happened upon Kit’s thigh, she gave her a good swat. “You’re a real cutup. And a real sweetie to help out an ole lady like me.”
“I know it,” Kit agreed, so exuberantly that Miz Annice laughed.
After they’d escaped into the house, Kit said, “She was all right, huh?”
“She didn’t even say anything to me.” “She’s blind, stupid girl.
She probably didn’t know you were there.”
The sisters went into the kitchen, hoping they’d have it to themselves, but a boy and girl were at the sink, washing dishes. At least they were supposed to be washing dishes. Mostly they were splashing each other with suds and giggling and stealing kisses from each other.
Fancy ignored them and opened the refrigerator, which was disgusting, the shelves grimy and full of expired food. The sisters trashed everything and then scrubbed the refrigerator from top to bottom. When they were done, the fridge was spotless but empty.
“Maybe she doesn’t eat,” Fancy said. “Maybe now that she’s blind, she can live off her sense of smell.”
But Kit wasn’t paying attention to her. She was frowning at the dishwashers.
“Hey, lovebirds!” Kit yelled. “Y’all think Miz Annice wants your sweaty passion leaking all over her fine china? Go get sweaty someplace the hell else.”
The dishwashers looked like they wanted to comment, but when Kit narrowed her eyes at them, they decided to do as she said.
When they had gone, Kit turned to Fancy, pouting. “Why can’t I find a boy to make out with me while I do the dishes? How dare they stand there and rub my face in their love?”
“
I’ll
find you a boy.”
Kit perked up. “You will?”
“Lemme just get my boydar.” Fancy pulled out her imaginary boy radar device, and scanned it around the kitchen. “I’m registering activity in the garbage can.”
“Garbage can, my ass.”
“Wait. I’m getting something.”
Kit squealed.
“Who?”
“Tall, dark, handsome. Enjoys good food, walks on the beach, and”—Fancy double-checked the boydar— “evisceration.”
“Me too!”
Fancy put the boydar away. “You never even been to the beach.”
“I never eviscerated anything either, but I can tell it’s something I’d like. So where is he?”
“I’m expecting him any second.”
Almost as soon as the last word left Fancy’s mouth, the Turner brothers came in through the back door.
“Great timing,” Kit whispered, while Fancy stood there, dumbstruck.
“Hey, Kit,” said Gabriel, the sunlight following him inside and glinting off his teeth as he smiled at her and set his plastic bags on the counter. He looked much less crazed than he had outside the music store, and there was no sign of blood or severed heads, which was promising. “Maybe you don’t remember me, but I’m Gabe. That’s Ilan.”
“We know who you are,” said Kit cheerfully. “Our dad killed your dad.”
“Yeah,” said Ilan in his gravelly voice. The sunlight bathing his brother seemed to have shunned him. “That
was
kinda memorable.”
Kit leaned against the counter as the Turners put away the groceries, chatting with them, in full social mode. She was very good at it. So bubbly you could almost believe she was that girl. She usually only got like that before she went to work on someone: the shopgirl, Franken. Maybe she wanted to kill the Turners and finish the job Daddy had started. Fancy had toadmit that the symmetry of such an act had some appeal, but Madda would be coming for them soon. They didn’t have time for poetic justice.
“Wanna help me carry stuff to the pantry?” Gabriel asked Kit, waving a jar of beets at her.
“No, she doesn’t.” Ilan gave his brother a hard look, before addressing Kit. “Best not to leave him alone with young girls.”
“Is he dangerous?” asked Kit, intrigued.
“He’s just joking,” Gabriel said, and then looked to Ilan to back him up, but Ilan wouldn’t.
“The last girlfriend he had,” Ilan explained, “he locked in
“I know it,” Kit agreed, so exuberantly that Miz Annice laughed.
After they’d escaped into the house, Kit said, “She was all right, huh?”
“She didn’t even say anything to me.” “She’s blind, stupid girl.
She probably didn’t know you were there.”
The sisters went into the kitchen, hoping they’d have it to themselves, but a boy and girl were at the sink, washing dishes. At least they were supposed to be washing dishes. Mostly they were splashing each other with suds and giggling and stealing kisses from each other.
Fancy ignored them and opened the refrigerator, which was disgusting, the shelves grimy and full of expired food. The sisters trashed everything and then scrubbed the refrigerator from top to bottom. When they were done, the fridge was spotless but empty.
“Maybe she doesn’t eat,” Fancy said. “Maybe now that she’s blind, she can live off her sense of smell.”
But Kit wasn’t paying attention to her. She was frowning at the dishwashers.
“Hey, lovebirds!” Kit yelled. “Y’all think Miz Annice wants your sweaty passion leaking all over her fine china? Go get sweaty someplace the hell else.”
The dishwashers looked like they wanted to comment, but when Kit narrowed her eyes at them, they decided to do as she said.
When they had gone, Kit turned to Fancy, pouting. “Why can’t I find a boy to make out with me while I do the dishes? How dare they stand there and rub my face in their love?”
“
I’ll
find you a boy.”
Kit perked up. “You will?”
“Lemme just get my boydar.” Fancy pulled out her imaginary boy radar device, and scanned it around the kitchen. “I’m registering activity in the garbage can.”
“Garbage can, my ass.”
“Wait. I’m getting something.”
Kit squealed.
“Who?”
“Tall, dark, handsome. Enjoys good food, walks on the beach, and”—Fancy double-checked the boydar— “evisceration.”
“Me too!”
Fancy put the boydar away. “You never even been to the beach.”
“I never eviscerated anything either, but I can tell it’s something I’d like. So where is he?”
“I’m expecting him any second.”
Almost as soon as the last word left Fancy’s mouth, the Turner brothers came in through the back door.
“Great timing,” Kit whispered, while Fancy stood there, dumbstruck.
“Hey, Kit,” said Gabriel, the sunlight following him inside and glinting off his teeth as he smiled at her and set his plastic bags on the counter. He looked much less crazed than he had outside the music store, and there was no sign of blood or severed heads, which was promising. “Maybe you don’t remember me, but I’m Gabe. That’s Ilan.”
“We know who you are,” said Kit cheerfully. “Our dad killed your dad.”
“Yeah,” said Ilan in his gravelly voice. The sunlight bathing his brother seemed to have shunned him. “That
was
kinda memorable.”
Kit leaned against the counter as the Turners put away the groceries, chatting with them, in full social mode. She was very good at it. So bubbly you could almost believe she was that girl. She usually only got like that before she went to work on someone: the shopgirl, Franken. Maybe she wanted to kill the Turners and finish the job Daddy had started. Fancy had toadmit that the symmetry of such an act had some appeal, but Madda would be coming for them soon. They didn’t have time for poetic justice.
“Wanna help me carry stuff to the pantry?” Gabriel asked Kit, waving a jar of beets at her.
“No, she doesn’t.” Ilan gave his brother a hard look, before addressing Kit. “Best not to leave him alone with young girls.”
“Is he dangerous?” asked Kit, intrigued.
“He’s just joking,” Gabriel said, and then looked to Ilan to back him up, but Ilan wouldn’t.
“The last girlfriend he had,” Ilan explained, “he locked in
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