Dangerous Minds (Knight and Moon #2)(5)

Vernon looked down at himself. “I got all my nethers covered.”

Riley peeked at him from between her fingers. “I’m looking for Emerson. I think he’s having breakfast in the conservatory.”

“I’m powerful hungry,” Vernon said. “Wait up for me, and I’ll go with you.”

Two minutes later Vernon was dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, a tight-fitting white T-shirt, and he had the John Deere hat on his head.

“This here’s my lucky hat,” Vernon said, joining Riley.

“Apparently so. Did you hear the alarm last night?”

“Oh sure. But Emmie texted me not to come unless my unagi told me to. And I wasn’t getting any unagi danger signals, which was a good thing being that I was busy with the maid service.”

“They were here all night?”

Vernon grinned. “Turns out we had a lot to do, cleaning-wise.”

“Good grief.”

“It’s not what you think,” Vernon said. “Most people gotta pay for ladies in maid suits, but Jolene and Mary Beth and me went to high school together back in Harrisonburg. They live in D.C. now, and they come over on occasion to tidy up and enjoy my bachelor amenities.”

Don’t ask, Riley told herself. Best not to know too much about his amenities.

The grounds surrounding the main house and the conservatory were tended by a well-meaning but partially blind ninety-two-year-old gardener. The result was a riot of grasses and flowering plants run amok. Riley thought it suited the property perfectly because everything about Mysterioso Manor was amok. It was an extravagant display of wealth and bad taste set in a heavily wooded area of Rock Creek Park, in the northwest quadrant of Washington, D.C. It was horribly wonderful.

Riley led the way along the stone path to an elaborate iron and glass structure topped with a Victorian-era cupola. It was almost as large as the main house, and it contained a jungle of exotic tropical plants and fruit trees. It was, on one hand, a magical place. On the other hand, it was a living minefield. Spiders dropped from trees, birds shot through the air, assorted rodents and small animals scurried across walkways, and a larcenous colony of monkeys howled and screeched at visitors.

Benches were sprinkled throughout the conservatory, usually beside a small fountain or hummingbird feeder. A larger sitting area had been placed in the middle of the greenhouse, under the cupola. A pretty wrought iron table with four chairs held court in the center. More fancy wrought iron chairs and benches were stationed along the perimeter.

Riley watched for mice and spiders as she made her way to the sitting area, and Vernon held on to his hat for fear a monkey would steal it.

“I don’t know why Emmie likes this place so much,” Vernon said. “Looks to me like a swamp. And I don’t know why he puts up with the monkeys. They’re all a pack of thieves. Especially that Mr. Manfrengensen. He’s the worst. He takes anything not nailed down, and he don’t even care if you yell at him.”

“He listens to Emerson.”

“I reckon. Emmie has a way with dumb animals.”

Riley squelched a grimace. She hoped she didn’t fall into that category.

Emerson and Wayan Bagus looked up from their breakfast when Riley and Vernon stepped into the clearing. Mr. Manfrengensen was on a nearby bench, eating a slice of dragon fruit.

Vernon pointed two fingers toward his own eyes and then one finger at the monkey. Mr. Manfrengensen kept eating.

“I’m watching you,” Vernon said.

Nothing from Manfrengensen.

Vernon turned his attention to the food on the table. Lentils. Whole grain, seeded bread. Fruit from the greenhouse garden, and honey.

“Where’s breakfast?” Vernon asked.

“This is my friend Wayan Bagus,” Emerson said. “He’s a Buddhist monk, so it’s a vegetarian breakfast.”

Wayan Bagus stood up and bowed to Vernon, who just kept staring incredulously at the lentils. “But where’s the bacon?”

“Bacon’s not a part of a vegetarian diet,” Emerson said.

Vernon scratched his chest. “What about sausages and fried ham?”

“Those are all meats.”

“Are you telling me he doesn’t eat any of them? That’s just all wrong. That’s practically not even American.”

“Wayan Bagus is Balinese,” Emerson said.

“No shit?” Vernon said. “How cool is that!” He looked down at Wayan Bagus. “Well, Little Buddy, any friend of Emmie’s is a friend of mine, even if you don’t know how to eat breakfast.”

Vernon grabbed the monk and gave him a big bear hug.

Emerson had his hand up, trying to get Vernon’s attention. “Buddhist monks don’t like to be touched,” Emerson said.

“You’re making that up,” Vernon said to Emerson. “Everyone likes a hug.” He lifted Wayan a couple inches off the ground and swung him side to side. “You’re just a cute li’l ol’ oompa loompa, aren’t you?” he said to Wayan.

“Apologies,” Wayan Bagus said in his quiet monk voice.

Next thing, Vernon was on his back, and Wayan Bagus was in his seat at the table carefully spreading a bit of honey on his bread.

Vernon pulled himself to his feet and grinned at the monk.

“I can see you like to wrassle,” Vernon said to Wayan Bagus. “I’m a big wrassler myself. We’re going to be good friends, Little Buddy.”