Jo-Jo shook her head. "No, but I'm pretty sure I know the crotchety old bastard who's her grandfather."
Chapter Ten
Finn and I looked at each other. "Grandfather?" we asked in unison.
Jo-Jo nodded. "Warren T. Fox, of the Ridgeline Hollow Foxes. The girl looks a fair bit like him in the face. I see it, now that the blood's gone."
"And who is this Warren T. Fox?" I asked.
"He used to be a friend of Fletcher's," the dwarf said.
"But they had a falling out a long time ago. Haven't spoken since, to my knowledge."
Jo-Jo stared at Violet, who was still unconscious in the chair. An emotion flickered in the dwarf 's pale eyes. Regret.
I wondered why. Jo-Jo shook her head. More mud mask flaked off her face.
"C'mon," the dwarf said. "Let's make the poor girl comfortable, and I'll tell you what I know."
Since Jo-Jo was stronger than either Finn or me, she picked up Violet, carried the girl into the downstairs den, and arranged her on an overstuffed sofa. I pulled off Violet's bloody jacket and shoes; then Jo-Jo covered her with a soft, warm quilt. The dwarf trudged into the downstairs bathroom to wash the blue mud off her face. I stepped through the doorway that led into the kitchen.
Most people went straight to Jo-Jo's salon when they came to the house, but my favorite room had always been the kitchen. A skinny room with a rectangular butcher's block table set in the middle surrounded by several tall stools. Appliances done in a variety of pastel shades ringed three walls, while the fourth opened up into the den where Violet Fox snoozed. Runelike clouds could be found everywhere, from the placemats on the table to the dish towels piled next to the sink to the fresco that covered the ceiling. When I was younger, I used to lie on the kitchen floor for hours and stare at the painting on the ceiling, pretending the clouds really were moving. One of the few childish fancies I'd allowed myself after the loss of my mother and older sister.
Finn was already in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of chicory coffee. Jo-Jo always kept a pot on in case Fletcher dropped by. Now that the old man was gone, Finn drank his share - and then some. I breathed in, enjoying the warm, comforting caffeine fumes that always reminded me of Fletcher Lane. Then I went over to the refrigerator, pulled open the door, and peered inside.
"What are you thinking? Sandwiches?" Finn asked in a hopeful voice.
"No. I'm in the mood for something sweet."
I grabbed the butter out of the fridge, then rummaged through the cabinets. Flour, oats, dried apricots, golden raisins, brown sugar, vanilla. I pulled them out, along with some mixing cups, a baking pan, a spatula, and a bowl. Finn settled himself at the kitchen table and drank his coffee while I worked. By the time Jo-Jo walked back into the kitchen, I was sliding the batter into the oven.
"Whatcha making?" the dwarf asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
"Apricot bars," I replied, wiping my hands off on a cloud-covered dish towel. "Which I'm going to turn into a poor man's cobbler. They'll be done in a few minutes, which should give you just enough time to tell us all about Fletcher and Warren T. Fox."
Jo-Jo nodded. She took her coffee to the table and sat down next to Finn. I leaned against the refrigerator so I could keep an eye on the oven. It just wouldn't do to get the apricot bars too brown.
"Fletcher and Warren grew up together in Ridgeline Hollow," Jo-Jo said. "Best friends who were thick as thieves. More like brothers. Always together, from sunup till sundown. Sophia and I knew their parents. Grandparents too."
Finn shook his head. "Dad never mentioned anyone named Warren Fox to me. Never. Especially someone who was his best childhood friend. What happened between them?"
"A girl," Jo-Jo said. "They both fell in love with the same girl. Stella. She was a pretty thing who lived up in the hollow. Stella knew Fletcher and Warren were both in love with her. She'd go out courting with first one, then the other. She liked playing them against each other. Pretty soon, they were fighting over her."
"So who got her in the end?" I asked.
A wry smile curved Jo-Jo's lips. "Neither one of them. She ran off with a boy from the city. But by then, it was too late for Fletcher and Warren to repair their friendship. Fletcher moved into the city to start the Pork Pit. Warren stayed where he was up in the hills and took over his family's general store."
I looked at Finn. With his walnut hair, green eyes, and smooth smile, Finn was the spitting image of Fletcher at his age - and handsome to a fault. I wondered what Warren T. Fox had looked like in his youth, to give Fletcher Lane a run for his money.
"Warren's store, is it called Country Daze?" Finn took another sip of his chicory coffee. "Because that's where Violet Fox gets her paycheck from every two weeks."
Jo-Jo nodded. "Been in the family for four generations now, counting the girl in there."
My gray eyes flicked to Violet Fox, who continued to sleep on the sofa. "If Warren and Fletcher had a falling out all those years ago, why would Warren's granddaughter come looking for Fletcher now?"
Jo-Jo shrugged. "I don't know. But if the girl or Warren are in trouble like you think they are, asking Fletcher Lane for help would be the very last thing the Warren T. Fox that I know would do. Pride's one of the most important things to him. Which is why he never made up with Fletcher. Stella humiliated them both, and Fletcher reminded Warren too much of that."
I grabbed a cloud-shaped oven mitt, opened the oven door, and took out the apricot bars. The smell of warm fruit, sugar, and melted butter filled the kitchen, along with a blast of heat. A combination I never grew tired of, especially on a cold, gray night like this one. I grabbed another oven mitt, set it on the table, then put the pan on top of it. Finn's fingers crept toward the edge of the container, but I smacked his hand away.
"I'm not done with them yet," I said.
"Come on, Gin," he whined. "I just want a taste."
"And you're just going to have to wait, like the rest of us."
Jo-Jo chuckled, amused by our squabbling. I moved over to the cabinets and got out four bowls, some spoons, and a couple of knives. I also grabbed a gallon of vanilla bean ice cream out of the freezer. After the apricot bars had cooled enough so they wouldn't immediately fall apart, I cut out big chunks of the bars, dumped them in the bowls, and topped them all with two scoops of the ice cream. My own version of a quick homemade cobbler.
Jo-Jo swallowed a mouthful of the confection and sighed. "Heaven, pure, sweet heaven."