“Look at them all,” said Darla, straining to see through the window.
“Looks like she’s not up yet,” said Gloria. “Want to take a quick peek?”
“At what?” Mariska’s eyes remained shut, her head propped on her hand, her elbow pressed into the arm rest.
Gloria was already out of the car.
“We might as well go look,” said Darla, tapping her friend.
Mariska cracked open an eye. “You are killing me.”
The two of them followed Gloria to the hoarder’s back yard.
Darla gaped.
“It looks like a vulture disco.”
A dozen ugly, leather-headed birds sat on top of the pool cage, fighting over the meat they’d tossed the night before. While the flattened raccoon remained on the roof, trapped in a tug of war between two of the largest birds, much of the burger had fallen through the holes in the grate and lay scattered around the pool. Thanks to the door being open, other vultures and a dozen crows had found their way inside the cage. The feathered scavengers ran around squawking at each other, trying to scarf up bits of meat as they fell through the grate.
The pool water glowed a repulsive green-brown. White and black splashes of bird poop covered the area like pop art. The entire patio area beneath the dome looked like a hairband’s hotel room after a rock concert.
“What did we do?” asked Darla in awe.
Gloria shrugged. “Live by the poop, die by the poop, I always say.”
“You’ve found that saying useful before?”
Gloria shrugged and headed back to her car. Darla watched her go and then looked at Mariska.
“She’s an evil genius.”
Mariska walked away. “I just want coffee.”
Back in the car, they waited for Gloria to start the engine, but she didn’t. She rolled down the window and put her head against the head rest.
“Aren’t we going home?” asked Darla.
“Not quite yet.”
“What are we doing?”
“Waiting.”
“Waiting for—”
A scream ripped through the morning quiet.
Gloria held up a finger, looking very much as if she were about to announce, Eureka!
“There it is.”
“She found the birds,” said Darla.
Gloria shook her head. “That’s not the important part.”
“Everything we did and that’s not the important part?”
“No. The important part is she didn’t scream a man’s name.”
Mariska popped open one eye. “Huh?”
Gloria twisted to look at her. “If you saw a dozen vultures dirtying your pool, what’s the first thing you’d do?”
Darla nodded. “I’d call for Frank.”
“Exactly. She didn’t call for anyone. She’s alone. Stay here.”
With a pop, the trunk of the car opened.
Gloria jumped out, slipping something out of her pocket as she ran around the vehicle.
The garage door of the hoarder’s house began to open.
Gloria slipped underneath it and returned a moment later, jogging as athletically as she could with a twenty-four pack of toilet paper in each hand.
“Get out! Get out!” they heard the woman screaming in her back yard, oblivious to the thievery in the front.
Gloria tossed the toilet paper into the trunk and then appeared at Darla’s window to tap on the glass, popping up as if she’d risen from the ground.
Darla jumped. “Where the hell did she come from?”
“Is that enough? You want more?” Gloria asked through the glass.
“That’s plenty,” said Darla.
Gloria jogged back toward the house, closing the garage door with the clicker as she moved. She opened the door of the Cadillac, tossed in the door opener, and then returned to close her trunk and slide into the driver’s seat.
“Ta da,” she announced, pushing the car into gear. She made a U-turn to head out of the neighborhood.
“That takes care of the toilet paper,” she said in a sing-song voice. “What else did you say you needed? Water? Eggs?”
“Nothing,” said Mariska and Darla in unison.
Gloria shrugged. “I’ll let you think on it. What do you want to do today? You wanna go to lunch?”
Chapter Twelve
Spotting Frank’s cruiser in front of his house, Charlotte walked up his driveway as the skies pelted her with a sprinkling of rain. She needed to talk to him about Jamie Moriarty’s escape before the hurricane hit.
She had the hurricane to thank for her autonomy. It had taken her most of the morning to convince Declan returning to Pineapple Port alone wouldn’t end in her certain death. He’d wanted to be her bodyguard, but in the end, they agreed he’d go lock up his shop for the storm and she’d come back home to pick up a few things and run a couple errands. She doubted Jamie would try and take her out before the storm in broad daylight. She needed to pick up Abby and warn Frank Jamie might be on the loose.
Secretly, she suspected the whole story about Jamie’s escape was Stephanie’s attempt to hold Declan’s attention.
As she approached Frank’s door, she noticed a shovel leaning against the side shed and did a doubletake as a strange red smear on the blade caught her eye.
Is that blood?
Darla’s face appeared in the kitchen window before she could investigate. She waved and Darla disappeared inside, only to reappear at the door, staring at her from above dark circles.
“You look terrible,” said Charlotte.
Darla opened the door for her to enter. “Thank you. You can thank Gloria for that.”
“She’s here already?”
“She is, though not at the moment. She went shopping at the outlets.”
“So were you up late...?” Charlotte planned to ask if they’d been up late catching up with Gloria, but the expression on Darla’s face told her parties had nothing to do with the bags under her eyes. “Oh no. What happened? What did she do?”
“You don’t want to know,” said Darla.
“Oh, but I do want to know.”
“No, you don’t. And it will probably be years of therapy
