gone.
Cherchez la femme.
The theory was good, but before I started following anyone else’s tail, I needed to save Lily’s. I had a feeling my morning appointment with Officer Creighton was not going to be easy or brief. If I wanted anything like an edge, I needed more information. Plus, if I was going to save Lily’s skin, I needed her papers. Hard proof that she’d been vaccinated would be the best way for her to avoid a summary execution. Which is why that evening, after making my other rounds and waiting for the late summer sun to finally douse itself in the hills, I was back at Charles’. Crouched under an old lilac, listening to the birds and contemplating a break in.
The lilac wasn’t cover exactly, its old trunk too gnarly and bare. However, its deep shadow did shield me partially from the road. If anyone saw me, well, I was resting. I hadn’t been back long enough for Joe Neighbor to know I was no nature lover. Breaking in was the obvious choice. No way could I just waltz into the house while Creighton or any of his colleagues were around. They’d like me for the crime, if they couldn’t frame Lily. The birds, well, they were my lookouts.
Like I’ve said, I don’t talk to the animals. With the exception of Wallis, they don’t seem to talk to me in any personal way and that’s fine. Birds especially. There’s a reason we humans have the expression “bird brain.” But even a non-psychic could pick up the contented good-night cooings of the mourning doves, the last-chance call-outs of that macho mockingbird, everybody getting ready to nest down for the night. I just hear it differently. Hear the intent, if that makes sense. So if anything, even the neighborhood tom, had come around, you’d hear squawks. I’d be getting panicked little shrieks.
Flee! Flee! Flee! What? What? What?
I wasn’t, but I wanted to make sure. I shifted on the hard roots of the lilac. Ten minutes more, and if everything remained quiet, I’d go in.
I didn’t mind being alone. Gotten used to it certainly, but something in Wallis’ comments had hit home. There’d been men back in the city. More than a few. Men liked me, and I liked them, at least for a while. But I’m a loner by nature. Sitting here, uncomfortable as it was, gave me a chance to think. Wallis’ jab combined with the night noises set my thoughts on Stevie, the most recent of the bunch. A jazz pianist, Stevie had hands like caged doves, all fluttery to watch but more powerful than you’d think. That had been a while ago. For an artist, Stevie had been surprisingly concrete, and I hadn’t been able to explain my “gift” once it had come. Nor to anyone else, for that matter. Plus, he had the most annoying schnauzer that kept yelling obscenities at me. So that had been it. I’d become one of those women who lives alone and talks to her cat. I figured I had a good six months before I started eying the gas station attendant with impure thoughts. And I had my nights free to sit in the bushes outside the house of a former clients. It could be worse.
***
The last of the chittering died away, and all I got were vague images of warmth and down. It was time. Quietly as I could, and stiff from the roots, I rose and approached the house. Funny, it looked bigger at night, the windows like eyes, staring down.
Somewhere back in the bushes, I heard a rustle. I froze, and thought of the switchblade in my pocket. A flash of something fat, white, and juicy made me relax. An opossum was hoping for grubs, and I was being ridiculous. Shaking my head to clear it, I walked around to the big front porch. As tempted as I was to break in, to see if my knife would slide me in the back verandah, I had no need to actually test Charles’ locks. He’d given me a key when he’d hired me. The fact that he’d always been home when I showed up didn’t change that.
I paused. He’d always been home. He worked there, with a wired-up office that housed more equipment than the rest
Cherchez la femme.
The theory was good, but before I started following anyone else’s tail, I needed to save Lily’s. I had a feeling my morning appointment with Officer Creighton was not going to be easy or brief. If I wanted anything like an edge, I needed more information. Plus, if I was going to save Lily’s skin, I needed her papers. Hard proof that she’d been vaccinated would be the best way for her to avoid a summary execution. Which is why that evening, after making my other rounds and waiting for the late summer sun to finally douse itself in the hills, I was back at Charles’. Crouched under an old lilac, listening to the birds and contemplating a break in.
The lilac wasn’t cover exactly, its old trunk too gnarly and bare. However, its deep shadow did shield me partially from the road. If anyone saw me, well, I was resting. I hadn’t been back long enough for Joe Neighbor to know I was no nature lover. Breaking in was the obvious choice. No way could I just waltz into the house while Creighton or any of his colleagues were around. They’d like me for the crime, if they couldn’t frame Lily. The birds, well, they were my lookouts.
Like I’ve said, I don’t talk to the animals. With the exception of Wallis, they don’t seem to talk to me in any personal way and that’s fine. Birds especially. There’s a reason we humans have the expression “bird brain.” But even a non-psychic could pick up the contented good-night cooings of the mourning doves, the last-chance call-outs of that macho mockingbird, everybody getting ready to nest down for the night. I just hear it differently. Hear the intent, if that makes sense. So if anything, even the neighborhood tom, had come around, you’d hear squawks. I’d be getting panicked little shrieks.
Flee! Flee! Flee! What? What? What?
I wasn’t, but I wanted to make sure. I shifted on the hard roots of the lilac. Ten minutes more, and if everything remained quiet, I’d go in.
I didn’t mind being alone. Gotten used to it certainly, but something in Wallis’ comments had hit home. There’d been men back in the city. More than a few. Men liked me, and I liked them, at least for a while. But I’m a loner by nature. Sitting here, uncomfortable as it was, gave me a chance to think. Wallis’ jab combined with the night noises set my thoughts on Stevie, the most recent of the bunch. A jazz pianist, Stevie had hands like caged doves, all fluttery to watch but more powerful than you’d think. That had been a while ago. For an artist, Stevie had been surprisingly concrete, and I hadn’t been able to explain my “gift” once it had come. Nor to anyone else, for that matter. Plus, he had the most annoying schnauzer that kept yelling obscenities at me. So that had been it. I’d become one of those women who lives alone and talks to her cat. I figured I had a good six months before I started eying the gas station attendant with impure thoughts. And I had my nights free to sit in the bushes outside the house of a former clients. It could be worse.
***
The last of the chittering died away, and all I got were vague images of warmth and down. It was time. Quietly as I could, and stiff from the roots, I rose and approached the house. Funny, it looked bigger at night, the windows like eyes, staring down.
Somewhere back in the bushes, I heard a rustle. I froze, and thought of the switchblade in my pocket. A flash of something fat, white, and juicy made me relax. An opossum was hoping for grubs, and I was being ridiculous. Shaking my head to clear it, I walked around to the big front porch. As tempted as I was to break in, to see if my knife would slide me in the back verandah, I had no need to actually test Charles’ locks. He’d given me a key when he’d hired me. The fact that he’d always been home when I showed up didn’t change that.
I paused. He’d always been home. He worked there, with a wired-up office that housed more equipment than the rest
Similar Books
