“Excuse me.” She stopped by a young woman putting out milk so slowly she was either weak or bored out of her mind because she appeared ready to keel over. “Could you tell me where the peanut butter is, please?”

  “That’s on the end of aisle two.” The girl spoke at the same speed she stocked shelves. “But, hey,” the girl said, stopping her, “heads-up that we don’t sell anything alive. I thought you should know.”

  “That’s so disappointing.” She nodded slowly on the off chance these people were indeed dangerous. They were certainly funny. Aside from DJ and his crew, everyone in this town seemed off the rails.

  “Like I said, I thought you’d want to know, so you don’t waste time looking. There’s not one thing in here that’s alive except for the people, and they’re off-limits.” The girl popped her gum and pointed to her. “Need help with anything else?”

  Wyatt figured it’d be faster, not to mention safer, walking with a local until she learned the rules of this crazy town. She handed over her list and followed the girl around as she put stuff in her cart. Some of the things weren’t on her list, but it must’ve appeared like she needed the odds and ends since they were on sale. The conversational factor made her ignore the danger part as well as buying canned beans she was never going to eat.

  “So, where can I buy things that are alive?” If this was code for something, she hoped it didn’t include taking illegal substances or running naked through the streets with things that were alive. That this conversation was making it into a book at some point was a given. One of the gifts strange but amazing people gave you was free dialogue, and no writer ever turned that down. She asked the question, hoping to get hit in the head with a clue as to what this was about.

  “There’s JD’s place over close to Jefferson Parish. If you go, though, don’t tell him what you’re doing with it. He’ll run you off with the sawed-off shotgun he keeps behind the counter.”

  “Why not?” She reviewed every word she said since walking in. Nope, at no time had she given the impression she had sex or did anything else untoward with live animals.

  “JD won’t like it, and he’ll give you hell. I’m not saying that’ll happen, but don’t take a chance. He’s the only one selling live stuff, if you don’t count Petco.” The young woman kept dropping stuff in her basket and kept up her bizarre conversation. From her inflection, anyone would think they were discussing mundane things like the weather or the price of chicken. It was truly strange, and it seemed to fit with the people she’d met so far. Her new house seemed to be located in some weird vortex, but she was starting to enjoy how off-center they really were.

  “Now you mentioned JD. Is he related to DJ?” She had to curse her name. The initials WW didn’t make for a cool nickname.

  “You talking about the plumber or the car guy?”

  “Plumber,” she said, trying to stifle a laugh. The answer made her sound like a native.

  “JD’s related to the car guy. If you need your house painted, then you call the other JD, the plumber’s brother. I think he also builds custom cabinets. JD, the brother of the car guy, just runs the feed and seed.”

  The whole explanation had been delivered in a deadpan voice meaning she was totally serious, which was as surprising as finding an image of the Madonna on a piece of toast—both should be considered a miracle. “Thanks for the information. I’m making repairs to my house, and I’ll need a painter. It’s not one of my favorite things to do.”

  “No problem. Anything else you want to know, hit me up.”

  “Thanks, but this should do it for tonight. You’ve been a real help.” And she was also going to be a character in the new book starting to take root in Wyatt’s head.

  JD’s Feed and Seed was in the next parish, but she made the trip after her personal grocery shopper said he was open until ten and happened to carry a large selection of coffee makers. And JD’s in fact sold things that were alive, as well as microwaves. For now she was planning to eat out, most likely at the diner, but being able to reheat coffee and takeout was important.

  The car radio was still stuck on old country, and she sang along to the ballad of some cowboy riding the cattle drive, thinking of the woman he loved. For some reason it made her think of her parents, and she was grateful they went together, as sad as it was they’d left her alone. There was no way to imagine the agony one of them would’ve suffered had one survived.

  “You think you’re alone, but you aren’t,” her mom said. “I might not be able to call you, but I’m stuck in your head for eternity. Aren’t you lucky?”

  She laughed as she wiped her tears away. The new porch gave her a sense of pride she was sure her father would share, and by tomorrow she’d start covering the outside with the piles of HardiePlank siding lined up along the way to the yard. She grabbed some of the bags of her groceries, then had to fumble with the phone as she struggled with the lock. This damn lock had to go.

  “What are you doing?”

  She closed her eyes at Blanche’s irate tone. In a way she was shocked Blanche had held out this long before calling. “Did you not understand the part where I said not to phone?”

  “You never said that.”

  Blanche was used to getting her way, and that was why Wyatt was convinced she was related to Sherman. Her scorched-earth method worked when getting great contracts but was annoying as hell when it came to everything else.

  “Let me say it now. When I’m ready to talk to you, I’ll call you.” She went back for the rest of her bags, leaving the small appliances until she got rid of Blanche. “It’s not that hard a request.”

  “It is a hard request, Wyatt. I’m trying my best not to have you committed until you come to your senses. Walking away from a successful writing career to run off somewhere to lick your wounds is crazy.” The other thing about Blanche was her ability to spit words out like she was the human equivalent of the tommy gun. They were rapid-fire and just as deadly.

  Wyatt didn’t respond as she stood at her kitchen window. It was the beginning of the weekend, and Hayley was already in her pajamas. “That’s kind of sad,” she said softly. The beautiful young woman should be out with someone who’d shower her with devotion. Shower her with devotion? Maybe Blanche was right, and she was cracking up.

  “It is sad, Wyatt, not to mention pathetic.”

  “Blanche, listen to me carefully. Stop talking, or I’m going to fire you.” She lost track of Hayley, so she decided to head upstairs to change.

  “At least text me your address. I’m worried about you.” Syrupy-sweet Blanche was back, making her miss Attila the Hun Blanche.

  “No, and stop asking. I’ve been writing for what seems like a hundred years, and I need a break. If you can’t understand that or can’t accept it, we’ll have to part company.” She saw that Hayley was now upstairs and in the shower, and she was missing it because of this fucking call. “Just give it a rest. Jesus H. Christ, you need a life outside of work, Blanche. Try and find one until I get back.”

  “You know how I feel. You’re the one who can’t accept it.”

  “You’re in love with the commissions, sweetheart, not me.” She leaned on the window frame, wishing she was getting wet too, but in a sense she was. “Remember, call me again, and I’m going to fire your ass.”

  “Okay, calm down. Promise me it won’t be months from now. I’ll be out of my mind by then. You’re all alone.”

  “It’ll be when it’ll be, Blanche. Accept it.” She ended the call, and Hayley was out of the shower, so she went back downstairs to carry out the plans she had for the evening. They weren’t much more exciting than Hayley’s seemed to be, but considering she’d never used an oven, much less an antique one, her night might be exciting after all.

  Back in the kitchen she arranged all the ingredients she’d just purchased and opened the first journal she’d found. Blanche was wrong about her being alone. Hayley was back in the kitchen, puttering around and glancing out the window every so often. That was all the company she needed.

  It was strange to her that she didn’t know Hayley but felt connected to her. Back in New York she’d never taken the time to know her neighbors or anything about them. She was mostly in her study writing and never paying attention to any of the people around her. This time around she’d do better. Well, when it came to Hayley, anyway. She had no desire to know George.

  “Time for all new things.” She started opening all the ingredients she needed. There was nothing like a little bait to bring all the pretty girls to the yard.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hayley stood in the spray of her shower, thinking about the conversation. Her mother was like an avalanche that buried you under what she wanted. Not that she minded her mom’s concern, but she wasn’t ready for the inquisition. She put her head under the spray and squirted shampoo in her palm, wondering if Butch could see her in the shower. She lathered her hair and remembered her mom’s opinion about her total lack of modesty. She washed a little more slowly.

  She and her mom got along, but that didn’t mean they didn’t butt heads. When her parents had visited last time, their fight, like a couple of times before, was about the windows. She lathered her hair a second time and remembered her mom’s opinion about her inviting the world to objectify her. That wasn’t it. She simply enjoyed looking out the window when she showered, and it wasn’t like anyone could see any actual body parts below the neck. Of course now her daydreaming while in the shower was coming to an end. She wanted to get to know Butch but not give her the impression she was some kind of pervert.

  The water started to cool, so she rinsed off and finished. It took some time to blow-dry her hair and get her pajamas back on. She was planning to take it easy for the weekend, doing nothing but reading and getting together with Lucy on Sunday, and they were going out. She didn’t want to share Butch, not yet, so working until then wasn’t the worst way to spend time.

  She glanced next door as she took out some leftovers that were as appetizing as a conversation with George, but that’s all there was. Butch wasn’t anywhere around from what she could see, and no matter what happened, she was determined to remain fully clothed. There was something about Butch that made her think they’d met, or at least she should know who she was. No matter how long she thought about it, though, nothing came to her. She couldn’t place her, and she couldn’t waste any more time trying to figure it out. Work would have to come first tonight before she got a surprise visit from her mother.

  Chips would have to do for now since her pasta hadn’t aged well, so she grabbed the bag and a soft drink, noticing Butch in the kitchen next door. She was facing away from her, but not far enough away that she couldn’t see the jeans. “I can’t be sure if you’re right in the head, but you do have a nice ass for a weirdo.”

  She took one more long look before heading up to her chair with the rest of the submissions for the anthology. These were so much better, both in story and writing. The problem with that was the better the story and writing, the better the erotica. That wasn’t helping her keep her clothes on. She needed to take her mind out of the sensual gutter and do something else for a minute. If her mother really was making the trip, she didn’t want to add clutter to her numerous sins, so she took a break for some housework.

  Her phone rang as she put a load of laundry in, and she smiled when her father’s face appeared on her screen. “You aren’t at the airport waiting for a ride, are you?”

  “I explained to your mother that I didn’t want to go until we plowed. You’ve got three months’ reprieve, so enjoy it, which means your neighbor is safe now. Your mom has learned the sleeper move, and it would do nothing for neighborhood relations if the new girl next door wakes up with a migraine.”

  She laughed, trying to narrow down where in upstate New York you learned to choke someone into unconsciousness, since she doubted he was kidding. “Give me a month, and I’ll even pay for the tickets.”

  “You concentrate on what you’re doing, and don’t forget to have fun. Even when I was in the pit, I was having fun.”

  “Thank you, Daddy.” She thought someone had knocked on her door while her father was talking, but she didn’t hear it again. “Make sure you guys stay warm and have plenty of supplies in case you get snowed in.” She looked through the peephole, but no one was there. “And call me.”

  “We will. I’m sure Special Agent Fox will have more questions for you once she’s put together a lineup for you to look at.”

  She pocketed her phone and opened the door, half expecting George to drop from the ceiling. There was no one there, and it took her a minute to see a covered plate with an envelope on top. She carried it inside and discovered what looked like snickerdoodles. She thought of her mother and what she’d say about taking candy from strangers. Granted, if she woke up locked in a closet she’d have to apologize to her.

  The cookies were phenomenal, and she finished one as she studied the word neighbor written in barely legible script across the envelope. It was a clear D- for penmanship. She waited to open it, wanting to savor more than the cookie since she guessed who the treat was from.

  She opened the flap and took out the card inside. It was to the point.

  Whenever is convenient, I’d like to finally meet you.

  The side yard was empty, and so was the kitchen window. She’d missed another opportunity to get to know Butch, and considering how talented she was at baking cookies, meeting her was a must. No one who baked this well was a serial killer, right? Hopefully, this was going to be the last missed opportunity they’d have. Butch had sparked enough of her curiosity and fantasies that it was time to have a conversation.

  Her phone rang again, and it couldn’t be her parents, so she expected Lucy.

  “Remember the new author we’ve been after? She’s coming in tomorrow at nine, so I’ll meet you at the office at eight. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you and promise not to keep you too late.” Marlo’s habit of starting every phone conversation in the middle was still going strong. It always made her think Marlo had imagined they’d been speaking for at least an hour and she simply hadn’t been paying attention. “If we want to diversify, we need this one.”

  “That’s true, and I’ll be there.” Thankfully, she usually knew what her boss was talking about. “You want me to handle the meeting, or do you want to?” The bedroom light came on next door, which meant Butch wasn’t lurking outside waiting for the drugs in the cookies to take effect.

  “I’ll be there only to remind myself what a great hire you are.” Marlo laughed, and Hayley heard Tippy in the background. They were the couple who proved opposites attracted. “Now tell me all about your neighbor. Did you get a picture of the snake?”

  “I keep telling you—I’m not getting close enough to the snake to get a picture, and I didn’t get a chance to make it over there.” She locked up, turned off the lights, and snagged another cookie before going up to her bedroom.

  “You chickened out, huh?” Marlo tsked. “I thought you were braver than that.”

  “I did not chicken out…Maybe I did, but she dropped off cookies while I was talking to my father.” She put her treat down on the small table next to her chair and got her laptop out. “Can you believe she baked me cookies? She doesn’t seem the type.”

  “What’s her type?” Marlo sounded interested.

  “Butch is talented in home renovation and stays home most nights.” She stared at the only room with the lights on but still no Butch.

  “She’s doing the renovation herself?” Marlo sounded as if that was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. Most things in life were better if you hired someone. “That is mighty butch of her.”

  She laughed at Marlo’s picking up on her nickname. “It is, and she might or might not be the owner, but she’s living there while DJ and a group of guys help her.”

  “The car guy does home repair?”

  “The plumber, actually. She had a plumbing issue when she first got here, and that’s who she called.” Butch came into view in boxers and a T-shirt with wet hair. That she’d missed her in the shower was a bummer, but there she was with legs that were as sexy as the rest of her. Windows in old houses really were the best if you wanted to visually objectify your neighbor in the nicest way possible. They were tall to accommodate the high ceilings, and when open all the way, someone Hayley’s height could walk through them without ducking. That was their function when the houses were first built and were taxed by the door but not the window.

  “I’ll have to come by and see all the changes. When we drove by all I noticed was the yard.” Marlo inhaled deeply, so there had to be a cigarette in her mouth. “And get over there before old Miss Hebert snags it all for herself. She took time to bake you cookies, so that’s got to mean something since it’s you who should’ve done that to welcome her to the neighborhood.”

  “I could’ve gotten her some at the bakery because I’ve never baked in my life.”

  Butch puttered around the room and finally sat with a book and crossed her legs.

  “Are you in for the night?” Marlo asked, and Hayley heard Tippy saying dinner was ready. Marlo was truly lucky. Tippy was a tall butch who loved life, cooking, and Marlo—she was the definition of winning the lesbian lottery. Tippy was a great combination Hayley had yet to find for herself.

  “Sadly, yes. I’m in my pajamas, so don’t ask me to go back to the office.”

  “Would I do that?” The question was a joke obviously. Marlo was someone who thought everyone worked around the clock because she did. It was great for her that she’d found a kindred spirit. “Kidding, and I’m sending you a story someone submitted today. I realize it’s way past the deadline, but you might want to make an exception for this one.”