“Feel free to poke around if you have to,” the old woman said, waving one skinny arm toward the back of the Airstream. “Can I make you boys some tea?”
Butch glanced around at all the jars of herbs and muttered, “No way, José,” visibly suppressing a shudder.
Liam laughed, turning it into a cough behind one hand. He accepted the purple mug he was handed, although he sniffed at it cautiously before taking a sip.
“No, dear, my name’s not José,” the crone said. “You can call me Babushka, everyone does.”
Stu and Butch ignored her, stomping through the Airstream, peering into the back bedroom, and opening closets. Liam winced when they rattled the wonky handle of the wardrobe that led to the Otherworld, but Babushka tottered over helpfully to open it, revealing only clothes and a wealth of black leather boots with various heel heights.
“Well, it looks like she’s not here after all,” Liam said with ill-concealed relief. “We’re sorry to have bothered you, ma’am.”
“No bother at all,” Babushka said graciously. “Can I tell her why you came by?”
Stu, still smarting from his overreaction to the dog, said stiffly, “We have a warrant for her arrest. She brutally attacked an innocent woman earlier this evening.”
Babushka opened her rheumy eyes wide and put one hand dramatically over her heart. “Oh my. I can’t imagine Barbara would do such a thing. She’s a prominent professor and a sweet, sweet soul. There must be some mistake.” She sat down and covered her face as if overcome with emotion at the news.
Liam choked on his tea, casting a searching glance at the old lady, whose shoulders were shaking. He placed the mug down carefully on the counter and cleared his throat.
“We appreciate your cooperation, ma’am. We’ll be leaving now.” He stared at the deputies until they started heading for the door, then turned back to meet the remarkably tear-free eyes across from him. One white-lashed orb winked at him so quickly he almost missed it.
“I’d appreciate it if you could give Dr. Yager a message for me,” he said. “Tell her it would be best if she turns herself in.” He glanced at Stu and Bernie, waiting impatiently at the entrance, and added pointedly, “And it would really be helpful if she happened to have an alibi for six p.m., the time the attack occurred.”
Once outside, Butch said, “I can’t believe anyone would be out picking herbs in the middle of the damned night. Do you think she’s making a run for it?”
“Not at all,” Liam answered. He gestured at the Airstream. “She’s living in a portable house. If she was going to leave, I’d think she’d take it with her. Besides, all her vehicles are here.” He took a couple of steps toward his car. “I’m guessing we’ll find that this whole thing is just a big mix-up. In the meanwhile, there’s no point in waiting around; she could be gone all night. I’m sure she’ll come into the station when she gets the message from er . . . Babushka.”
Stu looked over his shoulder at the trailer. “She seems like a nice old lady, but jeez, that’s a big dog.”
“Yes,” said Liam. “But a small dragon.”
Stu stared at him. “Sheriff, you get weirder all the time.”
Liam smiled. “You have no idea, Stu. You have no damned idea.”
NINETEEN
BABA STROLLED INTO the Sheriff’s Department at nine the next morning, clad in a tailored black skirt and white sleeveless top, her head held high against the stares and mutters that greeted her. Coming in right behind her, Belinda nodded at her fellow officers, and the Ivanovs lifted their hands in halfhearted hellos to people they knew. Mouths gaped open as they all processed in to the front desk, accompanied by the irregular hum of the overburdened air conditioners.
“Hi there,” Baba chirped in a perky voice that would have made the Riders choke on their breakfast beer. “I got a message that Sheriff McClellan was looking for me. Is he in?”
The sergeant at the desk fumbled for the phone and called Liam’s secretary. A moment later, the sheriff popped out of his office, a middle-aged woman trailing in his wake and gazing at Baba with ill-concealed curiosity.
“Ah, Dr. Yager,” Liam said, his voice cool and professional, “I take it you got my message?” He opened a gate that led to the central office area. “Please come on back.”
He guided the group to a large table in the middle of the room. It was probably used for meetings, and from the variety of mustard and ketchup stains marring its wood surface, any meal that wasn’t eaten at someone’s desk. Baba raised an eyebrow when she realized he was going to question her there instead of in one of the formal detention areas. Clearly, he wanted the largest audience possible. Nice.