who the hell are you, anyway? Why don’t you just keep movin’ toward that there door?” Harlan said. “Or I’ll give you a reason to wish you had. Show you what a real man can do.” He stepped forward in his steel-toed boots. “This is none of your freaking business, little lady.”
“Actually, it is,” Kat replied coldly. “What say, let’s share some ID?” She opened her purse and flashed her badge at Harlan and the barkeep. “So, I’ve shown you mine. Let’s have a look at yours.”
“Cop. Shoulda known.” Harlan gave a yank on the chain attached to the wallet in his rear pocket. He removed his identification and handed it to Kat.
“Your name, sir?” Kat asked, glancing over at the bartender, who held up eight fingers, apparently one for each beer Harlan had downed.
“You can see right there, it’s Sweeney. Harlan Sweeney.”
“Well, Harlan Sweeney, are you drunk?”
“Maybe. Free country. I gotta right to drink and to express my opinion.”
“Just the same, Mr. Sweeney.” Kat handed back the ID. “You are harassing these men. Here’s your choice.... You can go back to your own crib or the jail.”
He seemed at a loss for words. The din dropped to a murmur. Everyone’s attention was now on the biker and Kat. A few patrons, apparently not wanting to hang around for a police action, dashed for the door.
Abby watched the man, thinking maybe Kat should have called for backup before confronting him. Abby knew from experience that showing the bad guys your badge always seemed to piss them off. But she also suspected that Kat was packing a concealed weapon, in case things got too out of control. As the man slid his wallet back into his jeans pocket, Abby’s gaze followed his hand’s movement. She noted the narrow strip, which resembled twine, threaded through the biker’s belt loops.
“I get claustrophobic in tight places,” the man finally drawled, stepping back to let Kat pass. “Besides . . .” He drilled his eyes into Abby’s and cocked his head toward the two young banker types. “You never know who has sprawled on those jail cots.” His wink at Abby was unmistakable even in bar light. “I hate boozin’ with fairies.” His forced laugh was as coarse as sanded grout.
Abby flinched. She knew better than to comment. Kat told the bartender to call a cab for Mr. Sweeney and said she’d get a cruiser out to make sure the guy actually got home. Abby followed Kat past Sweeney, but he reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Next time,” he said, addressing Abby, “why don’t you and I have a drink together? Get to know each other better?”
“In your dreams,” she hissed, wrenching free of his grasp.
Outside, Abby watched the bar door, while Kat called in the disturbance. They waited until they saw the cruiser pull up. Kat briefly exchanged words with the officer. Then she and Abby walked in lockstep past the dozen or so motorcycles parked at the meters in front of the bar. They strode at a brisk clip past the pizza parlor, the antique shop, and the quilting store, then finally turned the corner onto Church Street, where they stopped momentarily in front of the padlocked wrought-iron gates of the Church of the Holy Names. Holding on to the gate, Abby removed her left high heel to rub her foot.
“You let him off easy,” she said.
“Seriously, you think me and you and Toots could’ve taken him?”
“Not in heels,” Abby joked.
“A guy like that is easy to find. He mouths off too much. We’ll get around to questioning him, if not in this case, then in another one.”
Tips for Growing Lavender
• Pick the right type of lavender for your gardening purposes and for your area’s microclimate.
• Grow the lavender in raised beds in which pea-sized gravel, sand, or chicken grit has been incorporated.
• Add aged manure to the soil for extra nutrients.
• Give the lavender plants room to spread out. This will ensure adequate air circulation as they grow
“Actually, it is,” Kat replied coldly. “What say, let’s share some ID?” She opened her purse and flashed her badge at Harlan and the barkeep. “So, I’ve shown you mine. Let’s have a look at yours.”
“Cop. Shoulda known.” Harlan gave a yank on the chain attached to the wallet in his rear pocket. He removed his identification and handed it to Kat.
“Your name, sir?” Kat asked, glancing over at the bartender, who held up eight fingers, apparently one for each beer Harlan had downed.
“You can see right there, it’s Sweeney. Harlan Sweeney.”
“Well, Harlan Sweeney, are you drunk?”
“Maybe. Free country. I gotta right to drink and to express my opinion.”
“Just the same, Mr. Sweeney.” Kat handed back the ID. “You are harassing these men. Here’s your choice.... You can go back to your own crib or the jail.”
He seemed at a loss for words. The din dropped to a murmur. Everyone’s attention was now on the biker and Kat. A few patrons, apparently not wanting to hang around for a police action, dashed for the door.
Abby watched the man, thinking maybe Kat should have called for backup before confronting him. Abby knew from experience that showing the bad guys your badge always seemed to piss them off. But she also suspected that Kat was packing a concealed weapon, in case things got too out of control. As the man slid his wallet back into his jeans pocket, Abby’s gaze followed his hand’s movement. She noted the narrow strip, which resembled twine, threaded through the biker’s belt loops.
“I get claustrophobic in tight places,” the man finally drawled, stepping back to let Kat pass. “Besides . . .” He drilled his eyes into Abby’s and cocked his head toward the two young banker types. “You never know who has sprawled on those jail cots.” His wink at Abby was unmistakable even in bar light. “I hate boozin’ with fairies.” His forced laugh was as coarse as sanded grout.
Abby flinched. She knew better than to comment. Kat told the bartender to call a cab for Mr. Sweeney and said she’d get a cruiser out to make sure the guy actually got home. Abby followed Kat past Sweeney, but he reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Next time,” he said, addressing Abby, “why don’t you and I have a drink together? Get to know each other better?”
“In your dreams,” she hissed, wrenching free of his grasp.
Outside, Abby watched the bar door, while Kat called in the disturbance. They waited until they saw the cruiser pull up. Kat briefly exchanged words with the officer. Then she and Abby walked in lockstep past the dozen or so motorcycles parked at the meters in front of the bar. They strode at a brisk clip past the pizza parlor, the antique shop, and the quilting store, then finally turned the corner onto Church Street, where they stopped momentarily in front of the padlocked wrought-iron gates of the Church of the Holy Names. Holding on to the gate, Abby removed her left high heel to rub her foot.
“You let him off easy,” she said.
“Seriously, you think me and you and Toots could’ve taken him?”
“Not in heels,” Abby joked.
“A guy like that is easy to find. He mouths off too much. We’ll get around to questioning him, if not in this case, then in another one.”
Tips for Growing Lavender
• Pick the right type of lavender for your gardening purposes and for your area’s microclimate.
• Grow the lavender in raised beds in which pea-sized gravel, sand, or chicken grit has been incorporated.
• Add aged manure to the soil for extra nutrients.
• Give the lavender plants room to spread out. This will ensure adequate air circulation as they grow
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