Wickedly Dangerous

by Deborah Blake

  “Seriously?” Molly looked amazed. “That must have been a hell of a lot of snakes; Mildred’s mother is a crabby old harpy.”

  Nina nodded in satisfaction. There was nothing she liked better than a good gossip, and lately, it seemed like there was a never-ending supply of weird news, bad news, and just plain oddness.

  “Carter Hastings told me that he had a giant sinkhole open up in the middle of one of his fields. Nothing there one day, and the next, a hole big enough to lose a whole herd of cattle in. He said it hardly mattered, though, because all his best dairy cows had gone dry. The vet’s got no idea why. Poor Carter’s going to have to sell off a quarter of the herd at rock-bottom prices.”

  “Huh,” Molly said. “I’ve heard of a couple of other farmers who had the same problem. The cows going dry, not the sinkhole. It’s like someone cursed the whole county.” She gave Liam a halfhearted smile and handed him three matching red message sheets. “And speaking of curses, here’s your special one: the mayor wants to see you in his office at two.”

  A sigh escaped Liam like air from a balloon at the end of a party. “Did he say what he wanted?” Not that it mattered. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

  She shrugged. “No. But he’s called three times to see if you were back yet, so I’m guessing it’s important.” She shoved the remains of Liam’s cooling burger back toward him. “You’d better eat that. Something tells me you’re going to need your strength.”

  As she and Nina left the room, he muttered to himself, “I think I’d rather be chasing wolves.”

  * * *

  BABA SAT AT a small table in Bertie’s, drinking coffee and trying to pretend that she belonged there. To her amazement, it seemed to be working. One thing about small towns, she thought, word got around fast. People she’d met nodded to her as she came into the room; people she hadn’t met looked at her curiously, seemed to figure out exactly who she was, and went back to their food. It was an odd feeling for someone who was always a stranger everywhere she went. Odder yet, she almost thought she liked it.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Belinda said, sliding into the seat across from Baba. “We’ve been going crazy down at the station, trying to keep up with all sorts of weird calls from normally sane people.” Dark circles shadowed her eyes as she gazed across the table at Baba. “I don’t suppose you’ve made any progress finding Mary Elizabeth?” Hope and despair warred with each other on her pretty face, the despair winning when Baba shook her head.

  “I’ve got a couple of leads I’m following up on,” Baba said. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything more concrete to tell you than that. But we will get your daughter back, I promise you.” She found herself making the promise as much to the universe as to the deputy; she liked this woman, with her brave heart and her unyielding faith in the Baba. Barbara wasn’t going to let her down.

  “Heya, Belinda,” a waitress said as she came up to the table. Lucy, Baba thought, recognizing the pouf of blond hair. “Hey, Miz Yager. I gotta tell ya, that cream you gave me for my bunions worked a treat.” She wiggled one wide foot, clad in bright red sneakers with zebra-striped laces. “First time my foot hasn’t hurt in two years.” She turned her beaming smile on Belinda, patting the deputy on the shoulder with a motherly air. “How ya holdin’ up, honey?”

  Belinda gave the older woman a shaky smile in return. “I’m doing okay, Lucy. Just a cup of coffee for me, okay? I’m not too hungry.”

  Lucy scowled. “You’re on your lunch break, ain’t ya? Then you’re havin’ lunch. I’ll bring ya some of the chicken soup we got on special; nothin’ goes down easier than chicken soup. It’ll cure just about anything that ails ya.” She snorted a laugh. “Of course, whatever it don’t cure, Miz Yager here will, ain’t that right?” She patted Baba on the shoulder too, and walked jauntily off in the direction of the kitchen.

  Baba blinked. “People around here certainly are friendly,” she said, not sure if that was a good thing or not. Friendly usually made her twitch. This town must be getting under her skin.

  “Well, I think word’s getting around about all the good you’re doing with your herbal remedies,” Belinda said, toying with the little gold stud in one ear. Baba noticed that her nails were chewed down to the quick.

  “Huh,” Baba said. “It’s a good cover story, and I like working with the plants. Earth is my primary element, I guess you could say. Still, it’s not a big deal; I like healing people.”

  “Just not talking to them, right?” Belinda said with a tiny smile. “I appreciate you meeting me here. I can tell you’re not much of a ‘let’s have lunch’ kind of woman.”

  Baba snorted. “Not hardly.” She looked around the room. “But I like this place. And the coffee is damned good. Besides, you asked nicely.” She just wished she had more than empty reassurances to give the poor woman. “And maybe now we can discuss that second impossible task.”

  She smothered a chuckle at the look of alarm that spread over Belinda’s face.

  “Um, okay,” Belinda said, swallowing hard. “What is it?”

  Baba gave her a serious look, then gestured at the covered cases that lined the counter. “Help me figure out which kind of pie to get. I’m completely torn between the strawberry rhubarb and the mixed berry with the crumble topping.”

  Belinda’s startled laughter was reward enough for coming. Damn—this place really was getting to her.

  * * *

  THE MAYOR’S OFFICE was designed to be imposing. It was situated in one of the oldest buildings in town, a certified historical monument to a more prosperous time, when the railroad still ran and Dunville was a hub of commerce and travel. Outside, the marble steps and ornate columns gave way to massive carved wood doors that opened on to a spacious lobby with high, painted tin ceilings. Unlike the sheriff’s department, this building was kept in perfect condition, the white walls shining and the oak trim oiled until it gleamed.

  The mayor’s office was off a side corridor so the hustle and bustle of the mundane business transacted in the county clerk’s office up front wouldn’t impinge upon the more weighty matters of running the town. The current mayor was more competent than some Liam had worked with in his years with the sheriff’s department, although he tended to waffle on issues rather than risk offending one of his more influential supporters. What he lacked in spine he made up for in charm, so he’d recently been elected to a second term.

  The mayor’s secretary seemed to have stepped away from her desk in the small outer chamber, so Liam knocked on the door to the inner room. A deep voice said, “Come in,” so he did, and was dismayed but not completely surprised to see Clive Matthews standing next to the taller, slimmer form of the town’s mayor. Due to the small size of the town and the surrounding area, the sheriff’s department had been acting as law enforcement for both since budget cuts had done away with the town police chief’s job. Liam reported directly to the mayor, but the country board was technically still in charge of the hiring and firing for the position. He had a feeling Matthews wasn’t there to give him a raise.

  “Mr. Mayor, you wanted to see me?” Liam nodded at the board president politely, but focused his attention on the man who had called him.

  To his credit, Harvey Anderson didn’t look any happier than Liam felt. He glanced sideways out of the corner of his eyes, clearly hoping the other man would do the talking. When Matthews just crossed his arms over his chest and stood there looking stern and disappointed, Anderson gave a sigh and said, “Liam, we all know you’ve had a tough couple of years, but the board—” Matthews cleared his throat meaningfully. “That is, we all have some serious concerns about how you are doing your job.”

  Matthews’s musky cologne wafted across the space between them, making Liam’s breath catch and stutter. The man must bathe in the stuff, he thought, his mind caught by an inconsequential butterfly fluttering of ideas, so it wouldn’t focus on the words coming out
of the mayor’s mouth. The air conditioning in here is a lot quieter than ours down at the station. That must be nice.

  “I’m doing my best, Harvey,” Liam said in a carefully measured tone, trying not to let his anger percolate to the surface. He was so damned tired of Clive Matthews yanking his chain. “My men are working around the clock, trying to find out who is behind these disappearances. There just aren’t any clues.”

  “Or maybe there are, and you’re just not finding them,” Matthews put in sourly. “We’re in the midst of a major crime wave, with children involved, and you’ve accomplished nothing. It can’t go on.”

  Liam opened his mouth to argue, to say that the state guys hadn’t found anything either, despite having better equipment and more men, then closed it again as the mayor said, “I’m sorry, Liam, but Clive is right. Maybe you just don’t have what it takes to do this job anymore. The board is giving you until the end of the month to come up with something concrete. If not, we’ll have no choice but to replace you. I’m very, very sorry.”

  Fury bubbled over like a pot on a too-hot fire, despite his best intentions. There was no way some damned mealy-mouthed politicians were going to keep him from doing his job. The people of this town needed him—and his job was all he had left.

  “I’ve been working around the clock,” he growled. “Nobody wants to find these kids more than I do. The state cops pop their heads in for a few days, then go back to chasing drug dealers and giving out speeding tickets, saying they don’t have enough manpower to spare to stick around. I live and breathe this job twenty-four/seven.

  “If you take me off this case, who are you going to give it to? Some guy with no experience who will have to start from scratch? You clearly don’t have the slightest idea how police work is done, or you wouldn’t be wasting my time with this petty crap. Why don’t you just get off my back and let me do my damned job?”

  Harvey Anderson’s mouth dropped open and he started to sputter an apology, but Matthews cut him off before he could get more than a few words out.

  “It is just this kind of attitude that makes you unsuitable for such a sensitive position,” Matthews said, his chest puffed out like a rooster. “You heard the mayor. You have until the end of the month.”

  “The end of the month is only two and a half weeks from now,” Liam said from between clenched teeth.

  Matthews smirked. “I guess you’d better get to work, then.” He gestured toward the door, and Liam somehow made it outside without punching Matthews into the next county. That in itself was a minor victory of sorts.

  Once outside, he closed the heavy wooden door behind him and took a deep breath. Two and a half weeks. To find the answers that had eluded him for almost five months. Hell.

  “Hello, Sheriff,” a warm contralto voice said from the desk next to him. The mayor’s secretary, Lynette, had a daughter who used to babysit for one of the missing children. “Is there any news?”

  He closed his eyes for a minute and inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth, like the grief counselor had taught them. Then he forced himself to smile at Lynette, despite the churning in his stomach.

  “Sorry, no. The mayor and Mr. Matthews just wanted to have a little chat with me about the way I’m doing my job, that’s all.”

  She gave him a sympathetic look, her kind, pretty face colored with concern. “I know; I heard them talking about it earlier.” She grimaced. “Mr. Matthews has one of those voices that carries.”

  Liam chuckled in wry agreement. He’d been in enough meetings with Clive Matthews to know that he always talked louder than anyone else in the room, like a steamroller on steroids.

  Lynette dropped her own voice and said quietly, “You should know that they’ve already set up interviews with possible candidates for your job.” Her glance skittered away from his and she looked at the floor. “I’m so sorry, Sheriff.”

  He sighed. “Me too, Lynette. Me too.”

  ELEVEN

  BABA WALKED OVER to the door. Opened it, looked out, glared at the empty green meadow, then slammed it shut and stomped back over to throw herself down on the couch again. A litter of empty chocolate wrappers crinkled as she sat on them, and she disposed of them with an irritated snap of her fingers.

  She’d been in a foul mood since waking up from a hideous nightmare, and waiting around for a client who was clearly not going to show hadn’t done anything to sweeten her temper. It didn’t help that it had been three days since she’d seen the stubborn yet appealing sheriff. Yes, she’d told him to leave her in peace, but for some reason, she found it incredibly annoying that he’d actually done so.

  It had taken two hours to mix up that decoction for a local woman who’d pleaded for something to ease her nerves. If she didn’t show soon, Baba was going to drink it herself.

  She’d spent the last few days treating the folks who lived nearby for everything from third-degree burns to warts. Apparently Bertie down at the diner had taken it upon herself to spread the word about Baba’s herbal remedies, and when Bertie spoke, people listened. Of course, even without Bertie, patients would have found their way to her; they always did. But for some reason, Baba had made a little more effort than usual to be helpful. Bizarrely (for her, anyway), she actually liked these people.

  Except the woman who was currently standing her up. She was going on Baba’s list.

  The antique silver pocket watch she pulled out of her black jeans said it was after two, and Bob the mechanical wizard had sent her a message yesterday to say the motorcycle would be ready by one. She clicked the cover shut decisively and shoved the timepiece back into her pocket—that was it; she was done waiting. Time to go get her baby back.

  “I’m going out for a bit,” she said to Chudo-Yudo, who was sprawled on his back in a lemon-meringue splash of sunshine, looking more cat than dragon. “If that lady comes looking for her order, you have my permission to bark at her.” Bah. She hated when people didn’t do what they said they were going to do.

  “Going to hunt down that yummy sheriff?” Chudo-Yudo asked slyly, cocking one eye open to check out her outfit. He seemed to find the jeans, embroidered crimson cotton peasant top, and clunky motorcycle boots acceptable, since it slid closed again a minute later. He yawned, showing off sharp white teeth. “I noticed he hasn’t been around lately. You scare him off already?”

  Baba bared her own teeth at him, which didn’t make much of an impression since he couldn’t see it. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to get my damned bike back; I’m tired of driving around in the truck. It’s like being cooped up inside a big silver tank. I miss feeling the wind against my skin.”

  Chudo-Yudo snorted, rolling over onto his belly and producing another bone out of nowhere to gnaw on enthusiastically. “You’d think you were some Otherworld creature, sensitive to the touch of cold iron, the way you talk.” He glanced around the Airstream. “Of course, you couldn’t very well live in this glammed-up tin can if you were, could you?”

  She threw a pillow at him, which he incinerated in midair. The ashes drifted down like volcanic ash. You’d think she’d learn.

  “Do not insult my hut, damn it,” she said, rummaging through the cupboards to find the stash of hundred-dollar bills she’d hidden someplace clever, long enough ago that she’d now forgotten where. She could magic up some more, of course, but she always worried that the money would crumble into nothingness in typical Otherworld fashion once she was gone, and she didn’t want to cheat the man who’d worked so hard to fix her precious motorcycle.

  “Aha!” she said, finally unearthing the roll of cash inside an old hand-painted Matryoshka. The set of Russian nesting dolls, each one smaller than the one enclosing it, made a perfect hiding place. If you could remember that’s where you put things. The gaily decorated faces of the dolls seemed to mock her, their crooked smiles and rosy red cheeks far too cheerful for her current mood.

>   Baba grabbed the cash and her keys and headed for the truck, stopping to glare one more time around the empty field and the road that carried neither errant sheriff nor missing client in her direction, and tore off in the direction of town. She’d feel better when she had the bike back. Although, just to be on the safe side, maybe she’d pick up some more chocolate while she was out.

  * * *

  O’SHAUNNESSY AND SON Auto Service was perched on the outward bend of a hairpin curve on the edge of town, where the motley assortment of cars, trucks, and vans in various stages of disrepair couldn’t bring down the property values or irritate the neighbors. Other than the collection of vehicles, the place was neat and prosperous looking, with a row of four open bays lined up in a long, dark gray garage and a smaller office tucked away like a forgotten second cousin at the far end.

  Baba pulled the big silver truck into the gravel lot and parked it in front of the office space, where a brick doorstop held the door open for whatever breeze there was. The temperature hovered around the ninety-degree mark, which the locals told her was well above normal, and the air was so humid, it clung to your skin like syrup. She didn’t mind, though, and stood for a moment in the hot sunshine drinking in the sounds of hammering and the high-pitched whine of a power tool. The pungent odor of old oil, metal being ground under pressure, and the sharp bite of some kind of solvent drifted out of the nearest bay like a mechanical alchemist’s air elemental. The smell made her smile.

  As did the sight of her beloved motorcycle, its normally glossy blue paint scratched and scuffed, but upright on two wheels and ready to sail her away down the road at speeds unsafe—and most likely unattainable—on any normal bike. As soon as she paid for it, drove it home in the back of the truck, and did a little quick magic on the paint job. There was no way she was riding it down the road in its current condition. A girl had to have her standards.