An Indian Affair by Doreen Owens Malek Page B

just absconded with one-and-a-half million of the company’s funds. They were understandably anxious to locate him, and they offered me a percentage of that figure if I could bring him back.”
    He shrugged as he unlocked the door. “It wasn’t my usual thing, more a missing persons case than anything else. The guy hadn’t jumped bail; he’d just left. But I was intrigued and went after him. I finally found him a few months later in Rio, with a phony name, a phony passport, and a Brazilian mistress. When I turned him in the company offered me this place in lieu of the fee. The crook wasn’t going to be using it anymore, and it was worth about what they owed me, give or take a few grand. At first I thought I’d sell it, but I decided to stay when—”
    “When you saw the effect your presence was having on the uptight tenants,” Cindy finished for him, and he smiled at her.
    “Smart girl,” he said, and bowed her inside.
    The apartment ran from front to back, with the entry hall leading straight ahead into the living room, and the kitchen and dining area on the left. To the right, off the living room, were the two bedrooms. The kitchen was galley-style, gleaming with space-age appliances, and had a counter that bordered the dining room directly next to it. The living room featured polished hardwood floors and a brick fireplace with an oak mantel. Through the sheer drapes Cindy could see a balcony that ran along one end of the suite, with access from both the living room and the master bedroom.
    Fox was standing next to her, waiting for her reaction.
    “What can I say, Drew? It’s spectacular.”
    “Notice anything unusual?” he asked, teasing.
    “You mean the unusual lack of furniture?” she answered, and he nodded.
    Aside from a metal card table in the dining area and a mattress visible through the door of the master bedroom, there wasn’t a stick of furniture in the whole place.
    “Looks like a bus stop, doesn’t it?” he said cheerfully, waving her toward the single folding chair.
    Cindy sat in it and looked around. “Why don’t you have any furniture?”
    He went to the refrigerator and got himself a beer, holding one up for her. She shook her head.
    “Didn’t think so,” he said, smiling, and then answered her question. “My stuff from the old place was too worn out and beat up to bring here, so I decided I would get some new furniture. I gave the old junk away, except for what you see, but so far I haven’t gotten around to buying anything.” He saluted her with his can of beer. “Think how disappointed any potential burglar would be, going through all the trouble of breaking in just to find this ghost town.” He grinned hugely, savoring the image.
    “What’s that?” Cindy asked, as a switch was thrown somewhere in the apartment, followed by a low, steady hum.
    He shrugged. “Beats me. It’s either the air conditioning, the air purification system, or the humidifier. This place has them all, not to mention a dozen switches on the stove that defy explanation. You need a pilot’s license to operate it. You should see the owner’s manual; it looks like the Manhattan phone directory.”
    Cindy laughed. She loved him in this mood: open, expansive, amusing. She watched as he took a deep swallow of his drink and then turned to look at her, his expression brightening.
    “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you help me buy some stuff for this place? We could shop for it together; it would be a kick.”
    “Me?” Cindy said.
    “Sure, why not. You’re a classy lady; you’ve got a lot of style. I’m sure you could pick out things that would fit. There’s a place over on Del Rey Avenue that carries everything.”
    “Drew, Paula ordered her bed from there; it’s very expensive.”
    “I’ve got money. It’s taste I haven’t got.”  
    “Oh, Drew, don’t be ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.
    “I mean it. I’m no interior decorator; I have no idea what to buy. What do you say,