by Lynn, JB
“His nephew hasn’t been able to get in touch with him, either,” I admitted.
“The detective?” Templeton asked sharply.
“He’s working Armani’s case…cases.”
Worry lines creased Templeton’s forehead. “Cases?”
“Well, he was originally working the Soliloquy robbery, but now that her place was torched, he’s probably working that, too.”
Templeton’s eyes widened with alarm. “Her place was torched?”
I nodded, wincing at the memory. “Total loss.”
“So, she may be staying here for a prolonged time?” He gulped nervously and his coffee cup began to shake.
I squinted at him, trying to get my brain, which was desperate for caffeine, to make sense of his reaction. “Is that a problem?”
He took a fortifying sip of coffee before answering. “It’s just...” He hesitated. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way.”
My spine stiffened as I prepared myself for whatever unpleasantness he was about to deliver. I hated being told not to take something the wrong way—it usually meant I was about to be insulted.
“It’s just,” Templeton started again, dropping into a whisper and leaning closer to me.
I held my breath, waiting.
“There are already so many women here.”
I burst out with a relieved chuckle.
He leaned back. “It’s not like I’m a misogynist or anything,” he hurriedly added. “I love women. I love you all. It’s just that there are so many of you.”
I nodded sympathetically. The estrogen levels at the B&B had to be overwhelming for him at times. “I understand.”
“So, she’s staying?” he asked about Armani.
“For a while.”
“If I start adding whiskey to my morning coffee, you’ll know why,” he muttered. He froze like a rabbit being hunted. “Hear that?”
I listened closely to the sounds of someone walking down the stairs from the second floor.
“That’s one of them!” He bolted for the door that led outside, and I grabbed a banana and ran for the basement.
“Time to go,” I told God and Benny as I ran down the steps, trying not to let my coffee slosh out of my cup. I tossed the dog’s leash over my shoulder.
“Where are we going?” the lizard asked suspiciously.
“To get justice for Mike.” Jamming my feet into my sneakers, I scooped him out of his terrarium and dumped him rather unceremoniously down my shirt. I was a little more careful as I picked up Benny. “Ready?”
“Ready. Ready. Ready,” he replied.
Balancing him in the palm of one hand, and my coffee cup in the other, I scrambled out the storm cellar door and surveyed the backyard.
Piss was sunning herself. DeeDee was sniffing a clump of grass, and Mike was surveying the activity from atop a nearby tree branch.
“Show me where you were shot,” I ordered.
He cocked his head to the side and then slowly lifted his wing to expose his wound.
“No, where were you when you were shot?”
“Why didn’t you just ask?” he cawed.
“She did, bird brain,” God muttered from his hiding place in my bra.
Thankfully, the only other one who heard him was Benny and he chose not to repeat the insult three times.
“Let’s go,” I said to DeeDee. I carefully placed my mug down on the ground and held out the leash.
She loped over and went to take a drink of my coffee.
“No!” I said sharply. “That’s mine. All mine.” I snapped the leash onto her collar, slid the looped handle over my wrist, stuck the banana under my arm and picked up my beverage. “Don’t you dare pull and make me spill this,” I warned.
“Up clean will I,” she offered.
I took a big swallow, just so that her help wouldn’t be necessary.
“Lead the way,” I said to Mike.
He flapped his wings and flew across the neighbor’s yard.
I sighed heavily, knowing I couldn’t follow that path.
“I’ll catch him, sugar,” Piss offered.
“And explain he can’t go as the crow flies?” I requested.
“Technically, that’s exactly what he can do,” God pointed out.
“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up,” Benny retorted.
For once, I was grateful for his repetition.
Overhead, Mike circled back toward us. “This way.”
And off we went, with me trying to balance Benny and my coffee cup as DeeDee got distracted by every scent she encountered. Since I was more concerned about dropping the mouse, I ended up spilling some of the coffee. “Dammit,” I complained.
DeeDee cowered away, whining, “Sorry. Sorry.”
I frowned at her. “What are you doing? Have I ever hit you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you acting like that?”
“And spilled he gun beat once wine the I me Gary.”
I think my eyes crossed as I tried to make sense of the dog’s gibberish. “What?”
“And spilled he gun beat once wine the I me Gary.”
It made even less sense the second time.
“Translation help, please?” I requested.
“Even I can’t decipher the canine’s linguistics.” God scrambled out of my shirt and perched on my shoulder. “Do you think she’s suffered a head injury of some kind?”
“I spilled Gary the Gun’s wine once and he beat me,” Benny squeaked out. “I spilled Gary the Gun’s wine once and he beat me. I spilled Gary—”
“We got it the first time!” God bellowed, interrupting the mouse’s rhythm.
“Jerk, jerk, jerk,” Benny whispered.
“Thank you for translating, Benny.” I looked at the Doberman. Usually, she was pretty well-adjusted and I sometimes forgot that she must have lived a miserable existence with the hitman, Gary the Gun, who’d owned her before I took her in. “I’m not mad. No one’s going to hurt you.”
“Why don’t you let Benny ride on me, sugar,” Piss suggested, rubbing against my calf. “That way you can have one hand for the cup and the other for the leash.”
“Thank you.” I carefully placed Benny on her back.
He latched on to her rhinestone collar with his little feet.
“Thank you,” God said. “I need a break from his endless chattering.”
“We all need a break from your know-it-all-edness,” Piss hissed, trotting away, the mouse bouncing on her back like a rodeo rider on an angry steer.
I switched my coffee to my other hand and took a much-needed sip.
“We’re burning daylight,” Mike called from above. “We’re going to have to pick up the pace if we’re going to catch the little brat in the act.”
Before I could ask what he meant, or how far I’d be walking, he flew off.
With Piss and Benny leading the way and DeeDee following close behind, God and I made up the caboose of our ragtag justice train.
Mike led us through the neighborhood. I wasn’t sure if he was landing on the street sign of each corner in order to make sure we were following or because he needed a rest. After almost twenty minutes of walking, he stopped in front of a colonial that was in need of some fresh paint and some heavy duty weeding.
“This is the punk’s hangout,” the crow announced. “I’ll check to see if he’s visible.”
“I really hope he’s not invisible,” God said haughtily.
The crow flew over the house.
“You’re not making things any easier,” I told the lizard on my shoulder.
“It’s not my fault such stupid things are coming out of the mouths of everyone.”
The dog hung her head. “DeeDee stupid.”
“No, you’re not, sweetheart.” I dropped to my knees and enveloped her in a tight hug. “God is just a grouch. You’re sweet and loyal and a wonderful friend.”
“I’ll second that,” Piss purred.
“Me, too. Me, too. Me, too,�
� Benny squeaked earnestly.
The Doberman lifted her head and licked my cheek. “Really?”
“Really.” To prove my point, I put the coffee cup down. “You can finish it.”
She didn’t need a second invitation to lap it up.
“He’s out,” Mike cawed from above. “And he’s armed.”
I gulped nervously. “Everyone stay here while I go check it out.”
“No way, sugar,” Piss meowed. “We’re not letting you face a madman by yourself.”
“I might,” God grumbled.
“Fine, then you stay here where it’s safe.” I held my hand to my shoulder, palm up, so that he could scramble aboard and I could lower him to the ground.
He didn’t budge off my shoulder. “I was kidding. When have I ever let you go into a life or death situation alone?”
“Quick!” Mike urged from above. “Before he claims another victim.”
Our little justice train, with Piss and Benny leading the way, snuck around the back of the house. DeeDee, ears back, stayed close to the ground as she advanced. I bent over, doing my best caveman walk.
Piss came to an abrupt halt, staring, fixated on something in front of her.
“Easy,” I whispered to the dog.
She dropped to her belly and pulled herself forward so that she was in line with the cat.
Grudgingly, I, too, fell to my knees and crawled forward. I plopped down on my stomach, propped my chin on my hands, and surveyed the backyard, trying to ignore the bundle of nerves that was playing havoc with my nervous stomach.
God scrambled up so that he was sitting on top of my head.
The grass and weeds were so high and there were so many tires, and overturned broken garbage cans and a cracked toilet, that it took me awhile to spot him, the gun-wielding punk who took pot shots at helpless animals.
He didn’t look like anything I’d imagined, a cantankerous old man with a grudge against the world.
For one thing, he was about ten.
For another, he had dirty, shoulder-length hair that obscured his face.
“It’s a kid,” God whispered, voicing the same surprise I was experiencing.
The boy pushed his hair from one of his eyes as he rested the barrel of the gun on one of the tires, preparing to take a shot.
“Look out! Look out!” Mike cawed from above, circling the would-be hunter.
The kid squinted up into the sky and raised the gun toward him.
“Hey!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet and running toward him. “Stop that!”
Startled by my sudden action, God let out a yelp and latched on to my earlobe to steady himself. “You’re going to get us killed.”
Usually, when I tell bad guys to stop what they’re doing, they kind of sneer self-righteously and attack me, so there was a chance he was right, but I really didn’t think being shot with a BB gun would prove deadly. At least for me…
The kid didn’t shoot me, instead he dropped the weapon, ran to the nearest tree, and quickly climbed it, putting him out of my reach. Quivering, he hugged the branch he balanced on.
I stood with my hands on my hips, watching him. I really had no desire to go shimmying up a tree. He was a scrawny boy with eyes too big for his face and clothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed in weeks.
I felt a stab of sympathy for him as he cowered in the tree.
“I could get him down,” Piss offered, scratching at the trunk.
“Scared. Scared. Scared,” Benny hyperventilated.
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about himself or the boy, who was watching me with wide eyes.
“Hi,” I called softly, offering him a slight wave.
“No consorting with the enemy.” God loosened his grip on my earlobe and settled back onto my shoulder.
Ignoring him, I stayed focused on the boy. “What’s your name?”
The kid didn’t answer.
DeeDee leaned against my leg, staring up into the tree. “Scary not.”
“No. He’s not scary.” I rubbed the space between her ears.
“People who torture animals as children grow up to be serial killers,” God countered.
“Did you see that on TV?” Piss asked sarcastically.
The lizard reminded me why we were there. “Justice for Mike.”
I glanced up at the bird, who was perched in a nearby tree. “This is the one who shot you?”
“Yes,” he cawed.
“What do you think I should do to him? He’s just a kid.”
“Tell him not to shoot at animals,” the crow replied.
“Are you talking to it?” the boy asked incredulously.
I turned my attention back to him. Now, his eyes were wide with amazement instead of fear.
Usually, I hide my ability to talk to animals, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to tell a kid I’d never see again.
“His name is Mike and he’s my friend.”
“That’s it, personalize the serial killer’s victim in the hopes he won’t kill him,” God urged.
“Will you shut up?” I muttered between clenched teeth.
The boy watched the exchange with curiosity.
“I’m Maggie. What’s your name?”
“Boy.”
“Nice to meet you, Boyd.”
He grimaced. “No, it’s Boy. No ‘d’ at the end.”
I squinted at him, trying to tell if he was serious. “Why did you shoot Mike?” I asked.
Boy shrugged.
“You must have had a reason.”
“I was mad,” he admitted, looking away.
“Always an excellent reason to do others harm,” God observed.
“He stole it,” the kid continued.
“Stole what?” I asked.
Boy didn’t answer, so I turned to my feathered friend. “What did you take?”
The crow turned his head from one side to the other. “Nothing.”
I frowned a little. I was fond of the bird, but he did have a predilection for taking things that weren’t necessarily his. He’d even given a collection of them to Katie.
“What were you doing when he shot you?” I asked.
“Are you blaming the victim?” God huffed indignantly. “Victim shamer!”
“I’m trying to get the full story so that I can figure out what’s going on,” I said defensively. “When did getting all the facts and making up my own mind based on what I learn fall out of favor?”
“Fine,” God said grudgingly. “Continue with your inquisition.”
“It’s not an inquisition. I’m just trying to get the facts.”
“Do you talk to the lizard, too?” Boy asked in amazement.
“Yes.” I turned my attention back to the black bird. “What were you doing when he shot you?”
“Feasting.”
“Feasting?”
“On bread,” Mike explained. “The old lady who lives next door likes to feed the birds.”
I looked from the bird to the boy. Taking in the sharp angles of his body and the hollowness of his cheeks, I asked, “You wanted to eat the bread?”
The boy looked away, ashamed.
Mike stared at the kid. “But she’s feeding the birds.”
“Hungry. Hungry. Hungry,” Benny said sympathetically.
Piss meowed her outrage loudly. “You stole food from a child?”
Mike ruffled his feathers, clearly upset. “I didn’t know.” He flew off.
“Come down,” I told the kid. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Despite the distrust in his eyes, he climbed down slowly, as he stretched, his shirt raised, revealing a fading bruise stretching around his torso. He stood a few feet away from me, leaning from one side to the other nervously.
I smiled warmly at him but didn’t get a smile in return.
“I’m Maggie and these are my friends, DeeDee, Piss, and Benny.” I pointed to each in turn.
“And I am God!” the little guy bellowed from my shoulder.
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br /> “Oops, and this is Godzilla.”
To his credit, the lizard waved to the kid.
A smile lifted the kid’s lips as he raised a hand to wave back.
“And Mike is the crow,” I added.
He scuffed the ground with his worn shoe. “I’m sorry I shot your bird.”
“He’ll recover. He didn’t realize he was taking what you wanted to eat.”
“Sometimes Mrs. Olsen gives me cookies, but sometimes she forgets,” the boy admitted.
I offered him my banana.
“Really?” he asked doubtfully.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
He took it, and I saw the dirt caked underneath his fingernails.
“Who else lives here?” I asked as he peeled the fruit open and began to devour it.
His gaze narrowed and his tone was flat. “Frank.”
“Who’s Frank?”
“The man Mama married.” He balled his hands into fists.
Sensing the boy’s stress, DeeDee walked up to him and nudged his hand with her head. He leaned over her, thinking it would hide the tears I saw glittering in his eyes.
A surge of anger roiled in my gut for this Frank man who obviously neglected this little boy. Remembering the bruise, I wondered if he hurt him, too. For a moment, I considered taking the child home with me, but logic prevailed and I forced myself to speak calmly.
“And where’s your mother?” I asked.
He knelt, wrapped his arms around the dog, and buried his head in her neck before answering. “Jail.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged as though to indicate it didn’t matter.
Crouching down so that I was level with him, I gently pushed the hair off his face.
He flinched, but DeeDee licked his cheek, which seemed to convince him not to bolt.
I leaned back a little. “My dad’s gone to jail a lot, so I know how hard that is.”
His eyes widened. “Really?”
I nodded.
“But not your mom?”
I shook my head and then confided, “She’s in an insane asylum.”
The kid’s eyes almost bugged out of his head.
“It’s a mental health facility,” God corrected tiredly.
I ignored the lizard and stayed focused on the child in front of me. “So, I kind of understand how hard it can be.”
Finishing the banana, he threw the peel behind the tree.
