Chapter Six
Sonya decided to keep what she thought of as the everyday treasure box in the Quiet Place—the guest room where Cleo had her spillover clothes. They’d add to it, no doubt, on the next search.
Maybe nothing, so far, provided any insight on recovering the seven rings, but every piece gave her more insight on the Poole family.
And yes, she thought again, it mattered.
But it was time to return to the now, and the now meant dinner.
It struck her.
“Shit, shit! I forgot the cake. I probably should’ve made the cake first.”
“Not according to my mama. The shortcake’ll get soggy. I’ll handle the cake.”
“Really? All yours. I have to make the fries—did you know you’re supposed to soak the potatoes?”
“Now?”
“No, after I play the mandoline, which I’m about to do. Then, the barbecue sauce. I didn’t even know you could make barbecue sauce. Why would you make something you can get in a bottle? A deal’s a deal,” she reminded herself, and got to work.
While the pork rested on a cutting board, she started slicing scrubbed potatoes.
“Okay, this is easier than I thought.”
As Cleo slid a baking pan into the oven, the dumbwaiter in the butler’s pantry rumbled.
“Oh God.” Sonya actually felt her blood run cold. “I haven’t touched that thing since the rat incident.”
“Nothing says you have to now. I can get Owen and Trey.”
“No.” Her pulse pounded, but Sonya steeled herself. “I told them to go out and have a beer on the deck. They can’t be here twenty-four seven to deal with things like this. But … stay close.”
“Right beside you.”
Sonya stepped in. “She’s been quiet today. It’d be just like her to … Screw it, and her.” She yanked it open, prepared to slam it shut again.
Inside she found a kitchen appliance.
“It’s a deep fat fryer,” Cleo identified. “I didn’t know we had one. I was going to help you make the fries in a skillet. This is better.”
“You know how to work this?”
“No. That’s what the internet is for.” Cleo hauled it out. “It’s clean as a whistle. Thanks, Molly.”
On an exhale, Sonya pressed a hand to the heart she hadn’t realized hammered. “I’m going to need a big drink after this. Maybe now.”
“Why not both?”
With the fries soaking, she started on the sauce, measuring, whisking. Praying a little.
“You actually like all this?”
“I do. Just another creative outlet,” Cleo claimed. “And I’ve got this fryer figured out. Team effort on the fries. I’ve got the cake, you’ve got the pork.”
“I’m hoping I’ve got the pork.”
“Cake’s done.”
“That was quick.”
“Shortcake.” Cleo pulled it out. “My first.”
With the sauce simmering, potatoes soaking, Sonya picked up her wine. “I left a sketchbook and colored pencils out for Jack. He took them.”
Struck, Cleo laid a hand on her heart. “Oh, Sonya, that’s so sweet! Art runs through your family, and his potential got cut off so young. We’re doing good things here, Son. We’re bringing the light. Before it’s done, we’re going to damn well blind her with it.”
She opened the back door. “Start up that grill in about ten minutes,” she called out. “We’ll prep the corn, then dry off the fries, get them going.”
Sonya had to grin. “You’re definitely the captain of this ship.”
“Goddess.”
“All right, goddess, I’m going to pull the pork.”
It worked, and so did the fryer.
While the pets ate, the four of them sat down to what Trey called a summer feast.
“You know, you’re now the pulled pork queen.” Trey took another bite. “This is amazing.”
“I made barbecue sauce. It’s going on my résumé.”
“Damn good fries, too.”
Nodding at Owen, Cleo ate one. “Team effort there, including Molly, who sent up the fryer.”
Sonya sampled one herself. “You know, they wouldn’t have had something like that when she worked here. I mean when she was alive.”
“She watches,” Trey said. “She learns.”
“I’d say they all do.” Owen studied the house as he ate. “That includes Dobbs.”
“Maybe. But I think so much of her is stuck in the past. She doesn’t care about today,” Sonya added. “Not about things like kitchen tools, technology. It’s all about power, and how and when to use it.”
“She has to know how to use it again,” Trey pointed out. “So I’d say you’re both right.”
“I don’t think she understands why I’m here. She just wants me out. All of us out. But I don’t think she believes for a minute I can recover the rings, break the curse.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
Surprised, she looked at Trey. “You think that, too.”
“She’s been here over two hundred years. Us? Everyone who’s been here before? Temporary inconveniences. Annoyances.”
“I’ll go with that. But not the brides,” Owen pointed out. “You don’t murder an annoyance.”
“No, not the brides. They’re usurpers, rivals—and disposing of them is a way to either hold on to or increase her power. Sonya’s a Poole, but not a bride.”
Following, Sonya nodded and took another bite of a—yes, excellent—pulled pork sandwich. “So I’m an annoying inconvenience. One she wants gone, but not so much a threat. Won’t she be surprised?”
“This Is War” played on Sonya’s phone.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Thirty Seconds to Mars. Nice choice,” Owen decided.
“And I say she’s had enough of our time this lovely evening. When do we set sail tomorrow?” Cleo asked.
“Can you get up before noon?”
“I can, with the proper incentive.”
“Sunday breakfast at ten.”
“Ouch.”
He laughed at Cleo. “I’ll cover that. Hoist sails by noon.”
“That sounds…” Sonya sighed. “Just frigging awesome.”
“I can’t say it’ll be awesome, but there’s live music at Maloney’s tonight.”
“Maloney’s?” Cleo frowned at Owen. “Is that the bar off Water Street?”
“Yeah. It’s not exactly a dive. More of a joint. They get a band in on Saturday nights most of the summer.”
“Who’s playing?” Trey asked.
“Tin Roof.”
“Ah.” Nostalgia made him smile. “We were them once.”
The insult lived in Owen’s eyes. “Come on, man, we were worlds better.”
“Maybe a few continents better.”
“Either way, live music on a Saturday night.”
“Dancing?” Cleo wondered.
“I take it you’ve never been inside. No room for it,” Trey told her. “Unless you hop up on the pool table.”
“Pool table.” Cleo slid a glance toward Sonya. “What do you think?”
“You made a cake.”
“Won’t take me ten minutes to put it together when we get back, if you’re up for it.”
“I can be up for it. I need to change.”
“Trust me.” Trey shook his head. “You don’t.”
“It may be a joint, but I have my standards. Ten minutes.”
“Twenty,” Cleo corrected. “I have my standards. What about the rest of the family?”
“A couple of hours—take my word, that’ll do it,” Owen said. “Jones will keep them in line. And if he doesn’t, you’ve got a houseful who will.”
“All right. Twenty minutes.” Cleo rose. “You boys can clear.”
When they went inside, Trey sat another moment. “Tin Roof at Maloney’s.”
“It’s Saturday night.”
“And Sonya, especially Sonya, could use a couple hours away from Dobbs, rings, responsibilities.”
“Seems to me.”
“I was going to suggest a drive to the village and a walk in the park.”
Owen grinned, and sang, “Old man, look at my life.”
And Clover picked up the Neil Young tune on Trey’s phone.
“So, Maloney’s and a mediocre garage band it is.”
Sonya kept it casual with Molly’s choice of linen pants in faded green and a cropped white tee. She put her hair back in a sleek tail, added dangles to her ears and white sneakers on her feet.
Cleo came out of her room in a short black leather skirt and snug black tee she’d paired with platform sandals.
“Did Molly pick that?”
“No. I explained I always wear leather when I go to a joint.”
As they started down, Clover added Megan Thee Stallion with Nicki Minaj and Ty Dolla Sign’s “Hot Girl Summer.”
On a laugh, Cleo took Sonya’s hand. “That’s one musically eclectic grandmama you got there, Son.”
“She’s all that and a Ferris wheel.”
Trey took one look at them and shook his head. “Maloney’s never had it so good. Okay, you guys,” he addressed the pets. “Stay out of the liquor cabinet and no wild women. Present company excepted.”
Sonya bent to give Yoda a rub, and ended up rubbing all three dogs and giving Pye a long stroke. “See you later.”
They piled into Trey’s truck. “I’m the DD,” he told them. “And I should warn you, the wine’s questionable.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a glass of questionable wine.” Sonya looked back at the house.
The sun would soon set, so she’d left lights on. And she trusted Jack with all the pets. A couple hours in a bar with live music, mediocre wine, and pool sounded just fine.
“I get in ruts.”
“Tell me about it,” Cleo said from the back.
“I don’t have to tell you. I probably don’t have to tell anyone in this truck. I’m saying it’s nice to be pulled out of my comfortable-ish rut for an evening.”
She added a big smile.
“Maybe we could play some pool.”
“Sure. Have you ever played?”
“Sort of. Hit the ball with the stick so it goes in the hole.”
“I think that’s golf,” Owen said.
“Kind of the same, but you don’t have to hit it as hard or walk as far.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Trey decided.
“Music won’t start for about another half hour. We’ll have a game first.”
“I guess you play,” Cleo said to Owen.
“Now and then. We’ll go easy on you.”
“Sounds like fun.”
They parked on the street and walked into Maloney’s, where the sound system played Led Zeppelin’s “Hot Dog.” Over the bar with its eight stools and mountain man–bearded bartender, the O’s and the Yankees slugged it out in the third. No score.
Tables crowded the space with a kind of bump-out for the pool table and a juke. The walls—fake logs and thick gray mortar that possibly had been white once—were decorated with signs for various beers and clever sayings like:
sorry, i’m drunk.
Owen signaled a waitress with purple hair, a nose ring, and sleeve tats, pointed to a table. She sent him a wink and, pursing lips of dark, dark red, blew him a kiss.
“We’ve got a reservation if you want that game.”