Free The Wrong Stuff by Sharon Fiffer Page B

learn the process. That was his thing, the process,” he said, shoving a curried egg salad sandwich into his mouth.
    â€œI’m Jane and this is Tim,” said Jane. “What are you talking about?”
    Tim turned to her, his back to the blond, and mouthed more than whispered, close to her face, “Very subtle PI technique,” and turned back to the man now working on the smoked salmon.
    â€œWe just arrived. We were walking around, and Jane found Rick down at the creek.”
    â€œI’m Mickey. Painter,” he said. “Sorry I just launched in on you, but Rick, man, if anybody was going to fuck up around here…oh, sorry,” Mickey said, bowing his head to Jane.
    She was touched. When did any man, especially such a young man, show respect by censoring language anymore? Her own son, singing along with rap on the radio, half the time sounded like he was raised in a sewer. Jane never knew whether it was better to inform Nick that he was saying/singing things in front of her that he shouldn’t or better to ignore it so he would never know what most of it meant. Wishful, dreamy parental fog was the place where she most frequently found herself. But here was Mickey, in his little Eminem blond crew cut, apologizing for dropping the F-bomb. Nice to know that people still believed in civil discourse.
    â€œIt’s okay, nothing I haven’t heard before,” Jane said, smiling.
    â€œCool,” Mickey said, looking down at her feet. “They just looked kind of new, and sometimes chicks get freaked out when accidents happen, you know?”
    Jane looked down and saw the salmon and crème fraîche on the toe of her left boot and wondered how long she would have to wait before frantically cleaning it so the potent combo of oil and butterfat would not leave a permanent stain.
    â€œSo as I was saying, if anybody was going to fuck up around here, it would be me is what all these uptight fuckers think, not Rick. He was always careful. You know, read the labels and directions and all that bullshit.”
    Tim nodded. “So you think it was related to the chemical…?”
    â€œYeah, sure. Rick was spending so much time in Dr. Campbellstein’s laboratory, we were calling him Igor,” Mickey said, snorting and dropping chicken salad on Jane’s other foot. This time he just smiled, looking like he might high-five her.
    â€œMickey?” The woman with the long, straight hair called and gestured to Mickey to join her and Blake at the sweets table.
    â€œGood thing,” said Jane. “He looked like he might want to turn me into a canvas for a food-fight series. What chemicals are you talking about?”
    â€œI heard a few others talking about Rick Moore. He did a lot of work aging and coloring wood for restorations. He was experimenting with some of Blake’s recipes. They figure he was overcome and disoriented and headed outside.”
    â€œAnd ended up facedown in the creek?”
    â€œIf your eyes were burning from ammonia or if you couldn’t breathe or were gagging, it might seem like the thing to do…get up close and personal with a cool drink of water.”
    â€œPardon me? Tim? We’ve met here before. Roxanne Pell.”
    Jane hadn’t noticed Roxanne before. She must have been standing in back when Murkel spoke to them. Jane would have remembered her. A striking redhead, tall, slender, with a quality that Jane would have to call poise. Comfortable in their own skin was how Charley characterized people like Roxanne. Their acceptance of self gave them their beauty. Jane, for just a moment, wondered if it was too late in life for her to get some of this kind of confidence for herself.
    â€œâ€¦and this is Jane Wheel. She’s joining my business, and I wanted her to see for herself where very lucky pieces of furniture and art get their new leases on life.”
    â€œI am so sorry about your unfortunate introduction to