"Oh, that's wonderful," I said, with heartfelt relief. "God bless 'em. I owe them big-time."
He tried to smile. "Yeah, you do. Michele said she hasn't cleaned up so much blood since her cat brought in a rabbit that wasn't quite dead, and it got away in the house."
"I never made it inside the house." I was kind of glad about that. I didn't need to see my poor kitchen torn up again.
"Why'd that f**ker shoot you? Why'd he shoot Bob?"
"I'm not sure," I said. "I don't remember too much of what Amelia told me."
"This guy was her dad's chauffeur? What was his issue? He ever have a thing with Amelia? Maybe he was jealous of Bob."
That sounded pretty good. "Maybe that's it," I said. "Has Mr. Carmichael turned up?"
"Not that I heard of. Maybe this Tyrese guy bumped him off first." I wouldn't feel easy until I knew where Copley was. I didn't think Tyrese had killed him. Soulless or not, Tyrese was a loyal employee. Did the two of them have something to do with Arlene's death? Were they working with Johan Glassport? That didn't make any sense. None of this made any sense. I leaned my head against the glass of Jason's pickup window, and I kept silent the rest of the drive home.
The first thing I noticed was my car, exactly where I'd left it yesterday when I'd climbed out of it and gotten shot. At least someone had shut the driver's door. My blood was still on the ground beside it. I tried not to look. Jason came around to open the truck door, and I slid out carefully. I could walk on my own, but I wasn't super-steady, and I appreciated the fact that he was there.
He walked me right through the kitchen and into my bedroom, only letting me pause long enough to thank An and Michele. After depositing me on my bed, he vanished to return to work. I promptly got off the bed and shuffled into my bathroom to clean up, an awkward process with my bandaged shoulder, which had to be kept dry. In the end, I was a bit cleaner than I had been, though I couldn't wash my hair. With some difficulty, I put on a clean nightgown. At that point, Michele came in to scold me and order me to get back on the bed. We compromised with the couch in the living room. She turned on the television, brought me the remote and a big glass of tea, and made me a sandwich for a belated lunch. I ate about half of it. I wasn't that hungry, though it had been a while since I had eaten a real meal. Maybe the painkillers were suppressing my appetite, maybe I was depressed that there was so much death around my house, or maybe I was worried about Bill's enigmatic note.
An and Michele finished about an hour after Jason left, and I insisted on getting up to admire the job they'd done. My kitchen shone like a showroom kitchen and smelled like pine-scented cleaner. That was a big improvement, An informed me. "My whole family hunts, and I know nothing smells up a place more than blood," she said.
"Thank you, An," I said. "And thanks, almost-sister-in-law. I sure appreciate you two doing this for me."
"No problem," An said.
"Just don't let it happen again. This is the one and only time I'm scrubbing blood out of your kitchen," Michele said. She was smiling. But she meant it.
"Oh, I can promise it will be," I said. "I'll call someone else next time." They laughed, and I smiled back. Ha effing ha.
An gathered up her cleaning supplies in a big red bucket.
"I'll give you some Pine-Sol for your birthday, An," I said.
"You betcha. There's nothing like it." She looked around at the sparkling surfaces with some satisfaction. "My daddy the preacher always said, 'By your works shall they know thee.' "
"Then you're an industrious and generous woman," I said, and she beamed. I hugged them both in a lopsided way. Before they left, Michele asked me if I wanted her to put the casserole in the microwave ready for me to heat for supper. "It might be too much for you to handle," she said. She was determined to feed me.
"I'm sure I can do it later," I said, and she had to be content with that. The house felt pleasantly peaceful after they'd left, until I drifted out from under the painkillers long enough to wonder where Mr. C and Diantha were. I hoped they were okay. And since it seemed apparent that soulless people could come through the wards, I got out my critter rifle. The shotgun would have been more effective, but I simply couldn't handle it in my weakened state. If Copley Carmichael came around to finish what his minion had started, I had to be armed and ready. I locked the house up tight, closed the curtains in the living room so he couldn't tell where I was, and tried to read. Finally, I gave it up. I watched something totally brainless on TV. Sadly, that wasn't hard to find.
I kept my cell phone by me, and I got a call from Kennedy Keyes. She was as happy as I'd ever heard her. "Me and Danny are going to rent one of Sam's little houses," she said. "Across from the duplexes. He said you'd know where."
"Sure," I said. "When are you moving in?"
"Right now!" She laughed. "Danny and one of his buddies from the lumberyard are carrying in the bed right at this moment!"
"Kennedy, that's wonderful. I hope you'll be real happy."
She talked for a while, giddy with her new situation. I had no idea if their love for each other would last, but I was glad they were giving it a chance, despite the very obvious differences in their upbringings. Kennedy's family, as she'd described them to me, had been determined social climbers, wondering where their next step upward would take them. Danny's family had worried more about their next meal.
"Good luck to both of you, and I'll get you a housewarming present," I said, when Kennedy began to wind down.
About an hour later, I heard a car park in the gravel area by the front door. After the engine cut off, footsteps and a gentle knock told me my caller had decided to carry through with the visit, though I was detecting a lot of hesitation.
I picked up the rifle. It was going to be hell to get a good shot with my weak shoulder, and it was going to be painful. "Who is it?" I called.
"Halleigh."
"You alone?" I knew she was, but with undetectable people around, I had to check. Her thoughts would tell me if someone was forcing her to knock on the door.
"I am. I don't blame you if you don't want to open up," she said.
I opened the door. Halleigh Bellefleur was younger than me, a nice-looking brown-haired schoolteacher who was really, really pregnant. Tara had not fared as well when she was expecting the twins; Halleigh was truly blooming.
"Come in," I said. "Does Andy know you're here?"