Tim Wynne-Jones - The Uninvited

The officer considered the idea. “Could be,” he said.

“Because it’s weird,” said Mimi, “but somebody nearby said the same thing you just said a few days ago.”

“What do you mean?”

Mimi turned to Jay. “Remember when I told you about my run-in with Stooley Peters?” He nodded. “I told him we were having problems, and he said it could be kids. Which really bugs me because kids always get blamed.” Then she turned back to the officer, her eyes big. “And that might explain leaving the iPod. I mean, a kid wouldn’t leave it, but an old geezer might.”

It was a good point. Roach pursed his lips.

“Who’s this Peters fellow?”

Mimi told him where Peters lived. The policeman said he would look into it.

“Good,” said Mimi. “Thanks.”

“I’m not promising anything.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’ll piss him off, anyway, which is fine by me.”

“Do you think Peters screwed around with your computer?” said Jay.

Mimi shrugged. “Maybe he was going to steal it and then he dropped it, which is why it’s beeping. I don’t know.”

“We’ll be sure to get in touch with Mr. Peters,” said Roach, closing his notebook. “But, like I said, you get any ideas-you come to us. You hear me?” The warning was clear.

Mimi nodded but she didn’t look any too happy.

They headed down the lawn with Roach. “Can you answer me one more question?” Mimi asked.

“What’s that?” the cop asked.

“Do they have the death penalty up here?”

Roach chuckled and, shaking his head, went on his way.

“Bet he doesn’t talk to Peters.”

“He said he was going to.”

Mimi snorted. “Yeah, right, he was one step away from patting me on the head and saying, ‘There, there, little lady.’ What an asshole.”

Jay went to give her a hug, but she sloughed it off.

“Hey,” he said. “In case you forgot, I also got ripped off.” He had no idea if the stuff was covered by his mother’s home insurance. She’d said something about it once, but he hadn’t paid much attention.

Back at the house, Mimi went straight to her desk. She sat down, leaning on her elbows, staring at her laptop. “I’m sorry, Jay,” she said. “I just feel violated. And why is it that cops make you feel like you’re to blame?”

Jay rested his hand on her shoulder but sensed somehow that she didn’t want to be mollified, so he pulled away. But he didn’t go away. And after a bit, he leaned his backside on her desk so that they would be facing each other if and when she decided to look up.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Pack up and leave.”

She looked furious. “Hell no,” she said. “That’s what this guy wanted all along.”

“And we ignored him so he gets tough, and now I’m out two very expensive instruments and you’re out a camcorder. We stay and what’s he going to do for encores?”

Mimi’s eyes flashed. “Get his balls shot off,” she said.

Jay smiled. “Guns aren’t easy to score up here.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said.

He looked at her hard. She was kidding-had to be.

“You’ve sure got a lot of moxie,” he said.

“I don’t know about that. Hey, I don’t even know what moxie is, come to think of it. But this whole thing sucks, Jay. Whoever was leaving you bluebirds and snake skins, and figured out how to get in here without ever leaving a trace is not the same person who smashed in my window. Think about it.”

Jay nodded. But he was thinking that the guy who filmed Mimi at the window with her own camera might just want it back to see his handiwork. It was all pretty ugly.

He couldn’t tell if Mimi had thought about what purpose the thief might have for the camera. She seemed angrier than anything. She didn’t just want her stuff back-she wanted to get even. There was bravery in her he didn’t feel himself. If she wanted to stay, then he’d tough it out. But he could feel his strength slipping away. He could feel a darkness seeping into him. It wasn’t just the guitars; it was bigger than that. He doubted Mimi would understand. Rage kept such feelings at bay. Rage burned up sorrow.

She stood up and put her arms around him. He held her tightly, trembling. Finally they pulled apart. She pushed the hair back from his forehead. “You looked as if you were floating away on me,” she said.

He nodded.

“I’m sorry about your guitars,” she said. “That is totally shit.”

“And I’m sorry about your pretty red camcorder and the beeping computer,” he said. “But there’s this place in town. PDQ Electronics. The owner knows Macs.”

PDQ Electronics was tucked behind an office-supply store down an alley off Forster. Without Jay’s instructions, Mimi doubted she would ever have found the place. Computer repairs were obviously not a Main Street business in these parts.

A buzzer sounded as she entered, but no one appeared at the counter. Mimi contented herself with looking around. She picked up a packet of recordable discs and a new ink jet for her printer, assuming-hoping-she’d be able to use her printer again.

Still no service, although she thought she heard someone in the back room. She cleared her throat. Nothing.

“Hello? Anybody home?”

And now a man appeared, wiping his hands on a white cloth, stopping in the doorway with a startled look on his face.

“Are you open?” said Mimi.

He recovered and smiled shyly. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry, I was listening to something on my iPod.” He looked down, bashfully, but when he raised his head, he looked straight into her eyes and his own eyes were on high beam. They were deep blue-as blue as the logo on the Epson ink cartridge in her hand. Ink-cartridge blue. Amazing.

“Well, there’s no law against that,” she said.

He frowned. “Pardon?” he said.

“Against listening to your iPod,” said Mimi, heading toward the counter-drawn toward it, more like. “Unless you’re listening to Whitesnake,” she said. “I think there may be a law against that.”

Again with the awkward grin. Not a bad face. His nose was on the large size but noble, she decided. And there was a leftover smattering of acne on his neck. But what a neck-like steel cables. He was in his early twenties, she guessed. Thick through the shoulders, sculpted biceps. And all of it on display since he was wearing nothing but a T-shirt tucked into jeans with a big rodeo-type belt buckle. He shrugged.

“I’m not much on Whitesnake,” he said. “I was listening to this band out of Montreal. Arcade Fire?”

Now it was her turn to look surprised. “Get out of town,” she said. “Really?”

“Yeah. There isn’t a law against them, is there?”

She laughed. “No, it’s just… well, so sick,” she said.

“Pardon?”

“I mean sick like ‘That is so sick, man. Like good sick. Oh, never mind.”

She stopped herself-faked zipping up her lips. And he just stared at her, his mouth a little open, tempting her to zip his lips closed as well. But no, touching his lips would not be a good idea. There was something disturbing about him. Not bad disturbing. You’re here on business, Mimi, she told herself, and hoisted her computer case onto the counter.

“You got some kind of problem?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Big-time. But a friend of mine said you’re the man to see.”

She pulled out her laptop and laid it before him on the counter.

“A PowerBook,” he said. “Mr. Pretty’s the Mac guy.”

“And he’s…”

“Uh, well, he’s on vacation this week.”

“Right,” said Mimi, and tapped a little tattoo on the counter with her fingernails. Then she smiled sweetly. “So I’m stuck with you?” she said, and hoped it didn’t sound too flirtatious. What had come over her, for God’s sake?