Hiss and Make Up

by Leigh Landry

  Plus, he really didn’t want to be pissed at her. Part of him wished she was still there with him. It had taken every ounce of willpower he had to urge her to go home last night. Every cell in his body wanted her to stay with him, to stand next to him and keep him company all night. But he wanted her safe even more than he wanted her close.

  And safe right now meant as far away from him as possible.

  He considered calling, but it was still pretty early. He had no idea if she was an early riser or if she liked to sleep in. Among all the many other things he still didn’t know about her.

  Later. He’d call later. She had texted him when she got home, and Liz was there, so he knew she was safe. Now he had other things to focus on. Like finding food for this dog she left behind.

  Part of him wanted to wake Sierra up and tell her to at least bring some dog food, but he quickly dismissed the idea. As much as he wanted to see her, he didn’t want her anywhere near him or this place again. He’d gotten her too involved already.

  Marc made a quick call to someone else for help, then sat down to make a plan. He would find out who did this. He would find out who was behind everything the past few days. Someone would pay for all of it.

  Sierra sat at the small, round table in their kitchen nook with a mug of coffee in front of her. Luna was already up and playing outside on the tree swing when Sierra had dragged herself to the coffee pot in their tiny, outdated kitchen.

  The house sat in a quiet little neighborhood where each street was named after a Catholic saint and every yard had live oak trees and azalea bushes. It was an old neighborhood, but as the original homeowners died off, young families moved in to replace them. It was quaint and quiet, and the perfect place for Luna to play outside in the shade and catch lizards. She had been more than happy to move in and help Liz out with bills when Luna’s dad died a year ago.

  That was before she realized Liz had been hiding an entire black cat rescue operation. One stray cat turned into two black cats animal control had planned to put down, which turned into five to ten cats at any given moment.

  Sierra gave Liz a hard time about them, but she didn’t mind except when they tried to steal her food. As long as they brought a smile to Luna’s face, they were welcome roommates.

  One of the silky black cats with a tiny face and big eyes hopped onto the table, and she put her arm up to block her coffee.

  “No, sir.” Aside from not wanting cat spit in her coffee, Maximus had major digestive setbacks if he even looked at anything sweet. And Sierra had loaded this cup with sugar.

  But Maximus had one white whisker.

  “No, ma’am?” Sierra squinted at the cat. No white whisker. Maybe this was Morgana. She had big eyes and a sweet tooth too. Either way, this cat was not getting her coffee.

  Sierra picked up the sleek creature and set it on the floor, where two others were already sniffing to see if they missed any excitement. Then she tapped her phone screen and took a sip of coffee.

  Nothing.

  She picked up the phone and shook it.

  Nothing.

  She hadn’t heard from Marc yet, even though he said he’d call to check on her. It was only nine o’clock, but she hadn’t slept much, and she knew he must not have slept at all. So why hadn’t he texted yet?

  Not that she needed or even wanted him checking up on her, but it would be nice to know he was still alive. That someone hadn’t burned his house down too.

  The last she’d heard was a one-word reply of good the night before after she’d confirmed that she was safely locked in with Liz and Luna. He was probably going over the damage with Denise and the insurance guy, so she didn’t want to bug him.

  Liz sat with her own mug of coffee. She wore a tight, threadbare Witchy Kitty Rescue T-shirt, and her black hair was in a messy top knot with a few wavy strands dangling around her face. Her lips, as usual, were graced with deep, red lipstick even at nine on a Sunday morning.

  “Phones are like pots of boiling water, you know.”

  Sierra placed it face down on the table, so she couldn’t see it anymore. “Better?”

  “I don’t know. Is it?” Liz took a sip and stared over the rim of her mug, waiting for an answer.

  By now, Marc must have found the dog still in his yard. Maybe he was mad about that. Although she didn’t regret that decision at all. The way that dog barked at the fire, he ought to make a pretty good alarm system for Marc.

  But maybe he wasn’t mad about the dog. Or busy. Maybe he just didn’t want to talk to her. Maybe he regretted working with her yesterday. Or maybe he regretted last night.

  Sierra tapped her fingers on the table. Liz was right. This was better. Staring at the screen was bad. Staring at the back of the phone was much better.

  “Ugh.” Sierra flipped the phone over and let her fingers fly over the keyboard before she could change her mind.

  You okay?

  Then she flipped it over on the table again, while Liz tried not to smile and took another sip of coffee.

  “Ready to talk about what happened last night?” Liz asked.

  “No.”

  “Are you gonna tell me about it anyway?”

  Sierra sighed. Then, she told her. She told Liz everything that happened after she dropped them off at the park. All the gory details.

  Well, not all of them. But most of them.

  “Let me get this straight,” Liz said, her voice deep and tight. “After I dropped you guys off—which was after some wacko person planted a bunch of snakes at this guy’s sister’s house and sabotaged his car—you picked up a stray dog, made nasties in his dad’s welding shop, and the wacko person burned down the sister’s house. Did I get that right?”

  “Mostly. The details aren’t important, so we’ll go with yes.”

  Liz exhaled. “Aw hell.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, wait. Why are you here? I thought Mr. Overprotective would have his eye on you like a hawk after all that. Especially after he did the man equivalent of peeing on you right before the fire.”

  “He did not pee on me.”

  “Sure. Why aren’t you with him?”

  “He sent me home.” The words burned as they left her mouth. “Last night during the fire.”

  Liz’s eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded. “Good.”

  “This is not good. This is way far from good.”

  “Look, I know you don’t like this kind of white knight stuff. I don’t either. But in this case, it’s good that one of you is thinking clearly and worried about your safety.” Liz sighed. “I know you don’t want to hear this, and I’m the last person who would normally tell you to stop getting your freak on, but maybe staying away from this guy is a good thing. At least for a while.”

  Sierra shook her head and covered her face with both hands. “No, none of this is good. The whole thing.”

  “Why? Because it scares you?”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Liar,” Liz said. “I know you aren’t scared of the potential danger. I’m talking about you and him. You’re terrified of that.”

  Sierra rubbed her face.

  “I know you before today, Sierra Menard. You’re afraid of giving him another chance to hurt you.”

  “Fine,” she said, drawing out the word. “I’m scared of letting Marc hurt me. Again.”

  “Oh, honey, it’s already too late for that.” Liz frowned at her, but her big brown eyes were warm and understanding. “If this goes south, because of either one of you, it’s gonna hurt like hell.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  Thankfully, Sierra’s phone beeped.

  Yes. You?

  She exhaled. He was safe.

  Yes.

  She waited for more questions. A hint of what was happening over there. Something. Anything. But the phone didn’t beep again.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Well, I have proof of life,” Sierra said. “That’s it.”

  Liz took the
phone from Sierra’s hand and put it face down out of Sierra’s reach. “Tell me what you think is going on at this place.”

  Sierra knew a distraction when she heard one. Because if there was anything Liz did want to talk about, it was the cute guy Sierra was almost-screwing. And if there was anything her best friend didn’t want to talk about, it was whatever dangerous crap Sierra had gotten herself in the middle of. Even if that dangerous stuff did involve the cute guy.

  So steering the conversation back to the investigation was a hell of a stretch for Liz. It was also proof that she was truly the best friend Sierra could ever ask for.

  “They must have something this psycho wants.”

  “And what do you think they want with this guy and his sister? What kind of stuff are they into?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “You do realize you aren’t an actual detective, right? Like not even one of those amateur ones.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. But I still have to figure this thing out, so he’ll give me that reward money.”

  “That’s what you’re after?” Liz rubbed her temples. “You want to figure out who’s terrorizing that family and get yourself killed for a few hundred lousy bucks?”

  “Technically, it’s a thousand. Possibly more. But yes. I owe you.”

  It was more than the money. Way more than that. But with Marc shutting her out and basically rejecting her today, she wasn’t willing to say it out loud.

  “Sierra—”

  “Don’t.” Sierra held a hand up to stop her friend. “I don’t want to hear it. I do not want Luna to miss one day of therapy.” She took a deep breath and blew out a tight stream of air to calm herself. “I want to hear that little girl speak again, and I can’t be the reason that’s delayed even a single day.”

  Liz held her stare and nodded. Her mouth was tight and her eyes brimmed with tears. “Dang it.” She reached for the napkin holder and dabbed at her eyes before her eyeliner and mascara streaked. “Fine.” She blinked back the remaining moisture. “What’s the plan?”

  The plan. That was the question that had been plaguing her through that whole sleepless night. She had no information. Nothing to lead her in any direction.

  She had snakes she couldn’t trace. At least not until she could make a few phone calls on Monday, and even then it was a long shot. She had some stolen welding supplies and sculptures. She had a threatening email that Marc was tracing. And she had a fire.

  Nothing matched up in any recognizable pattern or pointed a flashing sign at anyone. She had nothing.

  But she had Liz.

  Long before Luna appeared in her life, most of Liz’s friends had been petty thieves. Nothing violent, but she’d picked up a lot of tricks from that group. A lot of tricks that might be useful to Sierra now.

  “How would I go about finding someone? Someone who did something illegal. Someone who didn’t want to be found.”

  Liz shrugged. “Same way you find anything that doesn’t want to be found, I guess.”

  Sierra frowned. “That’s not helpful.”

  “I’m going to regret this.” Liz closed her eyes. “How would you find an animal? One that was hiding?”

  After a moment, Sierra said, “I’d find out what they want or what they need, and I’d set a trap.”

  What they want or need.

  She had no idea. Clearly, they wanted Denise out of the house, and scaring her away with the snakes hadn’t worked, so they’d moved on to burning the place down. But why? What did they want? How was she supposed to know that?

  Set a trap.

  That was it. They were trying to get Denise away from the house, so all of this must have something to do with the property. She could work with that.

  Liz watched Sierra’s face and frowned. “Yeah, I’m definitely gonna regret that.”

  Sierra clapped with glee and stood from the table. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  She had a plan. One that was more her speed. Forget research. Forget behind the scenes operations. Forget waiting for Marc.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Sunday. Dad time.” Sierra grabbed her phone and her denim jacket from a hook by the door. After tripping over a fluffy-ish dark gray cat with a villainous stare, she kissed Liz on the forehead. “Then, I’m setting a trap.”

  “For the record,” Liz shouted at her as she ran out the door, “this is about the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard. Even from you.”

  13

  Sierra parked along the street and waved at three boys riding rusted bikes with a skinny yellow dog following behind them. With one hand clutching a paper grocery bag, she wound through the lettuces and herbs in small beds and planters. She passed the big crepe myrtle and entered the backyard of the freshly painted, bright orange house on pillars.

  When her dad had shown her the paint sample he wanted to use, she’d cringed. But now that it was on the house, she kind of liked it. It was warm, cheerful, and inviting. All the other neighbors were now painting their own houses bright colors too.

  As soon as the Freetown neighborhood—once a safe haven for freed slaves—got its historical registry designation a couple of years ago, the residents began accessing tax credits for improvements. Her dad had been living here for years, back before it began attracting artists and free spirits who enjoyed the proximity to campus, festivals, and downtown nightlife.

  While Sierra hated how neighborhoods like this were pricing out poor minority communities, living here made her dad happy. So they both volunteered and attended community meetings, and they always voted in the best interest of the longstanding residents.

  “There she is,” her dad said. He dusted the soil from his hands behind a table filled with seed trays. His hands and bare arms were still tanned and leathery from the summer and years of being outside.

  He met her with a hug and said, “Hey, Pumpkin.” His thin frame in her arms reminded her of his age despite his healthy appearance.

  They walked toward the house together. The yard was overrun with plants, seedling shelves, rabbit hutches, and compost bins. He sold veggie plants and rabbit-poop-infused fertilizer out of his back yard and at the weekly farmers market. Somehow, the whole operation still smelled better than the yoga place he used to run.

  “Brought actual food this week?” he asked.

  “Well, it’s made from fancy grapes, so I say it counts as food.”

  He took the paper bag and pulled out the bottle of champagne. “Good thing I traded Cameron a bag of fertilizer for a dozen eggs yesterday morning.” He turned toward the house. “Come on, I’m sure I have some orange juice leftover from last week.”

  “Brunch mimosas. What the good Lord intended fathers and daughters to bond over on Sunday mornings.”

  “Indeed she did.”

  Sierra followed him up the steps and through the back door into the tiny kitchen. He shook his head while she plopped two ice cubes into two mismatched coffee mugs and poured a shot of OJ into each.

  “Hey, don’t look at me like that,” she said. “You’re the one without proper glassware.”

  Her dad topped off each mug with cheap champagne, then began cracking eggs into the bowl Sierra had pulled out for him. “Go outside and cut some green onions and basil leaves. Should still be plenty of both. I’ve got a banana pepper around here somewhere and some goat cheese from St. Martinville. I think we can whip up a couple omelets.”

  Sierra set her mug on the tiny corner table and went outside to snip the herbs. When she returned, her dad was already pouring half the eggs into a heated pan.

  “So. What’s new this week?” he asked, exactly as he did every Sunday morning. “How are Liz and Luna?”

  “Great. And the same.”

  He gave a tight smile and a nod, while he sprinkled goat cheese crumbles and banana pepper slices on half of the egg. “And work?”

  “Fine.” Sierra laughed and took a sip of her mug mimosa. “Except I lost my bartending job and sort
of fell into this whole mystery-solving thing.”

  He gave her a hairy look before working the sides of the egg loose with his spatula. “All right, Nancy Drew. Explain.”

  “You’re as bad as Liz,” she said. “Remember the Dugas family?”

  He folded the omelet and slid it onto a plate. “Which ones?”

  “Breaux Bridge neighbors.” She took the plate and fork he handed her, then leaned against the wall in the tiny kitchen and started eating while he worked on his own omelet.

  “Ah, yes. What about them?”

  “Marc called. Needed a snake identified.” She stuffed a bite in her mouth before she could say anything self-incriminating.

  “Marc? I don’t remember a Marc.”

  “Oh,” she chewed and swallowed. “Scott. He goes by Marc now for work. Sportswriter.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember him.” He cleared his throat. Subtle. Real subtle. “And?”

  “And someone’s messing with his family.”

  “And you had to save them?”

  “I’m not saving them.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “No, I’m not.” She stabbed at her omelet.

  “It’s what you do. People aren’t so different from stray dogs or a lizard in the house or a turtle in the middle of the road.”

  “And what about you? Still trying to save this place?” She gestured at the peeling paint around them.

  He flipped his omelet and slid it onto his own plate. “I’m not judging. Everything needs a little help now and then. People, animals, houses. I’m proud of you.”

  Sierra rolled her eyes and took another bite. “This is really good,” she said with her mouth full.

  “Thank you. I know,” he said. “Now how’s Marc?”

  “Marc’s fine.”

  “Just fine?”

  “Yes, Dad,” she said. “Do you really want more details?”

  “Probably not.”

  They stood facing each other while they ate their omelets in silence, sizing each other up. Finally, her dad’s curiosity won out.