Emerson smiled again and looked relieved. “Exactly. So glad you understand.”
“For the love of Mike, Emerson. In the entire history of ideas, that one has to be one of the worst.”
Riley slid behind the wheel, cranked the engine over, and rolled away, talking to herself all the way down the driveway.
“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” she said, rolling her eyes, wrinkling her nose. “What was I thinking? What is he thinking?”
She took the back way home along Beach Drive, following Rock Creek and weaving around the National Zoo. While she waited for the traffic light at Massachusetts Avenue, she got a text from Emerson.
I do not contend with the world, rather it is the world that contends with me.
Taken at face value she thought this sounded a tad egocentric. Since it came from Emerson she suspected it had a loftier meaning. And because she didn’t have sufficient energy to suss out the meaning, she texted back that she would see him tomorrow morning at nine.
A black Cadillac Escalade pulled up behind her and followed her through the light and onto Rock Creek and Potomac Parkway. Several miles later she turned onto M Street and then again onto Wisconsin Avenue. The Escalade was still there. She pulled to the curb by the Apple Store, and the Escalade sped past before she could get a glimpse at the car’s interior.
She texted Emerson.
Think I was being followed by an Escalade. It’s gone now. What do you think?
Moments later she got his response.
Terrible. Only gets 15 mpg. Also, be careful. #unagi.
A half mile later Riley parked in the alley behind her apartment. She was renting half of the third floor of a redbrick townhouse in a great location on a tree-lined street. It was long on charm and short on plumbing. The heating system clanked, and the hot water was slow in arriving, but the crown molding was stunning. It was a one-bedroom, one-bath, and it was furnished in comfortable contemporary pieces, mostly from Crate and Barrel.
Riley walked into the dark apartment and flipped on the light switch. It was good to be home. Her apartment felt calm and sane. It reflected her tastes and her hope for a bright, successful future. It screamed “young professional.” It also whispered “small town Texas girl.” There were pictures of her parents, grandparents, her brothers, and the family dogs. Scuffed-up, square-toed shitkicker cowboy boots were in the closet beside four-inch stiletto-heeled Christian Louboutins.
She poured herself a glass of wine, pulled some mac and cheese from the freezer, heated it up, and added some Texas Pete hot sauce. She ate at the little table she’d placed in a corner of the kitchen, and she wondered about Emerson. What was he eating? Probably nuts and berries with Wayan Bagus. Or a vegetarian breakfast bar.
She forked into the mac and cheese and toyed with the idea of returning to Mysterioso Manor. As much as she hated to admit it, there was a decent possibility that an island had vanished. Been blown up, possibly, and sunk into the sea. What else could have happened to it? And there was also a decent possibility that the government was involved and trying to cover its tracks. They’d met too much resistance today. It felt off.
She had a second glass of wine and decided to stay in her apartment. She’d get a good night’s sleep and get an early start in the morning.
Shortly after two A.M. Riley was dragged out of sleep by a car alarm. She padded barefoot to the kitchen window and looked out at the dark alley. There were three cars parked there beside hers. The alarm was coming from one of the cars. She fumbled through the purse she’d left on the kitchen counter, found her keys, and pressed the panic button. The alarm stopped wailing. She squinted at the parked cars. Everything seemed okay. No extraneous cars lurking in the shadows. No one skulking around. She ate half a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream and went back to bed.
At seven the next morning, Riley finished the tub of ice cream and washed it down with two cups of coffee. By eight she was showered and dressed and had her coffee mug rinsed and in the dish drain. She had a small overnight bag packed with a few essentials in case she decided to spend the night at Mysterioso Manor. Wouldn’t hurt to have this in her car, she thought. She grabbed a sweatshirt, headed downstairs, and walked out the back door to the alley. She pulled up short when she reached her car. A hatchet was sticking out of the Mini Cooper, the blade embedded in the hood.
Her first reaction was to run through her extensive vocabulary of cuss words. Her second reaction was to look around, because if the jerk who vandalized her car was still there she was going to punch him in the face. The face-punching phase was cut short when it occurred to Riley that the vandal might be a psychopathic maniac. At closer inspection she saw that there was writing on the hatchet handle. Curiosity killed the cat.
She took a picture of the car and the hatchet with her smartphone and tried to pull the hatchet out of the hood. It wouldn’t budge, so she got into the car and headed for Mysterioso Manor. She was halfway there when Emerson called.
“Are you on your way?” he asked. “I’ve been working all night and have something very interesting to show you.”
“I’m on the road. I have something interesting to show you too.”
FIVE
VERNON AND EMERSON MET RILEY AS SHE pulled into the circular drive. Both men stood hands on hips, looking at the hatchet. Riley got out of her car and joined them.
“That’s not going to do you any good at trade-in time,” Vernon said.
Emerson glanced at Riley. “I believe it’s safe to assume this isn’t your work.”
“Someone set my car alarm off at two o’clock this morning. When I stepped out of my apartment to come here, I discovered the hatchet. The message on the hatchet handle is Curiosity killed the cat.”
“Ominous,” Vernon said. “Being that you don’t have a cat.”
“I like my Mini,” Riley said. “And now it has a big gash in it.”
“Looks like they sliced a hose,” Vernon said. “You’re leaking vital fluids. You’re lucky you made it this far.”
Riley looked at the liquid trickling out from under her car. “I’m really mad at someone,” she said.
“If you connect the dots between the message on the handle and yesterday’s confrontation at the Park Service office, you might deduct that a hatchet serves as Tin Man’s calling card,” Emerson said.
“Like in The Wizard of Oz,” Vernon said. “The Tin Man always had a hatchet! You know what I’d like to see? One of them flying monkeys from that movie. Boy, they were really something. I loved those monkeys. The Wicked Witch had a whole army of them.”
“I’m going to need a raise if I have to deal with a psycho with a hatchet,” Riley said.
“How about a million-dollar smile?”
Riley accepted the smile and followed Emerson into the house. She thought it was an interesting idea that someone named Tin Man would be running around impaling cars with his hatchet. Sort of funny, right? Unless it was her car. Still, that didn’t mean it was true. Hard to believe she had made herself enough of a nuisance to warrant Tin Man defacing her car in the middle of the night. Surely he had better things to do.
“How’s Wayan Bagus doing?” Riley asked.
“He’s experiencing a period of adjustment. He exploded a bean burrito in the microwave this morning. Aunt Myra won’t be happy when she returns.”
“I thought you had a cleaning service.”
“They quit. Vernon left the door open two days ago, and one of the zebras strolled in and left a package in the kitchen.”
“When your father created his own personal zoo I don’t imagine he envisioned a zebra in the kitchen.”
“My father had a large staff of professionals. I’m working with a skeleton crew of mostly geriatric leftovers.”