Naughty Neighbor - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,46

wish I’d been there. I feel left out.”

The phone rang and they both jumped, knowing it would be Kurt. Pete took the call. When he hung up, he was smiling.

“The pig was stuffed with the jewelry, all right. The metal parts showed up in the X ray. And when they confronted Bucky, he squealed louder than the pig.”

“I suppose that means I’m out of a job,” Louisa said.

“That’s okay. You need to get busy on those law school applications, anyway.” He sank his teeth into a muffin and reached for the paper.

“See, this is what married life is all about. After a night of outstanding sex, the wife gets up early, bakes muffins, gets the paper from the front porch, and makes fresh coffee.”

“If you’re trying to talk me into getting married, you’re failing miserably.”

“What does a woman want out of a marriage?”

“Undying devotion and a warm place to put her cold feet when she gets into bed at night.”

“You could get that from a golden retriever.”

“Exactly.” Louisa finished her coffee and put the cup in the dishwasher. “I have to go. I have to clean out my desk. Maislin won’t be in until this afternoon, and I’d just as soon have the job done before he shows up.”

“You want company?”

She kissed him on the top of the head. “No, but thanks for offering. There isn’t a whole lot to do. I need to type out a formal letter of resignation, reclaim some personal belongings, and file a sexual harassment complaint.”

“Go for it,” he said.

“How about I bring some Chinese food home with me for supper.”

“I like the hot stuff with the peanuts in it.”

It was gray and drizzling when Louisa straggled out of the subway entrance. She ran across the street to Wuc Don’s Chinese Restaurant and pushed through the double-door entrance.

Heat poured from an overhead vent, and dishes clattered in the kitchen. It was a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that did seventy percent of its trade in take-out. The woodwork was black lacquer, the wallpaper was red flocked, the lighting was dim enough to hide the stains on the red-and-gold carpet. Louisa ordered four different dishes plus rice and fried noodles.

Fifteen minutes later she trudged up Connecticut with her bags and white cardboard cartons. She’d stayed away all afternoon, wandering around museums, trying to come to terms with her feelings about marriage. She’d almost reached the conclusion that it might not be so bad, when a mental image of her wedding had flashed into her brain.

The wedding was being held in her parents’ house, and she was in a trim white suit with her mother’s pearls at her neck. She walked down the stairs on her father’s arm, then together they passed through the small cluster of guests assembled in the living room. Her grandmother Brannigan was to one side, dressed in black, fingering her rosary, mouth set, eyes narrow.

“You’ll rot in hell for not being married in a church,” she said.

“There was no time,” Louisa tried to explain. “Besides, I haven’t been to church in seven years.”

Even now, as Louisa turned the corner, she could feel herself break out into a cold sweat of Catholic guilt.

The vision of the wedding continued. Louisa saw herself nod and smile at Mr. and Mrs. Szalagy. “You look absolutely lovely,” Mrs. Szalagy said to Louisa. “And I don’t believe any of those rumors about you being pregnant.”

Beyond Mrs. Szalagy was Aunt Ruth with cousins Margaret and Mary, beyond Margaret and Mary was Uncle Bill. And standing in front of the fireplace was the justice of the peace and Pete.

Alongside Pete stood the best man…Kurt. Kurt was wearing his black-knit watch cap pulled low over his ears. He hadn’t shaved and a cigarette dangled precariously from his lower lip. An inch-long ash dropped off the end of his cigarette and fell onto his filthy sweatshirt.

Louisa and her father stopped in front of Pete and Kurt, and Louisa’s father took her veil in hand.

“Um, wait a minute,” Louisa said. “I don’t think I want to marry Kurt.”

“You’re not marrying Kurt,” her father replied. “You’re marrying Pete.”

“Yes, but Kurt is part of the deal. He’ll come over to drink beer, and hell leave grease spots on the wall behind the couch.”

Louisa sighed. So, there it was…her wedding. Grim, she thought. Very grim.

Pete’s door was unlocked. She let herself in and plodded up the stairs.

Pete was slouched in a chair. He tipped his head back to look at her through half-closed eyes.

“I’ve got supper,” Louisa said.