“I did not. Do you think it has something to do with my weapon being stolen?”
“We don’t know yet. We do want you to come see the vehicle just in case it is familiar to you.”
“Later.” He stood. It always surprised me that, close up, he shed the god-like bearing and was, to all appearances, a regular sort of man, albeit a beautiful and powerful one.
Every god went about hiding their godness in different ways. Odin’s barely contained wild nature tucked beneath his gruff disposition, Crow’s chuckling confidence hidden in his sense of humor, and Zeus, well, Zeus looked like he thought he owned the universe. But importantly, he looked like amanwho thought he owned the universe.
“I found it twenty minutes ago,” he explained as he led us through a maze of topiary that would have made the Red Queen happy and Alice very curious. “I was taking my drink out to the balcony to enjoy the fresh air in privacy.”
I couldn’t help but look around us. “We’re not in the fresh air? This isn’t private?”
He made a soft humming noise. “No, this is my parterre. Many people have been here. My balcony is a...for me.”
He took a left through a hedge that was a clever blend of braided tree branches and masonry work which created an archway only visible if you came at it from the right angle.
Well, it was definitely private.
“Step through carefully,” he warned.
I did, and so did Myra and Jean behind me, though Jean just grinned at me when I shot her a look.
I didn’t see Crow. I hoped he wasn’t casing the joint.
The arch led to a balcony.
If the parterre had been extravagant and cultured, this was something else entirely. The balcony was an arched platform situated at the top of the cliff side, looking down upon beach and the ocean beyond.
Oh, the railing was polished to a dull glow that gave the little space a bit of shine, but this was clearly a place to watch over the quiet stretch of beach with nothing more interesting to see than an occasional seal or the low, slow processions of pelicans pumping their way southward above the tattered waves.
A set of stairs spiraled down a central column attached to the side of the balcony. The steps ended at big rocks and tangled whitened driftwood that had been rolled against the base of the cliff like dice tossed by winter’s stormy hands.
Myra walked to the railing and studied the beach below.
I studied the balcony and the god who owned it. The god looked unflappable. He even gave a small toast with his glass before taking a drink. But his eyes were judging me, watching me. Watching what I thought of this space.
There was only one chair made of the same wood as the railing, bent into the perfect shape to lean back and rock in, or maybe lean back another way and sleep in. On that chair was a thick wool Pendleton blanket, striped in the red, green, yellow, and black of the Glacier National Park pattern, and two pillows.
A table took up the corner, a little cooler at its feet, three thick hardback mystery books on top.
This small space, no more than eight by eight said more about the god in front of me than all the lush extravagance we’d left behind. I wondered if he came out here barefoot. I wondered if he came out here to stare at the stars at night.
I wondered if this was the reason he stayed in Ordinary, if this tiny space was what he craved when he was out amongst the cosmic and unfathomable. If this simplicity was balm to his soul.
“I like it,” I said.
“Thank you.” He pointed his glass at the package resting at the very top of the stairs. “I didn’t open it.”
Myra crouched next to it without touching it.
“You found it and then immediately called Jean?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you open it?”
“I am very aware of what it contains. I thought an officer of the law should see it. Record the event.”
Myra took a couple photos, stepped back, and took a few more.
