by Maribel Fox
“Ian?” I knock. “I’m coming in—”
“Just a minute—”
I open the door without giving him a chance to hide anything. In the middle of his bed is a pile of blankets, smooshed and arranged into a nest shape. And in the middle of the blanket nest is a tiny baby squirrel, not even old enough to have its eyes open.
“Ian—”
“Before you say anything, the lady told me it probably fell out and that it’s mom wouldn’t take care of it anymore. It was going to die if I didn’t bring it home!” His eyes are bloodshot, rimmed with red, his nose too. He sniffles and drags the back of his hand across his wet cheeks.
I move a little closer, and my heart sinks at the sight of the poor little creature. I can’t blame him for wanting to help, but he went about it all wrong. And honestly, it looks like the squirrel was probably dead before he brought it home. Great.
“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
He shrugs and sniffles again. “You’d say no.”
I slide my arm around him and pull him close. “I know you don’t always understand why I do the things I do, but I’m just trying to look out for you, bud. Wild animals are dangerous and can have all kinds of diseases. They can have fleas or ticks. We don’t want that spreading through the B&B and chasing off guests, do we?”
Ian thinks about that for a long time, swiping at tears as they continue to stream down his face. “No.”
“So why don’t we put him back outside where he belongs?”
Ian looks at me like I’ve gone nuts. “He’s dead.”
“Oh good, you know,” I sigh. “Okay, how about this? You come down and hang out in the bar and make him a nice casket and we’ll do a funeral tonight. Would that make you feel better?”
Ian thinks about that for a while too. He eventually nods.
“Let’s go, then,” I say, grabbing the blankets with the squirrel, depositing the whole bundle on top of the washing machine for now.
When we get back to the bar, Raj isn’t alone anymore. Micah is there, sitting at one of the tables, glaring at the menu. It’s a step up from him glaring at Raj, I guess. I’m not sure why they seem to have so much animosity when they don’t really know each other, but that’s another mystery I’m not getting myself involved with.
“Raj, could you give Ian one of those pint glass boxes? I think that’ll be the right size.”
Raj looks up at me from glaring at Micah — not all the animosity is gone — and tilts his head to the side. “Right size for what?”
Ian slumps on his barstool. “My squirrel died.”
Raj frowns. “You had a squirrel?”
“Just today,” says Ian.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Made up your mind?” I ask Micah brightly, leaving Raj and Ian to commiserate over the loss of his squirrel friend.
Micah makes a face.
“I can get you a drink?”
“I don’t drink,” he answers.
“We have virgin drinks you know,” I tease.
His eyes widen, and he looks mildly flustered; why I couldn’t say. He doesn’t normally react that badly to my teasing.
Oh yeah, that’s another thing. The weird, conflicting, maddening feelings I’m having with Seamus and Raj? Micah’s in that mix too.
Hearing the shower turn on from the other side of the house is torture, let me tell you. I’m always wondering which one of them it is, imagining them each in turn. Torture.
“You have what?” he asks.
“Virgin drinks — without alcohol you know? We can make a lot of cocktails without the liquor. And then there’s root beer on tap—” He looks confused. “That’s non-alcoholic,” I explain.
“I will have water, thank you,” he says, brow still furrowed.
“Any food?”
“This menu has instructed me to ask my server what the soup of the day is.”
“Chicken tortilla, you wanna cup?”
“No thank you. It also says to ask what the daily special is.”
“It’s Tuesday, so Fish ‘n’ Chips for ten-ninety-nine. Wanna try that?”
“No thank you,” he says.
I sigh, trying to keep my cool.
“I will have the hummus with vegetable sticks,” he says with a nod.
“You know if there’s a kind of soup you like, we take requests for the specials,” I say, mildly offended that my offerings are so offensive to him.
Micah shakes his head. “I do not enjoy soup.”
“Why’d you ask what the soup of the day was then?”
He looks as confused as I feel. “The menu instructed me to ask my server.”
“That’s just a… You know what, never mind. I’ll have your hummus and veggies right out with that water,” I say cheerfully, backing away from his table fast as I can.
Like I said — these guys are all capital-C crazy.
Raj’s eyes are sparkling when I get back to the bar, enough that I’m suspicious.
“How much of that did you hear?”
“All of it,” he says, his smile only barely containing laughter. “Can’t fault a man for respecting the rules. My life would be much easier if more people would do that.”
“Amen,” says Micah, giving away his eavesdropping.
“You know you could sit at the bar if you’re going to join our conversation anyway,” I call.
Micah’s hesitant. He always looks a little like he’s not sure he’s the one I’m talking to. Like he’s used to being left out of things. I don’t know what to make of that.
“Come on over here. I don’t wanna shout,” I say, waving him over. He’s still hesitant, but with enough cajoling he moves to the bar, a few seats down from Ian.
“I’m Ian,” my brother says, putting his marker down long enough to offer his tiny hand to Micah. Micah’s bemused by the interaction but shakes his hand anyway.
“Micah,” he answers.
“Ian’s chief rule-breaker number one around here,” I tease.
He makes a face. “Am not. Rue breaks way more rules than I do, you just don’t care when she does it.”
“That’s because I’m not in charge of Rue,” I say quickly. He’s already ready with the rebuttal though. “Fine, I’m not in charge of Rue the same way, happy?” I know his argument that being her boss makes me in charge of her was right on the tip of his tongue.
“Rules give life structure and order,” Micah says. “Without them, it would be chaos. My partner—” He stops, looking away for a moment. Seems like a sore spot. Raj notices too and picks up where Micah left off.
“Even if it may seem like a small rule you’re breaking, it can have big consequences,” Raj adds, looking at Micah with a newfound respect. Micah returns the look, both of them seeing something new in the other.
Who knew they were both freaks for following the rules?
“Seems like you two have this under control,” I say, slipping back into the kitchen, trying to shake off the feelings bubbling up inside me. The rush of electric anticipation that fires across my nerve-endings whenever one of these three guys is near. It’s even more intense, even harder to ignore when there’s more than one of them.
I’m cutting up celery and carrot sticks when the back door of the kitchen opens, making me nearly jump out of my damn skin.
“Rue?” I call, looking around the stove.
“’Fraid not,” Seamus says, making me jump again. Somehow, he’s right behind me, and he’s ducking, peering over my shoulder toward the bar.
“He’s in there, yeah?”
I nod and sigh. “Yeah. You gonna keep avoiding him forever?”
“Forever’s a long time, love.”
I don’t answer, focusing on the veggies.
“It’s complicated, it is,” he says, voice edging on a plea.
“I’m sure it is. But it’s also childish. And before you ask, no I’m not going to serve you back here. If you want to be in the bar, get out and come through
the front door.”
“You read me like a book. He’s got it out for me though.”
“I’m not getting involved, so don’t try to plead your case with me. You two can work it out between yourselves and whatever government agencies are hunting you down. But if you’re going to get carted off to jail or whatever, could you try to make it to Ian’s squirrel’s funeral tonight? It would mean a lot to him—don’t ask, it’s a long story.”
Seamus frowns, looking back toward the front of the bar.
“You’ll not be changing your mind then?”
“Nope.”
“Got to admire a gal with a backbone I s’pose.”
I grab the hummus platter and turn toward the front. “Bye Seamus.”
I hear him grumbling the whole way out, but the door closes behind him, so at least I know he left. I plaster on a big smile like nothing ever happened and head out to deliver Micah’s food.
“Here you are—”
“I’ll not be havin’ you keeping me from a drink, Angel!” Seamus bellows, pushing into the bar.
Micah looks up, curious, then to me. I shrug. “Did I attempt to prevent you?” he asks.
“Why do you call him Angel?” Ian asks as Seamus sidles up to the bar on the other side of him.
“That’s what he is, lad.”
Ian looks to me for confirmation and I just shake my head. Better not to bother.
“Does this look good, Ava?” Ian asks, a little while later, holding up his decorated box. It’s covered with hearts and stars and maybe tear drops? I’m not sure. Whatever.
“Perfect,” I answer with a big smile.
“What’s this?” asks Micah. He’s slowly made progress on his hummus and veggies, making faces at the food as he goes. No offense taken there. I get that stuff straight from the grocery store.
“Ian found a squirrel on the way home that he tried to help. Unfortunately, it didn’t make it, so we’re going to have a service for it,” I say.
Raj grins gleefully from the other side of the bar. “How does the Almighty feel about invoking his name to bless a squirrel’s soul?”
“You can come if you want,” Ian says. “Right Ava?”
“Yeah, of course. If you’re all set, we can do it now.”
There’s not really a protocol for hosting a squirrel funeral. Personally, I think we’ve gone above and beyond at this point. Especially since Ian manages to convince all three guys to attend. Micah keeps close to the house, hands in his pockets, but Seamus and Raj both give surprisingly moving eulogies considering the subject. I know they’re having fun with it, but Ian really appreciates them taking the whole thing seriously.
“And now, we drink!” Seamus cries, arm around Raj as they march toward the bar.
“What?” asks Ian, his face crumpled in confusion.
“That’s how we Irish honor our dead, lad.”
“And drown your sorrows, and celebrate your victories, and welcome in a Tuesday…” I tease.
“Oi, I’ll not be having you disparage my kinsman for my loutish behavior,” Seamus says, wagging a finger at me in a way that makes my grin grow bigger. Teasing him is too fun. Especially when he always volleys it back.
“I can’t drink, though,” Ian pouts as we make our way into the bar.
“Nor can I,” Micah assures him. “Perhaps an alternate toast?” he asks, looking at me.
“Does root beer work?” Ian asks, eyes big and hopeful up at Seamus.
“Aye, lad. That’ll do.”
“I can do that,” I say, slipping behind the bar to pour drinks.
By the time I’ve got drinks for everyone, Seamus has produced that weird sword from somewhere again, and he’s holding it poised like he’s ready to make a great proclamation.
“To Zippy. The finest squirrel we never knew,” he says, thrusting the sword in the air with one hand, his mug of beer in the other. He raises that too, clinking his glass with Raj’s, mine, Ian’s, then Micah’s.
As Micah’s drinking, his eyes go wide, surprised I think, and then he’s spluttering and coughing, barking about his drink.
“It’s boiling,” he gasps.
Raj is glaring at Seamus, who’s grinning innocently.
“Who doesn’t love a trick to lighten the mood, eh?” says Seamus, eyes twinkling.
I’m still not sure what just happened. For the second time, it seems like that sword of his has made someone’s drink heat up. How can that even happen? Magnets? Electricity? Electromagnets?
I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, even if I’m not smart enough to understand it.
The way that Micah reacted to it is stuck in my head though. He wasn’t just surprised. He was stunned. In disbelief. I’m sure of it, even if he tried to cover it up quickly.
I think Micah’s going to finally lose his temper here, and I’m bracing myself to break up a fight between the three of them — I have no doubts Raj will involve himself if it comes to it — when the door slams open. Sometime in the last week, those hinges stopped sticking, and now the door practically flies.
Every head in the bar turns toward the door and my stomach sinks at the sight.
Great. Just what I need. Another impossibly gorgeous guy walking into my mess of a life.
8
Kush
Calm as can be.
Lame.
Right about now, I bet there’s killer swells down in Cali. But I’m not in Cali. I’m in Oregon of all places; it’s not normally the place you’d find me, but my old buddy Seamus called me up, told me he’s onto a mondo treasure and needs my help.
I left behind the gnarliest waves to hit the southern California coast in seven years, and the water here is almost mirror-smooth, the shape of the bay keeping the waves to a minimum. It’s probably fine for swimming, not very exciting.
There will always be another big storm bringing dope waves, though. Sunken treasures come around a lot less frequently than seven years. Looking out over the bay, I’m not really seeing where a boat would be sunk. Lupine Bay’s pretty shallow overall. I need to get to higher ground to be sure, but the coast doesn’t seem to have much of a sandbar.
Seamus has found stranger things in the past. That little trick of his, his knack for finding treasure, it uncovers the damnedest things. And once we’ve got this treasure, whatever it is, maybe I can convince him to come back to Cali with me. It’s been way too long since we’ve been surfing together. ‘Course, you can’t drink on most public beaches in California these days. Maybe we’ll have to see what the swells are like down in Baja. Wreak some havoc in Tijuana for old time’s sake.
It’s weird he’s calling me now outta the blue, but Seamus is a weird guy. And sitting out here on the rocky shore isn’t going to reveal anything to me. I take in a deep breath, sweet ocean air, thick with the brine of washed up seaweed.
Nothing better.
Can’t stay out here forever. Seamus told me to meet him at this bar up the hill. I tried to nail down a more specific time or day, but he assured me that whenever I could get here, he’d be at The Shamrock, at Brigid’s B&B.
Like I said, weird guy.
Seamus is all right though. He’s saved my ass more times than I can count.
I like to think I’ve done the same for him, at least when it really matters, but he’s damned good at getting himself out of trouble. Who knows if he really even needed my help.
He’s someone I can always count on for a good time. Not sure how much I’d count on him for much else. I’ve got faith he’s good for splitting the treasure with me when it comes to that, so that counts for something I guess.
The house on the hill is quaint, charming even. It’s close enough to the water that I can hear gulls crying and calling to one another. It’s all very… mundane. I’d wonder why Seamus is at a place like this, but I Googled it — it’s the only thing around. No wonder no one else has found this treasure.
I just hope it’s a good one. Not another beloved famil
y heirloom that’s completely worthless. His magic has a pretty loose definition of ‘treasure.’ Find enough of people’s trash when you’re hoping to score big, and it’s enough to turn anyone off from his schemes with unknown outcomes. But it’s been a while since I’ve hung out with Seamus, so it’ll be worth the visit regardless.
Walking in through the front door of the B&B, there’s a desk for checking in I assume, but it’s unmanned. I don’t need it to be staffed, though. There’s a rough wooden sign hanging from the wall with an arrow that says ‘BAR’ in curly letters. The arrow points down a hallway plastered in Victorian wallpaper, and then there’s another hand-carved wooden sign that says ‘The Shamrock’ sticking out in front of a set of curtained French doors.
The curtains cover enough of the view that I can’t see in, but this has got to be the place. I test the knob — it’s not locked, so I’m guessing the bar’s open, they could really use a neon sign or something — and then push, the door practically flying out of my hand on its own.
“—Dare you tamper with my drink!” I hear as I stumble in. And then it’s all quiet.
I look up and it’s more than Seamus here — though he is here, I’ll give the boozy bastard that. It’s Seamus, another old friend of mine Raj — next to some smoking-hot blonde chick that’s looking equal parts confused, amused, and even a little tense — and…
Fuck.
Micah is the last person I expected to see in this bar.
In any bar for that matter.
He was the one shouting when I walked in, and now his anger shifts away from Seamus, morphing into stunned silence.
If I’d ever been half the auditor Micah is, I’d probably have had the sense to walk into this place quietly, to take stock of things before making my presence known. If I’d walked in quietly, I could’ve backed out just as quiet, no one the wiser.
Of course, I’ve been disgraced from the ERS for over sixty years, and it’s not really in my practice to put my guard up around friends.
Clearly that’s a policy that could use a look-over. Might need to brush up on old agency skills if people are going to start blindsiding me like this.