It was my turn to snort at him. “That’s pretty funny coming from an agoraphobic.”
“Obviously, mental disorders run in the family. Think about it, you’re obsessed with getting back at Mike and seem willing to starve yourself to attain some form of justice that isn’t going to happen.”
“Yes, it will. I’m working on a new plan.”
Simon shuffled out of his cage and cocked his head in my direction. “Baby, baby.” He opened and closed his curved beak enticingly.
“He wants you to give him one of those jujubes. He likes the black ones.”
“Not happening,” I replied and reached out to touch the ribbed exterior of the spathe. But before my fingers made contact, Dougal squeezed my hand.
“Don’t touch it! Any stress at all could make the whole structure collapse. Do you know how much energy it takes for this Titan to grow tall enough to bloom?”
“Actually, no,” I said, wiggling my fingers. “We’re due at Glory’s soon. Is there anything to eat in the fridge?”
“I think there’s a Thai stir-fry. Mrs. Boudreau made it earlier in the week, and I took it out of the freezer this afternoon. As usual, there’s enough for an army. Help yourself, but leave some for me.”
I took my army-sized appetite to the kitchen, where I ate precisely half the stir-fry and drank a bottle of water. Dougal declared he was too nervous about the upcoming meeting with his ex-wife to eat a bite, but he kept me company at the table and nattered about harvesting his pot crop. I tried not to listen, figuring the less I knew, the less I could testify about, but the odd fact crept in about processing the buds and hanging the plants upside down to dry, and yada yada.
“So, how are Sandy and Randy?” he asked while I was cleaning my plate for the dishwasher. My parents’ names are Sandra and Randall, but Dougal seemed to think it was funny to use rhyming nicknames for his aunt and uncle.
“Fine. I’ve been thinking seriously about taking the money I’ve saved and buying myself an airline ticket to visit them. Maybe stay for a year or so.” Nothing was farther from my mind, but I wanted to see Dougal’s reaction to losing his slave.
“Oh. Good idea. I’ve been telling you to move on and forget about Mike. I’m sure Randy and Sandy will be glad to have you.”
I felt mean when I saw Dougal’s fingers shaking. He lit up one of his joints, and I felt even worse.
“I was just kidding. You know I’m not going anywhere, at least until I force Mike to his knees, and that might take a while.”
He smiled faintly and blew smoke in my face. I got up from the table, coughing.
“Let’s get ready,” I said to him. “Get your jacket and Simon and we’ll saddle up.”
Naturally, it wasn’t that simple. I had to hold Dougal’s joint while he struggled into his jacket and tried to force Simon inside. Simon had never been inside a jacket before, and wasn’t going there now without a fuss. Dougal told him he would have a nice ride and a wonderful adventure. For a bird that hadn’t been outdoors in years, this was not a tempting offer.
“Bad boy, bad boy,” he screeched in Melanie’s voice, making me wonder anew exactly what kind of relationship Dougal shared with his therapist.
“Help! Don’t hurt me,” the poor bird cried, this time sounding like Dougal. I forced the images of whips and black leather restraints out of my brain.
Finally, the parrot was inserted head first into the jacket. The fabric bulged and strained against the metal zipper. Dougal already wore a pained expression, likely due to the bird poop Simon was depositing inside his cotton cage.
I handed Dougal his joint and smelled my hand. Nasty. God help us if we got pulled over by the police. It was my understanding that police officers were trained to smell pot. Or maybe they just learned to recognize the smell from experience. With my exaggerated olfactory aptitude, I should hire myself out as a pot-finder. The police would save money — I ate less than a sniffer-
dog and didn’t need an annual rabies shot.
Things got dicey when I put my spare helmet on Dougal. He realized this was it, he was really going out there, and panicked. I pried his fingers away from the knob and pulled him by the arm to the curb, where I had to lift his leg over the seat. He sat stiffly upright, eyes glued shut, clutching my shoulders so hard I knew there would be bruises in the morning.
“Hold onto the bars beside your seat,” I instructed him. “You can’t hang on to me or you’ll pull us both over.” We wouldn’t be going fast or far, but still, it would hurt plenty if we hit the pavement.
I had to get off and position Dougal’s hands in place. Then I started up and we were off, off to negotiate a pollen-swapping contract between a wronged woman and a worm (according to Glory), or a man-eating barracuda and a wronged husband (Dougal’s view).
My opinion? They were both nuts and somebody better pay me a thousand dollars after this was over or I’d hurt them both.
Chapter
NINE
I left my face shield up on the short drive to Glory’s mansion, and the soft air cooled my flushed cheeks. It would be a perfect night to drive along the back roads outside of town, enjoying the smell of cedars, hearing the early summer sound of crickets in the grass. That’s the way I like to experience nature, whizzing by me on either side of a paved road.
Instead, Dougal ignored my instructions to keep his hands on the bars and relax his body to the rhythm of the bike. He sat rigidly upright and gripped my waist. There might as well be a 165-pound block of cement on the seat behind me. He wouldn’t shut up, either.
“I can’t do this, Bliss. Take me home. Do you hear me, turn this thing around now. It was a bad idea. I’ll have to think of some other way to pollinate my Thor. Maybe I’ll call Glory and try and set something up another way.” Since we were barely moving, I heard every word in painful clarity.
“Not a chance. We’re almost there, and you’ll live through it.”
“I don’t care. I want to go back home. I’ve changed my mind about the whole thing. Just turn around!”
A lone vehicle passed us and, as it glided by, I saw the familiar squat shape of a silver Volkswagen Beetle convertible. So the Belcourts were taking a night tour of the more upscale part of town. If they were looking at real estate in this district, they wouldn’t be interested in the Barrister property. I wasn’t disappointed, since the idea of a commission from a sale was a non-starter from the day Elaine handed me the listing.
With Dougal whining in my ear like a neurotic mosquito, I drove through Glory’s open wrought-iron gates and parked as close to the limestone steps as possible. Still, getting Dougal off the bike and up those steps to the front door was another challenge, and I ended up giving him a sharp kick on the calf to get him started. Thank God, Pan opened the door immediately. I shoved Dougal in ahead of me and stripped him of the helmet.
Pan and Dougal gazed at one another wordlessly while I divested myself of helmet and leather jacket, astonished to find I was still dressed in my black silk pantsuit. Not much protection if I dropped the bike on the way home.
Five minutes later, Glory and Dougal were squaring off in the middle of the Persian rug, standing six feet apart. Pan and I sat on one of the cream leather couches with a large bowl of popcorn between us, both of us reaching into the bowl without taking our eyes off the combatants. Simon had been fussed and cooed over by Glory for just under fifteen seconds, then tossed onto the teak coffee table. Simon squawked in protest but uttered no profanities. Yet. I slipped a magazine under his tail