Killer Chameleon by Chassie West Page A

admit that my paternal grandmother and I got off on the wrong foot the first time we met. I hadn’t particularly appreciated her high-handed manner, and she didn’t like me, period. A truce had been declared since then, but I still had to count to ten occasionally and accept the fact that she was not and never would be a warm fuzzy like Nunna and Duck’s mom.
    â€œI am busy, Grandmother, but I’ll try to get there before the day’s over. I just can’t tell you what time.”
    â€œThat doesn’t matter. I won’t speak for Wayne—his sessions with the physical therapist seemed to last all hours—but I’ll be here. Thank you, dear. You won’t regret it. I look forward to seeing you. Good-bye.”
    I replaced the phone, bent over forehead to knees, and moaned, then sighed and sat up. She was, after all, family, something I’d longed for since I was five. Family meant obligations. It was time to count my blessings.
    I got up and returned to my labors, but only managed to get two boxes packed when I had to accept the fact that I had indeed overdone it with all the furniture shoving this morning. Not only did my knee ache, everything did. The Constant Comment I’d had with Gracie hadn’t done me any good either. Any kind of tea with little under my belt tends to leave me feeling queasy.
    Or perhaps I should have eaten more of Clarissa’s barbecue, but once she’d left, I’d tasted only a couple of forks of it. It had been every bit as good as it smelled, but I simply hadn’t wanted any more and had put it back in the refrigerator. Now my stomach bubbled. This did not bode well. I downed a couple of Tums and stretched out in the den, my makeshift bedroom.
    I didn’t even realize I’d been asleep when I was awakened by Janeece-type sounds in the apartment. I rolled over, checked the clock. Three-fifteen? It was awfully early for her to be home.
    â€œJaneece?” Getting up was a struggle. And the room seemed much cooler than earlier. Shivering, I opened the door of the den and stuck my head out. “You decide to take another half day off?”
    The living room was empty but her coat lay half on, half off the futon, her purse upside down in front of it on the floor. She must have been in hurry because she was usually a damned sight more careful about her clothes, especially her Burberry.
    â€œJaneece?”
    The toilet flushed, explanation enough. While I waited for her, I checked the thermostat. Seventy, its normal winter setting. Perhaps the heat was off in the whole building. Still fully clothed, I felt chilled to the bone. I jacked it up to seventy-five to see if it would come on.
    A groan from behind me made me spin in my tracks. Janeece leaned in the door of her bedroom, her usual rich bronze complexion more like charcoal-gray. “Hey, roomie,” she said, wiping her mouth with a facecloth. “Better keep your distance. I am one sick puppy, probably picked up the bug that’s making the rounds in my office.”
    I heard the thermostat click and a whoosh of heated air from the vent washed over me. “Too late, home girl. I think I’ve got it, too. Or it might have been the chili. Whichever, it looks like we’re in this together.”
    She came in and slumped into the easy chair. “God, I’m so sorry, Leigh. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the chili. I was feeling kind of icky yesterday, but what with all that running around in Baltimore, I had other things to worry about. Now I’ve given it to you.”
    We commiserated with each other, comparing aches and pains until nausea sent her scurrying to the bathroom again. I didn’t really feel queasy so much as empty and preferring to stay that way—which sounded like a smart idea.
    Once she was done, I found the thermometer, determined that my temperature was inching toward 102 degrees, and counted myself lucky that I hadn’t packed