light. Shadows rippled across the glimmering facade.
The windshield fogged up fast. He found a cloth in the glove compartment and swiped at the glass. Wazoo’s van stood close to the Pontiac on the gravel parking strip outside the rectory. He noticed she’d left the dome light on. Shutting the dog in the car, Guy strode to the van and tried the passenger door. Locked. He walked around the hood—and collided with Wazoo on the other side of the vehicle.
“What you sneakin’ around for, N’awlins?” she said, leaning inside the van to put off the light.
“I was goin’ to steal your wheels—after I made sure the battery was still charged. Night.”
“You was goin’ to turn off my light. I know that. You got a nice dog there.”
Guy mumbled nothing in particular.
“Don’t leave her in the car, you. She could suffocate in there. When I got her out she was pantin’.”
“Night,” Guy said again.
“Yeah. Jilly Gable’s too good for you but maybe you’ll improve. Don’t you hurt her no more, you.”
Guy watched her return to the rectory kitchens before he got into the Pontiac once more.
Goldilocks barked.
Guy whipped his face toward her. “What’s up with you?”
The dog barked again, and set up a whining that made the hairs on the back of Guy’s neck stand up. That was the moment before he smelled something burning, something foul burning. Black smoke forced itself from the engine compartment and between the spaces around the hood.
He switched off, grabbed the fire extinguisher from behind his seat, the flashlight he kept in the pocket beside him, and shot from the vehicle.
He threw up the hood and took several steps backward from a blast of heat and acrid smoke laced with particles that stung his eyes.
With the light trained on the engine, he started a stream of foam from the extinguisher, but stopped. The smoke had thinned already.
If you liked your meat really well done, the gutted chicken, its blackened innards tidily arranged beside the carcass, was scorched to perfection.
7
Guy parked the Pontiac several houses away from Jilly’s. He said a small prayer, “Let her be reasonable,” and roused Goldilocks, who snored beside him.
The chicken was a joke. People didn’t really believe in all that voodoo hooey these days—they just liked to pretend so they could support Louisiana’s reputation.
“C’mon, dog, this is our fond farewell.” He couldn’t help wondering if the burnt offerings were Wazoo’s idea of being funny and she’d come outside for a good laugh at his expense.
If she’d done the chicken number she would have expected him to drive away as soon as he got in the car and not see or smell anything until he was on the road and his engine heated up. She couldn’t have known he’d hang around a bit too long.
Who else would go to so much trouble? He was darned if he knew.
Goldilocks climbed sleepily over his seat and jumped out. She leaned against his leg and yawned. It didn’t cost him anything to scratch her head. She wasn’t so old, maybe a year, and she still tired herself out.
“Now, do as I say,” he told her, walking in the shadow of a tall hedge and holding the scruff of the animal’s neck.
Up the driveway to Jilly’s front door they went, and Guy knocked softly.
The house was in darkness.
He knocked harder. She’d never hear otherwise.
Goldilocks whined and Guy gripped her muzzle in one hand while he whispered in her ear, “It’s real important you don’t get on the wrong side of Jilly, so be very quiet.” As soon as he let go, Goldilocks whined again.
This time Guy rang the bell—three times—and stepped back. He heard the slightest scrape and looked up to see a curtain blow where a window had been opened an inch. The window hadn’t been open when he arrived. He’d checked.
He stood beneath the window. “Jilly,” he said hoarsely, trying to project a whisper. “Jilly, it’s Guy. I need to talk to you.”
He waited and watched. Nothing moved and there wasn’t another sound. The curling in the pit of his stomach was too familiar. He was getting frustrated and that wouldn’t help a thing.
“Please, Jilly.” He glanced around to make sure no one else saw him grovel. On his cell phone, he dialed her number and heard the phone ring five times inside the house, then fall silent. No answering machine came on.
“Okay, I don’t want to do it, but I’m gonna have to get tough.”
Kneeling beside the dog, he said, “Bark. Go on, just bark.”
Guy’s ear got a thorough cleaning but not one peep did Goldilocks make.
He put an arm around her and made what he hoped were good imitations of low barks, then he growled for good measure.
The only thing his attempts bought him was a passionate face washing.
Guy filled his palm with pieces of gravel, stood up and shied one gently against the open window. After a few seconds he tossed another and another.
“Sheesh,” he muttered, “why can’t women be sensible—like men?”
After what felt like minutes he said, louder, “I’ve got that mutt here and I’m not taking her with me when I leave. Come on down and get her. Unless you just want her to wander off and get…lost.” You had to be careful with Jilly over some things. Most things.
He lobbed more pieces of gravel, being careful to make sure they barely touched the glass. She’d have to hear them.
The next one he tossed a little harder—and he winced. The pane cracked. He blew up his cheeks and stared upward. What kind of luck was that, dammit? A piece of gravel thrown underhand and gently shouldn’t break a window.
Aw hell, he had broken her window. And he was a bit old to run away.
He kept on looking up but there was no sign of Jilly. She was in, he’d stake his life on it. Admittedly her car wasn’t around to prove it, but that didn’t mean a thing since the Beetle was in the shop.
Kneeling beside the dog once more, he told her, “I give up. The woman is totally unreasonable. You stay here and bark whenever you feel like it. If you leave it could be curtains—for both of us. But she’ll show eventually and take you in—she’s too soft to turn you away.” He lifted one ear flap and growled softly. “Do that. It works every time.”
Jilly had opened the front door a couple of inches while Guy had been throwing rocks at her bedroom window. She couldn’t believe a grown man would kneel there in the dirt giving a dog instructions as if the
