Page 43 of Wayward

“I would think so, yes.”

It was honestly fine either way. If Ms. Farley said she didn’t want Misha in the house she was renting to me, I could find another place to stay. I wasn’t worried.

“Shoot,” Shannon said, passing me a set of something, some kind of tools, and another bag of small boxes. “Almost forgot your poop scooper.”

I looked at Connie, who nearly choked on her water.

“Oh my God, your face,” she cackled.

Now, fifteen minutes later, I turned off the main highway down a frontage road and then off that onto a tight two-lane road. The heavy brush and trees on both sides looked like they’d grown together over the years to create a giant canopy of shade. I could have sworn the temperature had dropped ten degrees. There were wildflowers every direction I looked, and it smelled so good and fresh, like wind and newly turned soil.

The road came to a dead end at a gravel drive that had a charming Craftsman house painted in a myriad of colors on the right, which had to be Gale’s place. It had a white picket fence lined in rose bushes on the house side of the fence and a charming gate out front with a yard that included an enormous oak tree. There were boxwoods next to the front porch, and gorgeous, full limelight hydrangeas. The path that went from the gate to the steps leading up to the porch was immaculately laid brick. I was very impressed with how beautifully manicured the man’s house appeared.

In contrast, on the left of the gravel drive, just as Gale had said, was a three-storied Gothic nightmare that looked haunted. Several decades ago, the Victorian might have been beautiful. Maybe there had been flowers outside, but now it was wildly overgrown, and you’d need a machete to get through to the front door. There could be a whole safari worth of animals in there, and you’d never know. A redwood guarded the front of the house, and it looked like there were at least two more in the back. Farther down the drive was a smaller building directly behind the terrifying Victorian eyesore, and even farther back was a small bungalow with trees on every side. It was absolutely picturesque, and I had a gut reaction to seeing the house. I really wanted to live there.

When I got out of the Jeep, parking it directly on the drive, Misha barked, and I quickly walked around, unclipped him from his seat, and picked him up. Only then did I realize he was shivering.

“Crap,” I muttered, putting him back down, then unzipped my jacket, grabbed him again, and deposited him inside, against my chest, supporting him from underneath so he was tucked into a pouch of warmth.

“You know, I’ll bet you money they put a jacket in there for you. It’s probably cheetah print or something equally ridiculous.”

He didn’t care, he was fine now, and poked his head out so he could look around.

“I should probably look inside and—oh shit,” I gasped, noticing what I thought was a body between the house and the studio. I hadn’t seen it until I got out and started walking. Of course it was just my luck that Ms. Farley would end up dead when I got there. I could just imagine trying to explain that to Deputy Marshal Alvarez.

Bolting toward the corpse, I did what I always did and glanced around, looking for danger, really missing a gun at that point.

When I reached the body of the older woman, standing directly over her, I was about to crouch down and check for a pulse when I noted the arm thrown across her eyes and heard snoring. She was very much alive. And very much asleep.

Leaning over, I gently shook her. “Hello.”

Moving her arm down to her side, she opened her eyes and looked right up at me. After a moment, she smiled. Not what I was expecting at all. She was a stunning woman, an aging star of the silver screen with her thick, wavy platinum hair like a cloud around her head. She was dressed in paint-splattered denim overalls that were a bit at odds with the Chanel blouse she was wearing under them, the enormous diamond studs, diamond choker, and gold cross inlaid with emeralds. She was wearing hunter-green sequined slippers on her feet.

“Hello,” she replied cheerfully, sitting up, then lifting her hand, shading her eyes so she could see me. “Are you a pirate?”

Strangest question ever. “No,” I said even though it took me a second. Really, she looked like an angel, or what I thought one would look like staring up at me.

“You look like one,” she said, offering me her hand so I could help her up. “And I mean that in the best way, of course. Very romantic, like a swashbuckler.”

I nodded. As compliments went, with the context she’d given me, I couldn’t complain.

Her platinum hair had bits of grass in it and a few twigs.

“Can I help get all the stuff out of your hair?”

“Is it going to bother you?”

Honesty in all things. “Yes.”

“All right, then,” she agreed, turning around so I could get to work.

“Would you mind holding him?” I asked, passing Misha to her. He went willingly.

“Oh, what a darling dog. I was just telling Evelyn and Loretta that we needed a protector on the place, and look what the universe has delivered.”

“Evelyn and Loretta?”

She waved her hand to the left, and I saw four sheep there, all looking recently sheared.