other, they both did a lot of crying. After that, she hunted up and hauled in a lawyer, one who’s been a pissant his entire life. That’s where the lecturing came into my day. He seems to feel I’m exceeding my authority by offering the rehab and counseling in lieu of a trial and possible jail time.”
“It isn’t within your authority to set a plea bargain.”
“You’re both right, so I informed the pissant that was fine. Ty could stay put until we went before the judge, held a bail hearing and so on. And how he could risk spending the next several years in jail.
“How you doing, Ms. Harris?” he called out to a tiny woman watering a tub of mixed bulbs outside Read More Books.
“I’m doing, Brooks. How about you?”
“Can’t complain. Where was I?” he asked Abigail.
She could feel the tiny woman’s eyes on her as she continued down the sidewalk, hand in hand with Brooks.
“You told the pissant lawyer Ty could risk spending the next several years in jail. I really need to—”
“That’s right. So, at that point, Missy and Ty started yelling at each other. Personally, I don’t understand people who stay together when they’ve got so much animosity and contempt for each other they can call each other those kind of names. But Ty got worked up enough to turn it on me, vow to finish what he started last night and kick my ass.”
“It all sounds dramatic and distressing.”
“Can’t say otherwise. Ty’s vow didn’t please the pissant, as it made his claim of diminished capacity or whatever the hell he was going for break apart like rotten lumber under a hammer. He was less pleased yet when Ty reached through the bars and got a hand around his pissant throat.
“Hey, Caliope. Those roses look mighty pretty.”
A woman in a long, colorful skirt, a huge straw hat and flowered gardening gloves waved from her yard. “I knew you were going to say that.”
He laughed. “Alma’s daughter. She’s a psychic.”
Abigail started to explain how doubtful it was that the lady with the gorgeous rosebushes had psychic ability, but Brooks was already continuing the story.
“I will admit my reflexes might have been just a tad slow pulling Ty off the pissant, due to all the yelling and lecturing.”
Her head might’ve been spinning a little, but she followed well enough. “You let your prisoner choke his lawyer, and found it satisfying, as you’d have liked to choke him yourself.”
Brooks gave her arm a swing and grinned at her. “Though it doesn’t reflect well on me, that’s about the truth of it. The pissant quit then and there—and Ty’s sentiments toward him, delivered at the top of his lungs as said pissant retreated, were suggestions of self-gratification I don’t believe the pissant can manage. Missy ran out after the pissant, screaming and sobbing. And as a result of drama and distress, I’m taking half an hour with a pretty woman.”
“I believe there are people who think the rules, or the law, shouldn’t apply to their particular situation because they’re poor or they’re rich, they’re sad or sick or sorry. Or whatever justification most fits their individual makeup and circumstance.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“But the court system often gives credence to that attitude by making deals to those who’ve broken the rules and the law for just those reasons.”
“I can’t argue that, either, but the law, and the system, have to breathe some.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Law needs some room, some flexibility, to consider the human factor, the circumstances.” At the toot-toot of a horn, he glanced toward the street, waved at a man with a huge black beard driving a rusty pickup. “The man who steals a loaf of bread,” Brooks continued without missing a beat, “because he’s starving and desperate shouldn’t be treated the same as the one who steals it planning to sell it at a profit.”
“Perhaps. But if the law had more uniformity, those who steal for profit would have fewer opportunities to repeat the offense.”
He grinned down at her in a way that made her wonder if she’d said something charming or foolish. “Ever think about being a cop?”
“Not exactly. I really should go back and—”
“Brooks! Bring that girl on over here.”
With a jolt, Abigail swung around, stared at the house with the dragons and mermaids and fairies. And saw Brooks’s mother climbing down a run of scaffolding. She wore paint-splattered bib overalls and paint-splattered sneakers. A bright red kerchief covered her hair.
The minute her feet hit the ground, the puppy who’d begun to yip and dance at her voice leaped so high he executed a midair flip before he tumbled into a sprawl.
The woman laughed, scooped him up as she unsnapped his lead.
“Come on!” she called again. “Come on and introduce Abigail to your little brother.”
“Her favorite son right now, too,” Brooks told Abigail. “Let’s say hey.”
“I really should get back to the market.”
“Haven’t I been yelled at and lectured to enough for one day?” He sent Abigail a pitiful, pained look. “Have some pity, will you?”
She couldn’t be invisible if people noticed her, she thought, and it was worse if she made it obvious that she wanted to be invisible. Though she wished Brooks would let go of her hand—it seemed too intimate—she crossed the short distance to the yard of what she thought of as the magic house.
“I was hoping you’d drop by for a visit,” Sunny said to Abigail.
“Actually, I was—”
“I talked her into a walk before she did her marketing.”
“No point wasting a day like this indoors. Meet Plato.”
“He’s very handsome.”
“And a rascal. I do love a rascal,” Sunny said, nuzzling the puppy, then Brooks. “He’s smart, too.”
“Me or the dog?”
Sunny laughed, patted Brooks on the cheek. “Both. This one sits when he’s told, but he won’t stay put yet. Watch. Plato, now, you sit.”
Sunny set the dog down, kept a hand on his rump as she dug in her pocket for a tiny dog treat with her free hand. “Sit now. There you go, a genius!” She let the dog gobble the treat when his butt hit the grass.
And he was up and jumping, wriggling two seconds later, then scrabbled his paws on Abigail’s shins.
“We’re working on manners.”
“He’s just a baby yet.” Unable to resist, Abigail crouched down, smiling when Plato tried to crawl on her knees, laughing when he leaped and licked. “He has happy eyes.” She closed his jaws gently when he tried to nip and chew. “None of that now. Yes, you’re very handsome and happy.”
As if overcome by the compliment, he flopped down, rolled over to expose his belly.
“And he has good taste,” Sunny remarked, as Abigail gave Plato a belly rub. “Both my boys do. You have happy eyes yourself today, Abigail.”
“I like dogs.” But she looked at the house, shifted the focus. “Your house is so interesting and colorful. It must be rewarding to share your art with whoever passes by.”
“Keeps me off the streets and out of trouble. Mostly.”
“It’s wonderful. I’ve enjoyed seeing what you’ve done and continue to do since I moved here. I like that it doesn’t make sense.”
When Sunny laughed, Abigail felt the heat rise up the back of her neck. “I didn’t say that correctly. I meant —”
“I know exactly what you meant, and you’re exactly right. I like that, too. Y’all come on in. I made some peach sun tea this morning, and I’ve got some of those ginger cookies with the lemon icing you like, Brooks.”
“I could use a cookie.” Reaching down, he skimmed a hand over Abigail’s hair.
“Thank you very much, but I need to get to the market, and home to my own dog.” Abigail picked up the puppy as she rose, handing his wriggling body to Sunny. “It was nice to see you again, and to meet Plato.”
