“Uncertainty is never an easy proposition,” Aunt Samantha said. “We tend to want things to be in neat little bundles, everything just so.”
“When the truth is that life often is messy,” Grandma Kate said. “And unpredictable.”
“Those are two words that fit how I feel right now,” Mary said. “Messy and unpredictable.”
“You’re not alone,” Aunt Samantha said. “I was watching news reports last night. It looks awful in Italy. The entire country has locked down, and the people are cooperating, because it is the sensible thing to do.” She shook her head. “It’s horrible that so many people are sick and dying. And so many have been infected at once that the hospitals are stretched to the limit.”
“It’s heartbreaking,” Mary said. “Between the pandemic and Joey Conway, I’m nearly at my breaking point. I’ve decided to limit my intake of the news.”
“Smart woman,” Aunt Samantha said. “I’ve decided to do the same. No sense in torturing myself.”
“What does Toby say about the younger Mr. Conway?” Grandma Kate asked.
“Mostly that he hopes he doesn’t shoot himself in the foot. In that regard, we don’t have any idea, yet, if he’s even armed.”
“Waiting is hard on the nerves,” Aunt Samantha said.
“It is. But as you get older, those times in the past that seemed to stretch forever, they don’t feel that way when you remember them. I’ll make you a bet now, sweetheart.” Grandma Kate reached over and patted her hand. “Even if this crisis lasts more than a year, in five years, it won’t seem as if it did.”
“I’ll accept that as true,” Mary said.
“How’s the latest book coming?” Aunt Samantha asked.
Mary grabbed at the new topic. “I’m nearly done with my first draft. I think my characters have really surprised me this time, and I don’t quite know what to think about that.”
For the next half-hour, they talked writing. Both Grandma Kate and Aunt Samantha were working on their journals. As well, they both had good friends who were authors. It surprised Mary how much knowledge these two women possessed. There were myriad myths about writing that the general public bought into, that both women laughed at the same way an author would.
“My friend, Gina, who writes romance told me about an interview she had, where the journalist asked her if she drew on her own sexual experiences when she wrote her love scenes.”
“Oh, dear,” Grandma Kate said. “That’s a very tacky question.”
“I think I’ve met your friend,” Aunt Samantha said. “What was Gina’s answer?”
Mary grinned. “She knew the same journalist had interviewed me. She told him she would agree to answer that question if he had also asked me if my murder plots were drawn from my personal experiences killing people.”
“Was he completely stupid in his response?” Grandma Kate asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Mary said. “He told her, ‘MJ Kendall writes mysteries. You just write porn.’”
“Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, that interviewer.” Samantha Kendall shook her head.
“Dull as dishwater,” Mary agreed.
A few moments later, Mary saw her guests to the door. She hugged each in turn and promised Aunt Samantha that she and the guys would attend Sunday supper the next day.
For a long moment, the silent house felt odd. The quiet settled around her, and while she loved this house—more than she’d ever loved her apartment—today it wasn’t making her feel…what?
Mary walked back to the kitchen to deal with the cups and teapot. The house itself was spotless, so it didn’t need tidying. An untidy house made her feel unsettled. It wasn’t so much that she felt unsettled at the moment. Despite her admission recently that she hated having things hanging, that wasn’t quite how she felt just then, either. Her eyes widened as realization hit.
She didn’t feel safe.
Mary reached for a knife in the block, but an unfamiliar voice behind her stopped her.
“I thought those old bags would never leave.”
Mary turned around, keeping her actions slow and measured. Her heart was pounding, and she already felt the effects of adrenaline coursing through her body.
See what you get when you wish for something to change? Mary consoled herself that she now knew two things.
She knew where Joey Connors was, and she knew that he did, indeed, have a gun.
A gun that he used as a pointer as he indicated her cell phone. “Why don’t you pick your cellphone up off the table there and invite your lover Toby to our little party?”
* * * *
“Do you guys think you’re going to have to hunker down in Waco if the virus gets as bad as they say it might?” Adam asked.
They’d just finished target practice at the gun range. On this particular Saturday, Anthony was glad for the distraction—and the extra practice, itself, actually. There are just times when you’re so frustrated you want to shoot something.
Anthony looked at Adam. “We sure as hell hope not.”
“We’d rather hunker down here,” Toby agreed. “It depends on how things develop. If it gets bad, we’ll have to make a choice. We won’t go back and forth and put the family at risk.”
“Grandma Kate thinks, and I agree, that we might have use for the extra cop power here,” Adam said. “All the different worst-case scenarios we discussed at yesterday’s meeting? If any of those come close to being true…”
“I really hope those were all just the products of our twisted and dark imaginations. In any event, we’ll just have to see how things are as we go along,” Anthony said.
They’d finished cleaning their equipment and had put their empty shell casings in the canister for Gord Jessop to fill. They were about ready to leave, so he picked up his earpiece and put it back in. He tapped the first channel. “Hey, Matt. We’re back online. Anything to report?”
The voice of Matt Benedict, deputy sheriff of Lusty, Texas, sounded in his ear. “Nope, just the ladies talking about writing and some asshole journalist I’d like to throttle.”
Anthony grinned, as did Toby, who’d put in his own earpiece in time
