The concrete hand that had broken right off at his wrist in, if she did say so herself, a pretty clean line.
“Waitwaitwait!” Nina yelled to Marty, holding up her cell phone. “Selfie!”
Jesus. Did she have any Band-Aids?
Chapter 8
“So, are you mad?”
“You mean that I have packing tape wrapped around my wrist to keep it in place?”
Poppy winced, shoving the tips of her fingers between her lips. “Does it hurt?”
Rick held up his arm, the light from her window glinting on the crude packing tape they’d used to patch him back together. “Why would my wrist virtually cracking off my arm hurt, Poppy McGuillicuddy?”
“I apologized. I did. I even offered to go to the realm and tell them I’m the shittiest in the history of shitty familiars so they’d reassign me.”
His eyes met hers in one of those sizzling assessments he was so gifted at. “A deal’s a deal. You have one week. I’d never renege. And surprisingly, to answer your question, no. It doesn’t hurt. Though, it’s a bit awkward if my back gets itchy.” He made a comical reach for his back, the crooked angle at which they’d taped his wrist on making it almost impossible to use his fingertips.
“I’m sure Calamity will find a remedy. I just know it. It’s got to be in the Big Book of Witches.”
Calamity had summoned some book on magic, an enormously thick, dust-riddled black book with pages so brittle, they crackled as she turned them, and she and the women were now poring over it in an attempt to fix Rick’s wrist. But Poppy wasn’t hopeful. Not after the grunts and groans of dismay coming from her couch.
Rick’s nod was curt and clearly skeptical. “I’m sure she will. In the meantime, how about you explain to me this Lennox thing—which you could have just told me, by the way. I mean, if you’re done turning me into garden fixtures, that is.”
Yeah. There was still that. “Listen, here’s the score. I leased this apartment from my friend, Lennox, whose real name is Ethel Leeman.”
“Another actress, I take it?”
“Yeah. Anyway, when the lease ran out, Mr. Rush didn’t ask me to sign any official papers or anything. We just sort of did a handshake kind of deal on it, and I paid my rent every month on time, no matter what. So I guess he didn’t tell you Lennox didn’t live here anymore. Though, I’m not sure why. He knows all of us. He cares about all of us. Even if he was angry with one of us, I can’t imagine he’d just not mention he was selling the place.”
“Like I said, he had the stroke just after he signed the papers to sell. So if he was going to tell you, he either didn’t have time or it slipped his mind because you were gone. But I promise you, Poppy, I made sure he was comfortable with the terms of the sale. I’d never take someone’s home from them.”
But you’re taking mine…
She made her way into her cramped kitchen and opened a cupboard, looking for some coffee mugs. Glad she’d cleaned the cracked Formica countertops with the yellowed edges before she’d left.
“And that’s very noble of you. I’m not questioning whether this was on the up and up. I’m just wondering why Mr. Rush finally agreed to sell. I know he didn’t have any children or grandchildren to leave this building to, but he loved this old place. He worked hard to maintain it—he called it his baby.”
Rick’s smile was genuine, one she felt from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “Yeah. He did, and it shows. He’s a great old guy. Lots of stories about the war and the good old days. I enjoyed my time with him.”
As she pulled out some mugs and pointed to the coffeepot to indicate she’d make coffee, and Rick nodded a resounding yes to some caffeine, Poppy decided it was time for even more honesty.
“So there’s more. I’m three months behind on my rent. Which could explain why I was excluded from the relocation package. I’m guessing your numbers person got in there and saw as much and decided to skip my offer. Which is totally fair.”
But Rick used his good hand to point to the pile of mail on the floor by her door, scattered in every direction after the melee of getting him inside. “You definitely would have been offered a relocation package, Poppy, missed rent or not. ARMD absolutely doesn’t play dirty. Maybe it’s in that pile there, but I can check on it with my assistant, Heather.”
She shook her head, pouring water into the coffeepot. “I probably can’t afford wherever it is you offered to relocate me to anyway. But if it’s the last thing I do, if I have to dance at Mitch’s A-Go-Go in a platypus suit, I’ll pay the money I owe. I always pay the money I owe. Eventually…”