Big Bubba was in a loud and aggressive mood. The floor around his cage glittered with seed residue, and he had painstakingly dropped every Cheerio into his water dish. His millet branch looked as if he’d held it in his beak and beat the bejesus out of it against the bars of his cage.
He hollered, “Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?”
He sounded as if he was fed up with being taken for granted, that he’d reached the limit of his patience, and that if he didn’t get a lot more respect, the world could kiss his red tail feathers.
I turned off his TV and opened his cage door. I peeled one of his bananas while he clambered out. When he was atop the cage, I held the banana up to him so he could peck at it. He went at it like a woman hitting a newly stocked sales bin at Victoria’s Secret.
I said, “You’re getting bored, aren’t you? Your mom will be home soon.”
In actual fact, Big Bubba had spent a lot of his life waiting for Reba to come home from the college, but I knew the house felt more silent to him than usual.
I spent extra time playing with him on the lanai, and I gave him a shower. While he ran around squawking and flapping his wings to dry them, I put fresh seed in his cups. I vacuumed up all the flung-out seed hulls and hung a fresh millet branch in his cage. I threw away the soggy Cheerios and gave him fresh water. I made his world as clean and organized as possible, but I knew he wouldn’t be completely happy until Reba came home. We all rely on that special someone to make us feel secure.
After I’d coaxed him back into his cage and chatted with him awhile longer, I covered his cage for the night and left him.
It had become habit now to stop at Hetty’s house after I left Big Bubba, but when I got there I saw her and Ben on the sidewalk walking toward home. I parked in the driveway, got out of the Bronco, and leaned on the door and waited. Ben trotted along with the happy look of a youngster discovering the world. Hetty held his leash with enough slack to let him explore interesting rocks and plants alongside the sidewalk, but short enough to keep him focused.
When they reached me, I knelt to scratch the spot between Ben’s shoulders while his tail did a delighted helicopter whirl.
Hetty said, “Come in for a cup of tea.”
She went toward the front door, snapping her fingers at Ben as she went. At least I thought she was snapping her fingers at Ben, but I guess she could have been signaling me to follow.
Ben and I obediently trotted after her, and as I went in the door I noticed a dark sedan parked half a block away at the curb. It gave me a moment of paranoia because cars don’t park on the street in that kind of neighborhood. I told myself I was being silly and went inside the house.
In the kitchen, Winston was asleep, stretched on his back on the windowsill with his front paws bent like a Japanese dancer. If humans slept as much as cats do, we might be as lovable as they are. Well, some of us might be.
I sat down at the table, and Ben lay at my feet. Hetty effortlessly filled a teakettle and got out cups. She had taken off the elastic bandage.
I said, “Did Jaz come back?”
She shook her head. “She seemed so scared when she left, I’m afraid she won’t be back.”
I said, “I followed her this morning, but she ran into the nature preserve behind the Key Royale. I think she and her stepfather are living there. If they are, I’m sure it’s temporary. The only explanation I can think of is that he’s a security guard.”
“That would explain some things.”
“It doesn’t explain why those gang members know her or why they’re looking for her.”
Hetty shook cookies from a square plastic container onto a plate. “She said she didn’t know those boys.”
“Do you believe her?”
Hetty sighed and poured boiling water over tea bags in a pot. “No, I think she was lying.”
“Well, then.”
“Dixie, I’ve had kids, I’ve taught kids, I know kids. Jaz is a good kid.”
“And her stepfather may not be working at the Key Royale. He may actually be a paying guest, and his money may come from gang involvement.”
Hetty sighed again. “He did look like a gangster, didn’t he?”
She poured two cups of tea and shoved one across the table to me.
She said, “It seems like such a straightforward thing to ask. With anybody else, you can just ask, ‘Honey, what’s your stepfather’s name?’ and they tell you. They don’t jump up and run away because it’s a secret.”
I took a cookie from the plate and bit into it. It was tasty, not too sweet, a little crisp. Had a peanut butter flavor and a hint of blueberry. I looked more closely at it. It was a doggy biscuit.
I said, “Are you giving me doggy treats because I deserve them, or are you just trying to get on my good side?”
She looked at the cookies, then did a double take. “Oops, wrong container!”
“Never mind, I like it.”
“It’s healthy too. Organic peanut butter and blueberry.”
Ben raised his head as if he might offer a biscuit review, then thought better of it.
As I walked toward my Bronco in Hetty’s driveway, the dark sedan that had been parked at the curb pulled into the street and sped past. A trick of the late sun’s angle cast a fierce spotlight on the driver’s face. It was Jaz’s stepfather. Hunched over the wheel, he gripped it with both hands like a man who’d been driven beyond his limit. The man had obviously been watching Hetty’s house. The question was whether he had been hoping to catch Jaz there against his orders, or if he had been watching to learn more about Hetty. As in gathering information to pass along to burglars.
I pulled out my cell to dial Guidry. I got his voice mail, which was good, because my message was more anxious than informative.
I said, “Jaz hasn’t come back to Hetty’s, but I just saw her stepfather. He drives a dark sedan, but I didn’t get a tag number. He was parked on Hetty’s street watching her house, and then he drove away.”
I went back and rang Hetty’s doorbell. She opened the door looking worried. When I told her about Jaz’s stepfather, she looked even more worried.
I said, “I called Lieutenant Guidry and told him, but just be extra careful. If you see or hear anything unusual, call nine-one-one.”
I left Hetty’s house feeling glum and depressed. It wasn’t going to get any better, either. Paco was still God knew where and Michael wouldn’t be home from the firehouse until the next morning. My own cupboards were as bare as Mother Hubbard’s and my refrigerator was pitiful. If I ate out, I’d first have to go home and get cleaned up.
Any other woman would have been able to call a friend who didn’t know a thing about Jaz or Maureen, and enjoy an evening of female talk. Any other woman would have been able to forget all about Paco being off on a dangerous undercover job while she laughed at another woman’s tales of the perils of dating. Without much hope, I ran down my mental list of friends who might have dinner with me. There weren’t any. Everybody I knew either had a family or a job or a lover that took up their evenings.
I was the only woman in the entire world who didn’t have a list of friends she could call for an impromptu dinner. The only woman in the entire world who couldn’t drop in on a good friend and eat with chopsticks from cute little take-out boxes like people on TV do. The only woman in the entire world who couldn’t pick up spur-of-the-moment deli stuff to share with a close friend. Clever finger foods. Stuffed grape leaves. Delicate spring rolls. At least cheese fries.
It was flat depressing.
Thinking about the available friends I didn’t have made me think about the friends I’d once had. Which was probably why I made a sudden turn south toward Turtle Beach. I wanted to talk to my old friend Harry Henry.