by R. J. Blain
“How?”
“He cleans house in his cities, and corruption in the force is a serious issue. That’s also part of why I’ve been given so many responsibilities. My precinct doesn’t have the corruption problems others suffer through.”
“That is because you’re one of those insufferably angelic types,” I replied.
“I try.”
“Okay. I can do that, especially if I will be armed with coffee. Did we have a second Thermos in the SUV?”
“We have three, plus we have several travel mugs from the gift shop. They had a cindercorn one I got you, so I’ll get that filled for you.”
“Cindercorns are the best. But why are there so many cindercorn products now?”
“Well, several months ago, somebody dusted 120 Wall Street with some high-grade gorgon dust, and a cindercorn mare, the most beautiful to exist, consumed a ridiculous amount of enhanced napalm, reducing the building to rubble. Upon finishing her hard work, she rampaged where a bunch of reporters could record her through the shield. She chanted wonderfully amusing love songs to her favorite narcotic, becoming a media sensation. Of course, New York opted to encourage the love of cindercorns, so you are now famous and a beloved force of destruction.”
“Your sarcasm doesn’t need any work. I thought you should know this.”
He smiled. “Well, you asked.”
“I’m on designer purses, Sam!”
“As you should be. You’re the most beautiful of cindercorns, and you’re all mine. But I am not entirely selfish, so everyone should be able to admire your badass beauty.”
“You are something else.”
“Finish your sea bug roll while I order treats for the pets to go and take care of your coffee needs. I’m also going to order you another sea bug roll for the road, as I know full well you’re ignoring those last two bites because you don’t want me to think you’re still hungry despite having polished off everything else.”
Damn. I picked up the last token bite or two I’d left because he tended to keep feeding me until I couldn’t finish off my plate. “Better get me two,” I mumbled.
“I’ll get three so I can have one since watching you eat yours will make me hungry for more sea bugs, but I’ll give you half of mine because I can’t inhale food in quite the same quantity.”
“You’re the best husband.”
“You deserve the best.”
While I polished off every scrap from my plate and began the tedious work of convincing our pets they could finish their treats and bones in the SUV, after we put down a sheet to mitigate how much of a mess they made on the leather, my husband fetched the tools of coffee containment from our vehicle and ordered too much food to go, including the fries I’d drooled over but had skipped out on in favor of the healthier salads my husband liked.
I hid a twenty dollar bill partially under my plate, and then I repeated the process with my husband’s plate, making sure he didn’t catch me in the act of over-tipping, as he always tipped at the counter. Once I finished my naughty work of tipping extra, I gathered our pets’ leftovers into the cardboard containers the waitress had left for us and joined my husband while the animals did their best to trip me.
“It’ll be about ten minutes, my beautiful. Do you want to handle their walk while I finish in here?”
I nodded. “I’ll make sure the snow is out of their fur before setting up their travel palace.”
Walking the three pets involved a lot of leash dodging and untangling, and all three of them handled their business like champs, although I wished Avalanche didn’t insist on burying hers, which added to the complexity of properly disposing of their messes. I almost made it to the SUV when Quinn came out of the restaurant burdened with several bulging bags with the waitress following carrying a tray with our coffees. “So much coffee,” I breathed with wide eyes.
My husband laughed and kissed my cheek. “Try not to enter orbit drinking most of it. Retrieving you would take a lot of work.”
The waitress laughed. “While I was making your coffee, he told me about how you had rescued two of your pets!”
I recognized the signs of hero-worship, as I indulged in such behaviors at least once a day with my husband. At a loss of what to do about it, I picked up Avalanche and held her out. “If I could have rescued her mother, I would have. This is a very lucky kitten.”
Quinn opened the passenger side front door and put the bags on my seat before taking the tray from the waitress. “That is my wife’s way of saying you should hold the exotic kitten and make friends with her. Avalanche loves people, which is a good thing, as she won’t be a candidate for release back into the wild. Sunny was a gift from my relatives, although I have come to understand the gift is also a prank against her father.”
“We have the best families, and their feuds are cordial, hilarious, yet surprisingly intense.” Once the waitress had both hands free, I gave her Avalanche. “I found Blizzard in a dumpster outside of a police station, and he’s quite possibly the best husky puppy on Earth. He limits his protests to when we do something particularly heinous. We were late with his breakfast this morning.”
“That is particularly heinous,” she agreed, and she smiled, cuddling with Avalanche, who was happy to work her charms as usual. “I’m Bethany.”
“Bailey. He’s Sam.”
“He looks just like that police chief out of New York.”
“That’s because he is that police chief out of New York,” I replied, unable to contain my giggles. “He’s shockingly normal outside of work. He’s recently taken up the mantle of tour guide for me.”
Bethany’s eyes widened. “You’re her.”
Uh oh. A thousand possibilities crossed through my mind, all of which involved me having been deemed a villainess or terrorist of some sort. “I’m her?”
“The cindercorn!”
Oh. I dug into my purse and retrieved my NYPD badge so I could show her my species label. “They even officiated it on my badge! It’s new, and I didn’t notice the designation until recently.”
“She becomes very excited about her status as a cindercorn.” My husband chuckled and herded Sunny and Blizzard into the vehicle. “She operates on coffee and spite.”
“Spite? Spite? Tell that to my face, Mr. Police Chief Samuel Quinn!”
My husband turned, looked me in the eyes, and replied, “You operate on coffee and spite.”
If I loved him any more, I would either faint or implode. “It’s true, I really do. And possibly napalm. Her coffee is almost as good as mine, Sam. But no coffee beats napalm. But I can operate on napalm, and I resent that most do not agree with me.”
“You definitely can operate on napalm. I’ve seen what you’ll do for some napalm—and what happens after you get a hold of it.”
Bethany giggled. “The news reports said you had a feud, but then the reports said you were married, and it was all confused. But you have a feud and you’re married. Were the rumors not true?”
“About the pictures of my ex-wife?” my husband asked. When she nodded, he grinned. “They’re absolutely true, and that’s the story of how I fell in love with a trouble-making cindercorn who rightfully has earned her title as the Calamity Queen.”
“I’m on vacation from creating calamities,” I announced, bumping my husband aside to check on Sunny and Blizzard, who had passed out on the seat. “Oh! The poor babies must have been tired.”
“It’s exhausting work eating treats.”
It really was. “Make sure Avalanche is nestled with Blizzard, or we’ll have a concerto in the back seat when they wake up and things aren’t to their liking.” While Quinn talked to Bethany, answering her question with more patience than I could muster on a good day, I secured our coffees so they wouldn’t spill and could be easily retrieved for refills down the road. “Get a card or something for this place, because this is now my favorite road trip stop.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
As I’d already done enough
to embarrass myself, I dove into my work to finish preparing for the next leg of our trip, discovering my husband had purchased six of the cindercorn travel mugs. “Really, Sam?” As we didn’t need six, I snagged one and held it out to Bethany. “Apparently, my excessive husband thinks I needed six of these, so this is now part of your tip, because anyone who makes coffee as good as you do obviously deserves a cindercorn travel mug.”
Quinn shrugged. “We have issues with coffee.”
“Insufficient travel mugs will never be a problem in our household.” As Bethany couldn’t take the coffee containment vessel while holding Avalanche, I eyed her apron, discovered it had big pouches, and put it inside. “There! Now you can drink your coffee in style.” I scooped up my ocelot, buried my face in her fur, and dove to the SUV, scrambling inside before I could make even more of a fool out of myself.
“She means thank you for the wonderful time, and she hopes you have a great rest of your day,” my husband translated.
I caught a glimpse of the woman smiling and handing something to Quinn. “You’re welcome, and thank you. Have a safe drive.”
Once I had the door safely closed, I took off Avalanche’s harness and eased her onto Blizzard, who slept on without a care in the world. Quinn got behind the wheel, started the engine, and snickered.
“I’m sorry. I made a mess of that.”
“Was that because you forgot your usual tip sneaking and you became embarrassed or you genuinely saw the extra travel mugs and wanted her to have one?”
“I hid forty dollars under our plates,” I confessed.
“I tipped her as though you were not going to be sneaking cash under the plates as you usually do, so she’ll have a pretty good afternoon once she checks her tips. I also tipped the other staff separately after asking how many people were working.”
“Oh, that was really nice of you.”
“The kitchen staff don’t get tipped often, and they did a great job on our lunch, so I decided to dip into my wife’s not-so-secret tip fund.”
Crap. “You found that?”
“Bailey, you have it listed in the budget as your tip fund.”
Double crap. “You actually read our budget?”
“It’s not much use if I don’t read it, my beautiful. Your ‘Convince Sam I Really Actually Love Him’ fund is rather adorable, and I will deny its existence if I’m questioned about it. That said, I don’t know what you have in mind for that fund, you sneaky woman, but I’m really looking forward to finding out.”
Triple crap on a cracker. “That’s the presents fund, and it’s not just presents for you, but I figured maybe bribery was a viable tactic.”
“I see I will have to continue corrective therapy sessions in the evening to convince you that you do not need to convince me.”
So tragic, being invited to yet another corrective therapy session. “I really am the reason I don’t get enough sleep. Goodbye, sleep. Did I really need sleep anyway?”
“I will take more care to monitor how much sleep you’re actually getting, but I will do so in such a way you do not feel you’re being punished while getting something you need, unless you want to go witness Tiffany brassault a bunch of cops in Atlantic City again?”
“After helping to raise quadruplets, will she even have enough energy to run away to Atlantic City?”
“Well, with that in mind, I’m thinking I’ll make sure Arthur has four daily spots at the daycare. Fortunately for us, they’re expanding, so we should be able to get spots. And if there aren’t spots, I’ll negotiate with the building owners to help them expand even more. It’s job growth.”
“Can I afford to take over the day care and expand it every time we have children so we don’t displace anyone else’s children?”
My husband frowned, put the SUV into gear, and began the drive to Kennebago. “Talk to me again after we’re home.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
“It’s more I would need to check your stock performance and think about it. Could you afford the yearly pay of staff, insurance, building maintenance, and supplies? I think so. But could we afford to pay out the owner and hire them to manage it? That I’m not sure of. I will say that the owner would love not having to worry about the operational costs.”
“Holding that thought until we get home.” I dug out my second lobster roll and went to work putting it into my stomach where it belonged.
“I see my cindercorn is really hungry.”
As talking would slow my digestion rate, I freed a hand and pointed at my flat stomach, blaming the twins for Quinn’s careful cultivation of my appetite and providing delicious sea bugs for my consumption.
“I’m not sure you’re far enough along in your pregnancy to increase your general ability to eat, but you know what? I’ll let you get away with it. I accept the blame for your current ravenous state.”
I bobbed my head and focused on my extended lunch, while debating the best ways to incinerate Morrison with my husband’s version of the flame game.
In order to convince my husband I could be a reasonable person when the situation demanded it, I made two documents. One, with a little effort and feedback from him, might provide information to the appropriate legal entities how best to charbroil Morrison in the eyes of the judge, the jury, and the people. The other boiled down to my wishlist of various crimes I could nail the bastard on.
Fact would drown my fantasies, but every single crime I could think of went on my second list, and some of them he might’ve even committed.
“Should I be concerned?” my husband asked.
“I love that you now ask me if you should be concerned rather than automatically worrying?”
“Forty minutes ago, after you inhaled your second lobster roll with alarming enthusiasm, it became suspiciously quiet in this vehicle. The pets are sleeping, and beyond the frantic typing of a woman on a mission to murder, it’s been silent. I can hear myself breathe. You’re not even giggling, and that level of intensity usually means you’re preparing to either light something on fire or tell me something that will, inevitably, alarm me.”
“Am I a giggler?”
“When you don’t think anyone is watching or you forget you’re with others, you absolutely are a giggler. I like it best when you giggle while you’re reading a book. I’d get a lot more reading done if I kept reading instead of admiring you while you’re lost in your book and giggling.”
I paused working to regard him with a thoughtful frown. “I giggle?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Well, yes. I have been rightfully accused of being a dour and depressive excuse of a human being.”
“That was before you had a good reason to be happy, Bailey. You’re happy now, and there’s no reason for you to hide when you’re happy. If other people want to be miserable, that’s on them. You hurt nobody by being happy, so be happy. When you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“Well, you are a gorgon-incubus doohickey, and may the heavens forbid if you were to become unhappy.”
“I suspect my wicked grandfather is behind all of this. Obviously, he made some form of arrangement for me to meet Audrey—”
“No.”
My husband chuckled. “No?”
“That’s on my wishlist of crimes Morrison has committed. He recruited Audrey to seduce and marry you specifically so he could collect dirt on you and defame you as a police chief. However, he did not anticipate your inflexibility in your ethics, resulting in Audrey being unable to gather the evidence or catch you in the act of cheating or whatever it is other police chiefs might use to discredit one another. As it is on my wishlist of crimes Morrison has committed, your grandfather cannot take credit for your decision to marry her.”
“Huh. Do you have a list of plausible crimes?”
“I do.”
“Move that wishlist item to your list of plausible crimes and motivations. Motive matters in cases like this, and if that motive is presented, the judge may request ad
ditional information from Morrison’s cops—and also demand angelic verification. The innocent cops will be critical in the proceedings, as his character is on trial as much as his actions are. It absolutely is a factor if the court determines Morrison was attempting to corrupt or discredit a fellow police chief. That’s a direct violation of our oath to our communities and those we serve and protect. That alone would lose him his job, as we’re supposed to be the highest ethical standard among uniformed officers. We need to have sufficient circumstantial evidence to warrant additional investigation into Audrey’s relationship to Morrison before my marriage to her. If we can prove a relationship, that becomes very good fuel for the flame game.”
Huh. I copy-pasted the entire section involving my guesses regarding Audrey and Morrison into the more realistic list. “Done.”
“As your first wishlist item is worth pursuing, give me your next wishlist item.”
“That his son is the product of rape from a woman he forcibly turned into a gorgon, stripping her of her rights as a human so she would not be able to press charges against him.”
“Move it to the other list. Both of those are crimes. Angelic verification should be requested on this one, so we need to confirm with her. We’ll have to lean fairly heavily on Saven for that, but he probably has an angel or two who owes him a favor and can verify everything before the official verification. Angels can’t lie, but that doesn’t prevent them from instructing humans on how best to manipulate the truth through omission and careful selection of words. Cases like this trip angelic triggers.”
No kidding. “Your grandfather is probably more pissed he has to be questioned as a witness than anything else, because it means he can’t play that game this time.”
“You’re probably right. Next item on your wishlist?”
“He’s rabid.”
“Bring that up for questioning, because an angel can verify if he was, at any point in the past, infected with the virus or treated for it. That’s something specific enough they might be able to search through the past without him being present.”
