CHAPTER EIGHT

TINY’S PICKUP, RESPLENDENT WITH ITS battery of dents, smoke-spewing pipes, and oversized Confederate-flag decal in the back window (along with what looked like a deer rifle) stayed close behind me all the way home. I felt a childish fear. I’d never forgotten how Tiny had nearly crushed the life out of me at little provocation. My fear, though, quickly changed to anger as his truck followed barely two feet behind my own back fender. I took a deep breath. I wasn’t a little kid who could be pushed, around again. And I wasn’t about to let a blunt-headed bastard like Tiny Parmalee intimidate me. I’d seen too much pain in life, and backing away never got a soul anywhere.

His grimy truck finally backed off as I pulled into my carport and he stopped in front of my house. I wondered for one moment if he’d come out swinging and how I was going to handle that with only one good arm. If he did attack me, I’d be at a serious disadvantage. I decided then and there that the best defense would be a solid kick to his beer gut, followed by another boot to the groin and a judicious retreat into my house. Not a polite way to fight, but mannered combat takes two gentlemen.

I’d just emerged from the car when Tiny slammed his door shut and came lumbering across the lawn at me. His whitish hair gleamed like a bald dome in the summer sun. His eyes were a thin, watery blue, but they were narrowed in anger. One hand was already in a fist.

“Hey!” he yelled, stopping a few feet ahead of me. “Get something straight, you shithead. You leave Nina alone!”

“Excuse me?” I answered, pulling my arm close against my body and tensing my legs. “I haven’t even talked to Nina today. What’s your problem?”

“My problem, Poteet, is you. You think Nina killed that Yankee son of a bitch. You told Miss Twyla that.” Obviously one had to be careful what one suggested to Miss Twyla.

“I never said that she did.” Well, not exactly. “I just asked Miss Twyla where Nina was last night, and she told me. If you think someone’s bugging Nina, you need to go see Billy Ray Bummel and Junebug.” I wanted to take a step back, but I didn’t. You don’t do that to a bully, and Tiny Parmalee had changed very little since those schoolyard tussles. He had been angry then, with no outlet for releasing it other than torturing other kids; he was angry now, and still hadn’t learned how to deal with wrath. “Look, Tiny. It’s obvious that you care about Nina. I understand that.”

“What the hell do you know about me?” he asked, drawing a heavy hand across his lip. “You don’t know shit about me, mister. Or about what I think about Nina.” He shook his head. “You think you’re so smart, Poteet, you always have. Always looking down on me, always thinking I’m just nothing but a big stupid shit. I’m not. I’m a hell of a lot smarter than you’ll ever give me credit for.”

“Okay, you’re smart. Who killed Greg?”

He took one step forward and pushed a finger toward my face. I smelled the nauseatingly sweet odor of a thick wad of chewing gum he had in his mouth and I saw the bulge it made in his unshaven cheek. “Just stay away from Nina. Stay out of this whole mess. Just ship that Yankee bitch of yours back where she belongs and keep out of mine and Nina’s business.”

Since I didn’t know what constituted his and Nina’s business and I hadn’t interfered in any way that I knew of, I very much disliked his jabbing his finger at my nose. Not to mention him calling Lorna names. “This is not a joke, Tiny. This is a murder. Someone killed Greg and whoever did that is going to pay for it. Nina and Greg didn’t get along at all, so she’s going to be investigated by the cops. Don’t take it so personally. I mean, you’re sure she’s innocent, aren’t you?”

He wasn’t expecting that. The finger receded from my personal space. “Yeah, I am,” he said slowly, as though I’d asked a trick question.

“So then you and Nina have nothing to worry about.” I didn’t add my thought: Unless you strangled him, you animal.

Tiny blinked repeatedly. “She didn’t do it. Maybe I’ll find out who did, if the cops keep suspecting her.” I didn’t think Tiny would make much headway as a detective, but I kept my mouth shut.

“Is that all?”

“Yeah. Just stay away from Nina and quit fillin’ folks’ heads full of foolishness about her.” Back on the familiar territory of threat making, he regained his confidence. He turned his back on me and headed back for his truck.

“Tiny?”

He paused while climbing into the truck. “Yeah?”

“Don’t ever follow me that close again, or I’ll shoot out your tires. Understand me?”

He wasn’t expecting that I’d threaten back in any way and to my surprise he smiled. Coldly. ‘I’ll remember that.” Slamming his door hard enough to shake the truck, he started the engine and roared off, leaving a bloated cloud of exhaust in his wake.

I exhaled a long breath. He’d been pissed, but he hadn’t beaten me up. Unless, of course, he was out to seek vengeance against Junebug and Billy Ray for suspecting his inamorata of being a bloodthirsty garroter.

I went into the house, quietly. It was nearly three in the afternoon and I felt exhausted. I needed a nap. I wasn’t going to get one. Eula Mae and Lorna sat on the couch, smiling tightly at each other. I felt I’d walked onstage halfway through a death scene.

“Hey, y’all, what’s going on?” I said. Those tight smiles of theirs didn’t budge an inch.

“Hey, sugar pie. I just thought I’d stop by and see how Miss Lorna here was doing.” Eula Mae got up, her layers of necklaces tinkling as she moved, and gave me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. I was not swayed.

“You sure y’all aren’t squabbling over that land deal?” I asked.

Eula Mae pressed a well-manicured hand to her violet peasant blouse (showing her freckled cleavage to best display). “Honey, we haven’t even talked about that stuff. It’s so trivial in the light of poor Mr. Callahan’s murder.”

Lorna’s smile faded as soon as Eula Mae wasn’t looking at her. “Ms. Quiff was kind enough to invite me to come stay with her. She thought I might be underfoot here.”

Eula Mae rolled her eyes at me before turning them, glistening with kindness and sympathy, toward Lorna. “Sweetie, the way you phrase things! I simply thought that it might be nicer for you to have a little more room, what with this house being so full of Jordy, and Arlene, and Mark, and Anne, and Clo being over so much.”

I frowned slightly at Eula Mae, who did not appear to notice, being busy closely examining the setting of one of her many rings. I decided on the gentlemanly approach. “How kind of you, Eula Mae. And how unusually generous of you.” She bristled a tad at that and I grinned. “But I think Lorna’s just fine right here.”

Eula Mae shrugged, the field of battle abandoned. “You’re right, Jordy. I mean, you are spending most of your time at Candace’s, so there is plenty of room here for dear Lorna.” Well, nearly abandoned. She leaned down and patted—or lightly slapped, depending on your point of view—Lorna’s leg. “If you change your mind, sweetness, you just call Eula Mae. You’ll always be welcome at Chez Quiff.”

I steered the Unwelcome Wagon firmly to and out the door. The full blast of the afternoon humidity and sunlight hit us and we both blinked against the glare. She shrugged off my light touch and frowned at me when I’d shut the front door. “Jordan Poteet. Are you thinking with your loins these days?”

“What’s wrong with you? Have you totally forgotten your manners?”

“You could strip the flesh from my bones,” Eula Mae hissed, “and I’d still have more class than that nasal-voiced little minx in there.”

“Good Lord!”

“Turning down my heartfelt invitation in her hour of need. And not even nicely, telling me she was sure Candace had sent me over here.” She was near fake tears.

“Did Candace send you over here?”

“Of course not!” Eula Mae stomped her foot. “I am capable of independent thought, mister. You forget I’ve made my money from knowing all about love.” That was a tempting statement to twist around on her, but I kept my mouth shut. I wouldn’t have gotten a line in anyway.

“I know exactly what that woman’s up to. You don’t give a man the Kama Sutra if you just want to be pen pals. Especially the new edition,” Eula Mae continued. “And it’s the way she looks at you. I saw it last night at the library when she came in. She only saw you, Jordy. The way her eyes narrowed, I figured the poor child was astigmatic or in heat. And she don’t wear glasses.”

“Eula Mae. I appreciate your concern, honestly, but you’re getting carried away.”

“Jordy, darlin’.” She took my arm. “Listen to me. That girl’s still in love with you. It’s as plain to me as it is hidden to you. You’re sweet as pie, but dense as fudge when it comes to women sometimes.”

“I know she has feelings for me, Eula Mae.” I wasn’t about to tell the Human P.A. System here about last night’s after-dinner kiss.

“Forewarned is forearmed,” she intoned.

“I‘ve made it clear to her I’m not about to tumble back into her bed. She knows I have feelings for Candace.”

Eula Mae raised one plucked eyebrow. “And does Candace know?”

“Of course she does!”

Eula Mae made a noise in her throat, fished her keys out of her denim skirt pocket, and sauntered off to her purple BMW with the ROMWRTR vanity license plates.

I watched her roar off. Eula Mae was obviously not spending nearly enough time in front of her word processor and was inventing romantic fictions in real people’s lives as compensation. Of course Candace knew I loved her. And I wasn’t going back to Lorna. Nosireebob.

Lorna was stretched out on the couch, the back of her hand resting gently against her forehead. Her long legs lay along the cushions, ideally formed and with the beginnings of a tan. Her khaki shorts were snug and short, her neon-aqua T-shirt pulled taut across her breasts. She’d been sweating and there was just a hint of a sheen at her throat. Her waist, which had always fit perfectly against the inside of my arm, was encircled with a colorfully stitched cloth belt. She’d pulled her thick yank of hair back and fastened it into a ponytail with a bit of ribbon, and a lank of it lay on her shoulder. I watched her breathe and she kept her eyes closed. I’d stormed in, ready to confront her about Greg’s lies, and now I found myself not wanting to have this conversation—just wanting to watch her doze, the way I used to on lazy Sunday afternoons in New England.

“Has the Wicked Witch of the South ridden off with her flying monkeys?” Lorna asked.

“Hey, there. Eula Mae’s harmless and she’s my friend.” I sat down on the end of the couch, pushing her feet up to make room. Her skin felt annoyingly good.

“I get the distinct feeling she doesn’t want to be my friend, despite her oh-so-kind invitation to stay with her.”

“What was all that about?”

“Your harmless little friend sauntered in like she owned your house, told me in nice—but no uncertain—terms that you really didn’t want me here, and just seemed flabbergasted I wasn’t packed and ready to go. I think she even hinted that your mother might be inclined to go into homicidal spells, without reason, at any given moment.”

“Eula Mae’s bark is worse than her bite.”

“Well, mine’s not.”

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“Your sister has gone grocery shopping. She made some comment about not expecting another mouth to feed.” Lorna sounded a little cross and I couldn’t blame her.

“Sorry about that. Just ignore her, she’s basically decent when she isn’t being catty.”

Lorna shrugged. “I have far more to worry about than being on Arlene’s shit list. Your mother’s upstairs taking a nap; I checked on her a few minutes ago. I did meet your nephew Mark, by the way. He stopped by for lunch and he’s off swimming with some friends.” She opened one gray eye and watched me past her raised knee. Probing my ribs with her wriggling toes, she said: “You don’t want me to go, do you, Jordan?”

I took a long breath. “That depends on how you answer my questions.” That got both those gray eyes open.

“What?”

“Did you know that Greg was running a land scam? That he was planning on reselling the land he wanted to buy for condominiums to a chemical dump site?” I watched her face as I spoke, for any betraying flicker.

Her mouth worked, her jaw closing and opening on empty air. “What do you mean?”

I told her again. She pulled herself into a sitting position. “How do you know this?”

It wasn’t an answer to my question, but I told her about finding the files on Greg’s laptop.

“Jordan, I swear to you—I swear on our friendship—that I didn’t know anything about this.”

We exchanged stares, then she lowered her eyes. “I feel like an idiot, and you don’t believe me,” she said.

“How could you not have known, Lorna?”

She shook her head, her eyes staring off into her memories. “I didn’t know.”

“I felt that you weren’t being entirely up-front this morning with Billy Ray and Junebug when they were asking about Greg. You’d better tell me everything you know.”

“I did tell you,” she said, her eyes still watching something in her mind and not me. Absently she picked at the bandage on her finger.

“No, Lorna. I know you well enough, and I don’t think you did. Now, what exactly did you do for Greg?”

“I handled—I did—research for him. On properties around the country that met certain criteria that he had. I’d—identify the properties and then he’d see about acquiring land there, and investors to build on the land. I didn’t deal with any investors—I never met them.”

I felt a sudden anger. “So you just happened to identify Mirabeau as the town to fit Greg’s needs. How convenient.”

“I didn’t do it just to see you again, despite what your enormous ego might say,” she retorted, then looked contrite. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a bitch. I’m just shocked.” She swallowed and went on: “I set up these databases for him of towns all over the country. Then I’d run queries on the database, finding out which ones had the attributes he looked for—river site, slow economy, proximity to a major metropolitan area. Lots of towns qualified, and he’d go check them out. He just—picked Mirabeau.”

“And you didn’t help him make that choice?”

“You know, if I’d still wanted you, I would never have let you leave Boston. I didn’t have to get a job with Greg to try and get you back.” Her voice grew sharp. “You’re just so full of yourself, Jordan.”

“I can afford to be a little arrogant,” I snapped back, letting the pain talk before my brain edited. “I’m not the one who looks like a land-scam artist. What he was doing was horrible, Lorna, and you were helping him.”

“I didn’t know! Honestly!”

“I want to believe you. Desperately. I don’t think you’re a liar, but right now—”

“I’m not a liar!”

“Then what were you hiding when you were talking to Billy Ray? Maybe you knew about the land resale all along? What else was going on? Maybe you and Greg were lovers?”

“Fine, I’ll tell you.” Her voice took on a strained, sad tone. She coughed once, as though the words were slabs in her throat. “Greg and I were lovers. For a short while after you left. But I cooled it down, because I knew it was a mistake to get involved with my boss. It was the stupidest thing I’d ever done, but you broke my heart when you left and I was entitled to make stupid mistakes. Satisfied?” She bolted off the couch, in tears, and stormed out of the room.

“Hello!” Sister trilled as she came into the kitchen, laden with groceries. I quickly offered to help and she looked at my bad arm with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t bother, Jordy. Where’s Lorna?”

“She’s resting upstairs. She’s not feeling well.” I didn’t feel too hot myself.

“Oh, dear.” Sister’s voice just dripped concern. “I think she needs a little company to brighten her day. That’s why I invited Candace over for dinner.” I whirled to face her. Sister smiled like an angel just getting her wings.

I spent the rest of the afternoon lying on my bed, hearing Lorna’s vague movements in the next room, thinking about all the hell that’d broken loose.

Greg might not have done anything outright illegal—that would be for a court to decide—but he was obviously an unsavory character. He didn’t deserve what had happened to him, but he’d obviously chosen a bad path. (Even now, thinking about his savaged throat made my bile rise.)

I closed my eyes and images danced behind my lids. Wire taken from the fence that bisected the Louder-milks’ property from Bob Don’s ending up in Greg’s neck. Gretchen in Greg’s company. That mysterious phone number on the pad in Greg’s room. Greg being Lorna’s ex- or maybe-not-ex-lover. Greg’s long-standing animosity toward Nina. Tiny’s fury at the thought that Nina could be accused. The erased diskettes. Greg’s neatly arranged files that indicated he was out to defraud the people of Mirabeau with this condo development. The letters he’d already drafted to send to the city council, even before his deals were done. His many meetings with people in the town: Miss Twyla, the Goertzes, Parker and Dee Loudermilk, Freddy Jacksill, Uncle Bid. He hadn’t met with me and I felt pert near left out. And who was the J. he met with at the end of each day? It hadn’t been me. I wondered, idly, if it was Jenny Loudermilk—she’d come in right behind Greg at the library meeting. Or another abbreviation for Freddy Jacksill. They were the only people connected to the case that I could think of. Of course, it could be someone else entirely. And to add to all this, the bombings. Tomorrow, I decided, I’d have to talk with Mr. Freddy Jacksill and the Loudermilks.

I took some more Tylenol, wondering if you could get addicted to the stuff, and rewarded all my hard thinking with a predinner nap.

I could have killed my nephew Mark. He’d ended up getting invited to stay at a friend’s for hamburgers for dinner, leaving me alone with three women, all of whom had their eyes on me for different reasons. It was really more than any one man should be expected to bear.

Sister was the congenial hostess, being as sugary to me and Lorna as two-day-old sweet-potato pie. She’d insisted on doing all the cooking, while leaving Candace, Lorna, and me out in the living room with a life-preserver-shaped tray of cheese, fruit, and chips. (I felt like the dip.) She brought in our beers and patted Lorna on the shoulder.

“Lorna, I know you’re probably not feeling like partying very much, but trust me—a relaxing evening with friends will make you feel better. Try and put all this dreadfulness behind you for just a few hours.” Good thing Lorna wasn’t diabetic—Sister’s cajoling tone would have put anyone into a sugar coma.

Lorna wasn’t fooled for an instant. “That’s awfully sweet of you, Arlene. And inviting Candace, too, so I can make a new friend here in Mirabeau, well, really, you shouldn’t have.”

I managed to choke down a chip. I could see the evening unfolding like a bad horror movie. Candace and Sister (or at least, Sister) had connived not to leave me alone with Lorna, not knowing that right now I was a bit tiffed at Lorna. Sister wasn’t about to have her baby brother get into a mixed marriage (and marrying a Yankee would be considered just that in Mirabeau—we didn’t trust genes that hadn’t been in nearby pools for several generations) and she was kind of stuck on the idea of me and Candace staying on a steady course. Candace had either gotten dragged into this or was a co-conspirator, but she was the person I was happiest to see.

And Lorna, God help me. Lorna saw right through Sister’s charade and had determined to be as affable (at least outwardly) as Sister was being. She wouldn’t look at me, given her latest confession, but when she’d come down to dinner she’d given me a sideways hug and patted my shoulder. I admit I had no clue as to where I stood with her, or whether I believed she didn’t know about Greg’s fraud. I shouldn’t be mad that she and Greg had been lovers, but I did feel a vague tug in my gut at the thought. Had she felt the same when she’d found out about Candace? At least, I comforted myself, I’d had better taste in companions. Far better, I thought with a smile as I glanced over at Candace. She was wearing an outfit of hers I’d always liked, a simple blue-and-white-stripe tanktop dress. I glanced over at Lorna. She’d changed into a Boston Marathon T-shirt, deliciously snug over her chest, and long navy walking shorts. Both these women were beautiful, in different ways. Any man should have delighted in their company, but the tension hung in the air like a hanged man’s ghost. They’d spend the whole evening fighting over me. A slight grin touched my mouth; I’d never had two women fight over me before. It’d be hell to sit through, but it might also be kind of fun—at the least, a boost to my benighted ego.

I sat on the couch with the tray of food before me. Lorna had gracefully maneuvered to sit by me and Candace had retreated to a nearby wicker chair. Sister had already fed Mama and put her to bed, so she wasn’t there for me to talk to. I find it a comfort to talk to Mama sometimes even if she’s not paying me a bit of heed.

“You must stay busy here in Mirabeau, Candace,” Lorna purred. “I mean, what with helping Jordan out at the library.”

“That takes a lot of my time, yes,” Candace concurred. “And I do volunteer work for the Daughters of the Republic of Texas chapter, and the Bonaparte County Literacy Program, and the Mirabeau Historical Society.”

“How sweet,” Lorna said. “Of course, that’s not really like having a career. Don’t you get bored?”

“Not really.” Candace smiled tightly. “And you’re right, it’s not like a career. I’m not shackled to it.”

“But then you don’t get all the rewards from a career.”

Candace leaned over and patted my knee in a most proprietary way. “My work brings me all sorts of rewards.”

God, they were just going to snipe at each other all night. Over little old me? I tried not to smirk.

After delicately arranging some cheese on a cracker, Lorna eyed Candace and me. “So what do you guys do for fun in town? If it’s just having sex, spare me any gruesome details.”

Candace might have taken slight umbrage at being referred to as a guy, but she wasn’t put off by Lorna’s ribaldry. “Oh, no. We watch TV—cable is a necessity if you live out here. We go into Austin to shop, sometimes go over and eat in La Grange or Smithville.”

“TV, huh? Does he make you watch all those old spy shows with him?” Lorna asked, leaning forward. This had been a particularly annoying habit of mine; foreplay had often consisted of wrenching the remote control out of my hand.

“Oh, yes.” Candace laughed. “He still loves to watch The Avengers. I think he’d like me to go as Emma Peel for Halloween and he could be John Steed. I just told him I wasn’t about to cavort around town in a black leather jumpsuit with a Sixties hairdo, no sir.”

“He tried that on me, too! Like he wouldn’t look ridiculous in a bowler.” Lorna giggled. “Plus, you know Jordan, he can be clumsiness personified. He’d poke someone’s eye out with that umbrella Steed always carried.” She sighed. “No, I always picked out our Halloween costumes, and every year he was an absolute baby about it.”

“I don’t think this is really—” I began, but Candace cut me off: “What did y’all go as?”

“Sex toys,” Lorna whispered back, shooting a cautionary glance toward the kitchen, where we could barely hear Sister humming a Trisha Yearwood song with no regard to key.

“Lorna, really—” I tried.

Candace exploded in laughter. “Oh, my God!”

“I know. Isn’t it horribly tacky? But, Candace, you have to understand the crowd we ran around with up there, they were awfully full of themselves. Jordan and I liked to let a little of their stuffy air out. So I went as a vibrator—basically I wore a long silver gown, with speed settings on my front and an old football helmet with halves of golf balls glued on it.”

“Oh, my God!”

“And Jordan was a dildo!” Lorna managed to finish. She was howling as hard as Candace. I wasn’t howling at all. I started a very detailed examination of Sister’s cheese tray. This had ceased to be amusing.

“How?” Candace wanted to know.

“Just basically put a phallic-shaped cylinder around him and he was set. I did make him wear a beanie on his head, for that ‘special pleasuring sensation.’ You wouldn’t believe how cute he looked, I think I still have a picture of him back home—”

The cackles followed me as I escaped into the kitchen. So much for their bickering over my studly form. Sister glanced up from her chicken-fried steaks, sizzling in the skillet with a heavenly aroma.

“What’s all that screeching?” Sister obviously anticipated a catfight between my two paramours.

“I hope you’re satisfied,” I snapped. “They’re laughing at me!”

I managed to make it through dinner, but more than once I wondered if my steak knife would provide me with a fast death if I fell on it. I did enjoy Sister’s food: chicken-fried steak surrounded by a delicate, golden batter, topped with rich cream gravy; black-eyed peas, cooked with peppers and bits of bacon; steamed summer squash from Sister’s own garden, with just a hint of rosemary; thick slabs of homemade jalapeño cornbread, with butter melting inside each slice. For dessert we had warm, gooey homemade pecan pie with Blue Bell vanilla ice cream on top. The ladies drank iced tea with lime slices and I stayed with beer, hoping to numb the conversation between Candace and Lorna.

It almost didn’t matter who was saying what. “How long did it take you to get used to the snoring?”

“Ages, even though he claims he never snores.”

“Yeah! Right!”

“I hope he picks up after himself better.”

“Actually, no. He still believes that clothes that land on the floor have life and walk to the hamper under their own power.”

“I know. But he says he’s tidy at work.”

“Well, he is. Usually. Of course he’s the worst flirt at work with all the old ladies. They just love him.”

“Didn’t you ever want to snip out that tongue, though? I got tired of always having to engage in repartee. Not to mention what you just said, his innate need to flirt. Really!”

“Oh, but you got used to it, didn’t you? I always thought that it was kind of cute.”

Sister tried to dam the flow: “More dessert, girls?”

“No, thanks.”

“No, Arlene, thank you.”

“God, and have you ever dated a guy that liked war movies so much? I always wondered if that meant Jordy really wanted a military career.”

“But he’s not good at taking orders.”

“Or at giving them.” Laughter from both sides. I started counting the nuts in my pie, hoping to find a big one I could choke on.

“And did you ever see a man with so many damn books?”

“No. It’s like having another library at home. And God help you if you interrupt him when he’s wanting to read. He gets awful moody.”

“Lord, and those depressing books. All those murder mysteries. That actually scared me when we started dating. I thought it was a little morbid.”

“At least he wasn’t in a Civil War phase. God forbid he starts reading Bruce Catton again. You won’t see him for weeks.”

“Sounds like football season when the Cowboys are playing. You better not talk during a Cowboy game.”

“Or laugh at him when the Cowboys score and he does his little victory dance.”

“I have never minded being laughed at for that!” I exclaimed, finally rousing to defend myself. I looked at Sister for help. She seemed unduly interested in the crust of her pie, picking at it like an archaeologist clearing dirt from an artifact.

“He’s not a bad dancer, as long as the music has a very—strong—beat.”

“And you’ll need steel-tipped shoes to protect your feet.”

“Well, he did do a little striptease dance for me on my birthday that was just adorable! All he kept on was a rose in his mouth and his Cowboys baseball cap—”

I hoped that all the blood in my body was not rushing to my face; I wanted enough left to have a proper heart attack. I wondered what it would take to shut them up.

The explosion shushed them, a few moments later. The roar of a blast maybe two streets over, a faraway chorus of screams, and moments later, the cry of sirens.