Free Hide & Find (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 3) by Jerusha Jones Page A

heaven. Made me wonder what kind of conversations Emmie and Clarice had had during my absence this afternoon.
    Tarq cleared his throat — the ripping, phlegmy sound that was starting to really scare me — and patted Emmie on the head with a trembling hand.
    Loretta and I made a massive pile in the living room, dug out the air mattress and inflated it. She spread out her new sleeping bag and plumped a pillow.
    Then she gave me the eye, and I nodded agreement. We tiptoed down the short hallway to the inner sanctum of Tarq’s bedroom, keeping our ears pricked for Emmie’s light voice. She seemed to be explaining the plot of a Clifford, the Big Red Dog book to Tarq.
    The first thing Loretta did was fling open the window, letting in a blast of welcome fresh, if frigid, air. We stripped the bed in a flurry.
    “There must be a washing machine somewhere,” I muttered, trying not to inhale. The odor wasn’t gross — yet — just oppressively stale and, for lack of a better word, old — probably the way the pyramids smelled the first time an archaeologist cracked them open.
    “I’ll find it later,” Loretta gasped. She slipped the new sheet set out of the package, and we tucked the corners around the mattress, working in rapid tandem. New pillows, a down comforter in a very masculine brown color, and a couple hot water bottles completed the ensemble.
    “Take it easy,” I whispered to Loretta. “This is a massive disruption for him, and he’s obviously not good with change. I know you’ll need to make the place livable enough that you can survive here, but don’t go foofy on him — no fuzzy toilet seat covers, no ruffled curtains, nothing pink.”
    Loretta giggled. “I hate that stuff myself. I’ll settle for clean.”
    “Nora?” Emmie called from the doorway, her eyes wide at the piles of linens and wrappers. “Mr. Tarq wants to talk to you.”
    Loretta and I shared a grimace. Then Loretta took Emmie’s hand and said something about checking the bathroom. I scooted down the hall wondering which task was worse — facing Tarq’s wrath or scouring his tub.
    “I know this is presumptuous—” I started when I slid into a chair across from Tarq, but he waved his hand, cutting me off.
    “I greased the cogs,” he said, his voice rough.
    It took me a long moment to realize what he was referring to. “The gold?”
    “One bar at a time, and you’ll need to have a big gap between them, six months or more, in order to not arouse suspicion. I’ll arrange the first transfer. If the transaction goes well with my contact, I’ll give you each other’s information.”
    I nodded. Tarq was surely protecting me. His contact was probably on the wrong side of the law and not someone I should have on speed-dial just yet. “Thanks. I just need to cover the boys’ camp renovations for now. Did you have a look in the storage unit?”
    “Not yet,” Tarq grunted. “I’d have been too much of a road hazard today.”
    I winced at his self-assessment, but plunged ahead while pretending not to notice. “Loretta could drive you — when you’re ready. I’d like your opinion on what else is in there.” Tarq pitched a bushy eyebrow at me, but I hurried on, hunching into a whisper over the table, “Speaking of Loretta, I need to stash her somewhere. I don’t think the FBI knows where she is, and I want to keep her location secret from the mob too. She’s a tempting target for both of them, for different reasons, obviously. And she’s pretty fragile. Do you mind terribly if she camps out with you?”
    Ha. Preemptive strike. Tarq looked a little taken aback, but he mumbled something that sounded moderately hospitable.
    “She’s fidgety when she’s nervous,” I continued whispering. “So she might drive you a little crazy, but I think she can cook.”
    Tarq’s eyes narrowed, turning his face into an unreadable mask.
    “She might be OCD about cleaning too. I think it’s because she’s never really felt at home