Chapter 16
Sixteen
Two hours later, at ten-thirty, both Zoe and Zara were in their beds and asleep. This was no small accomplishment. After half
a dozen stories, the girls were finally down for the night. K.O. tiptoed out of the room and as quietly as possible closed
the door. Wynn was just ahead of her and looked as exhausted as she felt.
Zero regarded K.O. forlornly from the hallway. The poor dog had been almost completely shaved. He stared up at her, hairless
and shivering. Zorro still had half his hair. The Yorkshire terrier’s left side had been sheared before K.O. managed to snatch
the razor out of her niece’s hand. Last winter Zelda had knit tiny dog sweaters, which K.O. found, and with Wynn’s help slipped
over the two terriers. At least they’d be warm, although neither dog seemed especially grateful.
K.O. sank down on the sofa beside Wynn, with the dogs nestled at their feet. Breathing out a long, deep sigh, she gazed up
at the ceiling. Wynn was curiously quiet.
“I feel like going to bed myself,” she murmured when she’d recovered enough energy to speak.
“What time are your sister and brother-in-law supposed to return?” Wynn asked with what seemed to require an extraordinary
amount of effort.
“Zelda said they should be home by three.”
“That late?”
K.O. couldn’t keep the grin off her face. It was just as she’d hoped. She wouldn’t have to argue about the problem with his
Free Child theories, since he’d been able to witness for himself the havoc they caused.
Straightening, K.O. suggested they listen to some more music.
“That won’t disturb them, will it?” he asked when she got up to put on another CD. Evidently he had no interest in anything
that might wake the girls.
“I should hope not.” She found the Christmas CD she’d given to Zelda two years earlier, and inserted it in the player. It
featured a number of pop artists. Smiling over at Wynn, she lowered the volume. John Denver’s voice reached softly into the
room, singing “Joy to the World.”
Wynn turned off the floor lamp, so the only illumination came from the Christmas-tree lights. The mood was cheerful and yet
relaxed.
For the first time in days they were alone. The incident with Wynn’s father and the demands of the twins were the last things
on K.O.’s mind.
Wynn placed his arm across the back of the sofa and she sat close to him, resting her head against his shoulder.
All they needed now was a glass of wine and a kiss or two.
Romance swirled through the room with the music and Christmas lights.
Wynn must’ve felt it, too, because he turned her in his arms. K.O.
started to close her eyes, anticipating his kiss, when she caught a movement from the corner of her eye.
She gasped.
A mouse . . . a rodent ran across the floor.
Instantly alarmed, K.O. jerked away from Wynn.
He bolted upright. “What is it?”
“A mouse.” She hated mice. “There,” she cried, covering her mouth to stifle a scream. She pointed as the rodent scampered
under the Christmas tree.
Wynn leaped to his feet. “I see it.”
Apparently so did Zero, because he let out a yelp and headed right for the tree. Zorro followed.
K.O. brought both feet onto the sofa and hugged her knees. It was completely unreasonable—and so clichéd—to be terrified of
a little mouse. But she was. While logic told her a mouse was harmless, that knowledge didn’t help.
“You have to get it out of here,” she whimpered as panic set in.
“I’ll catch it,” he shouted and dived under the Christmas tree, toppling it. The tree slammed against the floor, shattering
several bulbs. Ornaments rolled in all directions. The dogs ran for cover. Fortunately the tree was still plugged in because
it offered what little light was available.
Unable to watch, K.O. hid her eyes. She wondered what Wynn would do if he did manage to corner the rodent. The thought of
him killing it right there in her sister’s living room was intolerable.
“Don’t kill it,” she insisted and removed her hands from her eyes to find Wynn on his hands and knees, staring at her.
The mouse darted across the floor and raced under the sofa, where K.O. just happened to be sitting.
Zero and Zorro ran after it, yelping frantically.
K.O. screeched and scrambled to a standing position on the sofa. Not knowing what else to do, she bounced from one cushion to the other.
Zero had buried his nose as far as it would go under the sofa. Zorro dashed back and forth on the carpet. As hard as she tried,
K.O. couldn’t keep still and began hopping up and down, crying out in abject terror. She didn’t care if she woke the girls
or not, there was a mouse directly beneath her feet . . . somewhere. For all she knew, it could have crawled into the sofa
itself.
That thought made her jump from the middle of the sofa, over the armrest and onto the floor, narrowly missing Zero. The lamp
fell when she landed, but she was able to catch it seconds before it crashed to the floor. As she righted the lamp, she flipped
it on, provided a welcome circle of light.
Meanwhile, Barry Manilow crooned out “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”
Still on all fours, Wynn crept across the carpet to the sofa, which he overturned. As it pitched onto its back, the mouse
shot out.
Directly at K.O.
She screamed.
Zero yelped.
Zorro tore fearlessly after it.
K.O. screamed again and grabbed a basket in which Zelda kept her knitting. She emptied the basket and, more by instinct than
anything else, flung it over the mouse, trapping him.
Wynn sat up with a shocked look. “You got him!”
Both dogs stood guard by the basket, sniffing at the edges. Zero scratched the carpet.
Zelda’s yarn and needles were a tangled mess on the floor but seemed intact. Breathless, K.O. stared at the basket, not knowing what to do next. “It had a brown tail,” she commented.
Wynn nodded. “I noticed that, too.”
“I’ve never seen a mouse with a brown tail before.”
“It’s an African brown-tailed mouse,” he said, sounding knowledgeable. “I saw a documentary on them.”
“African mice are here in the States?” She wondered if Animal Control knew about this.
He nodded again. “So I gather.”
“What do we do now?” Because Wynn seemed to know more about this sort of thing, she looked to him for the answer.
“Kill it,” he said without a qualm.
Zero and Zorro obviously agreed, because they both growled and clawed at the carpet, asking for the opportunity to do it themselves.
“No way!” K.O. objected. She couldn’t allow him to kill it. The terriers, either. Although mice terrified her, K.O. couldn’t
bear to hurt any of God’s creatures. “All I want you to do is get that brown-tailed mouse out of here.” As soon as Zelda returned,
K.O. planned to suggest she call a pest control company to inspect the entire house. Although, if there were other mice around,
she didn’t want to know it . . . .
“All right,” Wynn muttered. “I’ll take it outside and release it.”
He got a newspaper and knelt down next to the dogs. Carefully, inch by inch, he slid the paper beneath the upended basket.
When he’d finished that, he stood and carried the whole thing to the front door. Zero and Zorro followed, leaping up on their
hind legs and barking wildly.
K.O. hurried to open first the door and then the screen. The cold air felt good against her heated face.
Wynn stepped onto the porch while K.O. held back the dogs by closing the screen door. They both objected strenuously and braced their front paws against the door, watching Wynn’s every movement.
K.O. turned her back as Wynn released the African brown-tailed mouse into the great unknown. She wished the critter a pleasant
life outside.
“Is it gone?” she asked when Wynn came back into the house, careful to keep Zero and Zorro from escaping and racing after
the varmint.
“It’s gone, and I didn’t even need to touch it,” he assured her. He closed the door.
K.O. smiled up at him. “My hero,” she whispered.
Wynn playfully flexed his muscles. “Anything else I can do for you, my fair damsel?”
Looping her arms around his neck, K.O. backed him up against the front door and rewarded him with a warm, moist kiss. Wynn
wrapped his arms about her waist and half lifted her from the carpet.
“You are my hero,” she whispered between kisses. “You saved me from that killer mouse.”
“The African brown-tailed killer rat.”
“It was a rat?”
“A small one,” he murmured, and kissed her again before she could ask more questions.
“A baby rat?” That meant there must be parents around and possibly siblings, perhaps any number of other little rats. “What
makes you think it was a rat?” she demanded, fast losing interest in kissing.
“He was fat. But perhaps he was just a fat mouse.”
“Ah . . .”
“You’re still grateful?”
“Very grateful, but—”
He kissed her again, then abruptly broke off the kiss. His eyes seemed to focus on something across the room.
K.O. tensed, afraid he’d seen another mouse. Or rat. Or rodent of some description.
It took genuine courage to glance over her shoulder, but she did it anyway. Fortunately she didn’t see anything—other than
an overturned Christmas tree, scattered furniture and general chaos brought about by the Great Brown-Tailed Mouse Hunt.
“The fishbowl has blue water,” he said.
“Blue water?” K.O. dropped her arms and stared at the counter between the kitchen and the living room, where the fishbowl
sat. Sure enough, the water was a deep blue.
Wynn walked across the room.
Before K.O. could ask what he was doing, Wynn pushed up his sweater sleeve and thrust his hand into the water. “Just as I
thought,” he muttered, retrieving a gold pen.
After she’d found the twins with Wynn’s electric shaver, she realized, they’d opened his overnight case.
“This is a gold fountain pen,” he told her, holding up the dripping pen. “As it happens, this is a valuable gold fountain pen.”
“With blue ink,” K.O. added. She didn’t think it could be too valuable, since it was leaking.
She picked up the bowl with both hands and carried it into the kitchen, setting it in the sink. Scooping out the two goldfish,
she put them in a temporary home—a coffee cup full of fresh, clean water—and refilled the bowl.
Wynn was pacing the kitchen floor behind her.
“Does your book say anything about situations like this?” she couldn’t resist asking.
He glared at her and apparently that was all the answer he intended to give.
“Aunt Katherine?” one of the twins shouted. “Come quick.” K.O. heard unmistakable panic in the little girl’s voice.
Soon the two girls were both crying out.
Hurrying into the bedroom with Wynn right behind her, K.O. found Zoe and Zara weeping loudly.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Freddy’s gone,” Zoe wailed.
“Freddy?” she repeated. “Who’s Freddy?”
“Our hamster,” Zoe explained, pointing at what K.O. now recognized as a cage against the far wall. “He must’ve figured out
how to open his cage.”
A chill went through her. “Does Freddy have a brown tail and happen to be a little chubby?” she asked the girls.
Hope filled their eyes as they nodded eagerly.
K.O. scowled at Wynn. African brown-tailed mouse, indeed.