“Poor little bird. I want to see if it’s okay.”
She snorted, crossed her arms, and told me she’d wait for me. I edged along the side of the building to the back. But there was no sign of the bird on the ground, and no blood or other obvious signs of trauma on the window. As I was looking around, Juna spotted me through the glass, made some sort of hand gesture, and then spit three times over her left shoulder.
I didn’t have to be up on Russian culture to know what that meant. Juna was spitting on the devil.
“It’s not there,” I said as I rejoined Patience, who lingered in front of the store. “It must have flown away.”
“Oh, what a relief,” she said in a voice dripping withsarcasm as we started down the block. “And here I was, about to call in the animal rescue squad.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t tell Juna I’m a witch.”
“I may have neglected to mention it. She doesn’t care for witches.”
“Because we’re ‘unclean’?”
Patience shrugged. “It’s a cultural thing. Not like you haven’t been called worse, I’m guessing.”
“True. Let’s stop in at the grocery and ask about the leprous saccharine, or whatever it was.”
“Lepisma saccharina.Best be quick about it, before Juna makes a phone call.”
The cramped grocery offered the usual corner store staples: a lot of cheap American beer, small liquor bottles, potato chips, candy bars, and Slim Jims. But one aisle boasted several items labeled with Cyrillic script. Up by the register homemade pickles floated in a five-gallon container, and a refrigerated display case held an impressive selection of sausages and headcheese.
A very old man stood behind the counter, silent and watching.
“Hello,” I said. “Juna sent us. Might you have anyLepismasaccharina?”
I tripped over the pronunciation, and the man frowned and shook his head.
I tried again. “I might not be pronouncing it right.Lepisma saccharina.I think it’s a sweetener of some kind?”
“I have no bugs here!” He spoke with a heavy Russian accent. “My place is clean. I keep my store very clean! What are you saying? Nasty woman! You get out!”
Patience and I scooted outside, and I heard her low chuckle as we hurried toward the car. “O for two, Lily. In less than twenty minutes. Is that a personal best, you nasty woman?”
“I don’t understand what just happened. What did I do?”
“Maybe you need a course or two in cultural sensitivity before you think about coming back to Little Russia. Otherwise somebody might put something funny in your pierogis.”
“It wasn’t my fault a bird hit the window,” I said, feeling defensive.
“What about the poor little man in the corner grocery?”
“I have no idea whatthatwas about. Either I horribly mispronounced something, or Juna called him and told him I was ‘unclean,’ maybe?”
“So, you have no idea what that saccharine was? Or why it matters?”
“Not really. I thought it might tell us something pertinent. But it’s a bust, like everything else.”
“Well, as much as I’ve enjoyed watching you make an ass of yourself, I have things to do. Drop me off at my place?”
“Sure. The Nasty Woman Express is at your service.”
Chapter 24
I found Conrad sitting on the curb outside Aunt Cora’s Closet, as was his wont.
“Dudette!” he said when I approached. “You still need my help tomorrow? Want me to bring a coupla friends? Will work for food, as they say.”
