Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“What do you take in your coffee?” Cathy asks, popping her head out of what looks like a kitchen galley of sorts, just off the dining area. This is a fairly common setup in a city of small spaces, where people pay millions for fifteen hundred square feet in the right zip code.
“Powder creamer and Splenda if you have it,” I say.
“That’s exactly how I take mine,” she declares, her face lighting up with this shared preference. “Coming right up.”
I glance up at an enlarged framed photo of a tiger on the wall, facing me. Cathy returns and spies me looking at it. “My husband and I bought that in South Africa. We took a safari there in the early 2000s.” She sets a cup beside me and sits down at the end of the table to my left, her own cup in hand. She sips. “He died two years ago, and it’s been a rough ride. My daughter kept pushing me to find a hobby but I needed a purpose.”
“Is that how Cathy Does Stuff started?”
“Yes. Joe—that was my husband—he always said, ‘Cathy does stuff,’ because he said I was a busybody. He inspired me to do stuff.” She laughs. “I started my business last year. I always feel like he’s watching me and helping me. And staying busy has helped me, but oh, my, I hate the idea that I’ve found myself in the middle of a problem.”
I don’t explain my visit just yet. “I’m sorry for your loss. How long were you married?”
“Thirty years and the last five years of his life we were retired. We really enjoyed our time off together. But I do think all that quality time made it harder to lose him.”
“What did you both do before retiring?” I ask.
“I was always a housewife. He brought home all the money. He was a CPA for a stockbroker here in town.”
I sip the coffee and decide if I’m going to die, this is a good way to go. “This is delicious.”
“It is, isn’t it? And the brand donates to animal charities. I enjoy every cup a bit more for that reason. Do you like animals, Agent Love?”
“I do, actually,” I say, and silently add, they don’t judge you for getting stabby. “They’re unconditional in their love.”
“They are. I want to get another dog. I lost Jojo, my poodle, about the time I lost my husband. I just can’t decide if I will live long enough to be fair to a new dog.”
“I think you have a lot of years on you, Cathy.”
“Do I? I think I’m ready to hear why you’re here.”
I follow her lead and get to the point. “You delivered a suitcase to a building yesterday.”
“Oh, yes. That was an odd request, but by far not my first odd request or strangest. I’ve literally bought dog bones and taken them to a dog when her owner was worried about her, bought booze for a man after his wife cheated and ended up comforting him, and sewed everything from a ripped crotch to a street walker’s bra. She was actually a really nice lady, she just made the wrong career choices. I told her to get an Only Fans page. At least she doesn’t have to touch the scumbags.”
I almost spew my coffee. “How do you even know about Only Fans?”
“I read the news every day and stay present. I saw a story about a school teacher who got fired for her Only Fans page, so I looked it up. That was a bad choice on her part. Anyway, the news, staying educated, alone with my little company—those things keep me alive. I believe that. Well, that and healthy eating, regular gym visits, and my coffee.” She lifts her cup and sips again.
All right, then. Granny is less of a granny than Jay.
“Was there a problem with the suitcase?” she asks. She sets her cup down. “Tell me it didn’t have drugs?”
“What apartment did you drop it at?”
“721. I just left it at the door as instructed.”
That’s the apartment where the murder happened. So, if she left it at the door, the owner might have rolled it inside, but then I’d think he would have called security. Maybe the killer got there first and had a way to enter the apartment.
“Please tell me it wasn’t a bomb,” she says, her mind clearly going wild now. “I didn’t look inside. It had a lock or I probably would have. I’m a bit nosey. My husband used to get onto me about it.”
“Did you know the person you dropped the case to?”
“No. I did not. Never been to that area of town even. Was there a bomb?” Her voice is higher now, and her cup is on the table. “Please say no.”
“Who was the customer who asked you to drop off the bag?”