"Irresistible. Damn big guy to come sliding down Jones Street and into Ava's garden."
"I didn't find it in the garden. Would you stop playing with that thing? I found it on the front steps, already dead."
"Huh." He turned the snake's head around as if to converse with it. "What were doing there, big guy?"
"I thought maybe a cat killed it. There was a dead rat in the courtyard not long ago. A cat… But it's so damn big, I started thinking that it might be hard for a cat to take on a snake that big. Or maybe not. But why the hell would this damn cat be leaving dead things around the house? So then I thought-"
"Only way a cat killed this big boy is if the cat could swing a twobyfour." He wiggled the head of the snake at Phoebe. "Cat might chew it up some, but it sure couldn't crush the head flat as a pancake."
"Yeah." She let out a breath. "Yeah, I thought it might be more something like that." She kicked at the box she'd brought out. "Would you please put that ugly dead thing in there, then back in the can? And don't you touch me or anything until you wash your hands."
He dumped it into the box. "You said you found it on the steps out front?"
"Yeah." He wasn't grinning now. A little more satisfaction, she decided. "I got home about eleven last night, and-"
"From where?"
"I was on a date, if you have to know everything."
"With the lottery guy."
"His name is Duncan, and yes. In any case, that thing was draped right over the steps. Which means someone put it there."
"Some dumbass kid."
"Johnnie, you know Johnnie Porter around the corner? He's top of my list for that."
"You want me to talk to him?"
"No, I'll do that. I couldn't bring myself to go into that can and look at the damn thing again up close."
"That's what brothers are for." He dumped the box, closed the lid, then turned to her with evil in his smile. "Poor little Phoebe."
"Don't you dare touch me with your dead-snake hands. I mean it."
"I just want to pat my sister, to give her comfort in her time of-"
"You put one finger on me, your balls'll be tickling your tonsils." Defensively, she put up her dukes. "You know I can take you."
"Haven't put that to the test for a while. I've been working out."
"Oh, come in and wash up. You get points for riding to the rescue, and at this hour."
She led the way in, then leaned on the counter while he washed his hands at the sink. "Carter, there's this other possibility running in my brain. The one where it wasn't some dumbass kid like Johnnie Porter around the corner."
He glanced at her. "You're thinking asshole instead of dumbass."
"That's right. Just nasty pranks, nothing life-threatening, but's't i l l… And there was this other nasty business," she said, thinking of the doll. "I'll be talking to Johnnie, but I've got this… uncomfortable sensa tion, we'll call it. So I was wondering if you'd mind walking by the house, maybe after classes, just for a while. You don't have to come in, I know how that is. You stop by, that's it for a couple hours. But if you could just detour by here when I'm not around, I'd be easier."
"You know I will. Honey, if you're really worried-"
"Uncomfortable sensation," she corrected. "Not yet up to really worried. I guess I'm remembering…"
"The things Reuben used to do." Mouth tight now, Carter dried his hands. "Letting the air out of the tires on the car, spraying that poison on the flowers Mama planted outside the house."
Phoebe rubbed his arm. The remembering was always harder on
Carter. "Yeah. Mean little things. If it is Arnie Meeks doing this, I expect he'll get tired of it soon enough."
"Or he'll escalate." He touched her now, a skim of fingertips under her eyes where the bruises had faded away. "He could come after you again, Phoebe."
"He's not the type for the direct approach, and believe me, Carter, he won't take me by surprise again. I'm not defenseless like Mama was."
"No, you made sure not to be, and still, this guy put you in the hospital."
"He won't do it again." Now she gave his arm a squeeze. "That's pure promise." She shook her head before he could say anything else. "Mama's coming. You went out for a run, all right? Just stopped by for coffee. If she hears about this she loses the courtyard."
Knowing she was right, he nodded, and made the effort to clear the grim from his face as his mother came into the kitchen.
"Well, look at this! Both my babies!"
The doll had been a dead end. The make and model had been discontinued three years earlier, and no shop in Savannah or the outlying malls carried it still. There was eBay, of course, flea markets, yard sales, all manner of other venues. And as it was hardly a matter of life and death, it didn't rate the time, effort and budget of the police department to try to track it down.
Johnnie Porter was unduly suspected as it turned out he was spending the entire week, along with the rest of his class, at outdoor school. There were other young troublesome boys, certainly, but none sprang to mind. And she couldn't think of any reason one-including Johnnie-would target her house twice. Only her house, from what she gathered by making casual inquiries among her neighbors.
So she made it a point to take a long walk around the square and into the park after shift, to keep her ears pricked for anyone whistling a mournful tune. That night she set up her own surveillance post inside her terrace doors, in case anyone decided to drop off another gift.
She sat and rocked, field glasses in her lap, and felt a little like old
Mrs. Sampson on Gaston Street, who sat and rocked and watched everything and everyone from her front parlor window.
If the uncomfortable sensation bumped up a notch, she'd request a radio car do a couple of drive-bys at night, maybe once or twice during the day. The house had a good alarm system, something Cousin Bess had insisted on. She was the one who usually armed it at night, making that last round of the house when everyone was in bed.
Another thing Cousin Bess had insisted on.
People are no damn good, not a one ofthem. That had been Cousin Bess's opinion. But you're blood, so you'll have to do.
Mama hadn't been good enough, of course, Phoebe remembered. Except to fetch and carry and clean and slave in exchange for the roof over her head, and the heads of her children.
Carter had been almost beneath Cousin Bess's contempt-almost.
His nightmares and night terrors in the months following Reuben was a sign to Cousin Bess of weak and diluted blood-from Mama's side, naturally. A true MacNamara would never blubber in his sleep, even at the age of seven.
But Phoebe herself had been another matter. If she'd defended
Carter or hadn't been able to keep the sass from ripping off her tongue, Cousin Bess had approved. At least this one has a spine.
So there'd been piano lessons she hadn't wanted and was a miserable failure at, dance lessons she'd actually enjoyed. Art and music appreciation, trips to the right shops, the right salons, even an odd and dazling week in Paris. Culminating in the dreaded and stupefyingly boring debutante ball.
She'd agreed to that only by bargaining with Cousin Bess over the guaranteed payment of Carter's college education when the time came. It had been worth one night of her life to secure four years of his.
Of course Cousin Bess had disapproved, vehemently, of Phoebe joining the FBI. Hadn't cared to have Phoebe train up north, so far out of her grip. But strangely enough had thoroughly approved of Roy.
And still, there'd been no mistaking that smirk of satisfaction when Phoebe came back to MacNamara House, with a baby and no husband.
"No surprise you couldn't hold onto a man like that when you're running after some career. A woman's got two choices: husband or career."