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Connie looked up when I walked in. “Boy, I’m glad to see you. We were really worried when Lula couldn’t find you. She walked all around the neighborhood and finally found someone who said a lady had been hit by a white van and taken away. I guess they thought the guy in the van was taking you to get medical help.”
“He tagged me with my stun gun, handcuffed me, and loaded me into the back of his van. How could that possibly be interpreted as medical help?”
“It was a little kid,” Connie said. “The kid said the nice man gave you bracelets.”
The front door banged open, and Lula burst in.
“I got it. Heaven help me, I got the plague. I
woke up and I was all itchy, and when I got to the bathroom I saw them!”
“Saw what?” Connie asked.
“The boo-boos. I got them. They’re all over me. I’m gonna die. I got plague boo-boos.”
“Have you been to a doctor?” Connie asked.
“No. I came straight here. I’m afraid to go to a doctor. He’s gonna tell me my fingers and toes are gonna fall off and then I’m gonna die. I read about it, and it’s not good to die from the plague. I’m gonna need a closed casket. I’m gonna look terrible. And I’ll tell you another thing. I want my money back on those dumb flea collars. They don’t work.”
“Where are the buboes?” I asked her.
“All around my neck and ankles.”
Connie got up and took a close look. “You’ve got a rash from the flea collars.”
“I never thought of that,” Lula said. “I guess I should take them off. I even wore them in the shower, and come to think of it they got all sticky.”
Connie gave Lula scissors, and Lula cut the flea collars off and threw them away.
“This here’s a big relief,” Lula said. “I thought I was a goner.” She looked over at me. “Holy cow, what’s with you!”
My hand went to my face. “You mean the scrapes and stitches?”
“I mean the Pilates pants and the little black T-shirt. That’s a total new look for you. It’s damn sexy. I might try that look on myself.”
“It’s comfortable,” I said. “The material doesn’t pull on my scabs.”
“We got an abbreviated version of yesterday from Tank,” Connie said. “And Susan Gower called and said you came in for some stitches, but you were okay.”
“I got some skin taken off when Pooka hit me with the van. I was lucky I wasn’t hurt worse.”
“Tank told us you were with Becker.”
“Pooka had been keeping Becker in the garage behind his house by Kiltman. I think he moved him when he moved the fleas.”
“Why’d he want Becker?” Lula asked.
“Pooka needed a blood source for his fleas,” I said. “He had Becker drugged, and he was taking blood from him.”
Lula’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she crashed to the floor.
“Either she just had a massive heart attack or else she fainted,” Connie said. “Get her feet elevated.”
I propped Lula’s feet up on a couch cushion, and Connie draped a wet towel over her forehead.
Lula opened her eyes, but she looked like she was still out.
