Honeyed Words (21 page)

She shrugged. “Creepy, at least, but good in the sack.”

“And he picked you over Flora?”

“Other way around.”

“Meaning?”

“Flora picked me over him. Only when he wouldn’t leave, she decided I should pack the whole thing in and follow her. She was pretty angry that last night, said some harsh things about Justin and how much he’d become a sick fuck.” There was definitely pain in her eyes. Loss, sorrow.

“Why didn’t you go with her?” I asked.

“This is my place,” she said, somewhat indignantly. “I wasn’t abandoning my life because some art chick got her panties in a bunch.”

She looked down at the picture for a long while, and then dropped it on the coffee table. “Anyhoo … Bub hated Justin particularly. Flora he didn’t give two shits about.”

“Bub? That the kobold?”

“Yeah, short for Beelzebub, like the demon?”

Duh. That was a name I recognized from Da and his particular brand of crazy. “Cute.”

“Justin took me for several thousand dollars, a truck that was in his name, but I’d been making the payments.” Her voice was getting bitter. “And several different moulds we’d built to make some pretty intricate cast-iron pieces.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

For a moment, I thought maybe she was going to throw her now-empty beer bottle across the room, but she kept her cool and let out a stuttering breath.

“His stuff, technically,” she said angrily. “Bastard. My work, my designs, but we made the moulds together and I let him have them. Of course, I thought he was coming back. Still could, I suppose; he was here in the spring.”

“So now it’s just you and Bub rattling around the old place?”

“Which is why I’m looking forward to working with you for a few weeks. Hell, if you’re interested I’ll even sell you Justin’s old bike.”

Man, I hated that damn Taurus. “Well, I can’t really see getting around on a dirt bike.”

She laughed, loudly, nearly choking with the ferocity of it.

When she calmed down she got up and motioned me to follow her out to the carport. I leaned against the doorway with my arms crossed over my chest as she began moving boxes, two doors, and a slew of odds and ends to unbury what was quickly becoming a motorcycle. Once she’d dug deep enough she whipped off a large tarp to reveal a Ducati 998.

Damn, that was one hot bike.

“She needs work,” Anezka said, turning to me with a flourish. “But she ran the last time I had her unburied.” She walked over to a tall cabinet and began rummaging through coffee cans of various doodads: bolts, nuts, nails. After a minute she produced a key and walked back to the bike.

The moment was anticlimactic. She turned the key and nothing happened.

“Probably the battery,” I said.

“Yeah. I haven’t started it in six months or more.”

She pulled the tarp over the bike, and we walked back into the house.

“Bastard left the papers here and everything,” she said with an evil grin on her face. “I’ll sell it to you for three hundred dollars.”

I eyed her, looking for a catch. “No idea what that runs for normally, but I would bet you a dollar that three hundred is dirt cheap.”

You ever have one of those moments where you connect with a person, get them on a deep-down level? There was a flash, and suddenly I understood. She didn’t give a shit about the bike; she just wanted to hurt Justin, even if she never saw him again.

“You could work it off here, helping me work on the installation.”

It would be cool, learning new things, sculpting, creating art. “You sure?”

“He loved this bike,” she said. “I want to see the look on his face if he ever saunters back in here, sweet-talking and looking for a booty call.”

My left eye twitched at that. Booty call? Really? But I let her go; she was on a roll.

“Think about it,” she said. I could tell the idea was really working her. “Imagine cruising over the mountains with that powerful Italian bastard vibrating between your thighs. It would be like riding an orgasm.”

I snorted. Seriously? She didn’t really notice in her fevered state.

“I think this is a stellar idea,” she said with a quick nod.

“I have a friend who’s familiar with bikes,” I said. “Let me talk to him, maybe get him to come out and look at it. Would that be okay?”

“Yeah, great!” This had her more animated than I’d seen her.

“You’ll like Gunther,” I said. “He rides a Harley and owns his own jazz store in Seattle.”

She tightened her mouth into a not-frown and nodded her head, in that
interesting news
sort of way.

“Is he gay?”

“Nope.”

“Excellent. See if he’ll come out.”

We went back into the house, and I spent the next hour calling around to the farms we normally worked. I lined up the Triple Loop Ranch for tomorrow and Broken Switch Farm for Thursday and Friday. That would make Julie happy, and we’d get a good amount of shoeing in.

Monday we’d do more work here at Anezka’s place and I’d learn more of her world. It would be fun. But I wanted to clear it with Julie. Learning from another master was cool, but I didn’t want her to feel like I was cheating on her.

As I was packing up my laptop, I thought back to the amulet that now hung in the shadow box.

“Make sure Bub is fine with me coming back,” I said. “If he’s not, I’ll just meet you out at the farm.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll have a whole new respect for you.”

Yeah,
I thought.
Or fry me while I’m not watching.

“Wait,” I said as I realized the flaw in the plan. “We need a truck, gear, anvil … Can’t get our gear out on that dirt bike of yours.”

“I have a truck,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just meet you at the farm. Leave me the address and I’ll look it up online.”

I wrote down the address —“I thought you didn’t have a license” —and handed it to her.

She shrugged. “Not your worry, is it?”

“I guess not.”

As I was crossing the perennially empty road to the Taurus, my cell phone buzzed. It was a text from Jennifer. They wanted me to swing by the studio tonight.

Glad I got this before I was back in Bellevue or, worse, at Katie’s in Kent.

I texted her back, threw my gear in the car, and waved at the house.

Anezka stood on the porch, gave me a head nod, and walked into the house to await the return of her demon lover. Okay, maybe not lover, but they definitely had a bizarre relationship.

There was one lonely woman. I hoped we got along over the next few days. So far it had been an ignominious beginning.

Twenty-eight

I called Katie and gave her the quick and dirty about my day. She was sympathetic, and we agreed to get together for dinner on Wednesday. Would be good to compare notes.

She agreed that I should have Gunther look at the bike. Better to engage an expert, she said. Funny girl.

I showed up in Everett much earlier than normal, and the security guard was just setting up his card tables. Carl had kept him on even after Frederick had stopped coming up and taking such a heavy hand in the day-to-day running of the studio. Nathan was a good guy. He’d forgiven me for my transgressions back in the spring, and I was getting to like the guy. Always quick with a smile and a kind word. Ex-military, Jennifer told me, and single. But too damn young for Anezka, and I sure wasn’t looking.

“Evening, Ms. Beauhall,” Nathan called as I walked up the stairs. “Looks like we’re getting back into the swing of things around here.”

I stopped at his little table and signed in. I thought it was a waste of time, but it made him and Carl happy.

“About damn time, if you ask me,” I said cheerfully. “Nothing like starting a new movie to disrupt the sleep patterns.”

He smiled and nodded. “Just glad to be getting a steady paycheck,” he said. “Temping just isn’t cutting it.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re around,” I said honestly. “Back in the day, we’d walk out of here in the wee hours of the morning. Never knew when some freak was going to jump you.”

“Hey, about that.” He held up a clipboard with several newspaper articles attached. “I read how you tried to stop that singer from being kidnapped up in Vancouver.”

I rolled my eyes. “Wrong place, right time.”

“You betcha,” he said seriously. “After what you did in the spring, saving all those people from that burning barn.”

Was that awe painting his face … maybe the beginnings of hero worship? I punched him lightly in the arm. “Dude, you were in Afghanistan. You’re a hero. I’m just lucky.”

Now he blushed and stepped back. “Maybe,” he said. “Still, I’m pretty impressed that you’d just mix it up with creeps like that.”

“You’re sweet,” I said with a smile. “Maybe Carl should give us both a raise for being too cool for his studio.”

“Right … not.”

He was flustered.

“Well, can’t keep them waiting.”

He waved as I opened the doors. Definitely nice to be someplace I was appreciated.

I walked into the studio, letting it wash over me. I had high expectations.

There on soundstage 1, Carl and Jennifer were obviously blocking a scene. Jennifer was on the ground holding a roll of tape, and Carl was taking exaggerated strides across the floor and counting aloud.

“… three … and four.”

Jennifer tore the tape with her teeth and marked where Carl now stood.

“Hello,” I called.

“Hey, Beauhall,” Carl called, stepping toward me, holding his hand out to shake. “Glad to have you back on set.”

I stepped forward and took his hand, giving it a firm shake. “Good to be back, boss.”

He swelled a little at this, put his arm around Jennifer, and smiled at me. “My two best girls…”

Jennifer nudged him with her hip, and his smile faltered.

“… err, women. Um … ladies?” He looked at her, unsure where to stop.

I pushed him to the side and hugged Jennifer. I pulled back and gently punched him in the chest. “What’s the new movie?”

The relief on Carl’s face was precious. He really had no clear idea how to handle the situation. Back to the movies, though. That was the trick.

“We have a great script,” he said, rushing over to a speaker stack and grabbing a thick printout. “You’ll love it; it has all your favorite stuff…”

He flipped over a couple of pages and began quoting.

Burned-out cityscape, Jacob walks through a street lined with destroyed cars, swinging a crowbar and calling out.

“Come out, little children, the end of the world has come and gone.”

Several misshapen creatures shuffle out from behind an overturned bread truck, their limbs twisted, their faces covered in weeping sores.

“Come to me, my children. Let me end your suffering.”

The two mutants rush the tall man.

Carl looked up. “Postholocaust, warrior, mutants … and…” he flipped a few pages deeper in. “Survivalist cheerleaders.”

Jennifer laughed out loud, and Carl looked startled.

“Hey, we cut out the orgy scene,” he said, his feelings clearly hurt.

“Thank heavens,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Don’t need too many costumes for orgies.”

Jennifer sighed and took the script from him, handing it to me. “It’s really good,” she said. “We’ll need you to read it, get some ideas together for setting and props.”

I took the manuscript, flipped back to the front, and nearly swallowed my tongue. The names on the cover were Wendy Lawson and James J. Montgomery. “JJ?” I looked at them as if the world were ending. “Are you shitting me?”

“Give it a chance,” Jennifer said, rushing over Carl’s protests. “We had him tone a few scenes down, but the love story is excellent and the ending is very heartwarming.”

I shook my head. Heartwarming and JJ did not go together.

“Who’s Lisa Acres?” I asked.

“Friend of his,” Jennifer said.

“Some sorority girl he’s sleeping with,” Carl said at the same time.

Jennifer was obviously exasperated. “The writing is good,” she said, tapping the pages in my hand. “Just read it and trust me.”

I folded the manuscript and saluted her with it. “I’m on it.”

“Good,” she said, all smiles again. “We have to finish blocking the first scene. You go take inventory.”

I turned on my heel and walked to the back. We’d be doing some outside shooting, needing wrecked cars, maybe even blowing some things up. Carl had a buddy who did explosives, and I knew where we could get a couple of smashed-up choppers. Qindra would know where all the wreckage from this spring was stashed. Although, going back inside that chopper where I’d rescued Katie may take more nerve than I was willing to muster.