At that moment, Katie came outside to get supplies from the back of her truck.
“Stay here a minute,” Aaron told Gabriel, jogging over to the vet, who was trying to balance three large boxes in her arms and close the back of her SUV.
“Katie, looks like I’ll be taking you up on your offer,” he said as she peeked out from behind the teetering boxes.
“Great,” she replied. “And your first assignment?”
Aaron snapped to attention. “Sure, what’s that?”
“Give your boss a hand with these boxes,” she said. “Damn things are heavy.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Where do you think he went?” Gabriel asked from the backseat as Aaron continued his patrol of Blithe.
“I have no idea,” he said, scanning the streets for signs of the wayward Camael. “Maybe he found another Nephilim he likes better and skipped town.”
“Do you think he would do that?” Gabriel asked, aghast.
“I’m just kidding.” Aaron chuckled as he eyed a coffee shop.
An elderly couple came out of the shop, and Aaron tried to see inside as the door slowly closed—but no luck. Besides, why would he be in a coffee shop—he doesn’t even have to eat, Aaron thought as he brought his car to a stop at a crosswalk, allowing an older woman with a shopping cart to cross. But then again, they might have had French fries.
In the rearview mirror he watched the Labrador tilt his head back and sniff the air. “Do you want me to get out and see if I can find him?” Gabriel asked. “I might he able to pick up his scent. He does smell kind of funny, you know.”
“No, that’s all right, Gabe,” Aaron replied. “He’ll turn up. Why don’t we just find someplace to stay that’ll take pets.”
“I’m much more than a pet,” the dog said with pride.
“So you’ve told me,” Aaron responded, taking a left onto Berkely Street. “Katie said there’s a place that rents rooms down here.”
At the end of the dead-end street stood a large, white house surrounded by a jungle of colorful wildflowers. A wooden rooms for rent sign moved in the breeze.
“There it is,” he said, pulling to the curb in front of the house and turning off the engine. “You stay here. I’ll go find out how much they charge and if they allow pets.”
“You tell them I am not just a pet,” Gabriel called through the open window as Aaron headed up the walk beneath a wooden arch bedecked with snaking purple flowers.
“Can I help you?” asked an aged voice from somewhere amongst the lush vegetation.
“Yeah,” he responded, startled, not sure where to direct his answer. “I’m looking for a room.”
An old woman emerged from behind a thick forsythia bush, sharp-looking pruning sheers in her hand. She glared at him through thick, dark-framed sunglasses that made her look like one of the X-Men, and wiped some sweat from her brow with a glove-covered hand. “I have a few—ain’t that a coincidence.”
Aaron laughed nervously. “Cool,” he said with what he hoped was a charming smile.
“You alone, or with somebody?” She craned her neck to get a look at the car parked on the street. “Thought I heard you talkin’ to somebody.”
“I was talking to my dog,” he said, studying her face for a response.
The woman scowled. “You got a dog?”
Aaron nodded slowly.
“You want me to rent you a room—with a dog?” she asked incredulously.
He sighed. “Sorry to have wasted your time,” he said with a polite wave as he hastily turned and headed back toward the car.
He was just beneath the flowered archway when he heard the woman’s voice very close behind him. “What kind of dog is it?”
“He’s a yellow labrador,” Aaron answered, not quite sure what difference it made.
“Yellow?” she repeated, eyeing his vehicle.
Aaron nodded. “Yellow Lab, yes.”
She followed him as he continued to the car. “My father used to raise Labs,” she said as she pulled off her work gloves and stuck them in the back pockets of her worn blue jeans. “Sometimes I have a soft spot for them.”
Aaron opened the back door of the car, exposing Gabriel. “Hey Gabe,” he said, “somebody wants to meet you.”
The old woman kept her distance, but crouched to peer into the car. Gabriel panted happily and wagged his tail against the back of the seat. It sounded like a drumbeat.
“What did you call him?” she asked, removing her funky shades, giving him a lesser version of the scowl from the yard.
“Gabriel.”
“That’s a good name.” She stared into the car. “What happened to his leg?” she asked, pointing at the nasty wound.
“Oh, he got bit by a—a possum, I think,” Aaron said. “That’s one of reasons why we’re looking for a place to stay. The leg needs to heal a bit before we move on.”
“That ain’t no possum bite,” the old woman said with a shake of her head. She leaned into the car and let Gabriel sniff her bony, callused hands. “What bit you, boy?” she asked, petting his head.
“I think it was called an Orisha,” Gabriel woofed.
“Would you look at that,” she said with a genuine smile. “You’d think he was trying to answer me.”
“He’s very talkative,” Aaron said, giving Gabriel a thumbs-up behind the woman’s back.
“He housebroke?” she asked, still rubbing the dog’s velvety soft ears and stroking the side of his face.
“Of course he is,” Aaron answered, holding his indignation in check. “And he doesn’t bark or chew. Gabriel’s just an all-around good dog.”
She emerged from the car and gave Aaron the once over. “Well, you don’t look like a Rockefeller, so it’ll be a hundred dollars a week, with meals—but you have to eat with me. This ain’t no restaurant.”
“That’s great,” he answered cheerily. “It’ll be nice to have something other than fast food for a change.”
The old woman studied him for a minute, then turned and began to walk up the path into her yard. “Don’t go thanking me yet,” she said, placing her sunglasses back on her face and removing the work gloves from her pockets. “Never told you if I was a good cook or not.”
She stopped suddenly and turned back to him. “Since you’re gonna be living underneath my roof for a bit, you might as well tell me your name.”
“It’s Aaron,” he said with a smile. “Aaron Corbet.”
“Aaron,” she said a few times, committing it to memory. “I’m Mrs. Provost—used to be Orville, but after my husband died in seventy-two, I figured I’d go back to my maiden name. Never cared for much he gave me, especially the name.”
She continued on her way up the path, tugging the gloves on her hands as she walked.
“Well, are you?” he suddenly asked her.
She stopped and turned around with that nasty scowl decorating her face. “Am I what?” she asked, annoyed.
“Are you a good cook?” he asked with a grin.
Try as she might to hold it back, Mrs. Provost cracked a smile, but quickly turned around so Aaron could not see it for long. “Depends on who you ask,” she said, picking up the pruning sheers from the steps leading to the front porch. “My husband thought I was pretty good—but look how he ended up.”
“It’s nice,” Aaron said as he walked into the room and looked around.