The Kitchen Charmer

by Deborah Smith

  Cleo strode onto the veranda, her short arms planted akimbo on her hips. Snow dappled her graying hair. Food stains smeared her full chef’s apron. As she eased down the salted steps she watched me warily from under the brim of a baseball cap with MOTHER OF A VETERAN embroidered on it. Dark bags cusped her eyes. “Did Delta send you to spy on me?”

  “I came to bring some scarves and . . . ”

  “She blames Kern for what happened to Pike. It’s not fair.”

  “I haven’t talked to her. I only know that . . . ”

  “She says Howard kept women up there for sex and Kern helped hide them. That’s not true. There were women, yes, but they were maids and cooks.”

  “I have scarves—”

  “Kern’s taking care of them. They’ll be on their way back to Mexico as soon as the snow breaks.”

  “Do you know where they are? I speak Spanish—”

  “You speak heathen. I see what you’re up to. Nosing around. Why else would you be here? Out and about by yourself. Miss Scaredy Cat working up the gumption to cause trouble.”

  “Please let me talk to them. We can move them to Rainbow Goddess. Help them. That’s all I care about at the moment.”

  Cleo grabbed my arm so hard it hurt through all the coverings. “You want to cast untruths about Kern. You’ve hurt his marriage, you’ve chased him but pretended to be innocent, and now you’ll say something ugly was going on up yonder and he’s involved. I won’t let you spread lies about him.”

  Your other son—the one who lost a leg in Iraq—is harboring a group of damaged veterans in the woods at Free Wheeler. You haven’t been able to find Trey for two years. But you’re worried about Kern?

  “Let go of me.”

  She shook me, but it wasn’t violent; it was desperate. “Pike is fighting for his life, and Delta depends on me to run things here. You’ve got to help me. Work with me.”

  “Let me see those women.”

  She shoved me away. “Go back to your goddess farm. Go. Git.”

  Suddenly, I understood. “I feel the waves of guilt pouring off you. Kern’s not a foster child you adopted. You gave birth to him.”

  Her face froze in a chilly mask. “If I go inside and come back and you’re still here,” she said in a low voice, “I’ll shoot you.”

  IF A MULE CAN tiptoe, Brim did her best. We had a brief chance to accomplish our mission. I based my hopes on Cleo’s arrogance; it never occurred to her that I was capable of this subterfuge. She simply assumed I’d turned tail and left the property.

  Brim followed me along a shoveled path behind the café. When we reached a window in the Turse Nettie dining room, I stood beneath it, my head on a level with the bottom sill. My heart pounded.

  Gus, I could use some advice. I want you to be proud of me. Failure is not an option.

  I climbed into the saddle and steered Brim so close to the window my knee brushed the screen. Beyond the lacy curtains, a dozen young women huddled around a table, hands clasped, heads together. I glimpsed faces swollen from crying and desperate with fear.

  Here goes.

  I pulled out my bad-ass knife, flicked it open, and punctured the screen with it. The mesh cut easier than expected. I notched a hole large enough to stick my hand through. Balling a fist, I put it inside and knocked softly on the glass.

  The group swiveled toward me, mouths open, hands rising to throats. Scared. “Una amiga,” I said slowly, mouthing the words so they might lip read. “I am a friend. Ven conmigo por favor. Come with me, please.”

  No one moved. Suspicion fringed them. I put a hand to my heart, then gestured for them to come. Still, no one moved . . . except one. She was small and delicate; swamped inside baggy pants and an oversized coat. Thick black hair ringed her face in a heavy braid. She went from frowning at me in puzzlement to a wide-eyed gasp.

  She turned to the others. I couldn’t hear what she said, but she was clearly excited. She pointed to her hair, then at me.

  The rest shifted nervously but regarded me with less fear.

  My ally rushed to the window. She unlatched it and struggled to raise the heavy frame. The others joined her warily, their sharp eyes on me the whole time.

  As the window rose in their merged hands, the first woman placed her palms on the icy screen. “You’re the moon witch!” she whispered in lightly accented English. She pointed to my pale hair and rapidly explained to the others in Spanish. That I was the mind reader from the women’s refuge.

  “I’m here to help,” I told them. Trying not to mimic Arnold Schwarzenegger, I intoned, “Come with me if you want to live.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Pry this screen off. Climb out. As quietly as possible.”

  Within seconds the screen toppled aside. I climbed off Brim. “Here. Reach over and hold onto the saddle horn to help you get down.”

  As Brim gave me the evil eye, each woman levered herself through the open window. I unloaded my Santa bag of scarves and hats. Though all the women had coats and gloves, they eagerly donned the new items. “We have a long walk,” I told them in Spanish. “Stay in a single line behind her.” I pointed to Brim. “She’ll make a path through the snow.”

  Mounted on Brim again, I led the way. I took a path that skirted the property through deep woods hooded in evergreens. Better hidden, but would add nearly an hour to the long trek in freezing temperatures.

  I headed for Free Wheeler.

  BY THE TIME WE reached the old town, daylight had begun to fade and the temps had dropped. I now walked in front of Brim, staggering in the snow as she followed me. Three of the smallest women sat astride her, much to Brim’s sneering disgust. The one I acknowledged as their leader, Maria, had a white-knuckled grip on the saddle horn.

  “We’re going to stop here,” I announced, pointing to the bakery. It’ll be warm and safe. You’ll wait inside while I ride the rest of the way and bring back help.”

  “What is this place?” Maria asked, sharing the furtive looks of dismay. Alarm and distrust circled them in steely threads.

  I gave them the abbreviated history.

  “But who owns it? What if they find out we’re here?”

  I thought for a moment. They wanted profound reassurance.

  “My boyfriend and his family own this property. I have their permission to come here anytime I want. They’re good people. They’d want you to feel safe here.”

  My boyfriend.

  The threads evaporated. Shoulders relaxed.

  We slogged to the bakery. I found a key Tal had left, tucked above the back door. The women streamed inside gratefully. The interior had to be a good twenty degrees warmer than outdoors.

  Brim gave one of her snorts. Stranger Danger.

  Megan/Alaina stepped out of the forest and plowed through the knee-high snow. Her rifle still hung from one shoulder. The other dipped beneath the weight of a large back pack.

  As she reached me she shrugged the pack off and pulled it behind her. “Food. Water. Heat packs for their hands and feet.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I was sent here to find them and get them out. Happily, you did the job for me. At least phase one. I’ll take it from here.”

  “So, you work with the Knights?”

  “The what?”

  “My friends in the woods.”

  “That’s their code name around here? Cute.”

  “Who sent you?”

  “That intel is above my pay grade, Yammy. That’s what they call you?”

  “Yarny.”

  She thrust out a hand. “Good to meet you, Yarny. Sorry for being a dick at the farm. I was using it as a cover to gather information. I got word that your sheep barn was an arson target. That’s why I was jerking you around that night. Trying not to blow m
y cover, but making sure you were safe.”

  “Who targeted me?”

  “People who want you dead or scared off.”

  “Monzell?”

  “Probably one of his associates. Although he probably approved the plan.”

  “Associates? What?”

  “He’s been laundering dirty money for years. The casino in Mississippi that went bankrupt? He was a silent partner in that. He owns a lot of politicians and a lot of judges. How do you think Jay Wakefield’s psycho uncle got off on that murder charge?”

  “Laundering . . . for who?”

  “This is no time for a chat, Yarny. Let’s just leave it at this: There’s a ‘They’ out there, and they want to get rid of trouble makers. That includes anyone who’s a rallying point for the resistance.”

  “I’m not a rallying point. I’m not a leader. I have panic attacks and fall apart.”

  “Really?” She nodded at the bakery. “Those women trust you with their lives. Nice job, Yarny.” She hoisted the backpack. “Tell them your goodbyes, introduce me, and go back to the farm. You know nothing, saw nothing, did nothing to help them escape. Got it?”

  “I want some guarantee that you’re going to protect them.”

  “I’ll do more than protect them. After they’re de-briefed, I’ll get them out of the country and make sure they’re in happy new digs, with good circumstances.”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  She tilted her head toward a small radio mic attached to her snowsuit. “Yammy needs reassurance.”

  “Yarny.”

  She shrugged. “Here.” She pulled a receiver from one ear.

  I scrubbed it on my shawl then slowly tucked it into my own ear. Trey’s voice came through. “She’s the real deal. Part of our organization. It’s okay. Do what she says.” He paused. “You did a helluva job today. Out.”

  I handed the earpiece back to Alaina. The Knights have an organization?

  “All right, but . . . ” I halted. Dark, bleak fear flooded me. Brim raised her head, her long ears pricked in alarm, her eyes on the cloudy sky. “A helicopter’s coming.”

  Alaina looked up, frowning. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “I feel it. Big shadows, the sensation of a cleaver chopping wool roving into useless bits.”

  “Oh, come on. I know you’re psychic, but really? Calm . . .”

  The sound of the engine and blades became a dull throb to the west.

  Kern.

  “It’s the sheriff. He’ll search every building. You have to get these women into the woods. I’ll go meet him. Try to convince him it’s just me here.”

  Alaina dodged past me into the bakery, speaking fluent Spanish as she ordered the women to come with her.

  “Go with her. Go!” I called to them.

  They rushed out, watching the sky fearfully. Alaina waved them toward the woods. At the edge of the trees I glimpsed several of the Knights, rifles in hand.

  “Tell them to let me handle this!” I yelled. “No shooting!”

  Maria was the last to leave. She hugged me. “You are a blessing,” she said. “You were put in this world for a great purpose, and you saved our lives. We will never forget you.”

  BRIM AND I STOOD in the churned snow of the old main street, watching the small helicopter hover then settle in front of us. Icy wind blasted my face and made Brim bow her head against it. Miss Lucy, he’s coming for you. Get ready.

  It was not the county’s copter.

  It was Howard Monzell’s.

  Brim exhaled in long sighs of frosty air. The shadows of failing daylight sunk us both into blue-black suspicions. As the copter settled into the snow, its blades slowing, I slid my hand inside the band of my skirt. Grasped the pistol, slipped it free of the soft holster without revealing it, and hid it behind the long drape of a shawl.

  Flicked the safety off.

  Practice makes perfect.

  The end was near. It walked toward me in the snowy half-light.

  Broad and tall and corpulent; knee-high mountaineering boots, with cream-colored camo pants tucked into them. A heavy jacket, high-tech, quilted, with fur-lined lapels. Above that, a thick, middle-aged face with hard cheekbones and sharp eyes beneath bushy, graying brows. When he stopped no more than five feet from me, he pulled his coat back. My eyes went to the large pistol holstered on his belt.

  Brim showed her teeth. I grasped the reins tightly below her muzzle.

  Monzell looked down at me with utter disdain. “Where are my women?”

  “I have no idea.”

  With a speed that stunned me, he pulled the heavy pistol from his belt, pointed it at Brim’s forehead, and fired.

  The blast deafened me. She collapsed and dragged me down with her, falling with her neck and head across my legs. I couldn’t hear; couldn’t access any thoughts or other sensations; like watching a movie in a dark room with the sound off. I stared at the amazingly small trickle of blood between Brim’s eyes. Friend.

  Brim, don’t go. I stroked her jaw frantically.

  Her dark eyes quickly lost their sight.

  Monzell stood over us, heaving for breath. He pointed the gun at my head. “I could kill you just like this mule, and nobody’d care. But I’ll give you one more chance. “Where are my goddamn women?”

  Hot spew. Take it, bitch. Lick it.

  I pointed my blood-smeared hand toward the woods. When he looked in that direction, I raised the gun.

  He never realized I had one, in the shadows.

  Never expected that Lucy Parmenter could take control of her fate, and shoot him.

  I pulled the trigger until the chamber emptied.

  DARK WATERS ROSE up, hidden like forgotten creeks beneath highways and skyscrapers, but never lost. Living in concrete tombs under my sane layer of mindfulness. Always moving towards the sea, no matter what. Even though I was under some kind of curse that blocked most of them, a trickle came through. What was left of my damaged abilities connected with Luce.

  Something is wrong with Luce. Something is happening. I’m flying in the dark. No radar. But I can sense that much.

  I sat up on the gurney during transport to the plane that would take me back to the States. I began methodically ripping IVs and electrodes from my body. Medical staff swarmed me. My fist connected with someone’s face. The noises and shouted orders became a tornado.

  “We’re going to sedate him,” someone said. “He’ll hurt himself.”

  “Hell, he’ll hurt one of us.”

  I LAY BY BRIM’S body, my face against her cooling neck. Monzell was spread-eagled on his back, his eyes sightless and blood pooling under his body. Snow fell along with the darkness.

  You’ll go to prison for this. You’ll be locked away for years. You’ll be helpless. You’ll be raped again.

  Never. I’ll die, first.

  A hand on my shoulder. Gutsy’s voice. Then Berg’s and Cowboy’s and Sink’s. Bandit, silent, picked up the phone I’d dropped then carried mysterious equipment to the copter.

  “My phone.”

  “He’s gonna disable the GPS,” Gutsy explained. “And then he’s gonna set up a fake one. By morning it‘ll look like you’re halfway to Canada.”

  I watched numbly as they dragged Monzell’s body back to the copter and loaded it in the passenger seat. Cowboy and Bandit climbed in. I felt mildly astonished when Cowboy piloted the copter out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind?

  “Yarny, come back to the now.”

  Fingers snapped in front of my eyes. I squinted at Gutsy, who squatted beside me. She gave me a shake. “It’ll take hours for them to find that fucker’s body at the crash site.”

  “How will Cowboy and . . . ”

  “Bandit’s got all sorts of gadg
ets. Remote control.”

  “I shot Monzell. Can’t hide that.”

  “Nope, but we can hide you.”

  “I’d do it again.”

  “Good. If you said any different I’d give you a smack on the head. Come on.”

  She dragged me to my feet, although I tried to keep one hand on Brim. Berg and Sink were busy emptying my bag.

  “Don’t leave anything,” Gutsy told them.

  Looking at Brim as the snow slowly covered her, I sobbed. “I can’t just leave her like this. All alone.”

  “We’ll get her body loaded on a big truck tonight and take it someplace . . . private.”

  “Where?” Berg dug my gun out of the snow and tucked it inside his jacket. I thrust out a hand. “I want it.”

  Gutsy shook me again. “The gun has to disappear. The mule has to disappear. And you have to disappear, too.”

  The Ten Sisters made a gray-on-gray wall in the distance, behind the snowy wilderness. The last glimmer of light showed dark eyes of the forest, waiting for me.

  Go with them, Miss Lucy, Opal whispered. You’re a different kind of outcast, now.

  15

  HIGH ABOVE EUROPE, I had been strapped in like cargo on a shelf. The medical transport plane was full of other wounded soldiers. We traveled via special gurneys and isolation pods. The med staff worked quietly. The lighting was low. The patients who weren’t badly injured sat up in their beds, listening to music or audiobooks. Others lay like mummies. Mummies with parts missing, attached to machines.

  I was flat on my back with oxygen strapped to my nose; my arms were connected to IVs, and I wore a heart monitor. I drifted on clouds, targeting the words spoken about me; words within my missile range. They sprouted curlicues of bright color and shot off fireworks.

  Look at me as a kid, serving up fried okra, field peas, and meat loaf at Ma’s diner on Lexington Avenue, back when most of the steep old side streets were ghost towns with boarded-over storefronts from the early 1900s.

  And then in California, getting the shit kicked out of me by a gang behind the restaurant owned by our foster parents, the Rodriquez’s. Then kicking back, by the time I was sixteen or so, walking out of the restaurant with an apron low around my food-stained jeans, flicking a cigarette into the ally.