Arthur came back in, Magdalena stopped looking from one to the other of them as though she expected them to speak in tongues, and Dillon eased through the swinging doors to the kitchen with a brimming pitcher of tea. He refreshed their drinks, but he seemed subdued. Manfred had a moment of doubt. Was the atmosphere of Midnight contagious? Dillon had always seemed like a normal ranch teenager. Now he was preoccupied.
“Dillon, you doing okay?” Bobo asked, just before Manfred could get the words out.
“Yeah, just broke up with my girlfriend,” Dillon said, and smiled weakly. “I made her mad. I told her I saw . . .” He hesitated, and the smile faded away. “Well, never mind. She just got mad at me. When she cools off, we’ll talk.”
“That’s a good plan, Dillon,” Bobo said. “Give her time to come around.”
He ducked his head. “Can I get you guys some more bread?” The basket for rolls and corn bread was almost empty.
“Sure,” Manfred said, not because he wanted any more but because he wanted to give Dillon a reason to exit.
Arthur looked after the boy. He seemed lost in thought for a moment.
Magdalena was unexpectedly entertaining at table talk. She had a number of stories that Manfred suspected were stock stories, anecdotes she told to keep the social ball rolling: terrible clients, terrible judges, funny lawsuits. Arthur was more engaged in that world than any of the others, and he laughed the hardest. He was inspired to tell “best arrest” stories. And Bobo told a few “weird things people wanted to pawn” anecdotes—the used coffin, the grenade, the blank tombstones.
This was high entertainment for a Midnight dinner. Manfred looked at the smiling faces around the table: at Joe and Chuy, who were clearly enjoying themselves; at Fiji, who laughed out loud; at Olivia’s guarded smile and Bobo’s animated face. Dillon brought out a buttermilk pie with Madonna’s demand that they all try it, since it was a new recipe. It was already sliced, and they each took a piece. It was rich and delicious, but Manfred thought it too sweet. However, Madonna was so formidable that he didn’t say anything.
At eight thirty, the diners scattered for home as though they’d heard a warning bell sound. The glow in the sky was golden pink, and Magdalena’s and Manfred’s shadows preceded them as they strolled back to his house, where her car was parked. They didn’t talk: It was hot, and they were full, and Manfred had things to think about. Apparently, so did his lawyer.
Magdalena unlocked the car and opened the driver’s door. A blast of furnace-hot air gusted out. There was no question of leaning against the metal; she stood, shifting from foot to foot, a woman whose shoes were definitely pinching.
“You call my mom yet?” she asked.
“Nope, but tomorrow for sure.”
She seemed to consider, her eyes on her feet, as if she could make them ache less by looking at them.
“You people here are all very odd,” she said at last, and then she left.
32
The sun seemed to plummet; the light vanished abruptly, and only the glow of the moon illuminated Midnight. From time to time, it was obscured by clouds. Despite what the weather report had told Chuy two days before, the chance of rain was heavy in the air.
Fiji stood on her back porch, looking out over her garden, until the light was absolutely sucked away. She saw lightning cut through the darkness miles away to the south. She noticed a little piece of the darkness moving in the bushes, and then Mr. Snuggly was by her feet.
“Get in,” he said, in his bitter little voice. “Foolish woman.”
Fiji, who’d been mesmerized by the lightning, flung open the back door and skittered inside, Mr. Snuggly dashing in past her. She had the door shut and locked while he investigated his water and food bowl. He looked up at her with wide, sad eyes, and she could almost imagine tears.
“You piker,” she said, not without affection, and opened a can of cat food. She put half of it in his food bowl and cleaned and refilled his water bowl. There was silence for a few moments, while Mr. Snuggly made his food disappear with a neat dispatch that had her shaking her head incredulously.
When the cat finished, he began to clean his paws. He paused for a moment to say, “Did you know Joe has wings?”
“Yes,” she said. “I suspect he’s an angel.”
“Everyone else thinks they’re fake,” Mr. Snuggly observed, and resumed his cleaning program. “The wings, that is. The ones he and Chuy ‘wear’ at Halloween.”
“They’re just not always visible.” She sat down in one of the chairs by the kitchen table. She scrubbed her face with her hands. “Did you see anything else out there that I should know about?”
He nodded. “The Rev and Diederik are out and about,” he said. “Everyone else . . . besides you . . . is properly in a house.”
“And now I am, too,” she said, determined not to be miffed with the cat.
“The big man is almost back,” he said. “Diederik was talking to him on the phone.”
“Diederik’s father? That’s wonderful. The boy will be so happy. He’s grown so much! I wonder if his dad knew he would.” Fiji beamed at the cat.
“He told his son he was sorry to have missed the boy’s first moon time. I have very sharp ears.”
“I’m glad he’s coming back.”
“Tonight is very, very dangerous.”
The smile vanished from Fiji’s face. “More dangerous than the past two nights? Why?”
“Don’t need to know,” Mr. Snuggly muttered. “Long as you stay inside like a sane creature.”
“Why would I not?”
Muttering something unpleasant under his breath, Mr. Snuggly stalked into the front room. Making his way between the display cases and chairs and the table, he went over to the window and jumped onto a padded stool Fiji had placed there just for him. The light was off in the big front room, and Fiji went to look out with the cat. There weren’t any streetlights in Midnight, of course, and the traffic light and the moon were the only sources of illumination.
Fiji caught her breath.
In the middle of Witch Light Road (smack between Manfred’s house and hers) stood a tiger.
It was huge.
When she finally exhaled, she whispered, “Bengal. Holy Goddess, look at those teeth!”
“Told you so,” said Mr. Snuggly.
“But is that . . . ?”
The first tiger was joined by another. It was larger.
“The Rev? And Diederik?” she breathed.
“Maybe his dad is here by now,” Mr. Snuggly said. “I can’t tell ’em apart unless I smell ’em.”
“Do they . . . Would they know me? If I went out there?”
“Do you want to risk them not knowing you?” the cat asked acidly.
“Ah. No.”
“Then keep your butt indoors.”
“I will.”
She was glad the light in the shop was out, for though she didn’t imagine the tigers would notice her at the window, she felt very strongly that avoiding their attention was better than drawing it. Shoulder to shoulder, the two huge cats paced slowly down the street until they reached the empty house two doors east of Manfred’s, where they simply vanished into the shadows. Their smooth movements, their silence, the massive heads turning slightly from side to side to survey the night around them . . . it was as eerie and powerful as anything Fiji had ever seen.
Perhaps they’d vanished because they’d heard the car coming. The road was empty for only a few seconds before it appeared. It was an antique car with big tail fins. Fiji had no idea what make and model it was, and she was not interested. She didn’t know the driver, who seemed almost irrelevant to the behemoth he was driving. He was a short, plump man with thick blond hair and a lot of rage. She could see it simmering and shimmering in the night like a red nimbus. He’d pulled into Manfred’s driveway, blocking Manfred’s c
ar, and he got out of the car to walk rapidly to the front door, his arms pumping with energy. He banged on the door with his fist and began yelling.
“Oh, no,” Fiji said. “Oh, no! This is awful!” She rushed over to her own door and suddenly felt a lot of needles sticking in her back. She shrieked.
Mr. Snuggly hissed, “Do not open that door!” He’d launched himself from the stool to land on her upper back, and he was clinging desperately to her with his claws.
“I have to stop him! He doesn’t know!” she said. “Dammit, get off my back!”
“Just back over to the stool,” Mr. Snuggly said. “I’ll drop off.”
Clumsily, she did so, and he landed on the stool, righting himself immediately and with as much dignity as he could.
“You silly woman,” the cat said.
“I can’t let—” Then a noise from outside made her look through the window.
One of the tigers was peering around the corner of Manfred’s house at the newcomer, who was still banging and screeching. Above the pawnshop, in Bobo’s apartment, a light came on. Bobo flung open a window. She could see the silhouette of his head.
“Get back in the car, man!” Bobo called.
“What?” The man stepped back and peered upward.
“Get back in your car and leave. Right now!” Bobo sounded very serious.
“See?” Mr. Snuggly said. “He has a whole floor between him and the creatures. Let him speak.”
“I will not!” The man fairly twitched with indignation, and Fiji pulled up her own window.
“Get back in your car, you moron!” she yelled. “You’re in danger!”
“Don’t threaten me,” he yelled back, and he banged on Manfred’s door again.
The first tiger padded silently around the corner of the house. Perhaps the man smelled the tiger or caught its movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head to look. And he froze. Fiji hoped that was a good thing.
The tiger made a “chuff” noise, like a cough. Hearing it in the Texas night was hair-raising, literally. It was as out of place as a hyena’s cackle.
Fiji was awed into silence, and she didn’t hear a peep from Bobo.
She had never read a brochure advising her on what to do if she had to deal with a loose tiger. Or two.
The second one joined the first. Fiji could feel the fear emanating from the stranger. It had gathered in a tight black ball around him. The two tigers took a step or two closer to the man. Then several things happened as quick as a wink. Manfred’s front door opened, his tattooed arm shot out, his hand grasped the man’s shirtfront, and he yanked him in.
In theory, this should have worked like a charm, ending with the door slamming shut in the tigers’ faces. In actuality, the stranger’s feet got tangled, and he sprawled in the doorway, leaving it wide open.
Fiji leaned out her window and yelled, “Hey! Tiger!”
And Bobo did the same thing at the same moment.
Both tigers turned their heads, one to look up at Bobo and one to turn slightly to look at Fiji, and while they were distracted, the man was dragged inside. Manfred’s door closed.
“Shut your window,” Mr. Snuggly said. He was hiding somewhere in the room, Fiji could tell, but she couldn’t see the cat. Hearing him was enough. She shut the window and locked it.
“I wonder who the idiot is,” she said, collapsing into a chair.
“I expect,” said Mr. Snuggly, “that’s Lewis Goldthorpe.”
33
The silence in Manfred’s house was broken only by the ragged breathing of the man on the floor. Lewis Goldthorpe had wet himself, which Manfred supposed was not an unreasonable reaction to being faced with two tigers. But it didn’t make the atmosphere any more pleasant, and it made Lewis even more angry.
“I hope you die,” Lewis sobbed.
“I should have left you out there to be eaten.” Manfred’s grandmother had warned him about helping other people. He should have listened.
“Why are there tigers here? What’s wrong with this place?” Lewis managed to sit up.
“The only thing wrong with this place is that you’re in it right now,” Manfred said. “Why the hell did you come here?”
“The police came back,” Lewis said. “They took apart the globe. They found Mama’s stuff.”
Manfred said, “So now you know I didn’t steal it. Now you know to leave me alone. I only wished your mother well. I liked her.”
“You cheated her,” Lewis said, and his voice began to rise. “You cheated her.”
“Out of what? Hours of loneliness? I just saved your life, asshole!”
“She should have turned to me when my dad died.” Now Lewis was snarling, and there was something in his face that made Manfred feel a flicker of fear. The man was down on the floor, and he was a mess, and his facial expressions were all over the place—fear, anger, some tears, a boatload of frustration. He was ridiculous. But he was frightening, too.
“But she didn’t?” Manfred made his voice gentler. It took a huge effort.
“No, she became more and more ‘Lewis, you need to stand on your own two feet,’ and ‘Lewis, you need to get another job.’”
“But you didn’t feel that was right?” From years of talking to upset people, Manfred made himself sound as sympathetic and understanding as a good therapist. But it was a huge effort.
“Of course not! She needed someone on the spot, someone to keep the—the predators away from her. People like you and that whore Bertha.”
“Bertha? The maid?”
“Yes, Bertha, the maid.” Lewis tried to do a cruel imitation of Manfred, but he just succeeded in sounding more foolish.
“I thought Bertha seemed . . .” What had he thought? He hadn’t really looked at Bertha with any interest. She was the maid.
“Seemed what? Grabby? Possessive? Fertile?” He spat out the last word.
“She didn’t seem anything,” Manfred said slowly. “She seemed like the background.”
“Right! Right!” Confirmed in his judgment, Lewis crowed in triumph. “Always there. Always at Daddy’s right hand. Waiting. Whispering. Always with John skulking around.”
“John?” That was all Manfred could think of to say.
“Yes, John.” Lewis sneered. “Couldn’t name him Juan, I guess. Wanted to be American.”
“She’s not American?”
“Bertha? Oh, I guess, technically she is.”
Manfred sighed. “So why are you upset that Bertha’s son, John, came into the house?”
“Because she wanted my dad to love him. Because she wanted my dad to love him more than he loved me. And after my dad died, she started to work on my mother. But not telling my mom the big thing! No, waiting for the lawyers on that!”
Manfred had followed Lewis’s narrative until that moment. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“John is Dad’s son!”
“Are you kidding?” Manfred’s amazement was genuine and complete.
Never ask a madman if he’s kidding. For the next five minutes Manfred had to listen to an account of the affair between Bertha and Morton Goldthorpe. And the worst part was, Manfred couldn’t tell if this was fact or fiction, because Lewis believed it absolutely. He thought that Bertha’s son, John, was the product of that long-ago liaison.
“When my dad died,” Lewis said, “his will said his estate was to go to Mother during her lifetime. And afterward it was to be divided among the heirs of his body. See? Of his body? Which includes John. But my mom didn’t know about John. And maybe she could have changed the will.”
“Is that why you put the pills in her water?”
“I did not.” Lewis sounded definite and almost sane when he said that. “I did not poison my mother.”
“Are you saying Bertha did?”
“T
hat is what I am saying.”
“Then why did you drag me into this?”
“You and Bertha worked together. She put the pills in Mama’s water the only time Mama had gone out of the house in a couple of weeks. She thought Mama would have a car wreck on her way to see you, and that either you or I would be blamed.”
“And how do you know this? And why on earth do you think I knew about it ahead of time?”
“I know it because Mama told me so. She’s been whispering in my ear. She told me all this.”
“That is total bullshit and you know it. Your mother is at peace with your father. She is not whispering in your ear.” Manfred shook his head. “I’m willing to believe you have some kind of delusional situation going on here. But you can leave me out of it. I wished your mother nothing but good.”
Lewis, amazingly, had no response to that. He struggled to his feet. Manfred offered no help. He didn’t want to get that close to Lewis. He was wondering how to clean the wood floor, which was wet where Lewis had landed. Maybe one of those Swiffer things?
“So what do we do now?” Manfred asked. “Are you ready to run back to your car and get out of here?”
“I still think you conspired with Bertha,” Lewis said. He was as tenacious as a pit bull but with half the brainpower and none of the looks.
Manfred sighed, and he made it gusty and obvious. “You’re a jerk, and I don’t know why your mother didn’t put you in a straightjacket,” he said, and then realized that had crossed the border into cruel. Did he mind? Not at this exact moment.
“There’s someone outside,” Lewis said. He was staring at the window. Skeptically, Manfred glanced in the same direction. There was a face at the window for real. Manfred gasped. But once the shock was over, he thought he knew who he’d glimpsed.
“Was that Bertha?” he said, astonished. She must have followed Lewis all the way to Midnight. “You weren’t lying,” he said, and there was a lot of wonder in his voice. “She really does have it in for you.”
Manfred had a choice at that moment. (Afterward, he thought of it as his “The Lady, or the Tiger?” moment.) He could try to warn Bertha, grab her, and bring her into his house, just as he had Lewis—or he could leave her to the mercy of the tigers.
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