Wanted: Wife Read Online Free PDF Page B

told—”
    “We’re really not interested,” Denny said, sailing past him and into the elevator. He leaned into me as I inserted my key for the penthouse floor, and whispered, “Jesus. Their jaws are flapping already.”
    “That’s weird,” I said, the slip for my keycard blinking back red. “It won’t . . .”
    “But Ms. Knott!” called Geraldo, loping toward us, “Ms. Knott!”
    Denny’s hand stopped the door. “You saying it won’t work?”
    I tried the card again. “I think the code’s been changed.”
    “Son of a bitch.” Denny looked from me to Geraldo. “Why can’t she get up to her house?”
    The doorman wrung his hands. “Mr. Sayles had the locks changed. Just after Ms. Knott left.” He looked to me, pleadingly. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to think I—”
    “Are you joking!” Denny roared.
    Somewhere near the edge of my consciousness I could hear Geraldo apologizing as Denny vented his spleen, but at that moment all my attention was clamped on the digital ‘Dear Jane’ Richard had left on my phone. The locks have been changed. Ask Geraldo for access to your things. Call 215-555-8935 for that apt I told you about. I’m so sorry , but it’s cleaner this way . I stumbled out to the lobby, dropping onto a sofa.
    Cleaner . “Oh Richard . . .” I said, ready to hit reply , “how could—”
    “Give me that,” Denny said, snatching the phone. He dropped it into his pocket and grasped me under the arm. “All right. Let’s go.”
    I gaped at him, unable to mouth the word, Where?
    “You’re coming home with me,” he said, dragging me toward the door. “I have plenty of extra toothbrushes.”
    “I’m sorry,” Geraldo said again.
    “Yeah, yeah, we’re all sorry,” Denny muttered, “until we do it again.”
    T HE ONE THING I’d always loved about Denny’s partner, Brent, besides his eclectic Walnut Street gallery, was his uncanny ability to match the perfect food to every crisis.
    “Here you go, love,” he said, his English accent like raw silk. I curled my fingers around a mug of hot Dutch chocolate. You wouldn’t think something producing such a head of steam would work on a sultry August evening, but right then, as it slinked down my raspy throat, it was comfort incarnate. And it was about all I could stomach at the moment.
    “Bastard. Piece of metro-ass shit,” Denny spat out, pacing. “I’d like to slam those veneers down his gullet.”
    “You need to take it down a tad,” Brent said, his arm around me. “Why don’t you return the news van before they clamp a boot on it? It’ll give you a chance to calm down while Julie has a good cry on the sofa.”
    “I’m not going to cry,” I said. “I’m too angry.”
    That’s what I’m talking about,” Denny said. “Better to get even.”
    “Dennis!” Brent cried, “Will you go already?”
    Denny snatched the keys and stomped out.
    Brent sighed. “I love the man, but he gives machismo a meaning I’m sure no dictionary has ever heard of.” He turned to me. “So, my darling, what shall we do now?”
    “I haven’t the faintest,” I said, as various scenarios of Richard’s demise formed in my head. “Besides Denny’s most excellent suggestion.”
    “Oh, come now,” Brent said, “you’re a clever girl. You didn’t see this coming?”
    I left the sofa, dropping to a window seat across. “Damn!” I slammed my fist into the cushion. “You have to admit he was perfect on paper. He was so smart and ambitious, and didn’t he always know exactly the right thing to say?” I laughed, the irony hitting me. “He must have told me he loved me ten times a day.”
    “Proving how fake he really is.” Brent sunk to the opposite end of the seat. He ruffled his salt-and-peppered hair and pushed the window full-open, the evening breeze sweeping past the brick townhouses of Old City, promising rain. He took the hot chocolate from me and set it on the floor, leveling his gaze to mine.
    “I’ve been