Free The Last Coin by James P. Blaylock Page A

and then tie the plastic bag. He looked uncomfortable. “Which one is that again? Chloro-what?”
    “Chlorophacinone,” Andrew said. “No, I haven’t mixed it up yet. You use wet cornmeal—press it into cakes.” He put the bag down on the bench, as if he suddenly found it distasteful. “I’d thought of setting the cakes around as if I were poisoning ’possums. Rose would have to take the whole business more seriously then.”
    “I dare say she would,” Pickett said. “What if you
do
poison something—a ‘possum, say? What if by accident you poison a
cat
, for God’s sake? You’d never get out of the soup.”
    Andrew stared at the powder in the bag. “I’d hate myself if I poisoned anything at all. It was just going to be a blind, a ruse. Only because the cat-stealing trick went bad. I’m certain Rose saw through it. So I’ve got to press on, somehow, and make her doubt herself. Make her see that I’m serious about this ‘possum business.”
    “
Are
you serious about this ’possum business? My advice is to let it drop. Cut bait and get out. It’s a shame there
isn’t
a ’possum around the neighborhood. That would settle things.”
    Andrew sighed. “There is, actually. I think there’s one living under the house. That’s where I got the idea in the first place.”
    “Well there you are! Point him out to Rose. There’s your evidence, right where you want him.”
    “I can’t let on that there’s
really
one living under the house. She’d want him out of there.”
    Pickett stared hard at Andrew, as if trying to make sense of nonsense. “So you’re telling me that despite the poison and the dead ’possum in Naomi’s room and your fears about having been caught up on the roof in the middle of the night, what you really want to do is
protect
the ‘possum living under the house?”
    Andrew shrugged and then nodded weakly. “They’re such great-looking little guys, with that nose and all.”
    “I can’t do anything for you then,” said Pickett. “You’ve made a mess of your priorities.”
    “I can’t stand talk about ‘priorities.’ They tire me out.” Andrew picked up the sack full of poison. It seemed suddenly to contain a coiled snake or a nest of spiders. “I ought to pitch it into the trash, right now, while I’m thinking straight. Don’t tell Chateau, though, will you? I don’t want him to know that I tossed it out after begging five pounds of it off him to assassinate non-existent rats.”
    Pickett shook his head. “Toss it out. That’s what I’d do. I’m afraid of poisons, especially with Pennyman around. There’s no telling what you’ll find in your beer.”
    Andrew nodded. “Done,” he said, and he stepped out into the daylight, dropping the bag into another trash can and hauling the can across the backyard, away from the garage so that Rodent Control wouldn’t find it while looking for the ’possum.
    “I left my pole and tackle box in the living room,” said Pickett, remembering suddenly.
    “Go after them then. I’ll get my stuff together. I’d better not go back in—not just now.” Somehow the idea of coming face-to-face with Rose filled him with terror. He’d wait until the dust settled.
    Just as Pickett turned to go, the house door slammed shut, and there was Mrs. Gummidge, carrying a dripping coffee filter full of steaming grounds. She grinned at them. “Can’t put these down the disposal,” she said. “They’ll clog the septic tank.”
    “We haven’t got a septic tank,” Andrew said, grinning back. “Nothing but sewers for us.”
    She stepped across and lifted the lid from the trash can that Andrew had just moved. She set the lid down and looked in suspiciously, then dropped the grounds in. “No ’possums in that one,” she said cheerfully, bending over to pick up the lid. She banged it back down onto the trash can and hurried away toward the house, muttering about “poor Naomi” and “given such a fright,” her voice trailing away