If You Must Know (Potomac Point #1)(34)

Thank God for my gift of projecting toughness. It came in handy more often than I could say. Actually, maybe I owed my mom for that, because she’d honed it with her chronic stream of criticism.

“Aw shit, Erin.” He scowled with a sigh and then put his phone in my hand.

“Unlock it.”

He took it back, pressed his thumb to the button, and then handed it to me like a petulant child.

“Thank you so much.” I turned my back on him and dialed Max. Unlike with my recent calls, he answered Joe’s on the second ring.

“Hey, Joe, ’sup?” Max’s happy, dippy voice hit my eardrums like a knife scraping china. Not for the first time, I ached for how someone I’d loved had done the worst possible thing he could think of to hurt me. No wonder my sister was so flabbergasted by Lyle. I should be more patient with her.

“It’s not Joe, but don’t you dare hang up unless you want the cops on your tail.” In my mind, I resembled a fire-breathing dragon.

“Erin?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” I closed my eyes, gathering strength. “You know why I’m calling. I want my albums back yesterday, Max.”

A pause. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I stomped my foot, yelling, “Do not get cute with me. We both know you took them, and if you don’t bring them back today, prepare for an unholy war.”

He huffed, acting blasé. “You’d have to find me first.”

Time to roll the dice on my hunch. “You’re at your mom’s, dumb-ass.”

“How’d you . . .” He stopped himself, but now I had confirmation. “I didn’t steal anything. You owed me something after the way you kicked me out.”

I owed him?

“Don’t be a dick. I never even asked you to repay the charges you ran up on my card last month, though I probably should. You know what those albums mean to me. Just bring them back and I’ll tell Rodri to call off the extradition paperwork.” Max needn’t know that paperwork hadn’t gone into effect.

“You went to Rodri?” he yelped. Good. While it would’ve been nice to have heard a bit of guilt with that fear, I wasn’t holding my breath.

“Yes, and he’ll be at your mom’s door tonight unless you return my property. Thousands of dollars of stolen property, Max. Felony-level crime. You want that on your record?”

I smiled when he cursed, but then a long pause made me wary.

He heaved a sigh. “I don’t have them.”

Desperation—not at all my choice emotion—pushed past all bravado. Tears were clogging my throat. “Please. Let’s not end our whole relationship on this crappy note. I don’t want that, do you? All I want are my records.”

“Sorry, Erin. I sold them and then used the money to come here. Lost some at the casino . . .”

My heart stopped. I hadn’t considered this complication. Jesus, I had no time to waste. “Sold them to whom?”

“Some dude Clyde knew who collects classic records.”

Clyde—Max’s buddy who played jazz guitar at local clubs like the Lamplight. “What ‘dude’?”

“I don’t remember. Eli something. He’s there in town.”

If I could’ve reached through the phone to strangle Max, I would’ve. “Eli who? Where in town? Apartment, house, condo? East side or west?”

“Hang on, let me see if I can find the email,” he said, pausing. “But you swear you’ll call off Rodri?”

If Max needed to think he had some bargaining power, I’d oblige long enough to get what I needed. “I don’t care if I never see you again. I told you, all I want is my property.”

A few seconds later, he said, “Eli Woodruff, 152 Willow Lane. Okay? We square?”

“Square?” I shook my head, although only Joe could see me. “You’re unbelievable. You’d better take my next call. If I can’t find this Eli person, this isn’t the last you’ll be hearing from me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Put Joe on the phone, okay?”

The fact that I’d been hoodwinked by a guy who’d been using me for only a roof and a warm bed really chapped my butt. “First let me thank you for ensuring that I never have a single moment of regret for dumping you.”

I handed Joe the phone before Max could say something else to enrage me. On my way out of the garage, I overheard Joe apologizing to his friend, which made me want to run back and toss a wrench at his stupid head.

I hopped on my bike, planning to make an unexpected house call on this Eli person, then thought better of that. Who knew what kind of creep he’d be? If memory served, Clyde had some strange friends. I pedaled back to the station, where Rodri was getting off for a late lunch break. “I know where my records are. Max sold them to a guy here in town. I was going to go get them on my own but thought it’d be better to get you involved. Can we go now?”

He scowled. “You can’t come.”

“Please, Rodri! I need to see them and make sure they’re all there. I swear, I’ll come but keep quiet.” When I remembered I hadn’t yet shared Eli’s name and address yet, I added, “If you don’t let me come, then I’ll go on my own without involving you.”