Chapter 19

The hotel room door flew open bright and early, and Josie swept into the room with donuts and tea.

"Good morning, Mary." She flipped on the lights. "Ready for…?"

"Who?" Carter sat up with a grunt. On the bed. Next to me. "What?"

"When did this happen?" Josie motioned between us. "How did this happen?"

Wiping sleep from my eyes, I tried to explain through the brain fog. "She pulled the short straw?—"

"You really shouldn't talk about Harrow's manhood like that."

"Josie."

Carter snorted and fell back onto her pillow.

"What?" She plopped down at the foot of the mattress. "Like you weren't thinking it."

"I wasn't thinking anything." I squinted at the clock. "What time is it?"

"Time to get started on my raised beds." She rubbed her hands together. "I need to plant more veggies."

There was no world in which she needed to plant more anything, but our early years manifested trauma in different ways for each of us. She canned until she couldn't can anymore. Only when she was sure we were maxed out did she break down and donate the rest to a local outreach that focused on street kids.

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You're going to supervise, and I'm going to keep an eye on you."

"Not the worst idea." Carter turned over, putting her back to me. "She can take the next shift."

Poor thing. She sounded exhausted. Hard to blame her when she hadn't come expecting a sleepover.

From her slurring words, I questioned how late she had stayed awake binging some cartoon series about a yellow sponge man with a laugh that made my back teeth ache after the pills knocked me out. She had intended to sleep on the floor, but I couldn't stomach leaving her there. I had plenty of space on the bed and could always move us into a larger room with a second mattress if she was going to stick to me until we resolved this matter.

Fumbling through my routine, I got dressed in another of Josie's floral dresses, this one short enough I could play tennis in it. Too bad no matching shorts came with it, though I suppose that would defeat the purpose of me wearing a dress. The bulky knit cardigan I chose for the day hit farther down my thigh than its hem, saving me from flashing my undies at innocent passersby should my ungirly habits prompt me to bend at the waist instead of the knees.

Josie and I had reached the lobby when Harrow barged through the sliding doors with a paper bag in hand.

"I want to apologize for last night." He thrust out his arm. "I brought you these."

"Ohhh."Josie snatched the gift. "What do we have here?"

"It's okay." I elbowed her. "Really." I tried to steal it and failed. "You didn't have to bring me anything."

Whatever Josie was inspecting with interest, he might want back when I didn't return his apology.

"Jelly beans." Josie dug out a clear bag filled with yellow and white speckled candies. "Gross."

"Buttered popcorn." I cradled them in my palm. "My favorite flavor."

"Also?" Josie angled her head toward Harrow. "Why did you owe her apology jelly beans?"

"We had a chat about the past, and things got heated." I kept the rest to myself. "That's all."

"Hmm." She didn't buy that was the extent of it, and she wasn't wrong. "Okay. Sure. Why not?" She tugged on my arm. "We need to get moving if we're going to knock out my to-do list. Seeds don't plant themselves."

"About that." Harrow intercepted us before Josie hauled me away. "I was hoping to borrow Frankie."

"Not happening. She needs to sit in a lawn chair and boss me around for a few hours. That always makes her feel better. Armie's coming by to shovel manure, and he promised to bring bread pudding."

As hard as she worked him, he wasn't complaining. She paid him in fresh produce for his restaurant and helped him shower off the dirt and sweat. I was sure other things happened between getting naked and getting clean, and I never wanted to witness them again.

"Two of my favorite things: eating bread pudding and bossing around my sister."

"You can't beat that bargain, Harrow." Josie saluted him. "We'll see ourselves out."

"I'm following up on our hunch from last night." Harrow kept it vague. "About the charity car."

The sweet, sweet taste of bread pudding faded away, leaving only sour certainty behind. "Okay."

"Please," Josie begged, "tell me you meant that okay as in good to know and not as in sign me up to ride shotgun."

"Having Frankie present while I interrogate the suspects will unnerve them. They might slip up if they see she's there, mostly in one piece. They'll wonder if she saw them. If she can identify them."

"Isn't that like waving a red flag in front of a bull?" Her eyes darkened to a verdant green. "You're talking about flashing her around to a person who tried to hurt her and asking, basically, if they would like to try again."

"That's why she's been assigned a police escort." He pointed his thumb at himself. "I'll keep her safe."

"The presence of apology jelly beans concerns me." A spark gleamed in her eyes, and a nearby ficus shook. It twisted a limb, shedding its leaves, and grew to a tapered point like an icepick. "Do you and I need to have a talk about manners before I go?"

"Josie." I tugged her in and kissed her cheek. "You're the best little sister ever."

And possibly the most confrontational dryad I had ever met. Maybe she had some redcap in her and that was what attracted her to Carter.

"I agree with you, but I can tell from your tone you plan to ignore my advice."

"We agreed the faster we wrap this up, the faster our lives go back to normal."

"Not sure our lives have ever been normal, but yeah. I get it." She glared at Harrow. "Play nice."

Keeping his expression bland, he parried with the expected, "Or else?"

He cursed and froze when the tip of the ficus limb jabbed his crotch.

"If I can neuter you with a ficus, just think what I can do with a live oak."

"Point taken." He glanced down. "Literally."

"Josie." I cleared my throat. "We're in public."

"He's also facing a wall, standing in front of the plant, which blocks the security camera's line of sight."

Impressed despite myself, I asked, "When did you start paying attention to security cameras?"

"The last time I went to pick up dinner at Armie's, he had to work late and?—"

Nope, nope, nope.

"Gotcha." I shot her two thumbs-up, hoping she took the hint I didn't want more details of her sex life. "Have fun planting."

"I will."

She took her sweet time exiting the hotel, probably hoping I would change my mind and go with her.

"Thanks," he said the second she was out of hearing range. "I was an ass last night."

"Yeah." I tossed my bag of jelly beans and caught them on my palm. "You weren't at your best."

"He raised me."

That was all the defense he could mount, and resignation dipped his shoulders when he realized it too.

"So." I clasped my hands together. "You want to interview the folks at the city lot."

"I have a list of guys who work the auctions. Most of them are civilians."

"Do you really think I'll unnerve them?" I would have twirled, but I didn't want to push my luck this early in the day. Or flash my butt. Harrow might get the wrong idea. "Day-old hair and misfit clothes. I'll have them shaking in their boots in no time."

"About that." He rubbed the base of his neck. "I thought we could drop in on Les, buy you a few things."

For the sake of maintaining our newly established peace, I didn't bristle when he chose Les's for Less.

"You must really feel bad if you're offering to play personal shopper with me. Especially after you bit off Carter's head for doing the same thing."

"There are a few other stores near Les's new location, ones that sell new, but I figured you would prefer to buy on consignment for dresses. You've never liked them much."

Since that was an acceptable answer—and the absolute truth—I was glad I hadn't let my past financial insecurities push us into another awkward round of passing around accusations and apologies.

"I can make do with two. You're right. I don't want to waste money on what I won't wear again."

You have very pale legs.

Still unsure if it had been a compliment or a statement of fact, I dismissed the intrusive thought before it moved into my head to live rent free along with other offhand comments made by guys that fell into the nebulous category of Uncertain Intentions.

Maybe he was flirting. Or maybe not. No. Probably not. Seems unlikely but… Maybe he really was flirting.

On and on that little voice chattered at me whenever a cute guy paid me the slightest bit of attention.

Not gonna lie. Most things guys told me landed there. Where I dissected them for the rest of my life.

Put me in front of a client, and I was all poise and ease, chatty and comforting.

Put me in front of a guy who showed interest in me, for any reason, and I forgot how to speak English.

Harrow wore his patrol uniform, I had yet to see him out of it, but he guided me to a 1956 Chevy pickup painted a glossy Matador Red. Fully restored to its original condition. Not a patrol car. "Nice ride."

"Tell me about it." He patted the fender lovingly. "It's bait."

"Let the guys in the lot sit behind the wheel, and they'll tell you anything you want to hear."

The susurration of wings alerted me to Badb's arrival, but Harrow didn't seem to notice. That, or he was determined to ignore her.

"That's the plan." He grinned at me, and my heart flip-flopped behind my ribs. "I'm counting on you to make me look good if they start asking questions. I'm hoping they'll be too dazzled to notice I have no clue about its engine or what horsepower it's packing."

Out of us Marys, I was more mechanically inclined than Josie or Matty. Which wasn't saying much. What Josie needed built, she sweet-talked Armie into constructing for her while Matty leaned on the Suarezes' skills.

Most of my knowledge came from hanging around with the Suarezes on slow days. The rest I memorized through data entry and invoicing. Pretty sure I could talk the talk. Walking the walk? Probably not. But it wasn't like they were going to slap a wrench across my palm and put me to work while I was there.

"You don't deserve to drive her." I clucked my tongue. "I would take your keys if it weren't for my hip."

"If not for your hip, I would let you."

Fortunately, he slid behind the wheel before the flush reached my cheeks.

The city lotlived up to its designation. It was a parking lot only a few blocks from the police department. The distance alone made me wonder if the SPD used it for their active officers or if it was only meant for seized/surplus vehicles.

Before Harrow threw the truck into park, we had an audience. That happened when you drove a classic.

We exited the vehicle and met a middle-aged man halfway to the guard shack leading into a fenced area outfitted with a garage and gas pumps. He couldn't wipe the grin off his face while he surveyed the truck.

"She for sale?" He stuck out his arm. "I'll give you a fair deal."

That was the other thing that happened when you drove a classic. People tried to buy it off you. As if you hadn't poured your heart and soul, and often every spare penny in your pockets, into restoring it.

"You're welcome to have a look." Harrow shook his hand. "I wanted to ask a few questions anyway."

We followed the guard back to the truck and let him start his inspection before Harrow began.

A prickle across my shoulders had me searching for the cause, but then I pinpointed Badb. Since she was on guard duty, I relaxed and averted my gaze. Not that anyone would mistake a crow for a watchdog.

"I heard about the fire." Harrow didn't waste any more time. "Any idea who checked the auction car out last?"

"I told Quartermain about this earlier." He made it a gentle rebuke. "But I guess it won't hurt to tell you. It was Lyle. He took it out and should have brought it right back. An oil change, he said. But the next day, I learned he didn't come back, that the car was found abandoned and burnt to a shell."

"Uncle Lyle didn't come back?" Harrow gripped the doorframe. "Did he call or give a reason why he kept the car?"

"Nope." The guard lovingly caressed the dash. "None of the guys have heard a word out of him."

"No one told me." He shot me a frantic glance. "I didn't realize he was missing."

A niggling doubt lodged itself into my mind that, despite moving home, he and his uncle weren't as close as they had been. I would question if it was my fault, but Harrow had made his ultimate loyalties plain.

"No one is tossing around that word yet." The guard cleared his throat. "Have you been by his house?"

"No." He dragged a hand down his face. "We fought and…" He fisted the guard by the scruff and hauled him out of the truck, depositing him on the pavement. "Sorry, I…" He climbed in. "I have to go."

Before he ditched me, I slid in and strapped in. Good thing too. Harrow was blind with panic.

Afraid anything I said would make the situation worse, I braced a hand on the dash and grunted through the bounce from each pothole, hoping they hadn't fought over Lyle visiting me. I didn't want this, whatever this was, to be because of me. I wanted all that drama behind me.

The silent drive to Lyle's house lasted forever but took fifteen minutes.

Harrow was out of the truck before switching off the engine, which I did for him before trailing after him into his childhood home. From the first step into the dark, paneled den, I was transported back in time. A brittle nostalgia crackled through me like a snake shedding its skin, sloughing me free of the past.

"Uncle Lyle?"

Memories weighted my every step, but Harrow was a blur as he ran from room to room, clearing them.

"Uncle Lyle?"

Drawn deeper in the house by Harrow's frantic calls, I reached the kitchen. The scarred dining table with its three chairs was familiar. Two sat across from one another. The third had always been piled high with junk mail. That hadn't changed either. The only time it got cleared off was when I had stayed for dinner.

With my hands resting on the back of the third chair, I could still feel the weight of Lyle's judgment. How he watched me, counting every bite like he planned to bill me for them later. How he kept condiments on his side, forcing me to ask him for them. How he always placed the breadbasket in front of his plate on a silent dare for me to reach for a piece.

"He's not here."

Harrow appearing at my elbow jolted me out of my haze, snipping through old memories like scissors, and I released a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. "What do you want to do next?"

The airy quality of my voice earned me a moment's consideration, but he was too wired to care.

"I'll go down to the station and file a report." His glassy eyes landed on me. "You might have been the last person to see him." A plea filled his gaze. "You should come with me, make a statement."

Is that necessary? Really? Can't I just go home?

Selfish of me not to want to get involved, to rebel against the very idea of deeper involvement with cops of the human variety, but I knew what Lyle would have done had the tables been turned: nothing.

"Okay." I kissed the rest of my day goodbye. "Sure."

Never let it be said I did unto others as they had done unto me.

After I gave my statement,Harrow dropped me back at the hotel with Carter, who I found propped up in bed watching more cartoons, with the litter of her breakfast and lunch around her in piles. Bright-orange spots, which I assumed were cheddar puff residue, formed polka dot patterns on the comforter.

The bright white comforter. Not my first color choice, but bleach concealed a multitude of sins.

I wasn't sure if knowing that, and imagining what else it was covering, made it better or worse.

"I see you've made yourself at home." I stood at the foot of the bed. "Mind if I clear off a place to sit?"

"No need." She wiped her fingers on the fabric again. "I booked a bigger room on the 514's dime. I was just waiting on you to get here before I switched. I had some clothes brought for us too."

Unsure how to telegraph the change of location to Badb, who had yet to appear at the window, I had to trust she would find her way. "From home, I hope."

"Where else?" She slid her legs off the bed and pulled on her socks. "Your brother picked yours."

"Oh Lord." I rubbed a finger between my eyes. "That'll end well."

"Could you tell if Harrow cast any spells before he left Lyle's place?" She laced up her boots and stood. "I don't know if you're sensitive to that kind of thing."

"I…" I stopped to think about it. "I don't think it occurred to him."

Aside from her mentioning he had a minor healing talent, I had no real idea of the scope of his powers.

"He spends his magic like he's afraid he'll run out one day."

"He was raised to never use magic, so it will always be secondary to good old-fashioned police work."

"Hold on." Carter swept the room for any belongings. "Never?"

"He got curious after he met me and saw what I could do. He dabbled for a few months, but I didn't know enough to teach him more than a few tricks. Lyle blew a gasket when—" Carter was good. I would give her that. She had gotten me talking about things I had no business discussing with her. "Anyway, I was surprised he could cast any of my spells. He's a hereditary white witch. They don't have much power on average, and our skill sets don't overlap much."

"He has a talent for necromancy?"

"I wouldn't go that far." I stifled a laugh and told her a story she could keep. "He saw me reanimate a rat for this kid. Street kid, like me. The rat was his pet and died fat and happy at the ripe old age of four."

A shudder ran the length of her body. "You turned a zombie rat loose in the city?"

"I had some scruples even then." Not many, if it got between me and my ability to provide, but a few. "I gave him a week to say his goodbyes." We exited into the hall. "The point is, it gave Harrow the idea to try it."

"I feel like the result was a catastrophe, judging by the way you're smiling."

We only had to go four doors down, on the opposite side of the hall, to be in our new place.

"He found a dead frog and decided to try his luck. To this day, I have no clue what he did, but he burned a black patch in Lyle's front yard the size of their dining room table. The grass was still sizzling when Lyle got there. One of the neighbors had seen the smoke, thought the house was on fire, and called him."

Luck was the only thing I could think of that had kept them from dialing 911 instead.

That, or he had seen evidence Harrow was magically gifted and spun a story for his neighbors about how they should always call him first. Since he was a cop, and a single man raising a young boy, they probably didn't ask too many questions. Especially if Lyle hinted to them that Harrow was a troubled youth, which was why Harrow was forced into an involuntary volunteering schedule. Even more believable if Lyle also let it slip that his nephew's new friend was a runaway squatting in an empty rental in town.

"How did Harrow explain it?"

"Once Lyle saw the frog in the middle of the damage, he didn't want an explanation." I accepted the keycard from Carter and let us into our new room. "That's one of the last happy memories I have of Harrow, now that I think about it. We weren't friends for long after that."

"Lyle didn't want you influencing Harrow." That Harrow allowed it cost him points in her eyes, I could tell, but few kids rose up against their father figures. Especially when those father figures spared them from a fate similar to mine. "I knew he got a late start, but I didn't realize it was because of his uncle. To hear Harrow tell it, the man walks on water."

"Lyle does a lot of good." I had to admit that much. "He's a cop, he volunteers, he tries to help?—"

"Humans." A snort blasted out her nose. "He helps humans."

That was as far down that particular rabbit hole as I would go. "Where do you think Lyle is?"

"Harrow is checking the hospitals first. Lyle's treatments exacerbate his symptoms. Nausea, vomiting, lightheadedness. He could have blacked out in the car, pulled onto the shoulder of the road, and been found by a good Samaritan who called an ambulance. It happens."

"Lyle would have had his ID, though. He's not a rule breaker. He would have had his license on him if he was driving."

License, proof of insurance, debit or credit cards. Something with his name or address on them. They would have located his next of kin quickly and contacted Harrow within hours.

"Maybe the good Samaritan decided to reward themselves and stole his wallet?"

"And his car?"

"Happens every day."

"Then they set fire to the car?"

"They might have discovered later, after combing through the wallet, they had stolen from a cop and decided to cover their tracks."

"Yeah." I chose the bed next to the door. "I hope the answer is that simple."

"For Harrow's sake," she agreed, "I do too."

But neither of us sounded convinced it would be.