Page 67 of Fiona and the Fixer

Fiona looked confused. “Why them?”

“Oh, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

30

FIONA

Later that morning,I stood beside Dax at the front door of a two-story home. It was neat and tidy–I hadn’t seen a place that wasn’t–and only had two mums flanking the front door for fall decorations. He’d just pushed the doorbell, and I could hear the ring. Of course, I could. I could also hear that someone inside just turned off a TV or a tablet or even a phone that played a religious sermon, a man’s deep voice sayingrepent by tithing your sins.A woman was talking on the phone about nail art. Deep breathing.

“I still have questions,” I muttered to Dax, not wanting to know much about any of those sounds.

“I know,” he replied. “I promise they’ll all be answered.” He shoved the housewarming gift into my hand. “Here. You should hold this.”

When no one came to the door even though I could hear them inside, I turned to face Dax. “Why potato salad? Why did you buy a jar of pickle relish and stir it in? I know we want the Highcliffs to go into the pickle shop for us, but–”

He held up his hand. “Trust me.”

The door finally opened.

Wow.

The burly man at the door had a real, stuffed… animal tucked under his arm. His smile was affable. His eyes were a little glassy. Nose red. The scent of liquor circled around him. At eleven in the morning. Late fifties, maybe, receding hair. Plaid flannel with bits of fluffy stuff here and there on it, reminding me of the googly eyes Dottie had put on her pumpkin.

“Oh, Dex. Hello,” the man said, offering a congenial wave.

Dex?

“Have you ever seen a beaver as impressive as this one?”

He held out the… beaver, then stroked the animal’s head. The beady fake eyes stared at me.

Dax cleared his throat.

“I’m not quite done with this beaver,” he continued. “I was up all-night stuffing it.”

Wow.

“Who’s there, Bob?”

“Jack’s friend, Dex,” Bob Highcliff called, as he continued to… ahem, pet his beaver.

A sharp woman with shoulder length brown hair cameto join us. She wore a crisp white button down tucked into a pair of khakis. The word drab came to mind.

She looked us over with disinterest until she saw what I held. Her eyes widened and her fingers wiggled like she could barely keep herself from reaching out. “Is that potato salad?”

Not,who are you?But…gimme the food!

Dax cleared his throat, which spurred me into replying.

“Yes, it is.” I put that big smile back on my face and held it out to her. “Dax told me how much you like it.”

Happily taking it, she turned and walked away, presumably to get a fork.

“Oh, um…” I was at a loss for words, unsure what to do.

“Come on into the kitchen.” Bob Highcliff turned and walked off as well.

I glanced at Dax, whose mouth quirked up. He held his arm out, indicating I should enter the house first. As I followed Bob down the center hallway, I took in the various dead animals on the walls. Antelope. Raccoon. A possum, perhaps. As I passed the dining room, I froze. Holy hell, that was a cow head mounted on the wall. Dax nudged me between the shoulder blades to get me moving again.

---