A High-End Finish(64)

He hadn’t said so, but maybe Mac had moved here to join our well-known and very active Zen Buddhism society. They had a lovely retreat, the Sanctuary of the Four Winds, north of town up near the redwood forest. There the Zen acolytes trained and meditated under the guidance of Kikisho—he had the one-word name because he was said to be as famous in his world as Cher was in hers—and prepared themselves for the next phase. Whatever that was.

Many of the tourists who came to the sanctuary were into all sorts of other disciplines, including transcendental meditation and multiple-life regression. And if those didn’t float your boat, there were spas on Main Street dedicated to aura-color enhancement, chakra cleansings, and sacred-stone healing.

And then there were a few space cadets who showed up wearing backpacks in anticipation of the mother ship carrying them off to the astral plane.

Not that I was judging, but Mac didn’t seem like the type to hook up with a spirit guide for a quick trek out to planet Flerb.

Okay, maybe I was judging a little.

Whatever Mac’s reasons for moving here, he would certainly enjoy some fresh produce—wouldn’t he? I found a small basket and gathered up some lettuce, tomatoes, onions, broccoli, and an artichoke, and tossed in a bundle of herbs. Getting into my mission, I went inside and found a box of tasty crackers and a small round of cheese I hadn’t opened yet. I added a chocolate bar for fun and then climbed the stairs to his apartment.

I knocked on the door and waited. It was a full minute before Mac opened the door and I sort of wished he hadn’t. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was sticking straight out from his head as if he had been pulling on it for hours. He wore a faded, out-of-shape T-shirt and a pair of plaid shorts that hung loosely on his hips. The outfit might’ve been sexy if the rest of him was a little more pulled together. But again, I wasn’t judging.

“What?” he said, looking startled. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Are you all right?”

“Fine.” He glanced out the door to see if there was someone else with me. “Working. What do you want?”

I held out the basket. “I thought I’d bring you some fresh—”

“Hey, thanks,” he said, grabbed the basket, and shut the door in my face.

“You’re welcome,” I said to the door. So much for rattling the beast’s cage. At least he’d said thanks. And now he would eat well—if he even remembered he had food.



A few days later, I was making a salad for dinner when I happened to glance out my kitchen window and noticed three very big, extremely muscular men walking up the stairs to the guest apartments. Were they from the police department, coming to clean up the rest of Wendell’s apartment? Were they friends of Mac’s? Or maybe enemies? They were awfully big and potentially fearsome.

I dried my hands quickly and jogged out to the garden. “Hi, guys. Can I help you?”

The biggest one, who was leading the pack, leaned over the railing and smiled politely. “No, ma’am, but thank you. We’re here to see Mac.”

Don’t hurt him, I wanted to say, but didn’t dare, for fear of him turning on me. The guy was huge and bald and wore a skintight black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. He could’ve been a world wrestling champion for all I knew. Or a paid assassin. He pounded on Mac’s door and stood back to wait.

The other two men weren’t quite as large, but they were still intimidating. One wore a black bomber jacket and looked like he might’ve been part of a motorcycle gang. The third was dressed sedately in a pressed shirt tucked into blue jeans. He didn’t look particularly mean, but you never knew. Maybe he was the brains behind the muscle.

I worked up my courage and called out to them, “I don’t know if he’ll answer the door. He’s been very busy lately.”

Just then, Mac swept the door open and the three men greeted him with hoots and howls. There were manly hugs with a lot of backslapping and arm punching. But the truly surprising thing was Mac himself. He looked wonderful. His beautiful thick hair was brushed back neatly. He looked rested and clean and handsome, and completely straight-arrow in a navy pullover sweater and khakis. This was no longer the eccentric writer yanking his hair out for the sake of his art.

“Dude, what is this place?” the motorcycle guy said, glancing around.

“It’s a little piece of heaven,” Mac said, then noticed me watching them and grinned. “See? There’s an angel.”

I shook my head and walked back into the house.

A few minutes later while I was finishing up my salad, I saw Eric Jensen walk up the stairs to Mac’s place.

I’d heard some loud laughter and raucous voices coming from his apartment, but I couldn’t believe that one of my neighbors would’ve called the police so soon. I didn’t expect a confrontation, but I watched from the safety of my kitchen, anyway, and pushed open the casement window a few inches in order to hear the conversation as Eric knocked on the door.

Mac opened the door and grinned. “Hey, glad you could make it, Chief. Guys, this is Eric Jensen. You’ll all want to watch yourselves since he’s the chief of police of this fine village and won’t take crap from any of y’all.”

“At least he won’t cheat,” one of the guys shouted from inside the apartment.

“That’s what you think,” Eric said, chuckling.