Page 62 of Salty Pickle

There’s no telling what has happened. She could be gone. She could have let the phone lose its charge. She could be with her goat, and the phone is in another room.

I return to Maggie. “You know, skip the cleaning. I’ll pay you the same. I’ll make sure the goat is put away before you come back.”

“But I have your groceries!”

“Keep them. Eat them yourself. I had a big delivery last night.”

“But your sheets! Your laundry!”

“I’ll be all right, Maggie. I promise.”

“Okay, Mr. Court. I have time on Sunday.”

“Don’t waste your weekend on me.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine. Really.” I have to return to that meeting.

I shove my phone in my pocket. Back to hell.

I re-enter the room, and the conversation drones on. Uncle Sherman nods grimly as we’re told to hire a specialized company to help boost morale. When we finally adjourn, Uncle Sherman asks to see me privately.

I saw this coming. He and Jason file into my office. When they’re inside, I leave my phone with Devin, which I probably should have done before the meeting. “Handle anything that comes down. Lucy and the goat are loose in my apartment.”

Devin fails to hide his smirk. He’s loving this. “How’s Ms. Lucy?”

My tone leaves no room for argument. “Find her a new place.”

His smile fades. “Sure, boss.”

When I make it into my office, Uncle Sherman and Jason are sitting on the sofa. “Let’s order lunch,” Uncle Sherman says. “We have things to talk about.”

I lower onto an adjacent chair and cross one ankle over my knee. Uncle Sherman is well into his sixties, but he looks like he could block the entire front line of any pro football team. He wears a suit, but no tie, and can look casual no matter what he has on.

Jason is sprawled on his side of his sofa, arms spread across the back. He doesn’t bother with suits. He likes his trendy jeans and designer T-shirts that might be more expensive than the furniture he’s sitting on. He’s expanded his deli in Texas, and now that he’s involved in his business, it might be doing better than the flagship one in Manhattan.

“How’s Nova?” I ask him.

“Great,” he says, but then turns to Sherman.

Something about the timing of me asking about Nova and him looking to his father sets off an alarm bell. What’s this really about?

I decide to take control of the conversation before it goes a direction I don’t like. “I’ll get the takeout menus,” I say, but Sherman waves a hand. “Let’s cover some ground first.”

Oh boy. “Did you want to strategize about the firm coming in without the other members of HR around?”

“No.” Sherman leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he clasps his hands together. “This is about a woman and her goat.”

Shit. How does he know about this?

I play it cool. “I had a visitor last week. It was a bit of a disruption. But it’s handled.”

“Handled, how?” Uncle Sherman’s voice is steady but firm.

I’m not sure how much I want to reveal. Better to find out what he already knows. “I helped her get settled.”

“I hear she’s pregnant. Very pregnant.”

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