LITMIR.BIZ

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precariously lower. I watched in fascination, wondering if I was about to see more than I’d bargained for, but he managed to haul out twenty-five dollars. Dropping it into my palm, he said magnanimously, “Keep the change,” then turned and took one giant step into his tiny U-shaped kitchen, yanking open the refrigerator door in one fluid move. “Diet A&W?”

      “Sure. I’ll take it for the road.”

      Juggling the burger, he pulled out two cans of root beer. I took them from him and opened his—hey, I can be truly helpful when I want—then perched on one of the two suspect bar stools which crowd against a small, jutting counter that divides Dwayne’s kitchen and dining area. This dining area is now used as Dwayne’s den; the desk takes up the whole expanse. Dwayne hooked a leg over the other stool but continued to stand as he took another bite of his burger.

      “Would love to stay, but I have miles to go before I sleep,” I said, twisting my unopened soda can on the counter, my thoughts on my upcoming meeting with Tess Bradbury.

      Dwayne said around a mouthful of onions and beef, “Did you hear about Cotton Reynolds?”

      I nearly fell off my stool but Dwayne was regarding the catsup running down the side of his hand and didn’t notice. I couldn’t think of any response. Dwayne seemed way ahead of me anyway.

      He licked the catsup before it dripped to the floor. “There’s a benefit at his house this Saturday for the Historical Society. Saw it in the papers. First time he’s opened the house since it happened.”

      It was Cotton’s son’s quadruple homicide, and now I understood how Marta had wangled me an invitation to Cotton’s party. She’d merely bought tickets to the benefit. I opened my mouth to inform Dwayne about my meeting with Tess when his cell phone rang loudly. He snatched it up, examined the caller ID and grunted, “Been waitin’ for this all day.”

      As he barked a hello, I climbed off the stool. I wondered if the island’s latest tragedy, the Coma Kid, would affect all the “ladies who lunch” who would be at the benefit. Or, would the original horror be enough to absorb everyone’s mind? The property itself was incredible, but I had a feeling attending might be more like being witness to a car wreck than marveling over the width and breadth of the massive Douglas firs surrounding the property. The island and therefore Cotton were already infamous.

      I glanced at Dwayne. Full disclosure would have to be later when I had his complete attention. Besides, I didn’t have time to waste. Dwayne crumpled his leftover wrapper into a ball with one hand, listening hard to whomever was on the other end of the line. I gave him a high-sign good-bye, popped open my soda and headed out. The answer to Dwayne’s mystery woman would have to wait.

      Sucking down the ice-cold root beer, I whipped the Volvo up Taylor’s Ferry Road and curved through neighborhoods perched on hills. The house where I was to deliver the 72-hour notice was a seedy little ranch style with a cracked driveway near the I-5 freeway. I suspected the land value alone would soon make it worthwhile to initiate a complete demolition; the residence wasn’t much to write home about.

      But my thoughts were on Bobby Reynolds as I pulled to a stop in the driveway, my wheels in ruts, the Volvo’s undercarriage tickled by a foot-high swatch of weeds and grass. For four years there had been relative silence about Bobby’s homicides. Now, suddenly, the tragedy was right in front of my face. Was Bobby still alive? I wondered. And if so, where was he?

      Stowing the empty can in my cup holder, I climbed from the car and trudged through more knee-high weeds to the front door. Knocking on the screen door, I automatically held tight to my small purse. Its strap was slung over my shoulder. I was poised. If I saw even one whisker of a broom I was out of there. After waiting a few moments I rapped again, hoping against hope that she wasn’t home and I could just post the notice. Greg could mail the 72-hour notice but because of the extra mailing time the tenant was allowed six days’ leeway instead of three. When rent was late, sometimes that just didn’t pan out, especially for Greg who wasn’t known for his patience anyway.

      Relieved that no one was there, I dug in my pocket for my Scotch tape. As soon as I stuck the tape on the paper and reached for the screen door handle I heard shuffling footsteps on the other side. I dropped my hand and waited. A woman with a tired face and a well-smoked cigarette dangling from her lips swam into view from the darkness beyond. The screen door was still between us. There was a big rip in the mesh down by my knees but I didn’t think I could hand her the notice from that angle. It just didn’t seem polite. I could drop it through the hole, but it was always better to actually see the notice in their hands. No questions later. If she took it, then the deed was done. I’ve always liked things wrapped up neat and tidy.

      “Gail Mortibund?” I asked.

      “Yeah?” She waited as if expecting bad news. I got the feeling she’d received a lot of it in her life, and I hesitated.

      One moment I was debating whether to even give her the notice, the next a pit bull was charging toward the door at full bellow, heading straight for the rip in the screen. I pivoted and ran before my brain even locked into gear. The woman screamed at the dog to no avail. I pounded toward the Volvo. The beast was barking its head off and sounded right at my heels. The eviction notice flew from my hands. I leapt for the car. The dog snapped at my jeans, brushed my ankle and caught a piece of my left Nike as I hurled myself atop the hood of my car. Arms flailing, I landed in full sail. My stomach hit with an oof and all the wind burst from my lungs. I sprawled in classic starfish position for one heartbeat, then yanked up my legs at the knees while the monster snapped and snarled beneath me. With an effort I pulled myself to safety on the center of my hood.

      My heart hammered like a woodpecker on steroids.

      So, where was Gail The Tired now?

      I glared at the house. The front door was solidly closed. She’d left Woofers out here to bark and lunge and bare his nasty teeth. I snarled back at him, and that sent him in paroxysms of dancing around and clawing at my paint job.

      “Stop that!” I yelled in fury.

      His wrinkled mouth revealed canines that sent visions of ripped, bloody tissue across the screen of my brain. I shivered, hugged my knees tighter and considered.

      Five seconds of intense thought ensued. A lightning bolt of remembrance. That hard pain against my hip bone was my cell phone. Jammed into the pocket of my black pants. I pulled it out and examined its LCD, tracking the battery life. Only one little miniature battery icon was left. I had enough time for one, maybe two, calls. I mentally castigated myself, telling myself to plug the damn thing into the portable charger as soon as I was back inside my car.

      First I called Marta’s office. Her receptionist snottily told me she was, as ever, in a meeting. I sighed inwardly, wondering what drives me to piss people off. Certain personalities just beg me to annoy them. I told her that I wanted to leave a message and was snottily told to go ahead. Meanwhile, Woofers prowled and growled somewhere along the edge of the car. My heart still thundered in my ears.

      “Tell Marta I can’t make the three o’clock with her today. Something’s come up.”

      “Could you be more specific?” she asked in a tone that held a world of judgment.

      “Why won’t ‘I’m busy’ just cover it?”

      Woofers began barking furiously again, having trotted back a few feet to spot me on top of the hood. The receptionist couldn’t help but hear. “Is that a dog?” she asked.

      “Could be.”

      “Just a moment.”

      I was clicked off for a second. Woofers was really going to town. I was going to have a headache before this ordeal was over and the hood was blistering hot. I shaded my eyes, glancing toward the door again. Gail was back. Her figure stood like a wraith in the deepened shadows behind the screen door. I waved at her, but it was more an acknowledgment. She had me treed with her miserable, vicious dog.

      Marta snapped on. “I’m in a meeting, Jane.” She sounded totally irritated.

      “I

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