Блейз Клемент - Raining Cat Sitters And Dogs

I said, “My heart bleeds for them.”

Tom waggled his hand. “It’s all relative. To a billionaire, a million is like a hundred to everybody else.”

I tossed my fruit rind in Tom’s kitchen trash and rinsed my spoon. As I put it in his dishwasher, I said, “I know a woman who has a million in cash in her home safe.”

He raised a CPA’s suspicious eyebrow. “Legitimate money?”

“Yeah. Her husband’s an oil trader, whatever that is.”

He grunted, and I went to get Billy Elliot’s leash. Billy had waited long enough.

Billy and I ran around the oval parking lot track like banshees on holiday. When Billy was happy and I was pouring sweat, we rode upstairs in the cool elevator. Tom was at the kitchen table working on papers of some kind. Before I replaced Billy’s leash in the foyer closet, I went to the kitchen. Tom looked over his glasses at me. Probably thought I was going to ask for a second mamé sapote.

I thwacked the end of Billy’s leash against my open palm. “Tom, exactly what does an oil trader do?”

He shoved his glasses up on his nose. “Crude or paper?”

“Crude, I think.”

“Then he sells oil, big tankers full. Say he represents an oil producer in Norway. They notify him that they’ve filled a tanker with oil, and he seeks out a buyer. Maybe the buyer is a refiner in Japan, so he strikes a deal with them and notifies the tanker to sail to Japan. But maybe on the way, a refiner in England wants the oil and is willing to pay more. So he strikes a deal with Japan to sell the oil to England, and notifies the tanker to change course. He can do that over and over, and every time the oil changes owners, he gets a percentage of whatever the selling price is, plus fees from both the sellers and buyers for handling the sale. Traders spend their days looking for people willing to pay more or sell for less. It’s a lucrative business, but nerve-racking.”

Brilliantly, I said, “Hunh.”

He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “No cash gets exchanged in a business like that. It’s all wire transfers.”

As if it made a difference, I said, “This oil trader I know is from South America.”

“Venezuela is one of the largest oil producers in the world. I think it supplies about a fifth of the world’s crude.”

“Hunh.”

Tom seemed to have run out of things to say about oil trading. I couldn’t think of anything to say that might explain why my unnamed friend with an oil-trading husband had a million dollars in cash in her home safe.

I said, “Well, okay then. I guess I’ll be on my way.”

Tom nodded, his eyes bright with something he wanted to say but was holding back. I gave Billy Elliot a smooch and hotfooted it out of the condo. All the way down in the elevator, I wondered where that money in Maureen’s safe had come from. Even for superwealthy people, a million dollars in emergency cash seemed excessive. It also didn’t seem likely that she and her husband had pulled it out of a bank account to keep close at hand. But if they hadn’t got it from their bank, where had it come from?

For the first time, it hit me that Victor’s wealth might be from something illicit. All I knew about Victor was what Maureen had told me, and Maureen could have lied. Even more probable, Maureen might not know herself. Or care. She wasn’t the curious type. All she cared about was what Victor’s money bought.

At my Bronco, I got inside and bounced my forehead off the steering wheel a few times.

Out loud, I said, “It’s not illegal to pay off kidnappers. And delivering money to kidnappers won’t make me a criminal, no matter where the money came from.”

But inside my head, a little voice said, “Are you sure about that?”

I wasn’t the least bit sure.

The Buddhists say, “Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.” I felt enlightened by my conversation with Tom, but now what?

I started the engine and headed for my next pet client. Before enlightenment, empty litter boxes, walk dogs. After enlightenment, empty litter boxes, walk dogs. I’m a professional. I meet my responsibilities. Even if I’m planning to do something incredibly stupid and possibly illegal, I take care of my pets.

But after I’d taken care of all the cats on my list, and before I headed for Big Bubba’s house, I drove to the village and parked in front of Ethan Crane’s office.

I needed legal advice.

12

If I had a lick of sense, I’d have thrown myself at Ethan Crane the moment I met him. By any woman’s criteria, Ethan is high on the desirability list. He’s honest. He’s sharp. He cares about things that people should care about, like the environment and the community and dogs. Add all that to the fact that he looks like an underwear model and you have one of the world’s best men. Add to that the fact that he and I had a strong attraction from the first moment we met, and you have the world’s most stupid woman, because I kept turning him away. And the worst of it was that I turned him away because I was even more drawn to Guidry, who wasn’t half as direct as Ethan about wanting me. Not even a fourth as direct, as a matter of fact.

The last time I’d seen Ethan, he’d made it clear that the next move was up to me. He’d also made it clear that he wasn’t offering a commitment, but an invitation to explore what we felt for each other and see where it led. I had left vowing to myself that I wouldn’t give him any more mixed messages. I wouldn’t make any excuses to see him again unless or until I was able to do so without bringing any emotional baggage with me. And yet here I was, baggage and all, coming to him for advice.

Ethan’s office is in the oldest part of Siesta Key’s business district. His stucco building is as old as the streets, with corners rounded and walls pitted by age and sandy sea breezes. The flaking gilt sign on the front door originally named Ethan’s grandfather, ETHAN CRANE, ESQ. Ethan hasn’t seen fit to modernize either the sign or the building, so stepping into the minuscule foyer and ascending the worn stairs to the second floor is like stepping back in time to a century when people were more civil and formal. Just the odor of furniture polish and old law books and leather chairs makes me want to live up to a higher standard of conduct.

Ethan’s door was closed, and his secretary was busy at a computer in a side office. She wasn’t the same secretary I’d seen at his office before. The other woman had been older and dignified, probably another inheritance from Ethan’s grandfather. This one was middle-aged and plump, with severe sticking-up hair dyed the color of eggplant. When I stopped at her door, she gave me a scathing once-over.

I said, “I’m a friend of Ethan’s. Is he busy?”

She wore dark ruby lipstick on oversized pillowy lips, and when she pursed her lips the effect was a bit alarming. Like they might have suctioning ability that could vacuum me in.

She said, “Does it look like he’s not busy?”

The woman obviously saw herself as Ethan’s protector, there to guard him against door-to-door salesmen, scam artists, and women with cat hair on their shorts.

I said, “Sorry, I should have called before I came.”

Her big lips did that scary thing again. “Yes, you should have.”

She had the charisma of tofu.

I said, “So I guess after I leave, you can just tell Ethan that a good friend was here and left because he was too busy to see me. Better yet, I’ll tell him myself and save you the time.”

Some of the air went out of her lips, and her eyes narrowed. With a glance at a light on a phone setup on her desk, she said, “He’s on the phone. When he’s off, I’ll let him know you’re here.”