We learned the man had already signed the lease when Paul and I were about to go out one evening and saw him moving in. Not that he had much to move…some boxes that held his clothes, I guessed, a long, flat case, and a big statue of a dog. He saw us standing there with our jaws hanging open—well, mine was; hadn’t John heard what I’d said?—and gave us a cool onceover and a nod and proceeded up the stairs.
“Well, that’s a fine kettle of fish.” Paul stared after our newest tenant.
“Very funny.”
“Really? I wasn’t trying to be amusing.”
I scowled at him. Tomorrow wasn’t Wednesday, but I’d give John a call and see about meeting him at his office. I had to talk to him about this…this…kettle of fish.
* * * *
The next day at ten a.m., I arrived at John’s office. Fortunately, his secretary was on a coffee break.
“Sweetcheeks!” He rose and came around his desk. “Uh…I missed you!”
“Did you?”
“Yes! Oh, and hey! I got the apartment rented out!”