my knuckles on the garish orange door. Might as well catch Homer Underwood off guard, and a man begging for his underwear was definitely already off his game.
Of course, he wasn’t the one who answered my knock.
The door whipped open, and I found myself looking straight at an enormous set of breasts that gravity had taken its toll on. I looked up, way up, to see a rather angry Marge, who appeared to be in her early fifties, glaring down at me. She had to be close to seven feet tall even without a massive blue beehive, and I couldn’t for the life of me think of one smart thing to say.
“Jaysus, you are a tall woman,” I spluttered. The thought that she could hunt geese with a rake crossed my mind, but I suspected that was a line from a show I’d seen once.
Her bright green eyes narrowed and her hand tightened on the edge of the door, the crease in her fingers turning blue. Blue? “You one of his women? If so, I’m going to have a chat with you. You ain’t gonna like that chat, girlie.”
I held both hands up and took a step back, just out of range. I hoped. “I am here to ask his professional advice, assuming he is the Homer Underwood that Eammon told me to talk to.”
Her eyes narrowed further. “Eammon is a little shit disturber.”
I sighed and put a hand on one hip, knowing I had to play this smooth or I wasn’t going to get through this behemoth of a woman to speak to Homer, no matter how mad she was at him. “Tell me about it. You know he flat out lied to me on two occasions to get his way? He and my boyfriend don’t get along much, makes my life hard.” Yup, imaginary boyfriend for the win.
Marge’s eyes softened a little. “Men, they are nothing but trouble.”
I nodded. “Agreed. You are welcome to take part in the conversation, it’s not private. I just need a little direction, seeing as I don’t know NOLA well. And I can pay for his time, of course.”
She pursed her lips, and I found myself staring hard at her face as it slid from human to something . . .not quite human. But quick as a flash, it was back to normal.
“Homer, put your ginch on. You got someone asking about you. Come on in.” She stepped back and waved for me to come forward.
“Maybe I should wait, if he isn’t dressed—” I said.
“Ah, he ain’t shy, and you and I have both seen enough twigs and berries that they all look the same, am I right, or am I right?” She gave a toothy grin and then laughed at her own joke.
A slightly nervous laugh escaped me. “Yup, you are right. All the same.”
I wasn’t entirely sure about that. Alan didn’t hold a damn match to Crash in that department.
I swallowed my trepidation and made my feet cross the threshold of the house. The interior was about as gloomy as the sky outside, with only a couple of lights on to illuminate the room. Knickknacks of all sorts were scattered about the room, all about the same size, and . . . I blinked and peered closer at one of them.
“That’s a voodoo doll,” I said as I jerked my head up to look at Marge. She grinned at me.
“That’s what we do, darling. We make voodoo dolls and we have plenty in stock. The tourists love them. Shall I give Eammon’s a poke for you?” She bent and scooped up a smaller than the average doll and showed it to me.
Yup, it had the distinct look of Eammon, complete with a lock of his hair that had been stitched into the top of the head. There were no current pins in him that I could see.
I held a hand up. “No, thanks. I’ll pass. For today. Who knows if I’ll want to kick him in the balls tomorrow?”
She chuckled. “Girl, I feel that all the way to my toes. Homer, where the hell are you?”
There was a narrow opening across the room, presumably the entrance to a hallway, and a man who would’ve made Louis look robust emerged from it. He slid along the wall, moving for all intents and purposes like a lizard, an analogy that fit him right down to his bugging eyeballs and the widespread spindly fingers he kept flattened against the unpainted drywall.