“Oh. Good.”
“So we’ll allow her to go with you.”
“Great.”
“Rusty, too. He’s still grounded, mind you. This will be the exception to the rule.”
“Fine.” I grinned at Slim.
“But I want you to promise you won’t do anything to make us regret our decision.”
“I promise, Mrs. Simmons.”
“When will you be picking them up?”
“Maybe in about half an hour?”
Slim nodded her approval.
“Very good. We’ll see you then.”
“Great.”
“And Dwight?”
“Yes?”
“This is a very thoughtful thing you’re doing. It goes a long way toward putting you back in our good graces.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Simmons.”
“See you soon,” she said.
“Real good. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I hung up.
Grinning, Slim began to applaud. “Bravo,” she said. “A fine performance.”
“Thank you, thank you...”
“While you’re on a roll, how about giving Lee another try?”
I dialed Lee’s number. It rang and rang and rang.
Chapter Thirty-six
Slim picked up the two fresh bottles of beer and we went into the living room. On the foyer floor was Rusty’s shirt and the bag containing my dad’s two empty beer bottles—just where I’d left them before hurrying upstairs to stand guard on Slim while she brushed her teeth.
At the time, I’d figured we would be out of the house in about five minutes.
Funny how one thing leads to another.
Or not so funny.
Watching Slim squat by the bag to take out the empty bottles and put in the full ones, I could hardly believe what had happened after I’d followed her upstairs. There was a dream-like quality to it. As if several of my fantasies—and dreads—had come to life. But I knew I hadn’t dreamed any of it; there squatted Slim in nothing but her blouse and here stood I in nothing but a towel. Our clothes were in the drier. All of it had actually happened.
And we were still dealing with the consequences.
Not to mention the consequences of drinking my dad’s beer.
Drinking those two bottles of beer (and trying to conceal the deed) had led us back to Slim’s house ... where she’d gone upstairs to brush her teeth and change into a dark blouse ... and all the rest had happened.
Consequences within consequences.
But good consequences. Mostly.
Standing up, Slim said, “You be in charge of the beer.” Then she walked over to the sofa. Her back was toward me, so I watched the tail of her blouse slide up as she bent over and pulled the sofa away from the wall.
She crouched and took out the weapons: her bow, her quiver of arrows, and the two knives Rusty and I had carried while helping her search the house for prowlers.
“What’ll we do with those?” I asked.
“Take ’em with us.” She raised her arm to lift the strap of the quiver over her head. When she did that, her blouse glided up a couple of inches. I kept my eyes on her face until the quiver was on her back and her blouse was down where it belonged.
“Let’s go see if the clothes are dry,” she said.
I picked up the bag, the two empty bottles, and the shirt I’d borrowed from Rusty.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Slim asked.
I must’ve looked puzzled.
A smile spread across Slim’s face. “I only washed your jeans.”
“Oh!”
She laughed.
I set everything down again, said, “Right back,” and headed for the stairway feeling a little stupid.
I was about halfway up when Slim said, “Dwight?”
I stopped and looked around. “You’d better leave my towel up there,” she said. “Put it back where you got it, okay?”
Leave her towel?
“Okay,” I said.
“And check around the bathroom. We don’t want to leave any evidence behind.”
“Okay.”
“And could you check my bedroom, too? I think I left the light on.”
“I’ll check,” I said and continued up the stairs. At the top, I looked back down at her and said, “Stay put, okay?”
“I will.”
“And yell if anything happens.”
“I will.”
On my way down the hall to her bedroom, the towel started to slip. I held it by the tuck ... and wondered why I bothered. After all, she wanted me to leave the towel in the bathroom. What would I do then?