by Shaye Marlow
“You son of a bitch,” I growled, launching at him, fairly sure he’d knocked a couple teeth loose.
“Stop!” Dotty didn’t ‘say’ it, or ‘call’ it. She projected the word, lodged it between us as she hustled down the long slope of her lawn. “This,” she said, “is neutral territory. You cannot fight here.”
George and I glared at one another. I considered hitting him again.
“Much as I’d like to see you both get all sweaty, there will be no more fighting,” Dotty said, moving between us. “How about, instead, we go on in and have a nice cup of tea?” It wasn’t really a question. She’d grabbed us both by the elbow and began towing us uphill.
I glanced back to see Rory putting his back into shoving the boat into the water, while Frances stood staring at us, her expression strange.
Rory and Frances caught up just as Dotty guided us into the house. She settled George and me at the dining room table across from one another, and then bustled into the kitchen. Wondering if our hostess would notice if I kicked him, I glared at George.
George, though, was glaring at Frances. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I have no idea what you—”
“You could have died,” he said. “Just like your mother. When you hit the shore, I thought…” He shook his head.
Ohhhhh, that’s right. Boating accident. I turned almost as white as him, realizing what I’d done.
“What are you even doing here?” Rory asked.
If looks could kill… “I’m getting my mail. What are you doing here?”
“Here,” Dotty said, setting delicate cups painted with flowers in front of us. “Chamomile ought to calm your nerves.”
I wasn’t the only one giving his cup a queer look. I wouldn’t be touching mine, and though George wrapped one big mitt around his, I noticed he didn’t drink, either.
Dotty settled at the head of the table, took a sip of her own, and beamed. “There, now. That’s better. So, George, how’re things in your neck of the woods?”
“Fine,” he said.
“I heard you might be planning something,” she said.
His black eye zapped to her, but he remained cool. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
Dotty chortled. “You men and your little war games. Endlessly amusing.” She turned her head to look at me.
I pointed at George. “He electrocuted me.”
“I could see how that might be traumatic,” she said, then looked at George. “What did he do?”
“Trespassed five times. Assaulted my men, and my dogs. Kidnapped my daughter.”
Dotty nodded. “Yes. He is a bit of a rascal.”
My chair squeaked as I leaned forward. “He was going to skin me.”
“I told you not to come back. You didn’t listen.”
“I wasn’t even armed!”
George shrugged.
I was about to come across the table at him, when the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I glanced over at Dotty, where she sat, small and old and wrinkly, and somehow… she was the scariest thing I’d ever seen. It was something about the eyes. They were dark and still, like a shark’s. The air seemed to thrum, faster and faster, like a terrified rabbit’s heart.
I did the smart thing, for once in my life, and sat back down.
“Whew!” Dotty said cheerily. “For a moment there, I thought we were gonna have a problem.” She patted my hand. “Well, now that you two’ve got that all settled, why don’t you head on home, George? Harvey’ll have your mail for you on your way by.”
George was up and out of his chair before she finished speaking. He gave Dotty a sort of bow, and then he was gone.
“You haven’t touched your tea,” Dotty observed, turning to Rory.
“Uh. I’m not really in the mood for something hot. Do you have soda?” Rory asked. “In a can?”
“I’ll have one, too,” I said.
“It’ll be warm,” Dotty said. “I could put it in a glass, maybe with some ice—”
“No! No,” Rory said, controlling his tone. “Warm and straight from a can sounds divine. I’ll open it.”
“Tea is perfect,” Frances put in, taking a sip.
Dotty disappeared back into the kitchen.
Rory, in the chair next to me, had sweated dark rings into the pits of his shirt. His eyes kept shifting—not to mention his hands, which he settled and resettled.
I caught his eye, and tried to convey calm and confidence.
He sucked in a deep breath, his jaw firmed, and he nodded.
Frances eyed us, then took her tea over to inspect the plants sitting on the windowsill.
“Did you do something with your hair?” Rory asked Dotty as she emerged with two warm, sealed sodas. “It looks very nice today. Very… curly.”
Dotty didn’t even dignify his shitty flattery with an answer. She seated herself at the head of the table and steepled her fingers. “So,” she said, “what can I help you boys with?”
Rory took a deep, shuddery breath before turning fully to his wrinkly nemesis. “As you know,” he said, “our reputation on the river isn’t all that it could be.”
Dotty nodded.
“And as we know, you are one of the most influential forces in the neighborhood.”
Dotty’d puffed up a bit, her chin lifting. “Go on.”
Rory leaned forward. “We’d like to make a bargain with you. You bend your awesome powers of gossip to helping us redeem ourselves…”
“In return for?”
“We will forgive you for sexual acts committed against us,” Rory said.
Dotty burst into peals of laughter and Frances headed back to the table.
“And… whatever else you want,” Rory said. “We’re prepared to bargain. We were thinking we could remodel your cabin, or—”
“You don’t like my cabin?”
“Um.” There went Rory’s eyes, flickering all around as he realized he’d put his foot in it.
“Your cabin’s great,” I said. “Very comfortable. Really… well-insulated.”
Frances broke into a smile and leaned back in her chair, listening to us squirm.
“Uh-huh. What else do you offer?” Dotty asked.
“We could build you a shed,” Rory said, but Dotty was already shaking her head. “Or Zack could paint you something. Or… that bit of lawn overlooking the river would be the perfect spot for a catapult. An upgrade to your home defenses would be just the thing, amiright?”
Frances sniggered, drawing Rory’s gaze. “Do you need… crop-dusting?” he asked. “Or landscaping? Or body disposal, maybe? Frances is pretty handy with a shovel.”
“Hey,” said Frances.
“This isn’t her deal,” Dotty said. “You are the fuck-ups. You will satisfy me.”
“So you’re willing to bargain?”
“Might be. You haven’t offered the right thing yet.” She tapped her nails, glancing back and forth between us.
“Turrets?” Rory tried.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“What do I want? Now, there’s a good question.” Dotty sighed. “It gets awful monotonous up here. Same view day in, day out. Same routine. Up and breakfast, receive and sort the mail. The same people, picking up their packages. Same iced tea, same lunch. Same husband in the same bed…” She let her voice trail off as she stared at Rory.
Rory whimpered.
“It sure would be nice to have some company once in a while. Some young blood to liven the place up,” Dotty mused.
“Just… to talk?” Rory managed. “Zack would be happy to—”
“I don’t want Zack,” Dotty said. “I favor you.”
“You’d force me to have sex with you?” Rory demanded, his fear overcome by outrage.
“I’m just asking for your company.”
“Yeah, right.”
“And whatever happens, happens.”
“You’d find some way of slipping me something, and then—”
“No drugs involved, I swear it,” Dotty said.
“You’d find some other way to force me to—”
“Force you? How am I going to force a big, brawny lad like you?” Dotty asked, leaning back to emphasize the fact that she was half his size, if that.
Rory eyed her. “I don’t know. But I’m sure you’d find a way.”
Dotty grinned. “Flatterer.”
They stared at each other for several moments, locked in an impasse. In the silence, the clock ticked, and Frances’s toe dragged up the side of my shin.
“Your company,” Dotty said. “Just come visit me. No spiked tea, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, period. We could work on a puzzle, or we could discuss that book you dropped. Yeah, Sun Tzu knew some things, but I could give you my take on how to secure victory, if you like.”
Rory appeared to consider, even as it seemed he’d rather be doing anything else. “How often did you want me to visit?”
“Just once.”
“You only want my company, once, in exchange for your help?”
Dotty nodded, her eyes sparkling. “It just takes once.”
Rory blinked.
“And if Rory comes and does this,” I said, “you’ll…”
“I’ll sing your praises. Every chance I get, every neighbor that comes in for the mail, you’ll get more and more sweet and studly and responsible.”
“And?” Rory asked.
“That’s not enough?”
“This is my sexual fate we’re bargaining for,” Rory said.
Dotty considered.
“We want invites,” I put in. “To get-togethers, barbecues. You could put the bug in their ear.”
“I could do that.”
“And we want to know when people need help,” Rory added. “Stranded on the river, cabin on fire, bear in the yard. Whatever it is, we want to be the first to know.”
I nodded. “We want to be the first in, and we want to help.”
“Because the more we help,” Rory said, “the more people will like us, and then if we were to find ourselves in a situation like tied up on the front lawn of the bar, or in need of having a hot tub moved, or with a broken-down and holey fridge, our neighbors would be fighting to assist.”
“So this isn’t all from the goodness of your hearts,” Dotty observed.
“Of course not.”
Dotty shrugged. “Okay. I can pass maydays your way. I will be passing them to people I know are reliable, as well. So if I give you the heads-up, you better hurry.”
“Sounds fair,” I said.
“So,” Dotty said, looking at Rory. “Do we have a deal?”
I wasn’t sure when she’d taken over the negotiations. Maybe she could teach Rory a thing or two about warfare.
He glanced my way, and I silently communicated that it was up to him.
“All right,” Rory finally said. “If you can control your rapey tendencies, it’s a deal.” He spit in his hand and held it out.
Far from balking, Dotty hawked a loogie in her own, and gave him a firm shake. Then she broke into a wide smile, and I wondered if Rory’s life was flashing before his eyes.
Chapter Fifteen
FRANCES
Zack passed muster during his flight lesson that afternoon. He got us off the ground without trying to wrap us around a tree, we did some passable touch-and-goes on the runway behind Dotty’s, and overall he gave me less ’tude. I had hope for him yet.
Afterward, I went to work on his yard. I was thinking what the place really needed was some pretty accents around the cabin, but I’d used up all the potted plants next to the shop. That’s when my eye caught on the high-bush cranberries at the edge of the woods. They had an interesting leaf shape, pretty red berries, and developed some wonderful fall color. They’d be perfect.
Zack was in the shop with his brother and their expert, and remembering what he’d said about doing anything I wanted, I got to it. An hour later, I had five carefully selected cranberry bushes dug up and planted at visually pleasing points around the perimeter of the house.
I was admiring my handiwork when something thumped me on the back of the head. And I was turning to ream whoever’d hit me a new one—I was betting on Rory, that ass—when a chubby white cylinder fell out of the sky in front of me, trailing a long strand of toilet paper. I stared down at the roll a moment, trying to make sense of it, then tracked the strand upward. It had come from over the roof, was draped over the roof. Someone had TP’d the brothers’ cabin.
A couple more rolls of TP had unrolled themselves across the lawn. One was suspended in the chokecherry tree I’d pruned, while another had draped itself across my plane, where it was parked at the edge of the yard.
“Fire!” came a faint cry.
I peered around the corner of the building only to duck as a roll of toilet paper whizzed by. A series of muffled thumps rang out as the rolls peppered the cabin. They bounced off the shop like oversized hail.
Probably also hearing the thumps, Zack stuck his head out. “What the…” He took it in, from the white lines stretched across the grass, to those now hanging from the trees. “Ha, sweet,” he said, bending to scoop up a roll. He called over his shoulder, “Hey Rory, they flung two-ply!”
Rory shouldered his way past him and sprinted toward the line of catapults along the beach with their expert trailing after. “Hurry, men! We must return fire!”
“The fish?” Zack asked.
Rory grinned. “The fish.”
Seconds later, Zack joined him with a Home Depot bucket.
I wandered over as they cranked the catapult back, watched as they loaded it.
“Fire!” Rory cried.
Zack pulled the pin, and the bucket launched. I didn’t look across the river, didn’t want to see the results, but I could hear their cries.
“How long has this little war been going on?” I asked.
Conway jumped as if I’d dropped a spider on him, then began backing away with apparent horror. He mumbled some excuse, then ran for his little cabin.
Zack and Rory didn’t seem to notice or care that their friend had fled. Rory was cackling, and Zack shared his satisfied grin.
I jabbed Zack’s arm to get his attention before repeating the question.
“Two months,” Zack said.
“And how do you plan to win it?”
He frowned.
“Do you two just intend to keep flinging random stuff at them till the end of time? I think if they survived the poo, probably nothing you could possibly fling will make them pack up and leave. So… what’s your plan?”
Their faces were blank.
“You do want to win this, right? I don’t know about you, but I’ve had it about up to here,” I said, holding my hand up at forehead height, “with them flinging stuff. And if I were you, I’d be even more upset. They broke your window. They destroyed your TV. Hell, they coulda killed somebody with one of those watermelons. They could cause serious damage to my airplane.” I looked at each of them in turn. “So, what say you we drive them off?”
“What did you have in mind?” Rory asked.
I smiled. “Well, my technique won’t cause them to leave overnight. I’d say it’ll take a couple weeks at least.”
“Go on…”
“Do they ever leave their cabin?”
“Most evenings,” Zack said. “They go to the bar.”
“Great. We’ll start tonight.”
ZACK
“That skull cap looks really cute on you,” Rory said.
“Shh. Stay focused,” Frances said as we ground to a halt against the beach across the river. Spry as a cat, she sprang ashore, and Rory and I followed.
Rory faltered in the yard, eyeing the trebuchets.
“If you’re gonna mess with those,” Frances said, “make it something subtle, something that could be written off as coincidence, or a product of age or weather.”
I beat Frances to the front door and tried the k
nob. “Locked. I’ll go see if there’s an open window.”
“No need.” Frances knelt in front of the door and pulled a roll of dark cloth from her pocket. Opening it, she selected a couple slender pieces of metal, and then inserted them into the deadbolt.
I glanced over to where Rory was considering how best to sabotage their trebuchets, wondering if he was seeing this. He was. And that lifted brow said he thought it was surprising, but the twinkle in his eyes said it was also awesome.
I nodded, agreeing completely. I had an erection.
The mechanism tumbled, and Frances pushed the door open.
“Lead on,” I said, holding out an inviting hand. I wanted to see what she’d do next.
She tucked her tools away and stood. “We want to limit ourselves to small things, things that will make them question their memory, irritating things, things that’ll drive them slowly crazy,” she said as I followed her inside.
“I could hide a shoe.” I pointed to the pile next to the door.
“Or cut one of the laces, sure.” She watched me pick up a hiking boot, grip the lace, and pull. I grinned as her eyes went to my biceps, and then the lace snapped, and the show was over.
“Or, ya know, exert a little brute force,” Frances said.
“It’s what I do.” I dropped the shoe and pocketed the lace.
“Right. Ooo,” she said, her gaze flicking beyond me. “Take one key off that ring. Just one. Pick one that looks pretty frequently used, one with some wear to it.” She wandered into the living area. “Aha! Remote. Whatcha think? Break it or hide it?”
“Break it.”
She handed it to me. “Make it subtle.”
While I puzzled over that, she headed into the kitchen. “Spoons,” she murmured. “Just two for now.”
“Just two?”
“Yep. It’s the long con. Next time, I’ll take two more.”
“The long con?”
“Here,” she said. “Your pockets are bigger than mine.” Then she was across the kitchen, dumping the contents of their salt shaker into a bag of flour. She shook it up, put the messed-up flour back in the cabinet, and was moving on. “What else?” She opened the freezer. “Heeey, they have Cherry Garcia. Gimme one of those spoons.”