by C. E. Murphy
"Oh my God." Rosie hesitated. "I thought humans couldn't kill them at all."
"Humans can't kill a demon, but they can still kill themselves. Jacques had the talent to draw the demon into himself, and the bravery to move incredibly fast once it had moved in. I said they start to eat your soul right away, right? Your humanity doesn't die all at once. But most things want to live, even if it means living with a demon infestation. So to do what Jacques did … you have to be totally sure of yourself. You have to be completely unafraid to die, to do what Jacques did. Hardly anybody has what it takes. I don't think I do. And I think I'm glad." He took a breath. "Some hero I am, huh?"
"I think you're doing all right." Rosie steepled her hands in front of her mouth. "I was going to ask Irene if she could nose around at the factory and maybe find out something about Helen Montgomery. Jean thinks telling her somebody else is dead is a bad idea, and she's right, and so is involving her in this any more, but if we had some idea of who her friends were there, we might be able to narrow down our search. Not waste so much time when we go in looking."
"You're both right. I'd hate to involve her any more, but the information would be helpful. Maybe you could not mention she's dead."
Rosie made a face. "Her body is going to turn up eventually, isn't it? Or it'll be in the papers that she's gone missing, so Irene will hear about it or figure it out eventually. I'd rather not lie to her if I'm going to ask her at all."
"I can't blame you. How fast do you think she can learn anything?"
"Not before tomorrow. Mrs Montgomery worked night shift, and I bet Irene's not going to be so agreeable that she'll just run right over to the factory tonight. So tomorrow night at the soonest. Which means we won't be able to do anything with what we learn until Saturday, probably. Ruby's funeral is on Saturday," she added more quietly. "It doesn't matter what else is happening, Hank. I have to go to that." A horrid thought struck her and a word or two of it escaped: "Unless we're—"
Hank nodded. "Unless we're all dead by then."
TWENTY-ONE
Barb leaned in the door, watching Hank drive away after he dropped Rosie off. "Got yourself a gimpy sheik there, hm, Rosie? What's his secret, he likes violent girls?"
Rosie climbed the front porch steps and slipped past Barb. "Are you the tall housemate he mentioned?"
A smile twisted Barb's mouth. "Maybe. What'd he say?"
"That he had to endure ten minutes of bad flirting before he could get out of here, earlier." Rosie didn't even stop to watch Barb's reaction, just went down the hall to her own bedroom, where she fell backward on the bed, arms spread wide, in the faint hope she would cool down. Valentine Vaughn's offer of the convertible crossed her mind and she let out a breath of laughter, wishing there had been some chance for Hank to get home and hear that offer himself. In between work and empathy tests and figuring out how to hunt down clues about demons. Well, it had been an appealing thought.
She slept, because the next thing she knew her back was sore and her throat dry from lying on her back, and Irene was slipping out of her shoes and skirt beside the mirror. Rosie lifted a hand in greeting to let the other girl know she'd woken up, then rolled over with a groan. "I'm awake. You don't have to be quiet."
"I guess I wasn't quiet enough anyway."
"You were fine." Rosie pulled her pillow close and buried her face in it before lifting her head and tucking the pillow under her chin. "You and Rich have a nice time at Big Bob's?"
Irene fumbled her clothes hanger and sent it clattering to the floor, where she stared at it guiltily. "I swear it wasn't anything, Rosie. He came by the factory near the end of shift to talk to the supe about you."
Rosie blinked. "About me?"
"He wanted to say he thought it was rotten, what they'd done to you. Firing you like that. He thought maybe if you'd be ridiculed for trying to sue when the bad guy was a former soldier, maybe having another former soldier on your side would help. He was trying to get your job back for you, Ro."
"Jeez," Rosie whispered. "I gotta call him."
"You should," Irene said almost urgently. "We just saw each other at the factory and got to talking, and he asked if I'd like to get something to eat, and I said sure, and then do you know who we saw, we saw Mrs Vaughn, can you believe she eats at Big Bob's? But she does, and she stopped and said hello and I introduced her to Rich, and she was just so nice and we got to talking some more, Rich and me, I meant, after she left and next thing I knew it was nine o'clock and we'd been there all day and I swear it wasn't anything, Rosie."
"… so you had a nice time," Rosie said after a moment. Irene blushed and picked the hanger up, folding the skirt over it carefully as she nodded. Rosie nodded too, the strange twist in her belly again. "That's … that's nice. I saw Mrs Vaughn, too. She said she'd said hello, but you looked like you were having fun, so I didn't want to bother you."
"You could have bothered us. You should have! Gosh, Rosie, why didn't you? Why wouldn't you?"
"Well, I had to go see Jean. And you were in a booth for two. He's nice, isn't he."
"He's so nice, Rosie. I swear you're practically all we talked about. He told me about what he'd been doing at the factory, and I wanted to tell him about all the craziness you've been saying but I didn't. I didn't think it would be right. I thought it might sound like—like—"
"Like you were making him try to think his girlfriend, or whatever I am, was crazy so you would have a shot?"
"Oh my God." Irene faced her, blouse off but clutched against her chest. "Rosie, I wasn't, I wouldn't, I swear—"
"I know, Rene. But that's what telling him would seem like, right? And if it worked that would be especially awful. It's okay, Rene. I don't think you're trying to move in on my man, if he even is my man anymore, and I don't even know that." Rosie put her face back in the pillow for a few seconds before looking up again. "Do you know a Helen Montgomery at the factory?"
Irene sagged, clearly glad to be off the topic of Rich, and answered swiftly. "Sure, she's the one having the affair with Doherty, everybody knows that. Why?"
Rosie sat straight up, pillow falling away. "She's what? He's the one who fired me!"
"Well, somebody had to, I guess, I mean, if they were going to. I don't see what that has to do with the price of eggs. Honestly, Rosie, how can you not know this? The swing-shift girls say she's away from her job half the night most nights, and nobody likes her because they have to do her job. But who are they going to complain to when she's seeing the supe? Don't you ever listen when people talk?"
"I guess not." Rosie checked to make sure the bed hadn't started swaying, but the dizziness came from inside her. "I had no idea."
"Why did you want to know?"
Rosie hesitated. "More craziness."
Irene pulled her nightdress over her head and paused, shaking it into place, to frown at Rosie. "Oh, no, Ro. Not more of this. Honestly, if you don't stop this, somebody's going to have to tell Rich."
"And you're just the girl for the job, huh?"
"I didn't say that!"
"Then let me worry about whether he needs to be told, Rene. Things are complicated enough as it is."
"They're only complicated because you'd rather tell yourself that cockamamie story than face up to what really happened. Have you talked to your pop any more, Rosie? Or anybody but Hank Vaughn?"
"Not much." Rosie rolled over to look at the alarm clock beside her bed. "And it's too late to call Mom and Pop now, although you're right, I should give them a call so they don't worry. Oh, jeez, they're going to want to know what's going on with Rich."
"Do they even know he's home?"
"Yeah, he called them the night he got in, before calling here. Old habit." Rosie crooked a rueful smile. "Maybe I'll just tell them he's dating you now."
"Rosie! I told you, it wasn't anything!"
"Then why are you getting so upset about it?" Rosie got up to put her own pajamas on, glanced at her hair in the mirror, and sat to start winding ra
gs into curls. They wouldn't hold as well now as they would if she wet her hair, but it would be better than nothing. Irene sighed and came over to help, her fingers quick and deft enough that after a few curls, Rosie let her own hands drop.
"I'll tie them up nice and snug and you can go stick your head in the sink to soak them," Irene offered. "Sleep on them and tomorrow you'll be pretty as a picture. I don't know why I'm so upset, Ro. He's such a nice guy."
"You're upset because you like him and he's my boyfriend… ." Rosie shrugged. "Or was. Or something. So you think you shouldn't like him."
"Well, don't you?"
"I think it'd be nice if my boyfriend and my best friend got along." Rosie watched Irene part sections of hair and wrap curls more tidily than she could do it herself. Well, at least on her own head. She could do Rene's curls up lickety-split, just as Irene did now with hers. "And I guess if he turns out to not be my boyfriend anymore, I don't have any room to complain."
"Yeah, but you can't be happy about that."
"I don't know what I am, Rene. I got kind of jealous, seeing you with him, but you said there's nothing going on, and why shouldn't I believe you? I don't think either of you are that mean. I bet it'd take at least a week for you two to hook up if Rich and I called it quits for good."
"Rosie!" Irene tugged Rosie's hair. "Give me some credit." She paused. "I'd wait at least a month out of respect for you."
Rosie giggled. "See? I knew you were a good friend." She fell silent, then met Irene's eyes in their reflections. "You like him, huh?"
"He's a really good guy," Irene said again, more solemnly. "You shouldn't let him go, Rosie. Think real hard about what you're doing."
"I will. I am."
"Okay." Irene patted Rosie's tied-up curls. "Now go soak your head, hon, and I mean that in the best way."
"Want me to do yours when I'm done?"
Irene turned her head this way and that, examining her reflection in the mirror. "I don't think so. I've got plenty of bounce left."
"You always do." Rosie went to run her head under water, letting it soak in to the curls, then wrapped a towel around them to keep the worst of the drips at bay. Between the sun having set earlier and the water trickling around her ears, she felt cool for the first time all day. She climbed under her sheet with the towel still wrapped loosely in place, figuring it would come off during the night, and despite her nap, fell into a comfortable sleep.
✪ ✪ ✪
The paper boy's bad aim woke Rosie early, an all-too-familiar sound of newspaper thudding against the wall just beneath her window instead of onto the porch. She lay in bed a while, eyes closed against the encroaching light, then got up to pull a robe on and get the paper so she could look at the help-wanted ads. It had been noble and all, trying to get Pearl a job, but it would have been smart to look out for herself, too. Not that she wanted to work for Harrison Vaughn, if she could avoid it. It seemed too much like asking for favors, what with having just gotten to know Hank.
She put the paper on the table and got coffee started before shuffling back to unroll the paper. Somebody else in the house got up, bathroom water running and the toilet flushing while Rosie poked at the ads. Nothing better than there had been yesterday. Rosie drank her coffee and tapped the pen against the newsprint, smearing lines here and there where the ink had gone on too thickly. At the bottom of one page were ads for typing classes and a couple of "girl wanted for office work" requests. Rosie circled one without enthusiasm, but didn't push the paper away. Marge came in for a cup of coffee, said, "Anything interesting?" and left again before Rosie had a chance to answer. A minute later, Dorothy followed her in, stopped in the doorway when she saw Rosie, and retreated without even getting coffee. Rosie looked after her in disbelief, then got up, got coffee for Irene, and went back to their room.
Irene sat on the end of her bed, brushing her curls out, and eyed the coffee suspiciously. "What happened?"
"I chased Dorothy out of the kitchen just by being there. I thought maybe I should leave."
"Like heck," Irene said. "She's the one acting crazy, Ro. Don't make it easier for her to feel right. Did she say anything?"
"No. Probably just as well. You know, people always say they don't mean what they say when they're upset," Rosie said. "I never really thought that was true. I always kind of figured they said exactly what they meant when they were upset, and it's the rest of the time they're careful about it. I don't think I want to hear what Dot might say right now." She unwound a curl to see if it had dried. Not all the way, and with the heat and humidity, it would fall right out if she took them down. She wound it back up and found a yellow kerchief to tie around her hair. "I wonder how long it'll take her to get over it. It's not going to be much fun living here if she doesn't."
"She will," Irene said with confidence. "It's only been a few days, Ro. It'll be okay." She shimmied her shoulders, like she was shaking the topic off. "What are you going to do today?"
Rosie made a face at herself, and at Rene, in the mirror. "Find one of those six-week typing courses, I guess. Look for work. Visit my folks." Try to find the king demon, but that didn't seem like what Irene wanted to hear, so Rosie kept it behind sealed lips.
Irene smiled brightly. "That's great. The college thing, Ro, have you been accepted anywhere?"
Rosie nodded, smiling as a nervous flutter danced in her belly. "The community college, at least. I'm waiting to see if I get into one of the four-year schools. I started applying the day Hitler shot himself, 'cause I knew the war couldn't last much longer and I reckoned I'd better get in before the boys came back."
"Well, even if the co-ed schools fill up, there's Marygrove," Irene said encouragingly. "You'll get in there. Good for you, Ro." She glanced at the clock. "I gotta get going to work. I don't want to lose that job. Not yet, anyway." She gave Rosie an apologetic look that Rosie brushed off.
"No point crying over spilt milk, right? You have a job and you should hold on to it as long as you can. Even if you do find an officer and settle right down and start having babies, having some money of your own is swell."
"That's right." Irene stopped on her way out the door to study Rosie. "While you're busy doing all those other things, Ro, you better make some time to talk to Rich, that's what I think."
Rosie nodded slowly, then more firmly. "You're right. I will."
Irene's pretty smile blossomed and she hurried off, the sound of her voice interacting with the other girls' sending a pang of envy through Rosie. Just a few days ago, it had been that easy for her, too, but a wall had gone up. Well, she'd have to chip it down somehow, nothing else for it. Buoyed by the thought, she got dressed in the coolest thing she owned, a sleeveless polka dot cotton print with a square neck and a yellow belt that matched her kerchief, and breezed past her housemates to catch the next tram and go see her folks.
✪ ✪ ✪
Mom and Pop's yard smelled like fresh-mown grass when Rosie arrived. Pop came out of the side shed, wiping his hands on a mostly clean rag as Rosie walked up the drive. "Looks good, Pop. What are you doing home on a Friday?"
He smiled. "Thanks, sweetheart. Took the week off to get things tidied up around here. How are you? Want to come in for some coffee?"
Rosie cupped a hand to her ear. "Was that an offer of lemonade I heard?"
Pop laughed. "Might could do, but it could mean you being hostess and making it yourself. The coffee's already on."
"Thanks to Mom, I bet. Come inside, Pop. I'm going to teach you how to make lemonade." Rosie hugged him and tucked her arm through his as they went indoors. "Where's Mom?"
"She volunteers at the church to make lunches for the Saturday social on Fridays."
"Oh, I forgot." Rosie ushered her father into the kitchen and found lemons. "First off, it's a waste to not grate the peel for zest, so let's do that. I think it softens the lemons up, too, so they're easier to juice."
Pops, amused, got the grater out. "You're really going to teach me to make le
monade?"
"Absolutely." Rosie walked him through it, juicing the lemons, then equal parts juice and sugar, with ice cubes from the freezer and water poured over them a cup at a time until it reached the perfect tartness. "Voila! Now you pour us each a nice tall glass and we sit around and sip lemonade like civilized people."
"Your mother will never believe I made this."
Rosie pointed at a cookbook on the corner of the kitchen counter. "Recipe's right in there, thanks to Mrs Meta Given. You could even pretend I didn't have a thing to do with it."
"She'll know I never would have thought of it on my own." Pop, smiling, poured them each a glass and they headed for the porch before Rosie balked. He glanced at her, surprised, then nodded, his expression clearing. "The living room, then. There's no breeze, but …"
"There's no gawkers, either." Rosie folded a leg under herself and sat in one of the chairs, taking a satisfied sip of lemonade. "It's good, Pop."
"Couldn't have done it without you. How are you, Ro?" His eyes went serious even if the question sounded gentle. Rosie thought he really wanted to know, and wished she could tell him everything.
She could tell him enough, though. She took another sip of lemonade, and, nodding, put the glass down. "I'm okay, Pop. I am. The thing with Goode, I'm not waking up with nightmares or anything." She took a breath. "Mom told you I got fired, though, right?"
Anger flashed in Pop's eyes. "For being a threat to the other girls. I've never heard such nonsense, Rosie."
"I know. I know. And I'm afraid the supe was right but I've got an appointment to talk to a lawyer anyway. Even if it smears my name all over town … well, it's pretty smeared anyway, and who knows, I might win and that might teach them they can't be bullies." Rosie turned her lemonade glass in its circle of condensation, quiet for a moment. "And I guess you know Rich is home."