“That’s like thirty minutes away,” Eli pointed out. It would take an hour of driving. Add in any stops along the way and they just got distracted. This was Marlee—she liked to hand out free coffee to the homeless and stop in at Neiman Marcus to window shop.
“Unofficially? She’s Babushka. Who the hell knows where she’s going to abscond with your wife?” Jase’s voice got faster and faster toward the end.
“I don’t have a wife tracker on her, what do you want me to do?” Eli asked. He wasn’t worried yet, but he tilted on the precipice of concern.
“Help me find her.” Jase grabbed his own phone from his pocket and started dialing numbers. “I’ll call Brek and Dean, we’ll get a search party started.”
Heather breezed through the door. “Any updates?”
“Not yet.” Jase was still fussing with his phone. “I’m calling the guys. We’ll start looking by zone.”
“Has anyone called the retirement home?” Eli asked. “Where Babushka lives?”
Start at the epicenter and then work outward from there.
Jase and Heather both stared at him a beat.
“On it,” Heather said first.
She started dialing numbers, turning her back to them.
“Man, for a dude who got so pissed off that I stole your wife, you’re remarkably calm about the fact that she’s with Babushka,” Jase said.
“Well, you stole her from me. Babushka stole her from you. All’s fair when it comes to Marlee,” Eli said, a tiny part of him reveling in the knowledge that Jase lost her, too—even if it was only for the afternoon.
“Fuck that.” Jase continued texting God-knew-who. “She’s the best florist I’ve ever had. Do you know she has her own clients now? They won’t even let me touch their arrangements, ithasto be Marlee. She can’t get stolen by my grandmother, arrested, and tossed into the middle of Babushka’s latest bullshit. She’ll quit and I’ll have to do it all myself again.”
“She’s at the retirement home,” Heather said, clearly relieved.
“What the fuck is she doing there?” Jase scowled.
Being stolen by his Babushka, if Eli had to chance a guess.
“Arts and crafts,” Heather added. “They said she’s in the arts and crafts room.”
“She’s supposed to be at work.” Jase marched out the door. “Not doing arts and crafts at the senior home.”
“Maybe it is work.” Eli followed him, locking the door behind them.
Jase harrumphed.
The retirement community was only a block away, so they were hoofing it. Heather hurried to keep up with Jase. Eli lagged behind, enjoying the franticness of Jase about to lose his best floral designer to Babushka and the arts and crafts room of the senior center.
“You”—Jase pointed at him—“are being way too calm about this.”
“It’s because he doesn’t know the damage Babushka can cause.” Heather kept her pace up, the retirement community building in sight. “He’s only been on the sidelines. Never in the middle.”
Eli moved past them, holding the door for Heather. Letting it close before Jase came in.
“The art room is this way.” Heather led the way, waving at the front desk lady as they passed.
An old man sat sentry at the door. He’d flipped his walker around, using it as a stool. “Sorry, you can’t go in. They’re busy.”
“Harry, you have to let me through.” Heather started to go in straight past him.
Harry stood, wobbling a tad on the way up. “Nope.”
The two of them started arguing. Eli took that as an opportunity to slip around Harry and go through the door.
