors.”

“Sad that you have to set the barometer so low.”

“It makes me wonder if this is a onetime thing. Which I want, but then we may never know who did it . . . double-edged sword.”

“Did she get the monkey?”

Glen laughed . . . “Wait, how did you know about the monkey?”

“Our secretaries talk.”

“Yes . . . she got the monkey.” What a brilliant idea that had been.

The words she’d used in her message replayed in his head and his smile slowly fell.

Glen opened his message center again and listened for the forth time.
Between the flowers, the monkey, and the soup, you’re making me quite spoiled. Thank you for all of it.

“What flowers?”

“Talking to yourself again.”

Glen waved his phone in the air. “Mary said thanks for the flowers, the monkey, and the soup.”

Jason shrugged. “And?”

“I didn’t send her flowers or soup.” The hair on the nape of his neck stood up.

“Maybe Dakota did. She’s been sick. People send flowers when people are sick.”

Logical. “Wouldn’t Dakota leave a card?”

“I would think.”

“Mary thought I’d sent them.”

“You’re the man in her life. It’s safe to assume if she got anything from an admirer or even a friend without a card, she’d probably believe it was from you. Call her.”

Glen glanced at his watch. “It’s two in the morning there.”

“Then call her in the morning.”

He did . . . and the phone went to voice mail. “I’m home. Your message came through last night. No, you’re not the only one. I miss you too much. I’m not happy to hear about your client, or his wife. I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about this weekend. I thought the monkey was a stroke of brilliance. As for the flowers and soup, I’d love to take credit, but I didn’t send flowers. I hope the soup was in a sealed can. Damn, saying that out loud makes me worry that it wasn’t. Call when you get this message. Don’t worry about waking me. I miss you, Mary.”

There were squad cars outside her office building when Mary arrived.

“What now?”

She walked into the building to find three men and one woman in uniform standing outside her office door.

The door to the financial firm across the hall was open. The secretary pointed at Mary as she walked up.

“What happened now?”

“Miss Kildare?”

“That’s me.” Mary glanced around the policemen and noticed a mess of glass on the floor of her office.

“It appears that someone threw a rock through your office window last night.”

She pushed past him to look at the damage. Luckily the treated glass kept the entire window from shattering, but whoever had done this had made sure they had a couple of handfuls of rocks. A half a dozen holes the size of her fist had taken out the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“We attempted to reach you before you arrived.”

Mary covered a cough with her forearm. “Anything other than rocks inside?” She glanced around the small space, wondered if the property owner was responsible for the glass. Her pocketbook couldn’t take much more.

“One of the rocks had the word
bitch
on it.”

The Golfs. Could be Nina, maybe Jacob . . . Mary would bet money the phone calls the night before and the rocks in the window were the work of the same people.

“Is Officer Taylor on today?”

“Dennis?”

“I didn’t catch his first name. He’s been working on my case.”

Mary dropped her purse on her desk as the glass beneath her feet embedded further in the carpet.

The officer used her office phone and handed it to her once Officer Taylor was on the line.

“You can’t catch a break,” he said.

“Broken glass, a rock with that special word on it.” Mary saw the audience outside her office door. “The wife of the man you had in this week gave me an unpleasant call yesterday. Said a few things that make me think this is her.”

“Mrs. Golf?”

“Yes. Then my phones rang all night until I finally turned them off.”

“She called all night?”

“I’m not sure it was her. The caller breathed into the phone. Reminded me of my prom date working up the nerve to ask me out.”

“Put Officer Murray on the phone,” Officer Taylor told her.

Mary handed the phone back over, looked again at her feet. “Can I clean this up?”

The cop nodded and stepped out of the office.

She found a utility closet down the hall and brought back a broom and dustpan. She was bent over one of the chairs when her first client showed up. “Looks like we should reschedule.”

Mary glanced up to find the female half of a new couple she’d been seeing. This would be the second time she had to put them off.

“I’m sorry. I’m having a bit of a domestic issue right now.”

Her client looked at the mess. “You can say that again.”

Officer Murray walked around her client, handed the phone over. “We have a few questions.”

Her client backed out of the office. “I’ll call.”

Mary knew she’d never see the woman again.

Reports were taken, names and times from the previous night’s phone calls were written down. The rocks inside the office were put in evidence bags, and Mary was left with a mess and unexpected ventilation in her space.

The police filed out of the office, leaving silence in their wake.

The secretary from next door poked her head inside. “You okay?”

Mary moaned. “I’m having a really shitty week.”

“Looks like it.”

They both turned to the sound of feet running up the hall.

Kent stopped short, out of breath. “I saw the cops outside.”

Mary spread her hand as if she were on a game show showing the prizes. “Someone doesn’t like me.”

Kent hardly glanced at the damage before staring at her. “Are you hurt?”

“No. It happened last night. I just need to clean the mess, talk to the property manager about patching this up.” Somehow she needed to do all this and see every client she’d pushed off until that night. All on a few hours sleep.

“I’m just across the hall,” the secretary said.

“Thanks.” Mary pulled her hair back and continued to clean up the glass.

“What time are you off tonight?” Kent asked.

“Late, but I’m okay. I’m pretty sure I know who did this, and other than being a pain, they’re all bark.”

“This doesn’t look like bark to me.”

She was pissed but didn’t feel threatened. And it was time Kent understood she didn’t need him running to her rescue every day.

“I’m all right. Please, don’t feel obligated to watch over me. Glen will be here tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll come up with a solution to all this.”

The mention of Glen’s name placed a strangled smile on his face. She didn’t want to hurt the man, but he needed to get a hint.

“I see. I’m working late myself. I’ll keep an eye out until Glen gets here.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

He looked beyond her to the broken window. “Looks like it to me.” He didn’t give her more room to talk before twisting and walking away.

Glen woke to his phone ringing. “Hello?”

“I woke you up.”

“Mary?”

Even mostly asleep, hearing her voice was nirvana.

“I wanted to call before I left the office in hopes you’d still be awake. I’ll call in the morning.”

“Don’t you dare hang up.” He pushed himself upright and turned on the lamp in his bedroom. “I haven’t talked to you in forever.”

“Message tag isn’t the same,” she said. “My phone keeps cutting you off.”

“Your last message was sucked into cyberspace, too.”

“I’ve tried calling all day. Was your phone off the hook?”

“About that . . .”

For the next twenty minutes Glen listened, steamed, listened some more. Ten minutes into the full twenty he pulled himself out of bed and started to shove clothes into a bag.

“And you’re still at the office?” He’d caught that before she told him about Crazy Man, Psycho Lady, and the rock pitcher.

“I am . . . I’ve lost at least four clients from all of this. I needed to make up the hours.”

No, she didn’t . . . but he wasn’t going to say that.

“Are you on your way home?”

“I’ll leave when I hang up. I feel like I could sleep for a week. Don’t plan any surprises. I’d just as well watch movies and eat ice cream in my pajamas all weekend.”

He was pleased she didn’t suggest he not come.

“Do me a favor. Call Walt and tell him you’re on your way so he can keep an eye out.”

“You of all people should know they left today. They put off the family as long as they could.”

Mary kept talking, but Glen tuned out. He’d forgotten about Walt and Dakota’s trip.

They were gone, and he was four thousand miles away. And Mary had some psycho . . . maybe more than one crazy . . . fucking with her.

“Call me when you walk in your door and set your alarm. I’ll call you when I’m at the door so you can let me in.”

“You don’t have to rush here, Glen. I’m going home and burying my head in a pillow for twelve hours.”

“And when you wake up, I’ll be there making you breakfast.”

“You don’t cook.”

“I can pour cereal.”

“Glen, don’t be ridiculous. Fly in tomorrow. I’ll be fine tonight.”

He flipped on lights in his bathroom and grabbed the overnight bag he had yet to unpack from London. “You probably will be fine, but I won’t sleep knowing there is a possibility that you’re not. Do you have the gun yet?”

“I pick it up on Monday.”

He would much rather know she had it now, but at least the gun would give him some peace of mind after Monday. “I’m on my way. No use arguing about it.”

“Fine! I don’t have the energy to argue anyway. Me and my monkey are going to sleep like a rock. So knock hard when you get here.”

He liked the thought of her curled up to
his
stuffed toy. “By the way . . . on your message you said something about flowers and soup.”

“I did. They were thoughtful, thank you.”

“Mary, I didn’t send you flowers and I don’t know of anyone who delivers soup.”

She hesitated. “What about the flowers last week?”

The hair on his nape went to full attention. “The only flowers I’ve given you were on our first date. Did the card say they came from me?”

“There wasn’t a card. There wasn’t a card from the soup either.”

He didn’t like this . . . didn’t like any of it. Who was sending Mary gifts? “Who knew you were sick?”