by Livia Quinn
“But that doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never seen that man.”
“That’s not all, I found two people at the grocery store in Alliance who remember your mother from Sunday.” He paused, watching me, like I was going to run away or something. As if I could. There didn’t seem to be any end to this nightmare.
“She was with three men, in whose company she’s been seen every weekend. And on Sunday afternoon last, your mother and Mr. Meeker got into a heated discussion in the produce department during which she threw an umbrella and some melons at him.”
“I—” He was waiting for me to say something, but my senses had flipped to off like a circuit breaker.
“You don’t have anything to say, when I tell you your mother has three lovers, one of whom you found dead in the clubhouse the day after she had a fight with him?”
“Phoebe couldn’t have been involved with him; he was…uh… African American.” I struggled not to roll my eyes at the lame explanation. But what could I say? It wasn’t his race that was an issue, but his species. I scratched my head looking at the floor. “I know that sounds terribly un-PC…”
Jack looked off, looked at Dylan then back at me, his gaze inscrutable. “Don’t go anywhere. I have some questions for you in the morning, when you sober up. You might want to get some help for that drinking problem.”
That did it. “Don’t turn that black squadron commander look on me. What do you mean, sober up? I’m sober enough to tell you what I think of your investigating abilities, Sheriff.” That’s telling him, I thought as I spun around… and tripped. I would have fallen off the porch if Dylan hadn’t caught me around the waist and hauled me against him.
“Yeah,” said the sheriff. “I assume you won’t be driving home,” but he was looking at Dylan.
Dylan shook his head. “I’ll make sure she gets home.”
I sensed the testosterone in the air. They reminded me of two Rottweilers fighting over a poodle. But I was no poodle.
“I’ll make sure I get home. And you know where to find me at six-thirty in the morning if you have questions for me.” I jerked free of Dylan’s grip and gave all my concentration over to looking normal as I stomped carefully back into the bar.
I’d only had one drink. All I had to do was wait until it wore off. I thought about the sheriff’s report. Mother always had a man around. But three? It was time Phoebe and I had a serious talk.
You’d think someone would be at Phoebe’s at two o’clock in the morning, especially if she was supposed to have roommates, but the place was empty. I had decided to use menori to get in if I couldn’t find a key, but Mother was as unimaginative as ever in her choice of hiding places. As if no one would ever think to lift the rubber mat to check for a spare. It gives a whole new meaning to the word welcome.
The door opened into the kitchen. This was not the house River and I grew up in, so it conjured no sentimental feelings or memories. Phoebe rarely cooked so as expected, there were no aromas lingering in the air. I opened the refrigerator and peered inside. Empty. I walked through the hallway to the living room. “Anyone here? Mother?”
The living room was spotless, with the exception of a man’s cane leaning against the couch. I sent menori on a search of the rest of the rooms. No humans present. Now I was just curious about what clues I could find to Phoebe’s whereabouts or the identity of her “friends”.
The first bedroom held no personal items, and the double bed was simply covered in an old chenille bedspread. The next bedroom was the largest and obviously Phoebe’s. A few pieces of her clothing still hung in the closet. A mirrored tray held candles and a translucent gazing ball perched in the palm of a ceramic water sprite, as well as a beautiful hand blown bottle of liquid. When I looked closer, I could see a kaleidoscope of movement, storm clouds, swirling winds, the expanding plume of a haboob. I blinked. I’d never seen anything like it. It was…weather in a bottle. I studied it for a minute longer, fascinated. There was something familiar about the swirling concoction, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
This room was the only one in the house that looked occupied. Phoebe’s side of the bed was recognizable by a set of her earrings in a shallow dish. I finished a scan of the room, finding a set of men’s slippers on the other side of the bed. The spread had been pulled back, but my little aura reading talent was telling me this house felt abandoned, which was what I’d sensed from the minute I’d walked into the kitchen.
So if that was true, why was the key still under the mat? And most importantly, why would Phoebe have left the items on the dresser behind for anyone to find?
As an afterthought, I looked on the wall behind the door and was shocked to find a picture of Phoebe, River and me. River was showing his new front teeth, and I was crossing my eyes at him. I felt a clutch in my stomach, and dread. Finally, I put a name to the emotion—fear. I was afraid to remember. I’d pushed the memories back for so long. Had they become skewed in my head from hurt and anger? I took a deep breath.
Since my meeting with Aurora, I was making a conscious effort to fight the fear, to allow those memories to reform, and see the truth. Next to my mother an image materialized. I knew before it was fully formed, it was Daddy. The bronze skinned giant with his red gold hair and copper coin eyes, had one arm around my mother, the other around River and me. That day came back to me now.
I’d been a happy seven-year-old when the picture was snapped on one of our family picnics. My hair had still been red. Just red. On a humid spring afternoon our parents had taken us to Lightning Bayou, where they tried to outsmart each other in a stormy battle of elements.
At one point, Mother, holding River in her arms, rolled Daddy down a grassy slope, with a dust devil that soared into the clouds. He landed in the mucky swamp water, with a splash, his voice booming, “You weather witch, top this!”
River giggled hilariously as animal cracker shaped hailstones bounced around us. Daddy winked at River, and cocked an eyebrow at mother, looking triumphant, thinking he’d won. Mother just smiled, took both of our hands in hers, and changed into an umbrella.
Daddy’s laughter thundered like the great hall of echoes. If the locals noticed, they probably just thought it was a pop-up thundershower.
My heart ached now thinking about the way he’d looked at Phoebe. Intense pride and love blazed from his eyes, and I’d followed his gaze to mother’s to find a crafty yet sweet smile, which had been all for him.
I’d forgotten how happy they were before Dutch died. Why had she withdrawn from us, as if we no longer mattered?
My father’s image faded until all I saw was background again. I rummaged through Phoebe’s closet for a tote bag, finding a plastic green sack, into which I loaded the mirrored tray and its contents. I found a scratch pad in the kitchen by the phone and wrote, Phoebe, or whoever is living here with my mother, please call me. I wrote my cell phone and signed it, Tempe. At least if she returned, she’d know I had the items from her bedroom.
I sank into the kitchen chair in the dark, overwhelmed by a feeling of loss. My brother was missing, and my mother wasn’t just incommunicado, she was gone as well. Was it voluntary, or was she a victim of whatever had happened to my brother?
Any other time the tap on the kitchen door would have made me jump, but I just didn’t have the energy. It eased open, and I heard the clump of heavy boots on the kitchen linoleum.
“What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
Jack
The room was dark, but the meager light from the window illuminated my quarry at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. “What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
I winced as my question came out more harshly than I’d intended. When I went back to BBs the bartender said Tempe had paced the floor of the bar drinking coffee for an hour, then asked for the truck keys McGuinness had tossed him. Without a word, she walked out the door and drove off.
I’d tracked her down to tell he
r I was sorry for the way I reacted at the bar when I discovered her with the PI. I was beginning to suspect jealousy might be at play.
She looked up from the table, light reflecting on the silent tears coursing down her cheeks. Oh, man. I couldn’t help feeling that my actions might have put a cap on her day. She’d been shocked at my announcement earlier, but instead of leaning on either me or the inspector, she’d told us where to go and set out on her own to get answers. If only I’d stuck to the plan I’d made on the way back from Amity…
I’d been worried about the body being River’s and how I would deliver that news. Instead of giving her the good news like I intended and telling her I planned to step up my investigation into River’s disappearance—after finding her in a lip lock with McGuinness—I’d blown a fuse and kicked her when she was down. I felt like a jerk.
The woman got to me. She got on my last nerve most of the time but it was usually preceded by a jolt like the one from my F-18’s afterburners. The Tempe I was used to, with her feistiness and weird little “talents” didn’t resemble this Tempe, who seemed to have run out of feist.
My fingers itched to touch her, so I balled my hands into fists to keep from reaching out to comfort her. “Are you all right?” I glanced toward the hallway. “What happened?” Maybe she discovered her mother lying in one of those rooms, or her brother. Why did she look so sad?
Flashes from the outside lights flickered across her eyes when she looked up, making them appear lit from within.
“Stay here.” With my hand on my Glock, I searched the house, noting the slippers next to the bed and the cane in the living room. Finding nothing but an empty house, I was curious what had brought on such a reaction from her. I heard water running in the kitchen.
I looked behind the bedroom door and found a picture of Tempe, her mother and River. She must have been around eight, her eyes bright with laughter. She was tickling her brother and making a face, her red hair draped around his face. There was an odd expression on Phoebe Pomeroy’s face. As if she was smiling at someone next to her but no one was there.
I heard water running in the kitchen, closed the door and walked back down the hallway. The light was on, and Tempe stood at the sink drinking water out of a Styrofoam cup. I put my hand on the refrigerator door, and for the first time since I’d arrived, Tempe spoke. “It’s empty.” She blew out a sigh placing the cup on the counter, leaning her hip against it.
“It looks like no one’s been here in days, possibly longer,” I said, worried about her frame of mind. I walked over to her, and this time I gave in to the impulse to comfort her, placing my hands on her upper arms and rubbing as if I could flush the chill from her heart.
Did she fall toward me, or had I embraced her? All I knew was I felt comforted as well with her head resting against me. She felt real and solid. She’d scared me with her lack of fire. This was not my Tempe. I sucked in a breath.
So, there it was. I was starting to feel possessive towards her. Especially since it no longer compromised my job or my principles. “Tempe.” I held her at a distance so I could tip her chin up.
I never noticed how beautiful her irises were, the flecks like flying snow lit in the beam of headlights, sparkling gold and silver; they were alive with every emotion stirring inside her, which was encouraging.
“I’m sorry.” I watched those expressive eyes widen as I bent toward her.
Chapter 30
He kissed me like he was starving.
* * *
Tempe
Cocooned in Jack’s embrace after feeling like I’d never be warm again, my heart soared with hope. His heart thumped against my cheek as I breathed out against his chest, reassured for once that we weren’t at cross purposes.
“I’m sorry.” The words rumbled up from his chest as he tilted my face up to his. He was so handsome. This close, I could see the laugh lines and the crease in his cheek that became a dimple when he smiled, which wasn’t often enough.
My eyes widened as those silver green eyes softened and his face came closer. His lips touched mine in a comforting kiss, at first. Then the spark ignited and brought me alive. I threaded my hands through his hair and tugged his head down, yearning for more.
He moaned and took the kiss deeper, his tongue coaxing the seam of my lips as I opened for him. He kissed me like he was starving, devouring my mouth, holding me so tightly I could feel the steely muscles of his biceps. I drank him in, inhaling his scent, tasting his exquisite flavor. His lower body pressed against me once, then the hard ridge of desire, which had drawn an answering clench within me was withdrawn. The kiss ended. A small whimper escaped.
He chuckled. “Feeling better?” One hand rested gently on my shoulder, the other stroked my hair as he studied me.
“Is that how you lift the spirits of all damsels in distress?” I asked.
“Nope. This was a first.” His rueful expression confirmed it.
“So what were you sorry about?” I looked down at his belt buckle noting that his interest hadn’t waned. “Kissing me?”
He made a choked laugh. “Is that what that kiss felt like to you?” He pressed against me again before putting some space between us. He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “I…oh hell, Tempe. I didn’t mean to strike out at you earlier. The ironic thing is I wanted to be the one to tell you the good news about what I found in Amity—”
“Instead you hit me with the bad news about Phoebe,” I said.
“I wish we could do the whole evening over, forget about that whole scene at BBs.” He squinted at me, “Especially the part about you kissing McGuinness.”
I felt the flush rise on my face. “Well, not that you have any right to tell me who I can kiss…” His eyes flared again. I smiled, “But there really isn’t anything between Dylan and me anymore. He was apologizing, and I was in a vulnerable state.”
“Uh-huh. So did I take advantage of you just now? If so…”
“Please don’t say it.” I rolled my head back and looked at the ceiling and wondered once again—with everything that had been going on with the male population lately, both human and fae—how I could trust this moment, or my emotions to be based on anything but the craziness of my impending change.
“Why don’t you tell me why you were sitting in this empty house, in the dark, looking so lost.” Jack said.
Without being able to explain to this human about the connections between Paramortals, and my family in particular, I had to rely on something he could understand.
I looked through the window over the sink across the backyard to the road that led out of town. “I can’t feel them. Have you ever felt so far away from someone you loved that…” I couldn’t say it. What if giving voice to it brought about the very result I feared?
He said, “That you can’t feel their presence. It’s like they’re—”
I turned and gripped his arm. “Don’t say it.” I squeezed my eyes shut.
Strong arms wrapped around me, one hand stroking my hair, as he spoke softly, “When I was on duty overseas, I remember wondering if Jordie was okay, if something had happened to her. I didn’t talk to her for months and couldn’t feel her… existence. Feeling that, fearing it, even saying it won’t make it so, Tempe. We are going to find them.”
“It’s…” We are going to find them. Did he mean it? The truth behind his words hit me. “You believe me,” I said, relief bringing on more tears.
“Yes. That’s what I intended to tell you last night. Even though I can’t say I believe everything you’ve told me. You’re holding something back.”
I bit my tongue and subtly switched subjects. “I’m going to go home and get a couple hours sleep before work.”
“All right.” He looked around the barren kitchen, adjusted his belt. “Jordie says you’ve been arm-twisting your friends to come to the game tomorrow.”
I smiled. “It didn’t get that far. She’s a big hit with everyone who meets her.”
“She’s more
excited than I’ve seen her since…well, ever.” He grinned. “And for that…” he reached for me.
One thoroughly toe curling kiss later, he was gone. As soon as I uncurled those toes, I followed, locking the door and taking the extra key with me.
Tempe
Friday turned out to be a light mail day, but before I left for the route, Richard brought me a complaint. “Mrs. Wisner called. He read the note, ‘The mail person on Wednesday did not come to the door. They left the pink slip in her mailbox instead.’”
I knew that sub. If she didn’t get out, there was only one reason—a bad dog. She would have honked a half dozen times and sat in the driveway until she figured the residents weren’t home, or they were ignoring her. It happens.
So now I had to explain, yet again, that a customer’s beloved “harmless” pet was a problem. I’d heard the arguments a zillion times.
“My dog doesn’t bite.”
“Oh, he’s not serious, he’s just barking.”
“You’re afraid of a little dog like that?”
“But he’s just a puppy.”
Or the infamous, “He just wants to play.”
I’d been bitten by friendly dogs, mad dogs, playful dogs, and puppies—intentionally and unintentionally. But the result is the same. If we report a dog bite, we’re fired. Is it any wonder few are willing to take the risk? And we take the heat from both ends because we’re expected to deliver the mail anyway.
I honked and the woman stepped out onto her front porch. I felt stupid explaining why the other carrier hadn’t gotten out when the canine actor playing possum at her feet never even barked. With one sarcastic lift of her eyebrow and a glance down at her “harmless” dog, she said disgustedly, “Whatever,” and walked back inside, unconvinced.
Some situations are a lose-lose.
The bell above the door to Aurora’s shop jingled as I pushed it open.