We both fell silent. I wasn’t sure what was going on in Lucas’s head, but I was thinking about how complicated our lives could potentially become, just by adding one person. I wasn’t going to question the powers that be—not exactly—but at the same time, I had to wonder at the wisdom at tossing someone else into an already-dicey mix, at a time when all of our focus was supposed to be on saving the world.
“Cathryn had more information on the history of the Hive. That’s one of the reasons she asked me to stay an extra couple of days up at Carruthers.” Lucas stretched out his legs across the floor. “It’s a pretty wild story.”
“What we knew was already hard to swallow. I’m not sure I can handle anything even more bizarre.”
“Then hold onto your hat. A Carruthers agent working undercover was able to catch one of the original hippies in a mostly-lucid moment, and this guy spilled his guts about how he and the rest of their group opened the interdimensional door. The leadership on the commune thought they were making contact with aliens who were going to help them achieve world peace. The plan was to start a fire—both literal and figurative—that was going to sweep over the world, destroying all the war and disunity, and then the aliens were going to take over and help us do things right.” Lucas made air quotes with his fingers. “Of course, it really wasn’t aliens they were contacting—”
“Do they even exist?” I interrupted.
Lucas wrinkled his brow at me. “What, aliens? How should I know?”
I lifted one shoulder. “Well, you’re involved in the whole supernatural paranormal deal now, so I figured you might have some insight.”
“I have no idea about that. None at all.”
“Okay, then. Carry on.” I rolled my hand, motioning for him to continue.
“So it turns out that instead of aliens, they really summoned . . . well, the demon, I guess. Or demons. The aging hippies still don’t realize it, but putting together what we learned from Delia and what our investigators have unearthed, that seems to be what happened.”
“Cathryn said before that all of the people involved in the original plan were either dead or demented, right? And they don’t know the name of the leader?”
“Ah.” Lucas held up one finger. “Yes, it’s true that the men who did the ritual back in 1967 are in memory units or graves, but this one dude, in his brief time of clarity, was able to give our agent a name. A very important name, apparently.” Lucas paused, and I assumed it was for dramatic effect. “Donald Parcy.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Seriously? The big bad we’ve been hunting all this time is named Donald?”
Lucas cocked his head. “Why? You wanted him to have a more threatening name?”
“Hell, yeah. Donald is your uncle, or the old man next door who yells when you run through his roses. Donald isn’t the guy who’s going to bring the world to the brink of horrific war and bloodshed.”
“I guess when his parents named him, they didn’t foresee his role in the apocalypse.” Lucas nudged me forward. “My ass is going numb. We need to get off the floor.” He snapped his pants and buckled his belt again.
“Sorry.” I stood up, pausing to fix my shirt and my bra where Lucas had pulled them out of the way earlier, in his rush to get to me and re-buttoning my shorts. “So have they found out where this guy is right now? Is he still alive?”
Lucas opened the fridge and retrieved two bottles of beer. “He is. He’s living in a nursing home outside San Francisco, since he had a stroke about five years ago. Cathryn has a Carruthers contact watching him, just to see who goes to visit him. We don’t know if the Hive plans to use him, or if he was just a means to end back then. There was something kind of funny, though.”
“Funny ha-ha, or funny weird?” I took a long swig of the beer Lucas handed to me.
“Funny ironic. It turns out that these people had their timing all wrong. They were fifty years off, which is why their plan didn’t work. They were able to start the process, but I guess these things are affected by the position of the stars or something . . . because it didn’t succeed. Only one entity slipped through before the door closed.”
A chill ran down my spine. It was one matter to talk about the upcoming end times in abstract terms, but I knew from personal experience that things were going to get messy and terrifying. I’d had a front-row seat to a preview of coming attractions when we’d tried to summon a deceased double agent earlier this autumn. Instead of appearing as a non-corporeal spirit, as Cathryn had planned, Delia had decided to enter me and possess me for a short time. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, to say the least, and when Lucas had sent her back to the gray place—some kind of limbo, I assumed—she hadn’t gone easily. I still woke up sometimes with the memory of her screams in my head.
“And just where is this, uh, entity now?” I glanced over my shoulder as though it might be lurking in the dark yard.
Lucas rubbed his forehead. “We’re not sure, but Rafe has a theory that if it’s a demon, it might be possessing a series of bodies, which means it may have been a shit ton of different people over the last fifty years. That’s why he wanted my help, to go over a list of potential men and women who may have been the demon’s hosts.”
I shivered again. “That means it could be anybody. People who work for Carruthers, anyone here in our neighborhood . . . we’d never know.”
“Yeah.” Lucas nodded. “Cathryn thinks she’d be able to tell if someone who was possessed was close to us up at Harper Creek, probably, by probing the minds, but she’s been fooled before. We know that. And she can’t exactly be near all of us all the time to check on the people we come in contact with on a daily basis. Nell and Zoe are working on increasing security, first at the Carruthers headquarters and then for all of us involved.” He hesitated a beat before continuing. “And this means that we’re probably going to have to move up there sooner rather than later.”
Deep down, I’d known this was a possibility. While Cathryn had assured us that we wouldn’t have to relocate in order to be part-time Carruthers agents, we’d all realized that eventually, when the real battle drew near, we’d have to hunker down in one safe place. I had been trying to avoid thinking about that, but now . . . I felt nauseated.
“What’re we going to do about everyone else? I understand that we have to be with the rest of the team, but what about my parents and my brothers? My nieces and nephews, and Leesa and Harold?” Tears sprang to my eyes. “And Mrs. Mac, and Nichelle, and Jack—”
“Jackie, I get it.” Lucas laid a hand on my shoulder. “I know what you mean. We’ll do whatever we can to keep them safe. But ultimately, the best way to do that is for us to focus on stopping the Hive. If we can do that, we’ll not only help our family and friends, we’ll be able to save the whole damn world.” He gathered me close. “Try not to worry, okay? It’s not something we have to do right away. I just want us to be . . . prepared.”
I buried my face in his neck and took deep breaths, leaning into the one source of strength I could trust, and tried to push away the images of our world plunging into madness.
“STOP THE PRESSES. I have news.”
Slowly and with great effort, I raised my eyes from the book in front of me on the table, blinking at Mrs. Mac as she sailed into my kitchen. I was having trouble coming alive this morning; after our hot and heavy session against the kitchen door and the sobering discussion that followed, Lucas and I had eventually wandered back to my house and my bed. By that time, Nichelle and Mrs. Mac had gone home and Charlie had retired to the guest room. The relative privacy had apparently inspired us, since we’d made love again, this time with more care and finesse, our awareness of precious time ticking away informing our every touch and caress.
As a result, though, my ass was dragging this morning. Two cups of high test coffee hadn’t even touch my grogginess. And seeing Mrs. Mac’s face, bright and wide awake, wasn’t helping right now.
“I can’t stop the presses. The presses haven’t even begu
n yet.” I lifted the coffee mug and wondered distractedly what had happened to my last gulp. Had I taken it? I couldn’t remember.
“Oh, come on, sleepy head. Rise and shine and sparkle.” Dragging out the chair opposite of mine, she dropped down into it heavily. “Did someone stay up too late last night with her lover boy?”
I scowled. “Someone doesn’t want to talk about it before she has another cup of coffee.” I stood up, reached for the pot and tipped it over my cup. “I’d offer you coffee, but it appears I’m out.”
Mrs. Mac waved her hand. “I don’t want any, thanks. I’ve been awake for hours. I had to meet with my voice coach this morning to work on my number for the pageant.”
Kill me now. Almost against my will, I bit the bullet and asked the question. “What is it that you’re planning to sing? And who’s this voice teacher? I haven’t heard you mention having anyone helping you.”
“I’m singing the love song from South Pacific. We were thinking about something more contemporary and current, but Karen feels that my voice is more suited to something timeless and classic. And she’s not a teacher—she’s a coach,” Mrs. Mac corrected. “She’s a lovely woman who was the Ms. Florida Senior Living Queen five years ago. Now she helps other contestants, since she’s been through it and knows the ropes. I was just lucky I nabbed her services before the competition did.”
“Aha.” I nodded and took another slug of coffee. “She’s in high demand, huh? What’s her name?”
“Karen Folgers. She lives over on the other side of Golden Rays, so it was a real race for me to get to her before that bitch Rachael Hilton did.”
“Mrs. Mac.” I shook my head. “You’re supposed to show grace and dignity as a pageant contestant, aren’t you? That’s not exactly the Ms. Florida Senior Living Queen way.”
“No, it totally is.” She nodded, unrepentant. “This pageant has a reputation for being dog-eat-dog. There’s no room for namby pamby playing around. We’re very cutthroat.”
“Nice. Who’s this Rachael Hilton?” Apparently the third cup of coffee was the charm, as I was beginning to slowly come alive.
“She’s the other singer in the pageant. And she’s even worse than Norma Schmidt was when it comes to being snooty.”
News of Mrs. Schmidt’s unnatural cause of death had not yet been made public. I had a hunch that the police were afraid of hysterical senior citizens calling into the tip line every time they saw a shadow move. They probably hoped to figure out who’d killed her before they had to issue a general warning to the community.
“Well, good for you for hiring the voice coach first.” I wondered what the going rate was for teaching an elderly woman to carry a tune. I hoped she wasn’t fleecing Mrs. Mac, but then again, the poor teacher likely deserved hazardous duty pay for taking her on. “Oh, and what was your good news? I’m mostly awake now. You can tell me.”
“Excellent.” She beamed at me. “I got you a job.”
My brows drew together. “Did I need another job? I thought overseeing a diner, writing a cookbook and starting up a catering company were going to keep me pretty busy.” Not to mention saving the world during my downtime . . .
“No, silly. I mean, I got you a catering gig. You know, you’re just starting out, and I realize it’s going to take you a little while to make your name in this business. So I just happened to be at the pageant meeting this morning, dropping off my music for next week, and I heard them saying their regular caterer was going to be on vacation, so they didn’t know what to do. They were talking about bringing in food from the grocery store for the pre-pageant meal—can you imagine that?”
“I really can’t.” I had an inkling that I knew where this was going. I wasn’t certain I was going to like it.
“Of course, I told them that my best friend and honorary granddaughter was an excellent cook and a caterer, too, and that I was sure you’d be happy to jump in and handle the brunch.”
“Mrs. Mac, I’m not really certain that I want to . . . did you say brunch? That’s the pre-pageant meal?”
She shrugged. “Yep. You know some of these old girls, they can’t eat so late. The pageant starts at noon, and the brunch is usually underway by nine.”
“Oh.” I took another sip of coffee. “I’m not sure that brunch is really in my wheelhouse, Mrs. Mac. I figured I’d be starting out by doing things like appetizers at cocktail parties and maybe making lunches or dinners for birthday picnics. I wouldn’t even know quite how to create a brunch menu.”
“I can help.”
I jumped a little, startling at the sound of Charlie’s voice in the doorway from the hall. She was dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a shirt that actually almost fit her, instead of her standard baggy number, and I thought with surprise that she really was a very pretty girl.
“I know how to do a brunch. That’s what I did for my final project at culinary school. I planned and executed a celebration breakfast for a morning wedding.” She cast me a sideways look that was just a tad smug. “And I got an A on that project, by the way.”
“See that?” Mrs. Mac clapped her hands together. “Perfect. So you and Charlie can work together and make this happen. The pageant committee would like to have a menu to approve by the end of the day. I’ll leave all the information right here.” She dropped a slim pile of papers on the table and then rose from her chair. “Now, I have to run home to get my vocal exercises in, or Karen will be cross with me. Tootles, girls!”
After the door slammed shut behind her, I turned to face Charlie. “I hope you know what you just got us into, kiddo. Cooking for a passel of old people before a senior citizen beauty pageant? And making brunch for them?” Shaking my head, I sighed. “They might eat us alive.”
To my amazement, Charlie smiled. I hadn’t seen her yet without that perpetual scowl, and in my shock, I might have gaped, mouth open.
“It’ll be fine. We’ll do omelets and stuffed French toast, and then bacon and homemade sausage as our meats. Oh!” Her eyebrows shot up, and I swore her eyes actually sparkled. “And blintzes! Those are perfect for brunch. Everyone loves blintzes.”
She sounded so elated that I couldn’t help joining in with her, just a little. “And some kind of potato, too. Home fries or hash browns?”
Charlie narrowed her eyes, considering. “Do you have a deep fryer?”
“At the diner, yes. So you’re leaning toward hash browns?”
“I was thinking, why not both? We could make them ahead of time, so that’s not too much on-site work. Is there a kitchen at the venue, or do we need to worry about an electric skillet? And do you have chafing dishes and warming trays yet? Oh, maybe a coffee station, too. Wouldn’t that be cool? I have recipes for making natural flavored creamers. Or some of those tea blends you’re always playing with.”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard Charlie string together this many words in the entire five days since I’d known her. Apparently we’d just learned that the key to unlocking her personality was brunch for old people.
“I have chafing dishes, and we can get warming trays from the diner. I don’t even know where they’re having this shin-dig, so I’m not sure about the kitchen. I guess I’ll have to call and find out numbers and then give them a bid on everything.” I flipped through the pile of papers Mrs. Mac had left behind. “I never thought that I’d have only a week to prep my first catering job, you know? I figured I would set everything up for the business, but I didn’t expect to actually book any clients until after . . .” I stopped, realizing what I’d been about to say. I didn’t plan to cater anything until I was sure the world was going to keep going ‘round and ‘round.
“Until after what?” Charlie cocked her head and regarded me curiously.
“After the holidays.” Lucas came to my rescue, entering the kitchen from behind Charlie and making a beeline for the coffee pot. “Jackie didn’t want to put any pressure on herself with her family and her friends coming down here for Christmas. But I’m thinking I missed so
mething, sleeping in late this morning. What’s going on?” He lifted the now-empty pot, shaking it and frowning.
I jumped up out of my chair and took the pot out of his hand. “Sorry about that. I was a coffee hog this morning. Sit down, and I’ll make more while Charlie tells you what she’s gotten us into.” I kissed his cheek as I passed by. “Oh, you’re going to love this.”
Lucas did, indeed, get quite a laugh out of the idea that Charlie and I were going to cater brunch for the Ms. Florida Senior Living Pageant. But once he got over the initial humor of the idea, he jumped on the bandwagon with Charlie, the two of them coming up with ever-more grandiose ideas for how to make this the best brunch ever served to people least likely to remember it.
They were in the middle of listing all the possible omelet ingredients when a familiar expression passed over his face. I knew what it meant, and I knew what came next. Catching Charlie by the hand, I dragged her out of the kitchen.
“The trays for the chafing dishes are in the garage. Come help me pull them out so we can see if we need to order more.”
“Now?” She frowned at me, confused. “But we were still finishing this list.”
“Yes, now.” I was insistent, pushing her ahead of me out the door that led to the garage as I gave Lucas wide eyes over my shoulder, watching him until, as I’d expected, he vanished into thin air. “Lucas has to get ready for an appointment this morning, anyway. And if we need to get more trays, I want to order them so they’ll get here on time.”
Once we were safely on the other side of the door, I relaxed, and the two of us pulled out boxes and began counting supplies. We determined that between what I had on hand and what the diner had, we were going to have plenty of serving dishes.
“I haven’t ordered plates, glasses or silverware yet,” I mused as we boxed up everything again. “As I said, I didn’t plan to start so soon. I figured if I had to, I could borrow them from the diner, but there’s no way I can do that during breakfast. It’s one of the busiest times of the day at Leone’s.”
Death Over Easy Page 5