Janet Evanovich - Foul Play

Jake grinned at her. “You’re jealous.”

Amy put the teakettle on to boil. “I’m not jealous. I’m insecure, immature, ungrateful, and unemployed. I quit.”

“You can’t quit.”

“Watch me.” She poked a finger into his chest. “I can do whatever I want, buster, and I want to quit.”

“Know what I think?” Jake taunted. “I think you’re… chicken.”

“That’s not funny. You have a perverted sense of humor.”

“At least I’m not crabby.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Are you telling me I’m crabby?”

“Damn right you’re crabby. And you’re stubborn.”

“That does it,” Amy said. “I’m leaving.”

“Good. Where are you going? I hope it’s to work, because we’re already late and Mr. Billings is coming in this morning.”

“Read my lips, Elliott. I quit. I’m good-bye. Adios. Au revoir.”

Jake looked at the kitchen clock and sighed. “I have to go. We’ll discuss this later.”

“My mind is made up.”

“Stubborn,” Jake mumbled en route to the front door. “Damn stubborn woman. Enough to drive a man nuts.” He returned to the kitchen and grabbed Amy, kissing her long and hard. His eyes briefly fogged over with pleasure before he sighed for the second time that morning and left. Elliott, he said to himself, she’s got you by the short hairs.

Amy listened to the door slam and the car sputter to life. She glowered at the cat, sitting patiently by the refrigerator door. “I suppose you want to get fed?” She took the cat food from the refrigerator and dumped it into a bowl. Motley sniffed at it disdainfully. Amy couldn’t really blame her. The stuff smelled gross.

“You’re gonna love this,” Amy said with a voice sweet enough to draw ants. “This cat food is great stuff. It says here under guaranteed analysis that there’s eleven percent of crude protein, six percent of crude fat, and one percent fiber. And this is the really important part. Two percent ash. How about that?”

Motley didn’t look impressed. Amy added a dollop of vanilla ice cream to the top of the cat food and watched Motley’s eyes light up.

“Know what, Motley? We’ve got to go. Jake’s right. I’m crabby. I’m not marriage material. I’m having a stress attack.”

She made herself a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table calmly thinking about her life. She needed to get away. Being Jake’s receptionist wasn’t working out. She wasn’t even sure if being Jake’s fiancée was working out. She loved him, but love might not be enough.

Sometimes there were insurmountable problems. Rhode Island Red seemed to be one of them. What she needed now was a hideout. Someplace quiet and uncomplicated where she could lick her wounds and make some intelligent decisions. She had an aunt in Baltimore. Maybe a visit with Aunt Gert would be just what she needed. And Baltimore might even be a good place to look for a job. Her fame might not have spread to Baltimore.

“Depressing,” she said to Motley. “This whole thing is damn depressing.”

Amy finished her tea and dragged herself into the shower, turning the water on full force, letting it beat down on her shoulders. An overwhelming sadness constricted her throat, and she felt hot tears streaming down her cheeks, despite all efforts at controlling them. Love is the pits, she thought, slumping against the tile and sobbing, for the first time in her life understanding the term heartbroken. Why couldn’t it have worked just this once? Jake was the man of her dreams and Rhode Island Red had turned those dreams into a nightmare.

An hour later she taped a note to the refrigerator door. Dear Jake, Had to leave. Please water my plants. Love, Amy. She stared dully at the note. It was inadequate, but then life itself seemed inadequate right now. Maybe the note was appropriate. She’d crammed almost all of her clothes into the small car. Motley was waiting in the cat carrier on the front seat. Jake had his own house key. Nothing more left to do.

Jake threw the day’s paper on the unmade bed and zapped the TV with the remote. Five days since Amy left and not a word. It was crazy. She’d vanished. Poof. Just like Red. He was beginning to have weird thoughts, like, maybe the same people who took Red also took Amy. Maybe Amy had actually been the one who took Red and they were holed up in a motel room somewhere, together.

You’re a man on the edge, Jake, he told himself. You’re getting silly. Better silly than frantic, he decided. That’s how he actually felt deep down inside. Total panic. She was gone, and he couldn’t find her. What if she never came back?

Of course she’d come back. She was Ms. Responsibility. She’d come back to get her mail and pay her bills. She’d come back to retrieve her furniture. Would she come back to him? He kicked off his shoes and fell onto the bed. He didn’t even know why she left, and he was mad as hell that she hadn’t explained. She’d owed him an explanation, dammit. If he ever found her he was going to strangle her.

Undoubtedly this had something to do with the rooster mess. He had to admit, it’d been a crummy week. Business was bad. People were snapping at each other. And Amy felt it was all her fault.

He should have seen it coming, but he’d been too busy reassuring skeptical clients to take time to reassure Amy. Then there was that dumb shouting match the morning she’d left. He’d been insensitive, he decided. He hadn’t listened to her. She’d said she was leaving, and it had never occurred to him to take her seriously. Elliott, you’re a moron.

He flicked through several channels and sat bolt upright when the twenty-minute news show popped onto the screen. “… and that’s the story, folks. Amy Klasse has disappeared, leaving her fiancé without a word. One can only speculate as to her whereabouts and wonder at her motives.”

Jake threw the remote across the room, where it smashed against the wall. They were still at it! Wasn’t it enough that they’d driven her away? He banged his fist on the top of the TV and listened to the set crackle and die. Great. Now he was violent. He laced up his running shoes and hooked the leash onto Spot’s collar.

“Come on, dog. We need to walk.”

It was dawn when Jake stopped walking. He and Spot wearily made their way up the stairs and flopped into bed. An hour later the alarm rang. Jake staggered to the shower.

“Man, this sucks,” he said. “I’m falling apart. Look at me… I’m even talking to myself. Get a grip, Jake.”

He stared at himself in the mirror and didn’t like what he saw. Dark circles under his eyes. Two days of stubble. Unkempt hair. He looked like a street person. “You see what falling in love does to you?” he shouted at his reflection. “Women! They’ll ruin you. They make you crazy.”

He was still raving when he got to the office. Allen was sitting at the reception desk. “We need help,” Allen said. “The office is in chaos. I can’t find any files. We’re overbooked again.” He scowled at Jake. “And I hate your damn coffee.”

Jake scowled back. “So make your own damn coffee.”

“I hate mine even more than I hate yours. I like Amy’s coffee. Where the hell is she, anyway?”

Jake made a futile gesture.

Allen slumped in his seat. “I’m sorry. I got carried away. You look like death warmed over. Bad night?”

“Unh.”

Allen grinned and draped an arm around Jake’s shoulders. “She’ll be back. She loves you. And her cat is due for a rabies shot.”

Both men stiffened when the door opened and the twenty-minute news team walked in. “Did you see the show?” Ponytail asked. “Pretty good, huh? Real drama. Real pathos.”

“Real close to slander,” Jake said. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here this morning. I guess you like to live dangerously.”