“Both are good decisions.” Glancing over my shoulder, his eyes narrowed. “Talon.”
“Zach,” Talon said, coming up behind me.
He stood so close I could feel him at my back.
“You’re here. We’re here.” Talon brushed a tender hand down my arm. “Any problem?”
There it was again, in his eyes: displeasure.
“Thank you for dinner, Talon.” I wanted to give him an easy exit, but he stayed where he was, warm against me, and a possessive hand to my wrist, where he pushed a credit card into my hand.
“To thank me for dinner, you first must let me pay.” He brushed his lips against mine. “Take heart, lass, as learning which bridge to cross and which to burn is what makes life interesting. I’ll be in touch.”
But as he moved to leave, Zach stopped him with a hand to his arm. And when I saw the worry and warning in Zach’s eyes, I covered his hand with mine. “I don’t need protection. I’m a grown woman.”
After a brief war of emotion in his eyes, Zach dropped his hand. Talon said nothing and left, leaving us alone on the sidewalk.
“You know he’s probably not the forever kind of guy,” Zach said.
I watched Talon drive away. “Maybe,” I said, wondering. “But I’ll drive him crazy long before that.”
He smiled, and the smiled bubbled into a laugh. “God help him.”
I looked up, saw hope on his face, and smiled, too. “I’m going to miss you.”
He dragged his late father’s crucifix over his head. “For when I’m not here to keep you safe,” he said, handing me the cross.
The worry on his face was so him, so Zach, so I took it, closing my hand around it. “You’re going to be a great priest,” I said.
He only nodded.
“Over there, look.”
“Where?”
“GPS says it’s the house on the corner.” I pointed out the driver’s side window as Solo pulled the Pinto to the curb across the street. “Maybe we should park one house up so we can watch without being spotted.”
“Roger that,” he said, nodding.
Fifteen minutes earlier, Zach had driven me back to FoY—with the promise of meeting up later—and then Solo and I rushed off in the Pinto to the address listed on the Poison Ink receipt. I caught Solo up to speed while we drove.
He switched off the ignition. “Just think about it for a minute. Father Zach O’Neil. Crazy, mawn,” he said. “And how are you about it? Cool?”
I knew, somehow, it was for the best. “I’m not a martyr but God help me I’d have found a way to accept him and Mackenzie,” I said. “What matters is Zach learns to forgive himself for killing that man at the robbery. If being a priest gives him that, I’m behind him.”
“Isn’t that what friends do?”
“Precisely.”
Solo shot a glance over his shoulder, out the rear window to the corner house. “So why do we think Leland will be coming here?”
I checked my watch. “The receipt from Queenie was written in gold ink, but seven fifteen—five minutes from now—was scribbled in black. And it looked like Leland’s handwriting.”
“Makes sense he’d want to get rid of the tattoo before tonight’s party,” he said. “Especially with Otto dead and his plan spoiled. Queenie must work out of her house.”
I nodded. “It was a leap, but one I need to make to find Leland before Lipschitz or Talon. That’s some tall fence.”
“It’s scary, walled off like that. Looks like a fortress. Nice flowers near the garage, though. Foxgloves?” He grinned, and nodded several times toward the backseat where the foxgloves Talon had given me were. “Dinner good?”
“Very nice.”
“And the company?”
I sighed. “Dangerously tempting.”
“It’s funny to think how much has changed in one day,” he said seriously despite the smile. “And we’ve still hours to go. What do you think the night will hold?”
I hesitated, and when tamer words to describe the shamefully intimate image of Talon and me in my head didn’t come, I shrugged. “The name of Otto’s murderer would be nice.”
“I really liked Operation: Gilad Kupper.”
“Yeah.” I laughed half-heartedly. “Now all we have is Operation: No Name.”
“Something will turn up,” he said. “The blessings of the mandala won’t let us down.”
“Hope so.”
“First we tell Leland to turn himself in,” he said in a slow, matter-of-fact way. “Then we regroup our investigation.”
“Roger that, mawn,” I said in a silly imitation of him as I looked around.
The eastside of Bellevue was a gridlock of homes more modest—much more modest—than Westside homes. The houses were unassuming, wood-sided ramblers. The yards were simple, and the views of Lake Sammamish and the Cascades Mountains mostly peak-a-boo.
Solo rolled down the window. “There’s that smell again.”
I took a whiff. “Gives me chills to think it’s dog soup. Which house is it coming from?”
He shrugged. “Crossroads Animal Shelter backs up to this street.”
“Didn’t Mr. Singh say Happy Hye lived in this neighborhood?”
“On the corner of Northeast 8th,” he said.
I looked through the back window to the nearby cross street. “That’s Northeast 8th,” I said.
“Yeah, but it has lots of cross streets. Chances are Happy Hye lives on one of those,” he said. “I wish Curtis Hobbs would call. I’m dying to know what he has on Lipschitz.”
Bothered by how easily I had stopped thinking about that mystery, I dialed the number of a mutual friend, but got no answer. But after a call to another friend, I had Curtis’s number.
“If the mountain will not come to Mohammed, Mohammed will go to the mountain,” I said as I dialed.
Anticipation was spinning toward annoyance as it kept ringing and ringing, only to finally switch to voicemail. I left a polite but brief message to call me.
When an SUV just like Queenie owned pulled into the driveway of the house on the corner, I gazed out the back window, while Solo watched via the side mirror. Queenie climbed from behind the wheel, and Leland—looking spiffy in black trousers and a silky shirt—jumped down from the passenger seat. Together they strode through a side gate and appeared to enter the house by way of a side door just beyond.
“Your hunch paid off,” Solo said.
“Pure dumb luck.” I grabbed the door handle. “Let’s go.”
I had a foot to the curb when Queenie’s garage door rolled up and an ancient Asian woman with a wrinkled face strode to the mailbox. She carried a pitchfork.
“Uh-oh,” I said, sighing. “More dumb luck.”
“Are you kidding me? That can’t be Happy Hye’s mother.”
I did a quick white pages search on my phone. “It’s her,” I said, wondering at the connection to Queenie.
“It’s settled, then,” Solo said. “We’ll wait here until Leland’s done. Then talk to him.”
“Good plan.” I eyed the woman’s pitchfork as she dug up some herbs—cilantro, maybe—and trudged back toward the house.
A miniature dachshund bolted past her from the garage, but with only three legs, it went splat. She scooped it up with a hawk-like swoop, and when it struggled and barked, she silenced it with a hand clamped over its tiny snout. She entered the garage, only to leave seconds later with something fisted in one hand—not the dog—and the pitchfork in the other, before she disappeared through the tall gate to the front yard.
“Poor little doggie,” Solo said.
“It matches the description of the dog Leland said Happy Hye was kicking.”
“What should we do?” he asked.
I didn’t think long. “Rescue it.”
We climbed from the Pinto, crept down the sidewalk, and crouched behind Queenie’s Explorer. I figured no one inside could see us, not with the windows barely visible due to the high fence around the entire house
that left only the garage accessible from the street.
As we neared the garage, the smell of soup intensified. In the corner, a steaming kettle on a self-standing camp stove simmered over a low flame. We looked around for the dog but saw only half-empty garage-type storage shelves, well-used yard equipment, a refrigerator, a box of Fourth of July firecrackers, and the cilantro discarded on a wooden chopping block.
When a huge bang sounded from the vicinity of the front yard, I started. Some high-pitched wicked witch crackling followed the explosion.
“Artillery shells,” Solo whispered, pointing to the box of fireworks. “Sounds like the old woman is setting them off in the front yard.”
The door from garage to house inched open, and we froze, watching a fine-boned milky chocolate hand snake around to press a button along the doorjamb. The garage door sprang into action, rolling down and shutting us inside. The hand disappeared, but left the door ajar.
“Sorry about that,” said Queenie’s voice. “Looks like Ma Hye is back at it again.”
“What’s she doing?” Leland asked.
“Blowing up moles and shit. Just be happy I closed the garage door. Now let me have a look at that hand. I’ll have that tattoo gone soon enough.”
Solo stepped forward, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him into an open space near the slightly open door. “Why?” he mouthed.
“Shush,” I whispered with a finger to my lips.
Moments later, there came the sound of dragging chairs and Queenie and Leland taking a seat somewhere inside. Although Solo and I were now crouched between two storage shelves, their voices rang out loud and clear.
“Thanks for fitting me in. You’re a lifesaver,” Leland said.
“Hate to rain on your parade, bay-bay, but I ain’t my mama. I’m charging you extra for working a Sunday,” she said.
More fireworks exploded outside.
“Speaking of your mother, where is Happy Hye?” Leland said.
And what intrigued me even more was how I had missed Happy Hye being Queenie’s mother as the resemblance, I thought now, was so strong through the eyes.
“She’s with a client,” she shot back. “A regular, some rich jerk who is always saying how she knows her stuff. Mama eats up that flattery shit.”
“She does great stuff—” Leland began. “I mean—sorry.”
“What? You think I’m embarrassed that she’s a hooker? No way am I ashamed. Did you hear me? I’m not! But I can say I’m not thrilled with my stepfather. How he lets her sleep with other men, I dunno. But Mom is crazy ass in love with him regardless. It would kill her if he left her.”
Solo whispered, “Omigod!” as it appeared both of us had neglected to realize that with Happy Hye as her mother it meant Booth was her stepfather.
“Is Booth thinking of doing that—leaving?” Leland asked.
Silence. “I won’t let that happen. I will not,” she said finally.
“What can you do?” he asked her.
“Never you mind,” she said. “Come on. Hold still. I’m almost done. You know just this morning Booth said his broke ass life would soon be over. What do you make of that?”
“What exactly did he say?” Leland sounded troubled.
“Just that major cash flow was on its way. Said he found himself a cash cow.”
“Cash cow?” Leland’s voice was explosive as the firecrackers outside. “Who?”
She blew out a breath. “You think the bastard confides in me? Not a chance, even after all I done for him this morning, making me play up like he was my main squeeze to some girls he works with. And, shit, look at all you’ve done for him. You fixed him, or leastways your specialist friend did. Spinal cord stimulation to deaden pain. Incredible,” she said.
At this next stunner of a revelation, I did not look at Solo, only crouched there smiling, and bumping Booth back up to suspect number one.
“The wonder of science,” Leland said after a moment.
“Shit, it’s like Star Trek,” she said. “Look. Am I fabulous or what? Your tattoo is gone.”
“Fabulous,” Leland said. “Could you drop me off at my car? It’s at Crossroads Park, near where Happy Hye parks her trailer. She’s got a pretty good set-up, a pop out.”
“Sure thing, bay-bay. Anything for a satisfied customer.”
The sound of retreating footsteps came next, followed by a door closing. The side gate opened then slammed shut. They walked alongside the garage to Queenie’s car, opened what sounded like two doors. I relaxed.
“Personally, I’d have told Booth he could keep the watch,” Queenie said.
Solo and I hurried to listen through the closed garage door.
Queenie went on, “Just to see his face when you took it back.”
“You hate him that much?” Leland asked.
“Naw, I’m just mad about this morning. And Victor hasn’t called all day. I’m always in a mood when Big Vic doesn’t call.”
“Is he your boyfriend?” Leland asked.
“Love of my life,” she said. “If Booth doesn’t chase him off like the rest. Well, we had better hurry. Isn’t your birthday party soon?”
Leland nodded. “No rush. My place is just five minute down the road.”
There was the sound of two doors closing, the SUV starting, and then they drove off.
Solo leaned closer. “Can I get a woot for the rebirth of Operation: Booth Jackson?”
“Woot!” I said.
There came a barely audible bark from behind, and I whirled. “The dog!”
We jumped into gear to find it. I looked around again, my eyes returning to one thing. The refrigerator. I rushed forward, yanked open the door, and the dog tumbled out like a sack of flour. I caught it just in time and brought it to my chest. It was shivering.
“You poor thing,” I said, nestling it inside my jacket.
“Let’s get out of here before Ma Hye finds us,” Solo said.
I was searching for the best way to leave when the garage door opened.
I looked over my shoulder at the open/close button Queenie had pressed earlier, but no one was there. Then Solo grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. But when Ma Hye stepped out in front of us, we skidded to a stop.
She took her hand off an outside keyless entry and raised her pitchfork, prodding Solo in the chest with it. “Who the hell are you? You here to rip me off?”
“No, no,” I said in a rush. “We have nothing that belongs to you.”
“Especially the dachshund in her coat,” Solo said and slapped a hand to his mouth.
“Thieves! Give me dog!” When she jabbed me in the chest with the pitchfork, the dachshund leaped to the ground and nipped at her. She kicked at it, but relentless, it kept barking and biting her shins.
“Stop it! Stop it!” She ran from it, around and around, insanely jabbing the pitchfork pell-mell. “Make it stop!” Then she got a good kick in and sent the dog skidding away, dazed. She bore down on it, the pitchfork aimed and ready.
I stepped between her and the dog. “Don’t,” I said. “Don’t you dare.”
She laughed, that insanely wicked witch laugh. “You get lost.” She tried to prod me aside with the pitchfork.
I held firm, refusing to move.
“Then you bleed,” she said.
When she reared back to aim the fork at my chest, Solo lunged forward to try to grab it but missed and went spread eagle on the cement floor. Ma Hye turned on him, and he rolled and rolled and rolled, eluding her. “Get the dog,” he screamed with each turn.
I dove forward in a low, sliding lunge. Problem was as I got a hold of the dog I kept on going, knocking Ma Hye onto her butt. Whump.
She scrambled to her feet with amazing speed for a woman her age. “You die now,” she told me.
I wrapped my arms closer around the dog.
Solo launched to his feet and grabbed the pitchfork. They grappled with it for several seconds before Ma Hye’s grip gave out, the force of which sent Solo into the metal
shelves. I didn’t notice what else flew into the air, but I did see the box of firecrackers go flying, with several landing on the camp stove’s open flame.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Ma Hye roared. Solo pulled me to my feet, lifted me by the waist, and started running. Tightening my hold on the dog, I looked over my shoulder to see if she was following. All clear. Once at the Pinto, we dove in and locked the doors. Still no Ma Hye.
“That was close,” Solo said, turning on the ignition.
“Too close,” I said, settling the dachshund in my lap.
But after a quick U-turn, we were a car length from Northeast 8th Street when Ma Hye, looking pissed off and no worse for wear, ran from the smoking garage and hurried after us, her pitchfork zeroed in. Solo blew through the stop, turned right, and headed west. We lost her after another turn.
Solo looked over. “You gonna report her?” he asked.
“Yep,” I said and pulled out my cell.
I had just located the number for Animal Control when my phone rang. It was Ivy Valentine from FoY. “We’re on our way,” I told her. “Five minutes, tops.”
She was rambling, incoherently, crazily, but I managed to work out “Leland’s Party” And “Driving the seniors” And—
“What?” I said, and she repeated it. I turned to Solo, my phone slipping from my hand. “Booth is dead,” I managed. “They’re saying Leland killed him.”
“That’s crazy,” Solo said. “He was just with Queenie.”
I shrugged. “But we don’t know when the murder happened.”
~There Are Some Days Even My Lucky Underpants Can’t Help~
My head was spinning, my breathing difficult to get under control.
Since we were passing Crossroads Park, Solo drove into the lot and maneuvered into an end slot. I heard raised voices as I rolled down my window for air. Trying not to panic over the news about Booth, and Leland’s possible involvement in his death, I looked toward the voices, which belonged to demonstrators in front of the Crossroads Fire Station. Their protest signs were hard to read, but I managed to pick out REINSTATE and UNFAIR FIRING. I sympathized. I also needed my job to keep Granddad in our home, but now with Leland facing double murder charges that was looking doubtful.
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