“The kind that hamburger comes in?” asked Charlotte, trying to look innocent. She could feel the heat of Darla’s stare on her neck.
Frank looked at her. “Yes. I assumed it blew up there but now—”
Darla lunged forward and grabbed Frank’s empty plate. “Honey, you better get back to work.”
“Hello everyone,” said Gloria, entering through the front door. She threw her arms around Charlotte’s neck to give her a squeeze. “So good to see you.”
“You, too.” Charlotte squinted at Darla as she hugged the little woman. Darla looked away and put Frank’s dish in the dishwasher.
“You didn’t buy anything at the outlets?” asked Charlotte.
Gloria shook her head. “No. Didn’t see anything I needed.” She took a deep breath, looking flush and happy. “I feel so good,” she said, to no one in particular.
“That’s good. Why? Did you sleep well?” asked Charlotte.
Gloria laughed. “Not really. I only wish I could see the face on that—”
“Cocktails!” screamed Darla. “Maybe we should have a cocktail and take it easy?”
Gloria looked at her watch. “It’s early, isn’t it?”
“Nah. It’s like a holiday. You’re here, there’s a hurricane coming, it’s Florida’s version of a snow day.”
Gloria clapped her hands together. “Do you have champagne?”
Frank slid off his stool, muttering. “It’s not even one o’clock. Is this what you do all day while I’m at work?” He snatched up Darla’s beer and took another sip, swishing it in his mouth to draw the from his teeth.
“It’s a hurricane party. Special occasion,” said Darla, refusing to let her momentum die. She guided Gloria toward the back of the house and away from Frank. “I might have champagne in the back. Let’s go look. We can look together.”
Frank watched the women disappear into the back bedroom. “Those two. One stranger than the next. I’m almost afraid to leave them alone together.”
“You should be,” mumbled Charlotte.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She pointed at the television playing news on mute in the living room. On the screen, a large animated storm barreled in their direction. “Looks like the hurricane really did decide to hit us,” she said.
“Whoopee.” Frank’s radio squawked and Charlotte heard the dispatcher.
“Hey Frank, we got a possible dead guy over at The Fairways homes.”
Frank rubbed his temple and then held the speaker on his shoulder to answer. “Darlene, I’ve told you not to say things like that on the radio. Use the codes.”
“Sorry Frank. We got a possible dead guy over at 294 Sandtrap Lane.”
“Not the street numbers, the—” He closed his eyes. “Nevermind. I’m on my way.”
Charlotte perked. “Ooh, can I come?”
Frank stood. “Sure. I give up. I could take all the help I can get.”
“Good. I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“We might have a problem.”
Frank frowned. “Great. Just what I need.”
Chapter Thirteen
Declan punched in the security code and entered his pawn shop, the Hock o’Bell. He didn’t plan to linger now that he knew Jamie might be back in town. He needed to get his gun and a smattering of other useful objects, and get back to Charlotte. She’d worn him down after Stephanie left, insisting he not shadow her all day. He’d let her go, but had no intention of leaving her alone for long. He wanted to get his security equipment, get back home to secure the house, and then get Charlotte in the house. They could ride out the storm together feeling protected.
Though I might have to tie her up and lock her in the closet to keep her there.
Striding to his safe he slowed, passing a taxidermy armadillo standing on its hind legs. It wore a suit of armor helmet and held a tiny sword gripped in its claw. He bent to read the little plaque on the base of the item.
“King Arthurdillo.”
He straightened and took a deep breath.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Declan’s only employee, a giant named Blade, had a talent for reimagining unsellable objects so they flew out the doors. He had a particular affinity for taxidermy, and must have created King Arthurdillo during his shift the night before. He’d probably sell his art within the week, which would not only rid Declan of the hideous stuffed armadillo he’d inherited at an estate sale, but also the tiny knight’s helmet someone once used as a tiny planter.
The man was a genius.
Declan walked into his office and opened his large gray safe. From it, he pulled his gun and a box of bullets, and then stared at a second gun, one belonging to Uncle Seamus.
Hm.
He stood to fish his phone from his pocket and dialed.
“The Anne Bonny, hurricane party central,” said his uncle, instead of hello.
Declan looked at his phone, thinking he’d misdialed. “I called your cell, not your bar.”
“I answer all my phones like this now. I am the hurricane party and the hurricane party is me.”
“Sounds like you’ve started early.”
Seamus chuckled. “Ah, but is it early today? Or late yesterday?”
“This isn’t a koan. Today is today.”
“What can I do for you?”
Declan glanced at the gun in the safe. “Stephanie came by the house this morning saying her mother’s broken out. She says she talked to her in person this morning.”
“Aye? Wouldn’t that have been on the news?”
“There’s some speculation someone on the inside might be covering for her. There aren’t a lot of hard facts yet. I just wanted to give you a heads up in case she comes after you, trying to get to us.”
“Not a problem, boyo. I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”
“I’m at the shop getting my gun. Do you want yours?”
Seamus snorted. “That old thing? Nah. I’ve got some here. I’ve three within reach of where I’m standing right now.”
“Where are