Peter Leonard - Quiver

What did she see in Teddy? The question popping back in her head. Celeste believed it came down to some kind of chemistry thing, some weirdo attraction. It certainly wasn’t his intellect. One time she asked him if he believed in love at first sight.

He looked at her and said, “No,’ cause blind people can fall in love, too.”

Sometimes he surprised her.

Celeste counted the money, stacking the bills on her lap. When she finished, she locked her gaze on Teddy and said, “How much you think? Guess right, it’s all yours.”

“What if I guess wrong?”

“It’s all mine,” Celeste said.

“What do you think,” Teddy said, “I’m dumb or something?”

Celeste was thinking, “Boy, as a rock.” but she said, “I’m just messing with you. Come on, give it a shot.”

Teddy stared at the money, taking his time like his life depended on it. He said, “$1,243,” and grinned. Then the grin disappeared and he said, “No, I want to change it. I guess $1,427.”

“You were closer the first time,” Celeste said.

Teddy was mad now. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair? You guessed wrong.”

“You’re cheating.”

“Why don’t you count it yourself?”

“Maybe I will,” he said and turned into a strip-mall parking lot, downshifting, the high-performance engine rumbling, coming to a stop in a parking space in front of a Rite Aid drug store. “Give it to me,” Teddy said. “Let’s see who’s right and who’s not.”

Celeste was confused. Who’s right? He was the only one who guessed, and he was wrong both times. She handed him the money and he started counting, stopped and started again.

“Want some help? I know it’s a lot of numbers.”

Teddy gave her a dirty look.

Celeste cracked the window, lit a joint and blew the smoke out.

Teddy looked over like he wanted a hit.

Celeste said, “When you’re through. I don’t want to cloud your razor-sharp mind.”

Teddy finished counting and locked his gaze on Celeste. “One thousand, three hundred fifty-eight, didn’t I say that?”

Celeste said, “Quick, what’s that divided by two?”

Teddy said, “Huh?”

Celeste said, “Six seventy-nine each. And you didn’t even have to get out the car.”

Teddy grinned, getting it now. He put his hand up, reached over and said, “High five.”

“This is the address he gave his parole officer,” Teddy said, pulling up to a tan ranch house with a robin’s-egg-blue garage door in Sterling Heights.

Celeste glanced over at him. “And you believe it?”

It was in a subdivision that didn’t have any trees. Just single-story houses and concrete streets.

Celeste said, “Let me clue you in on something. If Jack’s got the money you say he’s got, he ain’t staying in Sterling Heights with his sis.”

Teddy turned in the seat, facing her. “What the hell do you know?”

He hated people telling him he was wrong. Girls most of all. Celeste said, “Think about it. Would you stay here if you were rich and just out of prison?”

“We’ll see,” Teddy said.

God, he was hardheaded. He got out of the car, walked up to the front door and rang the bell, turned, looked at her and waved.

Celeste saw a car coming toward her, a silver two-door Chevy. It passed her and turned in the driveway, a chick with bright red hair behind the wheel. Teddy saw it too and moved around the front of the house toward the garage.

Dick May said, “I apologize it’s taken so long.”

Kate said, “It’s not your fault. How many times have I postponed it?” She could see the trust documents on the desk in front of him.

“Did you and Owen ever talk finances, assets, net worth?”

“I was never too concerned,” Kate said.

“I can understand.”

Dick May was Owen’s attorney and good friend. He’d retired from a big Detroit firm and Owen was his only client: kept him busier than he wanted, but it was fun and lucrative-a nice combination for a former Princeton grad who’d just turned seventy but still had the energy and enthusiasm of a guy twenty years younger. Owen and May played tennis and golf and shot skeet, Owen giving him a handmade Benelli twelve-gauge for his seventieth birthday.

Kate sat in a comfortable armchair across the desk from May in his quaint Bloomfield Hills office, which had a fireplace and a wet bar.

“Owen left you everything-his controlling interest in the company, the house in Bloomfield, apartment in New York, place in Aspen and the equities, cash, and cars. No surprise, I’m sure. We’re talking, conservatively, twenty million.”

Twenty million-and Kate was thinking about the house she rented in Guatemala, thinking it was the happiest she’d ever been in her life and she had less than a thousand dollars to her name. Money made it easier but not necessarily better. Not many people subscribed to that point of view, but for Kate, it was true.

May said, “You’re free to run the company if you want.”

“You think I’m going to go in there and tell those motorsport pros how to do their job?”

“You wouldn’t be the first if you changed your mind.”

“Not likely,” Kate said.

“I didn’t think so, but you never know.” May took off the reading glasses and furrowed his brow. “There is one thing I have to explain,” his tone serious now. “Owen wanted Luke to have the lodge in Cathead Bay.”

“Dick, if you think that’s a problem,” Kate said, “let me ease your mind.”

“It doesn’t go into effect till he’s twenty-four.”

Kate didn’t care. She just wondered if Luke would ever go back.

That was it. The reading of the will took about five minutes, Counselor May offering his time if Kate needed further explanation about anything.

She didn’t.

Kate drove home and met her friend Maureen Kelso. They stood at the island counter in the kitchen, smoking and drinking wine. She put out a wedge of Saint Albray that smelled like a locker room but tasted like the best Camembert she’d ever had. “Try this,” Kate said. She sliced off a piece and put it on a stone-ground wheat cracker and took a bite.

“I’m not eating for a while,” Maureen said. “I feel like a fat pig. I had a pair of jeans on the other day, bent over and split the seat. Imagine what that does for your ego.”

“I think you look good,” Kate said. “Don’t get so skinny you look sick like Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Richie.” She took another bite of cheese and sipped her wine.

“Oh, okay,” Maureen said. “Are you kidding? I could lose twenty pounds, you wouldn’t notice. I’m back on South Beach, my last diet. If this doesn’t work, it’s lipo. Plastic surgeon said he’d take two quarts of cellulite out of my thighs and stomach. Said he could use some of it to give my ass more definition. What do you think?”

Kate said, “I’d try exercise first.”

Maureen took a cigarette out of her purse and lit it with an orange plastic lighter.

“I did. Had a personal trainer, even. Little muscular guy named Avis.”

“Was he Greek?”

“I think Albanian. All he talked about was abs, delts, glutes and obliques. First couple of days I thought he was teaching me the language, pick up Albanian while you’re getting in shape.”

“You have a crush on him?”

“Who?”

“The trainer.”

“He was too little. Like a toy man. I need a guy with meat on his bones.”

Kate took a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator, cut the top off with a foil cutter, and opened it with a screwpull opener. “Since you’re not in training at the moment, try this.” Kate reached over the island counter and poured Maureen a glass.