Ximena parked in front of Eloise Fitch's apartment complex, which consisted of a series of ugly, two-story yellow brick buildings with green roofs. She had a first-floor apartment in building D. I glanced around the lot for her Hyundai but didn't see a car that fit the description. I pulled out Fitch's file again to peek at her picture. She was a mildly attractive blonde, about my height, with shoulder length curls , brown eyes, a pointy nose, and a narrow face.
"How do you want to do this?" asked Ximena.
"I'm planning to knock on her door."
"That's it?"
"Yep," I responded. "Chances are good she's at work, but no stone left unturned. In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm a pretty unsophisticated bounty hunter. Besides, picking up people at their place of employment isn't on my list of favorite things, so I figured we'd stop here first. Ever hopeful."
Ximena rolled her eyes. "How did you even get to be a bounty hunter?"
I gave Ximena the shortened version of scamming Vinnie into letting me work for him so I could capture Joe Morelli for his bond money post-divorce.
"I always figured I'd find another job, but apparently I have no marketable skills and have become an adrenaline junkie. What's sad is I actually really suck at this job. And I know it! I roll in dog doodie and garbage on a regular basis, and I couldn't begin to tell you how many cars have been destroyed. Plus, I am a disaster magnet. Trouble always has a way of finding me."
"Well, hopefully we can better equip you now that you're working for Rangeman," said Ximena, unbuckling and climbing out of the car.
I approached Eloise's front door and peered in the sidelight window. The apartment was dark, but enough light shined in the shades that I could see it was neat and tidy inside. I couldn't see anybody, but I knocked twice anyway. Nothing. Nobody opened the door. No barking dog. No nosey neighbor. Just silence.
"Bummer," said Ximena. "Off to the button factory?"
"Yeah."
We got back in the car, and Ximena drove the short distance to the button factory. We parked and hustled to the front office, where a woman in khakis and a blue polo shirt was sitting behind a desk. She had wire-framed glasses and her gray-streaked brown hair teased up and sprayed until it submitted to her will.
"Good morning, ladies. How may I help you? Oh my…. Are you okay?" asked the woman, apparently noticing the state of my face.
"Hi, thanks. I'm fine. I'm here to see Eloise Fitch," I said.
"Oh dear. Is she expecting you?" the woman asked.
"No, I wanted to surprise her," I said, flashing a friendly smile.
Ximena gave me a subtle, amused wink.
"We don't typically have visitors," the woman said. "I suppose I could see if Eloise is ready to take her 15-minute break…" Her voice trailed off as she debated her options.
"I can come back at a better time if now is inconvenient," I said, trying to be polite and accommodating.
"Let me go check with her and see if now is a good time," said the woman. "What is your name?"
"Stephanie."
"Stephanie….?" The woman asked.
"Manoso."
The woman walked through a door behind her, and Ximena gave me a sideways glance.
"Excuse me?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Jeez! It's what came to mind. Do your really think Fitch would have come out if she heard my last name was Plum? Don't go over-analyzing me."
Ximena gave me a smirk.
A few minutes later, the woman returned with Eloise at her side. Fitch was wearing the same blue polo and khakis as the woman at the desk, but her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she was wearing sensible brown leather shoes.
"Hi," Eloise said, sounding slightly confused. "Do I know you?"
"No, but it's important we talk. Is there somewhere more private we can go?" I asked.
"Oh god, another one?" she scoffed.
"What?" I asked, confused.
"I don't care if you're sleeping with my ex-husband. I don't know why all you dumb bitches think they need to tell me about it," Eloise said, her frustration apparent. "We're done. History."
"Sorry, that's not why I'm here. I don't know your ex-husband," I explained.
Fitch looked like she wasn't sure she believed me. "Then what do you want?"
"Is there somewhere else we can go?" chimed in Ximena.
She heaved a sigh. "If you've got something to say, you can say it to me right here, right now. Otherwise, I've got to get back to work," said Fitch, growing irritated.
I knew Fitch didn't have a record of arrests, so I hoped this would be routine and easy.
"We represent your bail bonds agency," I explained. "You missed your court date. I'd like to take you downtown to reschedule."
"Oh god, is that really necessary?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "This whole thing has been such a hassle. I don't have time off to take right now, and they always want to schedule when I'm working."
"Could you take an early lunch and come downtown with me right now?" I inquired. "We'll run through the Cluck-in-a-Bucket drive through, and lunch will be on me."
She sighed. "I guess that would work. This wasn't how I'd hoped to spend my day."
I called Connie and asked her to meet us downtown while Eloise clocked out. We all loaded into Ximena's car and pointed the wheels toward Cluck-in-a-Bucket, where we ordered a Double Clucky Burger with fries for Eloise.
"So I have to ask. Do many women stop by your work to tell you they're sleeping with your ex-husband?" Ximena asked Eloise.
"Not at work, but everywhere else," Eloise said, stuffing fries in her mouth. "He got around when we were married, but he really gets around now. I don't know why women think they have to confess to me. What do I look like? The pope? That chapter in my life is closed. I'm moving on."
"Sounds like a healthy decision," Ximena said.
We met up with Connie and got Eloise checked-in at the police station., then Connie escorted her over to the court.
"Where to now?" Ximena asked as we sat in her car.
"I have to be back at Rangeman for personal training with Rodriguez at 1:30 PM," I said, cringing. "I'd like to do some more checking up on Dickie, and I could stand to have a light lunch."
"No burger? No pizza?" Ximena asked, looking a bit confused.
"Not on personal training days," I said, remembering the donuts I'd left on the floor last time.
I gave Ximena directions to Dickie's law firm. I figured we'd check there first. When we arrived, the same woman was at the desk.
"Oh my, what happened to your face?" the woman said, looking concerned.
"I'm fine," I reassured her.
"Back so soon?" she asked, giving a small, polite smile that failed to travel to her eyes.
"Yep," I said, my spidey senses telling me that something felt off about the office today. "Any word from Dickie?"
"No, I'm sorry," the woman said, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Mr. Orr is still unavailable. I wish I could help you."
I handed the woman my card. "If you see him or hear of his whereabouts, will you give me a call?"
"Of course," the woman said, tucking the card in the top drawer of her desk. Her face was tense.
"Is everything okay?" I asked her curiously.
"Of course," she said, tinkering with her computer mouse.
I heard footfalls behind me, and I turned to see who had entered the room. A tall man in a black pinstripe suit with a blue shirt and black tie was standing behind me, his shiny black loafers reflecting the lights above. His hair was dark and styled in an undercut style. His dark eyes were assessing and cold. He was thin but appeared muscular under his suit.
I glanced over at Ximena, and her expression told me she sensed the bad juju in the room, too.
"Good morning, Ms. Plum," the man said. His voice was low, his inflection terse. "I've been expecting you."
"Good morning yourself," I said. "You know me, so how about you tell me your name."
"It's hard not to know you, Miss Plum. Not only are you my partner's ex-wife from hell, you regularly make the papers. I am Roger Rhoads, attorney at law," he said, extending his hand to me. "Welcome to my firm."
Ximena gave me a shocked look, and it occurred to me I hadn't filled her in on the details of my ten-minute marriage to Dickie.
I shook his hand tentatively, and I could tell he liked that I was intimidated by him. I straightened up, trying to exude an air of confidence.
"We're looking for Richard Orr," Ximena said, cutting to the chase.
"And you are….?" he asked.
"Ximena Santos. I work with Stephanie."
"Ah, yes. So nice to meet you. Well, I regret to inform you that Mr. Orr is not here today, nor is it clear when he will return. If you leave your contact information, we will be sure to get back to you when he is available."
Rhoads put his hands on his hips, pulling back his suit jacket to expose a gun on his hip. I wasn't sure if it was intentional or not, but either way, he was succeeding at intimidation.
"I would appreciate that," I said, handing him my card.
"Now if you'd please leave the premises and not return, I'd appreciate it," Rhoads said, slipping my card into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
"No problem," I said, hiking my messenger bag up on my shoulder. "Have a nice day," I said to the woman at the desk, and we left the building.
We walked silently to the car, slid in, and buckled in before speaking.
"Well, that excalated quickly," I said.
"Something's up," Ximena said, rolling over the engine.
"Agreed. Something feels off in that building compared to yesterday. Morelli and I stopped by, and nothing seemed amiss. The woman at the front desk was helpful and apologetic. Today, it was like a switch has been flipped."
"They know more than they're saying," she said as she pulled away from the building. "Maybe she'll give you a call since you dropped your card. Let's check out Dickie's place."
I plugged Dickie's new address into the Maps app on my phone and directed Ximena there. While we drove, I called Connie and asked her to run a background check on Roger Rhoads.
"You've got it. Anything else?" Connie asked.
"The third partner," I responded. "Fitch. I don't have a first name."
"Sure. You coming back this way for lunch? I don't think I can get away again today, and I didn't bring anything."
"We can do that," I said. "Give us thirty minutes."
Dickie lived in newer, a two-story white and brown Tudor home just inside the Burg. The street was filled with newer homes, and it was quiet this time of day. We parked on the street and watched the house for a while, but there was no activity.
"So you were married to this moron?" Ximena asked.
"Not for long. The ink wasn't dry on my marriage certificate when he started sleeping around. And that was a long time ago. Good riddance."
"I had no idea you'd been married," Ximena said. "You and Carlos have more in common than I thought."
She was right. Ranger and I had each been married at one time, but both marriages were short lived.
After ten minutes with no activity, we left the car and went to the house to snoop. We went to the front door, knocked, and announced ourselves.
Nothing. Silence.
While we waited, I glanced in the small pane of window on the front door. Everything inside looked tidy. No dead bodies. No suitcases. No plane tickets. No shoes kicked off by the door.
I rang the bell and waited again.
Nothing.
Ximena stepped off the front stoop and walked over to the garage, where she stood on tiptoes and peeked through the small windows in the garage door.
"No car," she said.
"I'd really like to try some B&E, but I don't think that would be wise in broad daylight. And I'd guess Dickie has a security system."
"I'd guess you're right," said Ximena. "We'll come back."
Ximena drove to Gioviccini's Meat Market and Deli, where we picked up three turkey and cheddar sandwiches, a tub of potato salad, and a tub of coleslaw. We hauled it all back to the bonds office.
"Thank god," said Connie. "I'm starvin'. I was in such a rush to get home, get showered, and get back here this morning that I didn't get breakfast. I've got your file on Roger Rhoads. It'll take a little longer for the more detailed stuff, but this is enough to get you started."
"Thanks," I said, taking the file from her. I scanned over the documents, reading aloud.
"Roger Rhoads, age forty-two. Lives in the Burg. Previous residence in Atlantic City, where he had a firm. Twice married, twice divorced. Looks like he was charged with domestic violence with one of them, but the charges were dropped."
"What's up with Rhoads?" Connie asked, forking into her coleslaw.
"He was at the firm today. He wasn't there when Stephanie was there yesterday. I think he knows more than he's telling," Ximena said. "He's got seriously bad vibes."
I agreed. Just thinking about the guy sent a shiver down my spine.
Connie's computer produced a light pinging sound, and she moused around.
"The check on Fitch is done," she announced.
Her printer began shelling out papers. She placed them in a folder and handed them to me.
"Gerwin Fitch, age 37. Lives in North Trenton. He's the managing partner at the firm," I read aloud. " Recently divorced from wife, Eloise…"
"Didn't we just re-bond her?" Connie asked, flipping through paperwork on her desk.
"Yep," I said. "Small world." I browsed through the rest of his file. "He looks pretty benign," I admitted. "With the exception of his womanizing ways."
"Sounds like he and Dickie have something in common," Ximena said.
"Yeah, the whole lot of them are sleezeballs," Connie said. "That's common knowledge."
"We stopped at Dickie's house. It's dark. No sign of activity or life. We may try a little B&E later."
"Be careful if you do," Connie said. "All in all, Dickie is a low bond. I'm not super worried about him."
We finished up our lunch, told Connie to have a good afternoon, and loaded out for Rangeman.
Ximena fobbed us into the underground parking garage, and we took the elevator upstairs. Ximena got off on the sixth floor, where Ranger had her set up in a temporary efficiency apartment for her time in Trenton. I went to Ranger's seventh floor apartment, where I changed into a pink sports bra, black Nike shorts, a pink racerback shirt, and black Nike tennis shoes. I wandered into the bathroom, where I put my hair up in a tight bun and added extra deodorant. My face still looked bad, but the swelling seemed to be going down a little. Maybe.
I had a little bit of time before I needed to hit the gym, so I flopped onto the couch and dialed Ranger.
"Babe."
"Hey. How's your mom?" I asked.
"Mamí went in for surgery about fifteen minutes ago," Ranger said.
"How is your dad holding up?"
"As well as can be expected," said Ranger. "My sister is here too."
"How are you?" I asked.
"Babe."
I interpreted this to mean he was doing okay.
"Do you need anything?" I asked.
"No," he said. "Are you alright?"
"All is well on my end," I said. "Getting ready to head to the gym. Ximena and I brought in a skip this morning, and we asked around on Dickie."
"Learn anything?"
"Not really, but something bad is going on in that law office," I said. "Today gave me the creeps."
We sat in silence on the phone, and I listened to Ranger breathe.
"I miss you," I said softly.
"I miss you too," he admitted. "Stay safe, babe."
I sauntered into the gym one minute early. Rodriguez was standing slumped with his back to the wall, browsing something on his phone. He was clad in all black workout wear—gym shorts, tennis shoes, and t-shirt. To my surprise, Ximena was in the gym lifting weights. She was wearing a red sports bra, white gym shorts, and some sweet orange tennis shoes.
"I didn't expect to see you here," I said to her.
"I didn't want to miss out on the show," Ximena said, grinning from ear to ear.
I gave her my best scowl, and she smiled wider in response.
"Plus, I didn't get down here this morning. I've got to keep up with you now. I can't miss a day."
Rodriguez crossed to us, sliding his phone in his pocket. He gave me a full body scan.
"You ready?" he asked.
"Yep."
"Let's go."
We started with stretches and some jogging, then moved into weights and strength. It seemed like he was taking it easier on me today. For that, I was grateful. After an hour of hard work and sweat-but no vomit, thank god—we stretched, and I was released to shower.
"Good job, Plum," Ximena said, following me out of the gym.
"Thanks, I think. I felt like an idiot doing most of that stuff."
"You looked good," she said, pulling out her ponytail. "It will feel more natural with more practice. You'll get stronger every day."
We parted ways at the elevator, and I let myself into Rangers—my—apartment to shower. I was still struggling to make the space feel like home, but since my stuff resided in the apartment, I had to accept that it was my place, too.
Ranger's apartment had always felt like a cozy, designer getaway thanks to Ella's design sense and impeccable cleanliness. On more than one occasion in times past, I remember thinking if Ranger had been the marrying type, I would have married him simply for his comfortable bed with its ultra-high thread count bedsheets and perfect pillows. Now here I was, not only sleeping in his bed but living in his apartment, eating his food, and being invited to replace the furniture. To top that all off, he had admitted that he was thinking about marriage. This was somewhere between terrifying and utterly fantastic. I hadn't quite pegged it on the spectrum yet.
I stood in the shower, considering how my life had changed in the past month. Things with Ranger were great. I'd never experienced such a stable relationship or a gracious, humble, thoughtful partner. It was clear Ranger was going to great lengths to care for me while also keeping me comfortable, taking things at my pace. The verdict was still out on my employment with Rangeman, especially with my new partner, but it was nice knowing I'd have a regular paycheck and a reliable car. Both of those necessities had been stressors for years, and it was nice putting that behind me.
It occurred to me that my bills had suddenly become drastically reduced. No rent, no utilities. Not much in the way of groceries with Ella cooking. I had a car insurance payment and still needed to reimburse Ranger for the Toyota, but all in all, my financial situation had changed for the better. I wondered if I needed to offer to cover utilities for Ranger's and my apartment, and tucked that thought away for later.
I dried off with an ultra-soft, super-plush bath towel and blasted my hair with the hair dryer, applying a small amount of product to smooth the frizz. I reapplied my mascara and lip gloss, then shuffled into the closet, where I put on bikini underwear, jeans, a lacy bra, a girly cut navy t-shirt, and Nikes.
I settled onto the couch and worked on my laptop for a few hours, working on some small projects for Ximena and running some searches for my bond enforcement work. At some point, I dozed off, this morning's early wakeup getting the best of me.
When I woke, it was 5:30 pm. My computer had fallen asleep, and the building was quiet. My stomach was rumbling, so I headed to the kitchen in search of something snack-worthy. After finding nothing of interest in the fridge, I settled on a jar of peanut butter and a spoon from the pantry. When all else fails, there is peanut butter, right?
I sat at the counter and dialed Ranger's number. He didn't answer, but he called me back a few minutes later.
"Hey, good looking," I answered.
"Babe," he said in response.
"How's your mom?"
"She just got settled into her room. The surgery went as planned. The surgeon thinks they got good, clear margins, but we'll know more after pathology takes a look."
"That's great," I said, breathing a sigh of relief.
"She's not very alert yet. I plan to stay with her overnight so my sister can take my dad home."
"Can I do anything for you?" I asked, spooning out more peanut butter. "You going to be okay?"
"Babe."
I interpreted this to mean he'd survived as a bachelor for more than a decade, and he would be fine.
"Well, take care of yourself tonight and sleep if you can. I love you," I said.
"I love you too, Babe."
I heard a woman say something loudly in the background, but I couldn't make out her words.
"What in the world?" I asked.
Ranger laughed out loud. "My sister overheard," he explained. "She's rejoicing that I've found love."
"Wow," I said. "That's a lot of pressure to put on a girl."
"Babe."
We disconnected, and I weighed my options as I sat at the counter eating peanut butter. I could keep eating peanut butter. I could mooch dinner from my mother. I could go grab something out of the break room downstairs. I could make myself something in Ranger's granite-and-stainless kitchen. I could go to a drive-through. I could call Lula and go out. Frankly, all these options seemed unappealing.
On top of dinner decisions, there was work. I knew I should work on my pile of skips tonight, but I wasn't sure who I'd have to call for a ride-along. I definitely didn't want to see Joe, and I was too tired to deal with Lester. Plus, I wasn't feeling very motivated to chase down bad guys. I could stand to spend some time working on Ximena's projects tonight to free up more time tomorrow, but I was bored and kind of lonely in the apartment. I did some mental knuckle-cracking and called Ximena.
"Yo," she answered.
"Yo yourself. Do you know where Ranger's mom is?" I asked.
"Mercy Hospital in Newark, room 585," she responded. "Why, what's up?"
"I'm thinking of taking Ranger dinner and dropping off flowers. Want to ride along?"
"Would if I could, but I've got shit to do," she said. "Rain check?"
"Sure," I said and disconnected.
I brushed my teeth, freshened up my makeup, and redid my ponytail. I grabbed a sweater out of the closet, then I packed my laptop and some files I needed for work in my messenger bag. I selfishly grabbed the keys to Ranger's megabucks Porsche 911 Turbo and headed out, stopping off on the fifth floor to grab a variety of sandwiches, bottles of water, and fruit to take to the hospital. I pulled out of the parking garage and pointed the Porsche toward Shop and Bag, blaring the Cranberries on Ranger's satellite radio 90s station.
I knew I could have driven my personal vehicle or my corporate SUV, but what the heck—driving Ranger's Porsche was fun, and it was sure to make the monotonous, hour-long drive more enjoyable. Ranger had let me drive his car on a lot of occasions, and I knew he wouldn't mind.
At Shop-and-Bag, I grabbed a pretty, brightly colored floral arrangement out of their refrigerated case, added a balloon for good measure, and included a "Get Well Soon" card signed "Love, Carlos and Stephanie." I buckled the flowers into the passenger seat and stuffed the balloon into the small cargo compartment behind the seats, then pointed the Porsche toward Newark.
I parked the Porsche in the hospital's parking garage. I slung my messenger bag across my body and loaded up my arms with food and flowers before taking the elevator to the hospital lobby. Once there, I followed signs to the fifth floor, then wandered around until I found Ranger's mom's room. I gently knocked on her door and peeked my head inside. I saw Mariposa in her bed, fast asleep. Ranger was sitting at the foot of the bed with his left foot on his right knee. He looked tired and his face showed stress I wasn't accustomed to seeing there.
"Hey," I said in a whisper-soft voice.
"Babe," he said, his tone surprised.
I shuffled in, quietly setting the flowers and balloon in the window ledge. I set down the food containers on a small table, then gave him a quick peck on the cheek. I began to back away, but he pulled me in for a toe-curling kiss with lots of tongue. Once I retained my composure, I took a seat in the chair next to Ranger.
"Are you hungry?" I said, pointing to the boxes. "I figured anything Ella made would be better than hospital food."
"Thanks," he said, selecting a roast beef and swiss sandwich on multi-grain. I selected the chicken sandwich, and we ate in amicable silence, Ranger's eyes regularly scanning his mother's small form in the bed.
"You look stressed," I finally admitted quietly. "How are you holding up?"
Ranger seemed uncomfortable with this question. He sat, gathering his thoughts and eating.
"I don't like watching her suffer," he finally admitted.
"I'm sorry. Cancer is a real bitch."
He nodded his agreement as he selected an apple from the table. He bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. "It was really nice for you to bring mamí flowers. Thank you. I can't believe you came here," he said, his tone disbelieving.
"I wanted to make sure you were alright," I admitted. "I brought work, so I won't be a bother—I promise. I'll just hang out a little bit."
"Babe, you can hang out as long as you like," he said. "But I never would have asked you to sit here."
"I know," I said. "I wanted to be here for you."
He reached over and took my hand in his large, warm hand. His eyes met with mine; they were soft and loving, but the dark rings beneath his eyes divulged his exhaustion.
"Why don't you try to sleep?" I suggested. "Lean your head back here, or try out the recliner. I'll be here until you wake up."
The twinkle in his eye let me know he was amused that I was taking an active role as his caretaker.
"Babe," he exhaled, tossing his apple core in the trash, leaning his head back against the wall, and closing his eyes.