6:56.
6:59.
7:00.
7:02 . . .
He’s not coming, Godiva thought—as the door opened, and a huge, glowering guy somewhere in his late twenties began pushing his way in.
Godiva sniffed. The room was filled with smells, coffee over all, but—
There it was, the sinus-scouring aroma of eucalyptus. Made bitter by something else.
Godiva had prepared a speech to mutter in case anyone was watching, but nobody so much as glanced at her. So, using a pair of lanky students as cover, she spritzed the air directly in the path Red was going in.
Then held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice . . .and Sara was right. Once you’ve doused yourself, or dosed yourself, with something strong-smelling, you get so used to it you don’t notice a fresh dose.
He walked righ
t through the spray without so much as a nose-twitch.
As he muscled up to the counter, Godiva headed for the door and slipped out before texting Doris, Done.
She started back toward the bakery, mentally checking the positions of her small army. Hey. Her old friend Mattie was only half a block away. Why not cruise by and watch?
Godiva lengthened her strides. She spotted the convenience store where Mattie sat on a bench outside. Mattie was one of those rare beings, a person even smaller than Godiva, a shy, pink-cheeked, cheerful chatterbox of a woman with a riot of gray curls. Mattie could talk the hind leg off a donkey, as they used to say back in Texas, but she had a good heart. So good, in fact, that she tended to believe anyone who was nice to her—and so they’d met not long after Mattie lost her husband, and she nearly fell into the clutches of a real estate scammer who preyed on widows.
Godiva was within fifteen feet when the door to the convenience store banged open and a young woman built like Jen slammed out, tapping a fresh pack of cigarettes against her palm.
Mattie sat up alertly. There was her target! Just as she’d been instructed, she sprayed the air right in the target’s path. Eucalyptus mixed with cigarette smoke wafted in the air as the woman strode past Mattie, and then Godiva, without a glance.
Godiva glanced over at Mattie, who grinned and raised her phone to report success to Doris.
Two down.
Godiva sat beside Mattie. “Good job.”
“I hope this puts one drug seller out of business,” Mattie said, brandishing her ‘bug spray.’ “She never even looked my way. Oh, my, that was fun, more fun than I’ve had in a bit—well, since me and my hubby used to go square dancing over at—oh, goodness me, will you look at that pair . . .” She sent a puzzled look behind Godiva, then said with a note of question, “Anyone might think that somebody partied hearty last night, but why would he have his briefcase . . .”
Godiva turned her head. A tall man in suit and tie, carrying a briefcase, and a teenage girl with a backpack were shambling along the boulevard, people getting out of their way, some pointing and laughing. Zombies!
Godiva hesitated, remembering that her army of women didn’t know about those.
“Welp, time to scoot,” Godiva said, as Mattie drew breath. “Thanks for helping out!”
Mattie blinked a couple times at this abrupt departure, but called cheerily, “Always glad to clean up the community,” as Godiva hustled away and poked Doris’s number on speed dial.
As soon as Doris answered, Godiva said urgently, “Zombies at two o’clock, heading toward Avenida dos Santos.”
Doris’s phone made the squishy noises that meant she was bobbling it while doing something else, then she said, “More zombies? Thanks, Godiva. I don’t know who I can send. Any chance you can duck into the pet store and get a dog whis—that’s right, I forgot. They all got bought out. Never mind . . .”
Godiva barely recognized Doris’s voice, it was so flat and intense. The fun of the situation vanished. Doris was normally so unflappable, after years of wrangling high school students, that her tension now sent alarm zinging through Godiva. “Doris, what’s wrong?”
Doris sighed, a hissing sound. “They played us, Godiva—” She paused, then said, obviously to someone else, “Another pair just reported nearing Avenida dos Santos. Who’s left to send? I’d better go myself . . .”
Godiva realized Doris was way too busy to chat. She rang off, and turned toward the bakery, punching Rigo’s phone number.
But he didn’t answer.