That Touch of Ink by Diane Vallere Page A

sofa, his head on his front paw. One eye opened, looked at me, and closed again. Hudson’s cat had a suspicious nature and I thought maybe I should take a page from his playbook.
    “It’s been a long day, and I better be getting home. Rocky finally stopped knocking over lamps, but now he’s discovered a taste for vintage shoes. I don’t remember if I closed the closet doors or not.”
    “I figured you’d learned that lesson already,” Hudson joked. We both turned to look at Mortiboy, but this time he ignored us.
    Hudson followed me out to the car. “That box in your back seat, that’s from Joanie’s, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is the bill in there?”
    I reached into the backseat and lifted the flat package. When I turned back around, I unfolded the butcher paper and exposed the rudimentary wooden frame.
    “What do you think?”
    “I can’t say if it’s real or not, but I can tell you one thing. Even if it is real, it couldn’t come close to what you’re worth.”
    I put a hand on his and his fingers curled around mine. There was something about Hudson’s amber eyes that soothed me, made me feel like the rest of the world didn’t exist. It wasn’t a heated sexual urgency, but a cozy warmth, like being slow roasted over an open fire. He presented me with a cocoon of safety.
    “Can I hold on to this for a couple of days?” he asked, lifting the package about an inch.
    “Sure. Feel free to take it out of the frame if you want. For all I know, it’s a color copy and the backside is blank.”
    “In the meantime, be careful, Madison,” he said.
    I didn’t reply.

    When I arrived at the apartment building, there was a minivan parked by the sidewalk. A redheaded woman stood next to the van and two boys tossed a Nerf football back and forth in the yard. I parked behind the moving van and approached as if I was a friendly person who lived in the building instead of the secret owner and landlord.
    “Hi,” I called out to the woman.
    She held a cell phone to her head, but when she saw me she moved her hand away and set the phone inside the minivan on the passenger side seat.
    “Is everything okay?”
    She looked confused.
    “I live here.” I pointed to the building. “You’re in a no parking zone, so I thought maybe something was wrong.”
    “Something is wrong. I’ve—we’ve been on the road for three days. I thought we had an apartment all lined up. I filled out paperwork, sent in a deposit, the works. The landlord just called. She said she didn’t like the idea of renting to someone she hadn’t met so she rented our apartment to someone else.”
    The older of the boys caught the football and ran over to us. “Mom, can we find a hotel soon? I’m hungry.”
    “Sure, Tommy. Stay with Billy.”
    She turned back to me. “I’m Mrs. Young. These are my boys.”
    “I’m Madison,” I said. My eyes darted to the minivan. The back seat was packed with boxes and blankets. It reminded me of how I’d arrived in Dallas: with everything I thought I couldn’t replace packed in the back of my car.
    “Mrs. Young, I happen to know there’s a vacancy in this building. I’ve lived here for a couple of years, and I like it.”
    “Is the landlord here? Can I talk to him?”
    Inside, I smiled. Almost everyone assumed the landlord was a man, and I used that to my benefit to keep my role a secret. “No, not now. I can get you an application if you’d like.”
    “That would be great.”
    “Follow me.”
    We walked past the boys to the front door. I kept a clipboard filled with tenant applications by the mailboxes. I tore one off the pad and held it out to Mrs. Young. Before she took it I snatched it back and wrote Hudson’s number across the bottom. “Call Hudson James.”
    “He’s the landlord?”
    “He works for the Night Company. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
    Mrs. Young’s face relaxed into a smile and I smiled back. “Thank you, Madison. This would be a nice break for us.”
    I gave her