Текст книги "Tethered Bond"
Автор книги: Emma Hart
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
“What do you think?” Bek asks, clicking her pen several times in quick succession.
I snatch the pen from her hand, because good fucking God, that sound is awful. “I think he knows he’s being followed. You’re gonna have to call up Mrs. Leonard and tell her that, if she wants you to continue investigating, she’s going to need to arrange for rental cars. If not, mark it as unresolved in the records and close it.”
My best friend sighs and flicks her auburn hair over her shoulder. “I was afraid you’d say that. It’s been two weeks and he’s lost me every time. She said he’s going away for business on Wednesday, but it’s a red-eye flight, so he’s staying at the airport hotel tomorrow night. She thinks he’s lying, obviously. If I can’t get there in time, I’ll miss the last chance to catch him until next week.”
I exhale heavily. “Do you want me to follow him tomorrow? If I catch him doing the dirty, it’s case closed.”
“I don’t know. You’re pretty busy right now.”
“No more than usual.” I shrug a shoulder. “I can spare a couple of hours to follow some guy to Austin’s airport.”
Bek hesitates, but she knows she doesn’t have a choice. If there is a chance to catch Mr. Leonard tomorrow, it’s worth me trying before calling his wife, possibly closing the case, and leaving her wondering for much longer.
“Sure,” she finally says. “I’ll get you his details.”
“Okay, great.” I glance at the clock at the bottom of my laptop screen. “E-mail it to me, okay? I’m supposed to be having dinner with Drake.”
She takes her pen back. “Unless you’re interrupted again, right?”
“He should have called me five minutes ago, actually. Although, given his track record on punctuality, it’ll happen in ten minutes,” I grumble.
For a cop, he really has no concept of time. Unless it’s for work. Then he’s early.
Good thing I’m getting used to it, isn’t it?
“Just call him.” Bek shrugs. “He probably has his nose stuck in a case file and thinks it’s still lunchtime or something.”
True that.
I pick up the phone and dial his office number. It rings through to the answering machine, so I switch the phone for my cell and call his. He always answers his cell.
Except when he doesn’t.
“Nothin’?” Bek asks.
I shake my head and call my brother instead.
“Detective Trent Bond,” he answers, and the sound of shuffling papers come through the line. He sounds distracted, and I guess he is. Since Holly Woods’ police department isn’t big enough to have a team dedicated to missing persons, Sheriff Bates has thrown homicide onto it.
“Hey, do you know why Drake isn’t answering his phone?”
“Huh?”
“Drake. Phone. Not answering,” I repeat.
“Oh.” More shuffling. “Shit. It’s probably that bimbo in his office again. She’s been in there for fifteen minutes.”
“Wasn’t he supposed to finish ten minutes ago?”
“Is it five thirty already?”
“Five forty,” I correct him, annoyance stirring in the pit of my belly. God, that fucking woman.
“Right. Then, yeah. He should have. Want me to get him?” More shuffling.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll just come down. Do you mind?”
“Do I mind you turning up while she’s still here? Nah, go ahead. I could use some entertainment.”
“Nice to know that’s all I’m good for.”
“Hey, Brody already told her to get lost twice earlier when she called after Amelia came in. He’s still pissed that Sheriff won’t let him do anything but paperwork.”
“Well, that will happen when you’re recovering from having been shot.”
An incident I still carry an immense amount of guilt over. If I hadn’t insisted on him and Dev helping us check out the house of Natalie, the last murder case in town, my baby brother wouldn’t have had a bullet through his side.
“I’ll let you explain that. Are you comin’ down or what? Drake’s yelling. I think he’s pissed.”
“At Jessica?”
“Unless someone else snuck into his office through the window, yeah.”
Excellent. “See you in five,” I tell Trent, hang up, and throw my phone into my purse along with the few details Carlton, my tech guy, managed to pull on Toni so far.
Bek already left my office, so I slip my feet back into my heels and grab my purse, making sure to lock my office door on the way out. The only person here apart from us is my assistant-slash-receptionist, Grecia, and I throw her a wave as I pass her little office on my way out of the building.
Really, I should have guessed that Jessica is at the station, I think as I get into my car. With the fair officially opening in less than forty-eight hours and Toni still missing with no leads as to where she’s gone, it’s only natural that Jessica would take every opportunity to bug the hell out of Drake for answers.
She’s out of luck though. Despite his request for my help earlier, he refuses to disclose any details about the case. I know as much as everyone else outside of the officers working on finding her. Which really sucks, ’cause I’m pretty damn curious by nature.
Okay, I’m really freaking nosy.
It’s a perk of the job. Or, sometimes, not so much of a perk. Like right now. It’s frustrating. Mostly because Drake knows that, if I knew all the details, I’d be doing some investigating of my own. The only reason I didn’t add a request for Carlton to hack the police server and get me the information is because I’m trying not to ruin my relationship already.
Traffic has picked up in town because of the fair, not to mention that the population has increased by approximately two hundred because of the travelers who run ninety-percent of the fair. There simply aren’t enough businesses in town to sustain a decent enough fair, and besides—where would we stash the rides when they aren’t being used? So it works. The travelers come, and two or three of Holly Woods’ finest establishments set up for a week.
Giovanni’s will be there, likely with Alonso churning out authentic Italian pizzas. Rosie will have a stall for her pies, cupcakes, and fresh lemonade, and Dina White, the owner of the small mystical store we all seem to forget about but somehow manages to draw tourists in, will have one of her own. I’ve never stopped at it, or even into her store, but when I’ve walked past and peeked, she’s always had an array of candles and crystal things and charms laid out.
I don’t know. It’s that whole belief thing I still don’t buy into—never mind that I joined Nonna in prayer after Brody was shot. I would have given anything to see him be okay.
I pull up in the parking lot of the station, and my stomach drops when I see Jessica’s red Mercedes parked next to Drake’s truck. I was hoping she’d have taken her sorry ass away from here by now. With a sigh, I grab my purse and get out of my car.
Charlotte, the station’s receptionist and long-time admirer of Brody, greets me with a grimace. “He’s been yelling for five minutes now. We’re taking bets on how much longer it’ll be before she gets it and leaves. I’ve got my money on fifteen minutes.”
“I’m at ten,” Officer Bailey, a new recruit, pipes up.
“I reckon another thirty or so seconds,” Detective Johnson says.
“You can’t place a bet now that Noelle’s here. We all know it ain’t gonna last much longer.” Charlotte slaps his hand away from the bills on the counter.
I grin. “It’s tempting to join the bet myself. How long does it usually take?”
“Around twenty minutes,” she admits. “But he doesn’t usually start yelling this soon. I think he’s had enough of her. I know I have. She doesn’t even bother asking if he’s available. Just walks right into his office like she owns it, even when he isn’t here.”
The annoyance in my lower tummy fizzles into my bloodstream. God, she’s infuriating. Not even I just stalk into Drake’s office—unless he’s pissed me off, of course. But then all bets are off. That and I think most of the people in this building are willing to face Drake’s wrath if it means they avoid mine.
“Hey, Jon,” I say to Officer Bailey.
He looks up.
“Your bet is about to cash in.”
He punches the air in delight, and I push my bangs from my eyes and stroll toward Drake’s office. Trent catches my eye from his office, and like a little kid, he drops the papers in his hand and runs to his door. Then he leans against the doorframe, grinning, his eyes on me.
I flip him the bird and try the handle on Drake’s door. Oh, fabulous. Everyone loves a locked door. I knock harshly.
“Get out the damn way, Jessica!” he snaps on the other side, and a second later, the lock clicks and he yanks the door open. “What?”
“Hello to you too, honey,” I drawl sarcastically.
I don’t know if he looks relieved to see me or not.
“Sorry,” he replies, rubbing his hand across his face. “Can you give me a minute?”
“Love to,” I reply dryly, “but I can’t. I ordered a pizza on my way over here and I refuse to let you eat cold dinner again because you keep being distracted.”
“Distracted?” Jessica snarls, stepping to the side of Drake. “We’re working, thank you.”
I run my eyes over her, from the obviously tight blouse to the shorter-than-normal skirt. Huh. “Hate to tell you, doll, but dressed like that, the only work you seem to be doing isn’t business you can pick up inside a police station,” I say carefully, looking pointedly at her.
Trent snorts and attempts to cover it with a cough. Drake’s shoulders shake.
“Why you—”
“You what?” I raise an eyebrow when she takes a step forward.
Try it, bitch. I dare you.
That man you’re trying to seduce is mine.
“Ms. Shearer,” Sheriff Bates says from somewhere behind me. “You’re interrupting the good juju in my station. I’m sure anything you have to say to Detective Nash can wait until tomorrow, as you’ve already kept the poor man here way past his shift. Alternatively, take your concerns to Detective Bond and he’ll help you to the best of his ability.”
“The mayor insisted I work with Detective Nash on the security,” she manages through gritted teeth. “As he’s leading the investigation for that missing girl.”
Gee, the mayor sure instructs her to work with him a lot, doesn’t he?
“Actually, ma’am,” Sheriff Bates says with a bright smile, “I’m leading the investigation, and I’m sure Randy won’t mind if my top detective leaves and you and I have this discussion. Now, I can get some coffee brought up to my office to keep our thirsts quenched.”
Jessica’s expression turns thunderous, and the angry furrows in her brow as she frowns do her absolutely no favors.
What? I’m a bitch. I never pretended I wasn’t. And this chick is ugly when she’s angry.
Mind you, so am I.
“Of course, sir.” She reaches behind Drake, and he steps back so she can pass. She pauses right next to me and turns to him. “I hope we can continue this tomorrow without any interruptions.”
“Wouldn’t count on it,” I chirp, attempting my nicest smile. Unfortunately, I think it ends up more of a move-your-ass-before-I-bitch-slap-you kind of smile.
Ah, well. Sometimes, the fake smile works; sometimes, it doesn’t. What can I do?
Drake shakes his head as Jessica gives me a look that could sink a ship if it were a storm. She stalks off after the sheriff with way too much wiggle in her hips. The woman’s gonna fall over sideways if she keeps doing that. Her ass is like a grandfather clock on crack. Dong, dong, dong.
“Thank you,” Drake mutters, walking into his office. “Thought she’d never fuckin’ leave.”
“You do realize that her random appearances could be thwarted by the simple locking of your door?” I close said door behind me.
“But then I’d have to get up every time someone needed to see me and it’s so far away.”
“You’re so lazy.”
He grins. Lazily. “I know. You didn’t really order pizza, did you?”
I pout then twist my lips to the side and look away.
His answering chuckle is deep and sends a shiver down my spine. He takes two steps toward me. His hands frame my face, drawing my attention back to him, and I catch his smile just a second before he closes his lips over mine. I sigh into the kiss.
“Who told you to come save me?”
“Trent,” I admit, feeling the instant chill on my cheeks when he drops his hand and turns away.
He reaches up to loosen his tie.
“You didn’t answer your phones, and he said you were in here yelling.”
“Mmmm.” He removes the tie and balls it up, shoving it into his pocket. The thin end pokes out, shiny against his perfectly pressed pants. “She was being very…annoying,” he says carefully, tilting his head back and undoing the top button of his shirt. The second one follows. “Assumed that, given the apparently late hour, our discussion could be had over dinner.”
“Well, Trent didn’t tell me that.”
Drake smirks. “We’re tryna train you to keep your bullets inside your gun, cupcake. Not inside people.”
“I take offense to that. I only shoot people if they’re going to shoot me or themselves. And have shot my brother,” I add. “And maybe I wouldn’t need to shoot people if y’all showed up a little quicker.”
“I’ll take that to the next staff meeting,” he drawls, amused. “If you must know, and I’m real sure you do, the argument was over her refusal to move her ass away from my door so I could make her leave. Since I refuse to throw a woman around, I was stuck with her sob story about being overworked and no one liking her in this town.”
“You throw me around.”
“I throw you around when I’m going to fuck you. There’s a difference.”
“There damn well better be a difference.” I prod his chest after he grabs his jacket and comes back over to me.
“Come on.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him, kissing my temple. “Forget her. She won’t bother you tonight. Let’s get dinner.”
“Pizza?” My voice is hopeful. I follow him out of his office.
“Didn’t you say yesterday you were goin’ on a diet?” he asks, glancing over my shoulder.
“The last time Noelle went on a diet, she lasted two hours because Mom baked cookies,” Trent inputs, still leaning against his office door.
“Shut up!” I dart my fist out at him, and he only just moves to avoid it. “Mom does badass cookies. There’s no diet in the world that could make me give up those.”
“Or pizza, evidently.”
“You want me to teach your son more Italian curse words, huh?”
“Do it and I’ll tell Nonna you’re marrying Drake but y’all are gonna elope.”
“I’ll tell her you’re the one who told me to do it.”
My brother hesitates, grimaces, and gives in. Yep. He knows that Nonna’s wrath for such a suggestion would far outweigh her annoyance about me eloping.
Which, for the record, isn’t happening. No one is eloping. Least of all me.
“Bitch,” Trent mutters, disappearing back into his office.
I grin. Damn. It’s always a thrill to beat my brothers in a verbal battle.
Drake really did turn his phone off, and we had twelve blissful hours together before we were rudely awoken by a call from the station. There was a tip called into the station in the early hours. Toni Thompson was apparently seen by Jerry Parker, the owner of Holly Woods Inn, late on the evening she disappeared, with a guy he didn’t recognize. The decision to let Drake sleep until Jerry dropped by with the security tapes was a wise one, because for a homicide detective, he really isn’t a great person to wake up.
That’s a lesson I’ve learned, for sure.
I bump the office door open with my hip and sip my coffee as I walk in. Grecia is sitting in her small office, her feet against the edge of the desk, painting her toenail. She glances up with a guilty smile spreading across her face.
“Sorry,” she says, putting the brush back in the bottle of polish. “My girl canceled my pedicure this afternoon, and since Mike’s taking me for dinner tonight… It was quiet…”
I shrug. “If you knew how many times I’ve painted my nails when I’ve had nothing to do, you wouldn’t believe me.” And the big chip on my thumbnail tells me I need to do it myself. “That color is cute. What is it?” I peer over at the pink bottle.
Grecia’s guilty smile tugs into a smirk and she wiggles her toes. “I’ll bring it up when I’m dry.”
“And I’ll call Bek and get her to bring coffee.” I give her a thumbs-up and head toward the stairs.
I’m not a bad boss. Really, I’m more like a fellow employee than anything. But all of my staff members know I will kick their asses if they screw around too much. If you’re between cases and have nothing to do, go online and shop. If you wanna do a coffee run, do a coffee run—just bring me one, by accounts of fairness. And, on meeting mornings, hit up Gigi’s in Austin before you come to work.
The bastards still charge me for gas money. Even Carlton has caught on to it now. The guys have allocated themselves days to get the cupcakes, I’m sure.
My butt has barely hit my chair when Dean pokes his head through my door.
“You seen the news?” he asks.
I frown. “I just got here. Why?”
He walks into my office, all six foot five, two hundred pounds of solid muscle, and snatches my remote control from my desk. TVs in each office were a recent expense, mostly for this reason. Dean turns mine on and flicks to the news channel. The words that fill the ticker at the bottom of my screen send chills down my spine.
SECOND TEEN MISSING.
I pinch my nose for a second and motion for Dean to turn it up.
“…of Holly Woods, Texas, was reported missing by her parents in the early hours when she failed to return from a weekend at her grandparents’ and they found her phone turned off when they tried to call. She was due to fly into Austin-Bergstrom International Airport from Dallas, where her boyfriend was due to give her a ride home. He says she never turned up, but the airline has confirmed she did check in for her flight and was on the plane. Police in Holly Woods have taken him in for questioning, but he isn’t believed to be a suspect at this time.” The reporter pauses then looks directly at the camera. “Melissa Samuel is sixteen years old, with long, blond hair, brown eyes, and stands five foot six feet tall. She’s believed to weigh around one hundred and ten pounds…”
She goes into what she was wearing when she left her grandparents and offers the number for the police department line if anyone has any information.
I slowly lick my lips and look to Dean. “Huh. Two teens go missing from Holly Woods in one week.”
His lips thin into a grim line as he meets my eyes. “Yeah. Coincidence, Miss Noelle?”
“I’d like to say yes, but my gut says otherwise,” I say slowly, focusing on the screen.
It’s now showing a press conference with Melissa’s parents, Suzie and Guy. Both are crying, and Suzie can barely talk through her tears. My heart clenches at their obvious pain.
I can’t imagine how they must feel.
Dean quietly puts the remote down and pushes his hands in his pockets. “Kids don’t go missin’ here, Miss Noelle. No one does. Missin’ people are usually just lost or runnin’ away to spite their parents.”
And that’s what makes this so horrifying. Two kids, both sixteen, have vanished into thin air. No one has been able to contact Toni Thompson for four days now. While teenagers do go missing, it doesn’t happen here. Our community is too tight knit, and if you don’t know someone, at least five people you know do. It’s nearly impossible to keep secrets in this town.
“Carlton!” I yell, rubbing my temples.
Yeah, yeah. So the phone is right there. Big deal. The dialing of the numbers is too difficult before two cups of coffee.
“You called.” He appears in my doorway, his lean, muscular frame hugged by dark jeans and a slim-fitting, gray top. His dirty-blond hair is swept across his forehead, as messy as ever, and it brings a smile to my face. God, I wanna attack that mop with a hairbrush so badly. Maybe a little conditioner. Soften it up.
“Yes. Melissa Samuel. Can you pull up her information?”
“The girl on the news?” He darts his deep-blue eyes toward my television screen. “Sure. Anything in particular?”
“Yeah. I wanna know if there’s a reason she might run away legitimately. Check her school records for any signs of bad grades or bullying. Then her medical records for possible pregnancies.”
I want to believe that her disappearance isn’t connected to Toni Thompson. Fuck, how I want to believe that. If only my gut weren’t disagreeing the way my nephew does when you try to get him to clean up his toys. If you’ve ever had that fight with a four-year-old, you’ll know just how stubbornly my gut is behaving right now.
“Got it.” Carlton turns.
“Oh, oh, oh!” I tap my desk. “And the boyfriend. But I don’t know his name…”
“Brook Meyers,” Bek announces, holding out a tray with space for six cups of coffee. Two spots are empty. “Bottom left. Your bottom left,” she tells Carlton.
He grins and takes the cup.
Then she swings around to Dean. “One on the bottom,”
He takes his, and then she shuffles to my desk and sits in one of my much-loved tub chairs reserved for clients.
“How did you know that?” I ask her, taking my cup. Brook Meyers. Why do I know that name?
A wide smile stretches across her face, and she puts a medium-sized paper bag on the desk. “Mom teaches them both. She’s real worried right now, and she knows she’ll face a ton of questions when she gets to school.”
I grimace. Bek’s mom is one of the sweetest women on the planet, and she’s always felt everyone else’s pain as if it were her own. I’m real glad I ain’t her today. That’s all I’m saying.
“Brook Meyers, Carlton,” I remind him.
He gives me a thumbs-up and disappears, sipping his hot coffee.
“Dean, what are you doing today?”
“Not much till my latest leaves for a business lunch.” He has that excited energy we all get at the knowledge that we have the chance to close a case. “Been followin’ the chick for three weeks and she hasn’t seen another guy. If this lunch is what it appears to be, I’m closin’ the case and we’re getting paid.”
I smile. “That’s what I like to hear.” The non-cheating-woman-and-getting-paid part.
I don’t like finding cheating spouses. I never have. It doesn’t give one much faith in a relationship, I’ll be honest. Makes you more likely to take a butter knife to a pair of balls before you ask questions.
Bek unloads the paper bag as Dean leaves to do his thing. She deposits a cupcake box and a pastry bag in front of me, and I breathe in the rich aroma of Rosie’s bacon and cheese twist pastry. I grab the bag, and oh my shit, it’s still warm. I rip the bag open and tear into the calorific goodness like I’m a starving woman.
My best friend simply raises her eyebrows. “Hungry?”
“Mmph,” I answer around a mouthful of food, nodding.
“Where’s Drake today? Jessica was in Rosie’s with a mammoth coffee order and two other lackeys, so I’m assuming she’s been banned from the station.”
I grin, biting into my pastry again. Hell yeah, she’s been banned. From random drop-ins, at least. She has to call Sheriff Bates beforehand for clearance, and she can only enter to see him. Let’s just say Drake isn’t the only person who has a stick up his ass about her insistent harassment, and Sheriff Bates, as my father’s best friend, would rather see Drake’s fine Texan-Italian ass with my even finer Texan-Italian ass.
Mostly because he doesn’t wish to suffer Nonna’s wrath.
Oh, fuck. That reminds me. I need to talk to her about the wedding. I’ll stop by the store for wine before that conversation. And cupcakes.
Why can’t I have a normal family?
“Earth to Noelle.” Bek raps her knuckles on my desk and goes back to delicately nibbling on her pastry.
I, on the other hand, am almost finished. I make no apologies for my appetite.
I do, however, apologize to my jeans for the battle they’re gonna have with my belly if I keep ignoring my treadmill. Oh, who am I kidding? Damn pants should come with a stretchy waistband. Not my fault they’re unforgiving little bitches.
“Right. Sorry.” I explain why Jessica is no longer allowed to inundate Drake with her messages. “But that doesn’t really mean a lot, since as of tomorrow afternoon, when the fair opens, they’ll both be in open air. She isn’t supposed to talk to him, but we both know she’ll do everything she can to attach herself to his side.”
Bek’s face wrinkles into an expression of disgust. She hates Jessica by default, and even if she didn’t have to as my best friend, she probably would anyway. The woman is positively fucking intolerable. I’d rather have my eggs individually removed from my ovaries with tweezers than spend any time in her presence.
“Ugh,” she mutters, finally finishing her pastry and reaching for her coffee. “Does she not know how obnoxious she’s being?”
I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. I guess she doesn’t think Drake and I are serious and she can worm her way back into his life.”
“Are you serious?” One of my best friend’s perfectly arched eyebrows quirks upward in question.
I look down and run my tongue across my teeth. Well. If I knew, I could answer. We’re just…Noelle and Drake. Or Droelle, as my flame-haired bestie kindly shipped us several weeks ago. I’ve never put a label on us or really thought about it. We’ve been dating for reals for a month at best. That doesn’t equate to serious in the time sense, does it?
“I don’t know. Does spending five nights a week together count as serious?”
Bek grimaces. “Uh. As in evenings, or hubba-hubba nights?”
“Hubba-hubba nights.” I can’t help it. I grin.
The man has a GPS that gives him a shortcut to my G-spot, and let’s just say that Little Miss G is loving the visitor. For a part of my body that should be used to tourists, she was neglected in previous months.
Thankfully, Detective Nash and his skillful usage of his cock has rectified that. Swiftly.
“I’m gonna say you’re in the honeymoon phase just so you don’t freak out on me.”
“Thank you. You get me,” I say, sipping my coffee.
“Yeah, but it also means that, if you piss me off, I can throw out the big guns.” She winks. “Don’t forget you’re helping me stalk my guy in a couple hours, so don’t run off.”
“Hey, bitch. I’m the boss here!”
She pauses at my door, turns, and blows me a kiss. “Love you.”
“Whatever.”
I think I need to bleach my eyes.
“Well, that closes that case,” Bek sputters. “They didn’t even make it into the hotel!”
“No shit.” I swipe my finger under my eye to wipe away the lingering moisture from our giggle fest. “You see that shit? It was attraction at its finest. They were like opposite poles snapping together.”
She shudders, starting her engine. Then she passes me her camera. “It’s vile! It’s his wife I feel sorry for. She’s pregnant and she’s gonna lose her shit.”
I purse my lips. The pregnant wives are the worst, on account of their hormones. Thankfully, most of the time, their husbands really are faithful and just organizing a surprise—where we refuse to disclose all the details—or are working super hard to give their family a financial boost. But the times where they aren’t… Let’s just say we’ve called the paramedics more than once since Bond P.I. has been in business.
Still, I commiserate with Bekah. She’s the one who has to deliver the information, after all. I may sign off and authorize all of their cases, but when it comes down to the nitty-gritty, it’s up to them. I deal with my clients. It isn’t too much to ask them to deal with theirs.
Bek drives us back to the office, and I head straight for my car after saying goodbye. It’s better for my sanity if I get this conversation with Nonna over and done with.
Oh my fuck. I have to meet the parrot, too. Holy fuckballs. What if the colorful rat sides with her?
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it’s gonna side with Nonna.
Shit. Clearly, I can be swayed by the desperation of my future sister-in-law. I’ve really gotta get a handle on that crap. This should be Devin having this conversation, not me.
That thought hits right as I pull up behind Mom’s car on the drive. I take a deep breath, apprehension coiling in my lower stomach, and get out of my car. This feeling always hits whenever I get to my parents’ place, but today, it’s particularly strong. I know that Nonna will play the innocent card and make everything a lot harder.
I walk across the front yard, and a loud squawk rings in my ears. My heart stops for a brief second, and I bite my tongue. That thing is loud. How are Mom and Dad coping with that?
I knock on the front door twice before I push it open.
“Ye cruel wench! Ye vile wench! Cazzo! Cazzo!”
Nice to meet you, too, Gio.
“Hello,” I call hesitantly, closing the door behind me.
“Aye! Ye bloody wench!”
“Oh, shut up, you little shit!” Mom yells.
I walk into the front room in time to see her cover the offending bird’s cage with a bedsheet.
“Wench! Wench!” Gio squawks from beneath the black sheet.
Mom smacks the cage. “I’ll wench your beak real soon!”
Oy vey. Things have sure gotten violent in the Bond family home.
Nonna shuffles into the front room and, upon seeing Gio covered, gasps. “Kellie, you-a let-a him go-a!”
Mom snorts. “Believe me, Liliana. If I could imprison the little shit, I would! My curtains are ruined!”
I glance at the window. There’s a giant rip in one of the drapes. The ones she bought two weeks ago.
Nonna gasps and rushes across the room, her cane nothing more than a steadying tool. “Gio!” she exhales, whipping the sheet off. “You-a okay?”
The concern on her face is comical. Oh, Nonna.
“Vile wench! Vile wench!” Gio shrills, violently flapping his bright-green wings. “Kellie, ye vile wench!”
I squint. Doesn’t seem like Gio’s conversational skills are up to much unless he’s going to hop on the Black Pearl.
“Hello?” I try again, stepping fully into the front room.
Nonna is leaning forward, cooing at the parrot, and ignores me. Mom turns, her nostrils flaring.
She’s mad.
“Nonna, do you know you can hear that thing halfway down the street?” I inquire.
“He is-a no thing,” Nonna murmurs. “He is-a Gio!”
Yeah, whatever.
Gio’s wings flap again, and Nonna stands. Two beady, black eyes focus on me, and it’s surprisingly uncomfortable. A high-pitched noise that sounds awfully like a whistle emits from the cage, and I blink harshly.
“Did he just—”
Gio interrupts me with a loud, unmistakable wolf whistle.
Holy shit. The parrot just wolf-whistled at me.
What the hell?
“Hot wench!” Gio shrieks, his pure-black eyes still on me. Then he flies to the corner of his cage and grabs a bar with his feet. “Hot wench!” Another wolf whistle.
“Uh. Nonna? Why is your parrot hitting on me?” I look between the bird and my grandmother.
