“Sugar, how you doin’?” Daisy asked and my gaze went to her to see hers was sharp on me.
I was pretty happy we weren’t talking about couches anymore, that’s how I was doing.
I opened my mouth to speak then clamped it shut.
Mace told me the Rock Chicks needed to be kept in the dark.
Effing hel .
So instead of sharing (anything), I said, “Hanging in there,” and it wasn’t a total lie.
Things were good with Mace and me (which I couldn’t tel them), shit everywhere else (but that wasn’t news).
However, I had a feeling that I had one more trial to get through when Mace final y told me the whole truth about Caitlin. And, after what happened that morning, I preferred someone shooting at me to whatever Mace had to say.
I walked deeper into the room and in order to get off the subject of me, I asked (against my wil taking the conversation back to couches), “What’s this about Shirleen’s couch?”
Daisy waved a hand in the air. “Oh, she just shot the guy who broke in this mornin’, used her .44, which means mess, comprende?”
It was Daisy I was staring at now.
Shirleen just shot the guy who broke in?
With a .44?
Why did Shirleen have a .44?
Strike that, I didn’t want to know.
When it appeared Daisy was waiting for me to confirm this information had sunk in, I nodded and Daisy continued,
“He reeled back, landed on her couch, blood everywhere.
She’s pissed. She loved that couch.”
“Did he shoot at her?” I asked.
“Yeah, she ain’t stupid,” Daisy kept talking but her attention went back to her nails. “With her history, no way she’d shoot someone, even an intruder, without him shootin’ first. Got three bul et holes in her wal but that’s okay, just needs a little spackle.”
Her history?
A little spackle?
Effing hel .
“He dropped the gun when she nailed him,” Daisy went on. “Problem is, she’d disarmed him but she was so pissed about him bleedin’ on her couch, she cold-cocked him with her gun butt anyway. She’s gonna have a bit of a problem explainin’ that.”
Oh my Lord.
“Anyway, they’l be here soon,” Daisy said, her eyes moving from her nails back to me. “And you and me got to talk about Dixon Jones.”
Nope.
No way.
Not gonna happen.
I pul ed a chair toward the couch and sat down. Juno decided to make the rounds and began doing person-to-person greetings. That was to say sniffing everyone.
“Maybe we can talk about Dixon Jones when people aren’t breaking into houses and bleeding on couches,” I said to Daisy.
“Life goes on, sugar,” Daisy returned on a shrug. “I cal ed him last night. He had to leave town after your last gig. He’s comin’ back to Denver, gonna be at your gig on Thursday.
He wants a meet then. I suggested we do it beforehand, seein’ as most of the times you get kidnapped or shot at or jump audience members is after the gig. When I explained this to him, he agreed.”
I decided to ignore Daisy reminding Dixon Jones about the mayhem in my life considering he’d witnessed most of it and even if it wasn’t hard to forget, it’d been in the papers.
I was saved from having to retort when the door opened and Shirleen stormed in.
The girls weren’t wrong, she was fine but she was pissed.
“Who’s gonna pay for my couch, hunh?” She was yel ing at a man who was walking behind her. He had light brown hair, the cut expensive, and he was wearing a suit which also looked expensive. He was tal -ish and slight but stil fit maybe late thirties, early forties. His face was tight and, if anything, he looked even angrier than Shirleen. “Who’s gonna pay for therapy for Roam and Sniff?” she demanded.
Roam and Sniff, her teenaged foster kids, fol owed her in. Roam was a handsome, tal , gangly black kid, the gangly part beginning to fil out wel . Sniff was a smal , skinny white kid whose acne was healing and who was hilarious.
Something I’d learned during their first guitar lesson yesterday evening.
Neither of them looked like they were in need of therapy.
“Hey, Stel a,” Sniff cal ed, his face forming a goofy grin as he waved at me.
Roam gave me a chin lift, his eyes shifted to Jules and he muttered, “Hey, Law.”
Jules got up to greet the boys as the room fil ed with the Hot Bunch (al of them, every last one), Tex and Duke.
Body language, incidental y, screamed unhappy.
I looked at Mace but he didn’t look at me. I knew this was an act for the benefit of the Rock Chicks but it stil sucked.
The brown-headed man stopped and his eyes pinned Shirleen. “I’m glad you reminded me. Why don’t we talk about those boys, Miz Jackson? Tel me again how you, of al people, became a foster parent?”
I didn’t even know the guy and I knew that not only was he angry, what he’d just asked was not so vaguely threatening. I knew this because the air in the room went heavy.
“The boys were in my caseload at the Shelter,” Jules said to the man. “I did the background checks on Shirleen.” The man turned to Jules. “Your dedication is impressive, Mrs. Crowe, considering you were in Intensive Care when these two were placed with Miz Jackson.”
Uh-oh.
My eyes moved back to Mace. He had his arms crossed on his chest and his feet planted wide. He also had a look on his face that said, if this guy didn’t stop being such a jerk, Mace was going to rip his head off.
“That’s enough, George,” Hank said quietly.
“Yeah, Nightingale, it’s enough,” George replied, voice stil angry. “I’ve had nothing but shit from you and your men al f**kin’ morning.”
Hank’s eyes narrowed and I took back my earlier thought that he was less intense and more laidback then the rest of the men. At that moment, he was even scarier than his brother.
“We went through three boxes yesterday morning, George,” Hank clipped. “Not to mention, six days ago, there were four drive-bys and Stel a f**kin’ got shot.”
“That wasn’t reported,” George shot back.
When Hank spoke again, his voice was vibrating, he was so angry. “It sure as f**k was. Mace and Luke made statements and we had three squads on the scene while the incident took place. Furthermore, we got five hundred witnesses to rifle fire at a f**kin’ club on Friday night.”
“None of that was linked to Carter,” George returned.