by CC Dragon
I rolled my eyes as I drove toward home. “It’s my life. Sure. Dad was already calling nonstop about this, you know he’ll lose it if I stay.”
“There’s always an excuse not to do something. He’s strong. It’s your decision. You have to be the one responsible.”
“These little lectures would’ve helped more when I was sixteen. Maybe I could’ve been better prepared to prepare the parents too.”
“Better now than never. I’ll let you think. And while we’re on unpleasant topics, I don’t like guns. No matter what your grandfather taught you.”
“You married him.” I had her there.
Gran vanished.
I sped back to the house, not sure what to do with my life.
* * * * *
The house was serene when I arrived. I spotted Missy cleaning the second parlor. As I passed by the kitchen, I heard Ivy and Mary Lou talking with Greg. I avoided detection and went straight into the living room.
Everything should have been fine.
But it wasn’t. The fact that I hadn’t seen Warren since the night of his brother’s arrest nagged at me. I’d expected him to turn up during my talk with Darren. Or in my nightmares. Yet the little devil hadn’t shown up at all.
“Heard you got the guy.” Greg startled me from the doorway.
“Not me. The cops got him. I think I just got in the way.” I didn’t want or need a reputation for playing Buffy or Xena or even trying to impersonate a Charlie’s Angel. Being nearly strangled once made the danger very real.
“From what I heard, you got the girl out. That’s the important part.”
“And I’ve got these to show for it.” I pulled the pink and white scarf that flowed to my knees off my neck. I’d accessorized to hide the evidence.
“That’s the sort of thing I was hoping you’d avoid.” Greg took a closer look and stepped back with a sigh. “I don’t want things to be weird between us. Okay? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my past. Being Elinor’s granddaughter, I just assumed you’d know, being psychic and all. I should’ve known it’d be an issue.”
“The issue was more the lie. You’re not bound by any vows now. Hopefully we can still be friends.” We hadn’t really discussed things. To me there wasn’t much to talk about.
“So I’m totally shut down?” He looked like he got sucker punched.
“For the foreseeable future, yes. We can be friends. I’ve got enough drama right now.” I walked into the kitchen, still attracted to him but not ready to face those demons of childhood teachings. Right now, I didn’t need to be alone with him either.
“What happened with Darren?” Ivy asked.
“I think he’s agreed to some therapy. Of course, he could always change his mind. It’s Warren that’s bugging me. No signs of Warren at all.” I dropped into a chair, the relief still catching up with me.
“Look at your neck. Thank God you’re all right!” Mary Lou looked as though she’d been up all night worrying. Which wouldn’t be a shock, since both her brothers-in-law and I had been in the house.
“Thank God that’s over.” Missy set down a plate piled with a club sandwiches and chips.
“Thank you.” I popped a chip in my mouth and went into the fridge for a Diet Dr. Pepper. Ivy had begun stocking some of my favorites. Now I could actually enjoy them.
“So?” Ivy asked.
“So?” I repeated.
“Are you staying?” Mary Lou filled in.
“The cops offered me a job.” It wasn’t an answer. I didn’t really have one.
“Are you going to take it?” Ivy pressed.
“I don’t know. I don’t need the money.”
“That reminds me.” Ivy pulled out a large white envelope marked confidential. “The lawyer dropped this off.”
I ripped open the envelope and flipped through a lot of papers. “I guess that’s it.”
“You don’t have to work for the cops to stay.” Ivy reminded me. “You can do anything you want here.”
I chewed on my sandwich slowly. “I know. Which means I don’t have to make any firm decisions yet.”
“Stubborn, just like Elinor.” Greg smiled.
“Thanks. Honestly, I haven’t had much time to think about it seriously with the whole twin murderers on the loose thing.” I put my dish in the sink and checked my watch. It wasn’t my nice one, but my travel backup since Warren had toasted my nice Fossil along with the lamp the other night. “I’ve got somewhere to go. See you guys later. Ivy, when you get the chance you can take Gran’s shrine down. I think it’s time.”
Ivy froze and a look passed between her and Greg. I could tell it was unexpected. But she seemed to shake it off.
Finally Ivy smiled. “No problem. Have fun.”
I hit the porch as John pulled up in his SUV. The one thing I really liked about him, no pressure. He was low stress, even for all the things we’d faced together.
“Find my car yet?” I asked as we settled into John’s car.
“No, no windfall of vintage cars. Matt told me they’re on the lookout for you, though.” John drove to a backwoods road with a wooden painted sign announcing Uncle Meep’s Gun Shop and Firing Range. “This is it.”
The outside looked like a large run-down wooden shack. A tree house on the ground, more or less. I walked in with John right behind me. The inside was more of a tribute to hunting than Grandpa’s shop in Chicago had been. Lots of dead animal heads mounted on the walls. Some were even decorated with party hats or pipes. I didn’t know animals did Mardi Gras.
I headed for the handgun case, since it seemed no one was working there. The place looked deserted.
“You could always get a shotgun for in home protection,” John suggested.
“Gran has one under the bed though she claimed to hate them. Guess I inherited it too.” I smiled.
An old man appeared from the back. “My favorite customer. What can I show you, judge?”
“Uncle Meep, this is Dr. Deanna Oscar. She needs to get some personal protection.”
“Miss.” He nodded. “What can I show you?”
“I’m thinking the Kel-Tec .380.” I spotted one. It seemed just the thing.
Uncle Meep shot John a look. I loved throwing Southern tough guys. A girl from the south side of Chicago doesn’t know a thing about guns. Right! John knew I could handle them but hadn’t seen me in action.
“You don’t have it in stock?” I asked.
“I’ve got it, miss. If you don’t like it, I can get you anything you want.” Uncle Meep opened the unlocked display and produced a slender gun-black automatic pistol. “It has a six-round clip with a light touch trigger. If you use +P ammo, it’s got the same power as a .38. It has a lot more kick than it looks.”
I lifted it. It was perfect. Light, small and still powerful. “How much?”
“You sure you wouldn’t prefer a revolver?” Uncle Meep asked. “Ten-pound trigger, exposed hammer. They are much safer.”
“Revolvers are for beginners or people who never shoot their gun,” I said. “How much?”
“For you, four hundred even.” Uncle Meep acted like he was giving me a big deal.
I lifted an eyebrow. He was lying and price gouging. He should know better by now. Psychic or not, I wasn’t a novice gun owner. “Have you heard about me?” I asked.
His eyes hit the floor. “Two fifty and a free supply of ammo, of course. Ladies’ special.”
“That sounds better. I’ll need a holster too.” I handed over a credit card.
“On the house, friend of the judge special. Shoulder or belt?” he asked.
“Belt,” I replied.
“You could leave it in your purse,” John suggested.
“No, I don’t think so. If I actually need it, I don’t want it in a purse. Some creep could take it from me and I’m screwed.” I took the black leather holster from Uncle Meep and slipped the black gun snuggly into it.
Lots of women my age had tattoos on the small of their bac
k. I wasn’t looking for that sort of commitment. I’d sport something a little more dangerous. An automatic weapon. I pulled the shirt over it. “Concealed?” I asked.
John grinned. “Nice lines.”
I rolled my eyes but gave a little smile back. “That’s why I wanted the small one. If it’s too heavy it’ll pull on the clothes and be obvious.”
“Better for a woman to have a lighter piece at any rate,” Uncle Meep piped up.
I tossed him a scolding look and he added another box of ammo to my pile.
“Firing range open?” I asked.
“An hour on the house for a pretty lady.” He pointed the way.
I grabbed a box of ammo and walked through the rickety old door to what passed for a firing range. It was cold with a concrete floor and back. The stalls were wood. A sign read, “Fire at your own risk...ear plugs and eye shields suggested.”
“Big on safety.” I smiled.
“He’s like family. My daddy brought me here to learn to shoot. Mama didn’t care for hunting.” The judge handed me a beat-up pair of ear shields.
I loaded the gun and put on the ear protection. “Do they have targets?” I asked.
“I’ll get it. Don’t shoot.” He went around back and put up a silhouette of a man.
“What am I? A first-timer?” He was asking for a show.
“How close to do want it?”
“That’s fine.”
“That’s all the way back.” He walked back around to me anyway.
“I know it.” I raised the gun and took aim.
He put on ear protection just before I squeezed the trigger six times in rapid succession.
“Do I qualify?” I joked.
John hit the button to bring the target in closer. The line of bullets went from the center of the outline’s forehead to his groin. It wasn’t perfectly even between shots but the line was straight.
“Holy shit.” John took a closer look.
“I told you I could shoot. If that’s not good enough I can do any standard pattern you want.” I reloaded the gun. “Hit him in the heart? The groin? The eye?”
“Did your grandfather start you shooting in the cradle?” he asked.
“No, about age ten with light shotguns. You had to be thirteen to handle the handguns. I got pretty good with a 9mm Glock but it’s too bulky to wear. Maybe I should start a collection?”
“I thought you didn’t get along with your grandfather?” John leaned closer.
“I didn’t. He tried to keep me from all the boys stuff but I told him if he didn’t teach me the same as my brothers, I’d tell my mom. Then he’d be in trouble.”
“Your mom?” John asked.
“She was a pretty traditional housewife in most things, but she didn’t like the idea of her daughter not knowing how to protect herself. Dangerous world.” I touched my neck and shook off the memory. “I ended up being a better shot than both of my brothers.”
He just smiled.
“What? Not good enough?” I asked.
“No, better than most of the people I know. You’re just full of surprises.” He smiled at me and for once I felt in control. This was a skill I had confidence in. I didn’t want to use it, but I knew I could rely on it.
Unfortunately, ghosts didn’t really care about firearms. For them I’d have to rely on my less perfected psychic skills as a weapon.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’d gotten in one more round of target practice before I called it a day. I signed my permit and Uncle Meep went in the back to laminate it for me, when John’s cell phone rang.
“That would be my car.” I glanced over my shoulder at John while I took the card from Uncle Meep and put it in my wallet. I was still stunned it was this easy to get a permit to carry but I wasn’t complaining. In Chicago you had to be a cop—or own one.
John answered the call. He made a few grunts of acknowledgement and hung up. He slid the phone in the pocket of his dress pants and stared at me in disbelief. “Gun shopping and then car shopping? You sure you can afford this?”
Uncle Meep chuckled. “If she’s got Elinor’s money, you better believe she can afford it. Old woman had more money than anyone around here.”
“How’d she make all of that money?” I’d been so curious but the time never seemed right to ask.
“She didn’t make it, miss. She inherited it. There were rumors of how it was made, but I don’t rightly know for sure.” Uncle Meep shrugged.
I tried to get more from him psychically but nothing was appearing. Gran would have to tell me in time. “Thanks anyway.” I took my receipt from Uncle Meep and turned to the judge. “Come on, I’ve got a car to buy!”
“Are you sure it’s there?”
We piled back into his boring cookie-cutter SUV. “Yep, I’m sure. What happened?”
“I guess the feds released some seized property for auction. The guy was a dealer.”
“Drugs?” That didn’t feel right.
“Some drugs but more exotic animals. Snakes, alligators and spiders. Even a few large cats and monkeys. Yankees buy the weirdest things to keep as pets. They nabbed him and he pleaded out. To pay the fine he has to liquidate his collection.”
“Of vintage cars,” I asked.
“Yes.” He looked at me in a sort of expected awe. “You can be really freaky.”
“Get used to it. If I can find a killer out of everyone in New Orleans, I can find myself a car.” I smiled at him as we drove to a gorgeous home on the edge of a swamp. It was pure white with a porch that wrapped around every inch.
John and I walked along the manicured lawn to the veranda where a couple of uniforms were lounging. The taller uniform got up when he saw John. “We’ve been expecting you, sir. Never thought of you as an old car buff.”
“Not me. Her. This is Dr. Deanna Oscar.”
I waved and all the men stood up. Old-fashioned manners, a girl could get used to it. “Hi, I’m Deanna.”
“It’s in our hands now. We’ll auction it off this weekend.” Joe led the way to the back. “He kept them all in a huge temperature-controlled garage back here.”
“Any chance of getting first crack?” I asked.
“We could make an exception if you’re willing to pay the estimated value.” He unlocked the chain and pulled back the police tape.
“Great, let’s see them.” I pushed open the door and felt the air-conditioning immediately. There were no less than fifteen cars lined up in a huge pole barn. All different makes and models and all in perfectly restored condition. I resisted the urge to tell them I wanted every single one.
“Christ. These must’ve cost a fortune.” John walked in behind me and took off his sunglasses.
“Beautiful.” I went down to see everyone. I had no real interest in the 442. Seventies muscle cars weren’t my style. There was a Rolls Royce and a car that looked like it belonged in the days of Al Capone. Both gave off vibes I didn’t want to get close to. People had died in them.
A few other cars were cute but not me. An original VW bug in orange. A blue Ford from the Sixties. Nope—not what I was after.
Then I saw it. A 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz. The convertible was between a minty and a sea foam green, complete with fins and massive whitewall tires. It was a boat, plain and simple. Huge backseat, roomy front bucket seats all in a white leather interior. The top was down and so were the windows. It was fabulous!
I opened the door and slipped behind the wheel. The cruise control knob looked like it was designed by NASA, but the car had the one absolute essential—air-conditioning.
I felt like a kid but my feet managed to touch the pedals. The old dash was in perfect condition and I searched for the ignition. “Got the key, Joe?” I asked.
“You’re a kid in a candy store.” John leaned down on the driver’s door.
“You scratch the paint and you’re chipping in,” I warned.
“You’re serious about this.” John smiled.
Joe walked ov
er. The keys were on a huge ring. Luckily they were marked. “Here you go. Owner said they were all ready to be driven.” He handed it over.
I turned the ignition and the monster V8 under the hood roared. The car vibrated softly like it was ready to go. “That’s my car.” I shifted into drive and pulled out into the center of the barn toward the door.
On the road, I found the size of the car wasn’t a problem. I’d owned nothing but compacts, but this car I understood. The road was fairly deserted and I did as tight a U-turn as allowable to head back to the house. Parking my new baby would be an experience, but I’d manage.
I parked a good ten feet from John’s little SUV. He approached. “You’re sure?”
“Why not? It’s totally drivable and very me.” I wasn’t getting out until I paid for this car.
“It’s huge.”
“So? Isn’t that the ‘in’ thing? Your car isn’t exactly a Mini Cooper. My car’s bigger than your car,” I teased.
“Mine is twice as tall.”
“Tall, great. It’ll roll over and crush you. You can’t flip this baby. And it’s made of steel not that plastic and fiberglass crap.”
Joe had the papers in his hand. “There’s also a ‘57 pink Eldorado if you’re interested.”
“A pink Cadillac. That’s not too cliché. I’m tracking killers not selling Mary Kay.” I handed him my credit card. “No thanks. Just this one.”
“Okay.” Joe scribbled down some information and handed me the rest of the papers. “Take this to get the plates and title switched over. You know, it won’t be cheap to insure.”
“It’ll be worth it.” I signed my name in all the right places, opened the glove box and slipped the papers in before putting my credit card away. “Guess I’ll have to get a Louisiana driver’s license too.”
“That’d help.” John shook his head in disbelief. “So, can I drive it?”
“Not a chance. You mocked my car and now you want to drive it? Never.” I put the car back in drive. “Thanks for the lift but I’m a woman with the right wheels now. I think I’ll go for a ride. Bye, Joe. Thanks for all your help.”
“Anytime, Miss Deanna.”
“You gentlemen have a nice day.” I did my best version of a Louisiana accent. It was Southern with a twang of French. It was terrible, but I’d made an effort not to sound like a Yankee for once.
