I shrug, feeling colossally stupid. Beard guy must have called them and told them all about me.

He gestures, waving me to join them. “Come on. Dinner’s on.”

I frown. Dinner? My stomach growls in response, reminding me I haven’t eaten since lunch.

The woman has reached the door at the top of the stairs and opened it. The man is waiting for my response.

“No thanks,” I say, still not certain that I’m not the one on this evening’s menu, although I realize the likelihood of that becomes less and less as more people join the party. Group murder plans went out in the seventies, right?

“If you change your mind, just bang on the door.” He disappears behind the woman, and the heavy door slams shut behind him.

Felix whines at me again.

“What?” I ask him. “You want to go up there?”

Felix pants, his eyes bright and excited.

“You have no idea who they are. They could be criminals. This could be a Mafia hangout. If I go up and see too much, I’ll have to join. Then I’ll get a nickname like May ‘the Meatball’ Wexler. Or they’ll force me to use some kind of crazy weapon in my initiation, and then they’ll put it in my name like May ‘the Axe’ Wexler or May ‘the Machete’ Wexler. You know I can’t stand the sight of blood. It’ll never work. I’ll fail their tryouts, and they’ll throw me into the wet foundation of a new building, drowning me in new cement. My body will never be found. Jenny will die of a broken heart. My nieces and nephew won’t have anywhere to go when they want to run away as teenagers.”

Felix tilts his head and stares at me for a few seconds.

“Don’t look at me like that. It could happen. And don’t think you won’t be lying right next to me in that cement too, buddy.”

The door behind us had started to shut, but now it stops and goes in the other direction. Headlights tell me someone else is about to join the party. It can’t be a murder party, right? Right?

I don’t even duck down this time. I watch from the opening of my car door. I could get away pretty quickly from this position. I’m still relatively safe from immediate harm.

An old vehicle that should have been left in the seventies pulls in, sliding to a slow stop next to the SUV. It’s an orange-gold color with whitewall tires. The man driving has his arm out, resting on the windowsill. He waves at me once before he disappears from view.

The brakes squeak as he pulls to a stop. I’m holding my breath as I wait to see what will happen next. Will he ignore me too, going up the stairs and leaving me to wonder what’s for dinner? Or will he go on the attack, rushing me from behind the SUV? I glance over, just to be sure. There’s no one there.

A car door slams shut.

Footsteps grind grit into the concrete floor.

And then the tallest man I have ever seen in my entire life comes around the corner of the SUV, heading right for me.

I take a step back, but it does me no good. All he needs is three strides with those stilts for legs, and he’s right in front of me.

“Hey there,” he says, holding out his hand to shake mine. “I’m Devon. You can call me Dev.”

I stare first at his giant, dinner-plate-sized hand and then at his face. I want to say something, but no words come to mind. He’s devoid of hair. Like, any hair. No eyebrows, no eyelashes, no beard, no five-o’clock shadow, even. Is he part of a religious cult? Am I about to initiated into the Hare Krishna movement?

He grins and points to his head. “Alopecia. No hair. I don’t shave it off or pluck it out, if that’s what you were wondering.”

I shake my head, not even sure at this point what I was thinking. I go ahead and take his proffered hand, just because not doing it seems so rude now that he’s shared his personal medical history with me.

“You coming up for dinner? Burgoo night. Otherwise known as Rundown Soup. You don’t want to miss it, trust me. Ozzie’s the best cook, and it’s his night in the kitchen.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” It feels so good to confess to this complete stranger.

He lets go of my hand and gestures to follow him. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the group.”

“Group?”

“Yeah, the group.” He hesitates at the bottom of the stairs, turning to look at me. “You’ve met Ozzie already, right?”

“If you mean the giant beast with the beard, then yes.”

Dev’s eyes open wide. “Oh boy.”

I’m worried now. “Oh boy? What’s that mean?”

He laughs, his smile back in place. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Come on. I don’t want to miss out on getting a second helping.” He takes the stairs two at a time, obviously expecting me to follow.

“What about Felix?”

“Who’s Felix?” he asks, not even looking at us.

“My dog.” I take Felix out of my purse and hold him up for viewing.

Dev is at the top of the stairs. He punches in some numbers on a keypad and opens the door. “Bring him along. Does he like sausage?”

I walk over and put a foot on the first stair. “He likes sausage, but I’m not sure sausage likes him.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Dev assures me. “His stomach can’t be that big.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” I say, halfway up the stairs. “He ate an entire running shoe once.”

“Just keep him away from Oz. He’s not a fan.”

“Not a fan? Of Felix?” I’m standing on the landing next to Dev. I look down at my tiny dog and wonder how anyone could not love him on sight.

“Of small dogs. He’s a big dog kind of guy. You’ll see what I mean.”

I follow Dev inside, wondering what kind of trouble I’m about to get in. I really don’t want to be called May “the Meatball” Wexler, and there’s no way I’m touching a machete.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Wow. Nice machete,” I say, walking into what I think is a living room of sorts. There are couches, an area rug, and a coffee table, but that’s where all resemblance to a home’s interior stops. The heavy metal door clanks shut behind me.

Weapons are on display everywhere, some of them set up like artifacts and some that appear to be for everyday use. I have a hard time swallowing as my fear takes over again. Who uses weapons like these? Ninjas? Not the good guys, I know that. No way. I haven’t seen any Asians around, though, so this has to be a Mafia lair. Looking behind me, I see that the door I just went through has a digital keypad on the inside wall. I’m locked in. Trapped!

I’m in such deep doo-doo right now, it’s not even funny. Maybe I’ll be able to excuse myself to the bathroom and send out an emergency text to Jenny or the police or the National Guard.

“It’s not a machete,” Dev clarifies. “It’s a samurai sword.”

May “the Samurai” Wexler. Hmmm . . . No. I still don’t like the idea of joining their Mafia gang or whatever this is. Can I go home now? I hesitate in the entrance of the room, trying to decide what my next move should be. Nothing is coming to mind. Everything is scaring the crap out of me, with the exception of this guy. He makes me want to buy a box of popcorn and watch a movie, more like a brother-slash-friend kind of guy, not a murderer. That thought helps me get my breathing under control.

Felix apparently grows tired of waiting for me to make a decision about what to do, and makes it for me. He launches himself out of my purse and runs off, disappearing around a corner into what I can only assume is another room.

“Felix!” I yell, afraid for his tiny life.

“Oh, shit,” Dev says. Then he cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Incoming! Chihuahua on the loose!”

I hear furniture scraping, tiny barks, and then something that could possibly be the hounds of hell being unleashed to bring their murderous fury down upon our heads. I run past Dev, knocking him out of the way, heedless for my own safety as I rush to save my baby’s life.