snow. It kept its neck stuck out and its beak parted, revealing the tiny, ratchet-like teeth. Though she had no memory of Irene ever owning anything like a goose, this creature acted as if it belonged here.
“Do you know where Irene is?” Mary adopted her grandmother Bennefield’s habit of talking to who- or whatever was available. “Is she out feeding the horses?”
Though the goose kept its beady blue gaze on her, it did not move to attack. Mary decided to leave her pack on the porch and tiptoe around to the back of the house. The goose sentry notwithstanding, a silence had suddenly fallen on Upsy Daisy. Mary shivered. Surely she hadn’t gotten here too late.
With the goose waddling behind her, she circled the house, hoping to see some kind of activity. A new brick patio spread out from the rear of the house; more winter pansies bloomed in flower boxes along one end. Just beneath the back door, a big German shepherd lay dozing in the sun. The dog leaped to its feet, lips curling in a growl as Mary approached, but when it caught sight of the goose, it hunkered back down and peered up meekly with worried brown eyes.
“Hi, boy,” Mary said, again taken aback. When she’d been here two summers ago, Irene had nothing but her horses, the guineas, and a tiny, nearly toothless Chihuahua named Chico that someone had dumped outside her office in Richmond. Now she had an attack goose and a German shepherd who had a full set of fangs and was ten times the size of Chico. Again it occurred to Mary that Irene might have no need of the FBI.
Moving cautiously toward the dog, she crossed the patio and peered through the glass-paned door. She could see one large room—a kitchen at one end, the other end a den dominated by a fieldstone hearth, where a small, banked fire flickered. Irene had lit a fire, Mary thought. But where had she gone? Once more she lifted her hand and was just about to knock when she became aware of motion in the room. On the floor, in front of the fireplace, two blanket-clad figures were moving close together, in tandem. The figure on top had short, steely gray hair, and was thrusting back and forth over a tangled mass of longer hair the color of a cloud. Mary’s heart started to hammer as she peered hard through the thick glass, terrified she’d stumbled upon the very attack the FBI feared. Then she realized what she was seeing.
Mortified, she pivoted and turned her back instantly to the door. Judge Irene Hannah, one of the most prominent jurists in the nation, was boffing someone in front of her fireplace. No wonder the place had been quiet! She smothered the laugh that bubbled up as she wondered what she should do next. She couldn’t knock on the door now and pretend she hadn’t seen anything; neither could she just casually sit there with the dog and the goose and wait for the couple inside to finish. Quickly, with both animals trotting behind her, she tiptoed off the patio and back to the porch. She would pretend to have seen nothing and just start all over again. This time she would bang on the front door as hard as she could. Maybe the dog would bark. Maybe the goose would honk louder. Surely between them and the guineas, she could rouse someone’s attention.
She sat down on the front steps. The dog and goose watched her quizzically, as if intrigued to see what this strange human would do next. She waited there a few moments, giving the embarrassment time to drain from her face, then she got up and knocked on the door again. This time she pounded hard, like cops on a drug bust. A cacophony erupted in the front yard. The dog barked, the guineas shrieked, and the goose made a noise that sounded like a broken saxophone. She waited, without peeking in the windows, a full minute, then pounded again. Suddenly the lock turned, the knob twisted, and the door opened with a jerk. A broad-shouldered man with tousled gray hair stood there bare-chested, red suspenders holding up a pair of canvas work
“Do you know where Irene is?” Mary adopted her grandmother Bennefield’s habit of talking to who- or whatever was available. “Is she out feeding the horses?”
Though the goose kept its beady blue gaze on her, it did not move to attack. Mary decided to leave her pack on the porch and tiptoe around to the back of the house. The goose sentry notwithstanding, a silence had suddenly fallen on Upsy Daisy. Mary shivered. Surely she hadn’t gotten here too late.
With the goose waddling behind her, she circled the house, hoping to see some kind of activity. A new brick patio spread out from the rear of the house; more winter pansies bloomed in flower boxes along one end. Just beneath the back door, a big German shepherd lay dozing in the sun. The dog leaped to its feet, lips curling in a growl as Mary approached, but when it caught sight of the goose, it hunkered back down and peered up meekly with worried brown eyes.
“Hi, boy,” Mary said, again taken aback. When she’d been here two summers ago, Irene had nothing but her horses, the guineas, and a tiny, nearly toothless Chihuahua named Chico that someone had dumped outside her office in Richmond. Now she had an attack goose and a German shepherd who had a full set of fangs and was ten times the size of Chico. Again it occurred to Mary that Irene might have no need of the FBI.
Moving cautiously toward the dog, she crossed the patio and peered through the glass-paned door. She could see one large room—a kitchen at one end, the other end a den dominated by a fieldstone hearth, where a small, banked fire flickered. Irene had lit a fire, Mary thought. But where had she gone? Once more she lifted her hand and was just about to knock when she became aware of motion in the room. On the floor, in front of the fireplace, two blanket-clad figures were moving close together, in tandem. The figure on top had short, steely gray hair, and was thrusting back and forth over a tangled mass of longer hair the color of a cloud. Mary’s heart started to hammer as she peered hard through the thick glass, terrified she’d stumbled upon the very attack the FBI feared. Then she realized what she was seeing.
Mortified, she pivoted and turned her back instantly to the door. Judge Irene Hannah, one of the most prominent jurists in the nation, was boffing someone in front of her fireplace. No wonder the place had been quiet! She smothered the laugh that bubbled up as she wondered what she should do next. She couldn’t knock on the door now and pretend she hadn’t seen anything; neither could she just casually sit there with the dog and the goose and wait for the couple inside to finish. Quickly, with both animals trotting behind her, she tiptoed off the patio and back to the porch. She would pretend to have seen nothing and just start all over again. This time she would bang on the front door as hard as she could. Maybe the dog would bark. Maybe the goose would honk louder. Surely between them and the guineas, she could rouse someone’s attention.
She sat down on the front steps. The dog and goose watched her quizzically, as if intrigued to see what this strange human would do next. She waited there a few moments, giving the embarrassment time to drain from her face, then she got up and knocked on the door again. This time she pounded hard, like cops on a drug bust. A cacophony erupted in the front yard. The dog barked, the guineas shrieked, and the goose made a noise that sounded like a broken saxophone. She waited, without peeking in the windows, a full minute, then pounded again. Suddenly the lock turned, the knob twisted, and the door opened with a jerk. A broad-shouldered man with tousled gray hair stood there bare-chested, red suspenders holding up a pair of canvas work
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