by Bailey Cates
“Of course not!” Lucy exclaimed. “I loved having her. You let me know anytime you want to drop her overnight.”
Bianca grinned. “Okay. I might take you up on that.”
Jaida said wryly, “So I take it you and this Randy are going out again.”
“Oh, yeah,” Bianca said. “He’s wonderful. Even though he’s younger than me, he’s a very old soul.”
Lucy’s eyes were dancing when she met my gaze. Randy? An old soul? Who knew?
“Now,” Bianca said. “Enough about me. You all know about Cookie, I take it?”
We nodded. “But not when she’s due,” I said.
“October tenth,” Jaida and Bianca said together.
“I’ll mark the calendar,” I said, and Lucy added, “We are going to have the best baby shower ever for that girl.”
“And what about you, Katie?”
I blinked. “Me? I’m not pregnant.”
Bianca laughed. “No, no, no. I was wondering if you’d learned anything useful from Ginnie Black last night. You two were thick as thieves over there in the corner with your organic egg dyes and whispers.”
“I did learn a little,” I admitted.
All three of them leaned forward.
“Ginnie met Finn in Florida when the family lived there and she was going to school. She was a street magician.”
“Really? I had no idea,” Bianca said, no doubt thinking back to the year her daughter had had Ginnie as a teacher.
“Does that have anything to do with Orla, though?” Lucy said.
“In a way. Orla defended Finn when he eloped with an outsider. See, John Black wanted to get the marriage annulled.”
“The nerve!” Lucy exclaimed.
“And Ginnie also told me that John wanted to marry Orla,” I said. “But she wasn’t interested.”
“He was in love with his brother’s wife?” Bianca asked.
“I wonder if he fell for her before Mike died,” my aunt said. “That was four years ago.”
“I wonder if love had anything to do with it,” I said. “Orla was thinking of moving to California, away from the family. Ginnie didn’t know if John was aware of that, but my guess is that not much goes on in that family that he doesn’t know about. If so, getting Orla to marry him would ensure she’d stay here.”
“John sounds like a control freak,” Lucy said.
“Or perhaps he’s doing his best to maintain the integrity of his clan,” I said. “One of the ways Irish travelers have maintained their identity among themselves is to, well, stay among themselves. It was all good for a while, but then his brother dies, and his nephew marries an outsider, and then Orla starts eyeing the West Coast.”
“I wonder how far John would go to keep Orla from leaving,” Lucy said thoughtfully.
Jaida had been listening with interest. “I don’t suppose Ginnie let anything slip about Orla’s life insurance.”
Quickly, I explained to Bianca what she was talking about, then answered, “I wouldn’t say she let anything slip, but I asked her outright about those five policies.”
Lucy’s eyes grew round. “You did?”
I made a face. “Yeah. That’s why she decided to leave so suddenly.”
Their faces fell.
“But not before she told me that taking out multiple life insurance policies on each other is standard operating procedure in some traveler families. She said it’s perfectly legal, and extremely common.” I grimaced. “Then she either decided that she’d said too much, or that I’d asked too much, because she grabbed Nuala and practically ran out the door.”
“Left her eggs here and everything,” Lucy said.
“I put them in the fridge,” I told her. “I was planning to take them over to her this afternoon if I get the chance.”
But Jaida wasn’t done talking about insurance. Now she said in a speculative voice, “So she left before you could ask her about what would happen to someone who doesn’t want someone in the Black family to have a life insurance policy on them anymore.”
I sat back. “I wonder if that ever happened before. But you’re right. The lawyer Orla was going to see . . . if she was going to California, maybe she wanted to cut ties with the family. And that meant canceling those policies.”
Jaida shook her head. “I don’t know. Even if she wanted to, I doubt she could cancel all five. In fact, maybe none of them. Once you’ve committed to someone else owning an insurance policy on your life, it’s theirs as long as they keep paying the premium.”
Lucy stood and began to gather dishes. “I can’t believe Orla was trying to cut ties with her family, anyway. Or at least not all of them.” She paused and looked around at us. “Do you seriously think she’d leave that granddaughter of hers behind? Of course not. Nor her two children. If Orla was going to California, she was taking her kids with her.”
“Which would explain why Ginnie knew what she was planning,” I said. “But would Fern go? And what about Taber? I can’t imagine him agreeing to such a thing. He seems devoted to John.”
Jaida opened her laptop and quickly typed. “Here it is again. The lawyer’s name you found in the insurance file. Michael Barrion.” She looked up. “Insurance cases—and divorce.”
“Oh, dear,” I said. “The only couples are Finn and Ginnie or Fern and Taber. Which?”
“Fern and Taber,” everyone said in unison.
How would John Black deal with the threat of a divorce on top of all the other intrusions into his carefully protected world?
Chapter 16
I guided my Bug down Bull Street to Victory. Mungo sat on the passenger seat beside me, his ears flapping in the breeze that came through the open window. Soon we were turning into Ardsley Park, past Ben and Lucy’s, and coming up on where the Black compound was located.
There were a lot of cars on the street, and I had to park nearly half a block away. I pulled to the curb and unbuckled my seat belt. “You hang out here and keep an eye on things,” I said to my familiar. “I’ll be right back.”
He made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat as I retrieved the basket of decorated eggs from the backseat. I carried it to the orange door, juggling it with one arm so I could ring the doorbell.
A man I hadn’t met before answered. I recognized him as the one who had driven away the flatbed truck the evening Cookie had shown Declan and me the place down the street from my aunt and uncle’s. My guess was that this was Aiden Black, John’s son.
“Hi,” I said brightly, sticking out my hand.
“Mm.” His eyes narrowed. They were pretty eyes, really. Not as appealing as Declan’s, but blue under dark hair like his. The look in them wasn’t particularly nice, however.
I felt the smile slide off my face like warm butter. Holding up the basket, I tried again. “Is Fern home? I brought these by for Nuala.”
“Mm.” This time it came out as more of a grunt. “Lemme see.” And he shut the door in my face.
Disconcerted, I waited.
The door opened again. “Katie.” Fern’s smile was still sad, but today she’d upgraded her wardrobe to jeans, a plum-colored shirt, and boots. “It’s so sweet of you to bring those by. I know Nuala had a great time last night.”
“I’m so glad she came. Everyone loved having her—and she’s quite the creative kid.” I pointed to an egg Nuala had dyed in metallic stripes before adding a spray of feathers and an arrangement of weensy flower stickers. “Mixed media!”
Fern’s smile grew wider. “She’s an artist, that one.” She held out her hands for the basket.
“Would it be all right if I gave them to her?” I asked.
She hesitated and looked over her shoulder. “Sure. Come on in.”
I stepped inside and followed her down a short hallway to the kitchen. The man who had answered the door was nowhere in s
ight. The sound of a television program came from somewhere in the house. A large pot of soup simmered on the stove, the savory smell filling the air and making my mouth water. Rounds of fresh-baked bread sat on the counter, enough to feed everyone in the family.
“Do you all eat your meals together?” I asked, and set the basket on the big wooden table in the middle of the room.
Fern shrugged. “Sometimes.”
Finn and Ginnie walked in the back door. They were deep in discussion and didn’t see me standing at the end of the table.
“You or Fern should be the one to give the eulogy,” Ginnie was saying to her husband. “Not John. He horns in on everything.”
“We can all say something,” Finn said easily. “Mother would have liked that.”
“Well, okay. I guess. Now, what were her favorite flowers?” Ginnie looked up at Fern for an answer and finally saw me standing there. “Oh! Katie. Hello.”
“Hi,” I said. “Just bringing by the eggs Nuala did last night.” I smiled. “Yours are in there, too.”
“Thanks,” she said flatly.
“Say, if you’re looking for a florist, I know a really talented one,” I said. “Mimsey Carmichael at Vase Value can provide anything you need for your mother’s service. She was a friend of Orla’s as well.”
“We have a florist that we use,” said a voice from behind me. I whirled to see Taber had joined us.
“Oh . . . um . . . okay,” I stuttered. “I just thought . . .” I stopped, feeling oddly rattled.
Well, Mimsey warned me about Orla’s family.
Squaring my shoulders, I asked, “Where is Orla’s service going to be held? I’d like to attend, and I’m sure my aunt would, too.”
“It will be a private ceremony,” Taber said. “Just family.”
I should have seen that coming, I thought.
Looking uncomfortable, Fern called, “Nuala! Can you come down here?”
The television chatter fell silent, and footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Yeah, Mom?” The girl came into the kitchen. Pausing, her eyes flitted from one adult to another, quickly reading the situation. They finally stopped on me, and I watched as she realized the source of the tension.
“Oh. Hi, Katie.” Then she saw the eggs. “Oh! You brought them! The basket is so pretty, too. Is that real grass?” She crossed to the table and ran her fingertips over the stubby wheatgrass in the bottom of the basket. “It is!” Turning to Fern, she said, “Did you see?”
Fern smiled down at her daughter and nodded. “I sure did. They’re beautiful.”
The back door opened again, and this time John Black walked in.
Sheesh—doesn’t anyone in this family knock?
He saw me and stopped dead. “You again?”
“Er,” I managed, feeling myself wither beneath his gaze.
“And what is this big discussion about?” he asked, looking around at the others. “Is there something I should know?”
Everyone shook their heads.
“Of course not,” Taber said. “She was just leaving.”
John glared at me. “Why, exactly, are you here in the first place? Don’t you have your own business to run without sticking your nose into ours?”
Nuala started to say something, but I stepped forward. “Hey, I came by to drop off some Easter eggs your grandniece decorated with a group of us last evening. I’m not trying to pry into your family secrets.”
Never mind that that wasn’t entirely true.
He didn’t look particularly impressed with my denial, either. Gesturing with his chin, he said, “Ginn here told me you were asking her about life insurance policies on our Orla.”
I turned to look at her, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Now, we thank you for your attention to Nuala during a difficult time. We won’t need your assistance in the future, however. Do you understand?”
I stared at him. “What is the matter with you?”
“Good-bye, Ms. Lightfoot.”
Well, perhaps I should have chosen my words better, because the next thing I knew, I was back out by my car.
• • •
“That’s a real friendly bunch in there, Mungo.”
He looked up and grinned. I was pretty sure that after all this time with me, he had a fair handle on human sarcasm.
As I pulled away from the curb, my phone rang. I stopped at the end of the block to look at the screen. It wasn’t a number I recognized. Shrugging, I accepted the call and put the phone to my ear.
A piercing whistle erupted from the speaker. I quickly hit the END button. “Jerk!” I looked over at Mungo. “As if getting telemarketing and political calls all the time wasn’t enough.”
Now thoroughly in a bad mood, I tossed the phone into my tote in the backseat.
Mungo whined. I looked over at him. “What’s wrong, buddy? Did that hurt your ears?”
He wiggled out of his seat belt and stood with his feet on my leg.
“Now, you know you can’t ride around in the car like that.” I gently pushed him back over to the passenger seat. “You’re supposed to be buckled in, but I’ll let it slide this time. Stay over there, though.”
Yip!
“Ow! Dang it, that was louder than that stupid prank call.”
Yip!
“Mungo! Stop it!”
His eyes bored into me. I ignored him and kept driving.
Something’s wrong. It was just a whisper, faint as gossamer. Mungo knows, and he’s trying to tell me.
But I kept driving. I turned right, then left, then right again, and finally turned onto Old Louisville Road.
Colors on the other side of the window glass faded, washing everything to sepia as if someone had placed a photo filter over the world. Soon the Talmadge Bridge loomed ahead, spanning the Savannah River and taking cars to South Carolina.
Why am I here? I thought I was going back to the Honeybee.
Still, I kept driving.
Faster. Faster.
Too fast.
Katie . . . Katie, honey, stop. You have to stop now.
The smell of gardenias filled the car.
Mungo barked again, but I could hardly hear him. My ears felt muffled, insulated. Protected. Safe from his pesky, bothersome yapping.
My foot pressed down harder on the accelerator. The engine roared, and I shifted gears.
The Bug leaped forward. A horn honked, loud at first, and then fading as I sped onward.
Onward toward the bridge.
Katie! Stop! Fight it! You know how to fight! I’ll help you. Katie, LISTEN TO ME.
Hmm. That’s Nonna, I mused absently. She wants me to stop.
But I wanted to go. I just didn’t know where. But it was vitally urgent that I get there.
The bridge was closer now. I could see the first supports towering over the street, holding up the bridge overpass. Solid, thick columns of concrete.
Mungo was barking nonstop now, bouncing around on the seat. The car vibrated with it. I sensed his lupine energy, his essential wolf nature, powerful and feral and protective.
And frightened.
In the edges of my awareness, I felt it meet my grandmother’s energy, ghostly spirit and animal spirit coiling together, knitting into something more than the sum of the parts. It made me vaguely curious about why they’d do that, what could cause such a melding.
Need. They need to augment each other. I wonder why. . . .
The bridge support beckoned. I pushed the accelerator down a fraction more.
Mungo howled. I glanced over at him.
Look at how fast everything is going by outside.
He crouched, then, with a snarl, leaped at my arm.
And bit me.
A flash of light filled the car, and I came back into myself.
> “What the . . . !”
I tromped down on the brake. The Bug skidded, the tires screeching on pavement. The little car slewed to the side, and Mungo tumbled into the passenger footwell. The car stalled and stopped dead.
The bumper was about six inches away from the bridge support.
Shaking, I jammed the transmission into park and reached for my dog.
He scrambled up to the seat, and I scooped him into my lap. He was whimpering and panting. Shaking like a leaf.
So was I.
I ran my hands over him, gently at first, then probing, checking. When I was done, I looked into his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Yip. A soft sound compared with his earlier bark.
He drew away then, staring down at the back of my wrist. I looked, too, and saw the two tiny drops of blood where he’d bitten me. Looking sorrowfully at me, he reached his tongue out to lick the wound.
“Oh, sweetie. Little sweet Mungo,” I murmured, cupping his face so that he’d look up at me. “Please, please don’t worry about that nip.”
He whimpered again.
“No, no. It’s okay. It’s more than okay. Thank you.” I licked my lips, quaking at my very core because of the truth of the words. “You saved my life.”
He nuzzled my hand. I was glad to see his next look held a lot less guilt and a lot more curiosity. As if to say, What were you thinking, witch o’ mine?
I cast a look upward, though I had no idea whether my grandmother’s spirit existed in space at all. “And thank you, too.”
The smell of gardenias grew stronger, and then suddenly disappeared. She was gone.
What had I been thinking? It had been as if I’d been taken over and didn’t have any control over my actions. Except I had. I’d been the one driving the car. No one else. Except it hadn’t felt like it had been all me. Had it felt like that for Declan when Connell had taken over his body?