“So you just…had this in your oven?”
He narrows his gaze. “No, smartass. Agnes texted. I walked outside and took a look. You seemed harmless, so I heated it up. That’s what we do here, son. Especially on this street.”
“What’s so special about this street?” Perhaps I need a lobotomy. It’s either that or I’m running on fumes because actively engaging in this conversation is completely out of character for me. “And why was Agnes up at this time of night?”
“This here is R&R Road,” he sighs. “Short for Retired and Resting Road. The founders of Happiness intended this street for us folks who need a little more care, ya know? It’s the first and last street patrolled each day.”
“This is a senior citizen street?”
“Agnes walks Pothole at two every night. His sleep patterns are all out of whack. She saw ya first and called Chief.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The ridiculousness of this conversation keeps escalating. “Do I want to know who Pothole is?”
“You’ll see if you stick around. He’s a potbelly pig who’s kind of an asshole. The kids in town though, they told Agnes she couldn’t keep calling him Potbelly Asshole, so she shortened it to Pothole. All said with the affection of a loving mother, of course.”
“Of course,” I agree, barely containing an eye roll.
“You need anything, you come find me,” Moose says and steps back from my car.
“And if I don’t need anything?”
A knowing smile crosses his weathered face. “Then you stay parked here, keep your eyes open, don’t let anything happen to our girl over there, and you’ll see me around.” His smile fades. “She’s been scared long enough. It’s time someone stood between her and whatever’s chasing her.”
What could be chasing a woman like Clover Danforth?
“The packages,” he adds, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “They come like clockwork when she’s least likely to catch them. Whoever’s sending them knows her schedule better than anyone on this street. And trust me, that’s hard to do.”
He turns to leave, then pauses. “Park on the other side tomorrow. Agnes’s roses are over here, and she’ll have you towed for blocking their moonlight. Something about a moon goddess and restful roses.”
Then he’s gone, swallowed by the darkness, and I’m more confused than I’ve ever been.
I look down at the still-warm casserole when my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.
Unknown number: Moose says you passed. Don’t make him a liar. -Agnes
How the hell did she get my number?
My phone buzzes again.
Rip: Moose is good people. I got a casserole my first night too.
Rip: And I see you’ve been added to the text tree. Sorry about that.
Rip: She threatened to have me banned from the diner if I didn’t give her your number.
Rip: Roman approved it.
Awesome. Even my best agent has been turned by a street full of septuagenarian sleuths.
Unknown number: Moose may have passed you, but I’ve got my eyes on you.
Unknown number: This is Chief, by the way. I know every move you make before you make it.
Unknown number: That’s a fact. Pops here. You best not be on your phone. You’ve got our next sweetheart to protect.
Shaking my head, I return my gaze to Clover’s window, refusing to enter any of their numbers into my phone. They’ll simply be a passing memory as soon as we solve this case, anyway.
Exasperation hits like a kick to the ribs. It’s three in the morning, and this town has already scouted me, judged me, and decided I’m worth feeding.
