“You know that off the top of your head?”
“If we’d disappeared her, we’d have a record of that right next to any record on her husband, which there isn’t. We like to keep our lies straight, and the only way to do that is to keep track of them.”
“When it comes to lying, I guess you’d know.”
“Got that right.” She sounded proud, and maybe she was. Her lies, and those of her colleagues and underlings, were what allowed the world to continue turning on its merry axis, secure in the false knowledge that monsters were not crawling all over the place.
I started to thank her, but Elise was already gone.
Chapter 23
As I ended the call on my side, something howled out there in the night. Spirit wolf or real wolf? Didn’t matter. The sound reminded me that I needed to check on Quatie. I got to my feet and headed for the door.
The rush of air from my movement caused something to swoosh out from under a bookcase against the front wall. Whatever it was, it was as light as a—
“Feather.” I snatched it up.
I’d never had a feather in here that I could recall, except for Ian’s, and this wasn’t his. Not only had I seen the eagle feather in place in his hair earlier today, but the one I held in my hand wasn’t from an eagle.
Big and black without a hint of white, I had no idea what kind it was or how it had gotten here. Feathers this big didn’t appear out of nowhere. Or maybe they did in this new world evolving every day in Lake Bluff. I put the feather into the top desk drawer for later perusal.
Aaaewww!
I jumped. The howl seemed to come from right outside my window.
“Coming.” I ran down two flights of stairs.
However, when I went outside, the wolf wasn’t there, and she had gone as silent as the ghost she no doubt was. I jumped into my dad’s pickup and headed north.
Quatie sat on her porch. As I got out, she stood, moving a lot easier than the last time I’d visited. That balm of Ian’s really needed to be bottled and sold.
Seeing her get around so much better, I was relieved. I’d brought Ian to Quatie—at her request, true, but I never would have forgiven myself if his cure had harmed rather than helped.
Several sticks lay on the ground in front of the house. Kindling, most likely. I scooped them into my arms, frowning when I saw the ends had been honed to points.
“I whittle,” Quatie said without my asking. “Not very good at it.”
If she’d been trying to make a mammal or a bird, she wasn’t. If she’d been aiming at poking out someone’s eye, I’d have to change my mind. Physicians recommended handiwork to soothe arthritis, the movement working out the kinks. Quatie must have taken up whittling for just that reason.
I wondered if Ian had been back to visit without me and had suggested it, but I wasn’t going to ask. The subject of Ian Walker was still a little raw.
She’d shoved one spike into the ground at the corner of the house; the pointy end stuck straight up.
“A little dangerous.” I indicated the stick.
“For squirrels.”
I wasn’t sure if they were meant to keep the squirrels away, entertain them, or skewer them, and I had no chance to ask before she went into the house. I followed, marveling again at how much her gait had improved. Even with the miracle balm, the progress was amazing. Then I saw a probable reason why on the table and forgot all about pointy sticks and squirrels.
“Moonshine’s illegal.”
“You going to turn me in?” She squinted through cataract-murky eyes. “This settles the pain in my old bones.”
It would probably eat her old bones if she drank too much. I was concerned it might eat right through her stomach lining, too, but she slammed back a shot, licked her lips, and smiled with more teeth than I recalled her having. She must have gotten dentures. I only hoped the moonshine didn’t ruin them.
I declined her offer of a shot. I spent a lot of time chasing stills in these mountains. Theoretically, moonshine was dangerous. Too much alcohol in the mix and a person could go blind. In truth, the old folks who made it had been brewing the stuff for decades and they knew what they were doing.
I could tell by the jar and the shade of the brew that Quatie had gotten hers from Granny McGinty, the biggest moonshiner in the county because she made good hooch for a reasonable price.