Getting Rid of Bradley. Jennifer Crusie

would want to get me?”

      He cocked his head at her. “Well, ex-husbands have been known to go after the wives who locked them out of their houses.”

      “Bradley didn’t want this house. He signed the divorce papers without a fight. He didn’t want the house or me.” Lucy stopped. “Sorry about that last part. I’m not really that pathetic, it’s just that—”

      “You’re not pathetic at all.” Zack flashed his grin at her. “Bradley, however, must be an idiot.”

      “Thank you,” Lucy said.

      “You’re welcome,” Zack said. “Now stay inside.”

      

      ZACK WALKED AROUND the house, checking the windows and the back door. The basement door was in the back near the neighbor’s alley on the right, an old-fashioned, sloping wood door that had two metal bars across it, both with locks. The locks, like every other one he’d seen on the house, were very new, very efficient, and very expensive. Sister Tina either hated Bradley a whole lot or really worried about Lucy.

      And possibly she had a reason to be worried. Zack frowned at the scratches on the basement-door lock. He was peering into the lock with his penlight when someone screamed at him, startling him so much that he dropped the light as he spun around.

      “I’ve called the police so you might as well run off like all those other young punks,” she screeched. “Go on. Go on!”

      “Damn it, lady, you scared the hell out of me!”

      The gray and wizened woman on the back porch of the next house was hunched over the rail in a nothing-colored coat three sizes too big for her. Her clawlike hands waved at him while the pleats of skin on her face worked soundlessly for the moment in indignation. Then her voice came back.

      “Get out,” she screeched. “Smart-mouthed good-for-nothing!”

      “Excuse me, ma’am,” Zack said, gritting his teeth. “I was startled. I’m a police officer.”

      “Well, if you are, the world’s in worse trouble than I thought, and I thought it was in the toilet.” She stared at him viciously, and Zack wondered briefly about the evil eye. If such a thing was possible, this hag could deliver.

      “Hello, Mrs. Dover,” Lucy called out from the back door. “It’s all right. He’s with the police.”

      “I knew this neighborhood was finished when you moved in,” Mrs. Dover shouted back. “Torturing my cat. Bringing those vicious dogs in. Coming and going at all hours.”

      “Lovely day, isn’t it?” Lucy came out onto the porch and looked down at Zack.

      “Torturing her cat?” Zack asked and Lucy shook her head.

      “Phoebe hasn’t been the same since the Porters moved in,” Mrs. Dover said. “I’ve called the humane society, but they won’t do anything. Oh, no.”

      “Usually the sun doesn’t come out much in February,” Lucy said brightly to no one in particular. “We’re very lucky today.”

      “And now this trash.” She gestured at Zack. “Does your husband know you’re entertaining hoodlums?”

      “Actually, I’m divorced now, Mrs. Dover. And Detective Warren really isn’t a hoodlum. I made the same mistake, too, but he’s really very nice.” She looked at Zack. “I think it’s your jaw and the five o’clock shadow. I know you can’t do anything about your jaw, but you would look much more reassuring if you’d shave. And get a haircut. Really.”

      “Thank you,” Zack said.

      A patrol car pulled up in front.

      “Maybe he’s the police.” Mrs. Dover climbed down her back porch steps while she kept an eye cocked on Zack. “Maybe. But I bet he’s on the Most Wanted list. Ha! We’ll know soon.” She nodded and hobbled down her driveway to the street to meet the uniforms.

      “Great,” Zack said. “This makes the second time today somebody’s called the cops on me.”

      “Well, as I was saying, I think your image needs work. I realize you’re probably undercover—”

      “No, I’m not.”

      “Oh. Sorry.”

      “Forget it.” Zack started for the street. Then he screamed in pain.

      A large dirty yellow cat had leaped on his leg, burying her claws deeply into his calf through his jeans. Zack kicked out, and the cat dropped away while Mrs. Dover screeched at him from the street.

      “Meet Phoebe,” Lucy said.

      “Damn!” Zack nursed his shin. “What’s wrong with that animal?”

      “I think she’s psychotic. I hate her because she uses my car for a litter box so I have to keep the windows rolled up all the time, even in the summer. And because all three of my dogs are terrified of her.”

      “Her, who?” Zack glared at Mrs. Dover’s back as she gestured wildly to the police in the street. “The woman or the cat?”

      “Both,” Lucy said. “Do you want some iodine?”

      “No,” Zack said, as a young patrolman approached him. “I want to shoot that damn cat.”

      “Sir?” the patrolman began. “This lady has a complaint.”

      Zack looked at him closely. “How old are you? Twelve?”

      The young patrolman stiffened. “Sir…”

      Zack got out his badge again. “I’m sorry. I’m having a bad day. I’m investigating an attempt on this woman’s life.” He nodded toward Lucy.

      “You are not,” Lucy said. “They shot at you, not me.”

      “Shut up.” Zack looked at the patrolman. “Do you ever get tired of defending the public?”

      “All the time,” the patrolman said. “I’ll just have to call this in, sir…” he began, looking at Zack’s ID, and then he, too, screamed.

      “Shoot the cat,” Zack said. “It’s assaulted two officers and resisted arrest. Do it.”

      Mrs. Dover hissed at him, scooped up Phoebe, and disappeared into her house.

      “Is this some kind of a joke?” the patrolman asked, nursing his shin.

      “No. Tragically, no. Go ahead and call that in.” Zack looked up at Lucy as the patrolman made his way back to the car. “What does it mean when everyone you see is younger than you are?”

      “It means you’re getting old. There’s a new teacher at my school. She asked me yesterday what it was like in the old days when I first started teaching.”

      “Did you deck her?”

      “No.” Lucy stuck out her chin. “But I may when I go back in to school tomorrow. I’ve gotten a lot meaner today.”

      Zack laughed. She looked so funny, neat and round with all that crazy dead black hair haloing her face, calmly announcing that she was a lot meaner today. What a sweetheart.

      Dumb as a rock, but sweet.

      “You’re not going back to school tomorrow,” he told her. “You’re moving in with your sister until I figure out what’s going on.”

      Lucy frowned. “How long will that take? Especially if you’re going to figure it out by instinct. I don’t have that much sick leave. I don’t think anybody does.”

      She wasn’t that sweet. Zack glared at her, and she blinked.

      “Sorry,” Lucy said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me today.”

      “Forget sick