Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

A fter all the trail food and the game Maggs had caught, the thought and smell of lasagna were enticing. But I was ignoring my warning system, which is never a good thing. If my warning system was akin to a Geiger counter, then the town of Rocky Start, especially this kitchen, was equivalent to the Nevada Test Site, to the west of Area 51, which looks like the dark side of the moon after hundreds of nuclear blasts both on the surface and underground. Don't ask me how I know firsthand what that forsaken place, or Area 51, looks like; I'd have to kill you. And I'm too damn tired to kill you.

I was not ignoring the warnings I'd felt about the guy I'd confronted, the one Rose had called Junior, because she was right. There was something off about him; he wasn't a run-of-the-mill bozo and the Mercedes screamed trouble. Rose still had a red mark on the side of her face where the guy had backhanded her, and I'd seen her sneak an aspirin, keeping the bottle away from Poppy's sightline, probably so the kid wouldn't worry. The guy was claiming to be family of this Ozzie, and that could be trouble, bigger trouble than the Weed Brothers and their boss, Pike, who was a hard case, and not just in words and demeanor. The customized grips and combat sights on the forty-five-caliber pistol in his truck meant it wasn't there for show. He gave off the aura of a professional, which didn't jive with small town Appalachia. Plus there were two funeral homes. A bit overkill, pun intended.

Nothing here added up, besides the smell of the lasagna.

I was glad it was wine she'd pulled out. I'd never liked wine. But if it had been beer, I might have been tempted and that would have been bad. I couldn't afford to slip. I had too much invested in my sobriety. Too many temptations here; I really needed to be on the trail.

After about ten minutes, Rose bent over the oven again and pulled out the lasagna to put it on the table. "It needs to cool a bit," she said. "But we have salad and?—"

Someone rapped on the back door and then opened it, and a foolish-looking old man in sunglasses and a tan blazer came in, bulky and slow, smiling the most inauthentic smile I'd ever seen.

The cat on the shelf above the door stood and hissed, and I imagined the programmer of my simulation cackling in joy.

"No." Rose moved to stand in front of the table, shifting from soft and inviting to scowling and cold in a second, and Poppy scowled, too, and Maggs stood up.

"Is that lasagna I smell?" he said, taking off his sunglasses and squinting as if he didn't trust his nose, and Rose said, "No," again sharply. "No, you cannot have some. Go away, Norman."

"I have come to see my brother," he said with dignity. "If you will tell him I'm here, I'm sure he will invite me to partake of your excellent pasta."

"Can the act, Norman," Rose said. "You haven't been here in over a year. You know Ozzie's dead because Barry called you. You'd never darken that doorway if Ozzie were still alive."

Norman lifted his double chin with what he probably thought was dignity. "I will need to talk to Barry. If Oz is gone, I'm sure I've inherited everything since he had no other family."

"Barry's in Atlanta," Rose said. "He'll be back day after tomorrow. Which you know, since he called you."

Norman nodded. "I'll be staying in Oz's apartment tonight."

"You can't," Poppy said. "We rented it to Max." She smiled at me, having committed me to a course of action without my consent. Of course, she was bluffing, but still, her face was as open and innocent as the sun. I wouldn't want to play poker with her. "Oh, and Ozzie's son showed up to claim the place, too, so get in line."

"Who is Max?" Norman asked, ignoring the stranger in the room, which he'd done since entering. "He'll have to leave. Wait, what son?" He frowned. "Oz didn't have a son. Is this Max claiming to be his son?"

"No." Rose gestured to me. "This is Max. He's welcome. Unlike you. Get out, Norman."

Norman finally looked at me, squinting.

Poppy spoke up. "The guy who said he was Ozzie Junior said Ozzie's first name was Joseph, and he showed Coral a picture of what he said were his parents. Coral said the guy was Ozzie. You know anything about that?"

Norman frowned. "What name did he give?"

Rose said, "Joseph Oswald-Stafford."

I saw Norman go still, just for a second.

So Norman knew the guy who'd hit Rose. Or at least he knew the name Stafford. And now, for some reason, I realized I'd also heard the name somewhere. Sometime. Getting old is hard. Don't do it. Your brain gets full and things you should remember fall out of it.

Norman shifted gears and forced a smile at Poppy, probably trying to charm her into letting him stay. He obviously didn't know Poppy well.

When she didn't smile back, he gave up and turned back to Rose. "So, I'll be staying?—"

Rose shook her head. "No. The door's right there behind you, Norman. Use it."

"Hmm," Norman said, appearing to think hard while eyeing the lasagna. "I believe there was a woman in Oz's life many years ago. A Serena. But a son? No." Norman shook his head. "Oz would have told me about a son. And as long as I'm staying here, I might as well have some lasagna. It would be kind of you to help a bereaved old man." He looked at me, blinking his pale eyes. "I'm sure you can find another place to stay, Max."

I had no intentions of staying, but vacating the place so this remora could come in and leech off Rose and Poppy was not going to happen. "Sorry, I need the room."

Rose moved a little closer to me, and I began to think seriously about actually staying the night. The lasagna smelled really good. Maggs needed to rest her paw. Sleeping on the ground had lost its charm a long time ago. And I'd seen a lot of trees already. Plus, there was probably a shower here. And I could feel the heat coming off Rose just from her being around the oven. Then again, she might just be getting closer to lift my wallet once more. Still, good food, a real bed, a hot shower, a chance to annoy Norman the Leech, and Rose flashing dimples at me? I'd already written off the wallet twice, a third time was no big deal.

"Oz would be devastated to know that you put me out on the street," Norman was saying.

"He would be devastated to know I hadn't locked the back door," Rose said, going around him to open it. " Out. "

"Which reminds me," Norman said. "I should have a key."

"You're going to have my foot up your ass if you don't get out of here," Rose snapped.

I was becoming concerned. Rose's voice was sharp and getting sharper. This was a woman who was intimate with anger. Which I do not view as a bad thing. Except when it's not controlled. Although, watching the spark in her dark eyes now, I had to admit there are exceptions to that, too. I realized my brain was going off on dangerous tangents, and I corralled it back.

Norman shook his head. "It's not like this is a great inheritance. Oz never made money here. I don't know how he managed to keep it afloat and feed you two all these years selling junk."

Rose lowered her head and I could see her gearing up for action. Either Norman was obtuse or he had a death wish, and the kitchen had a lot of potential weapons like knives and castiron frying pans, so I stood up .

"It's time to go, Norman," I said, trying to sound kindly and probably just sounding threatening. I should work on my polite voice. Then again, why?

"And who exactly are you?" He tried staring me down and that lasted a few seconds too long for who he appeared to be.

"I'm the guy sleeping here tonight," I said, moving toward him.

He took a step back. "Think what it will look like, somebody like you laying hands on the elderly." He blinked as I got closer. "Why, you look like you're homeless."

"I am," I said.

Rose appeared surprised. And concerned. I realized she was probably a born rescuer like her daughter, which was not good.

"He's walking the A.T.," Poppy offered. "You can stay somewhere else; he needs the room."

Rose hadn't grabbed for a weapon yet, so that was a positive. Her fists were clenched, so that was not. Time to go, Norman.

Norman scoffed. "A.T. people don't come to Rocky Start. Too far off-trail." But I noticed he was looking me over, evaluating. "You're up to something, stranger."

"True. Escorting you out of here." I walked over to him, still limping from the damage from my worn-out boot, and took him by the arm, surprised to find there was significant muscle there. I pulled him past Rose and out the door, pressing my thumb on a nerve which causes pain and gratified to hear him gasp, but as we exited, he deftly twisted his arm out of my grasp and turned to face me. His persona abruptly shifted from greedy old man to something else as he eyed me. "I don't know who you are. But you're in over your head. I recommend you move on. You're not welcome here."

"People inside say different." Although to be fair, everyone outside of that kitchen agreed with Norman.

"Rose?" He shook his head. "She's a cold fish. I don't know why Ozzie kept her around."

Rose was not cold, I'd felt the heat, so he was wrong about that, too .

"Whatever you want," Norman went on, "you aren't going to get it."

That covered a lot of potential ground. Good thing I didn't want anything. "Go."

Norman leveled his eyes at me. "I won't be seeing you around here again."

I noticed that his eyes were cloudy, as if he had cataracts that hadn't been fixed. Now that I was close, it was obvious his clothes were worn and, while not shabby, not having their best day. Of course, I'd worn the same two sets of clothes for months now, so I couldn't say anything about that. I also noted a dark van parked in front of an old Pathfinder that was backed up next to the door. The van hadn't been there earlier, and I assumed it was his. "You're blocking the alley."

"I've given you one warning," Norman said. "You won't get a second one."

I looked him in the eyes and this time he didn't break off the stare. "What do you want here?"

"I've kept my mouth shut for decades," Norman said. "I want what's owed me."

"Doesn't look to me like Rose has much of anything," I said.

"Not Rose," Norman said. "I'll collect from her another way. My brother. Oz. He owed me. Owes me. I don't know who sent you, but you fucked up by getting in the line of fire."

I blinked since that was such an odd metaphor for this old fellow to use because it felt like it wasn't a metaphor but a real, honest-to-God threat. I could sense my simulation programmer sitting up straighter, enjoying this new twist.

I stepped back inside, swung the door shut in his face, and locked it and then waited to see what he'd do next.

He stood there for a moment staring at me, and then he went down the steps and a minute later, the van started up and drove away.

The cat lay back down on the shelf and went to sleep.

I turned back to see Rose smiling at me, which I found disconcerting. Then she turned and bent over the table to cut the lasagna. Rose was round everywhere, but that side of her was especially . . . Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Poppy staring at me as if she were thinking hard. She had that look in her eye that people get when they're planning something. Maybe she was upset I'd been ogling her mother? Then she smiled, and that was worse.

"Maggs doesn't have a home?" Poppy asked.

"We're walking the A.T.," I said. "The trail is our home." That sounded like a cheap commercial even to me.

"Hmm," Poppy said, which carried a lot of intent, none of which I liked.

"No," I said.

"No what?" she said.

"Whatever you're planning, it does not involve me. Or Maggs."

"It's so sad when people are suspicious," she said virtuously, and then Rose pulled a pan of bread out of the oven that smelled like garlic and butter, and I remembered I'd been eating trail food and Maggs' kill for months. I noticed Maggs was standing now, sniffing toward the table. It seemed her paw was better already. We could probably leave. No problem.

Rose brushed against me as she went by with the bread, warm and soft in her flowered dress and dark apron that covered up all that roundness I'd found looking for my wallet, smelling faintly of roses .

I checked and my wallet was still there. I should probably put it in one of my velcro pant pockets so I could hear when she tried again, which would be an obvious sign that I didn't trust her, but then why should I trust her, she'd stolen my wallet twice. I focused on the immediate issue of staying or leaving.

Norman wouldn't know I'd left. Neither would Junior, whoever the hell he was. And Pike had given me a strong suggestion to do so.

It was the smart thing to do.

Rose cut into the lasagna, dark, rich tomato sauce bubbling up from under lots of creamy cheese that had browned in spots and that stretched out in pale strings when she pulled up the first piece. The smell brought back memories that had dried up long ago. It hit hard because one of my few positive childhood memories was my mother letting me eat strings of mozzarella cheese from the large hunk she'd grated to put into her homemade lasagna. That was just before she died, before I was ten. I'd never known my father so that had left me a ward of the state. I hadn't thought about that in years. A blip of good memory mixed with a rough life.

I was definitely leaving.

After dinner.