We loaded up Fido and drove him to an empty lot behind a friend’s convenience store eight blocks away. Once there, we scrubbed up in the store’s restrooms, and I ditched the hospital shift for one of Zach’s t-shirts. Unfortunately, the best I could do for underwear was a sports bra from the souvenir section. Consequently, “Chicago Rules,” stitched in red, stretched from nipple to nipple beneath the thin, white fabric of my shirt.
A half hour later, standing inside the rear of Fido’s van, I flipped Zach’s cell phone closed. He was securing the last tie of a large black cargo net to a hook on the wall, neatly bisecting the vehicle. Glancing at me over his shoulder, he said, “Was that the landlady again?”
“From the office building, yes. She says Mrs. Naidenheim is doing better. Apparently, there aren’t any relatives to call, but she’ll stay with her. No one knows what to do about Mr. Keeper; there’s no one to call for him, either. Damn it, Zach. I feel so guilty running off.”
Zach gave a tug on the net, testing its hold. “You stick your head up too high and you’re going to be hauled into a holding cell. Best stay low. How about Jake?”
“He’s stable. That’s something. The problem is the one nurse who’ll talk to me is going off shift soon.” I nodded at the net. “Are you sure that’ll hold?”
“The hooks will hold. They’re for strapping in heavy boxes and such.”
“I mean will the net hold him back?” I jerked my thumb toward Fido, who seemed content munching grass. “I don’t want to get stepped on. Maybe we should sleep outside, or in a bed. People have been doing that for centuries now. It’s really caught on.”
He yanked at the tie again. “It’ll be fine. Anyway, bulls can take out most fences; they just don’t.” Coming up beside me, he put an arm around my waist. “Besides, there’s no better bed on earth than soft blankets spread over a thick layer of sweet-smelling hay.”
I arched an eyebrow, tempted to ask what his girlfriend, Jolene, might think of the sleeping arrangement. Zach was enough of a straight-shooter that it probably didn’t even occur to him it would bother her. And I was kind of a heel for not mentioning it. But I needed his help and was too tired to wrestle with my conscience. Still, I grimaced as I looked down at the bed he’d made us in the forward corner. “It’s kind of away-in-a-mangerish, don’t you think?”
“If it’s good enough for our Lord and Savior, it’s good enough for us. And you’ll feel a heap better once you get some sleep under your belt. You do look like death warmed over.”
“Are you remarking on my state of disarray, or is that another of your favorite bulls?”
He laughed and walked me toward the bed, unhooking the gate to let me through. “I mean you look tired. But that’s not a bad name, come to think of it. I wonder if it’s taken.”
Glancing back over my shoulder, I said, “Any chance his tether will hold him?”
“It’s long enough for him to come in and out of the van if he wants.”
I knelt on our homemade bed. “That’s not what I asked!”
“How about we take a look at that stuff we got from Jake’s? That’ll occupy your mind.”
“But what if he steps on my spleen in the middle of the night?” I bit my lip and stared nervously at the muscle-bound beast. “I like my spleen. I’m attached to my spleen. In fact, I’m attached to all of my internal organs, and I’d like to ensure they remain un-stomped upon.”
Zach grabbed Jake’s things and sat down beside me, putting the box in my lap. “You’re such a girlie-girl. I’ve been stepped on lots of times.” He continued with affected soberness. “It’s when they get their horns up under your rib cage and toss you twenty feet in the air and then rear up over your bleeding, broken body with those sharp hooves aiming straight at your—”
I struggled to my knees. “That’s it, I’m out of here.”
He laughed and pulled me back down beside him. “I’m yanking your chain. Don’t worry, he won’t come anywhere near us. Besides, he’s more afraid of you than you are of him.”
“Really?” I said hopefully.
“No. Not really.”
I slapped him on the arm. “I hate you. I want you to know that. I really hate you.”
“No, you don’t. Now, what do you want to bet the key from the cage,” he said, nodding at the towel-draped cage in the corner, “fits that box we found under the window?”
I glanced uneasily at Fido but decided to trust Zach’s judgment. Okay, I decided to act like I trusted Zach’s judgment and hope that my brain would buy in to it. It might work. “Fine then, let’s look at the envelope first. Although I bet I know what’s in it.”
“The missing file?”
“Yup. Although what the hell it was doing out in the bushes, I can’t imagine.” And, indeed, I pulled a file folder out of the envelope. It contained a page and a half of Jake’s notes, capturing the two short conversations he’d had with the supposed Mrs. Lathos, and his own observations. “Not much here. It confirms that Jake only talked to the wife, or whoever she was, over the phone. No last name for Lathos’s mistress.”
“Anything else interesting?”
I scanned the document. “No. Standard stuff. Damn, I was hoping for something more.”
“Like what?”
“Maybe a message from Jake saying, ‘If anything happens to me, here’s the name, address, and a DNA sample of the guilty party.’ ”
“Yeah. That would’ve been nice.”
I set the file aside, noticing something sticky on my fingers as I did. “What’s this?” I rubbed my fingers together and sniffed at them. The material on them was scentless, yellowish, and had a consistency between well-masticated chewing gum and dried petroleum jelly.
Zach held the lamp closer. “Looks kind of like dried-up grease. Strange color, though.”
I rubbed it off with hay from the floor. “Jake was always cleaning his guns. Could it be from that?”
Zach grunted. “You put this stuff in your gun, and it ain’t never going to fire again.”
“You’re right. It’s inordinately viscous for purposes of lubrication.”
“Uh … come again?”
“You put this stuff in your gun, and it ain’t never going to fire again.”
He grinned and slapped me lightly on the back of the head. “Smart-aleck.”
I smiled at his playfulness. “On the other hand, Jake was always working on that car of his. He said it was one of the few cars left you didn’t have to be a computer geek to fix. And you remember he had that black powder on his desk, too. I wonder if there’s a connection.”
“Old cars like that have all kinds of parts that get sooted and gummed up. Could be.”
I pulled the key out of my pocket. My shoulder throbbed its disapproval. “Ow!”
Zach narrowed his eyes. “Look, you, there’s a time to cowboy up and a time not to. You should take those pain pills the cop gave you.”
“I’ll be all right once I fall asleep.”
“Until you roll over on your shoulder.”
“Hmm. You have a point.”
Zach glared at me until I dug one of the Percocets out of my pocket and swallowed it with a gulp of water from the thermos nearby. “Happy now?”
“Delirious.” He kissed the back of my hand.
The tenderness of the gesture warmed my heart but not half as much as the touch of his lips warmed the rest of me. “So, uh, do you think I should be bothered that Nestor gave me those pills? It’s not particularly legal. Or am I just being a goody two-shoes?”
“If the two shoes fit …”
“Very funny. Let’s just see if the key fits.”
“Bingo,” Zach said as I opened the box. Jake’s PI license lay on top of the pile. Beneath that, his office and apartment leases and his concealed carry permit. “Nothing special. Oh, wait! What do we have here?” I picked up a small white envelope addressed to Hunter.
As I started to open it, Zach put his hand on mine. “Hang on. That’s personal.”
“Look, someone tried to steal this box the same day Jake was shot. But why? What’s so important about this box?” I tore the envelope open and shook it over my lap. Out fell a single sheet of standard writing paper, folded into thirds, and a small pink receipt. I opened the larger paper to reveal two columns of numbers. The left column was clearly dates, with each corresponding to a thirteen-digit number in the right one. “What do you think?” I said.
“No idea. Anything else on the paper?”
I held it in front of the electric lamp beside us. “Nothing.”
Zach clicked his fingers. “Maybe they’re bank accounts, and those are the dates Jake opened them. Maybe Jake’s secretly a millionaire, or even a billionaire.”
“Given what he pays me, if he is, I’ll kill him. No. They seem more like serial numbers. Clearly they mean something to Hunter, or Jake would have left some kind of explanation.”
“What about the receipt?”
I examined the paper. “It’s a five-year-old claim check for a suit from the Potomac Cleaners in Sterling, Virginia. I know the area; I have a cousin who’s a White House intern. It’s a bedroom community outside Washington, D.C.” I drew my brows together in thought. “That suit’s not likely to be there still.”
“My momma puts all her receipts in envelopes. Maybe Jake used this envelope for that, too, and it got stuck there. Heck, I’m always finding them little papers in pockets and drawers.”
“Me too, but still …” I chewed on my lower lip for a moment before putting the receipt back in the envelope. “Let’s see what else is here.”
That’s when I saw it: a large manila envelope with a note stapled to it: Madison, If something happens to me, tell Fancy in person. Give her what’s in here, and give Hunter the rest. Take good care of George. Jake.
A trill of adrenaline rushed up my arms. “Zach! Jake did know he was in danger!” A business card was stapled on the note, belonging to “F. Gloria Smith” at a Gorman’s Department Store in New Orleans. “Do you think the ‘F’ stands for Fancy?”
“Must be.” Interest lit up Zach’s sky-blue eyes.
I tore open the envelope and shook it over the blanket between us, hurriedly sorting through the contents: Jake’s badge, a deed for forty acres in Louisiana, a Christmas Club bank book worth $412.15, and, finally, his will. The will was a fill-in-the-blank document: the executrix was the same “F. Gloria Smith.” She got the money and the land. Hunter was to get Jake’s guns and any business paraphernalia he wanted. Whatever he didn’t want would be sold and the profits given to F. Gloria: Fancy. I got the bird, which, at the moment, seemed rather apt.
My shoulders fell. “This is no help. Is there anything else in the box?”
“Just these.” Zach pulled out three small three-by-five-inch photographs.
I took them. The first picture showed a woman—brunette, petite, perhaps thirty years old—proudly displaying a bundled baby to the camera. Muted colors gave the picture a sense of serenity, and, guessing from the style of clothes, the photo seemed to be about twenty years old. The second photo, clearly more recent, showed a woman, eighteen to twenty years old, more robust, smiling at a tiny blue parakeet perched on her finger. Although her face was more angular and her nose longer, the two women were clearly related. And the young girl definitely had Jake’s eyes. “They look like mother and daughter.”
“Jake’s kin, maybe? His wife and daughter?”
“I don’t know if he was married. I asked him once but never got a straight answer. Just that stony silence thing he’d do. But this photo of the younger woman is about three years old.”
“How do you figure that?”
I pointed to the picture. “Look at the markings on the baby bird. It’s George. He’s a little over three now.” I noted how the young woman gazed affectionately at the bird. “You know that makes sense. If George was Jake’s daughter’s bird, it would explain why Jake took such great care of him. I mean, Jake’s really not a bird person. He’s more the floppy-eared hunting dog type.”
“So, where’s the daughter now? Why does Jake have her bird? And where’s Mom?”
“Good questions. If you come up with good answers, let me know.” I turned the pictures over. The backs were blank.
Zach took the third photo. “This one doesn’t look anything like the others.”
Taken maybe five years ago, the picture featured a blond, maybe in her late twenties, thin, pretty, with model-perfect makeup. She wore short shorts and a skimpy halter top, very skimpy. Her eyes, the kind of blue that would make a Montana sky envious, stared out of the picture like a dare. And as much as I hated to say it, this woman was clearly from a lower socioeconomic class than the others.
I turned the photo over. In Jake’s hand were the words, “Fan-Glorious!”—exclamation point and all. Below, in different script, were the words, “Miss you, Big D.” It was signed, “Fancy.”
I sat bolt upright. “ ‘Big D’ was the name on the note in the alley!”
“And if she called Jake, ‘Big D’—”
“Then maybe we actually have a suspect.” I stared at her picture. She had a strong, direct gaze. Was she a woman capable of violence? Absolutely. But murder? “On the other hand … I don’t know, Zach. Call it gut instinct, but I think if this woman wanted to shoot someone she wouldn’t do it as an ambush. She’d want to look him in the eye. Besides, why kill Jake when she’s the only heir to his vast Christmas Club fortune?”
“But doesn’t it make you wonder why his wife and daughter aren’t in the will? Where are they? And who is this Fancy lady? A second wife, maybe?”
“Maybe the two women in the other photos aren’t his wife and daughter.”
“Then who are they?”
“I don’t know.” I flipped Fancy’s picture toward him. “But maybe she does. And you know what? I’m going to go and find out.”
“What do you mean, fly to New Orleans?”
“Why not? Jake obviously knew he was in trouble, but he was still willing to send me to see her. Clearly he trusts her. Maybe we should too.”
Zach rubbed his jaw. “Well … I would like to see you leave town. I reckon you’d be a might safer. But how do you know she’s still there?”
I snatched Jake’s handwritten note. “This only has the department store number.”
“New Orleans is in our time zone. And big stores stay open late.”
“That’s true.” I borrowed Zach’s cell phone and dialed the store. After two rings, a woman answered. “Gorman’s Department Store. How may I direct your call?”
“Is Ms. Smith there, please?”
“We have several, ma’am. Do you have a first name?”
“F. Gloria. Oh! Or maybe Fancy. She goes by both.”
“Just a moment, please.” I looked at Zach and crossed my fingers. Seconds later, the woman said, “I’m sorry, but Ms. Smith has just gone for the day. May I direct you to someone else in her department?”
“Which department would that be?”
“That would be the Quetile Cosmetic line in our Beauty Department.” The woman’s voice took on a suspicious tone. “And who did you say you were, ma’am?”
“A friend.”
“And you don’t know the department she works in?”
“Um. She changes jobs a lot.”
“Not in the last ten years, according to my records.”
“I don’t suppose you could give me her home phone?”
“No ma’am, most definitely not. May I have your name, please?”
“Oops, sorry. Bad connection, I’m going through a tunnel.” I punched the off button.
Zach said, “What was that all about?”
“I think she suspected I was some kind of stalker or something.”
“You handled it smoothly, though. Nobody suspects that going through the tunnel thing.”
I screwed up my face at him, then felt fuzzy-headed with the effort. “Whoa. I think that Percocet is starting to take effect. Anyway, at least we know that Ms. Fancy Smith still works there, and she’s been there all day. So she wasn’t here taking shots at Jake or planting bombs. Tomorrow I can fly down and—” I stopped, immediately realizing why that wouldn’t work. I clucked my tongue in frustration. “Wait. I can’t. I’m broke! Come to think of it, who knows if I’ll even have a job in the future? Crap!”
“I’ll loan you the money.”
“I couldn’t—”
“My money not good enough for you? I’m doing all right. I won a nice little purse in Omaha. Besides, that way you’re beholden to me. And think of what I can do with that.” He waggled his eyebrows like some silent movie villain.
I laughed. “You are the best! But I’d still feel bad.”
“Darlin’, it ain’t safe for you here. Now, I’d prefer to watch after you myself, but I got a competition in two days, and who knows how long this’ll go on.”
I opened my mouth in protest.
He held up one hand, palm first. “Yeah, I know. You’re a big, brave, independent woman who don’t need no man to look after her. But if I’m out there worrying about you alone here, I’m likely to get throwed and get my skull split open like a melon. And it’ll be all your fault. So, you’re getting on a plane tomorrow.” He pulled his phone from the holster on his belt and dialed his travel agent cousin. In no time, I had a flight to New Orleans for ten a.m. the next day.
“You’re such a great friend, I—” A yawn overtook me. My weary body and woozy head joined forces. “I’m just so tired.” I yawned again, so hard that it almost knocked me over.
“I’m amazed you’ve stayed going this long. Here, give me this,” he said, taking the box from my lap. “And you lay down now.”
I kicked off my boots and scooted down flat on the giant sleeping bag atop the hay. Zach grabbed the blankets and lay down beside me, covering us both. I rolled against him, letting him put his arm around me as my body convulsed with another yawn. “This really is nice.”
“I think so,” he said into my hair.
A sense of indescribable contentment blanketed me. The bed was soft and giving beneath me. It smelled sweet and earthy, and Zach’s chest was warm against my cheek. “I wish I knew why someone threw the box out the window. If they were trying to steal it, why leave it? Do they want the numbers in Hunter’s envelope? Or maybe there’s something in the will I’m missing.”
“Maybe it wasn’t stolen. Maybe Jake threw the box out the window.”
“Why?”
He hugged me. “I don’t know. Shush now. Go to sleep.”
“Hmm. This is comfy.” Typical me, I start dropping off, and all the events of the day come rushing in, as if for one final parade review. “You know I was just thinking about Hunter.”
“Great. You lie down with me and start thinking about another man. That’s flattering.”
“No, silly. I don’t mean that way. In fact, I was thinking about Jake, too.”
“This just gets better and better.”
My head felt so light I thought it might float away, but I was so warm, so comfortable. “It’s, um, where was I going? Oh, yeah. Why ask me to talk to Fancy? Why not ask Hunter? And why don’t they work together anymore?”
His chin brushed against my head as he looked down at me. “What do you mean?”
“At first, I thought Lilly’s suspicions were ridiculous, but I’m not so sure we should throw away that data point prematurely. I mean, they were partners, yes? But Hunter’s a wealthy man, and Jake’s just scraping by. You’d think Hunter would want to help his old friend.”
“Maybe they had a falling-out.”
“They get along fine as far as I can tell.”
“I don’t know, Darlin’. But you can’t strike oil if you don’t dig for it.”
I tried to lift my head, but it wouldn’t budge. “What’s that, a wise old country saying?”
“I mean you need to dig deeper to find out what was really going on between those two. Now how about you stop talking about other men when you’re lying down with me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I smiled, feeling like I was about to purr. I knew it was a side effect of the pills, but you know, I just didn’t give a damn. I tilted my head back, and my nose brushed against the soft bristles of his chin. “That tickles. And you smell good.”
“It’s all those lemony hand wipes we used to wash up with.”
“It’s nice. I like it.” I kissed the underside of his chin.
He shifted slightly, and his voice sounded strained. “Maybe you ought not do that.”
“You’re right,” I said, although my hand slid slowly up and down his chest. “Jolene would have every right to be angry.”
He rolled my body closer to him. “I meant to tell you. Me and Jolene broke up.”
Yay! “Oh, I’m sorry.” My damned hand started massaging his arm. “Are you sad?”
He swallowed hard and looked down at me. “Not at the moment.”
“But I feel so sorry for you. It makes me want to—” I wrapped my fingers in his hair and drew his head down, bringing his lips to mine. He hesitated, but then his arms tightened around me. Our lips moved against each other, soft and yielding, then increasingly insistent. My shoulder ached, though it didn’t compare with the ache lower down. I pulled him closer.
Zach broke off, gently pulling away. “I don’t believe I’m about to say this, but maybe we ought not. It ain’t right to take advantage of you when you’re in this state—”
I gripped his hair tighter and pulled his face back to mine. “Shut up, cowboy.” As my mouth met his, I ran the tip of my tongue over his lips. He shuddered and drew me hard to him.
Just then the floor shook. I broke off. “What was that? Did Fido come in the van?”
Zach nuzzled my neck. “Don’t worry about him.”
My toes curled, and I groaned. “But what if he comes over here?”
He feathered my throat with kisses. “He does, and he’s Sunday dinner, I swear to God.”
His mouth covered mine again, and I pulled him on top of me. Oh, this is heaven!
Then it happened: The most tremendous stink I’d ever smelled in my life filled the air.
I pushed Zach away. “What is that smell?! Oh my God!”
Zach’s eyes were glazed. “What? It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Let’s just—”
The stench nearly gagged me. I pushed Zach away, rising to my elbows. Fido stood on the other side of the net, his tail high in the air. “That animal just shit all over the floor!”
Face screwed up in helpless frustration, Zach said, “Well, it’s what they do. You can’t house-break cattle, Darlin’.” He put his hand on the back of my neck, massaging it as he lowered himself close to me. “Just give it a second. You’ll get used to it. Now, why don’t we—”
I straight-armed him. Logy head or not, my nose was sharp. “Clean. It. Up. Now!”
Zach dropped his head to his chest and groaned. “All right.” He threw the blanket off and walked toward the bull. “Probably best anyway.” He shouldered Fido toward the van door, none too gently. “You couldn’t give me five more minutes? Just five lousy minutes. Gosh-danged, cussed, ornery creature. Walking bag of fertilizer.”
Grogginess rushed over me, pushing my body back down on the bed. My mind slipped sideways, and I heard myself say, “Explosive stuff: fertilizer. It goes off like—”
… I stood in a field of snow.
Startled, I looked around. A thick forest of evergreens covered the horizon. The ground stretched flat, subsumed in drifts of deep, white snow. I stood alone.
What the hell? Zach? I heard scribbling and turned toward it. Ah. I’m dreaming.
I knew this because she was there: The Evil Dream Pixie. Well, I say pixie, but I don’t actually know what she is because her face is always in shadow, even when she’s standing in the middle of bloody nowhere under full light. She just seems pixielike. And I hate her. I mean, I really hate her. For as long as I can remember, she’s appeared in my dreams, usually before a big test or major paper was due. And she’s always, always writing on that damned pad of hers. She never says a word, just watches me, taking notes. What’s really frustrating is that I know the answer I need to any question is written on that pad. She won’t let me see it, but if I ever get close enough, I’m going to rip it out of her smart-ass little hands and beat her with it.
Evil Dream Pixie looked up. I knew she was staring at me, even though I couldn’t see her face. “What the hell do you want?” I snarled.
She pointed her pencil at my feet. I looked down to find myself standing in a steaming pile of cow crap. I danced to one side, shaking bits of shit off my boot. “You did that on purpose! You irritating, arrogant, know-it-all—”
“Now you know how I feel,” Hunter said, walking in front of me.
My annoyance swelled. “What are you doing here?”
He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. He wore my favorite of his suits: silk, navy and fitted perfectly over his muscular physique. “Hell if I know. It’s your dream.”
“I like that suit on you. And since you’re not actually here, I can admit that I’ve thought you were hot from the moment we met. Until you opened your mouth and ruined everything.”
“I thought the same thing about you. But maybe you ought to be paying attention to that.” He nodded to something behind me.
When I turned, I realized that I stood on the edge of the forest. A tree branch hovered above me, something fluttering in its branches. “What is it?”
“Again: your dream.”
As I squinted up at the thing, it floated into my hand, and I realized what it was. “The note from the alley. But—” I paused thoughtfully. “It’s completely silver. Why would that be?” A breeze blew the glittering paper out of my hands and carried it into the sky. As it went higher, it got larger until it actually became the sky. Then the snow turned into glistening silver flakes. On a whim, I closed my eyes and caught one on my tongue. It tasted like metal. When I opened my eyes, I watched the snow change from silver to black when it hit the ground, covering everything in a fine, ebony powder that rose in wisps as the wind blew over it. “That’s odd,” I said to Hunter. “Shouldn’t the drifts be silver too?”
He walked up behind me. “You think that’s odd, look over there.”
I looked at the pile of cow dung, now half buried. Black snow slid down in a tiny avalanche, setting off puffs of flame, like little soundless explosions.
“Well, that’s just bizarre.”
“Fertilizer is unstable,” Hunter said.
“I know. The chemistry is such that—uh, Hunter what are you doing?”
His hands encircled my waist, and he put his lips on my neck, slowly, softly kissing the length of it. “What part of ‘this is your dream’ are you not getting?” he said as he nuzzled me.
I shivered under his warm touch. “I, um—oh. That’s nice. I quite like that.”
His hands traveled up my abdomen and cupped my breasts. “That’s probably why you have me doing it,” he murmured into my hair.
“Makes sense.” I moaned and closed my eyes, pressing my back into his chest as his thumbs caressed my nipples. “I mean, I really, really like that.”
“So it appears,” a harsh voice said.
My eyes snapped open. I was still lying on the bed in the van. My arms were stretched over my head, my back arched. Hunter crouched beside me. “Looky what I got.” He dangled a pair of handcuffs above me. “Just for you. And this time, you’re not getting away from me.”