I grimaced. “Yeah, so I gather. Don’t be surprised if I blow.” I shook open the paper and turned to the front page. A grainy picture of Joe and me taken during our party, filled the lower right quarter of the paper. Slow news week, so it seemed.
Next to it was Ingrid’s article. EMERALD O’BRIEN WEAVES HER MAGICAL CHARM AGAIN, the headline read. Oh God, just shoot me now.
Emerald O’Brien, Chiqetaw’s beloved sorceress and teashop owner, has once again made the front page, but this time not because of some ghostly visitor or murdering marauder come calling. No, Emerald’s been plying her charming self into the spotlight via the men in her life.
Reports have it that a brawl broke out between Emerald’s ex-husband, Roy O’Brien, of Seattle, and her fiancé, Joseph Files, captain of Chiqetaw’s Medic Rescue Unit. Ms. O’Brien must have been brewing up quite a storm of love spells for the tempest that prevailed. Mr. O’Brien was evicted from the premises by Mr. Files and his biker friend, Jimbo Warren. What this reporter wants to know is: Is a reunion in the mix between Emerald and her ex, or was it just wishful thinking on his part?
On a more serious note, yesterday at approximately three-thirty Mr. Files was shot by an unknown assailant out at Miner’s Lake while preparing for a barbecue. He was taken to Chiqetaw General Hospital and is due to be released today. Police have no idea of who shot Mr. Files, or why. Considering the goings-on at the engagement party, this reporter can’t help but speculate.
Shit! Ingrid as good as accused Roy in print, but there was really nothing he could use to file suit against her. And she made me sound like a scheming cock-tease. Or at the very least, a philanderer. It wasn’t like I’d asked Roy to show up at the party. He managed that blunder on his own. I thought about putting in a call to good old Ingrid, but experience had taught me that facing down the media only meant asking for trouble. I sighed and tossed the paper on the table.
“How bad is it?” Randa asked, rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. Kip had stuffed half the doughnut in his mouth, and I wandered over and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Take smaller bites. I don’t want you choking. Death by junk food is not an acceptable excuse to get out of chores around here,” I said. He blinked, then flashed me a brilliant grin.
“It’s bad enough. You can read it if you want. You two are probably going to get teased by your friends, so you might as well know why. I apologize in advance.” I hated when my actions intruded on the kids’ lives, but there was no getting around it. And technically, it had been Roy’s fault, not mine.
Randa glanced at the clock, then grabbed the paper and skimmed. Kip finished his pastry and held out his hand. “Mom, I need to get going or I’ll be late. Can I have some money for lunch? Our teacher is taking us to Mickey D’s.”
“Get my purse,” I said. I handed him a five as Randa tossed the paper in the garbage.
“Mrs. Lindstrom is an idiot,” she said.
I happened to agree, but didn’t want to encourage disrespect in my kids. However, in this case, I would happily make an exception.
“You’re right, but don’t either of you tell anybody I said that or she might just write something worse next time. Okay, let’s move it. You’ll have to take your bikes. I don’t have time to drive you all over town this morning. And Randa, do you have your cell phone?”
I’d recently purchased a cell phone for her with instructions that it wasn’t to be used while in school, and that at night it remained downstairs on the table when she went up to bed. Now, anytime she went out of town on a field trip, I had the added security of knowing I could reach her, if necessary, and vice versa.
She nodded. “In my pocket. I’ll be careful.”
“Okay, hut-two-three-four, on your way out the door!”
Kip and Randa marched out the kitchen door after giving me quick pecks, and I watched them pedal away on their bikes. Only four more years—if that—and Randa would be off to college.
My mother had told me, years before, that time sped up with age. I hadn’t believed her, but now I understood what she meant. Only eight more years and Kip would leave home. And then it would just be Joe and me. The prospect of an empty house had made my mouth go dry before I met him, but now it was as if the future had taken on a new life and color. I’d be fine on my own but with Joe by my side, anything seemed possible.
I turned the dial, starting up the load of dishes, when the phone rang. My knee-jerk reaction was to think that something had happened during the night with Joe, but then I caught myself. He was fine. I had to stop being paranoid. He worked a dangerous job and over the years, I’d have to learn to let go and trust that he’d be okay. I picked up the phone to find a frantic Murray on the other end of the line.
“Em, can you come over? I really need somebody here right now.” Her voice was shaky and she sounded out of breath. Murray seldom ever sounded frantic, so I knew something had happened.
“What’s wrong? Are you all right? Jimbo?”
“Somebody broke into my house last night. I stayed out at Jimmy’s and just got home, and the place has been trashed.”
“Holy hell! Are you okay? Is the thief still be in the house?”
“No, no . . . Deacon and Greg are on the way and I’ve already searched the house. I have my gun, so don’t worry—”
Oh yeah, the fact that she was packing a weapon made me feel all safe and secure. But then again, Murray knew how to use it, and she followed procedure.
“Okay, I’m on my way. First I have to call the hospital to find out when I can pick up Joe, but I’ll be over right after that.”
I fished through my purse for the number to the hospital and put in a quick call to reception. The doctor was with Joe, but the nurse told me that I could pick him up any time after two. I grabbed my purse and dashed out of the house. As I sped over to Murray’s house, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a connection between Joe being shot and Murray’s house being ransacked. The timing was too close. But how could they be related? A slow churning in my gut told me that the universe had just shaken the dice, and once again, we were on the end of a pair of snake eyes.
ALL SIGNS OF my bridal shower had disappeared, and in its place stood a swath of destruction and mayhem. As I stood on the threshold, staring in the front door, it was hard to comprehend that this had been Murray’s neat and beautiful living room only yesterday. Mur was talking to Deacon and Greg when I got there and I waited, making sure not to touch anything.
The sofa—a replica of a Victorian-era piece—had been gutted and bits of stuffing covered everything. Knickknacks were scattered every which way, some broken, some just tossed about. Files from a small cabinet in the corner had been pulled and tossed into the air, and a hail-storm of paper littered the floor. I glanced over at the wall unit that comprised the two snake cages. The glass had been shattered, and Nancy and Sid were no place to be seen. Confusion and anger blackened Murray’s expression, but she was keeping it together much better than I had when the Chintz ’n China had been vandalized.