The Hammett Hex (16 page)

I answered Smiley. “Break-in number two. Destruction at the back end. Gus the handyman and his lookalikes are boarding up the damaged door.”

“But who was it?”

“No idea. He or they came in the back way. Gram heard them, but I was outside talking to the cop watching the house. The only thing is that Officer Martinez here says no one was actually assigned to watch this address, although the cop might have been real.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zoya's knees buckle and it was just by chance that Officer Martinez and I managed to catch her before she hit the floor.

I said, “I think you should go to bed, Zoya.” We propped her up on the foot of the bed. I stared at her, worried.

Gram said, “Listen to them, Zoya, and don't be such a
silly goose. You need to let someone take care of you for a change.”

Zoya nodded and I couldn't miss two tracks of tears running down her pale cheeks. Were they crocodile tears? No way to tell.

Zoya let herself be led away by me and Officer Martinez and Asta the pug, who managed to scamper in between our legs, just missing being stepped on. I was beginning to miss Asta's shy phase. At the door of her room, Zoya said quite haughtily, “I em fine now. You leaf.”

I didn't plan to “leaf.” “We don't want you conking your head again. Get changed and into bed and then we'll knock and check that you are all right.”

She opened her mouth with a halfhearted attempt to protest. I said, “Accept it. You'll be sleeping with the door open and people will be checking on you during the night. That's what happens after a head injury.” I should know. Uncle Kev had had more than enough of them over the years.

I turned and gave Smiley a look that was intended to make his blood run cold. “Nice of you to come by in good time.”

He blanched. “Our cab had a fender bender.”

“What? Who hit you?”

“No idea. Hit and run. We had to wait for a report and then get another taxi here. I tried calling.”

“Oh. I didn't even check my phone. It was chaos here. Is Zoya going to be all right?”

“She wasn't injured in the rear-ender although she did get hysterical. She refused to go back to the ER. At the hospital they said it's probably a mild concussion after the head injury, but we have to watch for nausea and vomiting or changes to her pupils. One was a bit enlarged but it's going back to normal.”

“I know the symptoms well. Don't worry, Zoya. You're in safe hands now.”

I wished I felt as confident as I sounded. Apparently I hadn't fooled her. She said, “Ve are not safe. Novhere iss safe.”

“Tyler's here. He's a police officer. Officer Martinez is here. And Gus.”

She snorted. “Gus? You kidding, yes?”

I took her point. “He'll make sure the back entrance won't get opened. Tomorrow, we'll have a new door installed. Maybe without easily breakable windows in it. And we've ordered a security system to be installed in the morning.”

“You've been busy,” Tyler said.

Zoya flopped onto the bed and curled up into the fetal position, still in her clothes. Asta jumped up and snuggled in. We left them like that. Door open.

In the corridor, with Officer Martinez eavesdropping rather obviously, I said to Smiley, “We can't leave either of them here all night. It's too dangerous.”

“Agreed. I'll stay. They're my responsibility.”

I glared at him as we walked back to Gram's room.

He said, “You can relax at the hotel. It's your vacation.”

“It's your vacation too. And you paid for both of our vacations. On a practical note, do you really think I'm going to relax without you at the hotel where I was attacked? Don't you understand that I'll be worried about what's happening here? I'll decide where to be safe. I agree with Zoya. We're not safe and we don't seem to be safe anywhere. I do think we're better off together.”

“That's the spirit,” Gram said.

He said, “Stay here then. It will be easier for Gram. And we don't know what other dangers there are at the hotel.”

I said, “One of us should stay here and the other one can go to the hotel, pack up and check out. At least we'll have clothes and toiletries. I don't mind—”

Officer Martinez responded to a crackling noise on her radio. She turned away and walked to the hallway for the
conversation. When she returned, she said, “Sorry, I'll have to leave you. Orders. Someone else will be coming by shortly.”

Smiley said, “Why don't we stay here tonight and go to the hotel in the morning once the security system is set up here? Gus said he's happy to be here whenever. There's no point in you going out in the night alone.” He held up his hand before I spoke. “Even though you are capable of taking care of yourself. But we don't really know what's going on.”

I nodded. “Safety in numbers.”

He said. “Right. The stuff at the hotel is only stuff.”

“More important to protect Gram and Zoya.”

“Yup. There are lots of mattresses, plenty of towels, and if you want, you could even wash the clothes you're wearing and get the rest in the morning. Or borrow something from Gram or Zoya.”

I thought I heard a muffled “
Nyet!
” from down the hallway.

“I guess we could take turns standing guard tonight.”

Smiley said, “I'll be standing guard. I brought you to this. You get to sleep. Gram said there are sheets and towels in the linen closet off the upstairs hallway. There's a drawer in the main bathroom with extras, toothbrushes, toothpaste, all that. By the way, Gram says you should sleep in the green room. Out of respect for your Irish roots.”

I figured the green room was the one to the rear of the second floor, next to Gram's floral wonder. “How does she know about my Irish roots?”

He shrugged. “We're talking about everything, catching up. Filling in the blanks. I told her all about you.”

“
All
about me?”

Again with the grin. “I may have left out specifics about your uncles' line of work.”

“Oh, right, the independent businessmen.”

“Yep, the gift that keeps on giving.”

“And yet, I love them to bits and they're part of the package.”

“I'm aware of it. But we'll wait before we spring that part on Gram.”

“And when the time comes, we'll lock up the silver and the bank books.”

“Leave it with me.”

I said, “Oh, wait, as we were talking about valuables, I realized that the home invaders didn't take the sterling silver, just our feelings of security.”

“Well, they were after something specific.”

“Yeah. But they beaned Zoya with a valuable sterling candelabra and they left it.”

“Right. So not the usual MO.”

“Sleep on it. Maybe you'll have an insight.”

I wish I could say I stayed up to keep Tyler company, like a good little fake fiancée, but as soon as I made up the bed in the green room, I was out like a blown fuse.

*   *   *

I WOKE WITH
a shock and had trouble figuring out where I was. Somewhere green. The clock said seven a.m. I heard a familiar voice: Gus bellowing instructions. I made myself respectable and went downstairs and ended up inspecting the repairs.

“Ain't nobody gettin' past this,” Gus said, his arms proudly crossing his chest. “Nobody.”

I managed not to say, “Oh boy.”

What would Gram say when she saw the sheets of plywood blocking out the door and window to the backyard? It wasn't pretty, but Gus was right—I couldn't imagine anyone getting past it.

Gus said, “The boys gonna get bars for the windows inna rest of this floor.”

Bars? I told myself it didn't matter what it would look like. It might be necessary.

Tyler nodded. He was good with bars on the windows.

I hadn't nodded in agreement at that point. Why did I care so much about the integrity of that old house? Some things were more important than aesthetics.

At that moment, the doorbell rang and we all jerked our heads toward it. In my experience, the doorbell is never a good thing. But lucky us. The alarm company tech had arrived nice and early to install the alarms.

“I took the initiative,” I explained to Tyler. “Under the circumstances, it seemed like a sensible decision.”

“Good thinking. Gram should have had a service before. Probably never thought she needed it in this area.”

“With the bars to keep them out and the security service to sound the alarm and bring first responders, we'll be somewhat ahead. We just need the phone company to repair the phone line and we're good.”

I thought of the intruders' weapons. “Yes. I guess.”

While the tech installed the sensors on the doors and windows and the monitoring box, Gus supervised “the boys” installing the bars and I hunted down what I needed. After a search through Gram's closet, I borrowed the least flowered dressing gown from a large collection of very bright nightwear. Next I located a pair of velvety pink faux-fur slippers, which still had the tags on. It would be easy to replace the slippers for Gram. I put my clothing in the washing machine. I had a shower and a shampoo in Gram's lavender-scented bathroom, trying to get the previous day out of my system. I put on the dressing gown, wrapped my wet hair in a bright pink towel turban and went downstairs to check on the progress and give Tyler his time to get cleaned up.

When I appeared downstairs in my new outfit, his mouth fell open.

“Not a good look for you,” I said, pointing at his open mouth.

“Back atcha,” he said with a retaliatory point at the dressing gown. “I don't know if I've ever seen that color before in an article of clothing.”

“Fuchsia. Sure you have, on your Gram. And I think you'd better get used to it now that you're part of this family.”

“Huh.”

“You'll need to strengthen your spine, of course.”

“Right. And speaking of building our strength, let's have something to eat. I made my specialty.”

“And that is?”

“Grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Uncle Mick also calls grilled cheese a specialty. His are made with Wonder Bread and Kraft Slices. I still have fond childhood memories of the worst day being made better with grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

Smiley's were a variation on the theme: He'd found a twelve-grain rustic loaf of bread, spread it with soft butter, grated a chunk of Monterey Jack and some old cheddar, mixed that with a bit of mustard and a dash of hot sauce. Turned that into sandwiches and cooked them up with a bit of butter in Gram's ancient cast-iron skillet. He'd also squeezed every orange in the house. The results were enough to make you forget all about men with guns.

We ate the first batch and then Smiley did a second batch to take to Gram, who hadn't stirred yet, and for Zoya, who was also sleeping off the trauma of the day before. He got to work and I took the wicker tray to serve Gram breakfast in bed and came back to select a dark wood one for Zoya. William had been an invalid for quite a while; no wonder there were so many choices. I also found two bud vases and clipped a lilac bloom for each.

Someone can always take your gun.

—The Kelly Rules

Z
OYA WAS ALSO
awake and surprised to get breakfast in bed and accepted it with her usual lack of grace. I smiled at her scowl, left the tray and backed out of her room. I joined Gram and Tyler in the large front bedroom.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” Gram said cheerfully after she scarfed down her sandwich in high style. “I was just telling Tyler about my gun.”

I stared. “You have a gun?”

Tyler shrugged. He'd already heard, I supposed.

Gram beamed. “William had a pistol. We could use that for protection. If they come back we could shoot them before they shoot us.”

Tyler's eyes bulged. “Shoot them?”

“It's them or us.”

I preferred if no one was shot. I said, “But do you know how to use it?”

“Me? I'm a little old lady, pet. I only know how to collect marbles and create short circuits. I was hoping you would.”

“I don't like guns. No one in my family owns one. I don't
really know much about them.” Of course I'd had one pointed at me more than once—including that very day—and I'd been forced to fight for control, but I didn't think I'd be much good at aiming and firing one. The best I could do was get rid of someone else's weapon. I'd used a statue to disarm one assailant and the jar of marbles had outgunned our recent assailants. Could that kind of luck hold? It wasn't like I had time to train at a gun range. Anyone coming after us would have a serious advantage.

Tyler said gently, “Maybe that's not the best idea, Gram.”

“Come on, pet. We have to do what we can.”

I said, “Let's hope we can rely on the police.”

Gram said impishly, “Where's your spirit, my dear?”

“My spirit is trying to figure out a way to stay alive, like the rest of me,” I said, perhaps a bit snappily. “Fine. Where is the stupid thing?”

“It's—oh gosh, I don't remember. Put away in a safe place so we couldn't have an accident.”

I had a feeling that guns needed to be cleaned and perhaps fired every now and then to make sure they didn't jam or misfire. Whatever a misfire was. So that made this strategy even less viable. On the other hand, what other strategies did we have? We'd already used the marbles. Aside from the possibly mythical pistol, this house full of chintz and china and figurines and birds was an unlikely source of weaponry.

Smiley was the person who could manage the firearms. He said, “When you remember where it is, I'll take a look at it.”

“What if it explodes in your hands?” I said.

“Oh, come on, what are the chances that would happen?” Gram said.

Before Tyler could respond with a likely police statistic on guns exploding in hands, we had another dog emergency. I could hear Zoya shrieking “Asta!” If she had been yelling
“cookies” or even “chicken livers,” she might have had more success. That was my experience with pugs, but Asta wasn't my dog, it wasn't my house and it really wasn't my business. Okay, maybe it was a little bit my business.

While Zoya was hunting for the little pug, I helped get Gram settled at a large folding table in the bedroom so she could work on a five-thousand-piece puzzle that seemed to consist entirely of sky, with the occasional wispy cloud. I thought it would be quite a while before Gram would be steady on her own. If she was going to continue living here, she'd probably need one of those chair lifts for the stairs. I'd leave it to Tyler to mention that.

We could still hear Zoya's sad wails, “
Aaaassstttttaaaaa!
”

Gram said, “What has gotten into that dog lately? Usually, she's so shy that she just hides under a chair. Why would she keep running away?”

I imagined it was all the violent upheaval, but I said, “She sure has a good life here.”

“Yes, and she's good for me too. I got her for Tyler, of course. Did I even mention that?”

“Um, no, you didn't.”

“I called her Asta after the dog in
The Thin Man
. You know that Tyler loves Hammett.”

“I do know that.” I might have felt annoyed with the assumption I knew nothing about my boyfriend, but I realized that Gram was crazy about her grandson and over the moon to have him back in her life. And she also liked to tease a bit.

She chuckled, “His grandfather loved Hammett too. He used to read aloud to me from the Nick and Nora books. He thought I might find the others a bit too gritty. Tyler was very young when he died, but he claims to remember his grandfather's books. It must be in the genes. My second husband never read anything that didn't have to do with science or engineering.”

I went back to the previous topic, “So you got him a dog because . . .”

“I suppose it seems silly, but I wanted him to feel at home and he's always loved dogs. He was never allowed to have one when he was growing up.” She shook her head and pursed her lips. “Imagine that, a boy with no dog. When we were first back in contact and talking on the phone to catch up, he mentioned a cute little pug belonging to his friend. He seemed really fond of it. I thought the birds would be able to cope. Zoya was slow to get used to Asta, but as you can hear, she's grown quite fond of the little darling.”

Zoya's quasi-hysterical shrieks reached our ears from outside. “Asta! Asta!” And then some bizarre Russian commands or possibly threats that apparently didn't work to attract Asta.

“So did you want him to take Asta home with him?” I didn't want to mention that Tyler already had Cobain, a perfectly lovable dog. I could see this new “gift” ending badly, beginning with the plane ride and ending with Smiley and two dogs in the house he was renovating. There was already a pug-in-chief in my life, Walter. How would Walter react to Asta? I also knew who got to look after Cobain when Smiley was out of town or working long shifts. Did I have room on my bed for a third dog?

“No, no, my dear. He'll have his pet here, when he visits, something of an incentive, don't you think? Or if he were to move here, that would be different.”

Move here? I couldn't see that happening. Smiley had a life and he had me. He was very happy to reconnect to Gram, but was he likely to drop everything and move across the country to be close to her?

It was a good question. I had serious competition in this foggy city between the adorable and doting grandmother and Hammett's ever-present ghost. But where would a move leave us?

I might have been playing it emotionally cool with Smiley, but I realized that I did not want to be separated from him.

The afternoon got worse when Zoya stomped through the door wailing that Asta must have been kidnapped. Zoya was such a slender creature, and yet she had a knack for storming around dramatically.

“She'll be back, Zoya dear. Don't carry on about it. Who would kidnap a little dog like that?”

“Who vould kidnep?
Who
vould kidnep?” Zoya threw her hands in the air, another thing she had a knack for.

“Well, exactly, Zoya. Who? And why?”

“Maybe Gus? Maybe boys?”

I didn't get involved in this dispute, although I couldn't help worrying about the little dog, now on the loose for the second time. And I wasn't so sure we could trust Gus or the boys, for that matter, but I couldn't see them kidnapping that demanding little pooch.

Gram laughed, a long hearty laugh that seemed to make Zoya's silver eyes pop, rather like the missing Asta's. “Gus and the boys didn't kidnap Asta and you know it. Just keep looking. She'll turn up, I guarantee it.”

Zoya muttered, “Sure, sure,
guarantee
it. Huh.”

But despite the guarantee, Asta did not turn up.

Smiley did a tour of the neighborhood carrying treats. I joined him. We took turns calling Asta's name. We'd already checked the backyard. We both knew that there was no way that little pug had squeezed out of the fenced yard. So that meant that either someone let her out an open door or someone must have assisted in her getaway.

Gus and the boys were most huffy when asked if they'd let Asta out. Zoya did not have a light touch as an interrogator.

We had plenty to do cleaning up the house now that the drama was over and the police were finished. Much of our
effort involved getting Gram's bedroom back to normal, picking up the million spilled marbles and applying bandages to new glass cuts and tidying up the tossed sunroom. We alternated keeping Gram company.

I scrubbed the bloodstain out of the carpet in the dining room. It was a strong reminder that we were not on a carefree vacation.

Still we ordered pizza in for lunch and pretended it was a picnic. We ate outside on Gram's second-floor front porch. It made her giggle to have a picnic looking down on California Street. “I never would have thought of this.”

Zoya did not approve. I was sure she muttered, “Peasants!” She did hang around, though, scanning the street for the pug.

Gram took catnaps. Tyler caught up on his sleep. I read a bit more of
The Continental Op
and dozed. It wasn't the vacation I'd expected, but it was what it was.

By late afternoon, there was still no sign of Asta.

In standard vacation terms, it promised to be a glum night at Gram's, what with the missing dog and the fresh memory of the home invasion, our hotel troubles and not knowing who was out to get us. Officer Martinez popped in to see how we were doing. By this time we had all relocated to the sunroom. Gram and Tyler seemed to be having a pretty good time at the sunroom table with a three-thousand-piece puzzle of some vague section showing what could have been the mid-Pacific.

Zoya spent her free time pacing and biting her bright nails. She kept whispering Asta's name. Yes, it was strange, but I understood. I could only imagine the chaos if our Walter had vanished. Or Cobain. There would be hell to pay.

Despite the glumness, we had a great dinner. Zoya and I managed to make Gram's specialty and Tyler's all-time favorite: Buttermilk Fried Chicken. The recipe was handwritten on a yellowed card. Following a very clear
suggestion by Gram, we'd located the recipes along with a stock of blank recipe cards in a kitchen drawer. You could tell by the grease spots it had sat on the counter many times while she made this favorite recipe. I strongly discouraged Zoya's suggestion that we improve it by adding a bit of “wodka.” She tried sulking, but I explained that Tyler would want to experience the same taste he'd loved as a child, before his parents separated him from his grandmother.

“People are terrible.
Absolutely
terrible,” Zoya said with a long, tragic glance toward the jigsaw puzzlers.

“Not those two people,” I said with a smile, nodding my head in the direction of Gram and Tyler.

“No,” she agreed. “Not Missus and boy, but almost everyone else.”

“I'm okay,” I said with what is called a hint of asperity.

She shrugged. So, I was not absolutely terrible then. Maybe better than “boy.”

I turned my attention to the chicken. Cooking is not my best thing and I was wishing that Signora Panetone had made the trip with us. I could have used her expertise. Our recipe was complicated by the fact that we didn't have buttermilk and Zoya did not intend to go and get any in case Asta returned and she wasn't here.

Make do with what you have
, my uncles taught me, and a quick check on the Web told me that there were several easy substitutes for buttermilk. I decided to use the “vinegar in milk” version and not to mention it to Smiley. He might as well enjoy this part of the trip down memory lane.

Dinner took me about five times longer than it should have. I did my best to follow the recipe exactly. What can I say? I had no signature dish, not even beans and franks, which Uncle Mick had taught me. I had no dishes at all. My talents lay elsewhere. Zoya was not much help, what with all the sighing and muttering about Asta. I got it, though. Every now and then I'd give her a sympathetic pat on her
rail-thin arm and she'd give me a dirty look. In her defense, she did cook the potatoes and mashed them to a creamy and delicious texture. She also prepared the peas so that they were just right, not overcooked.

While the chicken was frying (I loved that sizzling sound), she set the table in the dining room so as not to disturb the puzzle. When I stuck my head in the room, she had her arms crossed lightly and was staring into the distance.

“Ve should be looking,” she said.

“Right after we eat,” I said. I agreed with her that we didn't want the little dog sleeping out on a cool night, frightened and alone, but I felt sure she was curled up in someone else's home.

Dinner was a surprising success.

“This is just the way I remember it, Gram,” Smiley said. “Did you teach Zoya?”

Zoya sniffed.

Gram said, “Zoya doesn't touch dead chickens.”

Tyler stared at me with . . . astonishment?