Jude Ambrose. He might end up paying, too. Jude, with his hard slash of a mouth and so much fiery sadness in his eyes.
Away from him right then, safe from the spell of his face, she was nearly sure she was making a mistake agreeing to his searching the covert. She was risking him finding out she was a skimmer, after all. What if she couldn’t make herself lie about stealing from Rigby? What if she had no choice but to show Jude what she was still hiding? Had to then make him see firsthand the proof and depths of his brother’s misery?
The note. A simple and terrible handful of scrawled lines in Rigby’s now-recognizable handwriting—those Os, the Ts:
I’m sorry, Jude, I never wanted you to know.
I told myself it was Dad.
I didn’t want to stop.
But I didn’t mean to do it.
They were nearly out of downtown when Wynn caught sight of the pop-up kiosk on the sidewalk. Marsden saw the cheap souvenirs on display as she biked past—magnets, mugs, key chains, most emblazoned with some kind of symbol representing the Indigo. All false—blue instead of mud.
Wynn turned her bike toward it before Marsden could stop her.
“Hey, it’s getting late, I’ve got to get started on dinner,” Marsden called after her sister, exasperated. She’d already taken a look at the menu, knew exactly how much time she needed. She would be cutting it close—the library had taken longer than she’d thought it would. To be fair, she’d only planned on looking up one death, not two. Running late also meant she’d have to wait until tomorrow to talk to Shine about her dead husband. As with all of Nina’s girls, her mother’s evenings and nights were taken.
“But I need another hair clip, remember?” Wynn got off her bike and walked over to the kiosk. The vendor was busy talking up a group of tourists, leaving Marsden to roll her eyes more freely over the merchandise. No hair clips as far as she could tell, but stuff she hadn’t seen from afar—snow globes, bottle openers, postcards.
And a row of protective charms suspended from display hooks. Little Duncan dolls, complete with blood-splattered legs and miniature guns.
Marsden drew back, both annoyed and flustered. She remembered Shine’s humiliation at seeing the things, and felt touches of it herself, hating that it was one of the few things she still shared with her mother.
She wanted to get away before the vendor saw them. He might recognize them and back away himself. Even worse, though, was that he might not know who they were. Would then try to sell them charms. Would tell them all about the legend of mad Duncan Kirby. “We really should go, Wynn. No hair clips. And if dinner’s late, Nina’s going to cut some of my pay.”
“These charms are so stupid,” her sister whispered loudly, leaning in closer to the display to examine. She wrinkled her nose, as though they even smelled bad. “The covert’s just a place. And how would having dolls of our great-great-uncle protect someone from his ghost, anyway?”
Marsden had to grin. She’d known Wynn had seen the charms for sale before—everyone in Glory had—but had never thought to ask how she felt about them. Disdain, her sister’s not caring yet, was about as good of a reaction as she could ask for. Caring too much about anything, that was how traps happened.
“Well, they can’t even get the color of the river right—we all know it’s not the least bit blue.” She shrugged. “Ready to leave for real now, runt?”
eleven.
She was still pulling the pork chops off the grill when Dany found her.
“Marsden, have you seen Wynn? Has she eaten?”
“She has, and she’s outside collecting ants in a pickle jar. I know, don’t ask—and don’t tell Nina, okay?”
“Don’t tell me what?”
Her mother’s boss strode into the kitchen. As usual, she was dressed as though she were going to high tea instead of dinner with sunburned guests who smelled of the river. A long slim dress the shade of pale lemons. Hair, a shimmer of a brown bob. Rose-tipped nails—claws in disguise, Marsden had realized long ago.
She pretended to check the doneness of the pork chops so she wouldn’t have to look up. Her mother hadn’t exactly been excited at the idea of telling Nina that Marsden wasn’t going to become one of her girls, but she still said she would do it. Marsden wasn’t sure she was ready to see if Shine had failed her.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Dany pick up the bread basket full of still-steaming rolls. “Dinner’s going out right now, Nina—coming along?”
“Hmm, shortly. I actually came in search of aspirin. The bottle in the medicine cabinet is empty and a headache is starting.”
“Extra supplies are in the basket in the pantry, top shelf.”
Nina disappeared through the pantry’s wooden doors.
Marsden began to move the meat over again. Her face was hot, and it wasn’t all from the stove. Nina’s voice said Shine hadn’t talked to her at all. Marsden would have been angrier if she hadn’t been grateful for one thing—from what she could tell, Shine hadn’t told Nina yes, either.
Suddenly, Dany stepped close and spoke into her ear. The steam from the bread basket wafted up against Marsden’s arm, warming her skin.
“For your information, one of the dinner guests is a longtime client, all right?” Dany kept her voice low. “So when you go in there, please don’t react.”
Marsden piled more meat onto the platter next to the grill, chilled despite the steam against her skin, the heat of the stove. “Shine’s.”
“Yes. But just do your job. Don’t look over if it bothers you, and then you are free for the whole rest of the evening, all right?” Dany squeezed Marsden’s arm and left the kitchen for the dining room, bread basket tucked beneath an arm.
Marsden turned off the stove and finished stacking the sizzling meat on the platter. She didn’t want to think about Dany’s news, which meant she could think of nothing else.
Johns were only ever around the boardinghouse from post-dinner onward, when they slunk in, did their thing, and slunk back out before breakfast. Anything to do with Nina’s day business was free of their presence, and this included official meals in the dining room. It worked out for everyone—johns could go live their safe lives, and boardinghouse guests who had no clue they were staying in a brothel could stay happily ignorant.
Only the johns Nina called “clients” were welcome to eat with her girls. Clients were the repeat customers, the ones who kept coming back over the months, if not years, usually requesting the same girl each time.
Shine, despite being far from a young girl, had her share of them.
Nina emerged from the pantry, a new bottle of aspirin in her hand, and came to stand next to the stove. This close, Marsden smelled her perfume, the light and inoffensive floral that did nothing to soften Nina’s ruthless heart. Nor did it mix well with the scent of meat that still lay heavy in the kitchen, and Marsden’s stomach rolled.
“Before you bring that food out, I need to speak with you,” Nina said. “Something that’s been on my mind lately.”
Marsden knew what it was, of course. Shine had already told her. “No, Nina, I don’t think so.”
“I’m merely asking you to consider it—really consider it.” Nina’s voice was mild, as though she were discussing items for a new menu. She squeezed Marsden’s arm, right were Dany had, but instead of feeling motherly, it was like a warning. “You and I both know you’re only making a fraction of what you could be, choosing to stay here in this kitchen the way you have.”
“That’s because you’ve cut my wages so they’re next to nothing.”
Nina dropped her hand from Marsden’s arm. “Your keep has to come from somewhere, as does your share of repaying my having settled your father’s loans.”
“Then talk to Shine about that—she works for you because of those things.”
“And your mother works hard. But she’s only getting older, and she’s simply not bringing in as much as she once did.”
She couldn’t meet Nina’s gaze, whi
ch burned the side of her face. “So I’ll take over more of Dany’s shifts here. It should be enough to make up the difference.”
Nina sighed. “What can I say to persuade you? Make you come to your senses? For your own sake.”
“Nothing.” Marsden carefully set the meat tongs down, untied her apron, and dropped it onto the counter in a heap. She was, at the very least, glad her hands weren’t shaking.
“All these years, you’ve had a place to live, call home. The collection agency no longer after your mother, her actually having a job. Wynn, safe. There is a debt.”
Marsden’s hands did shake now as she lifted the platter. “Like I said, I’ll take more of Dany’s hours.” How she would do this, she had no clue. How to create time out of nothing? “I’ll work it out.”
The small tight smile that Nina eventually offered did not reach her eyes, and it left Marsden far more uneasy than relieved.
“Fine,” Nina said. “I’ll speak to Dany about rearranging the schedule. It’s just . . . such a shame, the opportunity you’re passing up.”
Marsden nodded, thought fleetingly of the money she’d sent away to the dead over the years, and wished the concept of guilt had never bothered her. “Sorry.”
“We’ll talk about this again soon, I think.” Nina gave her arm another squeeze before letting go. “Your face, your youth—it won’t last forever. And there’s something to be said about having a certain kind of look, for those with a certain kind of taste.”
Something sour crawled up Marsden’s throat. “I’m going to bring out this meat now.”
“Thank you, dear.”
She followed Nina out to the dining room. Dany was finishing arranging vases of flowers on the tables, guests were milling about with glasses and plates full of tiny food in their hands, and Nina immediately began her rounds, her greetings full of welcome.
And her girls, they seemed everywhere, laughing and smiling and being attractive—part of their job. Their filmy summer dresses floated. Their jewelry winked beneath the lights like stars. Their faces were those of dolls—lips glossy, cheeks ashimmer, eyes like paintings.
Vibrant hothouse flowers to her plain old weed, Marsden thought, standing there in her worn Heart shirt and sloppy cutoffs, food clutched in her arms, feeling as out of place as she almost always did. Her gaze sought and found Peaches and Lucy, and she could barely recall the rumpled girls who’d been in her kitchen just yesterday, kissing each other over the heat of a stove and through cigarette smoke, talking to her as easily as if she were one of them.
Shine’s pleas to not be left alone came back to echo in her ears along with Nina’s thinly veiled threat from just moments ago. The scent of ginger—of the covert—drifted in from the open windows, and the walls of the room suddenly pressed inward. She wanted to run—to the kitchen, to the covert, all the way across town lines, in whatever direction. It didn’t matter, as long as it meant being elsewhere.
“Whoops, watch out, your tray’s tipping.” It was Lucy, swirling close, smiling and smelling of honey. But her celery eyes were watchful behind her glasses, the hint of quiet sadness she always carried also there in their green depths. She reached for the platter of meat to help steady it. “You want a drink? It’s hot in here, even with the windows open—you look pale.”
Walking over to the buffet table, Marsden waved her away. What had Lucy seen on her face? Fear? Desperation? Nina was in the room. If she saw Lucy acting like kitchen help, both of them would hear it. Marsden set the pork chops down and scanned to make sure everything was there—salad, quiche, dessert—so she could leave.
Peaches came up, her lips slicked in red, her auburn curls shining. She was scowling at her drink. “Tell Dany she can’t make the sangria anymore. She forgot there’s supposed to be booze in it.”
Nina had asked them to cut back—I want my girls sparkling, not tipsy. “It’s a new recipe, Peaches.”
“Then use a different new one.”
“Nina would still have to okay it.”
Peached sighed. “I need a smoke.” She scowled again. “Nina needs a smoke.”
Marsden let a half grin slip free. “Well, maybe the new recipe somehow gets lost and we have no choice but to use the old one.”
“Thank God. I’ll love you forever.” With a wink, Peaches left in a cloud of musk, earth, and a kind of confidence Marsden knew she would never have.
A man laughed, low and appreciative, and she turned.
Her mother’s client.
It took her only a second to recognize him, standing at Shine’s elbow, his face smiling down at hers.
Brom Innes. He’d been coming to the boardinghouse for years, from the very beginning of Shine’s time as one of Nina’s girls. Every few months, he’d stay for a week or two before leaving again. She had no clue what he did, had no desire to know, had never even talked to Shine about him. With his average height, pale-blue eyes, and light-brown hair, he was like the oatmeal of johns, as placid as plain white bread. Dull, agreeable, and safe enough, she supposed—for a john.
A tug at her arm, and she was completely stupefied to glance down and see Wynn, jar full of roaming ants in her hand.
Her little sister, exactly where Nina asked her not to be during meals—and within spitting distance of their mother’s steadiest john.
“You’re supposed to wait for me outside,” Marsden whispered.
“I wanted more dessert.” Her sister’s eyes weren’t on her, though. Instead, they roamed the room, drinking in all the details. Wynn’s gaze caught on each of Nina’s girls, studying the art of their carefully powdered and curled hair, their pretty, glistening mouths. Her eyes traced the swing of their dresses, learned the studied, deliberate movements of their limbs.
Marsden grabbed a bowl from a table, heaved two scoops of pudding into it, and dragged Wynn toward the kitchen by one arm. “C’mon, runt. Before Nina bans you from the dining room for the whole entire summer.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere else. Anywhere else.”
twelve.
The sky was nearly fully dark, the air close to cool on her bare arms. An owl hooted from within the covert.
They could have gone back inside long ago.
Any johns checking in for the night would have long done so. Just as Nina’s girls would already be tucked away with them in their bedrooms, ready to get to work.
The common areas would be mostly empty, guests off to enjoy the shady offerings of downtown Glory that came with sundown.
Dany would be in her room, probably watching Dallas or The Golden Girls or Miami Vice on television, and who wouldn’t mind at all if Wynn or Marsden wanted to watch with her.
Still, Marsden didn’t move. She leaned back against the fence of the covert—the sunburned dying grass was nearly up to her elbows, she would have to cut it soon—and tasted the wild ginger that filled the air. It billowed from the woods, its fragrant fingers reaching out and stroking her hair, her skin.
She shivered. The covert was no sanctuary from the boardinghouse, either. Not from her mother, not from Glory as a whole. It grew a darkness of its own, its yield the regular harvest of bodies and the subsequent ghosts and legends that would forever chase her name, forever linger in her blood.
Beside her, Wynn, humming a pop song from the radio, was dribbling the last of her pudding onto the ground. Freed ants teemed over the pink rivulets, gorged on the pool of sugar, grew drunk on her sister’s generosity.
“That’s gross, you know,” Marsden said. A part of her envied her sister’s carefreeness around the covert, even as she saw exactly how it had worked out to be that way. Wynn had never seen more than a glimpse of a body there, had no dead to try to listen for, had never spoken of ever experiencing anything weird about their woods—for all the stories and tales she knew about the place, she was much more easily frightened by a scary movie or book. Duncan Kirby had been her great-great-uncle, too, but he was no more real to her than any dead historical per
son she might learn about in school. Given all that, why would Wynn be scared of the covert?
“Ants need love, too,” Wynn said as she watched her feasting insects wobble all over one another.
“How are you going to get them back into the pickle jar?”
Wynn shrugged. “I’m not. They look so much happier out of it, don’t you think?”
“They do. See-through glass or not, that jar was still a prison.”
“Mars, I need a dress.”
Startled, Marsden looked more closely at her sister. It wasn’t Wynn’s topic hopping that made her suddenly uncomfortable—that she was used to—but where their conversation had turned.
She scrambled for an argument, even a bad one. “Dresses are kind of impractical—how would you climb trees? Hop fences?”
“And I wish I had curly hair.” Wynn grabbed at a chunk of her thick black locks. “Mine’s so boring.”
“I like your hair just fine the way it is.”
“That’s because it looks like yours, except messier.”
“Exactly.” Marsden stood up. “Let’s go in. It’s getting late, and I’m thirsty. We can check if there’s any juice in the fridge.”
“Do you think if I asked Peaches and Lucy, they’d take me shopping? I have allowance saved up.” Wynn laid her jar on its side, a makeshift shelter for any ants that felt like it. Marsden thought of telling her it’d be an oven come morning, baking any unaware occupants, but she was frazzled, a touch panicked. “I’d ask Mom, but she usually just says to wait for Dany.”
“I’ll take you shopping, all right? We’ll go to the bookstore and then get ice cream from Big Chill.”
“Okay, but a dress first, one with—”
“I hear you, and we’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Marsden lied as she led the way back toward the house. Wynn chattered incessantly as she followed—about silks, curls, eyelashes. Marsden’s mouth pulled into a grimace, concealed under dusk’s thick light.
A low muffled giggle—barely trickling through from between the near-constant flow of her sister’s ramblings—came from the side bushes.
Along the Indigo Page 7