“Cammy!”
Aunt Jeanne is the only person on the planet who’s allowed to call him that.
He jogs over, then smiles as she wraps him in a quick hug. She smells like stale coffee, as usual. Then he turns to Delmonico, stone-faced, and says, “What’s the issue here?”
Aunt Jeanne snatches her cane and points it accusingly at the landlord. “Cammy, tell him there’s no snakes in my clematis! He’s trying to make me rip it down. All because Sissy Baker said she saw something. Everyone knows that old bat can’t hardly see.”
“You heard her. No snakes in there,” Cameron says firmly, tilting his head at the mass of vines, which have grown thick and lush since his last visit. How long has it been? A month?
Delmonico pinches the bridge of his nose. “Nice to see you again, too, Cameron.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.”
“Look, this is straight out of the Welina Mobile Park bylaws,” Delmonico says with a sigh. “When a resident makes a complaint, I’m required to undertake an investigation. And Mrs. Baker said she saw a snake. Said she saw, right in that there plant, yellow eyes blinking at her.”
Cameron scoffs. “She’s obviously lying.”
“Obviously,” Aunt Jeanne echoes, but she casts him a puzzled look from the corner of her eye.
“Oh, really?” Delmonico folds his arms. “Mrs. Baker has been a member of this community for years.”
“Sissy Baker’s packed full of more shit than a turd burger.”
“Cammy!” Aunt Jeanne swats his arm, reproaching his language. Which is rich, from the woman who taught him “A is for Asshole” while he was learning the alphabet.
“Excuse me?” Delmonico dips his glasses.
“Snakes can’t blink.” Cameron rolls his eyes. “They can’t. They don’t have eyelids. Look it up.”
The landlord opens his mouth, then snaps it shut.
“Case closed. No snakes.” Cameron folds his arms, which are at least twice the diameter of Delmonico’s. Bicep day’s been lit at the gym lately.
Delmonico does actually look like he’d prefer to leave. Studying his shoes, he grumbles, “If that’s even true, the snake-eyelid thing . . . there are ordinances. Blame the county for that, if you want, but when someone reports that one of my properties has a pest infestation—”
“I told you, no snakes!” Aunt Jeanne throws her hands up. Her cane lands on the grass. “You heard my nephew. No eyelids! You know what it is? Sissy Baker’s jealous of my garden.”
“Now, Jeanne.” Delmonico holds up a hand. “Everyone knows you have a lovely garden.”
“Sissy Baker’s a liar, and blind to boot!”
“Be that as it may, there are safety codes. If something creates a hazardous situation—”
Cameron takes a step toward him. “I don’t think anyone wants a hazardous situation.” It’s a bluff, mostly. Cameron hates fighting. But shrimp-on-a-stick here doesn’t need to know that.
Looking almost comically startled, Delmonico pats his pocket, then makes a show of pulling out his phone. “Hey, sorry. Need to take this.”
Cameron snickers. The old fake phone call. This guy sucks.
“Just trim it back a little, okay, Jeanne?” he yells over his shoulder as he crunches down the gravel walkway toward the road.
IT TAKES CAMERON the better part of an hour to prune the clematis, fielding Aunt Jeanne’s picky instructions while balanced on a stepladder. A little more there. No, not so much! Trim down the left. I meant right. No, I meant left. Down below, Aunt Jeanne collects the snipped-off stems and purple flowers in a yard waste bag.
“Is that thing about the snakes true, Cammy?”
“Sure it is.” He climbs down the ladder.
Aunt Jeanne frowns. “So, for real, no snakes in my clematis, right?”
Cameron glances at her sidelong as he strips off his gloves. “Have you seen a snake in your clematis?”
“Uh . . . no?”
“Well, there’s your answer.”
Aunt Jeanne grins, opening her back door, shoving aside a stack of newspapers with the tip of her cane. “Stay and visit, hon. D’you want coffee? Tea? Whiskey?”
“Whiskey? Seriously?” It’s not even ten in the morning. Cameron’s stomach lurches at the thought of booze. He ducks under the door frame and blinks, adjusting to the low light inside, letting out a breath of relief at the state of the place. It’s bad, of course. But no worse than last time. For a while, the junk seemed to be breeding with itself like a bunch of horny rabbits.