staring fixedly at the microwave, not moving, waiting for the ping. Mackie threaded through his legs to join his sister and Big Louie in their vigil. Autumn was setting the table. She was saying, “I like these plates, Mama, they’re cute.”
They were a Mexican motif, bright and cheerful, presented to him by his mother three years ago when he’d moved back to Titusville. He’d packed his own very nice Italian service away, and thanked her.
“Don’t forget the milk for the coffee, sweetie.”
Autumn lifted the carton of nonfat milk from the counter and set it on the table. She began folding paper napkins, placing them care-fully beside each plate.
It was such a domestic scene, so very normal. It reminded him of years ago when there were three yelling, laughing children banging around the kitchen, ready to eat every scrap their mother served up. It was remarkable. He said from the doorway, “I hope you made three extra slices of turkey bacon for my anorexic pets.”
Joanna dropped the wooden spatula and made a frantic grab for Ox’s Colt, six inches from her hand.
He held out both palms. “It’s okay. It’s me, please don’t shoot me in my own kitchen.”
“Not a problem,” Joanna said. “The clip is empty.”
Autumn froze at the sound of his voice. Then she gave him a huge grin. Big Louie barked, Lula meowed, and Mackie never looked away From the microwave, which pinged a half-second later.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” Joanna said. “I hope you don’t mind our taking over your kitchen.” She opened the microwave door, pulled out the covered plate of bacon, dabbed off the extra grease with a paper towel, and looked down at the animals. They were talking nonstop, at full volume. Ethan took down paper plates from the cab-inet and crumbled a single crispy bacon slice on each plate, set them in a straight line on the floor. The barks and meows died, the silence instant.
Her fear was still palpable. How was he to get information out on a woman who was still so scared, still so on edge she’d have shot him? He said, “I’m tempted to join my varmints. Everything smells great.”
“I took coffee and peanut-butter toast out to Glenda and Harm, What a name, where did it come from?”
“Her dad really liked The Wizard of Oz, but her mom insisted on the normal spelling.”
A laugh spurted out. “No, Harm’s name, not Glinda the Good Witch.”
“His granny was always preaching at him to never get ‘In Harm’s Way/ always spoke it with capital letters. It stuck when he was about twelve. He doesn’t use his real name. Thank you, Joanna, for feeding them.”
She nodded and picked up the spatula, went back to the eggs while Ethan opened cans for the animals.
He petted each of them. “Okay, guys, you’ve had your dessert, now go over and eat your main course. That’s a nice name you’ve got, Joanna. Where’d it come from?”
She was weighing how much to tell him; he saw it clearly on her face. He’d love to get her in a poker game, she’d lose her knickers.
“Joanna was grandma’s name,” Autumn said,
carefully placing a knife beside a plate Ethan saw was chipped. “I never met her; she died when I was little.
Remember, I told you, Ethan. She died of the big C.”
“I remember. I’m sorry,” Ethan said to her.
Joanna shrugged. “She was actually my great-grandmother, and she was ninety-four.”
Ethan watched her spill out the last capsule from a prescription bottle and hand it to Autumn.
“Down the hatch, sweetie. Last one.”
“You gave her one last night?”
Joanna was nodding when Big Louie raised his head from his now empty food bowl and barked. Both Ethan and Joanna went on instant alert.
A moment later, Harm’s face appeared in the kitchen door’s window. Ethan opened the door and stepped back. “What’s up, Harm?”
“I left the house last night without my aloe vera, Sheriff, and my face hurts something fierce. Glenda told me Faydeen said you probably had
They were a Mexican motif, bright and cheerful, presented to him by his mother three years ago when he’d moved back to Titusville. He’d packed his own very nice Italian service away, and thanked her.
“Don’t forget the milk for the coffee, sweetie.”
Autumn lifted the carton of nonfat milk from the counter and set it on the table. She began folding paper napkins, placing them care-fully beside each plate.
It was such a domestic scene, so very normal. It reminded him of years ago when there were three yelling, laughing children banging around the kitchen, ready to eat every scrap their mother served up. It was remarkable. He said from the doorway, “I hope you made three extra slices of turkey bacon for my anorexic pets.”
Joanna dropped the wooden spatula and made a frantic grab for Ox’s Colt, six inches from her hand.
He held out both palms. “It’s okay. It’s me, please don’t shoot me in my own kitchen.”
“Not a problem,” Joanna said. “The clip is empty.”
Autumn froze at the sound of his voice. Then she gave him a huge grin. Big Louie barked, Lula meowed, and Mackie never looked away From the microwave, which pinged a half-second later.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” Joanna said. “I hope you don’t mind our taking over your kitchen.” She opened the microwave door, pulled out the covered plate of bacon, dabbed off the extra grease with a paper towel, and looked down at the animals. They were talking nonstop, at full volume. Ethan took down paper plates from the cab-inet and crumbled a single crispy bacon slice on each plate, set them in a straight line on the floor. The barks and meows died, the silence instant.
Her fear was still palpable. How was he to get information out on a woman who was still so scared, still so on edge she’d have shot him? He said, “I’m tempted to join my varmints. Everything smells great.”
“I took coffee and peanut-butter toast out to Glenda and Harm, What a name, where did it come from?”
“Her dad really liked The Wizard of Oz, but her mom insisted on the normal spelling.”
A laugh spurted out. “No, Harm’s name, not Glinda the Good Witch.”
“His granny was always preaching at him to never get ‘In Harm’s Way/ always spoke it with capital letters. It stuck when he was about twelve. He doesn’t use his real name. Thank you, Joanna, for feeding them.”
She nodded and picked up the spatula, went back to the eggs while Ethan opened cans for the animals.
He petted each of them. “Okay, guys, you’ve had your dessert, now go over and eat your main course. That’s a nice name you’ve got, Joanna. Where’d it come from?”
She was weighing how much to tell him; he saw it clearly on her face. He’d love to get her in a poker game, she’d lose her knickers.
“Joanna was grandma’s name,” Autumn said,
carefully placing a knife beside a plate Ethan saw was chipped. “I never met her; she died when I was little.
Remember, I told you, Ethan. She died of the big C.”
“I remember. I’m sorry,” Ethan said to her.
Joanna shrugged. “She was actually my great-grandmother, and she was ninety-four.”
Ethan watched her spill out the last capsule from a prescription bottle and hand it to Autumn.
“Down the hatch, sweetie. Last one.”
“You gave her one last night?”
Joanna was nodding when Big Louie raised his head from his now empty food bowl and barked. Both Ethan and Joanna went on instant alert.
A moment later, Harm’s face appeared in the kitchen door’s window. Ethan opened the door and stepped back. “What’s up, Harm?”
“I left the house last night without my aloe vera, Sheriff, and my face hurts something fierce. Glenda told me Faydeen said you probably had