by Alyssa Day
He still had his back to me when he waved hello. "Come on in and help me figure out where to put all this stuff."
"Holy cow!"
My entire kitchen was covered with stuffed-to-the-brim canvas totes.
"Did you buy out the entire store?"
He looked around and shrugged. "I wasn't sure what people would want, so I bought some of everything."
"No kidding." I walked around, glancing into bags, before I started unpacking. "Horseradish, yellow mustard, brown mustard, ketchup, barbecue sauce—three varieties, and mayonnaise. So, this is the condiment bag?"
"That’s one of them."
Oh, boy.
"All this mustard is making me want a sandwich. You?"
He grinned at me. "Really? Have you met me?"
I made sandwiches, and we ate while we unpacked, but there was no way all that meat would fit in my refrigerator. Jack said he had it covered, and he ran out to the truck and brought in a huge plastic Coleman Cooler, already partially filled with ice.
"I need to buy you a freezer. Or a second refrigerator," he said absently, as he loaded meat into the cooler.
I stopped mid-bite. "Um, no. I don’t know how it is in your world, but here you don't buy major appliances for a woman unless you're already married."
He stopped what he was doing and gave me a speculative look. "So, if we get married, I can buy you a second fridge and a freezer and a new grill?"
I choked on my sandwich and took a big drink of water to wash it down. Then I went and switched on the vacuum to drown out the sound of his chuckles.
Three hours later, my cat was home, and my house was filled with family, friends, food, and laughter. Everything was right with my world. I reluctantly decided against a third piece of pie, because I didn't own any elastic-waisted shorts (I needed to remedy that in a hurry), but Jack swooped in and saved me from it.
"You love this, don't you? The house full of people, family barbecues. Pie."
I leaned against his shoulder. "Who doesn't love pie? And what about you? Is it too much for you? You're the one who invited the clowns, after all."
He smiled at me. "I'm surprised to be saying this, but I do enjoy it. I don't understand how you turned me into a people person, after so many years of being mostly alone."
"How could you be alone with all those soldiers around? And Quinn?"
I was more relieved than I'd admit that he didn't get that tightness around his eyes anymore at the sound of her name. She'd meant a lot to him, and then she'd gone and married someone else.
I was going to have to thank her for that one day.
"That wasn't about fun and barbecues. That was about survival and battles and avoiding death."
My father, who was moving around a little better, walked into the kitchen and glared at Jack. "Don't you have someplace to be?"
Uncle Mike followed him in. "Ha! Jack will be wherever the dessert is, count on it."
"He can stop looking at my daughter like she is dessert," my dad grumbled, making my face turn hot.
"Did I tell you about Owen?" Uncle Mike grinned at me. "Tess used to date a dentist. You would have liked him. Bored the stuffing out of me every time he came over, but definitely not the type to get into dangerous situations."
Thomas perked up. "Used to date?"
"She's not dating anybody now," Uncle Mike said nonchalantly, deliberately not looking at me or Jack.
Jack put his arm around me and smiled. His "lots of teeth" smile. "Wanna bet?"
I shoved his arm away, suddenly fed up with all of them. "I am not sure how my mobster father thinks he can comment on the people I date. Except, wait. Does that make me a mob princess? Can I be on a reality show?"
I sashayed over to the sink and put down my cup, and then batted my eyelashes at them and put on a high-pitched voice. "Ooh, are you really Tiffany Corleone? Who does your giant hair? Do you spend Saturday nights making out with Made Men?"
My dad flinched, but Jack and Uncle Mike roared with laughter.
"She's got you there, Tommy," Uncle Mike said, when he could catch his breath.
I turned on Jack. "And you. Ready to tell me about Cleveland yet?"
My dad sucked in a breath. "Cleveland? That was you?"
Jack said nothing.
"What? What about Cleveland?"
My father just shook his head. "I can't talk about it."
I stared at them in disbelief. "You're all a bunch of clowns."
Orange, who was a gorgeous, curvy blonde when not in costume, popped in from the back porch. "You called?"
"Um, no. I wasn't talking about actual clowns. I'm sorry, I—"
"You know, Tess, that kind of anti-clown bias is really unacceptable."
"I'm sorry," I said humbly. "I won't do it again."
"See that you don't. And this pie? Is magnificent." She held up a plate that held the slightest trace that blueberry pie had once been on it. "Any chance I can get the recipe?"
"I bet you can. Come meet my Aunt Ruby."
I nodded toward the living room, and we left the annoying men in my life to each other. Served them right.
When I finally made my way over to where Molly and Lucky were sitting on the porch swing, eating pie and chatting, I gave my best friend a big hug and squeezed in between the two of them.
"Boy, do I have a lot to tell you," I said.
Molly, a petite, tattooed, force of nature who was also a rock star, had been my best friend since the first day of kindergarten. We'd been there for each other through every episode, both bad and good, in our lives, and I didn't like that we spent so much time apart now that I was a business owner and she was touring with her indie rock band, Scarlett’s Letters.
But I was so proud of her and happy for her success. She'd had major record label interest and was in the process of deciding whether to go with a big company or stay indie. I'd been worried when Dice, bass guitarist for Scarlett’s Letters, had been accused of murder, thinking it would hurt their chances for a record deal, but Molly said that the PR people loved it, because bad girl rockers were a huge draw.
I didn't understand this at all, but that was okay. I didn't have to understand it. I just had to support her.
"I know. Lucky has been filling me in," she said. "We need a girls' spa day to catch up."
I sighed. "That sounds unbelievably good. Maybe next Sunday? I'm not sure what will happen tomorrow, or when my father is leaving …"
Her eyes widened. "How are you holding up with that? Not the mob crap, but the emotional stuff?"
I felt tears threaten. She was the only one who'd asked me about that. "Harder than I could have ever expected when I imagined him coming back."
She knew. I'd talked to her about my dad coming back a lot when we were kids, back when I secretly thought he might be a spy or an astronaut or a time traveler, and that's why he couldn't come back to see me.
A mobster had never been anywhere near my list.
Live and learn.
"Okay, everyone." Aunt Ruby walked out on the porch, clapping her hands. "Time to go. We need to get the clowns downtown, so they can get ready for their show, and we can get front-row seats."
"We made sure to reserve seats in the front row for all of you," Purple—Melvin—said, walking out behind her. "After all, this whole show is thanks to Jack and Tess."
Everybody started applauding when Jack walked outside, and he froze with a tiger-in-the-headlights expression. The man could face rampaging vampires and armed mobsters, but people expressing gratitude scared the crap out of him.
I kind of liked that in a man.
I hopped up and went to rescue him. "Let's get going, folks."
"We'll help you clean up," Bob said, but I waved him away.
"Nope. Jack loves doing dishes, for some reason, so we've got it covered. You need to go! Don't want to disappoint any kids, do you?"
That got them going. "Don't disappoint the children" was probably a major clown tenet.
I
waved goodbye to everyone, avoiding hugs from a couple of the clowns who weren't thinking about my ability, and then locked the door and followed Jack down the steps.
"I can drive," I said, looking longingly at my sweet new car—a gift from my grandmother—that I hadn't been driving much lately.
"You could," Jack said slowly. "But there will be a lot of people downtown, and with your little parking issue …"
"Fine." He was right. I had a minor spatial or perspective issue that made me terrible at parking. Or at least that was what I'd been claiming since everybody quit believing me when I blamed it on defective mirrors.
"But hurry up. I'm dying to hear what seven clowns playing ukuleles sound like," I said with a wicked grin.
Ha. Take that, Mr. Superior Tiger Hearing.
Jack flinched.
I hummed all the way to the park.
15
Jack had predicted it. The park and all of downtown Dead End (which is all of five square blocks) were packed with people excited to see the clowns. Some of the kids were even dressed up like clowns, in spite of scary movies. We parked by Mellie's Bakery and walked over to the city square, where hundreds of people were scattered on lawn chairs, blankets, and even golf carts, chatting with friends and enjoying the evening.
The afternoon rain had cooled the August air off to a balmy 85 or so, which was practically a cold front for us this time of year. I pointed to a row of chairs blocked off with red ribbons right in front of the portable stage. "I bet that's for us! There's Aunt Ruby and Uncle Mike with Molly and Lucky."
I didn't see the clowns, but that made sense, because they'd be getting ready somewhere. We took our seats and in only a few minutes, Lorraine jumped by us and hopped up onto the stage.
"Welcome, welcome!"
Everybody applauded, so she took a bow, and we all laughed.
"We're delighted to have the famous Somersaulting Seven, now a featured act with the Tampa New Performing Circus, visit us here in Dead End and put on this benefit. Proceeds go to the library, which needs the help since the roof leaked over the children's collection. I'm passing jars around now. Feel free to fill 'em up."
Everybody applauded again and pulled out their wallets.
"And I'll be in touch for hurricane prep signups, so be expecting me," Lorraine boomed through the microphone, to scattered applause and a little bit of booing.
"I know, I know, but we go through this every year. And we've got some big ones on the horizon, I hear. But enough about work and disaster. Please put your hands together for the Somersaulting Seven!"
She hurried off the stage to the sound of loud applause and whistles, and, from somewhere behind the stage, circus music started to play. Then our friends the clowns somersaulted onto the stage, proving they deserved their name.
They were terrific.
I laughed and cheered with everyone else as they did an intricate and yet funny tumbling routine which made it look like Purple was the clumsiest clown on the planet, when in fact he was executing very difficult, precise moves to pull it off. The others had their timing down so perfectly that the entire routine was brilliant.
Just when I didn't know how it could get any better, they brought the dogs on stage.
Big dogs, little dogs, and medium-sized dogs. There were at least a dozen, and they all wore tutus and performed with the clowns. Some of the dogs jumped over and under their human partners, some rode tiny bicycles, and one tiny poodle-mix walked across a tightrope on her hind legs.
It was so amazing, and we loved every minute of it. I even caught Jack relaxing his constant vigilance and enjoying the show. He reached over and took my hand, and we sat shoulder to shoulder, laughing and cheering, letting the tension and stress and fear of the week drain away.
When the show ended, I noticed that my dad was gone from his seat and looked around to see him walking slowly toward the direction of City Hall, which always left its restrooms open during events.
Bob took the microphone, and I turned back to the stage.
"Thank you. You've been a wonderful audience. We always like to let everyone know that each one of our dogs was originally a rescue dog, and we've adopted them from shelters across the country. Adopt, don't shop, and you, too, can find a Fifi," he waved to the wire-walking poodle, who bowed, to great applause. "Or a Beauregard." He pointed to a very chubby pug, who'd mostly just ridden around in a wagon pushed by a Golden Retriever mix, but who'd looked adorable doing it. The pug wagged his donut tail, and everyone cheered again.
"Now, for a special thanks. We walked into Tess Callahan's pawn shop with seven ukuleles—not a sight she sees every day—and she was going to help us out, in spite of there not being a huge market in Dead End for them." He grinned when everybody laughed, and all seven of the clowns played a song.
The pug made a show of covering his ears with his little paws, and everybody cracked up.
Orange stepped forward. "And then, a man with a very good heart helped us out and also made a big donation to the children's hospital where we were headed to perform. So, we decided that the best way to say thanks, other than keeping him anonymous, as he wished, was to pay it forward. We hope you enjoyed our show, and we hope you empty those pockets into the jars for the library!"
With a flourish, all the clowns and even all the dogs bowed, and then they danced off the stage. I jumped up and led the crowd in a standing ovation.
"That was amazing!" I couldn't stop smiling.
"You're amazing," Jack murmured into my ear. "Thank you for this. I'm going to go help Lorraine collect the jars. Back in a flash."
I watched him stride through the crowd, probably not even realizing how people just naturally moved out of his way, and then someone jostled me from behind.
"Excuse me," I automatically started to say, but something hard poked into my ribs, and a man with a harsh New York accent snarled in my ear.
"Shut it. I have a message for you from my boss."
"Who are you?"
He slammed the gun—it had to be a gun—into my ribs again, harder. "I said shut up. We have Thomas O'Malley, or Callahan, or whatever the hell he calls himself. Your daddy. If you want him to live, come to the house under construction just down the dirt road from your place within the next thirty minutes and bring what Tommy stole from us. If you don't show up, Daddy dies. If you bring your tiger friend, they both die. We're watching from the roof, so we'll know if you bring anybody. And we'll do things to you that make you wish you were dead. Bring what we want, and we let you both go. You got me?"
I suddenly shifted and reached out to touch him, but he jumped back, his eyes widening in fear. "Don't you touch me. I know about you, you witch."
"I'm not a witch, but if you hurt my father, you'll wish you only had to deal with a witch," I threatened. An empty threat, but he didn't know that.
He scowled. "Just bring it. And hurry up."
"I don't know what he stole."
The man started to walk off, but then stopped and looked back at me. His smile was filled with so much pure evil I felt like vomiting. "I guess you better figure it out. You have half an hour."
Then he disappeared into the crowd.
Damn it, Dad. Where did you put that stupid thumb drive? And don't mobsters today know about the cloud?
I started walking, not even knowing where I was going, and then I saw someone I knew very well and walked right up to him.
"Hey. I need a ride to my house. And I have a problem you may be able to help me with."
"Jack told me about the Doltar. I'd love to see it and find out what makes it tick," my driver said.
"Sure, but good luck with that. So far, it has refused to let me read cards, turned on with no visible power source, and told Jack to BEWARE THE POULTRY. Also, you have to ride in the trunk."
All the way home, I wracked my brain for where my dad might have hidden that thumb drive. If he'd put it somewhere in the barn or in Uncle Mike's house, there was no way I'd find it in time.
Beware the poultry.
Poultry.
Chickens.
"For a duck, you're kind of a chicken."
For a duck …
I knew where the thumb drive was.
I made a quick phone call, and then, exactly thirty minutes from the time the thug had accosted me at the show, I was standing in front of Carlos Gonzalez's new house, holding a thumb drive in one hand and a key in the other.
That's when five thugs with guns surrounded me.
16
I had never been more scared in my life, even with my secret weapon hiding in the trees somewhere nearby and help—once he calmed down and quit roaring—on the way.
But this was my father, and I wasn’t going to let him die.
"In there," one of the goons said, motioning with his gun to the front of the house. The front door wasn't on yet, but the new roof was. The second floor framing wasn't yet done, though, so I looked up into the darkness of the vaulted ceiling and saw only shadows.
I lifted my chin and marched through the door, only to find that O'Sullivan stood next to my father, who was tied to a chair and gagged with a bandanna.
"Really? Tied to a chair? Watch too many movies, O'Sullivan? Are you planning to tie me to the train tracks next?"
I was being mouthy on purpose, not because I had a death wish, but because my backup needed time to get in place.
O'Sullivan laughed at me. "Feisty little brat, aren't you? Too bad your daddy never had a fraction of your backbone. He could have risen high in the organization, instead of being a worthless drunk and a low-rent bookie."
"Better a bookie than a murderous thug," I shot back.
The amusement drained out of O'Sullivan's face, leaving his eyes empty again.
The eyes of a killer.
"Where's my money?"
I held out the key. "It has the bank name stamped on it. I'm guessing it's a safe deposit box."
