The Accidental Familiar (Accidentally Paranormal Series Book 14) (17 page)

But Rick had insisted he drive her after last night. He wasn’t taking any chances leaving her alone until they had time to talk to this doctor, January Malone, Nina, and Calamity mentioned as someone who might be able to help. He’d declared himself glue, and he was sticking to her no matter what.

His words had warmed her from the inside out, and it was silly and girlie and ridiculous to give them any more attention than was due. Despite her strong attraction, Poppy had to remind herself they hardly knew each other, for gravy’s sake.

Rick was a good enough guy, and that was all this was. She saw that now, felt it in her bones as she’d gotten to know him.

He wouldn’t want to see her hurt, his sense of integrity was too strong, but it had nothing to do with anything else or she’d feel that, too, right? She had to stop creating romantic scenarios in her mind before it did them harm.

She renewed that vow as they walked together, her taking care not to brush against him as they plodded toward Mr. Rush’s room and focused on seeing her landlord again.

According to Rick, via Mr. Rush’s doctor, he understood everything going on around him. He just wasn’t able to articulate as such in words, though he was working in physical therapy every day. But if he could understand what was happening and could hear her, that was all she needed.

As their feet ate up the white tile, Poppy smiled at how active and happy the seniors they passed were. Everyone was smiling and waving to her as they went about their day.

And that was an enormous relief. Rick had told her he’d ensured Mr. Rush’s facility was one of the best, and he hadn’t been kidding. From the rec room in bright, happy colors with plenty of sun and board games in every corner, to the dining room with vaulted ceilings, fabric napkins, real china and plenty of staff to care to the seniors’ every whim, to the nurses who were incredibly sweet and informed, he’d been nothing but truthful.

Still, just as they approached the door to Mr. Rush’s room, her stomach revolted, heaving and rolling. She stopped, gripping the handrail on the wall, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

“Hey, you okay?” Rick’s concerned face loomed in front of hers, swaying to and fro in her blurred vision.

Swallowing hard, she breathed in and out, something she’d done a lot of since this all started. Poppy held up a finger. “Just gimme a sec.”

What the hell was going on?

Rick leaned into her, offering support with the strength of his bulk, and she found she was grateful. There was a moment when she thought she might pass out from the cold sweat under her thick jacket.

But it finally passed and as she straightened her spine, wiping her clammy hands on her faded jeans, she looked up at him. “Sorry, I was just a little warm there. Let’s go see a man about some late rent.”

He smiled at her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face in an intimate gesture she instantly blushed over. “You’re a good egg, Poppy McGuillicuddy.”

Pushing the door, Rick held it open for her. As she entered the sunny room, positioned directly in front of a park-like setting just outside the window, Poppy had to fight a gasp.

Rick had also warned her that Mr. Rush had lost a great deal of weight since his stroke, and to be prepared for the physical changes. At the time, she thought she had mentally geared herself up for seeing him as anything other than the lean man who was as spry and sharp as a twenty-year-old.

In fact, she’d given Rick a great deal of credit for keeping such close tabs on a man he’d only done business with. But to actually see Mr. Rush, sitting in a wheelchair, the left side of his gentle face slack, his cheekbones almost poking from his skin, Poppy really had to draw on every skill she’d ever acquired as an actress.

Yet, his glistening blue eyes lit up when he saw her, and he grunted.

So she smiled, wide and as bright as she knew how. “Mr. Rush! Holy cow, are you a sight for sore eyes!” Taking the chair opposite his wheelchair, she reached for his hand, the skin papery dry. “You rook mahhvelous!” she declared, doing her best impression of Billy Crystal’s infamous Fernando Lamas.

He frowned at her and blew a raspberry as though to dispute her claim, the wrinkles on his forehead creasing into his snow-white hairline, but his eyes were warm and smiling.

Never kid a kidder, he’d always said. She tapped his wheelchair with her fingers. “Okay, so you’ve got some new hardware and you could use a haircut, but you’re still as cute as ever.”

Mr. Rush snorted, his fingers trembling when he tried to grip her hand.

Rick leaned down, patting Mr. Rush’s hand with his tanned one. “Good to see you, sir. I trust they’re treating you well?”

Mr. Rush nodded, and she was happy to see his eyes also lit up for Rick.

Tucking the blanket on his legs tighter around his waist, she asked, “How’s the food here? Please tell me they don’t give you the dreaded mushy green beans and applesauce?”

He snorted again and shook his head in the negative.

Patting his cold hand, she grinned. “Phew. Good thing or we’d have to riot, right? Maybe naked? Invite Mrs. Fedderman over? You know how much she loves to people-watch from her window in the buff.”

Rick laughed a deep chuckle of understanding. “Nobody knows that better than me.”

Poppy snickered and leaned back, taking in the cheerful room in soothing blue with framed, abstract artwork. “So do you need anything, Mr. Rush? Is there anything I can bring you? Do you have all your John Grisham books here?”

Mr. Rush nodded, lifting his bony finger to point at the closet in his room.

“Perfect. So, you wanna take a walk? I’ll drive,” she joked. “It’s a pretty great day out. A little nippy, but I know how much you love this sort of weather. We could sit under that tree and have some hot tea?”

He lifted his arm and snapped it back with remarkably great reflex, the corner of the right side of his face lifting in a shadow of a smile as he mimicked a whip.

“Excellent, I’ll grab your jacket and then you can lead on, my liege!”

“I’ll get the tea,” Rick offered. “I want to pop into the nurses’ station and be sure you’re behaving yourself, Mr. Rush. Okay?”

Translation—he was going to look in on Mr. Rush’s care and be sure he was getting what he needed. Gosh, he was really nice when he wasn’t being an asshole. He made her heart go all pitter-pat and soft.

Mr. Rush appeared okay with Rick’s suggestion, so Poppy popped the brakes off his wheelchair and wheeled him out into the hall, talking as she went and updating him on everyone back at Littleton.

She pushed them out into the sunshine and made a hard right to the park-like area, where picnic tables were scattered, and the sun peaked through the amazing canvas of color from the leaves.

Taking a seat on a bench, she looked him in the eye. “Do you like it here, Mr. Rush? You can be honest with me. Rick tells me you’re pretty happy here, but he’s sort of biased, you know? If they’re cruel to you or mistreat you or feed you all your meals from a blender, speak your piece. Just nod once for yes, you like it here, or twice for no, and if you hate it, I’ll find a way to get you out.”

The snow white of his hair bounced in the breeze when he nodded once, leaning into the effort by pushing his shoulders forward.

Poppy let out a sigh of relief and leaned back against the picnic table behind her, closing her eyes and inhaling the fresh scent of fall. “Phew. I didn’t know what I was going to do if you hated it. I’m good, but I don’t know if I’m good enough to sneak you out of here without getting caught.”

He made a burbling sound in the back of his throat and lifted the half of his face still capable of moving in a smile.

“I know you’re laughing because you just had a frightening mental image of ninja Poppy, pushing your wheelchair at high speed, tryin’ to break you outta this joint.”

Mr. Rush lifted his hand and thumped the wheelchair’s arm, letting his head fall back on his shaking shoulders to indicate he had, indeed, pictured her making a break for it, and it was hysterical.

Leaning forward, she tucked his hand under the warm blanket and looked him in the eye. “So, listen Mr. Rush, I came to apologize to you. I still owe you three months’ rent, and you were nothing but nice to me about it. I thought I’d have it all when I got back from the show I was on the road with, but the guy running it ran off with what little profit we made and bilked us all.”

His groan slipped from his slack lips, and he attempted a sad/angry face, his lower lip jutting outward in a pout.

But Poppy shook her head. “Yeah. Boo-hiss, right? But forget that part. That’s not your problem, Mr. Rush, and I’m not here to give you any kind of excuses. I just wanted you to know that no matter what, I’m going to be sure you get that money. You were always so kind to me—when I was down, when I’d lost yet another audition. You never let me give up on my dream even though I should have given up on it a hundred years ago. But I appreciate you so much. I appreciate that when I was late with my rent, you let it slide more than once. I appreciate that you let me stay long after I should have gone so you could rent the apartment to someone more reliable. You’re a prince among men, Mr. Rush, and really, that’s rare these days.”

Mr. Rush winked, but shook his head and grumbled.

“What? You’re denying you’re a prince among men? Baloney, I say!” she cried out, laughing when Mr. Rush shook his finger at her. “Don’t try to deny it. You know how awesome you are. We all do. Speaking of ‘we’, are you really okay with selling the building?”

At first she hadn’t planned to broach the subject at all, thinking maybe it was better to let Mr. Rush alone, but this niggle she had wouldn’t let her be. This twist in her stomach, this strange foreboding all still bugged the hell out of her when she recollected her conversation with Arnie Banks.

But upon her question, Mr. Rush sat up in his wheelchair, rigid and tense. His papery-thin skin went pale but for the two bright spots of crimson on his cheeks.

That swell of nausea assaulted her again, making her grip her stomach just as Rick came out of the building with two cups of steaming tea in his hand.

But now, seeing the faraway look in Mr. Rush’s eye, she couldn’t just let this go, and she had to make it fast before Rick was within hearing distance. “Mr. Rush? Nod if you’re really okay with selling the building. If Rick pressured you or harassed you at all, tell me.
Please
. I can’t help but find it so curious everyone just agreed to this. So give me a sign, any sign, and I’ll see to it they stop the demolition.”

Mr. Rush looked right through her, but he didn’t budge, frightening her.

Her heart began a steady thrum of panic as she stared back at him, considering going to get a nurse. “Mr. Rush? Can you nod yes or no? Are you okay with the sale of the building? Once for yes, twice for no.”

His nod happened with a slow downward descent of his head, but what Poppy couldn’t get past was the dead look in his eyes. It was as though someone had come along and literally erased all emotion from them.

“I have tea, milady,” Rick said as he approached, a smile on his face. He held up the cup before passing one to Mr. Rush, helping him wrap his fingers around the Styrofoam before passing hers over.

She watched Mr. Rush over the rim of her cup. Watched how he watched Rick with admiration. So she let go of her crazy notion Rick had anything to do with pressuring the man to sell Littleton.

Holding up her cup, she clinked it with Mr. Rush’s. “Here’s to Littleton. Long may she live in our hearts and memories!”

The moment the words fell from her mouth was the moment Mr. Rush appeared to return to their conversation, as though someone had beamed him back up. His shaky hand pressed his cup against hers in return, the amber liquid of the tea sloshing along the side.

As Rick helped him steady the cup and sip his tea, Poppy’s anxiety grew in leaps and bounds. That ugly feeling that something was so wrong plagued her.

As Rick chatted amicably with Mr. Rush, Poppy observed, hoping to find something, any little hint, anything of any substance to lend this crazy, unexplainable fear.

She was on to something. It burrowed in her bones. She felt it. Knew it. She just didn’t know what that something was.

By hell, she’d find it though.

She’d find it.

* * * *

A fire blazed in the shed’s fireplace, crackling and warm, the blue and purple embers spiking and spitting.

Calamity sat on the white stone hearth, curled up, her eyes closed, purring her contentment. After another phenomenal dinner, Carl, Arch and the girls all sat around the tiny kitchen island playing cards.

During dinner, she’d thought long and hard about Mr. Rush and the bizarre way he’d reacted to her questions about selling Littleton, and she’d continued to come up dry. But the worry for him and her neighbors remained, and she couldn’t shake the feeling.

To take her mind off things, Poppy decided to dig into the Big Book of Rick, dropped ceremoniously in the pile of trash the first night they’d met.

“Mind if I sit with you?” Rick asked as she tucked her legs under her on the couch.

“Sure,” she said absently, sliding to the other side of the cushions so he wouldn’t end up too close.

His nearness made her giddy, maybe even downright swoony, and it would only take a toll on their relationship. She only had a little time left to prove to him she could work in his life, and she was determined to do such without muddying the waters with romantic notions.

But he leaned in and tapped the wad of papers she was reading, strung together with, of all things, punched holes and twine. “What’s this, Miss McGuillicuddy?” he asked, his lips much too close to her ear.

Poppy kept her eyes on the stack of papers. “Homework.”

“For?”

Tapping the papers, she looked up to find him studying her intently. “It’s the big book of you.”

“Me?” he gasped in mock outrage.

“Uh-huh. From Familiar Central. Calamity says they send one for every new familiar. Sort of a getting-to-know-you manual. I’m only just now getting a chance to read it. It’s supposed to unlock all your secrets,” she teased.