last bundle got jammed and the chute blew before they could knock it free,” Ryan suggested.
“Wouldn’t that leave one bundle in the plane?” I asked.
“Or under it.” Jansen hesitated a microsecond. “I did find something.”
“Another packet of drugs?” I asked.
“Hardly a packet. Mostly ash and melted plastic.”
“Underneath the wreckage?”
“Yeah.”
“Ash from what?”
“I’m not sure. But the stuff doesn’t whisper nose candy to me.”
“Is a mixed payload common?”
“As a wino with a muscatel buzz.”
When we arrived at the annex Boyd went straight to his bowl.
Ryan won the toss on which I insisted. Bad idea. While he showered I checked my messages.
Harry.
Katy.
A UNCC colleague.
One hang-up.
I tried Lija’s town house. A male voice answered, said my daughter was out, but that she was expected shortly. The voice did not identify itself.
I left a message, clicked off.
“And who the hell are you?” I asked the handset. “The intensely engaging Palmer Cousins?” And why didn’t you say so? Are you living at Lija’s town house, too? I didn’t want to think about it.
Boyd looked up, went back to eating.
I tried my colleague. He had a question about a graduate thesis that I could not answer.
Having inhaled every nasty brown nugget in the bowl, Boyd flopped onto his side.
To call Harry, or not to call Harry?
My sister doesn’t grasp the concept of the short conversation. Besides, Harry can smell sex over a phone line, and I didn’t want to discuss my recent adventures. Hearing footfalls on the stairs, I laid the phone on the table.
Ryan appeared with Birdie pressed to his chest. The cat’s forepaws and chin rested on his shoulder.
When I reached out, Birdie turned his head.
“Aw, come on, Bird.”
Two unblinking eyes swung my way.
“You’re a fraud, Birdie.” I stroked the cat’s head. “You’re not even trying to get away.”
Birdie’s chin went up, and I scratched his throat.
“If he wanted down,” I said to Ryan, “he’d be doing this pushy-paw thing on your chest.”
“I found him on the bed.”
Hearing Ryan’s voice, Boyd scrambled to his feet, tags jangling, toenails scrabbling for purchase on the wooden floor.
Birdie rocketed off Ryan’s chest like a shuttle at Canaveral.
“There’s beer in the fridge,” I said. “Paper’s in the den. I won’t be long.”
When I returned, Ryan was at the kitchen table,
When I entered, both looked up.
“Of all the gin joints, in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine,” Ryan played Bogey to the dog.
“Thanks, Rick.”
“Your daughter called.”
“Oh?” I was surprised Ryan had answered my phone.
“The thing was lying here, it rang, I answered by reflex. Sorry.”
“Did she say why she was calling?”
“I didn’t realize who it was. I told her you were showering. She said it wasn’t important, gave her name, and hung up.”
