Page 65 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

“Or he could get mad,” Lynette says.

“The guy just got three months’ rent in advance. I doubt he’s going to be mad,” Megan points out. “Liv’s got me curious now too.”

“Okay. Let’s call him,” Lynette says.

“Did you see that, Mommy?” Cassidy calls over to us after launching herself off the swing and landing on both feet.

“I did! You’re awesome!”

“I think I saw your invisible wings!” I shout to Cassidy.

“You can’t see them, silly! They’re invisible.”

She skips over to her friend, and they go up the stairs, headed for the twin slides.

“Okay. Here goes,” Lynette says.

She pushes Joe’s contact and puts the call on speaker.

He answers in a south Boston accent, “Joe here.”

“Hi, Joe? It’s Lynette. I was calling about my advance rent payment.”

“It’s already been cashed and deposited. I can’t give you a refund.”

“Oh! No. No. That’s not what I want—at all. I’m trying to find out who paid my rent. You see, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend?” His Southie accent swells in disbelief.

“No. And I’m sure whoever this good Samaritan is was doing something to bless me. I’m just curious.” She pauses, looking at Megan and then me. “I want to thank them.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Sure. Of course you do. Naturally. Well, I can tell ya this. Two men came in. The one I thought was your boyfriend, and his friend. The guy who’s not your boyfriend was the one to call me a few days before. I recognized his voice. He said he needed the address to the rental office and such. At first I thought they was tryin’ to rent a place from me. But then they showed up to pay for your place.”

“What did they look like?”

“Well, now. That one who called me before comin’ in, he’s got dark, wavy, or you might say curly, hair, about average height. He’s the guy I thought was your boyfriend. The other fella was taller. Dressed like he pays the cleaners to press everything, even his socks and his undies, if you know the type. He was taller, lean and muscular but not built like a bodyguard or anything.”

Lynette looks over at me.

“The shorter one was talkative. I’d even call him chatty. The other guy—the suit—he was more of a keep-it-to-himself type.”

Lynette’s eyes grow wide. I take a lesson from Logan and keep my face neutral. There are lots of stoic people in the world with chatty, curly-haired friends … taller, lean men who aren’t bulky like a bodyguard. That could be anyone.

“Come to think of it, Mister Chatty was talkin’ ’bout you bein’ a teacher. Said they ought to pay teachers what they’re worth. I agreed with him, of course.”

“Which one gave him the money?” I ask, only mouthing the words and nearly holding my breath for the moment of truth. Not because it definitely was Gil and Logan … but in case it was. It can’t have been. Can it?

Lynette asks Joe my question.

Joe says, “Ah, yeah. The chatty guy. He was the one giving me the dough. Cash, mind you. All cash. People don’t use cash much nowadays. They usually pay online or try and use some app or such. These guys pulled out cash. Well, Mister Chatty did.”

Oh. Gil was the one. Okay, then. Still, why was Logan with him? It’s not like Gil needed a chaperone. Joe himself said Logan’s not built like a bodyguard. He is built, though. Our dance confirmed what my eyes had already told me.

“Thank you. Anything else?” Lynette asks her landlord.

“Not that I can think of. All’s I know is in all my years of bein’ a landlord, I never seen such generosity. Not even close.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

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