Surrender Read Free

emergency.”
    “Would you classify a leaking pipe in one of the apartments as an emergency?”
    “Considering the fact that there’ve been at least half a dozen leaking pipes in that building since I inherited it, I guess it would depend on just how bad the leak is.” Aimee sighed, some of her initial irritation giving way to concern. “So tell me. Is it really bad?” she asked, dreading playing plumber again, and hoping it was something as simple as changing a gasket. She’d really gotten that one down pat.And she certainly didn’t want to dip into her meager funds to pay a plumber’s fee.
    “A small but steady stream.”
    Aimee bit back a groan. “All right. Whose apartment is it this time?”
    “Yours.”
    “Mine?” Aimee swallowed. “But how would you know my pipe was leaking? Unless…”
    “Unless it was leaking into the shop,” Liza continued, confirming Aimee’s worst fears. “It is.”
    “Oh, my God! Then that means the shop’s—”
    “A bit wet at the moment,” Liza finished for her.
    “How bad is it?”
    “Bad enough. I shut off the water, but I’m afraid some of Simone’s feathered masks are ruined. A couple of ceiling tiles fell and cracked one of the glass cases. I thought you might want to get down here and survey the damage before you call the insurance company.”
    “I don’t have insurance anymore,” Aimee advised her friend. “I canceled the policy last month.” To save money, she added silently.
    “I’m sorry, Aimee.” There was no mistaking the genuine remorse in her friend’s voice. “But it really isn’t all that bad. I was just coming downstairs to get the morning paper when I heard the ceiling tile fall. And this Jacques fellow showed up, looking for you, and offered to help.” Judging from her friend’s tone, Aimee guessed her new tenant hadn’t exactly won Liza over. “Except for a little water, most of the stuff is okay. I’ll start mopping up. With any luck, we’ll probably still be able to open the shop this afternoon.”
    “Thanks, Liza. I owe you one.”
    “Forget it. Just kiss the beast goodbye and get your rear over here before I end up chipping my nails.”
    Aimee smiled, some of her initial panic easing. “All right. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” She hit the off button and tossed the phone on the bed. “I have to go home.”
    “Why?” Peter asked, following her across the room. “What did Liza want? And who in the hell is Jacques?”
    “Liza called because there’s a pipe leaking in my apartment.” Unable to locate her clothes, Aimee dropped to her knees and looked under the bed. “Jacques is a new tenant. He moved in two days ago, into Hank’s old apartment.”
    “You never mentioned anything about a new tenant. And what’s with the phony accent?”
    “It’s not phony. Jacques is from France.” She retrieved a silver earring.
    Peter walked over to the edge of the bed and stood next to her crouched figure. “Would you slow down a second and tell me what it is you’re looking for?”
    “My clothes.” She headed for the living room. There she spied her jeans and blouse, on the Aubusson rug, next to Peter’s shirt. Aimee looked up, seeing once again the two paintings—a Picasso and a child’s watercolor. Her heart swelled, as it had the previous evening, at the sight of the priceless work of art mounted alongside a child’s rendering of a flower. The picture had been a gift from a fatherless boy participating in the summer art program Peter had sponsored.
    She had been stunned to see the painting in Peter’s elegantly furnished home. “I bought it because I liked it,” Peter had said when she questioned him. “I’m a businessman, not a sentimentalist. It’s an investment,” he had added defensively, obviously embarrassed that she considered his actions kind. “I’ve got a good eye for art, and I think Tommy might give Picasso a run for his money some day.”
    Despite his protests, the gesture had warmed