Pretties in Pink

10. Ford

10

FORD

“Moving onto the boat wasn’t my original plan,” Ford said. “It was a…toy. Two years ago, I was renting a nice Creole townhouse in the French Quarter with my ex, and the thought of living on the water had never even entered my mind. But then I began to notice signs that things weren’t quite right. She started working late. Her phone was always on silent. She spent more time on her hair and make-up, but every time I suggested going out, she had other plans. She started doing the laundry…” Ford barked out a laugh. “And Eliette never did laundry.”

“She was cheating?”

“I convinced myself I was imagining it all. Wanted to believe I was imagining it all. But one night, we were…you know…and she called me Aiden.”

Ford put the Honda in gear and headed for the exit. South Plum Street was less than two miles away, so at least he’d be able to get the hell out of the vehicle soon.

“I’m so sorry. I mean, that’s the shittiest thing to do.”

And there was the pity he hated. In truth, he was better off without Eliette, and even when she’d begged him to come back, he hadn’t considered it, not for a moment. The cynic in him said she’d only cried once the rent fell due and her paycheck wouldn’t cover it. What about Aiden? Well, he’d turned out to be a work-shy art student from the University of New Orleans, and the relationship had fizzled out soon after he realised he might have to contribute something other than d**k.

When news of the break-up had reached Ford, sure as hell he’d laughed.

“Yeah, well, that’s why I moved onto the boat. At short notice, it was the easiest place to go.”

“But you’re still on the boat?”

“Getting rid of most of my stuff was weirdly liberating. Paring my life down to the bare essentials, drawing the line between what was important and what I’d only been holding on to because I was too stubborn to throw it out.”

“I’ve bought it, so I’ll keep it?”

“Exactly. I’ve realised I don’t need much to be happy. And when the time came to move to Richmond, the simplest thing to do was sail my home here.”

“Wait, it’s a sailboat? With, like, sails?”

“No flies on you, plum.”

“Shut up. You sailed here from New Orleans?”

“Me and a buddy, yeah.”

“That must’ve taken weeks.”

“About a month and a half. Would’ve been quicker if we hadn’t spent two weeks bar-hopping in Florida.”

The garage door rolled up, and they pulled onto the street. A light rain was falling now, and Ford managed to put on the turn signal and accidentally flash the headlights before he found the windshield wipers. s**t.

“Are you going to get an apartment here?” Hallie asked. “Or stay on the boat forever?”

“I guess I wouldn’t mind being closer to work, but I don’t want to sell the boat, and finances would be tight if I rented an apartment too.”

“You could share with a roommate?”

“I’ve grown to appreciate my own company.”

They’d gotten most of the way to her apartment before she spoke again, and that pretty head of hers had obviously been working overtime.

“If you live on a boat, how do you take a shower?”

He burst into laughter, and she twisted to glare at him, indignant.

“What? It’s a valid question.”

“The boat has a bathroom.”

Three, actually.

“Oh. What about laundry?”

“I use the washing machine.”

“Hmm. Sounds like quite a nice boat.”

She seemed surprised, and she’d probably be more surprised if she found out how much the Shore Thing had cost, but that was a story for another day. As long as she didn’t start muttering about corruption again.

“It is quite a nice boat.” Ford turned onto South Plum Street. “Which place is yours?”

“Up ahead on the right.”

His turn to be surprised. He’d expected an entry-level PI to live in a fairly utilitarian apartment block, but the building she pointed at was seriously swanky. Either her roommate was wealthy, or private work paid more than he thought. A ramp led down to an underground lot like the one they’d just left, and he was grateful to see the red eye of a camera over the entrance. He’d sleep better knowing she had good security in place.

“Want me to ask the concierge to call you a cab?” she asked once he’d parked in her allotted space.

There was a f*****g concierge? “I’ll walk, but first I’m seeing you to your door.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do. All part of the service.”

When she didn’t move to get out of the car, he thought that perhaps he’d pushed her too far, that she didn’t want him near her home. But it wasn’t as if he didn’t know her apartment number—it was written in front of her parking space.

Once again, he was wrong.

“Ford?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. Sorry for the way I behaved earlier.”

“Forget about it. I deserved the dressing-down.”

“I mean afterward. In the basement. If the gun had come out of my purse first, I’d…” She closed her eyes for a long second. “I’d probably have pointed it at you.”

“You carry a gun?”

“I have a permit.”

“And you know how to shoot?”

“Blackwood has a range, and I go at least twice every week.”

“That’s something, at least. Plum, why were you so scared? I swear I wouldn’t have touched you.”

“I know. But…but not all men are like you.”

The way she said that turned Ford’s blood to ice.

“Hallie, did somebody touch you?”

“Not today. I can’t do this today.”

Cop or not, Ford would f*****g kill him.

“Tell me who, and I’ll fix it. s**t, wrong word.” He dragged a hand through his hair as Hallie climbed out of the car. “I know I can never fix it, but I can damn well make him pay.”

“It’s already been handled. Please, can we just stop talking about this?”

Handled by who? And then Ford realised: Blackwood. Suddenly, they went up in his estimation. Seemed renegades and vigilantes like Daniela di Grassi did serve a purpose after all.

But now he didn’t know what to do with Hallie. How to handle her. Yesterday, she’d touched him, cupped his ugly mug in her hand and stroked his damn cheek. But today, she’d kept her distance. When she stood, he’d been about to steady her with an arm around the waist, but now he rethought that plan.

“We can talk—or not talk—about whatever you want. And rest assured that when I’ve delivered you safely back to your roommate, I’ll leave, okay?”

She gave a quick nod, and Ford took that as agreement. Hallie lived on the fifth floor, and there were no crammed-together units here. When they stepped out of the elevator, he could only see two doors, and she headed for 501.

“So, uh, thanks for seeing me home.”

“Anytime. I mean that.”

“I’ll call you if I find another peach, okay?”

She cracked the door open, but he hadn’t taken two steps back when he heard a man’s voice coming from inside the apartment, and it didn’t sound friendly.

“f**k you.”

Ford’s gun was in his hand in a heartbeat, and he pulled Hallie behind him before he burst through the door, scanning the room. Who the hell was inside her home? Had an intruder broken in? Been lying in wait?

“Shut up, stupid bird. Beep-beep-beep.”

“What the…?”

The lights were on, but all Ford could see was a scrawny parrot. And all he could hear was Hallie’s laughter.

“Oh my… Oh my gosh…” She actually snorted. “You thought… You thought Pinchy was a burglar. I can’t believe… This is the funniest thing ever.”

“Snack?”

“Asshole,” Ford growled.

“Mercy, Mercy, Mercy.”

“No, Hallie.” She closed the apartment door and crossed to the cage, opened it, and let the feathered fiend climb out onto her arm. “Mercy’s my roommate,” she explained.

“No Hallie, no Hallie. Beep-beep-beep. Snack?”

“You have a pet parrot?” Ford said, stating the bleeding obvious.

“No flies on you, ristretto.”

Oh, thank f**k. Her sense of humour had come back. There was hope after all.

“I figured you were the cute-fluffy-dog type.”

“You know I can still shoot you, right?”

But she was smiling now.

“He’s called Pinchy?”

“It’s short for pinche vato. That’s Spanish for—”

“f*****g dude.” Ford nodded to himself. “Yeah, I can see how that suits him.”

“Mercy named him. She comes from Colombia, so she speaks Spanish, although pinche vato is more Mexican.”

Hallie opened a small plastic box on the table, took out an almond, and handed the nut to the bird. Flakes dropped onto the rug as he crunched it up with his beak.

“Who taught him to speak? Is he bilingual?”

“Trilingual. He’s picked up a few words of Spanish since we got him, but whoever owned him before was responsible for his potty mouth.”

“And what’s the third language?”

“Pirate.”

Sheesh.

“A second-hand, foul-mouthed parrot. You surprise me every day, Hallie Chastain.”

“You only met me yesterday.”

“And I bet you’ll surprise me tomorrow too. What made you choose a parrot?”

“We didn’t exactly choose him. Animal Control found him half-dead and took him to Hope for Hounds as an emergency case—that’s a rescue centre for dogs—and when he began feeling a little better, he cursed out a group of elementary school kids there on an educational visit.”

“Yeah, I see how that could be a problem.”

“The teacher wasn’t impressed. But Georgia, one of the volunteers, she knows Emmy Black. And I don’t know if you’ve met Emmy, but she swears like the love child of a sailor and a trooper, plus she’s fond of animals, and Georgia thought the two of them would be a perfect match.”

“What went wrong?”

“Emmy’s cat kept eyeing Pinchy up like he was lunch.”

“That doesn’t explain how he ended up with you.”

“I met him at Emmy’s place and thought he was funny. When I was a kid, I used to enjoy watching cartoons, and Iago from Aladdin always made me laugh, so I figured that maybe Mercy and I could take care of Pinchy while his feathers grew back. But now it looks as if he’s staying. Don’t you think he’s cute?”

“What’s not to love?” Ford couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“Most of the time, he’s no trouble, and he’s been so good for Mercy. But I wouldn’t complain if he stopped imitating the microwave. Here, you want to give him a nut?”

Ford took the almond and gingerly held it out. Pinchy leaned forward and grabbed it with his talons.

“What do you say, Pinchy?” Hallie asked.

“Asshole.”

Ford had to laugh. “You’re welcome.”

“You should be honoured—he only calls people ‘asshole’ if he likes them.”

“Don’t shoot Mike,” the bird squawked, sounding decidedly female this time. “Pew-pew-pew.”

“Who’s Mike?”

“Who knows? But Pinchy’s a big fan of CSI, so he probably heard it on TV. Plus he can sing several lines of ‘Jolene,’ so I hope you’re a Dolly Parton fan.”

Did that mean Hallie planned on Ford spending more time around Pinchy? He sincerely hoped so because that meant he’d be here at the apartment, and she would be too. Although it didn’t look particularly lived-in. The vast great room was spotless apart from the remnants of food on the floor around Pinchy’s giant cage, and painfully neat too. The furniture looked new—pale-grey leather couches, a fluffy cream rug under a glass coffee table, filmy drapes in a light shade of purple. Fresh flowers on a sideboard. Abstract art on the walls. The mother of all flat-screen TVs hanging above a stainless-steel fireplace. It reminded Ford of his father’s home—tasteful yet soulless—although the parrot did add a certain something.

“Maybe I should try teaching him about the musical genius that is Bruce Springsteen? Got another nut?”

Hallie passed one over, and this time when Ford held his offering out, Pinchy took off and made a jerky circuit of the room before landing on his shoulder.

“Ahoy, Cap’n. Arrrr. Snack?”

“He’s cute in a cantankerous kind of way. Glad you’re not a fluffy-dog person, plum. The parrot’s more fun. Can you say ‘dipshit,’ buddy? Go on, say ‘dipshit.’”

“Asshole.”

“Guess we’ll have to work on that.” That drew a half-smile from Hallie, but now she looked nervous again. Why? Had Ford overstayed his welcome? “You want me to leave? I never meant to stay.”

“I was… Uh…” She moved to shove her hands into her pockets, but she didn’t have any pockets in the dress, so she clasped her hands together instead. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d like coffee? I owe you dinner too, but I’m not a great cook, and I’m not sure if I could even stomach food tonight, but…”

“For the avoidance of doubt, we are talking just coffee here? Not coffee as a euphemism for anything else?”

Her look of absolute horror gave him his answer. “Just coffee. The drink. Nothing else.”

“Hey, don’t back away. You never need to back away from me. If you want space, stand your ground and tell me to move.”

Hallie stopped in her tracks. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

“You got shaken up, that’s all. Want me to make the coffee while you take a load off?”

“I…uh…”

“Yes or no, Hallie.”

She bit her lip, which did nothing for Ford’s self-control, then gasped and gave her head an emphatic shake.

“No. No! What was I thinking?”

“That you wanted a coffee?”

“I’ll make it. I always make the drinks. Always.”

She bolted into the kitchen before he could say another word. What just happened?