don’t let them get that close to you!”
I stop stock-still and take inventory. All I see is the asphalt beneath my feet and Louise’s poised bat as she hurdles toward me. I stay immobile as she swings the bat, lets out a triumphant grunt, and picks up the invisible maimed—or possibly dead—thing. She hoists the dustpan as if it’s heavy, and her face has a sheen of perspiration. She’s been working hard at the ridding the world of these whatevers.
“Can I see?” When I lean close, she pulls back.
“Tessa, you careless girl,” she scolds. “What if one of them is just playing dead? Do you want their teeth sinking into your flesh?”
“Uhh, those are pretty big rats.”
“Rats.” Disdain drips from Louise’s words. “Those are vampire titmice from hell. If I don’t get them all now, the whole town will be infested.”
I turn and with my back to Louise, use my fingers to signal 911 at Carson. He taps the side of his jacket covering his gun and I nod. I hope that means he’s calling the Fortuna P.D. and not asking if I’d like to take a concealed carry gun course.
In order to keep Louise somewhat confined, I suggest that I drive the creatures from one end of the street and let Carson take the other. I suspect our neighbors are gawking from their own windows as Carson and I make shooing motions and Louise keeps swinging that bat. When she calls out that the dustpan is full, Carson runs around the side of her house and hurries back, rolling the city trash container before him.
Ever the gentleman, he takes the dustpan from Louise and dumps its nonexistent load into the trash bin. He even suggests that her arms must be tired and he’d be happy to take over the killing from her.
“Nonsense,” she snaps. “As my late William always said, the only way to make sure something is done right is to do it yourself. You just make sure none of them get in my pansies. They’re the devil on pansies, those vampire titmice.”
I am beyond thrilled when a cruiser stops at the intersection by me, a delight increased only when a second cruiser blocks the street at Carson’s end. Dwaine steps out of the far car and with slow and methodical steps, approaches the deranged Louise. Luther climbs out of the cruiser by me. He and my beloved situate themselves so they can do a takedown if Louise makes a break for it. Dwaine, who hates to run, speaks to her for a moment. I am confused when he begins to walk away and startled when he shouts, “The damned thing’s got me!”
Screaming “Die, die, die,” Louise rushes toward him with her bat in bashing position. Before she can lower it toward the neck Dwaine’s clutching, Carson grabs the bat by the fat end, and Luther catches Louise as she stumbles backward. Fat sobs erupt as she struggles to get free, a battle that ends with Luther’s face scratched in five places where her nails got him, a set of plastic ties on her chubby wrists, and Dwaine swearing as he tries to shove her into his cruiser. That reminds me of the scene at the parsonage, and once he’s slammed the door and trapped her inside, I ask about the pastor.
“He’s pretty satisfied, I think.” Dwaine leans against the cruiser’s fender, ignoring the shouts and bangs from inside. “Confided that he’s meant to be there, saving the souls of the Jezebels who took away his Bible and his belt. The emergency room doc gave him a shot before they took him to the fourth floor, so I imagine he’s pretty docile by now.”
Luther limps over to join us. Turns out that Louise got a few good kicks in before she was finally subdued.
“What the hell’s wrong with this town?” he demands to know. “Just last weekend we had the fall festival without a single problem and three days later, we’re up to our ass in crazy. Maybe somebody ought to check the water.”
I’ve seen Luther in many a mood—mad, sarcastic, occasionally cheerful. But I’ve never seen him this discouraged. One look at the chief’s face
I stop stock-still and take inventory. All I see is the asphalt beneath my feet and Louise’s poised bat as she hurdles toward me. I stay immobile as she swings the bat, lets out a triumphant grunt, and picks up the invisible maimed—or possibly dead—thing. She hoists the dustpan as if it’s heavy, and her face has a sheen of perspiration. She’s been working hard at the ridding the world of these whatevers.
“Can I see?” When I lean close, she pulls back.
“Tessa, you careless girl,” she scolds. “What if one of them is just playing dead? Do you want their teeth sinking into your flesh?”
“Uhh, those are pretty big rats.”
“Rats.” Disdain drips from Louise’s words. “Those are vampire titmice from hell. If I don’t get them all now, the whole town will be infested.”
I turn and with my back to Louise, use my fingers to signal 911 at Carson. He taps the side of his jacket covering his gun and I nod. I hope that means he’s calling the Fortuna P.D. and not asking if I’d like to take a concealed carry gun course.
In order to keep Louise somewhat confined, I suggest that I drive the creatures from one end of the street and let Carson take the other. I suspect our neighbors are gawking from their own windows as Carson and I make shooing motions and Louise keeps swinging that bat. When she calls out that the dustpan is full, Carson runs around the side of her house and hurries back, rolling the city trash container before him.
Ever the gentleman, he takes the dustpan from Louise and dumps its nonexistent load into the trash bin. He even suggests that her arms must be tired and he’d be happy to take over the killing from her.
“Nonsense,” she snaps. “As my late William always said, the only way to make sure something is done right is to do it yourself. You just make sure none of them get in my pansies. They’re the devil on pansies, those vampire titmice.”
I am beyond thrilled when a cruiser stops at the intersection by me, a delight increased only when a second cruiser blocks the street at Carson’s end. Dwaine steps out of the far car and with slow and methodical steps, approaches the deranged Louise. Luther climbs out of the cruiser by me. He and my beloved situate themselves so they can do a takedown if Louise makes a break for it. Dwaine, who hates to run, speaks to her for a moment. I am confused when he begins to walk away and startled when he shouts, “The damned thing’s got me!”
Screaming “Die, die, die,” Louise rushes toward him with her bat in bashing position. Before she can lower it toward the neck Dwaine’s clutching, Carson grabs the bat by the fat end, and Luther catches Louise as she stumbles backward. Fat sobs erupt as she struggles to get free, a battle that ends with Luther’s face scratched in five places where her nails got him, a set of plastic ties on her chubby wrists, and Dwaine swearing as he tries to shove her into his cruiser. That reminds me of the scene at the parsonage, and once he’s slammed the door and trapped her inside, I ask about the pastor.
“He’s pretty satisfied, I think.” Dwaine leans against the cruiser’s fender, ignoring the shouts and bangs from inside. “Confided that he’s meant to be there, saving the souls of the Jezebels who took away his Bible and his belt. The emergency room doc gave him a shot before they took him to the fourth floor, so I imagine he’s pretty docile by now.”
Luther limps over to join us. Turns out that Louise got a few good kicks in before she was finally subdued.
“What the hell’s wrong with this town?” he demands to know. “Just last weekend we had the fall festival without a single problem and three days later, we’re up to our ass in crazy. Maybe somebody ought to check the water.”
I’ve seen Luther in many a mood—mad, sarcastic, occasionally cheerful. But I’ve never seen him this discouraged. One look at the chief’s face
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