BART ANDIHAVE WORDS.Really, I have words, a long, incoherent stream of distraught babbling, while he listens.The end result: Jamie, Bart’s herper buddy, who shows up with a snake-wrangling tool and empty pillowcase.
Jamie looks to be twenty to Bart’s twelve.He also has the face of an angel—fine patrician features, big blue eyes, and perfect blond ringlets that brush against the top of his shoulders.Replace his worn blue jeans and ripped black T-shirt with a pair of wings, and his likeness graces many major cathedrals.
Genni lets Jamie into the house.I point emphatically at the shuttered reptile room door.He doesn’t seem to require an explanation, but saunters forward with his looped instrument.I yank the door shut behind him, but not before catching a bunch of kissing noises and coochy-coochy-coos.As far as I’m concerned, he and Marge are welcome to live happily ever after, as long as I never have to go into that room again.
When he appears just five minutes later, whistling away, Istomp my foot and deliver more words.Less incoherent babbling, more pointed demands.He will go back inside.He will check the lid of Marge’s terrarium six more times.And he can feed chirping crickets to the agitated pile of slithering baby pythons who seem really hungry and have just had an impromptu lesson on how to escape.
I have no idea how much help Bart originally asked Jamie to provide, but about thirty seconds into my tirade, Jamie steps meekly back into the snake room to get the hell away from the deranged human female.So be it.
I retreat to the living room with Petunia, where I impress upon her the importance of staying away from the pythons for her own safety.
By the time Jamie appears to say all the snakes are handled, Petunia and I are watchingThe Simpsonsside by side, and there’s nothing weird about it at all.
Daryl returns halfway through our second episode.Takes in the scene.Grunts.
“Heard we had an escapee.”
“I’ve officially resigned my position.”
“Petunia know that?”
“Don’t be mean to my friend.”
A second grunt.
“All’s quiet at Nageenah’s apartment.”
I swivel around.“You’ve been there?”
“Got a system in place.Kids will be safe.”
“Detective Marc calling in more uniformed patrol officers, or you and Roberta working your own magic?”
“Something like that.”
I roll my eyes.
“Oh, mattresses will be delivered tomorrow.The crime scene apartment complex, right?On it.”
“You found twin mattresses?You arranged for them to be delivered?”I’m genuinely shocked.And impressed.And touched.
Daryl shrugs his massive shoulders uncomfortably.“Been there.Tough enough for a guy like me.Definitely not good for a family.”
“That’s really kind of you, Daryl.What do I owe?”
He waves a hand.“Nah.You can do the next one.”He pauses: “I’m assuming there will be a next one?”
“Thirty million people searching for a safe haven?Sounds like there’s always a next one.”
“People screw up people,” he observes.
“There is that.”
“Morning plan?”
I frown, absently stroking down one side of Petunia’s protruding spines.I’d expected her skin to feel cold and rough, but it’s surprisingly soft and warm, like petting worn leather.She closes her eyes, leaning into my touch with what seems to be appreciation.
“I don’t know,” I confess finally.“My main goal is to find Sabera before things get any worse.But where, how?Aliah swears that’s her on the crime scene video.But then what?Sabera basically vanishes again, and now her husband—or not husband—has disappeared as well.”I regard Daryl.“If you were on the run, or hiding from some kind of danger, where would you go?”
