AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"This is why no one ever looks up."
Marty and I stare at a nude painting of one of the lucky ladies that got into King Henry's pants. Who puts paintings on the ceiling?
We hear a laugh behind us and immediately turn. Mel and Henry are walking up the stairs, arguing about something, stopping when they see us staring.
Henry clasps his hands together and rushes toward us. "Isn't it lovely? It's a replica painting of Catherine Howard."
When I turn, I see Mel wearing a hoodie, yoga pants, and her trademark earrings. Her hair is slicked back and tied neatly at the nape of her neck. Next to her is Henry wearing a tweed suit that should belong in the 1920's. If he had a straw hat and a Dixie Band, he could be on Showboat.
"She's a child." I'm staring at the bony ass and girlish face above me. She appears to be between fourteen and sixteen years old. The angular features that appear on a woman's face after she's in her early twenties are missing.
Henry shriggles, half shrug, half giggle—his shoulders, not committing to either. He nods his head in agreement. "She is a bit young for my taste."
I gawk at him and jab my thumb up at her naked ass. "Then why is she on your ceiling?"
"Speculation?"
"Are you asking me or telling me?" I reply, wanting to slap him silly.
Mel groans. "Old, white man art. So he likes to stare at naked teenagers. Add that to his list of fucked up mojo."
Henry gasps and presses his hand to the ascot disappearing under his jacket. "How dare you? This painting is a masterpiece! Implying I'm a pedophile is uncalled for, you strumpet."
Mel snort-laughs, but keeps her mouth shut long enough for me to ask something I've been wondering about since last night. That drone. I'm hoping Henry is ahead of the game and has a tiny one around. I need it in case my plan goes to hell because they're not getting away this time.
"Yeah, that makes sense." I lift the corner of my upper lip and show a little tooth to Mel. She starts cracking up. I hurry on, not wanting to rile Henry too much, "It's reflective of the period."
"It is!"
"Exactly. Listen, I wanted to ask you something about the drones on your property."
He flinches and shakes his head, surprised. "I don't have drones." He says the word like they're disgusting.
Marty and Mel glance at each other and then back at Henry. Walking forward, stopping just in front of his wingtips, I smile and nod. "I mean flying robotic army. Like the ones you have patrolling your property."
"I know what a drone is, and I do not possess anything of that nature. Drones have to be registered with the FAA. I dislike that organization. Plus, I'm not a man who likes to flaunt his wealth." He smirks and tucks his hands into his jacket pockets, puffing like a paisley penguin.
"Why are you asking?" Marty steps up next to me and catches my eye.
A sinking feeling hits me hard before I answer. "There was one in the yard last night."
"What? Where!" Henry's voice is an octave too high. He's doing this jazz hands thing with his fingertips that I assume is annoyance.
"Back by the shed."
His head jerks back like I slapped him. "You were in the shed?" Henry folds his arms loosely over his chest and tips his head to the side. "Did you go upstairs?"
"Yes, you sick fuck. Why is there a bunch of Avery-sized stuff here? The clothing, creepy. But that could be a coincidence. The tank? Why the hell is there a tank, Henry!" Marty and Mel's eyes widen and both are mute—which is a first.
Henry laughs, tapping his fingertips together and stepping away. "You saw that, did you?"
"Yeah. I saw it." Marty senses the half-truth and gawks at me, jaw dropped for half a beat before he slams it shut. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Henry looks bored when he stops fidgeting. "If you must know, I have a type. Short, wide hips, narrow waist, big hair."
"So you're saying that you could strap Mel into that thing?"
Mel jerks back like someone slapped her. "No one is strapping nothing on me. You’re fucking crazy if you think I'll—"
Henry sighs and turns toward her. "As lovely as you are, you're not my type."
Mel and I yell in unison, "You just said—"
"Yes, yes, but she's not quite right for me."
"Excuse me," Mel snaps and gets in his face. "You wanna tell me why?"
His expression is cold and distant. "Very well, if you must know—although it's rude to point out—your hips are too full, your skin is too smooth, and your mouth too sharp. If you learned to be mute, I could forgive the other two."
"You sonova—" Mel winds her arm back, makes a fist, and nearly connects with the side of Henry's face. She jumps in the air to do it. It was very catlike.
Unfortunately, Marty decides to step in front of the douchebag and Mel clobbers the wrong guy. Marty isn't in the mood. He blocks the hit and tosses Mel on the carpet. She lands with a loud thump.
Marty sighs, doing this thing with his mouth where his lower lip is jutting up like it might eat his head. He's pissed. "Stay there!" he yells at Mel before turning on Henry and me. "You said you had no drones, but you
said you saw one. Who's telling the truth?"
"I am." We reply in unison and then blink at each other, not understanding.
Marty closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Shit."
CHAPTER 13
"Who the fuck would fly a drone through your yard." Marty's question lacks the expected questioning tone, where he would normally elevate the pitch of the last syllable in the sentence. Instead, it's a demand laced with the threat of beating Henry senseless.
Mel grumbles, picking herself up off the floor. "The only reason I'm not kicking your ass is because I thought you were dead. I'm giving you a do-over. You're a thorn in my side, Mart-AN." She glares at him, nostrils flaring like she wants to rip him a new one.
I wonder if the two of them have more in common than they thought. How unnerving is it to have a dorky ninja sitting next to you day in and day out, never even once suspecting that he's lethal? Mel takes pride in reading people, in seeing through all facades. She's usually pretty good at it, but Marty makes her nervous. There was a time when she couldn't stand him and made fun of him relentlessly. That confident jibbing stops, replaced with grudging respect. It's freaking weird.
Marty rounds on her, his voice so soft and still it makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. "The thorn won't be quite so bothersome when you're dead, Melanie."
She sneers and cocks her head to the side while cracking her knuckles. "Fine, you wanna piece of me, white boy! Let's go!"
"Pardon me—" Henry starts talking at the same time as me.
"You two need to stop—" What the hell is he being polite for? Can I kill you with my manners? I'm starting to think the British thing is an act.
"—but if you get blood on the carpet—" Henry places a slender finger in the air.
"—acting like children—"
"—it'll never come out—"
"—and work together—"
"—believe me—"
