Page 2 of Heart Me Up
“When is Silvia getting here?” Artie asked.
Silvia was my neighbor catty-corner across the street. She usually only attended game nights when we held them at my house, so we’d mostly stopped having them at anyone else’s place.
“I know you guys only come over to eat whatever Silvia’s bringing.”
“Hey, the games are okay too,” Artie smirked. “Though I miss the days before Silvia’s granddaughter moved in, when Silvia would host game night sometimes. Man, remember when she made tortas and enchiladasandtamales?”
Carlos joined him in rhapsodizing over the memory. Silvia had told us she didn’t want her granddaughter to feel uncomfortable with a bunch of strangers in the house, but Corrina was in her early twenties and had her own car.
I suspected the real reason had something to do with the mess the place had been in a few weeks ago when I’d gone over to help Silvia with her water heater’s pilot light. The living room and the dining table were strewn with clothes, bags, and junk food wrappers. In the past, Silvia’s house had always been spotless. Props to her for not cleaning up after her adult granddaughter, but I hated she had to live like that.
Artie said, “You know, maybe I should go over and see if Silvia needs any help.”
“She’s not late,” I reminded him.
His face scrunched up in exaggerated concern. “Yeah, but she’s usually the first to arrive. I think I should check on her.”
Carlos frowned at him. “You shouldn’t go alone. What if she’s bringing a lot of stuff?” He pretended to think for a second. “I’ll go with you.”
I rolled my eyes and kept pouring ranch dressing into a bowl. I might not be able to make tortas, but I could buy a pre-cut vegetable tray with the best of them.
The doorbell rang. “Maybe it’s her!” Artie shouted and bolted off his barstool toward the front door. Carlos shouldered past me to chase Artie, narrowly missing stepping on Mariposa as she headed for the safety of the living room. I sighed and followed at a normal pace.
The front door opened. “Oh.” Artie’s voice dripped with dejection. “Hi, Amy. Hi, Mike.” I came around the corner to see Artie and Carlos standing in the open door, both sagging with disappointment.
“Wow.” Mike stared disdainfully down at Artie and Carlos. He had a new fade and he was growing his beard out, which really set off his eyes and cheekbones. Amy, his wife and my partner on the job, was one lucky bitch. She was also so short I couldn’t see her at all over the guys.
“What’s the matter, Artie? Were you hoping we were Silvia instead?” Mike knew Artie and Carlos well. “So she’s not here yet?” He turned to check Silvia’s house across the street. “Maybe I should go see if she needs any help.”
Mike started back down the walkway. First Artie and then Carlos shoved Amy to the side and jogged to catch up.
Amy stood staring after them, hands on her hips. “I think I feel unloved.”
“You should’ve kicked their asses.” Amy didn’t take any shit from anyone.
She turned back to me, amused. “Not worth the effort. Got a beer?” I ushered her into the house and shut the door on the idiots.
About ten minutes later they returned in a triumphant parade with Silvia bringing up the rear. “Look who we found! And she let me have a churro!” Artie crowed. He entered the kitchen carrying a tray of what smelled like tamales. Carlos followed with bowls of two different salsas I knew Silvia had made fresh.
Mike lingered at the door so he could escort Silvia inside with her hand tucked in his arm. Tonight Silvia sported a royal purple track suit with hot pink athletic shoes. Sparkly cat-eye reading glasses perched on top of her head, holding her black and silver hair away from her face.
Mike got Silvia settled on a barstool. “Amy,” he said seriously. “I’ve decided to leave you for Silvia.”
“Stupid man!” Silvia whacked him on the bicep. “You couldn’t keep up with me.”
Mike sighed. “True. I’m sorry, Amy. I’ll take you back.”
“Try again, studmuffin. You’ll have to win the entire pot tonight to even have a shot with me now.” Amy turned away from him and took a swig from her beer.
Carlos jeered, “You’d better hope you don’t lose. Amy’ll make you stay over here and sleep on Foster’s torture couch.”
I did own the world’s most uncomfortable couch. Seriously, that couch was the worst purchase I’d ever made. It looked exactly like the picture online, all squishy and inviting. But instead it was hard. Not just firm, but hard. Sitting on it for more than a few minutes made your butt go numb. I’d had it delivered while I was tied up with a big case, so I didn’t get around to actually trying it out for over a week. And for a long time I was too busy and exhausted with work to deal with returning it. So there it sat, taking up space in my living room, an enticing Venus flytrap waiting to snag the unwary visitor.
“Don’t worry, Mike, I’ve got a perfectly good guest bed upstairs,” I assured him.
Carlos reared back in horror. “Mike, don’t listen to him. The guest bedroom is almost as bad as the couch. It’s so full of boxes it’s like a hoarder house.”
“Not fair!” I protested. “You know that stuff belongs to Malcolm. He’ll come get it as soon as he’s back from the job he’s on.” I sent a little prayer for him out into the universe. He’d never planned to go undercover, and he’d been rushed off so fast I knew there hadn’t been enough time for thorough prep work, much less training.
