by Amy Vansant
“You put cement in the holes of her bowling ball?”
“Gorilla Glue, to be exact. You only need a little bit and then it expands into this yellow foam that dries hard…”
Charlotte put her hand over her face and then looked at Declan.
“Do you see what I’m dealing with here?’
He chuckled. “I don’t know. It’s kind of nice when people who deserve a comeuppance get theirs. She’s like a prankster Robin Hood.”
“See?” Gloria pointed at Declan and then walked over to give him a hug. “This one gets me.”
“I can see I shouldn’t leave you two alone.”
Gloria released Declan and patted his chest. “That’s a hunk of man, there.”
Charlotte thought she saw Declan blush and to spare him further embarrassment she looked away and picked up her chalk. “Do you know the bowling lady’s name?”
“Loretta. Loretta Rutter. I remembered because I always liked Loretta Lynn and this woman is no Loretta Lynn.”
Charlotte wrote Loretta Rutter—bowler on her chalkboard.
“Okay!” said Gloria, clapping her hands together and trotting back into the kitchen. “Pork chop time. You two sit down.”
As soon as Gloria disappeared back into the kitchen, Declan turned to Charlotte and, pulling her into his arms, kissed her hard on the lips. Charlotte felt her body give into the kiss and hoped the muscular arms around her body would prevent her from melting into a puddle at his feet.
Just as quickly, he snatched away his lips with a smack and whispered in her ear, “Tag, you’re it,” before spinning her toward the kitchen table.
As she stumbled into the kitchen, mouth ajar, Gloria glared at her.
“What are you doing? Sit down!”
Charlotte, in turn, glared at Declan, who was already pulling out his chair and acting as though nothing had happened.
“You’re going to pay,” she hissed in his ear as they sat.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said, snapping out his napkin and placing it on his lap.
“Are you kids ready to eat?”
“I am!” he said, refusing to acknowledge his terror as Charlotte gave him her scariest squint.
Gloria delivered a plate of pork chops and a bowl of mashed yams to the table.
“Nothing green I’m afraid,” she said, sitting at the end of the table across from Charlotte.
“Here here,” said Declan. “It looks great. Thank you so much for making room for me, unannounced.”
“Oh, my pleasure,” said Gloria. “I’m a guest as well. Thank you Charlotte.”
“If you’re willing to cook, you can stay as long as you like. I’m afraid my ever-changing line-up of hobbies hasn’t hit cooking yet, probably because Mariska is always foisting food upon me.”
They passed around the dishes and dug in.
“Whoops, dropped my napkin,” said Charlotte a few bites into the meal. She leaned over and, with her head hidden from Gloria’s view, kissed Declan on his elbow.
He jumped and she sat up, napkin in hand.
“Here it is!” she said and then coughed the word “Tag.”
The corner of Declan’s mouth twisted and he nodded his head slowly.
“Okay. I see how you are,” he mumbled.
“So nothing new on my case?” asked Gloria.
“My lead turned out to be nothing,” said Charlotte, hoping that if she remained vague Gloria would assume the lead was for her case. She’d been so involved with Jackie’s imminent-death-by-gangster problem she hadn’t had time to hunt for her houseguest’s harasser.
Gloria stared at her.
Gloria.
The last thing she wanted to do was piss off Gloria.
Charlotte paused, the fork an inch from her lips.
She wouldn’t do something to the food because her case isn’t solved, would she?
She took a quick inventory.
Did I choose my own pork chop, or did she put it on my plate?
She studied the chop.
Is that an injection mark?
No…pepper.
She looked at Declan.
Does he look pale? I know we’re eating the same yams…
“How do you feel?” she asked him.
“How do I feel?” Declan knitted his brow. “Fine. Great. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Nothing. You…looked a little pale. It must have been the light.”
He shrugged. “You said you ran a license plate?”
“Frank did, yes. But it was a lady who knew nothing about the box.”
“What box?” asked Gloria.
Shoot. Cover blown.
“Different case.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“I can’t. Client privilege.”
Gloria’s expression soured.
“I mean I will,” Charlotte added. “I just can’t quite yet.”
Gloria nodded.
“Hey, what kind of bird is that Gloria?” asked Declan, standing and pointing past her face to the backyard.
“Where?”
Gloria twisted to see where he pointed. As she did, Declan leaned over and pecked Charlotte on the forehead, whispering ‘tag’ in her ear before standing and heading into the kitchen.
Charlotte had looked for the mystery bird as well and felt like an idiot for falling for the oldest trick in the book. On the upside, he’d walked across the kitchen without frothing from the mouth and collapsing, so it was probably safe to eat more yams.
“Anyone need more iced tea?” he asked.
“What bird?” asked Gloria.
“I guess it flew away,” said Declan returning with the pitcher. “It was sort of blue.”
“Blue jay?”
“Probably.”
After dinner, Charlotte waved Gloria away from the kitchen and began work on the dishes. Declan cleared the table while she fed the dishwasher and Gloria headed down the hallway to “put on her comfy clothes.” As soon as she disappeared around the corner, Charlotte caught Declan’s eye and crouched like a leopard, preparing to spring.
“Oh no you don’t!” said Declan taking two quick strides into the living room.
Charlotte jumped forward and tackled him as he neared the sofa, her face puckered in an exaggerated kissy-face. He turned and caught her, holding her body away from his as he flopped back onto the cushions, laughing.
“You’re it!” said Charlotte.
“There was no contact!”
“I brushed your nose! You felt it, don’t lie!”
He ceased resisting and she fell on him. “Fine, I give up.”
She felt his hand slide across her back as he leaned up for a kiss.
“This doesn’t count as a tag back, FYI,” she said, avoiding his lips for a moment longer.
“Nope. Scout’s honor.”
They kissed. She felt her body rise and fall as his breathing grew deeper and faster.
“You know what’s funny?” she asked in her sexiest whisper.
“What’s that?”
“You think if you’re super charming and cute tonight that somehow I’ll forget all that nonsense with Stephanie today.”
Declan opened his eyes wide and made an “O” with his mouth, before one side pinched into a smirk. “I never thought any such thing.”
“Right. You—”
Before she could finish her sentence, there was a knock on the door.
“Whew,” said Declan. “That was close.”
Charlotte stood. “Did you plan this?”
He shrugged and sat up. “I can’t tell you all my secrets.”
Charlotte answered the door to find Mariska’s husband, Bob, standing outside. In her driveway, Bob’s golf cart sat adorned with the official Neighborhood Watch flag, hanging limp in the breezeless night.
“Hi Bob, are you here on an official matter?”
“What’s that?”
She pointed. “The flag. It’s your turn for neighborhood watch?�
��
Bob scratched his head and nodded. “Yeah…Frank got hung up at work and I saw Declan’s car here, so I thought maybe he’d like to take a spin with me?”
Night watch duties circulated throughout the neighborhood, pairing two or three people each evening to patrol via golf cart. Frank and Bob usually shared duty and, more often than not, returned an hour later smelling of bourbon thanks to the flask they smuggled to the golf cart for the evening’s festivities. Neither Darla nor Mariska liked them drinking, so an evening away from the ladies made a great excuse for swig or two. Or four.
Bob always left for night watch as mild-mannered Bob, and returned as Lance, his snockered alter ego, a nickname he’d earned as a former Lance Corporal in the Marines. Lance was a hellcat.
Charlotte glanced at Declan. He was sitting on her sofa with no idea what awaited him.
“Declan, Bob has neighborhood night watch duty and he’s wondering if you’d like to join him. His usual partner, Frank, couldn’t make it and nobody wants to roam these dangerous streets alone.”
“Night watch?” Declan jumped to his feet looking like a child who’d just received a Red Ryder carbine action 200-range-shot model air rifle for Christmas. “Sure! Do I need to bring anything?”
“You have a gun?” asked Bob.
Declan’s expression clouded. “No…”
“Do you have any sort of martial arts training?”
“I took a kickboxing class for a while…”
“Do you have any bourbon on you?”
Declan’s mouth opened but words failed him.
“He’s just kidding,” said Charlotte.
“About everything except the last bit,” said Bob.
“You know I can’t give you bourbon. Mariska would kill me. And we both know you already have some stashed in the cart.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I should sue you for defamation of character.”
Declan pecked Charlotte on the cheek. “I’ll see you when I get back. Assuming I survive.”
Charlotte felt herself blush as Declan walked outside to join Bob.
He kissed me in front of Bob!
Declan was halfway to the golf cart when he turned and jogged back to the porch.
“Oh, by the way…”
Charlotte had been about to close the door and she cracked it open again. “Yes?”
“Tag. You’re it.”
“Ooh!” She shook a fist at him as he scampered back to the cart. “We’re going to talk when you get back!”
Declan waved.
“Hit the gas, hurry!” she heard him say.
Chapter Twenty
“I’m honored to accompany you on this terrifying mission,” said Declan.
“It is quite an honor, and it comes with its own rewards. Open that glove compartment.”
Declan opened it and pulled out a pint of Woodford Reserve bourbon. He held it up and admired it.
“Good stuff,” he said.
“Not really. I thought I’d be sharing it with Frank so I filled a good bottle with cheap stuff, but it’ll do.”
“I’m not picky.”
“Open it. Take a swig. Don’t tell Mariska.”
“What about Charlotte?”
“She doesn’t care. Sometimes she sneaks me and Frank drinks when the ladies aren’t lookin’.”
Declan took a nip and grimaced as the booze burned his throat.
“Smooth,” he said in a hoarse whisper, handing Bob the bottle. “I’ve heard about your infamous Bourbon Club. Is Charlotte an honorary member?”
“Nope! No two-legged, non-furry ladies allowed in the Bourbon Club.”
“Please tell me you mean the dog.”
“Huh? Oh, yep. Miss Izzy. But Charlotte never follows the rules anyway.” He took a hit from the bottle.
Declan smiled. “I think that’s what I like about her.”
Bob handed him the bourbon and winked. “Me too.”
They made two complete circles of the entire neighborhood and sped by Charlotte’s house to begin their third patrol. The required minimum was three rotations.
Bob held up the bottle to judge how much remained.
“Heck, we might want to do four go-rounds tonight.”
“For safety.”
“Absolutely. For the good of the neighborhood.”
“Here’s to safety.”
“Here’s to safety!” said Bob, taking another drink.
Declan took the bottle from Bob and was about to take a sip when he thought he saw orange sparks ahead of them. He squinted.
This stuff is stronger than I thought.
The lights resembled orange fairies circling an object he couldn’t quite identify in the dark. They hovered about four feet off the ground, bursting into existence and then disappearing just as quickly.
“Do you see those sparkles up ahead?” he asked.
“I was afraid to ask you the same thing.”
“What do you think—”
A deafening boom! cut Declan short. Where they had been watching the sparks fall, a ball of light expanded, blinding them. Something metal hit the front of the cart and Bob screeched to a stop.
“What the Sam Hill was that?” said Bob, holding his hands over his eyes.
“I think…” Declan looked over the side of the cart and found the metal object he’d heard strike the front of the golf cart. His vision still had a large round dark spot in the middle of it from the brightness of the blast, so he looked just right of the object to identify it. “It looks like…a mailbox?”
“Someone blew up a mailbox!” Bob reached under his seat and pulled out the longest flashlight Declan had ever seen. He turned it on and flashed the beam on the smoking wooden stump where a mailbox once sat. The post was split, half of it leaning at a thirty-degree angle to create a vee shape. He flashed the light on the house.
“That’s Gloria’s house.”
His light swept to the side of the house and Declan saw shadows jump into the brush behind the home.
“I see them!” he said half-jumping and half-stumbling out of the cart. He set off on foot to catch them. He felt like a superhero, out to save the day, stronger and faster than he ever remembered feeling, ready to tackle the vandals and hold them until the police arrived.
I will be the best night watch buddy ever.
He could hear rustling just beyond the tree line. He blinked, his vision still marred by the flash of the explosion. He could hear them. The perpetrators hadn’t gotten very far. He plunged through the bushes, slapping palm fronds from his face. Why should Charlotte and Seamus get to have all the fun while he sat in the pawnshop worrying about his fate at Stephanie’s hands? Why did they get to be cool detectives while he played shopkeeper?
He stumbled and narrowly avoided falling head first by catching his balance against a tree. A thought ping-ponged through his head.
I might be a little drunk. Maybe this isn’t the greatest idea—
The sound of a twig snapping dismissed all his anxieties. He was close. He could hear them just past the next bush. He could hear—
A loud squeal pierced his ears. The sound wasn’t human. He hadn’t touched anyone—why would they scream in such a horrible…
Someone is being eaten by an alligator!
He stopped and looked around him, trying to dodge the black hole in his vision.
Are there alligators in here? What am I doing in the woods at night?
Another squeal echoed, followed by a loud snorting noise and Declan pushed forward.
Wait. That’s familiar. Not an alligator…no…that sounds like…
Declan burst through the brush into a large field.
The field was…empty?
He heard breathing in the darkness. Short, hard pants.
The field was not empty.
He saw movement, low to the ground. Black on black.
The moon slipped from behind a cloud and illuminated the largest, most angry, b
lack pig Declan had ever seen. Maybe pig was the wrong word. It was much more. He wasn’t sure boar even did the demon justice.
The word tusks hissed in his brain.
Tusssssssksssss…
That wasn’t a word that came up very often.
The pig snorted as its eyes locked on him.
Oh no.
It charged.
If Declan had felt particularly athletic before, he knew the turn he made plunging back into the brush was the fastest he’d ever moved in his life. He flailed with his arms, swimming through the fronds and sticker bushes. Flesh tore from his body, leaving bloody dots and dashes on his skin like some grotesque Morse code.
He knew what the code said:
Don’t run after wild boars, idiot.
As he burst back into Gloria’s yard, he headed straight for the thin, marshy runoff pond next to her home. He could hear the beast hot on his trail and didn’t feel confident that he could outrun it anymore.
Please tell me boars don’t swim.
He plunged into the water and heard a grunt as the creature applied its cloven-hooved brakes behind him. A loud crack filled the air and he instinctively covered his ears.
Now what was exploding?
The pig reared up on its hind legs and spun before sprinting back into the brush.
Declan was still frozen when Bob walked into his field of vision and motioned for him to uncover his ears. He dropped his hands.
“What the heck were you thinkin’?”
Bob stood at the edge of the pond, a gun in his hands.
“You have a gun?”
“Of course I have a gun. I’m a retired Marine. It’s a dang law,” said Bob, slipping it back into his holster. “Not to mention, this is Florida. Heck, what can’t kill you around here.”
“That was a pig!” said Declan. “I didn’t expect to run into crazed, bloodthirsty pigs on patrol!”
“You’d rather an alligator?”
“Well, no I—” Declan looked down and realized he was up to his waist in a swamp. “I’ve got to get out of here!”
“That’s my point. Watch for the snakes.”
“What?”
Declan waded to the edge as quickly as he could and Bob offered him a hand. He climbed out and stood on the bank, soaked and out of breath.
“Did you shoot it?”