“No. Yes. Somewhere. Look, I really need to—”
“Did you and the doc have a fiery fling?”
“Something like that.”
“She’s so beautiful. My niece dyed her own hair red like the doc’s a couple months back, but she can’t quite get the color right. Why’d you split up?”
Her tone had altered—gone from whiskey-and-cigarette deep to coy southern sass. This, he reflected, was getting decidedly weird.
Smiling, she kicked off her shoes. “Would you like a drink? I have a mai tai or two every night myself, but I make a mean mint julep if you prefer the southern style.”
“Thanks for the offer, Gert, but I really can’t—”
“Oh, the doc’ll be fine. Harry’ll watch over her—if he’s not asleep and his hearing aid’s turned on. And if his bursitis isn’t bothering him like it does sometimes.”
“Who’s Harry?” Johnny asked.
“He tends the doc’s gardens, does small fix-ups. Smaller and smaller fix-ups these days, him being ninety and all. Was a time when he could shoot a mosquito out of the air at two hundred yards. Of course, that was back when he could see. Now he mostly sits and frets about his grandson. Trouble’s that boys first, middle, and last name. Can’t hold a job, doesn’t like people, won’t even try to work for the folks who’re doing the constructing around town. Says he’s got a bad hip. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t lollygag around all day, getting high and reading comic books.”
Johnny eased toward the door. “Yeah, well, kids. He’ll grow out of it.”
Her laugh contained a warning edge of rust. “Oh, I wouldn’t count on that, darling. He’s on the high side of forty-five.”
Johnny grinned and opened the door. “Sounds like Harry’s got his hands full. Good night, Gert. And Bette,” he added.
Stepping outside, he closed the door, rolled his shoulders, and thanked God for the shadows of the swamp that concealed him when the door jerked open and Bette shouted, “Good night, you dreamy creature. Tell the doctor we’ll be by bright and early to fix you both a good southern breakfast.”
Great, Johnny thought. Just fucking great. Mel was going to make him sleep in a bug-infested boat house, and either Gert or Bette intended to cook breakfast for him. What did people eat in this hellhole swamp anyway? Dandelion greens, possum guts, eye of newt?
He heard the barely perceptible footsteps behind him a split second before Laidlaw swung a beefy arm in his direction.
Ducking, Johnny avoided the arm that attempted to wrap itself around his throat and shoved a gun in the big man’s belly. “Give it up, pal. You don’t walk on cat feet no matter how much your defense trainer wants you to believe you do.”
Laidlaw dropped his arm, and Johnny dropped his gun. “Works on most people,” his friend grumbled. “Can I help it if you’ve got bionic ears? Camp’s empty. No one’s been near it since you took those three bastards out.”
Johnny stowed his gun. “Those were only the three we know about, possibly four if we include your nightly visitor. Whatever the number, there’ll be others.”
“Local or imported?”
“Don’t know. Depends on who around here can be bought.”
“Money talks, Johnny, and Satyr’s got plenty of it. Mockerie’s got even more.”
“Vault’s open when it comes to Satyr and grudges. Do me a favor,” Johnny said as they rounded a bend. “Go and check out the boathouse. While you’re at it, see if you can dig up a ninety-year-old man with a hearing aid and bursitis.”
“What’s he, the night watchman?”
“According to Mel’s housekeeper, yes. But then, she thinks she’s an old Hollywood actress, so who the hell knows.”
“And they call Los Angeles La-La Land.”
“Just a different kind of la-la.” Johnny re-scoped Melia’s house. “You turned the lights on. Not a bad idea, Mel.”
“Brilliant and beautiful.” Laidlaw squinted at the second-floor windows. “Why does she want to live with a bunch of crazies?”
“I’m guessing she doesn’t see them that way. Woman’s got a ton of compassion. Almost makes up for the fact I have none.”
“You and me both. What do I do with the old guy if I find him?”
“Get him to turn his hearing aid up and ask him about the locals. Particularly ask him about his grandson, the one who has a bad hip and reads comic books.”
“Nothing wrong with comic books, my friend. What’re you gonna be doing while I’m having fun with Mel’s ninety-year-old watchdog?”
Johnny shrugged. “Probably getting my head bitten off by the woman I came here to protect.”
Laidlaw chuckled. “Once again, on reflection, it seems I’m getting off easy.”
“You are.” Listening to the crickets, frogs, and even the occasional hoot owl, Johnny regarded Melia’s house and wondered if he’d done her a favor by coming here—or if he’d done exactly the wrong thing and signed her death warrant instead.
…
Melia ran through the rooms on the second floor. Finding nothing out of place, she rushed up the stairs to the attic. There was nothing in it except dust, cobwebs, and two very old trunks, both padlocked.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she swore as she ran down the stairs to the main floor.
Johnny was letting himself in when she reached the entryway. Rather than stop, she grabbed his hand and brought him with her.
“Phone call, possible bomb somewhere in the house. Caller mentioned a box, my bedsheets, and the global clock in my dining room.”
“That clock?” Johnny demanded as she pulled him through a wide door.
“Yes, but I don’t see a box anywhere near it, do you?”
“No, and for once I’m grateful you’re a neat freak.”
“As opposed to you, who leaves a visible trail of destruction when you move from room to room.”
“I’m working on it,” he told her. “What’s that?”
She pushed on the hand he was using to point at her antique sideboard. “It’s a Native American basket. My brother sent it to me from Santa Fe. I keep napkins in it, Johnny.”
“That’s weird.”
“Only in your eyes. There are plenty of boxes in the kitchen, even more in the pantry.”
“Perfect.” He followed her through the dining room to the kitchen. “Did the caller actually use the word ‘bomb’?”
“No, but he said I should look at the big bow before it and I weren’t around anymore.”
“So it’s a box with a bow.”
The dangerous look she sent him didn’t appear to register. She ran her gaze around the kitchen. “No box with a bow. You got me into this mess, Johnny. I’m not a federal whatever you are. Cop, agent, pirate, government rogue.”
“Pirate’s good. I always wanted to be a pirate.”
She started opening cupboards, checking the shelves. “It’s never too late for a career change.”
“You have enough supplies to feed a regiment of soldiers,” Johnny muttered. “Why three boxes of oatmeal?”
“Bette likes it, so Gert and I are forced to eat it.”
“Does Gert like it?”
Melia rooted quickly through the fridge. “No.” She closed the door, turned. “There’s nothing here. I’ll try the pantry.”
The small, secondary room was extremely tidy. And overstocked, Melia admitted.
Johnny stood in the middle of the floor and scanned while she shoved aside jars, bags, and canisters on one of the bottom shelves.
“Stop.” He set a hand on her nape, crouched next to her. “Do you hear it? Something’s ticking.”
Melia froze, held her breath until the sound of her slamming heart receded and she could hear beyond it.
“There.” She pointed upward. “The ticking’s really muffled.”
“And fast.” Johnny launched himself upward. “Nearest water, front or back?”
“River’s closer than the lake.” Melia ran to the pantry door. “You can get out this way.”
He knocked aside bags of pasta and rice and grabbed a box wrapped in red paper, topped with a glittery gold bow.
Had Satyr wanted her to find it, Melia wondered. Did he care? Kill her, hurt Johnny. Don’t kill her, keep them both on edge. Either scenario probably worked.
“Stay here.” Johnny flew past her and out the door.