Rex returned to say the sheriff and deputy didn't find anyone at the house, but they did find that the kitchen had been lived in. They asked for backup from the Iowa State Police for round-the-clock surveillance. But I knew it would be useless. Lana knew how to spot something like that and wouldn't be back once she did.
My husband took me home, made me my favorite macaroni and cheese…from a box, and put me to bed.
I crashed hard but easily, knowing he was downstairs on lookout and from some excellent pain meds Kelly had slipped me.
I slept for ten hours. Which was unusual for me. Normally after a kidnapping and torture, I merely needed a nap. Maybe I was just getting old.
I opened my eyes to see the sun streaming through the bedroom window and Philby on the pillow next to me. She was glaring as if totally disgusted that I'd slept as long as I had.
"Hey." I reached out to pet the feline fuhrer, who stood up, farted, and walked away. On the pillow was a tiny crushed pair of wings. I didn't want to know how many of the mouse-angels were left. I shoved this thought aside and took a long hot shower.
Ten minutes later, I made my way downstairs, where Rex was on the phone. He quickly ended the call and pulled me into his arms, my head resting against his chest. I closed my eyes. My husband didn't have to say anything. I knew he was worried.
"I'm fine," I said as I pulled away. "She only slapped me." Which was true. Truth be told, I was more worried about what she would've done had I not been able to escape.
"Riley's coming over," Rex said. "I've got a meeting with the Feds. They want to be briefed on Lana."
I nodded and sat down at the dining room table. "Just tell them I was right. That I'd been right all along when I insisted Lana was here."
Rex ran to the kitchen and returned with a box of donuts. Score! I immediately dove into the chocolate chip goodness.
He frowned. "I should stay until Riley gets here."
I shook my head. "No, I'll be alright. I've got Philby."
The cat, upon hearing her name, jumped up on the table and severely considered the donuts. She sniffed delicately at a powdered donut and drew back suddenly, her nose coated in sugar. She sneezed, but when that didn't dislodge the powder, she began spinning in place, as if centrifugal force would help.
"Lick it off," I suggested.
To my surprise, she stopped and did that. A look came over her face like I'd given her several mice tied down so they couldn't escape. She began licking the powdered donut. I let her because those weren't my favorite.
Leonard appeared, and when he saw what Philby was doing, he began to whine. When Philby finished with her first donut, I tossed it to the dog.
Rex gave me a quick kiss and then went to the front door. There was a brief exchange of male voices before Riley came into the room.
"Are you alright?" he asked as he sat down at the table.
"Of course I am," I answered, a little insulted.
Riley ignored the box of donuts. "So it finally happened. You were in the same room as Svetlana Babikova."
I nodded. "I told you she was here."
"You certainly did. I'm sorry I wasn't there with you."
"I'm not sure I would've untied you." I lobbed a chocolate chip at him.
"Did she say anything?"
I relayed the conversation, including the head slap and the girls stealing my van and bugging me.
"Don't tell Rex or the sheriff about the girls."
He crossed his heart—something he'd learned from the Kaitlyns. "I won't. But I think I need to make Betty an intern or something. Do you still have the earrings?"
I shook my head. "No. I got rid of them." And you could bet I wouldn't fall for that again. "You let four Girl Scouts bug you, and where does it end?"
Philby had moved on to her third donut, and I tossed the second to Leonard. Martini was a no-show, but this time of day she was following the sun from window to window for one of her many naps.
"Rex said he's meeting with the FBI." Riley frowned.
"Of course. What's he supposed to do? I'd rather they handled it anyway."
He thought about this and nodded. "I also heard that Hilly has been disappearing. Any thoughts?"
That worried me too. "It's her vacation, so I'm trying hard not to overthink it."
"As much as I hate to admit it, this probably means Hilly may not be the killer," he mused.
I had to admit it, that was a relief. "Ahmed's here. Well, not here here. He's at a motel in Des Moines." I filled Riley in on that story.
"Still." My former handler rubbed his chin. "It's strange that they think she's in Bulgaria working."
"Who knows? Old habits die hard. Perhaps she couldn't bring herself to use the word vacation. Or she's planning to go there after here to do a job." With Hilly, anything was possible.
"Don't you think Lana will come after you again?" Riley asked. "She may be involved in all of this. I could take some time off the Zimmer case and shadow you."
"And lose out on that gig?" I arched one eyebrow. "Nah. I'll be fine. I'll carry a gun around or something. You need to figure out what happened to Erskine's crop."
He said nothing and made no move to leave.
"Riley." I sighed. "You don't need to feel guilty about the attack. How could you know she'd pick that time and day to strike? It's really my fault for not telling anyone where I'd gone."
"Maybe I should bug you," he suggested.
"Not a chance. But if it makes you feel better, I'll keep my cell close and call you immediately."
"You're telling me to leave?"
"Yup." I stood up and motioned toward the door. "I don't need a babysitter."
Riley took the hint. He knew it was no use arguing with me.
I followed him to the door and, as he walked out, and noticed a certain pink-haired journalist in a car out front. I shut the door and leaned against it. Ugh. I'd rather it was Lana.
How was I going to get rid of that annoying reporter? She certainly wasn't going to give up until she had something Pulitzer worthy. Was my past enough for that?
I'd made the news when the vice president "accidentally outed" me. The whole case had gone to court, and I'd gotten a very nice settlement. Then the VP's assistant took the fall and went to prison. The media lost interest, and I changed my name to Merry Wrath and moved back here.
Was my outing even a story anymore? I doubted it. Maybe I should just tell her who I was and let her realize no one cares. That might work. But there was a problem. Would that get her digging into Hilly's situation? She still worked for the CIA as an assassin (who wasn't an assassin). If Medea found out who Hilly really was, she'd have her Pulitzer Prize-worthy story, and there'd be a huge mess.
Especially if Hilly had killed Anna Beth. Even though an idea was starting to form that it might've been Lana, and even though I'd told Riley I didn't suspect Hilly, a niggling doubt remained.
Philby joined me on the couch. Leonard was curled up in his enormous dog bed, and Martini was asleep on top of him, belly up and arms splayed. Philby climbed up onto my lap and started swatting my face.
She often did that. While I was fairly certain my cat liked me, she also liked annoying me. If I had an injury, she'd poke it. If I was exhausted, she'd sit on my chest until I couldn't breathe.
"What is it?" I asked the cat.
She stopped swatting me, and that's when I noticed she was making that horrible sound she does just before barfing. Before I could do anything, she coughed up a perfect mouse skull onto my chest. Then she jumped down and walked away toward the window to take up her surveillance once more.
It must've been one of the mice from the mobile. Great.
I got up and went to the window to see that Medea was still there, glaring at my house. I got out my cell.
"Hey, hon," Rex answered. "I'm about to go into the meeting with the Feds. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Riley just left. I have a question on something completely different. How do I make a citizen's arrest?"
"You want to arrest somebody?" my husband asked.
"Medea Jones. She's camped out in front of the house. It's annoying."
"Is she in our yard?"
I sighed. "No, her car is parked on the street. She's giving me the willies. Can you arrest someone for that?"
"You can't arrest her for parking on a public street," Rex soothed. "Although, the city does have statutes on parking. If she's there for more than forty-eight hours or violates a Snow Emergency, then we can ticket her."
I grumbled, looking out at the sunny eighty-degree weather. "What if she's parked on the wrong side of the street?" Because we were on the same block as an elementary school, you could only legally park on one side.
"She's parked on the wrong side?" Rex asked.
"Well, no," I said. "But I could drag her out of the car and park it on the wrong side for her."
"That would be assault and car theft." My husband sighed. "Which means we'd have to arrest you."
"Well that won't work," I grumped.
"Merry, I know that tone in your voice," Rex warned. "Don't do anything—"
I hung up and headed to Medea's car. Cutting Rex off meant I didn't hear his threat. It was a thin argument, but hey, I needed to do something about this cotton-candy-haired menace.
Opening the passenger-side door, I sat down next to a very surprised cub reporter.
"What are you doing?" she snapped.
"Why?" I said easily. "Isn't this what you wanted? You've been stalking me, and here I am."
She gave me a look I couldn't interpret before finally speaking. "Who are you?" she asked.
I could've easily told her. In fact, if she'd done any real research at all, she'd have found someone in this town who knew that I was Senator Mike Czrygy's daughter. And if she knew that, she'd know I was that spy who was "outed." Maybe I should give in and tell her. Give her my story. Take the wind out of her sails.
On the other hand, the majority of Whovians of Who's There didn't really know who I was. Oh sure, some did and many suspected, but it hadn't really come out officially. Iowans weren't star-struck people. Celebrities were okay and all that, but we didn't let that disrupt our lives.
I needed to make a decision and stick with it. Or I could stall.
"Why are you so obsessed with me?" I asked. "There's been a murder, a teenage druid cult…" I weighed my options on the next bit.
Erskine might not like the publicity, but on the other hand, he had hired Riley, and then it was reported to the police. Better him than me.
"And a very important experimental seed corn crop has vanished into thin air. I'm hardly the big story here."
"I think all of those things are tied to you," the girl said evenly. "You're not who people think you are. And that's my story. All these other things are sidelines."
"Who do you think I am?"
"Do you really want to know?" She glared at me.
"What a strange question," I said. "Of course I really want to know."
She snatched up a stenographer's pad and flipped through the pages. "I have a couple of theories. Let me know which one is right."
Oh, this was going to be fun. Like I'd let her know she was right about anything. If she said grass is green, I'd argue with her.
"You are either an AWOL circus performer or"—she looked at me dramatically—"you're a domestic terrorist."
My head exploded a little. "AWOL circus performer?"
She nodded. "Yes. You ran away from the circus as a child."
I had to know…
"Who runs away from the circus as a child? Isn't it the other way around?"
She gave a snarky grin. "Oh sure…that's what you want me to think!"
"I do?"
"Yes, you do." She grinned triumphantly.
"Okay," I said. "I'll tell you everything if you promise that you'll leave me alone."
Medea's hands trembled with excitement as she held on to her pen. "Really? Shoot!"
"You were right. I was born to two circus performers, the bearded lady and the lion tamer."
Medea scribbled furiously.
I was just getting started. "For years I worked as a juggler. I was juggling chainsaws while still in diapers." I hoped she wouldn't ask me to demonstrate. Rex had banned me from garden implements, saying I was a danger to myself and others.
"After a while I started doing the tightrope while juggling chainsaws." I gave a little hitch in my throat. "Until that horrible day when I dropped one of them. It cut the tightrope, and the chainsaw and I crashed to the net below."
The girl's eyes grew wide. Was she salivating?
"The saw cut through the net and hit one of the spotters below." I wiped away an imaginary tear. "Poor Franz! He never saw it coming!"
"You killed him!" Medea announced triumphantly. "So you ran away here!"
Her smugness was almost too much to bear.
I shook my head. "No, I didn't kill him. In fact, it gave him a new job. He's now known as Chainsaw Charlie, the man with a chainsaw embedded in his skull!"
"I thought you said his name was Franz!"
"It was. But Chainsaw Charlie has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? He adopted that as his new stage name."
She scribbled for a moment. "So, you're on the lam, then!"
I leaned forward with a finger to my lips. "Actually, I'm in Witness Protection. Turned out Chainsaw Charlie and my parents were in with the mafia. I testified against them and now am in hiding here." I smiled sympathetically. "So, I'm afraid you can't use any of this because you'll put my life in danger."
I let that sink in for a moment.
"You're joking," she said, defeated.
Yes, of course I was.
"Nope," I replied. "I guess you'll just have to find another story."
"Who's that woman across the street, then?" She pointed at my old house.
"My FBI handler. She visits on occasion to make sure I'm okay."
"And the cop you live with?"
"It's a sham. A cover story."
Medea hung her head. I almost felt sorry for her. "I really thought I had something."
"You could always uncover one of the many meth labs in Bladdersly," I suggested as I got out of the car.
With a nod, I closed the door and walked back into my house. That was one problem taken care of.
To be perfectly honest, there really was a Chainsaw Charlie. I met him in Warsaw. He wasn't a circus performer, but he did have a small chainsaw embedded in his skull. He made six figures on the Polish lecture circuit.
I watched as Medea drove away. I felt a tiny bit bad, but she was young and would find another story soon enough.