“What’s going on with Bob Burker?” Liz asked Izzy. “Have you put together a proposal yet?”
“The photos I took yesterday are with the printer, and they’ll go in my pitch.” Izzy flipped through the images on her tablet. They really had turned out well, though the drone’s shots would have been better. “Bob is being…well, Bob.”
Liz nodded sympathetically. She’d known him the longest, after all.
“I was at his house yesterday morning”—a shiver zipped down Izzy’s spine and she only just stopped herself from making the sign of the cross—“and he’s nervous about whether to list his properties.” More like bat-shit paranoid. She’d known from the first that Bob Burker was a tad quirky. She hadn’t realized until she stepped across his threshold that quirky was just one nut on his crazy-as-crap sundae. His house was so cluttered with stacks and boxes full of paper, she’d worried about being crushed to death if one of the towers toppled over. The man printed out every article he came across that spewed a conspiracy theory and, as far as Izzy could tell, hadn’t thrown a single piece of paper away in over thirty years.
“He wants to know what he can get for his lots before deciding to sell, and my best guess doesn’t cut it with him. He wants semi-firm offers on the table before signing a listing agreement. He thinks if he makes his intentions public that somehow the government will intervene and take his property.” Izzy blew out a breath. “I’m trying to discreetly come up with a list of potential buyers. I’ll present the proposal to those I think might be interested and see if my asking price is in the ballpark.”
“Good. I know Bob can be a pain in the ass, but he’s harmless. He ran into some problems with the IRS a couple decades ago and never really got over it.” Liz shrugged. “But he’s used Goldstar for over ten years now. He’s been a good client, so treat him well.” She took a sip of her coffee and checked her phone. “If you can convince him to sell, this will be a huge account for Goldstar. If you need help with anything, ask for it.”
“I’m more than happy to offer my services.” Tariq jumped in. “We all know how busy you are with your kid’s soccer practices. I can take on some of your caseload.”
Izzy smiled so sweetly her back teeth hurt. “That’s nice, but completely unnecessary. Even as a single mom, I still manage to get all my work done. But thanks anyway.” She turned her chair away from him and froze. Crap. Ana did have soccer practice that afternoon. And Izzy didn’t have time to go watch. Again. She swallowed down her guilt and concentrated on the rest of the meeting. Ana would understand. She knew her mom had to hustle to make a life for them.
When the meeting ended, she shot a quick text to her closest friend in town. Lydia was co-owner of Tannert Winery, part of a new breed of wineries cropping up in Michigan. Over a tasting of Tannert’s ice wines, where Lydia poured liberally and Izzy shared the Tcho chocolate bar in her purse, they’d become fast friends. Not only did Izzy now get a lot of free wine, but Lydia had a loose enough schedule to help her out picking up Ana when Izzy couldn’t make it. A very good friend to have.
She hit send and swallowed, the back of her throat growing thick. Lydia was a dear friend, and she always assured Izzy that she loved spending time with Ana. But Izzy was starting to worry that Lydia was seeing Ana grow up more than her own mother was.
And no amount of wine in the world could take that worry away.
* * * *
Brad’s lungs burned and the back of his throat felt raw. It was his own damn fault. His body couldn’t keep up with Gabe’s, but pride made him run step for step with his friend’s six-minute-mile pace until his legs locked up and his heart felt like it would burst from his chest. He stumbled to a stop along Galt Park’s southern jogging trail and bent over at the waist, heaving for breath.
The yellow Lab he was exercising licked his chin, and the shepherd mix he held with the other hand strained at the leash, eager to catch up with his buddies.
Gabe doubled back and trotted over to him, the two dogs he held tangling their leashes. He stopped jogging in place long enough to sort them out. “You okay?”
“Just”—heave, heave, gasp—“great.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t push yourself so hard.”
Brad gave his friend the gimlet eye. They’d known each other for three years, ever since Brad had hired Gabe to be the veterinarian at his new shelter. Gabe should accept by now that Brad wouldn’t settle for a diminished lifestyle. He was finally healthy, and he would push his body as much as he damn well wanted.
“Let’s go.” He straightened and steeled himself for the last mile. “I’ve got my second wind.”
“Maybe you do, but Stephanie doesn’t.” Gabe pointed at the Lab, who had rolled to her back and exposed her belly, her tongue lolling to the pavement. “I think we walk from here.”
Thank God for out-of-shape dogs. Brad fell into step next to Gabe, the dogs forming a rotating wall of fur around them. He rubbed his side. “We’re down to our last couple of thousand in the shelter’s back account. We need to fund-raise again.”
“Shouldn’t that be a constant occupation?” Gabe asked. “I do enjoy being paid, after all.”
Brad shrugged. “Easy come, easy go. I’m sure I’ll be able to scrounge enough for operating expenses for the next couple months. Besides, you’re just part-time at Forever Friends. Your vet practice keeps you in pizza rolls and beer.” Gabe had a small office in Clarion Township where he spent half his working hours. The rest of the time he spent at Forever Friends. He took whatever pathetic paycheck Brad doled out, but Brad knew his friend would work at the shelter for free if push came to shove.
Sighing, Gabe stopped and turned to face him. “That’s a hell of a way to run a business.”
“Forever Friends isn’t a business.” Pulling a plastic bottle from his hydration belt, Brad squirted some water into his mouth and then did the same for the four-legged runners. “It’s a nonprofit shelter. It’s about helping dogs. You can’t put a price on that.”
“Sure you can.” Gabe held up a hand and lifted his index finger. “One, it’s the cost of the rent of our building. Two”—he raised his middle finger—“it’s the expense of your employees. You have me and a couple of girls who come in part-time when you need them. And when you can afford to pay them. And I assume you want to pay yourself so you can eat, too. Three, it’s the cost of food and supplies for the dogs. That’s a lot of numbers. You can’t ignore them just because you want to.”
“Christ, you sound like my parents. My dad’s so worried that I don’t already own a house and a brokerage account, he’s threatening to cut me out of his will.” Which made no sense, and besides, Brad couldn’t care less. His parents had quite a bit of money, but it hadn’t made them happy. When they’d divorced, every fight had centered around their bank accounts. “When Forever Friends needs money, I’ll get money. We’ll be fine.”
Gabe turned and started walking again, this time cutting across the wide field of Galt Park, which bordered a Japanese tea garden. The park was on Pineville’s south side, just two miles from the shelter, and had become a favorite of his and Gabe’s to exercise the dogs.
“What’s your plan this time?” Gabe asked. “Another direct mailing?”
“Maybe.” But he had an idea to kill two birds with one stone. “I was thinking about using Isabelle Lopez. Her rescue is an inspiring story, and I think it will draw attention. Maybe give her an award, get her picture under the Forever Friends sign in all the papers. That kind of thing.” No one had to know she’d broken into the abandoned apartments. They could say she’d found the door open when she went to investigate. And spending more time with Izzy could only help his chances with her. He was charming. He’d wear her down eventually.
Gabe tipped his head. “That’s