Day Shift (Midnight, Texas #2) (28 page)

“I’m sure you don’t know this,” said Quinn with equally good manners, “but a young weretiger is prized for his fighting ability. When I was the boy’s age, I was in the pits, obliged to fight and kill, to clear a
family debt.” Without warning, he pulled off his T-shirt and rose, turning to show them the scars crisscrossing his back. There were plenty on the front, too.

“Oh,” said Fiji, deeply distressed. “That’s horrible. I’m glad you survived it.”

The big man shrugged and put his shirt back on. “It’s done. But more than anything else, I don’t want the supes to start imagining Diederik as pit fodder, now that he’s got his growth.”

“They could get him away from you?” Joe said.

“If I were dead.”

“So for now he’ll stay here in Midnight,” Joe said.

“Yes. Maybe a few months, maybe a year will see him strong enough, past the dangerous part. If he can make a name for himself doing something else, it won’t be easy to abduct him, force him. He will find a job he can do.”

Joe and Fiji looked at each other. “With the Rev?” she said finally. “You’ve been in the Rev’s house?”

“Yes,” Quinn said steadily. “I’ve seen it’s barren. I was going to ask if there was somewhere else he could stay, though the Rev would be responsible for educating Diederik in the ways of the tiger and instructing him in our history. Of course, I would pay his room and board and other expenses. I understand that you . . . Fiji . . . have been buying him clothes, and I want to pay you back for that. I thank you for your generosity.”

“
De nada,
” she said, smiling. “If you want to, sure, but I did it to keep him decent and smiling. Kids got to have clothes and lots of food.”

“Do you two have any ideas about who would host him?” Quinn looked from one to the other.

“I guess I could clean out my second bedroom. It’s pretty crammed with stuff,” Fiji said doubtfully.

“You’ve been great for Diederik, and he loves your cooking,” Quinn said. He smiled again. “I can see why, after eating this bread. But you’re also pretty and young, and sharing a house with an adolescent boy at such close quarters . . . well, it might not be ideal.”

Fiji turned red. “Okay,” she said.

“We have visitors,” Joe said regretfully. “So our guest room gets some use.” Chuy kept in touch with his human descendants, though they didn’t know his true nature, of course. Joe did not chide Chuy for the elaborate fictions he fed them about their kinship. Chuy seemed to need the contact.

“That leaves Manfred or Bobo,” Fiji said. “They’re both good men.”

Quinn stood. “I’ll go talk to them after I shower. I owe both of you for your kindness to my son.”

Mr. Snuggly raised his head and said, “Good-bye, big man.”

Quinn seemed taken aback. “Well . . . good-bye, little brother.” He shook his head and left.

“Joe, do you think this can work?”

“I hope so,” Joe said. “This town seems to have adopted a child.”

As he walked back to his apartment, looking forward to his shower, he was still thinking about the hard life Quinn had had, and the loss of the female Tijgerin.

Diederik was motherless, and his greatly accelerated growth rate had deprived him of a childhood. Yet the boy had always impressed Joe as being cheerful and willing and intelligent. For a moment, Joe almost resented Chuy’s odd attachment to humans that made Diederik’s boarding with them very unlikely. It would have been nice to have someone young around the place. He smiled to himself. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Quinn had automatically assumed that Diederik would be attracted to a woman rather than a man. Well, he was probably right. Joe hadn’t gotten any vibe that said otherwise, though a boy so young sometimes didn’t know his own nature.

Joe wondered if Diederik’s mother, Tijgerin, had really been the last female weretiger.

If so, Diederik was the end of the line. If he couldn’t find another female, weretigers were extinct. For most of his life, Quinn must have assumed that he was the last one, and now he had a son. Joe hoped that Diederik would be even luckier and find a mate who lived.

The death of the woman the night before did not overly trouble Joe. It was done now. Past mending. He was not going to lament over it or ask God to smite Diederik.

And that was one reason he was in Midnight.

B
y the time lunch rolled around, there was a small crowd gathered in Home Cookin. Olivia was indulging herself with an open-faced roast beef sandwich. She cut the pieces very small and chewed them deliberately. Her fellow Midnighters were gathered around the table, and she smiled at them all. The action of the night before had left her feeling pleasantly relaxed. Aside from the absent weretigers and Teacher, perpetually on duty at Gas N Go, everyone else was there, though Madonna and Grady were in the kitchen and Dillon was at football practice.

Manfred came in later than the others, looking flushed and excited. Since he was normally the palest person in town (except, of course, for Lemuel), this was a notable occurrence.

“What’s up?” asked Chuy, who was holding Rasta on his lap. Rasta had had a bad time of it the night before. The chuffing sound of the tigers had made him shiver and shake and whine. Long after the silence
had fallen, Joe and Chuy had let the little dog in the bed between them, a behavior usually only indulged during thunderstorms.

Manfred paused to tentatively pat Olivia on the shoulder, something he’d never done before. (If he’d known why Lewis and Bertha had turned up at his door last night, he might not have.)

“I just stopped by the hotel to check on Mamie and Tommy and Suzie,” Manfred said to the table in general. “Also, I wanted to see if Shorty had heard from his grandson. I found them all packed up and ready to go.”

“What?” Olivia looked at him sharply, trying to believe this was some weird joke. “What did Lenore Whitefield say?”

“She said that places had opened up for all of them in Safe Harbor, that really fancy assisted-living place in Davy. They’ll each have their own rooms with a little kitchen space, a television, a queen bed, and a La-Z-Boy. I’m quoting.”

Everyone digested that for a minute.

“How’d they feel about it?” Olivia was almost angry.

“They said there was sure to be more going on in Davy. The residents there have dance lessons and bowling nights and yoga classes.”

“So they were willing to go?” Olivia could hardly believe it.

“Yes, even after we took them to lunch at Cracker Barrel, they were willing to go,” Manfred said, laughing. “But they want us to come and visit, and they said you’d promised to take them to the library, Olivia.”

“I’m going to do exactly that,” she said.

“And they weren’t suspicious about it all being paid for?” Chuy said.

“I guess if you’ve been living in a roach motel in Las Vegas, you’re ready to accept whatever good comes your way,” Manfred said.

“What about the regular guests? The contract workers at Magic
Portal?” Bobo asked. One of them had come into Midnight Pawn the previous Saturday and tried to bargain with Bobo over an old tray. He’d been embarrassingly persistent.

“They’re still in residence, as Lenore put it,” Manfred said. “I asked her if more old people would be coming in, and she said that was out of her authority, or something like that. But the hotel’s going to stay open.”

“Very strange,” Chuy said, scratching Rasta’s head. “Two staff, plus the cook, for two guests.”

Bobo said, “What does this mean for the future, I wonder?”

Of course, none of them knew the answer to that. It was unsettling, to say the least.

The electronic chime on the door made them all turn to see who’d come in.

“Hey, everyone,” said Arthur Smith.

They were relaxed enough with the sheriff to say “Hey” back and to make room for him at their table. He eyed Olivia’s roast beef sandwich with interest.

“I came to talk to you, Manfred, and I figured you’d be over here when I couldn’t catch you at your place.” Madonna brought Arthur a glass of water and some silverware, and he asked if he could have an open-face like Olivia. Madonna nodded impassively and left.

“What about? I’m not in more trouble, I hope?” Though Manfred tried to sound confident, he knew they could all hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“The Bonnet Park cops called me. They had a few things to say about Lewis Goldthorpe.”

“Oh?” Manfred hoped Arthur didn’t notice that everyone at the table had grown silent.

“Yeah. He came in to tell them today that he’d seen three tigers here.”

“Tigers. Three.” Manfred didn’t have to struggle to sound amazed. He really was; how did Lewis believe this news would go over at any police department in America? “Ah, and why was he here, did he say that? Because I sure can’t imagine it.”

He hoped he wasn’t imagining that Arthur’s eyes were sharp and taking in his every twitch.

“He said they ate his housekeeper. Some woman named Bertha?”

“Bertha was here, too?” Manfred couldn’t manage a laugh, but he did produce a passable sneer. “Aside from three tigers and Bertha, did he mention anyone else?”

Arthur smiled, just a little. “Nope. But since the jewelry was found and you couldn’t have killed Rachel Goldthorpe, you’re no longer part of the investigation.”

“Cleared!” Manfred thumped the table. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for all along. So did they give you a hint about who did kill her?”

“Don’t know. Lewis says it was this Bertha and that she was his dad’s mistress. I don’t know if that’s so or not. And no one can find Bertha. She’s gone from home, her son doesn’t know where she is, she didn’t show up for work, and her car is nowhere to be found. Her son says he has a blood test to prove he’s the son of Morton Goldthorpe. Annelle and Roseanna, the daughters, are pretty excited about that.”

“They want another brother? Weird,” Bobo said. “Well, the important thing is that Manfred is in the clear.”

“The Bonnet Park police couldn’t have told Manfred themselves?” Olivia looked properly indignant.

“They seem a little overrun with things to do right now,” Arthur said. “What with Lewis acting crazy, an unsolved death on their hands, the missing woman, a potential new heir, and the resultant publicity. Lewis, as it turns out, has been going all over the place telling this story about the tigers, and the chief of police there says he thinks the sisters are going to try to have him committed.”

“That’s a relief,” Manfred said. “He doesn’t sound stable enough to be running around on his own.”

Arthur nodded and began to cut up his sandwich. He closed his eyes for a moment to appreciate the aroma. “This is like heaven,” he said, and put a bite in his mouth.

“Enjoy it. I’ve got to go,” Olivia said, smiling all around. She folded her paper napkin and put it on her plate, pushing back from the table and rising in one smooth movement. She reached the glass door, where she paused. After a second, she said, “Arthur. Come here. Quick.”

With a sigh, Arthur laid down his fork and joined her. “What’s up?” he asked, making it clear he was none too happy.

“The Gas N Go is being robbed,” she said, as quietly as if the robber could hear her. “That car just pulled up to the pump. The guy went in with a hoodie on. Like the guy who’s robbed all the others. In this weather, a hoodie. He didn’t start pumping any gas.”

Madonna, who’d been clearing Olivia’s plate, went straight into the kitchen and came out with baby Grady and a shotgun. “You keep this child,” she said to Joe, handing Grady over. Grady and Joe were both a little surprised. Madonna went straight for the door with the shotgun in her hand. “No one is holding my husband up,” she said simply, and she would have pushed out the door and gone over to Gas N Go if Arthur hadn’t stopped her.

“Let me take care of this,” he said. “It’s my job. If I go down, feel free to take over. I’ve called for backup.” He smiled—just a little—and left Home Cookin.

They were all gathered at the window by then, Bobo and Manfred, Fiji, Chuy and Joe and Rasta and Grady. Olivia was outside on the sidewalk, very fidgety.

Arthur Smith had his game face on. He drew his gun and ran across the road. When he got to the corner of Gas N Go, he edged forward until he could see through the window.

“He know where the back door is?” Madonna asked no one.

“Yes,” Manfred said. “He does.” Arthur had seen it a few months before when Manfred and Bobo had gotten jumped in the alley behind the store.

They all held their breath while Arthur left the window and hurried up the alley to the back door.

“Teacher, don’t have locked that damn door,” Madonna said out loud.

He hadn’t.

Arthur slipped inside, and without saying a word, Madonna opened the door and crossed the street, shotgun at the ready.

“Ahhhh,” Fiji said. Her hands were twitching.

“You can’t go over there,” Manfred said. “Arthur wouldn’t understand.”

Olivia said, “Showtime.”

Like the diner, Gas N Go was fronted with glass, but it was at an angle to the street. There was no way the little crowd at Home Cookin could see inside as Madonna could. She pulled open the door and raised the shotgun, and they all drew in breath at the same moment. Joe held Grady’s little face to his shoulder so the boy couldn’t see.

There was no boom, no screaming, none of the sounds they were dreading they’d hear.

Instead, they heard sirens approaching from Davy.

“Oh, thank you, God,” Chuy said.

“All’s well that ends well,” Olivia murmured. “Well, I’m out of here.” As if nothing much had transpired, she strode down the sidewalk and crossed after the intersection to go back to her apartment.

Fiji had tears streaming down her face.

“Hey, what’s up?” Manfred asked. Then he realized how stupid that was, and he shook his head at his own foolishness.

“I know it’s dumb,” she said. “I think it’s just cumulative tension, you know? After last night?”

“Oh. You saw.”

She nodded. “I need some drama-free time,” she said. “And I’m going to go home and have me some.”

“Good idea,” Manfred said, but she was already out of Home Cookin and walking home. “And who knew Madonna kept a shotgun in the kitchen?” he asked Joe, who was rocking from side to side, Grady drowsing in his arms.

“Not me, for sure,” Joe said. “Chuy?”

“Knock me over with a feather,” Chuy said, and smiled.

The three weretigers, in their human bodies, of course, emerged from the Rev’s small house and stood in a line on the sidewalk, watching the deputies, including Gomez and Nash, swarm all over Gas N Go. The three wandered over to stand by the angels and the psychic, who had stepped outside. Manfred was hoping the blood patch outside his house was really dispersed. Olivia had done a good job, but he wanted to check.

Madonna came stomping back across the street, holding the shotgun broken open in the crook of her arm.

“Let me put this up. I’ll come back and get Grady,” she said.

“Sure. He’s no trouble,” Joe said. “Everything okay over there?”

“Yeah. That Smith came through the back area just before I came in the front. Little jerk-off thief didn’t know where to look.”

“Anyone we know?” Joe asked.

“No, some punk from Abilene,” she said. “Thought it would be easy to knock over a little store in a little town like Midnight. Huh. Not with me and Teacher here, it isn’t.” She gave the line of men a look that expressed her contempt at their inaction, and then she went in to put away the shotgun. “Thanks for all your help. Not.”

“I guess we got put in our place,” Quinn said, sounding amused.
The Rev shook his head. Diederik (now even taller, Manfred noted) smiled, not the big open grin of previous days, but a smile nonetheless. Joe and Chuy stood as close together as they could get, and Joe smiled down at the dark head resting on his shoulder.

“Yes, we’re a sad bunch,” Manfred said, and he smiled, too. He thought Diederik still smelled like blood. He watched as, out of nothing, a feather fluttered from Joe’s shoulder and landed gently on the
sidewalk.