yes, Evelina may have fainted, but that it was more like a catnap. Blossom is frenzied at first. But after I revisit the flaming-cross business in vivider terms, she allows herself to be corralled on the condition that the instant Dr. Pendleton proclaims her hale, she will check in on her beloved with yours truly as escort.
Minutes later, she is sound asleep. And I left to ponder how much you would have to love someone to give them up entirely, and whether there will still be flaming crosses in the unknowable world fifteen years from now, when Davy Lee steps out to make it his own.
* * *
—
When I startle awake, the gun has slipped from my slack hand to the coverlet. Blossom shifted and now lies huddled in her kimono with her back to me.
The light is wrong.
I go to push the curtains open. Where before the warm wash of morning flooded the globe, now the sole remaining luster is a military navy, marching toward full darkness. No one knocked all that while.
Something is rotten, and it isn’t Medea’s disposition.
Turning up a lamp, I confirm that we are deep in the proverbial manure—nine twenty-five p.m. Blossom opens her eyes, both of them this time.
“Was I dreaming, or have I been pummeled very thoroughly?” she croaks.
“You were tenderized, yes. And it seems, I regret to report, that it is nighttime.”
Blossom sits up, blinking in dismay. “No one came?”
“Not unless it was the Tooth Fairy, no. I’m going to consult with our man Rooster. You keep the gun. When I’ve—”
“Alice, going down there alone is a frightful notion.”
“I don’t see what other choice we—”
Rap, rap, rap.
I have the gun aimed at the door before the knock finishes, I feel that strongly on the subject.
“Who is it?” Blossom calls, sounding much stronger for the shut-eye.
“It’s Mavereen.”
“Oh, thank God.” I set the gun on Blossom’s vanity.
The door swings open and Mrs. Mavereen Meader enters.
She holds herself stiffly, easy dignity replaced with girders and plaster. And though she doesn’t look different, she feels years older. Her ornate beehive hair is perfectly set, hands folded, and she is giving me positively terminal fidgets.
“Why, Mav, whatever’s the matter?” Blossom exclaims.
“They done arrested Officer Overton,” she announces in a dead tone.
Blossom barks a disbelieving laugh. “Arrested him? Who did the arresting who wasn’t scared shitless he’d get them back—the canine trackers? Please. Even dogs have more sense.”
“Rooster done told Max what happened to you, and Max headed straight to the Vaughan residence,” she continues. “Gave Tom Vaughan an earful, did our Maximilian. He said as Overton been worrying us something fearsome, and that pestering you was the last straw, and we wouldn’t stand for no more. The chief listened, and he listened good. Seems there was a nurse with Mrs. Vaughan by then, so he went with Max to scare up his star thug.”
“I don’t know that I’d call Overton a thug—it’s insulting to thugs across the continental United States.” Blossom studies her hands. “Is, is Evelina . . . Alice says she fainted. Is she all right?”
“She ain’t fixing to climb any mountains, but Mrs. Vaughan’ll keep.”
“Good.” Pure joy floods Blossom’s face, only to be ruthlessly tamped down. “You said that Overton is actually detained behind bars?”
“Max and the chief went out hunting.” Mavereen stares at a spot on the wall, and I don’t like that, not a particle. “Officer Taffy pointed them in the right direction. They done found Overton nursing rotgut at a speakeasy, busted up like he’d been in a fight. When they searched him, they scared up two guns—his, and that toy shooter you like so well. Max swore a blue streak that firearm was stolen when Overton attacked you. The chief believed him. He stuck Overton in the lockup till he gets the whole sorry mess figured.”
“You look less than thrilled,” I observe.
“Of course she does!” Blossom scoffs. “Even supposing they proved Overton roughed me up and swiped my gun, a court of law would never convict him. The second his shoes strike free soil, he’ll be back to plaguing us. I’m so sorry, Mavereen.”
“That’s as may be. But Officer Overton came up with a real interesting reason why he took your revolver.” Mavereen’s eyes are as warm as granite. “Says you attacked him first and he fought you off—and that we’d all best take care around you.”
“Whatever for?” Blossom whispers.
“On account of you being an abomination.”
The very walls around us breathe secrets and dread. Mavereen’s tone hasn’t shifted, remains both