Cheated By Death by L.L. Bartlett

no insight
into her soul. Just like Richard—but unlike our father—she was a
blank to me. She pulled back to inspect my face as I scrutinized
hers once again. Shorter than me by two or three inches, there was
something about her that—
    “You look like pictures of Daddy when he was
young,” she said.
    “I always thought I looked like my
mother.”
    She let that comment slide.
    “What about your friend?” I said, indicating
the man who sat behind the wheel of the rusting blue Ford. He
raised a hand in a half-hearted wave.
    Patty didn’t even look over her shoulder.
“That’s just Ray—a guy from work. My car’s in the shop for a new
computer chip. He said he’d wait.” She looked beyond me at the
staircase. “So this is it, huh?”
    “Not exactly. Come on up.”
    She followed me up the stairs and stepped
into my living room, taking in the ten-foot ceiling, the newly
sanded oak floors and refinished trim. Maggie and I had spent the
better part of the summer renovating and redecorating the
apartment. I closed the door and leaned against it, watching as she
took in the place.
    “Not bad,” she said, admiration filling her
voice. “How come you don’t live in the big house?”
    “I used to. When I was a teenager. And for a
few months when I came back to Buffalo. I’d rather have my own
space.”
    She nodded. “Nice little setup you’ve
got.”
    “Sit down. Do you want some coffee?”
    “A beer if you’ve got it.”
    I grabbed a Molson Ice from the refrigerator
and a glass from the cupboard.
    Her voice stopped me from pouring. “The
bottle’s fine.”
    I brought it over to her, setting it on a
coaster. She rummaged through her purse and took out a pack of
cigarettes and a lighter. “Have you got an ashtray?”
    “No. My girlfriend has allergies. Even stale
smoke makes her sick. I hope you don’t mind.”
    “Oh. Sure,” she said, but her expression
reflected her annoyance. I’d just fallen a peg. She replaced the
items in her bag and set it on the floor.
    “I wasn’t expecting you for another half
hour.”
    “I skipped out of work early. They won’t miss
me.” She took a swallow of beer, set the bottle down on the
cocktail table, ignoring the ceramic coaster. “Dad says your
brother’s a millionaire.” Why did her tone sound cunning?
    “I wouldn’t say that,” I lied. “But he’s
comfortable.”
    “A lot more comfortable than me. They’ve got
to have servants and stuff in a big house like that, right?”
    I shook my head. “It’s just the two of them.
A cleaning lady comes a few times a month.”
    She looked skeptical. “So what’s the story?
Do you live here for free?”
    “Not exactly. I’m sort of the caretaker.”
    “Does it pay well?”
    “I work for my keep.”
    “I suppose that’s not too bad. What do you
do?”
    “Yard work mostly. If something breaks, I try
to fix it. If the cars need an oil change, I get it done.”
    “I wish I had such a cushy life.” Her tone
was wistful, with a touch of resentment.
    “Did Dad tell you I got hurt earlier
this year? I can’t work full time. At least not yet.”
    She looked me over again. “What
happened?”
    “Fractured skull. I get bad headaches. I work
when I can, but I can’t make it on just that money. I’m grateful
for Richard’s generosity.” Why had I told her all that?
    Patty nodded, taking in the apartment once
more. Dollar signs lit her eyes and I felt embarrassed for her.
Maggie’s decorating flair was evident by the prints on the wall,
and arrangement of the furniture. We’d refinished my old coffee and
end tables and she’d slip covered my crummy couch and chairs.
    Patty picked up the bottle, took a long pull
on her beer. “So when do I meet Richard?”
    “What’s the hurry?”
    “He’s sort of like family. Maybe I can work
for him, too.”
    The hairs on the back of my neck
bristled.
    The sound of a car engine broke the quiet as
another car pulled up outside. Patty got up and moved to the
window.