by C. E. Murphy
"I think it's asking for trouble."
"It is. It is, library man. But it's still the right thing to do." Rosie lifted her chin. "I'll send a note to the police department to tell them to look at the Pennicott property. I won't write it. I'll cut out newsprint," she said with a wan smile. "Like spies do."
"That's going to direct attention right to us, Rosie," Hank warned. "To Valentine disappearing and Dad being a mess. Because it's his property. And if I'm caught up in it, you will be too, sooner or later."
"Then I guess we better get our stories straight."
"Not too straight." Hank sighed. "If we all say the exact same thing, we'll sound like we're lying. Rosie, we have to get my dad on board with this before we try. Without him agreeing, it'll never work."
"It's a heck of a conspiracy," Jean said. "A lot to keep quiet."
"Ex Libris has been doing it for centuries," Rosie argued.
"Millennia," Hank disagreed. "I'll talk to Dad, and talk to you tomorrow at the funeral, Rosie. Don't do anything until then. All right?"
"Okay. But we need to do this, Hank. It's just not right, otherwise." Rosie waited on Hank's nod, then looked at Jean. "We should probably get going. Try to get some sleep tonight."
"I feel like I might sleep well for the first time in a week," Jean said fiercely. "We'll see you tomorrow, Hank."
TWENTY-SEVEN
A note on Rosie's bedroom door, in Marge's handwriting, said Barb had mentioned a girl named Pearl Daly had called for Rosie a couple of times. Rosie took the note down and put it on her bedside table so she'd remember to call Pearl in the morning. Irene, hidden in her bed, didn't even lift her head as Rosie stripped filthy dungarees and her stained shirt off, looked at them in despair, and pitched them into the wastebasket. It'd probably be smartest to burn them, because the blood would never come out, and she'd need new Keds, too, but she couldn't do anything about any of that tonight. Overwhelmed by the thought of it all, she went to sleep quickly, without Irene ever having said a word.
She woke up earlier than expected, feeling like there were a million things to do. She had a casserole in the oven to bring over for Jean before anybody else got up, and had the oven off again before the day started getting too hot. Then she called her parents, who promised to be at the funeral, and went to get cleaned up as the rest of the girls started milling around the house.
A look in the mirror told her she should have cleaned up the night before, and that it was just as well nobody had taken a good look at her when she came in. Dirt and dried blood smeared her jawline and made a stiff mess of her hair. Well, Irene had a hairdryer and Rosie would just have to use it. She took a cool bath, scrubbing her skin until it turned bright red, and her hair until her scalp tingled with the effort. She got a dirty look from Dorothy when she emerged from the bathroom, but she didn't reckon she'd ever get back in Dot's good graces, so it didn't matter much. Irene was out of the bedroom and didn't come back while Rosie set her hair. Just when she'd gotten her hair done and a dress on, Irene called, "Rosie, phone," from the living room, and gave Rosie a nervous smile when she came out to take the phone.
"Hi, Rosie, it's Pearl, Pearl Daly? From—"
Rosie couldn't help smiling. "I know where you're from, Pearl. I'm sorry I wasn't around yesterday. Things got a little crazy."
"That's all right. I wondered if you wanted to go shopping this afternoon, though?"
"I can't." Rosie bit back an explanation as she glanced toward the living room clock. "Oh, gosh, it's only 9:30. I could meet you at Hudson's in half an hour and we could do a quick shop before I have to go, if you like."
"That would be swell! Are you sure?"
"I think it'd be good for me." It meant an awfully busy day, but it seemed like a nice, normal, ordinary girl thing to do, and Rosie thought she needed that as much as Pearl probably did.
An hour of shopping got Pearl a few smart new outfits at the department store, and as she came out of the dressing room to model the last one, Rosie said, "You'll look good working for Harrison Vaughn now."
Pearl's eyes widened in astonishment. "It's not a sure thing," Rosie said as sternly as she could. "You've got to take those typing classes, and work hard, but he said he had a place for a steady worker. And the rest of it is over, Pearl," she added more quietly. "There was a—a hive, here in Detroit, but its queen bee is gone and I think it's pretty well broken up. All the folks who were circling around us are …"
"Have buzzed off?" Pearl asked brightly, and Rosie laughed.
"Exactly. At least, I think so. So you're safe, okay? If you ever hear from Goode's … lady friend … in France, I'd like to know what she says, but I hope things will just be back to normal now."
"What's normal but something that's always changing, anyway?" Pearl smoothed her skirt before meeting Rosie's eyes. "All I know is my normal is a lot better thanks to you than it would have been, so I'll do anything I ever can to help you, Rosie Ransom. You can count on me."
To her own surprise, Rosie stepped forward to hug the other woman. "Me too. Give me a call any time, night or day."
Pearl looked at her critically. "Maybe day. You look like you need more sleep, young lady. Got to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to get a job these days, you know."
"I do know. Let's buy these, Pearl, because I really do have to get going early. A lot's happening today." The clothes cost fifty-eight dollars, and Pearl took the receipt to write an IOU on its reverse, signing it and handing it over to Rosie, who smiled. "When you're on your feet again, Pearl."
"I just don't want you to think I forgot."
"I don't." Rosie walked Pearl out to the tram and took one going the opposite direction, stopping at home to change into a dark purple dress and pick up the casserole before going over to Jean's house.
Jean's folks were already there, both dressed somberly, and Jean emerged from her room looking terrible, and knowing it, in black. She gestured at the dress, which fit perfectly but did her golden complexion no favors, and shook her head. "Ruby would hate seeing me in this."
Rosie got up to hug her. "What would she like seeing you in?"
"I don't know. Maybe that old green rag of mine. It was her favorite dress of mine."
"Let's see it." Rosie followed Jean back into her bedroom and Jean took the dress from the closet. Dark green and boxy, with a tiny floral print in taupe, it hardly qualified as a rag. Rosie nodded. "You should wear this, Jean-Marie. For you, for Ruby. It's exactly right."
Jean's eyes filled with tears. Rosie took the dress, put it aside, and hugged her tight until she managed to stop crying. "Okay, now," Rosie murmured. "Let's get you into this dress, and I'll fix your hair a bit, enough to put a hat on, and we'll be ready to go."
"I don't have a hat to match this dress."
"A black one will do. It's dark enough green, and if anybody says anything catty, I'll step on their toes with my heels."
Jean sniffled but smiled and, once dressed, looked at herself in the mirror, asking, "We did okay, right, Ro? We did okay."
"We did just fine, Jeannie. You can do this knowing that. We did just fine."
Jean nodded, and a few minutes later, they all got in the car to go to the church. Jean and her family went to sit with Ruby's Nan and parents, and Rosie, after offering her condolences, found her parents, and then, to her surprise and pleasure, Rich. He took her hand and sat with her through the service and the burial after, not, Rosie thought unhappily, that there was much left to bury. But it felt good to have Rich at her side. Not exactly like he'd never been gone, but good, like he belonged there. Like she belonged there. She saw Hank in the crowd, and gave him a grateful smile for having come. He nodded, giving her and Rich a thoughtful look, and didn't come over, even as the receiving line formed.
Rosie had already spoken with Ruby's folks, so stepped aside from the line. Rich came with her, keeping his voice low. "What really happened to her, Rosie?"
"Exactly what the papers said," Rosie said just as quietly. "B
ut PFC Goode was a vampire."
Rich said, "Jesus," a little too loudly, but they were far enough from the main crowd to not draw attention. Rosie put her hand on his arm anyways, looking around. "Why don't we try to find some lemonade."
A brief smile creased his mouth, though it left his eyes not so much cool as sad. "You're so good at that. Being a good hostess. I always imagined how happy and comfortable our house would be, with you taking care of it. Of us. And me. But the lemonade is probably all at their house. Rosie, I just want a chance to talk to you."
Rosie's own smile felt pained. "There's a lot to talk about. I guess I imagined all that once, too."
"But it changed. Before this thing with Goode and Valentine Vaughn. It changed for you a long time before that, didn't it?"
"It changed a lot more when it turned out demons and monsters were real, but yeah. I'm sorry I didn't tell you when you were overseas. I didn't know how."
"No, I don't guess I would have either. What about the … the Redeeming? Would you have told me about that at all?"
"I don't know." Rosie folded her arms around herself, looking at yellowing grass across the cemetery. "I wanted to protect you from it."
Rich tried to smile. "I'm supposed to be the protector, Rosie."
"But I don't need one. I didn't in the first place, and now I'm stuck in this crazy thing that other people really do need protecting from. I wanted to keep you out of it. Safe."
"Didn't work, did it?"
Rosie ducked her head. "Not even a little bit."
Rich nodded. "But I guess I don't blame you for trying, even if I'm not sure what to think of my girl being the one trying to protect me."
"Am I?" Rosie met his eyes, caught between curiosity and concern. "Am I your girl?"
"I don't know, Rosie. Are you?" Rich studied her, then glanced across the graveyard himself. "Coming home, I just wanted to start life back where I left it. Settle down, find a job, get married, have some kids. Everything looks different now. And that's what you've been saying all along, but I didn't know how different it looked, Ro. Now I do. And now I don't …"
"Don't know if I'm the star you want to hitch your wagon to?" Rosie asked quietly.
Rich's mouth thinned. "Something like that, maybe. I hate the thought of giving it all up, Ro. We were good together, weren't we? But maybe we were just kids, too."
"We were, and we were. I don't know if we can start over, Rich. Not when we've got so much history. But maybe history doesn't mean picking up where we left off. Maybe we can just see what happens. No … no promises. No formalities. Maybe we can just see where it goes. Maybe we can just take some time and figure out if you're my guy, if I'm your girl. Maybe that's the smart thing to do."
"Yeah." Rich exhaled heavily, like the cares of the world rode on the breath. "I think that sounds good, Rosie."
"So do I." Rosie stood on her toes to kiss Rich's cheek. "So we'll start there. Now, look, it's about ninety-five degrees out here. Do you want to find some lemonade or not?"
Rich chuckled. "No, I'm going to head home. Promised the old man I'd do some work around the house before it got dark. I just wanted to talk to you, Ro. I didn't like leaving things hanging."
"You're a stand-up guy, Rich Thompson." Rosie kissed his cheek again and watched as he disappeared in the distance, heading for his car. She sighed, patted her hair, and looked at the receiving line, wondering if Jean needed any support.
Irene stood a few feet behind her, arms folded tightly around herself. "You were talking to Rich."
"Yeah." Rosie looked back as if she could still see him, then fanned herself with one hand. "I didn't know he was going to be here. It was good of him to come."
"I'm real sorry, Ro," Irene whispered. "Swear I'm not trying to steal your guy."
"Rene." Rosie reached out to try and take one of Irene's hands. "Look, if you can steal him, he's obviously not really my guy, right? Rich and me, we don't know where we're going. I mean, sure, it was kind of awful watching him go running right to you last night, but hon, how could I even blame him? Or you? You'd both just gone through the same thing, something I reckon nobody else can even imagine. I guess I might've headed your way too."
Irene unwound enough to let Rosie have her fingers, and Rosie squeezed them. "I'm not angry, okay? Maybe I don't know quite what I am, but I'm not gonna lose my best friend because of a fight over some boy. Even as decent a guy as Rich Thompson is." She squeezed Irene's hand again, then smiled up at the sky. "He sure is cute, though, isn't he?"
A surprised little laugh cut loose from Irene's throat. She clapped her hands over her mouth, brown eyes apologetic over her fingers before she parted them enough to whisper, "He sure is. Cuter than the pictures you have of him."
"He done growed up. I guess maybe we all did."
"I guess so." Irene hesitated. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you, too. About … all this."
"Aw, Rene. Why would you? Nobody in their right mind would. I just wish … I'm sorry you got caught up in it all the way you did. That wasn't supposed to happen."
"I didn't figure," Irene said dryly enough to make Rosie smile.
"No, I don't guess you did." She lifted her chin toward the receiving line. "They're almost done. Are you going to the McAnlys' after? I'm sure Jean-Marie is."
Irene shook her head. "I'm not sure she is. I overheard them talking. They're furious with her, Ro. They blame her for Ruby working at the factory, for not getting married and staying safe. They didn't say it in so many words, but they made it real clear she wasn't welcome."
Fury blazed through Rosie and fizzled into something close to tears. "Jean must be devastated. Well, to hell with them, then," she said as fiercely as she could. "Maybe we should get Jean and go back to our house, just so there's some noise and people around. Hank's here, or he was. He could come over too. And maybe I could catch Rich …" Rosie looked for him again, though she knew he was long gone.
"Well, let's not worry about making it a party," Irene said. "But maybe getting Jean before she breaks down entirely is a good idea. Did you drive?"
"Jean drove us. Oh, shoot, her parents. She drove her parents, too."
"Your folks can drive them home, and we'll go with Jean," Irene said. "I'll go get it all sorted out with the parents. You go get Jean. We'll meet at her car in ten minutes."
It took almost twenty to get Jean-Marie away from old school friends who didn't want to leave her, even though Jean kept edging toward Rosie and the car. Rosie finally said, "Why don't you all come over tomorrow?" with a quick look at Jean to make sure that was all right. "Maybe bring a dish or two by. I've been feeding Jean on Big Bob's all week, but a girl could use a home-cooked meal in times like this." With that plan in place, the girls were willing to let Jean go, and Rosie felt her weight sag on Rosie's arm as they headed for the car. "I'll drive," Rosie offered.
Jean managed a faint smile. "You just want to drive my Oldsmobile."
"There may be a grain of truth in that," Rosie allowed, and Jean gave her the keys. "We'll go to our house for a while," Rosie said as they met up with Irene. "Just so it's not going from all this bustle to total quiet all at once. But we can go over to your house and eat up that casserole after a bit. Tomorrow, those girls are going to bring more food than you can shake a stick at."
"Okay." Jean-Marie leaned her head against the car window, closing her eyes. Rosie caught Irene's eye in the rear-view mirror and Irene lifted a finger to her lips. Rosie nodded and they drove home silently, pulling into the driveway around dinnertime.
Dorothy was sitting on the front porch beside a big pile of boxes. She jumped to her feet when Rosie pulled into the drive and ran into the house, the screen door banging behind her. Rosie breathed, "… what?" but before she or Irene could get out of the car, all four of their housemates were on the porch, making a line across the top of the steps. Barb looked triumphant, her chin high and her eyes hard, and Dorothy had a similar expression, only more frightened. Wanda kept her gaze on the p
orch floor as Rosie got out of the car and walked forward, a knot of confusion and distress forming in her belly. "What on earth is going on?"
"We took a vote," Barb announced. "We don't want you here anymore, you murderess. We haven't slept a wink in the past week and we don't reckon we ever will again, with somebody like you under this roof. We packed up all your stuff, and we're not giving you your deposit back because of all the work that took."
A cold sweat broke on Rosie's skin, and though she believed them in her gut, she said, "Are you serious? Wanda? Marge?"
Wanda's gaze jerked up guiltily, then flinched back to the ground. Marge only shrugged, more indifferent than uncomfortable. Jean got out of the car behind Rosie and Irene, who stepped forward and said, "Some house vote, if you went behind our backs. What a nasty piece of work you are, Barbara Brandt. Where do you think she's supposed to go?"
"Not my problem," Barb said with a toss of her hair. "Back home to her folks, I guess. They can't throw her out, even if she's a freak. She's sure as heck never getting married now, not being a known murderer."
The knot in Rosie's stomach twisted tighter, hurting so bad she almost laughed. She'd spent a whole week fighting demons, but she couldn't think of a thing to say or do in the face of ordinary girls being mean. Irene stalked up the stairs with such intent that even Barb stepped back and gave a shaky breath of relief when Irene just marched past her instead of doing something more physical. Three minutes later, Irene swept back out of the house again with a bag in one hand and a ten-dollar bill that she waved under Barb's nose in the other fist. "I took this right out of your kitty, because you're not stiffing Rosie for this month's rent on my watch, you nasty cow."
"Wh—what are you doing? Where are you going? You can't take my money!"
"The hell I can't," Irene snapped. "And if you think for a minute I'm gonna live with a bunch of mean or lily-livered girls who threw my best friend out without even having the nerve to talk to her about it, you've got another think coming. Good luck finding more housemates when I'm done telling everybody at the factory what cowardly witches you four are."