little-girl voice that drove me crazy. I guessed the barflies at The Wharfliked it. She told me once that every night she makes megabucks in tips.
“Yeah,” she said at last. “The tourists think it’s a great day.” Shandy sat on the patron’s bench at the side of the lounge chair. “They’re out in full force even this early in the morning. I had to park clear over on Whitehead Street. Counted twenty parking slots all filled before I found an empty.”
I smiled at Shandy’s compulsion for counting things. Once I watched her buy a bottle of aspirin, shake them into a dish, and count them to be sure there were a hundred as advertised. People who know her merely smile at her strange quirk. I think she knows this. It may be what makes her so shy. She told me once that she realizes counting’s a strange habit, but she can’t help doing it. I’ve known her for months, but even around me she ducks her head and looks at the ground when she speaks. She reminds me of one of the miniature Key deer up on Big Pine, on the alert and ready to run for cover if danger threatens.
“Lucky I had six quarters in my purse. I dropped them all into the meter. An hour and a half should give me enough time for a cappuccino when we’re through here.”
Did she intend to avoid talking about Margaux’s death? I wondered if she knew the contents of Margaux’s will. Would Otto have told her of the bequests? Maybe he wouldn’t know the details himself until the lawyers read the will aloud to those who inherited. I suppressed a sigh. For all I knew Shandy might already be planning how to help Otto spend his new wealth.
While Shandy removed her sandals, I walked to the back of my apartment and filled the portable footbath with warm water and lemon-scented soap. That footbath has saved me mega grief. Most people’d be shocked if they had to touch some of the feet I’ve seen—calloused, misshapen, and just plain smelly. But Shandy had great feet, small, dainty, and always well manicured. I wondered if she did the manicure herself. She knew my office routine and she relaxed and wiggled her toes as I snapped on the footbath. We both inhaled the citrus scent while the water swished gently around her feet.
“Feels wonderful, Keely.”
I had hoped Shandy would talk about Margaux’s death, but since she hadn’t, I decided to bring it up myself. Snapping the footbath off, I dried her feet with a fluffy towel and watched her pad to the lounger. When the chair mechanism lifted her feet to my working level, I gave her a pillow to raise her head so we could look at each other as we talked.
Moistening my hands with lavender-scented lotion, I began gently massaging her left foot. I felt her relax, but when I concentrated pressure on her toes, she let out a small gasp.
“Hurt?” I asked.
“Yes. What’re you doing?”
“Breaking up those crystalline and calcium deposits so blood can circulate to the nerve endings in your sinuses and the pituitary gland. Those’re places where lots of headaches begin.” I felt her relax again as more crystals began to break up. While she lay relaxed I massaged the sides of her feet in a way that could relieve arm and shoulder problems, sciatic pain. Those areas, too, could cause headaches.
“Have you seen the paper this morning?” I asked.
“Hasn’t everyone?” She sighed then tensed again as I returned to work more forcefully on her toes. “Don’t expect me to be overwhelmed with grief, Keely. That woman left Otto a broken man with a shattered heart. She thought of nobody but herself and her svelte body, her fine clothes.”
“I’m sure you’ve helped Otto’s heart to mend.” I massaged the inside of her foot, then applied a bit of pressure to her arch. She winced, but she didn’t draw away from my touch.
“I’ve tried to help Otto, but the shrink has him on so many pills we can hardly keep track of them. Our kitchen table looks like a pharmacy. Pill bottles everywhere. Sheets of
“Yeah,” she said at last. “The tourists think it’s a great day.” Shandy sat on the patron’s bench at the side of the lounge chair. “They’re out in full force even this early in the morning. I had to park clear over on Whitehead Street. Counted twenty parking slots all filled before I found an empty.”
I smiled at Shandy’s compulsion for counting things. Once I watched her buy a bottle of aspirin, shake them into a dish, and count them to be sure there were a hundred as advertised. People who know her merely smile at her strange quirk. I think she knows this. It may be what makes her so shy. She told me once that she realizes counting’s a strange habit, but she can’t help doing it. I’ve known her for months, but even around me she ducks her head and looks at the ground when she speaks. She reminds me of one of the miniature Key deer up on Big Pine, on the alert and ready to run for cover if danger threatens.
“Lucky I had six quarters in my purse. I dropped them all into the meter. An hour and a half should give me enough time for a cappuccino when we’re through here.”
Did she intend to avoid talking about Margaux’s death? I wondered if she knew the contents of Margaux’s will. Would Otto have told her of the bequests? Maybe he wouldn’t know the details himself until the lawyers read the will aloud to those who inherited. I suppressed a sigh. For all I knew Shandy might already be planning how to help Otto spend his new wealth.
While Shandy removed her sandals, I walked to the back of my apartment and filled the portable footbath with warm water and lemon-scented soap. That footbath has saved me mega grief. Most people’d be shocked if they had to touch some of the feet I’ve seen—calloused, misshapen, and just plain smelly. But Shandy had great feet, small, dainty, and always well manicured. I wondered if she did the manicure herself. She knew my office routine and she relaxed and wiggled her toes as I snapped on the footbath. We both inhaled the citrus scent while the water swished gently around her feet.
“Feels wonderful, Keely.”
I had hoped Shandy would talk about Margaux’s death, but since she hadn’t, I decided to bring it up myself. Snapping the footbath off, I dried her feet with a fluffy towel and watched her pad to the lounger. When the chair mechanism lifted her feet to my working level, I gave her a pillow to raise her head so we could look at each other as we talked.
Moistening my hands with lavender-scented lotion, I began gently massaging her left foot. I felt her relax, but when I concentrated pressure on her toes, she let out a small gasp.
“Hurt?” I asked.
“Yes. What’re you doing?”
“Breaking up those crystalline and calcium deposits so blood can circulate to the nerve endings in your sinuses and the pituitary gland. Those’re places where lots of headaches begin.” I felt her relax again as more crystals began to break up. While she lay relaxed I massaged the sides of her feet in a way that could relieve arm and shoulder problems, sciatic pain. Those areas, too, could cause headaches.
“Have you seen the paper this morning?” I asked.
“Hasn’t everyone?” She sighed then tensed again as I returned to work more forcefully on her toes. “Don’t expect me to be overwhelmed with grief, Keely. That woman left Otto a broken man with a shattered heart. She thought of nobody but herself and her svelte body, her fine clothes.”
“I’m sure you’ve helped Otto’s heart to mend.” I massaged the inside of her foot, then applied a bit of pressure to her arch. She winced, but she didn’t draw away from my touch.
“I’ve tried to help Otto, but the shrink has him on so many pills we can hardly keep track of them. Our kitchen table looks like a pharmacy. Pill bottles everywhere. Sheets of
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