"Full Scoop" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evanovich Janet, Hughes Charlotte)

Chapter Four

Maggie went about the house pulling shades and closing drapes once she and Zack had finished their conversation. She knocked on the door to Mel's room and found the girl sprawled on her bed sketching. Mel looked up but turned her sketch pad facedown. She was, at times, self-conscious about people seeing her work.

"We need to talk about the new house rules that Zack has put into place," Maggie said, trying to sound casual as she listed them and went about the room pulling the curtains closed. Zack had taken down the cafe curtains over the kitchen sink and covered the window with aluminum foil, even as Queenie had shaken her head and told him how tacky it looked.

"He's just taking extra precautions," Maggie said, "and it's only temporary." She turned. "This is going to break your heart, but you'll have to miss a couple of days of school."

"What about my friends?" Mel asked. "Will I be allowed to visit them?"

"We'll have to discuss it with Zack." Mel didn't look happy. "It's not forever," Maggie reminded. "The police are doing everything they can to find Carl Lee." Maggie clasped her hands together in front of her. "We should talk."

Mel gave a pained expression. "Mom, I don't want to talk any more right now, okay? If you want to talk to somebody why don't you talk to Aunt Queenie about how she's stinking up the whole house?"

"She's boiling basil to, um, protect the house."

"Can't you make her stop?"

"What do you think?"

Mel made a sound of exasperation. "None of my friends have all this voodoo crap in their houses. It's dumb. Everything that's going on here is dumb. My whole life is dumb." Mel turned on her back and stared at the ceiling.

Maggie prayed her daughter would get through puberty quickly. "Yeah, life can be like that sometimes," she said, heading for the door. "Just one dumb thing after another."

* * * * *

Maggie finished her grocery list and pulled a large container of spaghetti sauce from the freezer to thaw in the microwave. She had decided if the house was going to smell Italian she should cook something Italian for dinner to go with it. Mel had left her room in search of a snack and was in the process of spreading peanut butter, cream cheese, and strawberry jam on a warm bagel as Everest watched. The girl cut the bagel down the center and handed him half. "Try it."

Everest took a bite. "Hey, that's good."

"Told you." Mel took a big bite.

Maggie listened in amusement as Mel went through the list of ingredients carefully so Everest could commit it to memory. "Don't tell him how fattening it is, Mel," she said.

"Oh, right, Mom," Mel said with a grunt of a laugh. "This coming from a woman who eats her weight in chocolate."

"Okay, so I have one teeny-tiny vice," Maggie said.

Mel looked at Everest. "The only reason my mom isn't fat is because she has good genes. My grandmother is thin and so was my great-grandmother."

"Did they eat a lot of chocolate too?" Everest asked.

Mel nodded. "Tons of it."

Maggie opened the pantry and searched through it for spaghetti. All she could find was a box of macaroni and cheese. "If I don't buy groceries soon we're going to be in trouble."

"I want pizza," Mel said. "We always order pizza delivery on the weekend."

"When you're home," Maggie answered, "which you seldom are."

"You could go out on weekends too if you wanted," Mel said, "instead of sitting home reading your dumb medical journals. You're long-suffering."

"Excuse me?" Maggie arched one brow.

"You haven't come to terms with Dad's death. You compare every man you meet to him, and they always fall short. You need closure, Mom."

"That's deep," Everest said.

"She probably heard that on Oprah," Queenie said, reading the newspaper at the table. "They're always saying stuff like that on Oprah."

"Nope," Mel said. "Caitlin told me. She heard it from her mom who heard it from—"

"Abby Bradley," Maggie and Queenie said in unison.

"Uh-huh." Mel finished her bagel and licked her fingers.

"I'll bet Abby heard it on Oprah," Queenie said. "Abby isn't smart enough to come up with something like that on her own. She's not even smart enough to know when to keep her mouth shut. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, somebody needs to teach that woman a good lesson."

"That somebody better not be you," Maggie told her.

"Bottom line, Mom," Mel continued. "You need to start dating. People are going to think you're weird. I know you can find somebody in this town you're attracted to."

"I could help you with that," Queenie said, giving Maggie a big smile.

"Yes, you've told me. A trillion times," Maggie added. "And the answer is still N-O."

"All you would have to do is pick out a man you like," Queenie went on as though she hadn't heard a word Maggie said. "And leave the rest up to me. Mel is right. There has to be one man in this town you find attractive. All it takes is one."

The back door opened and Zack stepped through. Four sets of eyes stared at him.

"Why is everybody staring at me?" he asked. "If you tell me I have ketchup on my face it's going to be hard to explain because I haven't been near the stuff."

"Um, we were just trying to decide what kind of pizza to order," Maggie said, "and wondering what you like."

He shrugged. "I'm easy to please."

"Me too," Everest said.

"I'll call Crusty's," Mel said, going for the phone. "I'll order one large pepperoni and one with everything."

Zack looked at Maggie. "I forgot to ask you earlier," he said. "What's the deal with the goat?"

Maggie's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, no! Poor Butterbean!"

Mel stopped in her tracks and slapped her palm against her forehead. "I forgot we had a dumb goat. It's hard to think with Aunt Queenie doing her smelly voodoo thing."

"Be careful what you say about my practices," Queenie said sternly. "I'd hate to have to put the root on you."

Mel rolled her eyes back so far in her head that Maggie was certain she'd caught a glimpse of her brain.

"And don't you roll those eyes at me, young lady," Queenie said. "You know I don't tolerate eye-rolling. You keep rolling those eyes, and you might just find them stuck like that for a while."

"Okay, I'll do this instead." Mel stepped closer; raised her fingers to her eyes and turned the lids inside out.

"Oh, Lord!" Queenie cried, backing away and giving a huge shudder. "Stop that!"

Zack grinned and looked at Maggie who simply shook her head. "Ignore it," she whispered.

"Wow!" Everest said. "That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen. How long can she do that?"

Mel stuck her head forward, giving Queenie a better view. "I can't find my eyeballs," the girl wailed.

"Get away from me," Queenie cried, grimacing, "or I'm going to smack your backside so hard with this wooden spoon that you won't be able to sit for a week."

"Cut it out, Mel," Maggie said, trying to concentrate on what to do with the goat.

Mel turned toward her mother's voice, arms flailing. "Is that you, Mom?" she said, putting her hand on Maggie's face and exploring it with her fingertips.

Zack and Everest laughed.

Maggie's expression was deadpan, even though it was hard to remain straight-faced over her daughter's antics, no matter how juvenile. "Please fix your eyes," she said calmly.

"They're gone. Aunt Queenie stole them for her witch's brew."

Maggie shrugged. "Guess that means you can't order pizza. Too bad."

Finally, the girl rubbed her eyes and blinked several times until the lids were back in place. She headed for the phone.

Queenie looked relieved.

"I forgot about Butterbean too," Maggie told Zack, feeling sorry for the little pygmy with the kooky-looking eyes that nobody seemed to want. "I don't have any goat food. I don't even have a place to keep her. Except for maybe the garage. She'll need hay."

"I can get it," Everest said. "Carter's Hardware and Feed is ten minutes from here."

"Take the van," Zack said, tossing him the keys.

Maggie was relieved. "I really appreciate it," she said. She reached for her purse and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. "Go ahead and grab two bales of hay if you have enough money."

"Oh, wait," Zack said and pulled out his wallet. "How about picking up half a dozen good-quality night-lights from the hardware department."

"Wow, you must really be afraid of the dark," Mel said as the others gave him a questioning look.

Zack shrugged. "You never know when they might come in handy."

"I'm on it," Everest said. He opened the back door and jumped at the sight of a young man with tousled brown hair and a wrinkled coat. A camera hung from his neck. "You half scared me to death!" Everest said. "Who are you?"

"Mike Henderson from the Gazette." He had to look straight up to see Everest. "Wow, you're big."

Everest nodded. "I was born big. That's why I was named after a mountain."

"Is your name Matterhorn?"

Zack joined Everest at the door. "What can I do for you, Mr. Henderson?" he asked.

The reporter pried his eyes off Everest. "I was hoping to have a word with Dr. Davenport."

"Why?"

Mike looked surprised. "Well, um, I'd like to talk to her about an old friend of hers by the name of Carl Lee Stanton."

"Why?" Zack repeated.

"I'm writing an article about his escape this morning, and I wanted Dr. Davenport's response."

"Did he say his name was Henderson?" Queenie suddenly shouted. "That's the smart-aleck reporter who wrote the nasty article about my family." She stepped up to the door, hands on hips.

Everest frowned. "Do you want me to have a little talk with him before I go to the feed store, Granny Queenie?"

Mike instantly paled. "I don't know what she's talking about."

"You called my grandfather a witch doctor," Queenie said.

Everest grabbed the lapels of Mike's jacket and lifted him off the floor. "You don't talk about Granny Queenie's family like that."

"Wait! There has been a mistake," Mike said. He looked at Queenie. "Who was your grandfather?"

"Dr. Cloud."

"The Root Doctor? Oh, crap."

"If I hadn't been nursing my sick neighbor I would have marched right up to that newspaper office and given you what for. I let her talk me out of it. But now I'm mad again just seeing your face."

Maggie and Mel exchanged sighs.

"Okay," Zack said. "Let's just settle down. Nobody is going to hurt anybody."

Everest lowered Mike to the floor. "I'll be on my way, then," he said. "Excuse me, Mike, I need to get by."

Mike quickly moved out of his way. He straightened his jacket, but it did little good. "Look, lady," he said to Queenie, "I barely remember writing that article, but I would never have called your grandfather a witch doctor. I may have quoted someone. Most people don't believe in that stuff anyway."

Queenie started for him, but Zack blocked her. "Dr. Davenport can't see you right now," he said. "She's in surgery."

Maggie crossed the room. Enough was enough. "Excuse me," she said, squeezing between Zack and Queenie. "I'm Dr. Davenport. You needed to speak with me, Mr. Henderson?"

Mike looked relieved. "I just wanted to get your reaction to the news about Carl Lee Stanton's escape."

"My reaction?" she repeated.

"You know, on account of the two of you were kind of tight at one time."

"You need to leave before I do something you'll regret," Queenie said.

Maggie shot the woman one of her "don't even think about it" looks. "Does Jamie know you're here?" she asked Mike.

"No."

"I didn't think so. My reaction to Carl Lee Stanton's escape is no different from anyone else's," she said, an edge to her voice. "I want him caught before he hurts or kills someone else."

"Are you afraid, Dr. Davenport?"

"What kind of question is that?" Queenie blurted.

Maggie looked at Zack, and their gazes met and held. "Absolutely not."

"Wow!" Mike pulled a small notepad from his pocket. "You know he's dangerous, right? And everybody says he has a score to settle with you. I'll bet you regret ever laying eyes on the guy, huh?"

Maggie opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. How could she regret having known Carl Lee Stanton when the result had been a daughter she adored? She could feel everyone's eyes on her. "I'm finished answering your questions."

"Could I get a quick picture?"

Queenie pushed past Maggie. "Take a picture of this door," she said, and slammed it in his face so hard the house shook.

* * * * *

"Holy shit!" Cook shrieked the words.

Carl Lee Stanton jumped, and the car swerved to the center lane, almost sideswiping the pickup truck that barreled past them. He yanked the steering wheel to the right, and they rode the shoulder for a few seconds before he managed to get control. In the passenger seat, Cook twisted around, covered his eyes and gave an enormous shudder.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Carl Lee yelled. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"It's Loopy," Cook said. "He's deader'n hell."

"Are you sure?" Carl Lee glanced around, trying to get a look. "Did you check his pulse?"

"I don't have to, man. He's stiff as a board." Cook's voice was muffled behind his hands. "His eyes are open, Carl Lee. He's staring right at me."

"Just what I need," Carl Lee muttered. "A dead clown in the backseat."

"I can't ride in a car with a body. No way can I—"

"Shut up!" Carl Lee shouted. "I don't need you freaking out on me on top of everything else."

"You don't understand. I have a serious phobia! Some people fear heights, elevators, and snakes, but I fear dead people."

"So don't look at him."

Cook babbled on. "I was raised way up in the mountains," he said. "When somebody in my family died the undertaker put them in a casket and delivered it to the house. It would sit there for three whole days! Somebody had to sit up with the dead person all night; I was five years old my first time."

"We'll just have to make an appointment for you to see a shrink once we get to Beaumont." Carl Lee turned on the radio. He searched for a country-western station and paused when he found a news station. He turned up the volume. "Be quiet, I want to see if they mention us."

"And when my grandma died the ground was frozen so she couldn't be buried until it thawed. My old man put her in a junk car at the back of our property and covered her with a blanket. I still have nightmares." He wiped his hands down his face. "You gotta let me out of this car, man."

Without warning, Carl Lee backhanded him.

Cook reared back. "Why'd you do that!" he demanded. "Look, my nose is bleeding! I've got blood all over my good western shirt." He reached for a dirty handkerchief on the floor, shook it out and pressed it to his nose. "I don't want to be part of this anymore if I have to ride with a dead man in the backseat staring at me. Stop the car and let me out."

Carl Lee reached beneath his seat, pulled out a pistol, and, darting a quick look at Cook, put it to his head. The man froze. Carl Lee listened to the newsman who was in the process of recounting Carl Lee's crimes and giving a description of him. In the distance ahead, a police car sat on the side of the road. Carl Lee checked his speed and lowered his gun, pressing it below Cook's rib cage. He passed the patrol car and glanced in the rearview mirror several times until they were well past it.

"Now, you listen to me carefully," he told Cook. "I'm not going to dump a body in clear daylight, you got that? It'll be good and dark by the time we get to the other side of Shreveport; then we'll get rid of it."

Cook swallowed so hard his Adam's apple bobbed several times. "Whatever you say, Carl Lee," he said, eyes fastened on the barrel of the gun. "I can wait until it gets dark."

"And just so you know—" Carl Lee looked at him. "I can dump two bodies as easily as one."

* * * * *

They found Butterbean eating a cardboard cereal box from the recycling bin. "Uh-oh," Maggie said.

"I didn't think to move the bin, but I feel better knowing she's had a snack." The animal didn't let their sudden presence interfere with her dinner. She chewed right on.

"She's so small," Mel said.

"I don't think pygmies get much larger than that," Zack said. "I read an article about them in National Geographic."

"I don't know why Joe Higgins names all of his animals after food," Mel said, and looked at Zack. "He gave us a cat named Okra."

"Joe's little girl is a patient of mine," Maggie told Zack. "He pays her medical bills with animals."

"Ah, the old barter system," he said.

Mel was keeping a respectful distance. "Does she bite?"

"Nope." To prove it Maggie stroked Butterbean's forehead. Mel did the same.

"She's kinda cute," the girl said. "I was expecting some ugly, disgusting-looking goat."

"I'd better have a look at the garage." Maggie turned, and they followed. The wooden structure was as old as the house but she hadn't had the time or inclination to scrape, repaint, and repair, after she, her parents, and a handyman named Yap had spent so much time working on the house. Her grandfather had let things go after her grandmother's death. Decades-old wallpaper had been stripped, carpeting pulled up, the wood floors beneath sanded and varnished, and the list went on and on.

The garage doors swung out on hinges that squawked like a nettled blue jay. Inside it was dark and cool and musty. Maggie caught only a hint of the paint thinner she'd used restoring several of her grandparents' antiques in the garage. Still, it was orderly, Maggie noted thankfully, having devoted an entire Saturday to cleaning it back in the spring. She had hauled off years of forgotten junk, organized and stowed items in the built-in cabinets along the back. Yap had cleaned decades of dirt and mildew, inside and out, with a power washer.

"It's gloomy in here," Mel said.

"I think we should open those two windows and take off the screens so Butterbean can stick her head out," Maggie said. "She'll be able to get fresh air and won't feel so closed in." She shrugged. "It'll just have to do for tonight until I figure out another solution. I've put an ad in the newspaper. Hopefully somebody will call."

"I'll take care of the windows," Zack said, "if you and Mel have something else you need to do."

"We can start carrying all these yard tools to the back storage shed," Maggie told her daughter, "then I'll sweep up some of this dust."

Zack walked to a window, unlocked it, and tried to raise it. "It's stuck," he said. "Is there a screwdriver nearby?"

Maggie already had her arms full. She pointed to the built-in cabinet. "First drawer on the left," she said. She and Mel began carrying rakes, shovels, garden hoses, and ladders from the garage to the shed where a rusted tiller sat, reminding Maggie how much her grandfather had enjoyed keeping a garden at one time. Mel pushed her bicycle from the garage and leaned it against a wall in the shed.

Zack had managed to pry one of the windows loose and pull the screen off by the time they returned. He had moved on to the next window. He was already sweating, and dust and grime covered his face and hair. He blinked several times when some of the dust landed in his eyes. "How long since these windows were opened?" he asked with a grin. He pulled off his shirt and mopped his eyes and face.

The first thing Maggie noticed was the gun, tucked into the back of his jeans. She and Mel exchanged looks. The girl shrugged, lifted a five-gallon gas can by its handle and carried it out as Maggie grabbed the broom and began sweeping. She had no choice but to leave her riding lawn mower parked in the corner, but Butterbean would still have plenty of room to move around.

Her gaze drifted back to Zack. The muscles in his upper arms and back rippled beneath dark olive skin as he struggled with the window.

Maggie swallowed. As a physician who'd served time in the ER, she was well acquainted with the male anatomy, both young and old, in all shapes and sizes. But there was little time to appreciate a fit male body when it was in dire need of medical attention; and sterile exam rooms with glaring lights and beeping machines pretty much stole the ambience.

There was little time to appreciate a man's wide shoulders or the way his backside looked in jeans that rode low on his hips and—

"Something wrong?" Zack asked.

"Huh?" Maggie met his gaze. Hell's bells, he'd caught her looking! "I just, um, didn't mean to stick you with all this work. Especially with your injured arm," she added. "Let me help you." She stepped beside him and together they pushed. She could smell the sweat on his body, feel his heat along her arms and down her thighs. She wished the FBI had sent an ugly agent. Finally, the window gave, and Zack shoved it all the way up.

Everest pulled the van into the driveway and parked near the garage. He immediately began unloading the hay. Zack cut the twine, and he and Maggie spread the hay, forming a soft mound beside one of the windows where a light breeze sifted through. By the time Mel led Butterbean into the garage, Zack had tucked the screens inside the outbuilding and Maggie had put out food and water.

Butterbean stood there for a moment as if uncertain what to do. Finally, she walked over to the hay and nudged it about with her nose, then turned to her bowl of oats and ate with gusto.

"She should be comfortable here," Zack said, putting on his shirt without bothering to button it.

Mel didn't look convinced. "What if she gets lonely?"

Maggie wondered if her daughter's heart was beginning to soften toward the little pygmy. "She'll probably go to sleep after she eats."

"I'm going to bring my portable radio out here," Mel said, already hurrying from the garage.

Everest looked surprised. "I thought she didn't like goats."

Maggie shrugged. "I've yet to figure out how a thirteen-year-old thinks, but I'm working on it."

Mel returned with her radio. "I put new batteries in it a couple of days ago so it should last a while." She placed it on the lawn mower seat and selected a station with soft music. "That should keep her calm, don't you think?" She looked at Maggie who nodded.

Queenie was packing her satchel when they entered the house. Her black eyes immediately took in Zack's gaping shirt before turning to Maggie.

"Mind if I grab a quick shower?" Zack asked.

Queenie made a sound in her throat and began fanning herself with a notepad.

Maggie tried not to think of Zack naked in the shower. "I'll show you to the guest room," she said. He grabbed his duffel bag, and the odd-shaped suitcase, and Maggie reached for his shoulder bag. She led him up a flight of stairs just off the hall. A step creaked beneath her feet. Maggie knew and loved every creak, crack, and cranny in the old house. She took comfort in the sharp pings of raindrops hitting the tin roof, the window at the end of the hall that shuddered in its casing during a strong wind, and the feel of the pine floors beneath her bare feet. Some nights, as she lay in bed reading, she could hear the house settling on its foundation before growing quiet, as if it were telling her good night and giving a final sigh before calling it a day.

"I like your place," Zack said, as though reading her mind.

"Thanks. It belonged to my grandparents. The house was built in the 1930s, but my grandmother had it updated a couple of times and put new furniture in it. Said she was sick of being around old stuff. She passed it on to my parents who didn't care for antiques either. You wouldn't believe how much of this furniture was stored in my parents' barn. It was piled as high as the ceiling in one of the stables and covered in plastic." She shook her head sadly. "There should be a law against that sort of thing."

They entered the guest room, where a magnolia comforter covered an iron bed. "Just so you know," Zack said, "I'll be hanging out on the couch at night. I want us all on the same floor."

"Thanks. I'll rest easier having you down there," Maggie said. Zack set down his bag and looked around, nodding at what he saw. He looked at her and smiled, and Maggie wondered how he could possibly appear so at ease. "I can't believe this is happening," she said. "It feels so—" She shook her head. "Unreal and weird," she added. It felt kind of weird standing in a bedroom with a stranger too, she thought.

Zack took the small suitcase and shoulder bag from her. "It's going to be okay, Maggie."

He seemed to project some sort of energy and confidence that Maggie wished she had. "How can you not be afraid, Zack?" she asked. "I mean, I know you've had all this training, but aren't you worried? Or is this just 'another day at the office' sort of thing?" She hated that her voice shook.

"I would probably be afraid if I didn't know what I was doing, but Stanton isn't the first bad-ass I've had to deal with." He reached up and touched her shoulder. "I've been at this a while, Maggie. As long as Stanton doesn't break my other arm we'll be fine."

Maggie didn't know which surprised her more; the fact he was touching her or that he was making jokes. She was glad when he moved his hand. "What's in this odd-looking suitcase?" she asked, nodding at the oblong case on the bed.

Zack glanced over at it. "That? Oh, it's my makeup case." He smiled.

"Gee, why don't I believe that?"

"If you really want to know I'll tell you."

"I really want to know. I think," she added under her breath.

"There's a sniper rifle inside."

Maggie covered her eyes with one hand. "I wish I hadn't asked. I wish you hadn't told me. I wish none of this was happening. I don't like guns. I hate guns. I hate having guns in my house." She knew she was babbling. She paused and sucked in air.

He shrugged. "I'm fresh out of straws and spitballs."

"I hate exposing my daughter to this sort of thing," she said. She closed her eyes and pressed the ball of her hand against her forehead. "Queenie is right. I'm overprotective. I should have let Mel watch more violence on TV so she would be better prepared for this sort of thing."

"I'm sorry," he said, "but this isn't just about you and your daughter. Other people are in danger as well."