Spooky Business (The Spectral Files #3) - S.E. Harmon Page 0,21

subtext from pretext like myself.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, we slept just fine.”

“Did you? Sleep, that is?”

“Of course,” I said quickly.

“That’s good.”

I sent her a scowl, and she chuckled. Finally catching on, Danny looked at us grimly, a pizza crust dangling from his fingers. “I think I know, but I’m afraid to confirm.”

My mother opened her mouth gleefully, and my father, now my favorite parent, shoved a spoonful of the questionable mac and cheese in it. “Mjfsnuf,” she mumbled.

I pushed back from the table and stacked our plates for their trip to the sink. “We should head out before she finishes that.”

“Sage advice,” my father agreed.

*

We spent most of the morning helping in the community—cleanup, welfare checks, rescuing animals that hadn’t been properly secured inside, and helping out a couple of stranded motorists. Not long after, Danny suggested we check on his mother and see how she’d weathered the storm, as I’d known he would. Just call me Ms. Cleo.

“It only makes sense,” Danny said as we headed toward his mother’s neighborhood of Belford Heights. It was a quiet, gated, fifty-five-plus community, with good-sized homes and backed by a golf course. “We need a break to eat anyway, and nothing is open.”

By tacit, unspoken agreement, we both ignored the bright lights of the KFC as he passed it, and the handwritten sign on the window declaring: We’re Open! “Mm-hmm.”

“I sent her a text this morning, and she said she’d love to see us. I’m sure she’s a little lonely.”

And I was sure the word “us” had not been used in that text. I don’t know if I mentioned this, but Paula McKenna isn’t exactly my biggest fan. “Probably,” I finally said.

He sent me a sidelong look. It was clear he’d readied himself for any arguments I would make, but he shouldn’t have worried. He put up with my parents, who were lovable but admittedly knew how to tap-dance on a nerve, so I could put up with his. We were a couple now, which was shorthand for your hell is my hell.

Besides, that cantankerous old bat—ahem, I mean his mother—treated Danny like he was something precious. That netted her a lot of goodwill from me. She was a million times better than Danny’s birth parents, that was for sure. He was the by-product of a mother who could never get high enough, and a father who seemed to prefer prison to the real world. Paula had come into Danny’s life after he’d been bounced into foster care for the third time. As far as I knew, the only thing she adored more than Danny was Jesus, and sometimes even that order shifted.

It was nearly three before we pulled into her driveway. She barely waited for Danny to exit the vehicle before engulfing him in a tight hug. I took my slow ass, sweet time ambling over to give her a chance to inspect her bear cub.

When she finally spotted me standing there, she gave me a reserved greeting. Really, all she said was my name in a cool, crisp voice. “Ms. McKenna,” I said in response.

Once upon a time, she’d invited me to call her Paula. That was before I left Danny and moved back to DC. We now reflected upon the four-year gap in our relationship as necessary. We’d grown separately and come back together even stronger than before.

Paula didn’t seem to think of it quite as fondly.

“It’s always good to see you, Rainstorm,” she said, her voice stiff and formal. “Daniel, I wasn’t aware you were bringing company. I would’ve put on some coffee.”

He squinted at her. “Mom, the power is out. We’re not exactly expecting refreshments. And Rain’s not company, he’s—”

“Here to help,” I said, putting on my chipper as a fucking cartoon squirrel voice. If he told her I was family, her head might just blow right off her shoulders, and we already had a lot of cleanup to do.

“Well, I’m sure he has better things to do than hang around here.” She turned to Danny. “As for you, I think you should start on the roof. Hopefully, the damage is mostly cosmetic.”

As if sharing a single thought, the three of us looked around the yard and then back at each other. If the number of shingles strewn about on the grass was any indicator of roof damage, that was a tall hope.

“I’m pretty certain there’s a leak in the dining room,” she continued, her brow puckered with concern. “We might have to eat Sunday dinner