“Maybe she went away for the long weekend?” I suggested, and he’d only shaken his head and said that he’d never heard of Marie going away on vacation. Ever.
“Why did you want to ask her about this particularly?” I asked now. “Hoping for a vision?”
I’d been teasing him, just a little, but he didn’t smile. “Marie sort of acts as the unofficial family historian — keeps all the genealogical files, that kind of thing. So she’d know if there were some Wilcox twins out there that I hadn’t heard of.”
“Hmm,” I said, considering. It did seem kind of strange that Marie was out of contact, but I wasn’t going to let myself worry about it too much. “I’m sure she’ll call you back soon. It hasn’t even been a full day yet.”
He tilted his head slightly but didn’t say anything.
“Are you…okay with this? I mean, one baby is a big enough deal, but two….”
The distant look disappeared from his eyes immediately, and he reached over and laid a hand on my thigh, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Of course I’m okay with it. Although it does figure that Angela McAllister the overachiever would be the first McAllister prima to ever have twins.”
“Bite me,” I replied blithely, and then we both started to laugh. The tension that had filled the interior of the car seemed to evaporate at the sound of our laughter, and I knew then that we were going to be okay.
* * *
Because of my appointment with the ob-gyn — and because it was supposed to be almost ninety in Jerome, compared to the upper seventies in Flagstaff — we’d already decided to stay at Connor’s place for the long weekend. Besides, I figured it would give me a chance to do some shopping in town and start putting together a wardrobe to accommodate my waistline, which I guessed was going to start expanding any day now.
Between shopping and going out to eat so I could keep the twins properly supplied with nutrients, I didn’t stop to think much about Marie’s disappearance, even though I knew Connor kept trying to get in touch with her. Several times I’d been tempted to call Sydney and tell her about the twins, but Connor and I had made a sort of unspoken agreement not to tell anyone quite yet. At any rate, she wasn’t all that available, as she’d gone to the Colorado River with Anthony and a bunch of his friends. Cell reception there was horrible, although she did manage to squeeze out a text or two, mostly to say they were having fun and wished Connor and I could have come along. Maybe next yr was her final comment. I didn’t bother to respond to that. If I were still around a year from now, I’d have my hands full with not one but two newborns, and playing in the Colorado River would be pretty far down my priority list.
Finally, on Sunday afternoon, Connor turned to me and said, “I’m going to call Lucas. Maybe he knows what’s going on with Marie.”
“Sure,” I told him. Although part of me wanted to ask what was really fueling his obsession over talking to Marie, on some level I thought I understood. Connor had spent his whole life thinking Damon would be running things, and that he’d be able to go on quietly living his life without a lot of interference. But with Damon gone, Connor found himself the head of the clan, in a position of authority he’d never anticipated. It was probably natural of him to go to Marie for guidance, since she’d apparently offered counsel to Damon during most of his tenure as primus.
So Connor pulled out his phone and called Lucas, who did pick up, luckily. I listened with half an ear as Connor asked after Marie. Of course I couldn’t hear Lucas’s reply, but from the growing frown on Connor’s face, it appeared his cousin hadn’t spoken with her, either.
“Okay, thanks,” Connor said. “We’ll just keep checking — no, we really hadn’t talked about that.” A long pause, and I looked up from my iPad to see him frown and push his overgrown hair back off his forehead. “I don’t think — well, okay, I’ll talk to Angela about it and let you know. I doubt we could do anything before Tuesday because of the holiday. Yeah, okay. ’Bye.”
He ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket. Sensing I wasn’t going to be getting any more reading done today, I closed the Kindle app on the iPad and set the device down on the coffee table.
“What was that about?” I inquired.
“Lucas hasn’t heard anything from Marie, either.” He was frowning, reaching up to rub his brow as if his head hurt.
“I sort of gathered that.” Since he continued to scowl, I got up from the couch and went over to him, then put my arms around his waist. “But what did he want you to talk to me about?”
Connor folded me in his arms, pulling me close. “Oh, you know Lucas. He’s got the bit between his teeth on this house thing, says he was talking to one of his golf buddies, someone who’s going through a nasty divorce. Anyway, the guy wants to sell their second home — or maybe it was their third home — the one here in Flag. He’s selling it fully furnished and is ready to deal, mostly because he just wants to get out from under it.”
In a way that sounded great, as long as Connor and I both liked the furniture. It would save us a lot of work. Then I wanted to shake my head at myself. I couldn’t live in Flagstaff. My home was in Jerome, high up on Cleopatra Hill. But because I didn’t know what was going to happen, and had to make myself realize that Connor might be raising two babies on his own, I had to recognize that this apartment was going to be woefully inadequate in a few short months. If Connor could slide into something that was basically turn-key, it would take a lot of the pressure off.
“Okay,” I said. “It sounds like it could be a possibility. What’s he asking for it?”
“A hair under a mil.”
I pushed myself away from him and gazed up into his face, looking for the joke and not seeing it. “A — a million?” I finally managed.
“Ange, I got more than that from the sale of Damon’s house. If we like this place, we can get it for cash.”
Since I didn’t know what else to say, I had to settle for a weak “wow” before going back to the couch so I could sit down. Suddenly my legs felt just a little shaky. I had to hope that someday I’d get used to the casual way the Wilcox family threw large chunks of money around. “And he wants us to look at it.”
“Sooner rather than later. Maybe Tuesday.”
“That won’t work,” I said immediately. “I’ve got to be back in Jerome. The contractors are coming to get started on the kitchen.”
He grimaced before coming to sit next to me on the couch. “Damn. I’d forgotten about that.” A pause as he seemed to study my expression. “Are you really going through with the remodel? It just seems so…disruptive.”
“It will be,” I replied. “But I can’t cancel the whole thing. It’s way too late for that. And it wouldn’t be fair to all those people counting on the income from the project.”
“You’re right, of course. And that sounds like something a prima would say.” To my surprise, he bent forward and kissed me, very gently, on the lips. “So okay, maybe Wednesday or Thursday.”
“Thursday,” I told him. “I need to be back in Jerome for more than just one day. Partly because I should be around for the contractors, and partly because I know no one’s thrilled about me disappearing up here for the weekend. They didn’t say anything, of course, but you could practically see the disapproval radiating off the elders when I told them I wouldn’t be around for a few days.”
“They need to watch it…especially Margot. She has no idea that I could unleash Lucas on her at any time.”
The thought was so incongruous that I had to laugh. “I dare you. Seriously.”
“Well, if Lucas sells us on this house, he’s going to need something to occupy his time….”
The glint in Connor’s eye as he said this as so devilish that all I could do was pull him to me and kiss him, kiss him hard. His mouth opened to mine, and we tasted one another, the fire of our bond licking along our veins. In short order I was in Connor’s arms and being carried upstairs, where we spent the rest of the afternoon losing ourselves in on
e another, forgetting about houses and disapproving elders and the mystery of Marie’s radio silence.
Even then, though, I knew they wouldn’t be forgotten forever.
9
Gone
As I’d expected, the next morning Connor tried calling Marie again, still with no response. He set his phone down on the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area and let out a brief gust of breath. “Okay, that’s it,” he announced. “We’re going over there.”
I put down my cup of green tea. Even though I’d been trying to avoid coffee anyway, over the weekend I seemed to have developed a sudden aversion to its smell. Poor Connor had tried to make himself some French roast, and I nearly vomited at the aroma. Strange, because otherwise I really wasn’t experiencing any morning sickness. But now — at least for the time being — if he wanted to get his caffeine fix, he’d have to go to the coffee house down the street and drink his venti before he came home.
“Do you think that’s such a good idea?” I asked in dubious tones. “For all we know, Marie’s not answering the phone because she’s shacked up with the pool boy or something.”
Connor didn’t crack a smile. “She doesn’t have a pool. And I’ve never heard of her being with anyone, let alone a pool boy, so there goes that theory.”
“Oh, now I’ve figured it out,” I said. “Her main problem is that she just needs to get laid. She’d be so much more relaxed.” Then again, probably the real reason she always acts hostile around me is that I’m the child of the man she wanted to marry….
Not bothering to respond to my remark, he went on, “Do you think you can be ready to leave by eleven?”
It was ten-thirty now, and although I’d showered, I was still roaming around in yoga pants and a tank top, with no makeup on. “No problem,” I said blithely. Thank goodness my “beautifying” routine was pretty basic.
And, sure enough, we were out the door at five after eleven. I’d eschewed my jeans, which were starting to feel a little tight, for one of my flowing sequined skirts — thank the Goddess for elastic waistbands — and a camisole. It wasn’t even that hot in Flagstaff, but I thought the outfit was a good kick-off for the start of summer.
As before, we walked the few blocks to Marie’s house, letting the mild breeze be our companion. Connor and I didn’t talk much; I could tell he was still brooding over her silence, and attempting to figure out the reason behind it. Well, we should know in a few minutes, one way or another.
Her house didn’t look much different from the last time we’d seen it, only a few days earlier. The irises still bloomed, although they were starting to look a little dry around the edges, as was the lawn. Well, maybe she was big into water conservation.
Connor went to the front door and rang the bell. We waited, the breeze picking up and pulling at my spangled skirts, causing a brief swirl of reflections around the front stoop, like a drift of falling stars.
Nothing.
“She could be out shopping or something,” I suggested. “I mean, even Marie has to replace the toilet paper sometime.”
A brief twist of his mouth, and Connor shook his head before ringing the doorbell once again. We could hear it echoing in the house, but there were no answering footsteps, no Marie coming to the door and giving us that look of quiet disapproval she’d mastered so well.
“I’m going to open it,” Connor said, after we’d waited another minute.
“I don’t think she’d be too happy about us breaking and entering.”
“I don’t care. I’m the primus of this clan — what’s she going to do about it?”
To that I had no answer, so I merely lifted my shoulders and watched as he laid his hand on the latch. A pale glow seemed to drift from his fingers, surrounding the dark metal piece, and then he pushed down, and the door swung inward.
“Wow,” he said, lifting his hand and staring at it as if he’d never seen it before. “She had it warded, but I just pushed with the power — the primus power — and the wards…disappeared.”
“You haven’t used it very much,” I said. It was not a question.
“No. Except that time in Indio, with you. It sort of…well, it scares me a little. I saw what it did to Damon, and I don’t want to be anything like that.”
Again I couldn’t really find the words to reply, to reassure him that he would never be anything like Damon. Instead, I slipped my fingers in his, pulling him gently into the foyer. After all, if he’d gone to the trouble of using the primus powers to unlock the door, then we might as well go inside and see what’s what.
Everything was neat and clean, everything in its place. Well, almost everything. As we moved from the entryway into the combined living room/dining room space, I noticed a cream-colored envelope, the kind that you might put a birthday card in, leaning up against the Navajo basket filled with dried gourds that sat in the center of the dining table. One word was written on that envelope, in handwriting so elegant that it looked almost like calligraphy.
Connor.
Mystified, the two of us exchanged a glance before he stepped forward and lifted the envelope, turning it over in his hand. Nothing else had been written on it.
Connor stood there for so long, staring down at the envelope, that I felt compelled to ask, “Aren’t you going to open it?”
“I guess so. Yes. It’s just…I don’t know. I can’t imagine she would’ve left a note unless it was bad news.”
A weird prickling sense of unease told me the same thing, but I shook it off, saying, “Even if it’s bad news, we need to know what it is.”
“I know…you’re right.” A final hesitation, and then he ran his thumb under the flap of the envelope, tearing it open. Inside was a single piece of paper, also cream, thick and heavy. That surprised me; Marie seemed like the last person in the world to care about nice stationery, although I knew I should probably stop trying to understand all the quirks of the individual Wilcoxes.
As Connor unfolded the paper, I saw that it contained only a few words written in that same flowing handwriting. Peering over his shoulder, I could just make out what they said.
I thought I could do this, but I can’t. You’ll need to discover your own path to the solution.
“What the hell?” Connor exclaimed, turning the paper over, almost as if he expected more words to magically appear on the reverse of the note. Well, it had been written by a witch, so I supposed that expectation wasn’t entirely unwarranted, but even so, the paper’s surface remained smooth and blank.
“So…she’s gone?” I asked.
“Sure looks that way.”
And even though the house was clearly empty, he still went from room to room, with me trailing in his wake, as if Marie might be discovered hiding in a broom closet or something. Like the main rooms downstairs, the bedrooms and bathroom on the second story were clean and neat, nothing out of place. One bedroom was clearly a guest room, with a daybed and small dresser and not much else, and the other seemed to be her office, although the desk that must have once held her computer was now empty. There was a table opposite it that she seemed to have used for some kind of mosaic work; the surface was covered with a plastic sheet, and there were still jars of glass tiles sitting there, and a half-finished piece showing a jagged mountain range and a stylized sunburst behind it.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “I didn’t know Marie was an artist, too.”
He gave a shrug, clearly not interested in Marie’s artistic pursuits at the moment. “Yeah, she’s been doing that stuff for as long as I can remember. Sells it to the local shops, has an online business, too, I think.”
My knowledge of Marie had just doubled in the last five minutes. “It looks as if she didn’t care much about taking it with her.”
“Well, it’s not quite as portable as knitting, I guess.”
Moving out of the office, he went down the hall to the master bedroom. The door stood ajar, so it wasn’t as if she’d locked it behind her, but I still felt strange
going in there. My aunt’s bedroom, which was about my only frame of reference for an adult woman’s private space, was a cheerful jumble of antiques and knickknacks and decorative frames filled with various photos of family members. This chamber was almost the exact opposite, spare Shaker-style furniture and a queen-size bed with a white-on-white quilt laid across it. No pictures, no decorations at all except a couple of Navajo rugs hanging on the walls, just as in the living room downstairs.
Well, there was one thing out of place.
Lying in the middle of the bed, glaringly obvious against all that white, was a small 4x6 photo. Connor went to it at once and lifted it up, again turning it over to see if anything was written on the back. But the reverse of the photo was blank, except for the faint watermark of the photographic paper.
As he flipped it back over, I saw it was a picture of a young couple, the woman clearly Native American, the man also dark-haired, but his skin was lighter, and his eyes hazel. They were standing in front of what looked like the gate to a corral; in the background I could just make out the dark brown shape of what was probably a horse.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“I think that’s Marie.”
“Marie?” I asked incredulously, reaching for the photo. Connor surrendered it, and I stared down at the picture of the couple, attempting to see the cold and distant Marie I knew in the laughing face of the girl in the image. She was probably barely twenty in the photo, her face not as sharply angled as it was now, the chin rounder. But I recognized the dark, arched brows and the thin nose and the long, long lashes. Somehow, though, this girl was beautiful, whereas I’d never thought of Marie that way. Striking, yes, but sharp and almost hawklike, as if the passage of years had worn away all that youthful prettiness. “Okay,” I allowed at last. Then my heart seemed to drop a beat or two as I focused on the young man more closely. Was that…? “And the guy?” I asked, my voice casual. Too casual, I knew.
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