“What are you thinking? Sandwiches?” Finn asked in a hopeful voice.
“No. I’m in the mood for something sweet.”
I grabbed the butter out of the fridge, then rummaged through the cabinets. Flour, oats, dried apricots, golden raisins, brown sugar, vanilla. I pulled them out, along with some mixing cups, a baking pan, a spatula, and a bowl. Finn settled himself at the kitchen table and drank his coffee while I worked. By the time Jo-Jo walked back into the kitchen, I was sliding the batter into the oven.
“Whatcha making?” the dwarf asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“Apricot bars,” I replied, wiping my hands off on a cloud-covered dish towel. “Which I’m going to turn into a poor man’s cobbler. They’ll be done in a few minutes, which should give you just enough time to tell us all about Fletcher and Warren T. Fox.”
Jo-Jo nodded. She took her coffee to the table and sat down next to Finn. I leaned against the refrigerator so I could keep an eye on the oven. It just wouldn’t do to get the apricot bars too brown.
“Fletcher and Warren grew up together in Ridgeline Hollow,” Jo-Jo said. “Best friends who were thick as thieves. More like brothers. Always together, from sunup till sundown. Sophia and I knew their parents. Grandparents too.”
Finn shook his head. “Dad never mentioned anyone named Warren Fox to me. Never. Especially someone who was his best childhood friend. What happened between them?”
“A girl,” Jo-Jo said. “They both fell in love with the same girl. Stella. She was a pretty thing who lived up in the hollow. Stella knew Fletcher and Warren were both in love with her. She’d go out courting with first one, then the other. She liked playing them against each other. Pretty soon, they were fighting over her.”
“So who got her in the end?” I asked.
A wry smile curved Jo-Jo’s lips. “Neither one of them. She ran off with a boy from the city. But by then, it was too late for Fletcher and Warren to repair their friendship. Fletcher moved into the city to start the Pork Pit. Warren stayed where he was up in the hills and took over his family’s general store.”
I looked at Finn. With his walnut hair, green eyes, and smooth smile, Finn was the spitting image of Fletcher at his age — and handsome to a fault. I wondered what Warren T. Fox had looked like in his youth, to give Fletcher Lane a run for his money.
“Warren’s store, is it called Country Daze?” Finn took another sip of his chicory coffee. “Because that’s where Violet Fox gets her paycheck from every two weeks.”
Jo-Jo nodded. “Been in the family for four generations now, counting the girl in there.”
My gray eyes flicked to Violet Fox, who continued to sleep on the sofa. “If Warren and Fletcher had a falling out all those years ago, why would Warren’s granddaughter come looking for Fletcher now?”
Jo-Jo shrugged. “I don’t know. But if the girl or Warren are in trouble like you think they are, asking Fletcher Lane for help would be the very last thing the Warren T. Fox that I know would do. Pride’s one of the most important things to him. Which is why he never made up with Fletcher. Stella humiliated them both, and Fletcher reminded Warren too much of that.”
I grabbed a cloud-shaped oven mitt, opened the oven door, and took out the apricot bars. The smell of warm fruit, sugar, and melted butter filled the kitchen, along with a blast of heat. A combination I never grew tired of, especially on a cold, gray night like this one. I grabbed another oven mitt, set it on the table, then put the pan on top of it. Finn’s fingers crept toward the edge of the container, but I smacked his hand away.
“I’m not done with them yet,” I said.
“Come on, Gin,” he whined. “I just want a taste.”
“And you’re just going to have to wait, like the rest of us.”
Jo-Jo chuckled, amused by our squabbling. I moved over to the cabinets and got out four bowls, some spoons, and a couple of knives. I also grabbed a gallon of vanilla bean ice cream out of the freezer. After the apricot bars had cooled enough so they wouldn’t immediately fall apart, I cut out big chunks of the bars, dumped them in the bowls, and topped them all with two scoops of the ice cream. My own version of a quick homemade cobbler.
Jo-Jo swallowed a mouthful of the confection and sighed. “Heaven, pure, sweet heaven.”
Finn didn’t agree with her. He was too busy stuffing his face to chime in.
I took a bite. The ice cream was a cool, soft, creamy contrast to the warm, heavy richness of the apricot bars, and both melted together in my mouth in a symphony of flavors. Jo-Jo was right. I’d outdone myself again.
We were scraping up the remains of our dessert when the front door to the house banged open. Heavy, familiar footsteps sounded, and a moment later, Sophia Deveraux enter the kitchen. Her black Goth clothes looked out of place among the pastel appliances, like a storm cloud suddenly passing in front of the sun.
“Want some dessert?” I asked, fixing another bowl of apricot bars and ice cream for her.
“Um-mmm.” Sophia grunted yes and sat down next to Jo-Jo.
Finn waited until Sophia was halfway through her ice cream before he asked her the inevitable question. “Any trouble picking up the body?”
Sophia’s flat, black eyes met his green ones. “Nuh-uh.”
The Goth dwarf ’s version of no.
I looked at Sophia’s clothes, but I couldn’t see any blood spatters on her T-shirt, jeans, or boots. Even though the fabric was black, I was good at noticing that sort of thing.
But Sophia’s clothes were spotless as always. The truth was I didn’t know exactly how Sophia Deveraux disposed of the bodies I sent her way. Didn’t know if she buried ’em, burned ’em, crushed ’em, or put ’em in cold storage. Hell, I didn’t even know where she took the remains in the first place.
But the grumpy Goth dwarf could get rid of evidence like it had never even existed. DNA, hairs, fibers, blood.
Not a thing remained after she got through cleaning up a murder scene. I’d often wondered if Sophia had the same Air elemental magic Jo-Jo did, if she used it to help her destroy evidence. In addition to smoothing out wrinkles, Air magic was also good for disintegrating things like flesh or sandblasting blood off a floor. But I’d never seen Sophia do any sort of magic, Air or otherwise, never felt any kind of power crackle off her. Another mystery I’d never been able to puzzle out, along with why Sophia’s voice was so broken and raspy. She was only a hundred and thirteen, far too young for her body to be failing her already. Dwarves could easily live to be five hundred or older. Sophia Deveraux wasn’t forthcoming with any answers, but still I wondered.
Sophia finished her cobbler, pushed her bowl back, and looked at Jo-Jo. “Movie?”
“I paused it,” Jo-Jo said. “Still on the TV in the den, if you want to finish it.”
Sophia nodded, got to her feet, and walked into the next room. I grabbed her bowl to rinse it out in the sink.
I reached for the faucet to turn on the water—
And someone screamed.
I whirled around, one of my silverstone knives already sliding into my right hand. Another scream rang out, followed by some frantic rustling. Sophia sighed and stepped out of the den. A moment later, Violet Fox lurched into view.
The girl looked no worse for wear, despite her ordeal.
The only hint anything violent had even happened was the crusted blood that coated her sweater. And the fact that her black glasses were just a tiny bit off center on her nose. Finn hadn’t fixed them perfectly. Or maybe Jo-Jo had straightened the girl’s nose more than it had been before. Occasionally, the dwarf would throw in a little rhinoplasty while she was working her healing Air magic.