Page 34 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

1. Nutty

2. Did I expect him to jump through hoops, and get pissy when he didn’t?

3. Paranoid

4. Imaginary

5. High maintenance

6. Dumb-ass tricks

7. Did I call him for every little thing that popped into my head and expect him to check it out?

Try as I might, I couldn’t think of anything for numbers eight, nine, and ten, so I crossed them out. Those seven were enough.

One item I knew was wrong. I hadn’t been imagining anything. Someone driving a white Chevrolet had definitely been tailgating me today, had definitely tried to follow me, and had definitely been parked across the street from Great Bods. The ball cap, the sunglasses, the facial structure—I’d seen enough to know the person who had been parked waiting for me was the same person who had tried to follow me. Yesterday, a woman driving a white Chevrolet had definitely followed me to Great Bods. Whether or not the two drivers were one and the same was up in the air, but how else to explain how today’s driver had known where I work?

Where my imagination bogged down was that I couldn’t think of any reason why someone would be following me. I didn’t carry large sums of money around. I hadn’t robbed a bank and buried the money somewhere. I wasn’t the contact for some spy, and, really, why would a spy be in western North Carolina anyway? Neither did I have a former lover or friend or relative who was a spy or a bank robber, and had escaped from prison, and the federal marshals had me staked out thinking that this former lover, friend, whatever, would try to contact me and…okay, this was stretching the limits even for Hollywood.

This was where my thinking parted company with Wyatt’s, I realized. To him, there was no reason for anyone to follow me, ergo, I wasn’t being followed. Where we differed was that Iknewthe driver behind me in the turn lane was also the driver who had been parked across the street, and had arrived ahead of me. I didn’t have any proof, but proof and knowledge aren’t the same thing.

It stood to reason that if I wasn’t imagining things, then I also wasn’t paranoid. I’d had my own doubts, because I couldn’t see why anyone would be following me. But once I realized that I definitely had been followed then the reason didn’t matter, at least as far as paranoia went—unless I was also delusional, in which case none of this mattered because it wasn’t happening.

Two items down, five to go.

The “nutty” comment bothered me. I’m neither nuts nor nutty. Sometimes I’ll use a convoluted means to get what I want, but that’s either to lull someone into thinking I’m a mental lightweight so he’ll under-estimate me, or because I enjoy the means as much as I do the ends. Wyatt had never under-estimated me. He saw the airhead act for what it was: a strategy. I like to win as much as he does.

So what was he calling nutty? I had no way of answering that. He’d have to supply his own answer.

The other four items were way too complicated and serious for me to attempt right then. I was too tired, too stressed, too emotional. Wyatt and I were on the verge of breaking up, and I didn’t know what I could do about it.

I was just drifting off to sleep when I realized he hadn’t said a word about my haircut. Coming on top of everything else, that did it: I cried.

I slept, but not well and not much. My subconscious hadn’t provided any miraculous answers to my problems, either.

Common sense told me, however, that I couldn’t act as if time had been suspended. The wedding was still going to take place, until Wyatt and I decided differently. That meant I had work to do. My enthusiasm level wasn’t as high as it had been the day before—in fact, it was pretty close to zero—but I couldn’t let my pace slack off.

My first stop that morning was Jazz’s place of business, Arledge Heating and Air Conditioning. Jazz no longer did the installation work himself, he had employees to do that, but he did go around to new construction sites and figure how many units would be needed, how big, where they would be placed, where the vents would go for maximum effectiveness, that kind of thing. Because of some sneaking around Luke had done, though, I knew Jazz would be in the office instead of out at some site.

The office was a small brick building in an industrial section that was sadly in need of a beautification project—the whole section, not just Jazz’s building. I’d never been here before, so seeing the building gave me a whole new slant on Jazz’s side of his marital situation. Think plain and unadorned, not so much as a shrub planted by the cracked concrete walk that led from the gravel parking lot to the front door. The front windows did have blinds, but since the building faced west, if someone hadn’t installed blinds the office staff would have been blinded every afternoon. Guess that’s why they’re called “blinds,” huh?

There were two gray metal desks in the front room. At the first one sat a battleship in human form. You know the type: enormous gray beehive, glasses on a chain, enormous bosom that preceded her into every room. The woman at the second desk was younger than the first, but not by much; late forties to the other one’s mid-fifties, I’d guess. As I entered I heard them gossiping away, but they stopped when they saw me.

“May I help you?” the battleship asked with a smile, her heavily be-ringed, red-tipped fingers not pausing as she flipped through a stack of papers.

“Is Jazz in?” I asked.

Both women turned to stone, the smile turned to ice, and hostility glared from their eyes. Belatedly I realized that by calling him “Jazz” instead of “Mr. Arledge” I’d given them the wrong impression. This was a little disconcerting, since I always thought of him as an uncle. And was Jazz making a habit of hooking up with women young enough to be his daughter?

I tried to thaw the ice. “I’m Blair.”

No hint of recognition in the glaring eyes. In fact, they became even more hostile.

“Blair Mallory,” I elaborated.

Nothing.

Well, hell, was this the South or not? Don’t tell me these people didn’t recognize their employer’s wife’s best friend’s daughter’s name! Please.

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