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Vernon pointed two fingers toward his own eyes and then one finger at the monkey. Mr. Manfrengensen kept eating.
“I’m watching you,” Vernon said.
Nothing from Manfrengensen.
Vernon turned his attention to the food on the table. Lentils. Whole grain, seeded bread. Fruit from the greenhouse garden, and honey.
“Where’s breakfast?” Vernon asked.
“This is my friend Wayan Bagus,” Emerson said. “He’s a Buddhist monk, so it’s a vegetarian breakfast.”
Wayan Bagus stood up and bowed to Vernon, who just kept staring incredulously at the lentils. “But where’s the bacon?”
“Bacon’s not a part of a vegetarian diet,” Emerson said.
Vernon scratched his chest. “What about sausages and fried ham?”
“Those are all meats.”
“Are you telling me he doesn’t eat any of them? That’s just all wrong. That’s practically not even American.”
“Wayan Bagus is Balinese,” Emerson said.
“No shit?” Vernon said. “How cool is that!” He looked down at Wayan Bagus. “Well, Little Buddy, any friend of Emmie’s is a friend of mine, even if you don’t know how to eat breakfast.”
Vernon grabbed the monk and gave him a big bear hug.
Emerson had his hand up, trying to get Vernon’s attention. “Buddhist monks don’t like to be touched,” Emerson said.
“You’re making that up,” Vernon said to Emerson. “Everyone likes a hug.” He lifted Wayan a couple inches off the ground and swung him side to side. “You’re just a cute li’l ol’ oompa loompa, aren’t you?” he said to Wayan.
“Apologies,” Wayan Bagus said in his quiet monk voice.
Next thing, Vernon was on his back, and Wayan Bagus was in his seat at the table carefully spreading a bit of honey on his bread.
Vernon pulled himself to his feet and grinned at the monk.
“I can see you like to wrassle,” Vernon said to Wayan Bagus. “I’m a big wrassler myself. We’re going to be good friends, Little Buddy.”
Wayan Bagus nodded politely. Noncommittal. “All living things have Buddha nature,” he said.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Vernon said, reaching up to adjust his hat. “Hey, what the heck. Where’s my hat?” He whipped his head around. No hat. No Manfrengensen.
“Sonofabitch! Damn monkey!” Vernon said. “That’s my lucky hat. You’ll have to excuse me from this here breakfast party while I kill that monkey.”
Everyone watched Vernon stomp off and disappear into the vegetation.
“Right,” Emerson said. “Now back to business. As soon as we’re done with breakfast we’ll head off to the Department of Commerce to meet with the NOAA administrator.”
“Count me out,” Riley said. “I slept in these clothes. I need to go home to freshen up.”
“You can’t go home,” Emerson said. “You have to drive. You always drive.”
Riley narrowed her eyes. “No.”
“I’ll let you pick out the car,” Emerson said.
Riley blew out a sigh. Emerson knew how to tempt her. She’d grown up in a family that revered the flag, apple pie, and NASCAR. She’d spent weekends with her dad and her brothers restoring junker muscle cars. She’d driven in a couple local stock car races. Giving Riley access to the Knight garage was like giving a five-year-old the keys to a candy store. Emerson’s father had amassed a mind-boggling collection of classic and luxury cars. Shelby Mustangs, Rolls-Royce Phantoms, Dodge Chargers, Pontiac Firebirds. The collection seemed endless to Riley.
