Charlaine Harris - Day Shift

Bobo was examining a vest. He’d spread it out on the top of an ancient table with carved legs, which probably should have gone to Joe’s antiques shop instead of his own business. That happened, from time to time.

“Is that leather?” she asked, sidetracked for a moment.

“Sure is,” he said. “But I don’t know what the leather is made from. What animal, I mean. Could be anything.”

“Even a person?” She scrunched up her nose.

“I guess so.” Bobo seemed mildly amused by the idea. “It looks pretty cool, though, so I hope not. Maybe when Lemuel comes back, he’d know.”

“I don’t even want to think about that,” she said. “Listen, Bobo, I got a warning from Joe.”

“Joe?” She had his full attention.

“He says to stay in after dark tonight, no matter what.”

Bobo thought about that for a second. “Did he say why?”

“No, but it’s got something to do with Diederik and the Rev.”

“What about Manfred? His car hasn’t been there all day.”

“Joe texted him. Should be okay. I hope he’s close.”

“Maybe Olivia is with him. I haven’t seen her all day, either, and I think her car is gone, too.”

“Yeah, they went somewhere together. They took a couple of old people from the hotel. And the young guy.”

“Weird. That doesn’t seem very much like Manfred. Or Olivia.”

“I know, right? Joe’s probably heard back from them, but I may text Manfred myself, just to keep my mind at rest.”

As it happened, Manfred and Olivia returned to town an hour and a half later, having treated Suzie and Tommy to a substantial midafternoon snack at an ice cream shop. While Manfred dropped off Barry, Olivia saw the two others into the hotel.

Manfred had driven back to Davy to pick up his dry cleaning, and he’d lingered to drive by Magdalena Orta Powell’s office out of sheer curiosity. It did not have gold pavement outside, and the door was not set with gemstones. He’d also picked up some Mexican food for his own supper, and he was looking forward to heating it up. Though that put him much later than he’d planned, he was definitely in before his advised curfew.

Manfred responded to Fiji’s text when he’d had time to feel alone again. “Here I am,” he said when she picked up. “Way before dark.”

She was looking out of her front window. She’d been pulled to it ever since she’d talked to Joe. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Pouring a glass of V8,” he said. “Why?”

“The sheriff is pulling up to your door.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Manfred felt he’d had as much tension as he could handle for one day.

“I’ll let you go. If you need me, call me.” She hung up and worried, pacing back and forth in the shop. She heard the cat door in the kitchen make its distinctive clatter, and Mr. Snuggly came to stand beside her.

“Is he getting arrested?” the cat asked her, mildly curious.

“I hope not,” she said.

Maybe five minutes before Arthur Smith arrived at Manfred’s, Joe told Chuy he was going to go for a run. He hadn’t been going out since he’d hurt his ankle, but he was so restless waiting for the night to come that he didn’t think he could stay indoors another moment.

Chuy looked at the clock doubtfully. “You warned everyone else in town,” he said. “Do you really want to take a chance yourself?”

“I know when darkness falls tonight,” Joe said impatiently. “You know the longest I’ve ever run is fifty minutes. I’ve got way more time than that.”

Chuy gave him a very direct look. “Okay, you. No fooling around. You get back here in time, and don’t overdo it on that ankle.”

“Yes, Mom,” Joe said, and went to change into his running clothes.

In ten minutes, he’d done his stretching and began to run. For the first few minutes, he brooded over the fact that he hadn’t been kind to Chuy, and he promised himself he’d make up for it when he got back. And then the fact that he had no shadow, since he was running in the evening, was a bit spellbinding. He was used to seeing his shadow precede him, and he was constantly tempted to look back to make sure it was following him. He persuaded himself that was foolishness and pounded on with determination. It did feel good to be running again. It had been all too easy to take off days because of his ankle.

Which was beginning to throb again.

At first, Joe tried to ignore the burst of discomfort every time his foot hit the pavement. Then he admitted it but ran through it, because turning back so soon would mean he’d been foolish.

Then he admitted he’d let his anxiety provoke him into unwise behavior.

Then he fell again.

And he was down for several minutes. His ankle hurt far more than it had the first time, and that had been bad. This was terrible. He wondered if he’d broken a bone, for the first time in his long existence.

When he had gathered himself mentally, and the pain had subsided maybe a degree, Joe tried to get up. And failed.

He looked at his watch and began dragging himself back to Midnight.

After ten determined minutes, he had to admit he was not going to make it in time. If fate didn’t intervene, he’d be wounded and disabled out here with nowhere to hide, close to Midnight, when darkness fell.

Chuy might appear at any minute with the Suburban, but he might not. Chuy would wait until the last second, so he wouldn’t look like “Mom,” as Joe had so carelessly called him. Chuy was not overly proud, but he knew Joe very well. Yes, he would wait.

Joe thought about any solution other than the one that had occurred to him, and he came up with nothing. He was going to have to break a promise, and it grieved him. But he felt the surge of excitement even as he felt the grief, and he knew the guilt even as he prepared for the glory.

He sat up straight and let his other nature rush in and fill him. He became more. He became much more. And his wings emerged, white and gleaming, indescribably beautiful. He caught his breath at the wave of joy that filled him, and he willed his wings to move.

He rose in the air, almost screaming with the sensation, and then he was flying. Each powerful flap made muscles in his back flex, muscles he had not used in years. Even on Halloween, when he and Chuy let their wings out for Fiji’s party, they did not fly, because they had promised each other they would not. Now he was breaking that promise, and he would pay for it, but the moment was sublime. He circled high above Midnight, looking down, once, twice, and then he saw his beloved come out on the sidewalk in the gathering gloom to look anxiously to the west. With a sharp reluctance, he knew he must land, and he came down behind the store.

Chuy must have caught a glimpse of him passing overhead, because he was there in a second, his face a mask of distress. But when he saw Joe lying on the ground, groaning, he rushed to help him. With a lot of effort, he got Joe up, and somehow they made their way up the outside stairs to their apartment as darkness fell on Midnight. They paused to rearrange themselves about halfway up. From the darkness nearby, they heart a sort of chuffing noise. It came from some large animal. And without saying a word, they moved up the remaining stairs with a speed they hadn’t thought they could achieve a minute before. They went in the door as fast as they could and locked it behind them.

Then the only light was the light of the full moon.

Rachel Goldthorpe was murdered,” Arthur Smith was telling Manfred, at the same time that Joe was putting on his running clothes.

Manfred sat down abruptly. “For sure? How?”

“The tox results show that she had taken six times the dosage of her blood pressure medicine. Almost certainly that wasn’t on purpose. It had been dissolved in the water bottle she carried.”