No Quest For The Wicked
Page 22
“Do you know where you’re supposed to meet your grandmother?” Owen asked as we approached the station.
“No idea. But if I know Granny, we won’t have to look too hard. She’ll be causing the kind of commotion that draws attention. I don’t know how long ago she called, but she may even have been there long enough to take over. We might be just in time for her coronation.”
Owen’s cell phone rang, and after a brief conversation, he closed it and reported, “Minerva’s people found a personal shopper reservation at Macy’s for a woman with the same name as one who’s engaged to a Jonathan Martin. They don’t know if she’s in any way connected, but since we’re nearby, we may as well check it out after we find your grandmother.” He checked his watch. “We’ve got about half an hour.”
As we rode the escalator down into the station, I said, “Listen for someone loudly criticizing something. That’ll be Granny.”
“Do you know if she came in on Amtrak or on New Jersey Transit from the airport?” Rod asked. “That could help us figure out where she might be.”
“I have no idea, as I said. For all I know, she flew in on her broom and thought this would be a convenient meeting place.”
We’d reached the food court area of the station, and I started to fear that I’d been overly optimistic in assuming I could easily find my grandmother. Even as colorful a character as she was could be lost in these throngs and in this noise. She wouldn’t even be the craziest person in this place.
But then I heard a piercing voice ringing above the din. “I think I’ve found her,” I said, grabbing Owen’s arm. The three of us followed the sound and found a group of young thugs cowering in a corner as a tiny old woman menaced them with her cane.
“Now, give the lady back her purse,” she said, giving one of the guys a threatening poke with the cane. He nervously glanced at her before meekly stepping forward and handing a purse to the harried young mother standing next to Granny. “Everything’s in there, right?” Granny asked him. He nodded mutely, and Granny turned to glance at the woman. “Check it out, honey,” she said, more gently.
The woman opened the purse and checked through it. “It doesn’t look like anything’s missing,” she reported.
“Okay, then, I won’t shrink your manhood to the size of a boiled peanut,” Granny told the guys, who all flinched. “Now, what do you say to the lady?”
“And?” The cane made a menacing move.
“And, um, we won’t do it again?”
“That’s right, you won’t. And if you do, well, let’s just say you’ll have to buy smaller undershorts. I’ve already set the curse, so if you break your word, it’ll happen, whether or not I’m around.”
“Wow, her first day here, and she’s already cleaning up crime,” Rod muttered. “The mayor may want her to stay.”
The thugs nodded wide-eyed at her, then slunk away. The purse’s owner turned to Granny. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t caught them. My whole life is in this bag.” She opened her wallet, took out a bill, and tried to hand it to Granny, but Granny shook her head.
“No, I’m just looking out for my neighbor like the good Lord says to do. You go on and have a good day.”
The woman shifted the baby on her hip, reshouldered her purse and said, “Well, thank you very much.”
When she was gone, I stepped forward to approach Granny, but froze when a gruff voice behind me said, “So, now you’re bringing in an outside wizard for the search. What do you have planned for when you get that brooch?”
Chapter Five
I slowly turned around to see a bearded gnome wearing a track suit with white pants, a yellow jacket, and a baseball hat. There was something awfully familiar about him. If those white pants were tucked into tall boots, if he posed properly, and if I saw him out of the corner of my eye, he’d look like … “You!” I blurted. “You’re the extra jockey! I knew I saw something at the restaurant.”
“Aw, you spotted me back there?” the gnome grumbled. “I thought that was a pretty good disguise, even if I hadn’t also used some magic.”
“Your magical veiling doesn’t work on me,” I said. “And I haven’t seen too many jockeys with long, white beards.”