Hiss and Make Up

by Leigh Landry

  “So…Marc, is it?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Why not?”

  Sierra shrugged and set her empty plate on the table. After the last sip from her mug mimosa, she said, “It just isn’t.”

  He finished his own drink and stared at his daughter. “You can’t blame your mom for everything, you know.”

  “I’m not blaming her for anything,” Sierra said. “She doesn’t get that kind of credit.”

  “Fine, then you’re using her as an excuse to not take a chance.”

  “No, I’m just not hurting myself a second time.”

  He set his own plate in the sink. “Maybe no one gets hurt this time.”

  How many second and third and tenth chances had he given her mom? Where did that get him?

  “My choice.” She put her plate in the sink and kissed him on the cheek. “I have to cut this short today.”

  “Marc?” His voice lifted with the question.

  “Mystery-solving.”

  He smiled and hugged her goodbye. “Safe mystery-solving, I hope.”

  She shook her head and walked to the front door.

  “Well, good luck, at least. With your mystery.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  He stood on the porch while she walked through the plant maze to her car. “And with Marc!”

  Marc walked out of the bathroom to find Freddy crouched in the doorway, the sliding glass door wide open and the dog licking his face.

  “Gross, man. Don’t let that thing in here. It could have fleas.” Marc scratched his arm thinking about his house infested. “Or rabies.”

  “Aw, look at this face. Does this look like a rabid face to you?” Freddy cupped the dog’s face in his hand. He scratched the dog on the ear, then slid the door shut. “You’re probably right about the fleas, but I’d sure as hell be suckered in by that face.”

  “Yup, we know your track record with cute faces.”

  Freddy laughed and grabbed a beer from the fridge. After Marc had asked him to bring a bag of dog food and gave him the cheat-sheet version of the fire and car situation, Freddy had also grabbed Chinese food and a six-pack. Forget about that shoulder to cry on or whatever else the song says. Real friends bring food and booze. That’s what friends are for.

  “Hey man, you’re the one that fell for the cute face this time and ended up with a flea-infested stray.”

  “What can I say? It was a really cute face.” Marc took the beer Freddy handed him and popped the cap with his key chain bottle opener. “Sierra, I mean. Not the dog.”

  “You still never explained how that happened. I mean, I can’t believe any face was cute enough for you to end up with a dog. Me, yeah. But not you. I thought you hated dogs.”

  “I don’t hate dogs,” Marc said. “I hate being responsible for dogs.”

  “So then why is that dog here? More importantly,” Freddy added, “why so much time with this woman when I’ve never seen you spend more than two hours with any woman you aren’t related to?”

  He’d explained about the fire, the car, the email, the snakes, and working with Sierra. But he’d left out a few important bits. Most notably, the part with the workshop. “Nostalgia?”

  “We both know it had to be more than that.” Freddy took a sip of beer and studied Marc’s face. “Plus, you can’t lie for crap.”

  “That should be a good thing.”

  “It is. Just not for you if you’re gonna try to lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying. Not really.” He looked down at his phone. “But I’ve gotta call the cute face first.”

  She’d texted while he was on the phone with Freddy, so he’d only sent a quick reply. He’d wanted to call her right after he hung up, but his brain wasn’t quite up to speed after getting no sleep and a head full of smoke the night before. So he’d forgotten and had fallen asleep on the couch for a couple hours. When he woke, he knew there was something he was supposed to do, but he couldn’t remember, not even in the shower.

  As he pulled up her number, his phone rang again. He stared at the name for a second.

  This couldn’t be good.

  “Hello?”

  “Marc. It’s Adrien. Adrien Guidry.” The voice was tight and edged with angst.

  “Hey man, thanks for giving Chloe that info yesterday about tracking that IP address. I appreciate it.”

  “You think I’d have helped her if she’d told me it was for you?”

  No, of course not. Marc should have known better. It was no secret that Adrien couldn’t stand him. Any time Marc put in a request for tech support, Adrien intentionally kept him at the bottom of the list. It didn’t make much of a difference to Marc. He’d use his personal laptop until Adrien got around to fixing the problem. Adrien knew that, but it was his way of reminding Marc that he couldn’t stand him.

  “I didn’t ask what it was for until after I’d told her,” Adrien said. “Besides, Chloe can be persuasive when she wants something.”

  “She’s persistent. I’ll give your sister that.”

  “Oh, yeah? Just how persistent is she, Marc?”

  Crap. His head was pounding, his lungs were tight like a grizzly bear was sitting on his chest, and he still hadn’t heard Sierra’s voice that morning. He didn’t need to get into a pissing contest with Adrien over the guy’s sister.

  Marc closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Adrien had hated Marc since high school. It had nothing to do with Chloe. Just a personality clash. But Chloe’s obvious infatuation with Marc only fueled the existing friction between them.

  “I haven’t touched your sister, Adrien. I swear.”

  “Yeah, well, dragging her along like you do is almost worse.”

  “I’m not dragging anyone along.”

  “Why don’t you do us all a favor and leave her alone?”

  “What do you want me to do? Be rude to her when she says hello?” Marc paused. “Listen, she’s great, but I’ve got no interest in starting any kind of work thing. Maybe you should talk to her.”

  Adrien snorted. “Like I haven’t tried that. She doesn’t listen to me. She’s gonna keep after you until you break her heart.”

  “I’m not breaking anyone’s heart.” Except my own. His mind ran back to the night before. “I’m not going to encourage her, but I’m not going to be rude to her either. She’s a grown-up. She’s gonna make her own choices, and you and I are both gonna have to work around that.”

  Adrien was silent. Marc imagined his nostrils flaring or flames shooting from his ears. Eventually, Adrien said, “Just stay away from her.”

  With that, the call went dead, and Marc stared at his phone wondering what the hell had happened. He had enough to deal with without adding Adrien to the list. Marc rubbed his forehead and sipped his beer.

  Freddy sat on the other end of the couch and tapped his foot on the coffee table. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “Chloe’s brother. The woman from work. The one who gave me the info on how to track that email,” Marc said. “He’s less than enthusiastic about my interactions with his sister.”

  “I got that.” Freddy raised an eyebrow. “Could that be your guy?”

  “Adrien?”

  Just stay away from her.

  Well, there was an implied threat there. And Adrien sure as hell didn’t like him. And maybe he might threaten Denise in some sister-to-sister revenge against Marc. But was he violent? Would he burn down a house?

  “No, Adrien would come straight for me instead. Like he just did.” But Adrien’s call reminded Marc of something he needed to finish.

  He moved to the kitchen table, where he’d spread out the papers Chloe had given him. He picked at what was left of his beef lo mein and looked at the instructions written in Chloe’s neat, looped handwriting.

  He had highlighted the IP address in the email header, so now he needed to go to a couple of websites and plug in that information. Easy enough.

  Except he was distracted. Not by th
e dog or Freddy or even Adrien.

  When Denise had called to check in, Marc had asked if she’d talked to Josh yet. She’d been in touch with him, but she wouldn’t talk about it with Marc.

  Fine. He could respect that. Josh was at the mercy of his job. Wherever he was at the moment. But if it was Marc’s house and family, no job would keep him from getting back to them to make sure they were safe and to take care of things.

  Josh wasn’t coming home.

  So why not? Was he involved in something he shouldn’t be involved with? Did he owe money to someone? Did he piss someone off?

  It sounded ridiculous in Marc’s head, but so did the events of the last couple of days. And this nagging suspicion of Josh would bug him until he looked into it.

  At least he had the perfect opportunity with Denise out of town and no one at her house. The back half of the house was a wreck, but Denise kept their records and files in a closet in the living room. There was smoke and water damage throughout, but maybe he could find some usable documents in a file cabinet or safe box. Credit reports, bank statements, tax documents, whatever he could get.

  He finished his beer and placed the empty bottle on the counter. That IP address could wait another few minutes.

  “Where you going?” Freddy asked.

  Marc grabbed his keys and nodded his head at the door. “Want to help me do some digging?”

  “Sure.” Freddy jumped from the couch and downed the last of his own beer. “But wait, what about that cute face you were supposed to call? And tell me more about?”

  He’d forgotten again.

  Marc made a quick call to Sierra. He didn't get an answer, even though she’d said she wasn’t working today. He shot off another quick text.

  You still ok?

  Then, he put the phone in his back pocket, and he and Freddy headed across the field together.

  Sierra slid her back against the refrigerator and sank to the floor. After she’d crept in through a broken window in the burnt half of the house, she’d planned to hide in one of the kids’ rooms. The smoky air had overwhelmed her halfway down the hall, so she’d been forced to come up with a new strategy.

  Waiting in the kitchen seemed like a better option anyway. From here, she could see out the front window if someone drove up. She hadn’t parked out front since she needed the house to look abandoned. Parking at Marc’s had been out of the question since Marc would definitely try to talk her out of this. Plus, there was a truck she didn’t recognize out front, and she wasn’t exactly in a meet-new-people kind of mood.

  So she hid her car on the other side of the property, behind the big shed where she’d looked at the snake on Friday. The only thing she’d brought in the house with her was her cell phone, which was on silent. She’d ignored Marc’s call a minute before, and only sent back a one-word response to his text. Fine.

  She couldn’t get into any of this with him right now, but if she ignored him too long, who knew what he’d do. Ride in on his white horse looking all over two parishes to rescue her from herself, no doubt.

  She tapped her fingers on the tile floor and practiced again to see how quickly she could access her camera. If someone did show up at the house, at least she would know who they were up against. She could sneak a photo of them and give it to Marc to see if he knew the creep. Or creepess. Or hideous monster. Whatever showed up, she’d get evidence and that reward.

  Sure, her plan had flaws. For one, she had no idea how long it would take for someone to show up at the house. It could take hours. It could take days. She doubted it would take weeks. Whoever did this seemed to be in a hurry. With two snake attacks in two days, followed by a full-blown barn-burner later that second day, she doubted she’d have to wait long for someone to land in her trap.

  Bored and anxious, Sierra dug through the nearby cabinets and drawers, examining Denise’s life like an archaeological dig.

  Bottom line: way too many sippy cups and way too little liquor.

  A muffled voice outside carried into the kitchen. Sierra peeked over the island countertop to look out the window on the opposite wall, but no one was out there. No cars in the driveway either. Duh. She didn’t even burn the house down and she’d had the sense to not park in the driveway. The arsonist would have the same idea.

  Someone fumbled with a key in the front door lock. She slid between the center island and the stove with her knees pulled against her, then she reached into the nearest cabinet for a weapon. Maybe she could do more than take a photo.

  She fought with the child lock then grabbed the first thing she found inside—a small, stainless steel saucepan.

  The front door opened and closed behind the intruder. Her muscles tensed as two voices and two sets of footsteps entered the living room.

  Two. Crap.

  The voices dropped to a muffled whisper, then one set of footsteps trailed off down the hall. No matter how hard she strained, she couldn’t hear the second.

  Trapped in the kitchen with no idea where this guy might be in the house, she abandoned her plan to sneak a picture. Liz and her dad were right. She wasn’t Nancy Drew. With her luck, she’d set off the useless flash on her phone or blast a horrible sound or find some other idiotic way to get herself discovered.

  She’d have to stay hidden until these creeps left. Hopefully, she could catch a glimpse of them or follow them to grab a photo of a license plate and call the police later.

  One of the intruders stepped onto the tile and stopped at the edge of the kitchen. With both hands gripping the saucepan handle, Sierra remained hidden, hoping the creep would decide he didn’t want anything in the kitchen.

  No such luck.

  The footsteps moved closer to the island, stopping directly across from where Sierra sat hidden on the floor.

  She held her breath and tightened her grip on the tiny saucepan. When the intruder reached her side of the island, she jumped to her feet and swung with every ounce of strength she had, connecting with the side of a man’s head. With a thunk and the pang of the metal saucepan, the man collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  All she could see from her side of the massive island countertop was his jeans and feet, which weren’t moving. Sierra exhaled and relaxed, keeping her little pot ready in one hand while she dug in her pocket for the phone.

  “What was that?”

  She’d forgotten about the second guy.

  She pressed the camera icon to snap a photo of this guy, but something caught her eye.

  His shoes. The only thing she could see around the corner. Gray shoes with green stripes.

  “Oh, no.”

  She nudged his leg with her toe. Please be alive, please be alive. He didn’t move.

  “What the hell?”

  The second guy stood in the kitchen entrance, and she held up her saucepan with both hands. The guy took one look at her and furrowed his brow.

  “You must be Sierra.”

  She blinked hard at the guy, still holding her saucepan at shoulder-level. He was about her height and kind of scrappy, but she was pretty sure she could take him out if she had to.

  “How do you know my name?”

  He held his hands up to show her he wasn’t a threat and pointed at her head. “Cute face.”

  14

  When Marc’s eyes opened, Sierra took her first breath since recognizing those shoes. He was alive. She hadn’t killed him.

  Freddy squatted and put a hand on Marc’s chest. “Stay there, man. Let’s make sure you’re all right first.” Freddy held up a finger and made Marc track it with his eyes.

  Sierra let out another breath of relief, while Freddy helped him sit up and rest his back against the island.

  “What the hell happened?” Marc squeezed his eyes shut, confused and in pain from the look of that lump near his right temple. “What’s she doing here? Did you call her?”

  Freddy shook his head and looked at Sierra.

  “You probably have a concussion,” she said. “We need to get you to
the hospital.”

  His hand went up to touch the side of his head. He looked around the room and caught sight of the saucepan on the floor nearby. “You hit me!”

  Sierra winced and took a closer look at his head. “That looks really bad. Does Denise have Band-Aids?”

  He pulled his head away, while Freddy chuckled. Marc grimaced and shut his eyes against the pain of movement. “Are you serious? We’re way past Band-Aids. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Sierra held up the saucepan. “I thought you were our psycho.”

  He grabbed a nearby barstool for leverage. Freddy put a hand under Marc’s arm to help him to his feet. He wobbled a little, and Freddy insisted he sit on the stool.

  “I only see one psycho here, and it isn’t me.”

  Ouch. That stung. But she had to admit, her plan had gone tragically wrong.

  But how could she have seen that coming? What were they doing there anyway?

  Marc grabbed the pot from Sierra’s hand and flipped it over, examining it. “I guess I should be grateful you didn’t grab the cast iron.”

  Freddy took it from him and placed it on the counter, out of both their reaches. “Let’s take this away, shall we?”

  Sierra frowned at him. “I still don’t know who you are.”

  “This is Freddy Alvarez,” Marc said. “He brought me dog food, for the mutt you somehow left behind last night. That means he’s supposed to be here. Want to tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”

  “Helping?”

  He laughed, although it was clear he didn’t find the situation funny. It was a pained, desperate laugh. A waving-the-white-flag laugh. “Could have fooled me.”

  She poked two fingers into his shoulder. “Hey, it was a solid plan. At least until you two showed up. Freddy should take you to the hospital before you scare the actual arsonist and ruin my trap.”

  Marc’s eyes widened in disbelief. He glanced at Freddy, who hung his head and stifled another laugh.

  “Don’t look at me, man,” Freddy said. “She’s your cute face.”

  Sierra looked back and forth between them. His cute face? Marc had obviously told him about her, but she assumed he’d told his buddy about the colossal mistake he’d made with her. Or how to get rid of her. Freddy kind of looked like the type of guy who’d carry his own travel container of baby oil to slick himself up and keep anyone from getting a good grip on him.