Thunderbird Falls

CHAPTER 21

“Hey, legs!”

I recognized Billy’s voice behind me, but it didn’t occur to me to turn around. He sprinted—for some value of “sprint;” the extra ten pounds made his solid footfalls sound heavy enough to shake the sidewalk—the few yards to catch up with me and dropped a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, legs. What, you’re not talking to me anymore?” He let out a puff of air and fell into step beside me as I wrinkled my forehead at him.

“You were talking to me?”

“You see anybody else with Julia-Roberts-inseam legs walking around here?” he demanded. I glanced down at my pale knees and my pair of really comfortable men’s sandals. Then I looked around at the passersby. Plenty of them were in shorts. Most of them weren’t women a smidgen under six feet tall.

“I guess not. You never said anything about my legs before.”

“Two reasons.” Billy steered me into the Missing O, where I hadn’t been planning to go. “One.” He lifted a finger. “Melinda’d kill me. Two.” Another finger. “It’s sexual harassment. Three.”

“You said two.” I got in line for a drink, Billy still directing me. It was blessedly cooler in the O, and the place was packed, everybody taking advantage of the functional air-conditioning.

“Shush your mouth. Three. I never saw your legs before.”

“Now that,” I said, offended, “is not true. I wore a dress at one of the Policeman’s Balls.” I was almost certain I had. Practically positive. At least once.

“You wore your uniform,” Billy corrected. “The midcalf dark blue skirt. Six inches of shin doesn’t count.”

“You have an amazing eye for detail, Billy.” I’d worn the same skirt to the funeral.

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” he said with a cheerful snort. “Frappucino and a bottle of water,” he said as we stepped up to the counter. “What’s your poison, Joanie?”

Joanie. The name made me smile a little. It was so much friendlier than Judy’s rigid Joanne or Morrison’s terminally exasperated Walker. A thump of loneliness chilled my blood. I hadn’t seen much of my friends the past few days, and it was making me feel isolated. Especially in face of Faye’s adamant comments about me being one of the coven now. It was like she was trying to surgically remove me from the life I already had, although I was pretty sure that was giving her golden retriever self way too much credit.

“Italian soda,” I said to the barrista, suddenly more cheery. “Orange, vanilla, cream, no whip.” That was my summertime drink, just like hot chocolate with mint was my winter drink. It was normal, it was me, and it wasn’t complicated by anybody’s magical ritual or their expectations of me. “Billy, I’m not supposed to be working.” I dug change from my pocket, counting out nickels and dimes to pay for my soda. Billy eyed me.

“Going broke?”

“Getting lopsided from carrying too many pennies in my pocket. Did you need something?” My vision was still playing havoc, and the edges of the coins kept fading into shadow, making them hard to pick up.

“Backup,” he said. I took a step back. He eyed me again, more maliciously this time.

“Oh,” I said, and stepped forward. “Sorry. I thought you were…never mind.”

“I’m meeting Mel for coffee,” he explained.

“Mel. Mel, Melinda, your wife?”

Billy nodded furtively.

“And you need police protection for this?”

“See, I accidentally let slip that you figured out she was, you know.” Billy rolled his eyes expressively and I grinned.

“Crazy for marrying you?”

Billy laughed. “Yeah, something like that. So she’s on the warpath, figuring I shot off my mouth to the whole department.”

“What, you? The picture of discretion? Your nail polish is chipped, by the way.”

Billy lowered his head and stared at me. I fought off another grin and picked up my soda, swirling ice with the straw. “So I need you to go the whole feminine intuition route,” he growled. “To get me off the hook.”

“You know I don’t believe in that stuff, Billy.” Grinning again, I staked out a table while Billy stopped to shake some cocoa over the frappucino. I was looking forward to seeing Melinda on the warpath. In the almost four years I’d known her and Billy, I’d never seen her so much as annoyed, not even while herding their ever-increasing tribe of children.

She made her entrance as I sat. Melinda always managed to make an entrance, whether she was wearing an apple-yellow sundress—which is what she wore now—or sweats and a T-shirt. The door breezed open, chiming ding-a-ling, and she paused, surveying the coffee shop. In response, the coffee shop paused and surveyed her in turn: patrons glanced her way, smiling, and she wiggled her fingers at a couple of the cops she knew.

The door chimed shut behind her, and the shop’s usual hubbub reasserted itself Melinda skirted her way around the tables, smiling, and caught up with Billy a step or two from the table I’d scored, standing on her toes—as if the gesture made a difference in the heels she wore—to steal a kiss.

“If this is the warpath, Billy, what’s she like in a good mood?” I stood up to give Melinda a hug.

“A monster,” Billy moaned. “Impossible to live with. A bear.” He held Melinda’s chair for her, then settled the frappucino in front of her. I sat back down, smiling broadly.

“Ah-huh. It’s rough to be you, isn’t it? It’s good to see you, Mel. You look great.”

“I look like a cow,” Melinda pronounced gleefully.

“You do not.” It was the only appropriate response to give a pregnant woman, and besides, it was true. “But Billy’s starting to look like a prize bull.”

Billy sat back. “I think I’m offended.”

“Well, let us know when you’re sure.” I beamed at him. He snorted. “See? Now you’re sounding like one, too.”

“Hey,” he said, injured, and lifted his water bottle. “See, I’m being good. No calories.”

“So how’s it work?” I asked Melinda. “If he goes on a diet, does that mean you start gaining the weight?”

“I don’t know,” Melinda said. “He’s never been able to stay on a diet for more than two days.”

I grinned. “Congratulations to you both.”

“For being unable to stick to a diet?” Billy asked. I kicked at him under the table and he grinned back at me.

“Thank you,” Mel said serenely. “You should come over for dinner.”

“Any excuse to not eat my own cooking,” I agreed without hesitation. “When?”

“We’re having a barbecue on the solstice,” she offered. “My darling William is supposed to have invited everyone.”

“Really? The whole city?”

Mel gave me a look I’d seen her give her children. It made me giggle, which probably wasn’t the desired effect. “Just our little neck of it, Joanne. Don’t be difficult.”

“Yes’m. I’d love to. I’ll be there—” Oh yeah. Major big juju going down on the solstice. “—if I can be.”

Melinda’s eyebrows rose an expressive fraction of an inch. “Hot date?” she inquired, somewhere between disbelieving and hopeful, with a good dose of curiosity thrown in.

“Not exactly.” I wrinkled my nose. “I’d tell you more—”

“But then you’d have to kill me, yes, of course. Well, I’m going to tell the kids you’re coming, and you won’t dare disappoint them, so you’ll come.”

“That’s not fair.” I liked Billy and Melinda’s kids. They ran roughshod over me, but I liked them anyway.

“Were you masquerading under the impression that I should be playing fair?” Melinda smiled. “You should come, Joanne.”

“I’ll try,” I promised. “Look, Billy—”

“What?” He shook himself dramatically. “Sorry, must’ve fallen asleep. I wasn’t needed for the conversation, was I?”

I laughed. “Be glad we weren’t talking about you. Look, you don’t really need backup, so I’m going to head out. I’ve got some people to visit.”

“How’s Gary doing?” he asked, suddenly much more serious.

Mel’s eyebrows wrinkled with concern and she leaned forward. “Tell him we’re thinking of him, all right?”

“He’s better,” I said to Billy, and grinned a bit at Mel. “I will. Pretty Hispanic ladies thinking of him will make him that much better again. Thanks, Mel.”

“Any time. We’ll see you Tuesday.” She waved me off.

The heat hit me like a pile driver. I actually staggered, trying to catch my breath, and leaned against the O’s outer wall for a few seconds. It didn’t help: heat sluiced off the building, too, making my tank top stick to my spine within two breaths. I took a too-large gulp of my soda and coughed, but it was better than not getting something cool down my throat. It wasn’t as hot as the coyote desert, but the mugginess might’ve been worse. I took a deep breath and felt like I was inhaling another sip of my drink.

“Hot enough for ya?” somebody asked as he strode by. I couldn’t even work up the energy to give him the glare he deserved, it was that hot. My brain functions slowed down again and I squinted at the sidewalk, trying to remember what I was doing. Petite. Hospitals. Visiting Gary and Colin. That was it. And then maybe I’d go home, spend the afternoon in a cold shower, and try to talk with my coyote. On the one hand, if he was my spirit guide and wasn’t turning up to guide me, I was probably doing okay. On the other, I still wanted to apologize for being a jerk in the Dead Zone, and to ask if he had any ideas on how I might further investigate Cassie’s heart attack.

A plan in place, I tried to schluck up another sip of my Italian soda, but it was already empty. I looked in dismay at the cup in my hand, honestly not remembering having drunk it. I was pretty sure, though, that I’d remember someoneelse drinking it, so I’d probably done it.

The heat pressed on me all the way back to Petite. I could hear it affecting other people: arguments barking up through the thick air and little kids whining that they wanted to go home. I figured nobody was going to get in a real fight. It would take too much energy. I certainly didn’t have enough energy to stop them, anyway. Besides, I was off duty. Morrison didn’t want to see me around. I should thank God for small favors, and get out of there while the getting was good.

Climbing into an oven would’ve been just about as comfortable as getting into Petite, although she had more leg room. I wiped sweat away and drove to Northwest Hospital.

The hospital was miles more comfortable than outdoors, but I could all but hear the air-conditioners grinding and chugging as they attempted to beat back the heat. I bought a bottle of water from a machine just inside the front door. It was gone by the time I met a nurse outside Gary’s door. She smiled wearily as I asked how he was doing.

“He’s lost his mind,” she said. My eyebrows shot up and she laughed, the sound surprising in the humid halls. “He keeps cackling about tortoises winning the race. The doctor is pleased. He’s in the shower for the third time today.”

“The doctor is?” I didn’t mean to be a smart-ass. I was just drawn that way. “What’s he doing, cooling off? Do you think I could join him?” I laughed. “You know what I mean.”

“You’re too young for him,” the nurse said, grinning.

“Not if we were in Hollywood,” I argued. “You know. Michael Douglas gets the girl, even though she’s Gwyneth Paltrow and he’s old enough to be her grandfather.” One of my secret vices was entertainment magazines. Those, and romance novels. I couldn’t let it get out, because it would completely ruin my tough girl-mechanic image.

“Michael Douglas got Catherine Zeta-Jones,” the nurse argued.

I laughed while I scouted the hall for another vending machine. I thought I’d already sweated out the entire bottle of water I’d just drunk. “Good point, and he’s only old enough to be her father. Anyway, I’d rather have Gregory Peck. I like him better.”

“Better than who?” Gary demanded. I spun around. Unlike either me or the nurse, Gary was fresh and clean-looking, though he swept me into a hug that assured he wouldn’t stay that way for long. He looked so much more like himself that I bit my lower lip as I returned the hug, trying not to get all sniffly. The nurse patted me on the back and went down the hall.

“You look good,” I mumbled into his shoulder. He put me back, hands on my shoulders, and beamed genially down at me.

“‘Course I look good. Doc says I can leave Wednesday. Hundred percent better. Just gotta take it slow an’ steady.” He winked broadly, making me laugh. “Don’t suppose you sneaked me a burger?” Gary put on his best hopeful puppy dog look, which was somewhat diminished by his wild gray eyebrows.

“Don’t suppose I did,” I allowed. Gary managed to appear not too crestfallen as he ushered me into his room. The window shades were drawn shut and the air conditioner chugged along, pouring semicooled air into the room more effectively than it had in the hall. I groaned and dropped into a chair. “I may move in here until this heat breaks. It’s nice and cool here.”

“If this’s nice, maybe I’m glad I’m stuck here,” Gary said. “I think I lost ten pounds of water weight already.”

I pried one eye open. “I didn’t even know men knew what water weight was.”

Gary looked affronted. “Just ‘cause I’m an old dog—”

“Tortoise,” I said.

“—tortoise,” Gary said without missing a beat, “don’t mean I can’t learn a thing or two. How ‘bout that light show last night, Jo? You have something to do with that?”

I puffed out my cheeks and slid back down into my chair. “You saw that, huh?”

“The whole Pacific seaboard saw it, sweetheart. It’s been all over the news. What, you haven’t watched? Folks think Judgment Day’s comin’.”

“God, I hope not.” I sank farther into the chair, my tank top sticking to its back and rucking up. “Anyway, yeah, it was me. Well, me and some other people.”

“The coven,” Gary said with relish. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. He looked offended.

“Sorry, Gary. It’s just that you like this so much more than I do. You should’ve been the one to get mixed up in all this.”

“Next time,” he promised. “Next time the old ticker won’t give me any trouble and you won’t be able to keep me out of it.”

“That,” I admitted, “seems extremely likely. Unless I can make you behave.”

“Behaving never got anybody anywhere fun,” Gary proclaimed. “C’mon, Jo, gimme the story. Poor old man, cooped up in a sweaty hospital…” He trailed off, eyebrows drooping with pathos. I laughed out loud, and he grinned.

“You’re a bad, bad man, Gary Muldoon. I—”

Memory assailed me, abrupt and powerful. Six months earlier, just a day or two after meeting me, Gary nearly died in much the same way I’d nearly died: a sword rammed through his torso. That he’d healed without a scar was one of the few things that made me feel like I was doing the right thing.

But reluctance had me in its grasp now. I didn’t want to risk him again, not if I could avoid it in any way. “I’ll tell you about it when it’s over, okay? I can handle this one.” I smiled at him as brightly and confidently as I could. My vision narrowed down to dark pinpoints. “I want you to concentrate on getting well, not on me and the insane things I’m up to. Okay?”

Gary’s bushy eyebrows drew down and he held me in a frown for a long time before he nodded. “Arright. Arright, darlin’. Just this once. You be careful, though, you hear me?”

“Always,” I promised. I stayed a while longer, and let myself out feeling guilty.