Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [9]
Lacey made a show of looking at her watch.
“It’s nine-thirty in the morning,” Lacey said.
Rafael launched into a coughing fit, then sputtered out, “It’s medicinal.”
Lacey eyed him quizzically and Paul explained.
“Look at his arm. Poison oak. This will help the itching.”
It was true; Rafael’s forearm was mottled with a familiar-looking rash. However, Lacey took issue with Paul’s home remedy.
“You should foment that with vinegar and water and then take an antihistamine.”
“Foment. Fo-ment,” Rafael repeated like a chant. “Cool word. I’ll have to remember that.”
“Yes,” Lacey replied. “However, in this case I’m using the less common sense of the word, which means to bathe in an ointment, not stir up trouble.”4
“Okay,” Rafael said, looking confused.
“We’ll take care of it,” Paul said. “You better run. Betty was hoping for her delivery this morning.”
Lacey checked her watch.
“You could have mentioned that sooner.”
“I guess I could have. Sorry.”
Paul then shifted his attention back to work, which bore no resemblance to work.
“How much do you need this time?” Paul asked.
“Just a half-o,” Rafael replied.
“I’m leaving,” Lacey said as she threw on her coat.
“Be cool,” said Paul. “Know what I mean, Lace?”
“Yeah, I know,” Lacey replied, lying.
After everything that had transpired the night before, Lacey marveled at how quickly Paul could return to business as usual. She knew there was no other way he should be, but still it got under her skin, like so many things he did.
Betty was a regular who didn’t smoke. She was five-foot-ten and, at her peak, had weighed a solid one hundred and eighty pounds. She’d been one of the first woman loggers in the region. It took fifteen years to ruin her back for good. Even with regular visits to the chiropractor, there wasn’t much she could do for the pain.
It was Betty who’d inspired Lacey to expand the business into baked goods. Betty worked part-time for the local physician, Doc Holland, billing and answering his phone. During an office visit, Lacey had noticed her popping pills and shifting uncomfortably. Betty had bought from the Hansens before, but didn’t like smoking, having given up cigarettes five years ago. Lacey experimented with some recipes, and eventually found that cooking the pot in oil and using a box mix was just fine. In a pinch, even Paul could whip up a batch.
Lacey knocked on her front door. Betty opened the door holding a cup of coffee. She was wearing a light blue terry-cloth robe, her usual morning attire. The robe covered an ankle-length night dress with a ruffle around the collar. Betty had a few other versions patterned with flowers and one with bumble bees. Lacey was always surprised by the contrast between Betty’s sleepwear and outerwear. Outside, Betty always reverted to her old logger’s uniform: denim, flannel shirt, and hiking boots. Lacey preferred sleepwear Betty. She struck a far less intimidating figure.
“Darling, am I glad to see you,” Betty said.
This was one part of the job Lacey didn’t mind. Some people she was helping; she believed that. There were others, though . . . she didn’t know what she was doing for them.
“Can you stay for a visit?” Betty asked.
“I’m already late for work,” Lacey said.
“Have you heard?”
“I don’t know,” Lacey cautiously replied.
“I have news.”
“What?”
Betty leaned in close, even though there was no one around for miles. “I heard Doc Holland sold his practice to some guy from the city.”
“What city would that be?” Lacey asked.
“San Francisco,” Betty replied as if that were an even bigger secret.
“Why would you move from San Francisco to Mercer? Isn’t that suspicious?”
“He arrived yesterday,” Betty replied. “You can make an appointment and start your investigation.”
Lacey returned to her car. She’d already lost interest in the incoming doctor. Besides, she had always wanted the town to get a dentist. Sometimes it was just the sight of tooth decay that reminded her she was living in the sticks. The new