Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

B ack in the shop, I put the pharmacy bag of my future—but not likely—sin on the counter and looked around, trying to make a plan to convince whoever inherited the shop to keep it going with me as manager. It looked pretty bad, just a jumble of junk on old miscellaneous tables and bookshelves that I'd tried to keep dusted, but there was so much . . . stuff. I had tried to convince Ozzie to let me make displays, but he had been against increasing store traffic. I'd told him, "If we had more interesting windows, better displays, I know we could do better, and Poppy wants to put things up on the internet—" and he'd just said, " No ."

He was even sterner with Poppy last year when she said she could put up a website for the shop. It was one of the few times in her life that he'd yelled at her, told her not to put anything about the shop on the internet ever if she wanted a place to live, and then stormed out. She'd looked at me, shocked, and I'd shrugged and said, "I don't know." He'd apologized to her later and treated us to dinner at the Wok Inn, a major concession for him to take us to the most crowded place in town, but that had also just confirmed my long suspicion that he was on the run from the law or hiding from somebody or maybe starting to lose it. "He's in witness protection, maybe," Poppy'd said, but that didn't seem like Ozzie. Ozzie didn't need protection from people, people needed protection from Ozzie.

Now, of course, I knew why he had been lying low. But it didn't matter because now he was dead. And I only had about twenty-four hours before that damn envelope would be open and we'd probably be out on our asses.

I needed that Plan B.

I should have been scrambling to make that plan, but I was tired of scrambling. It felt like it was definitely time to be selfish for the rest of the day. Now all I had to do was find somebody to be selfish with. Unfortunately, it was Rocky Start, which meant the pickings were slim to none. I mean, Darius's dad was extremely hot, but he was Darius's dad, and I'd known him for years, we'd raised our kids practically together, so he was more of a brother in my mind, and if I tried that and it blew up, it'd be a disaster, and also he had never shown any interest. I think he was still in love with his deceased wife, Octavia, which just made me sad, yet hopeful when I thought about it because then it meant true love really existed.

Maybe someone would pass through, although Max had already checked that box, damn it, and I'd flubbed the opportunity.

Somebody knocked on the door and I saw Mrs. Baumgarten, her smiling face under her sleek white bob, her eyes bright behind her glasses, and the one person I was sure had never been a spy or an assassin. Thank God.

I went to let her in.

"Hello, dear," she said as she drifted past me.

I flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN. "Hello, Mrs. Baumgarten. How's Fernanda?"

"She wandered off again. Something in the woods bothered her." She smiled her gentle little smile vaguely in my direction. "You really should call me Betty, dear. We're such good friends."

"Yes, we are, Betty," I said dutifully, knowing I would always think of her as "Mrs. Baumgarten."

I went back behind the counter and stashed the bag of sin under it, not sure what Mrs. Baumgarten would think of lube and condoms .

"I meant to tell you, I am so sorry about Oz, dear," she said as she gazed around the shop as if she'd never seen it before.

"Thank you, Mrs.—Betty."

I wasn't sure what she was looking for. She came in once or twice a week, usually to buy the ugliest teacup in the place, and we always had plenty of those, Ozzie having no taste in china whatsoever. She moved slowly, but she wasn't small—she was only a couple of inches shorter than I was—and while she did have a sort of inane smile and eyes that were wide open and innocent, she was definitely all there.

Now she said, "I could use another teacup, dear," and drifted across the hall into the room on the Tennessee side, the room under Max's bedroom. Ozzie's bedroom. I think she was lonely—a widow, no kids, living on social security just outside of town on the other side of the river—so Ozzie always gave her a deal on whatever she picked up and so did I.

I looked in the pharmacy bag under the counter, kind of amazed at myself for buying condoms and lube. This was what talking to Coral did to me. I was folding the top of the bag over so Mrs. Baumgarten didn't catch sight of my future plans when the door opened and Harvey Ware, the exterminator, came in to tell me how sorry he was about Ozzie and to buy an ashtray made out of an artillery shell casing to remember him by.

I looked at the bag of sin and then at Harvey. No. I'd slept with him once sixteen years ago, and I was never going to be that desperate again.

Harvey hung around for a little while, leaning on the counter, trying to flirt, so I asked him how his current squeeze, Bea Handler, was doing, and he said, "Just fine," and left.

About five minutes after Harvey left, Sid Quill came in, which was unusual, and after a few stunned minutes, I realized he'd come down to see if he had a chance with me since I'd bought condoms and lube. It was Selfish but not Stupid Day, so I said "No," but thanked him for asking. Sid is kind of hinky. He sells pot out of the pharmacy, and if you're wondering why Pike hasn't busted him, it's because Pike grows Sid's supply with his two foster sons. There's also a lock on his basement door, which is steel, both of which I always thought were odd, but he probably kept drugs down there. I mean, he is a pharmacist. Also, he bears a strong resemblance to Riff Raff from Rocky Horror , so, really, no.

And then I wondered who Sid had told about my purchases and if that was why Harvey had turned up out of the blue.

Shortly after Sid went back to the pharmacy, the bell on the door rang again, and I braced myself for another pass since the rumor that I was prepared for sex had obviously gotten out, but instead it was that rat bastard Junior.

" Out ," I said.

"I want my wallet back," he said grimly. "Or else."

Great. I'd given it to Coral to give to Pike, hoping he could get something from it. "A man named Pike found it on the steps where you'd dropped it. He has it. He's looking for you. Go get it from him. If you want to stand outside, I can call him and he'll be here pretty fast."

"You took it," he said, looming over the counter now. "And I want it back. Or else ."

" Pike has it," I said loudly because I'd seen Mrs. Baumgarten come to stand in the archway. Go away, I thought, hoping she'd get the hint from my face. This is not a good guy and he might hurt you.

Then Junior pulled a gun out and I focused on that. He was awkward about it, probably because Coral had slashed his arm the day before, but the end of the barrel looked pretty big since it was pointed in my direction. "Let Mrs. Baumgarten go. She's not part of this."

He smiled, evil incarnate. "Fuck Mrs. Baumgarten, whoever she is. Things are going to be different this time. Go put the CLOSED sign on the door."

"Nobody ever pays attention to that," I said, trying to think fast, but basically, he had a gun and I didn't, so not a lot to think about.

Then I saw another gun press into the side of his neck, and a voice like cut glass said, "Drop it, Junior."

I tilted my head slightly to see behind him and saw Mrs. Baumgarten, her eyes hard and sharp, her hand wrapped around a small black gun that did not go with her flowered dress. "Uh, Betty?"

"Not now, Rose," she snarled, pressing the barrel of the gun harder into Junior's neck.

He turned suddenly, swinging his gun around clumsily, and she stepped back and pulled the trigger.

There was a snapping sound, then a loud buzz.

I froze as he dropped the gun on the counter and fell backward, hitting the floor twitching.

I scooped the gun up and into my apron pocket as I blinked at Betty. "Is he dead?"

"Not yet." Betty took an ancient flip cellphone out of her equally ancient black leather purse, deftly opened it with one hand, and hit a number while I peered over the counter at Junior on the floor.

He was twitching in place, a grimace on his face. He started to get up and Betty kicked him in the head, putting him back down on the floor, out cold. But he was still breathing and there was no blood, so there was that.

I was a little confused.

"Melissa?" Betty said sharply into the phone. "I have a cleanup at Oddities. One pax. No blood. Quickly, please." Then she clicked off her phone and looked down at Junior, who still wasn't moving.

"What exactly did you do to him?" I said.

"I tased him," she said matter-of-factly. "And then I knocked him out. He'll be fine as long as he has no heart problems and isn't prone to strokes. If he is, c'est la vie." She pulled a pair of thick zip ties out of her big bag and knelt to cinch Junior's feet together at the ankles and then his wrists in front of him. I could see the one on his wrists dig into the skin. She finished him up by wadding one of her little flowered hankies and shoving it in his mouth and then wrapping her nylon scarf around the bottom part of his face to gag him.

I almost felt sorry for him.

No, I didn't; he was a jerk. Tough luck, buddy. You walked into the wrong store in the wrong town with the wrong threat.

And the wrong customer. Jesus .

He started to come around then, so Betty—I was having no problem thinking of her as "Betty" now— put her knee on his chest, hard, and said to him, "When you see your mother again, Junior, tell her I will put her down like the bitch she is if she ever comes into my town again. And that goes double for you. You shouldn't have hit Rose yesterday. People are upset about that." Then she straightened and looked at me. "Pike should have taken out this trash yesterday ."

I nodded. What could I say?

Outside, Melissa Merriweather pulled up in her classic Cadillac hearse. She's a petite Black woman who always wears an immaculate white suit. I don't think I've ever seen her in anything else. Her funeral home is just down State Street, so it wouldn't have taken her long, but even so, that was fast. Of course, she tends to stand in the front display of her place in between two coffins, watching the street as if waiting for someone to croak on the sidewalk in front of her, so she'd probably seen Junior storm in and braced herself for trouble.

She got a gurney out of the back and wheeled it to the door.

She looked at Junior on the floor. "Is he dead?"

"Not yet," Betty said, looking at him, too. "Tased and zipped. A tap on the head. I need you to juice him, then notify Pike."

Melissa nodded to me. "Rose. We need to talk about Ozzie's funeral. What Pike has planned is?—"

"Not now , Melissa." I pointed at Junior.

"Right." She collapsed the gurney so that it hit the floor and pulled a syringe out of a pocket of her suit, removed the cap with her teeth, and jabbed it none too gently into Junior's thigh. She pushed the plunger all the way, then put the cap back on the needle and placed it back in the pocket. Junior's head, which had been moving as he came to, slumped back.

"Get his shoulders," she told Betty, and she took his feet, and they swung him onto the gurney, which I saw already had an open body bag on it, which they zipped him into, leaving the slightest opening at the end so he didn't suffocate.

Melissa raised the gurney again and pushed it out into the street to load into the hearse, none too gently .

I looked back at Betty, trying to sort all of it out—sweet little Mrs. Baumgarten had just tased Junior, and Melissa Merriweather in her sharp white suit was about to . . . bury him alive? Or had she poisoned him?

Melissa climbed in the back of the hearse and I braced myself for a gunshot, but then she climbed out and slammed the back door on the limo and got inside and drove away, and I looked at Betty.

"What the hell? What was in that needle?"

"Some sort of tranquilizer," Betty said. "Melissa doesn't like it when cargo gets active in the back of her hearse."

"Cargo?" How many people did Betty and Melissa do this to?

Betty held out her hand. "Give me the gun." Her voice was deeper and sharp now, full of certainty and authority. She lost about ten years of age on the voice alone.

I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to her. From now on, Betty Baumgarten was getting whatever she asked me for.

She dropped the magazine out of it and pulled the slide back, deftly catching the bullet that was ejected in midair. Then she slid it into her purse with the rest of the ammo and clicked the latch at the top of the bag, shutting it with force.

Then she paused. "Do you have a gun, Rose?"

"Ozzie's old shotgun."

"Tsk." She shook her head sadly. "Oz should have prepared you better. Old coot thought he'd live forever." She reached into her purse, slid the magazine back in the weapon, pulled the slide back and let it ride forward. "It is now loaded with one in the chamber. The safety is here. Point, click it off, pull the trigger. Head shots are most effective, but if you're not used to firearms, go center mass." She handed it back and smiled at me. "I'll be back for a teacup later, dear," she said, vague as all hell again, her voice a little trill, just a sweet little old lethal lady, and drifted out of the shop.

I just stood there for a moment, and then I flipped the CLOSED sign on the door, locked it, and went into the kitchen to think about dinner and the multiple realities I was experiencing, not to mention the gun in my apron pocket.

Zebras everywhere.