Page 18 of Fish in a Barrel

“You’re going to be Dracula, right? Can I be Renfield?”

Ellery laughed. “Don’t you want to be Van Helsing?”

“Ooh… yeah. Let me run it by Mike!” He could hear her talking offstage with her boyfriend. One of Jackson’s best friends, Mike was a rednecked Virginia boy with prematurely white hair, beautiful blue eyes, and an uncomfortable, non-politically-correct way of looking at the world. How he’d ended up living with one of the most powerful women of color Ellery had ever met was a universal mystery, but Jackson loved seeing his sister-of-the-heart and his friend happy, so they’d stopped talking about how weird it was that they were together and started crossing their fingers that it would last.

Jade came back on the line. “He says that would be great, but he wants to make me a real working crossbow—”

“No!” Ellery protested. Then, before she got offended, he said, “Too many live targets, and I might be tempted too.”

Jade laughed at that, and his stomach warmed. He and Jade had worked long and hard to build a bridge of friendship that would span Jackson, whom they both loved. It had been worth it. She was as much a part of his family now as his sister or his mother or father, and if she and Jackson hadn’t quit their old job to work for him, he would have needed to be awfully lucky to have found anyone close to her as an employee.

As a friend, he still couldn’t believe his luck.

“Well, maybe Dracula and Van Helsing aren’t as witty as we think they are,” Jade conceded. “Who else do you got?”

“I’d like to make an ironic statement,” Ellery said, “but I’ve got nothing.”

“Charlie Brown and Lucy?” she asked out of the blue, and Ellery guffawed.

And blinked. Because hewasthe overly earnest kid who got caught taking himself seriously too often, and she was just the sort of girl who would yank that football away.

And who sat and dealt with his and Jackson’s problems and never even got paid that five cents.

“Done. Do it. Yes. That’s us. I like it.”

She cackled. “Most excellent. I know where they sell them. I’ll stop and get them tomorrow. It’ll be awesome. Hey, Mike, get a load of what me and Ellery are gonna dress like!”

As she chattered to Mike—and Ellery stirred the chicken soup he had on simmer—he heard the signal over his Bluetooth for another call.

“Jade, this might be Jackson. I’m gonna switch over.”

“Tell him about our costumes!” she said quickly. “Take care, bye!”

“Bye!” he said, before hitting the button of his earpiece. “Ellery Cramer, Attorney at Law.”

He expected Jackson to be the one on the other line and to give him shit about being so prissy when he answered the phone, but that’s not who he got.

“Hello, Mr. Cramer?” It was a vaguely familiar, distinctly female voice that Ellery couldn’t place immediately. There was a great deal of static on the line as well, as though this person was calling from a landline or from out in the rain.

“Yes?” he answered, confused.

“This is Siren Herrera. You know me from work?”

“Yes, Ms. Herrera, but this isn’t my work number,” he said, which wasn’t entirely true. He’d given his cell number out to Siren before, but she was sounding very odd.

“I’m aware.” There was an iciness in her voice then, a snort of persnickety “No duh, asshole!” that caught Ellery’s attention. What in the hell? “This is… this is tricky. I’m calling on a personal matter. Would you like to meet for coffee?”

“Tomorrow morning?” he hazarded.

“Tonight,” came the crisp reply. “It’s gotta be tonight.”

He looked longingly at the soup, just simmering, and reluctantly turned off the burner. “Where—”

“Lawyers, Guns, and Money,” she said. “It’s on Howe Avenue.”

He blinked. “There’s a coffee shop called—”

“Yup. Corner of Howe and Hurley. I’ll see you there in twenty minutes.”