“I—”
Nothing came to mind. No argument for or against Jason tagging along. Other than my own innate caution and general mistrust of my fellow man. Especially respectfully distant “best friend” neighbor-types who had suddenly begun flirting with me.
I wished I could put my finger on what was different about him. His eyes, dark with unnamed emotion a minute ago, had returned to their normal baby blue. Maybe it was the clothes. I was used to seeing him all duded up for gay bar work, or heading out on a date, not looking all manly and attractive in muscle-revealing shorts and short sleeves.
“What about your job?” I asked. “I can close the shop for a while, and call it a holiday. But won’t you be fired if you just take off?”
His mouth tightened, like I’d hit a nerve. “Someone else can cover for me. I put in my time—they owe me this.”
I got the feeling he meant something other than the bar. What did I really know about him, anyway? He’d said he was from the States, and certainly sounded American, but that hardly proved anything. Look at my own affinity for languages. I knew he worked at the bar, because I’d dropped in on him there. But…was that his only job? Where did he disappear to so often, and was it really with a girl? Or was it for something more sinister?
I was probably being paranoid. I’d only told him bits and pieces about my life. Did I have the right to expect more from him?
Secrets. Don’t ask, don’t tell.
Like Michael, I wouldn’t have to tell Jason everything. But I would have to let down my guard a little. Could I do that? After so many years of confiding only in Lily or Vadim? I had no one else. But was that a reason to throw my trust at Jason?
Jason glared at me, as though reading my mind, which made him look much more like his old self, and I gave up. Why the hell not? He was the only real friend I had and going it alone would be beyond overwhelming. Besides, if he’d wanted to hurt me, he could’ve done it in the last fifteen minutes. And though Michael had said I wasn’t immune to dying again, rebirth did give me a certain feeling of empowerment. Or maybe it was stupidity.
“Fine,” I said at last. “Can you drive a boat?”
****
Not only could Jason drive Vadim’s boat—the best news I’d had all day, other than finding Geordi safe—he also had cash. Not a lot, but enough to last a while. When I finally asked what he was doing in my apartment, he said he’d thought Geordi would be more comfortable here, which was true. In all the commotion, I’d forgotten Jason also has a key. I’ve got one for his place, too, for those late-night returns when he doesn’t want to wake the landlady.
When I told him I had to get to Turkey, his eyebrows rose, but he didn’t ask why. I’d have to tell him eventually, but for now, the fact that he let me have my secrets bolstered me. I only hoped that whatever his own secrets were, they weren’t as bad as mine.
I did take him aside, away from Geordi, to tell him the Rousseaux had killed Lily and Nick. It occurred to me he might think the Dioguardis did it—that Nick killed Lily, and someone else shot him. I also wanted Jason to know the Rousseaux were worse than Nick’s family. I just didn’t tell him they were—technically—demons.
I must have impressed on him how horrible the Dioguardis were, because he actually looked relieved to hear Geordi’s father hadn’t done the deed. Of course, given enough time, Nick probably would have, but what the hey.
Geordi sat quietly on the futon while Jason ran down to his apartment to pack, and I rushed around doing the same. I know kids process grief differently, but watching Geordi sit, staring into space, was ten times worse than if he’d thrown a tantrum. For the first time, I fully understood why Lily used to say that Geordi throwing a fit meant he felt safe.
Packing didn’t take long. Turkey would be warmer even than here, and tanks and shorts don’t take up much space. I grabbed my “dig” boots from my grave-robbing days and tossed in some toiletries. Luckily Nick had left my passport in the safe, so at least I had one form of ID.
Briefly I considered a side trip to Switzerland, to get my own cash. I might be able to do it over the phone, but since my bank cards had been stolen, and I was shortly to be wanted by les flics—maybe even by Interpol—going in person would be less messy. But Jason assured me he had funds, and since he’s as cautious about money as I am, I believed him.
While I was in the safe, I grabbed Vadim’s will, in case I needed to prove ownership of the boat. According to Jason, the harbor permit should be on the boat itself, and once at sea, he could plot a course for Marmaris. If one of his deep dark secrets turned out to be an affinity for sea navigation, I wasn’t about to argue.
Meanwhile, my stomach was growling, and as expected, my cupboards were bare. I had everything I needed for the trip in one small bag, so I took Geordi outside, locked the apartment, and went down to Jason’s, to find him just locking his own door.
“Food?” I asked.
Jason knows my eclectic eating habits, and bless him, he held out a bag filled with bread and cheese, juice boxes, apples, and a container of roast beef for Geordi. I grabbed a hunk of cheese and doled out a juice box and some meat to Geordi. Everything smelled heavenly, and I licked the residual beef taste off my fingers, earning an odd look from Jason.
He’d changed into a clean t-shirt, so tight it formed a thin white shell over his hard chest, and khaki shorts that showed off his long, lean legs. I did another double-take. I mean, I knew he worked out, but I didn’t know he looked this good. It had to be my hormones. He’d saved my nephew, and offered me aid, so I’d transformed him into my knight in shining armor, when in reality, he was the same old Jason. I hoped.
He shouldered his own bag and said, “All set? Where to?”
“The shop. I’m hoping Geordi’s passport is in Lily’s stuff.”
“Walk or drive?”
I thought a minute. We didn’t have much to carry, and I was already nervous about driving Nick’s car. On the other hand, it was probably better to leave it at the shop with his body, instead of here. “Drive. We can walk to the docks from the shop.”
“Okey-doke.”
We hurried down to the ground floor and checked the street, which was mostly deserted. A twenty-something guy meandered along the sidewalk, looking confused, but I didn’t think he was a threat. Indigent or a drug-addict, or both. The climate here is so nice, we get a lot of Europe’s leftovers, the folks with nowhere else to go. Even after dark, the air was still warm, and the landlady’s maroon Mystery Night lilies gave off a pungent perfume, both sweet and somehow sad.
Jason knelt to rummage in his bag for something, and I waited for the man to go by. As he passed, he looked up and met my gaze. Shock lit his face and he turned to me.
“Tu me vois?” he demanded hoarsely. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”
You see me? What is happening here?
Normally I ignore the local loonies, but though his clothes were dirty, there was a clarity in his manner that begged me to respond. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
Jason looked up at me. “What did you say?”
“Nothing, I was talking to that guy.”
“What guy?”
I turned back to the street, but the man was gone, and there was no sign of him up the block. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
I’m not a big night person. After dinner, I like to curl up and spend a quiet evening at home. Jason, by contrast, thrives when the sun goes down. Plus, he sees better in the dark than anyone I know, so after we strapped Geordi in, I gave Jason the keys and let him take the wheel.
“Nice,” he said when the engine roared awake. He pulled out of the parking space, pointed the car toward the store, and gunned it.
I’d never been in a car with him driving. I had to say, if he drove the boat like he drove the Beamer, we’d get to Turkey in no time. When we screeched to a stop in front of the shop, he killed the engine and reached for the door, but instinctively I threw a hand across his chest.
“Wait
. Something’s wrong.”
He froze. “What?”
“I’m not sure.” I examined the storefront, the gut feelings I’d ignored with the Rousseaux now tingling again like gangbusters. The door was still shut, and the stoop and the bushes on either side looked undisturbed. I glanced at the windows. The shades on the right were askew. Had I done that, in my haste to close them? Or had someone been here after I left?
If so, it wasn’t the cops. That was obvious from the total lack of flood lights, crime scene tape, and forensics specialists. If the bodies had been discovered, there’d be a news crew or two as well. I unbuckled my seatbelt and started to get out, but this time, Jason stopped me.
“You can’t go in there by yourself!”
I threw a pointed look at Geordi, who stared out the window at the street. I don’t know if he avoided looking at the shop on purpose, or if the direction of his gaze was random. Regardless, it would be way too traumatic for him to come inside.
“Someone has to stay here,” I said.
Jason nodded. “Yep. You.” He pinched the shop keys from my grasp and got out of the car, then locked us in, saying through the closed window, “Be right back.”
He was gone a minute or two at most, but they were some of the longest, most agonizing minutes of my life. Geordi still wasn’t talking, and I didn’t have the energy to try. Maybe being quiet was best for him anyway. If he needed to talk, I’d be here, and if nothing came out by tomorrow, I’d push him. Not tonight, though.
From a few blocks away, I heard the normal sounds of traffic on busy cross streets. Engines gunned, horns honked, the drivers of les taxis shouted at pedestrians and cyclists. A man ran by on the sidewalk, stumbling a little as he passed us. He flung his arms out for balance, looking like a bird about to take flight, then regained his stride and ran on. He hadn’t even glanced our way, and I felt the tears welling up. Here in the car, in front of the shop where Geordi’d lost his parents, and I’d lost half my family, I felt isolated, removed from everything real or normal or good.
Then Geordi made a soft sound, like a sniffle he tried to hide, and I reached back and found his hand. The connection was instantaneous, like a completed electrical circuit. He squeezed my fingers, and we held on for dear life, not talking, but communicating all the same.
When Jason finally came out, he was empty-handed, but his expression said something was very wrong. He jumped in the car and locked the door again, then turned to me.
“They’re gone.”
At first his words didn’t register. “Who’s gone? The Rousseaux? They left hours ago.”
“Not them.” He glanced in the rearview mirror at Geordi, listening solemnly from the back seat. “The…others…who were here when you left. They’re gone.”
And then I got it, and I fell back in my seat, too stunned to speak. When I found my voice, all I could ask was, “How?”
“I don’t know. But the shop’s empty.” He paused, and I knew he didn’t want to tell me the rest. He took a deep breath, choosing his words, whether for my benefit or Geordi’s, I didn’t know. “I checked the back, too. There’s nothing there. Someone took them away—both of them—then cleaned the shop and the alley. It’s like nothing ever happened.”
Chapter Seven
“For we brought nothing into this world,
and it is certain we can carry nothing out.”
~The Bible, 1 Timothy 6:7
I had to see for myself. Jason tried to stop me, but I argued the point and eventually he gave in. I don’t even know what good I thought it would do. But it was my shop, my scumbag ex-brother-in-law, my sister, that someone had “cleaned up.”
My first guess was the Rousseaux. Maybe they’d changed their minds about blending in and had decided to wiggle their fingers after all, to cover up the crime scene. The giant hole in that guess was, though, why not do it immediately? Why leave and come back, after I’d had time to be reborn, search Nick, and steal his car?
But…if not the Rousseaux, then who?
Whoever did it even put back my shelves and counter. The discolorations on the floor must’ve told them where everything went. I poked around, but other than the fact that they’d done a thorough cleaning job—much better than I do—I learned nothing else.
Steeling myself, I went out the back. Not that I wanted to see Lily’s body. But she was my sister, and I didn’t like the idea that someone had messed with her. At least if les flics found her, she’d eventually get a burial or whatever she’d specified in her will. She was a much better Catholic than I—my own preference would be cremation.
Which reminded me, I didn’t have a will. Maybe I could have one drawn up before Michael took me away again.
Shoving that thought away, I stepped into the alley. It was a good thing I already knew where Lily went—the real Lily—her soul or whatever you want to call her essence. Because here again, Jason was right. Though I’d never call the alley “clean,” there was no sign of Lily, her blood, or my own. Or of anything else indicating our deaths had occurred here mere hours ago—just trash and dirt, graffiti on the buildings, and the faint scent of potted flowers mixed with the lingering meat and grease smells of the day’s cooking, wafting down from the kitchen windows above.
There was also a tenant from the apartments across the alley, standing by the dumpster. Monsieur Lebeau had to be ninety at least. I’d met him a few years ago while taking out the trash. We struck up a conversation, discovered a mutual love of travel and faraway places, and he’d been a regular visitor to La Boutique ever since.
It had to be way past his bedtime. But then, I left the shop by four most afternoons, so what did I know of his nocturnal habits?
“Monsieur Lebeau?” I walked toward him. “What are you doing out here?”
He glanced around agitatedly, as though searching for something. “Je suis ici? I do not know which way to go. They do not tell one what to do.”
His mind was usually nice and sharp, but it was awfully late. He wore a robe over pajamas, so maybe he was sleepwalking. Jason and Geordi waited in the car, but I couldn’t just leave him.
“Would you like me to help you?” I asked.
He turned sharply, looking frightened, then relaxed when he saw me. “Hyacinth! I did not know it was you.” He regarded me for a moment, then nodded once. “Mais bien sûr—tu le sais. You know. Would you be so kind as to show me the way?”
“Of course.”
I took his elbow and led him to the back entrance of his building, which consisted of a grimy metal door flanked by two withering purple Moonflowers planted in dry, caked soil. Their dying vines had crept up the building wall, taking hold in the cracks and chinks of the old yellow bricks. A few tenacious blooms still clung to life, perfuming the night air with their heady scent, as though leaving the world something to remember them by.
Like the plants, Monsieur Lebeau seemed frail and old, barely hanging on, and a pang of loss swept through me. Then I chided myself. He wasn’t dead yet—I was. Which only made the pang worse. I gave myself a mental shake. You’re here for Geordi. Stay focused, help him, and worry about the rest later.
I wasn’t sure which floor Monsieur Lebeau lived on, only that it wasn’t street level. When I opened the rusty door, I saw a hall with stairs going up to the left, down to the right. Since there were no apartments below ground, only storage, I steered him toward the left.
He paused uncertainly. “Vraiment? Celui-ci?”
Whether due to my melancholy over Lily’s death and my own, or because the stairs reminded me of the room I’d been in with Michael, I don’t know, but I had an incredible urge to reassure Monsieur Lebeau. He’d been so nice over the years, bringing snacks and companionship when I needed them most.
I took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Yes. This one. This is where you should go.”
His skin was surprisingly warm, and at the contact, he drew a shaky breath, then blew it out, becoming instantly calmer. He gave my hand a squeeze back, t
hen withdrew from my grasp. “Merci beaucoup, Hyacinth. I am glad you were here.”
“I can walk you up, if you like.”
“Non, merci. I know the way now. You have been a great help.”
He grasped the railing in one arthritic hand, putting a slippered foot on the stairs. I fought down the sudden lump in my throat, thinking this might be the last time I ever saw him, but he turned and smiled, and I knew he’d be okay.
The question was, would I?
I watched his laborious progress until he turned at the first landing and disappeared from sight. Then I went back into the shop, locking the alley door behind me. I’d learned nothing about whoever removed Lily and Nick, but I had the oddest sense that I was supposed to be there, for Monsieur Lebeau. I’m not the best Good Samaritan. Too much fend-for-yourself foster care. But I have a soft spot for the elderly who, in my opinion, get the shaft more than the rest of us. I was glad Monsieur Lebeau was safe, and even more happy I’d helped speed him on his way.
In fact, the whole episode made me feel better about things, like maybe I could handle this after all. It’s amazing what one small accomplishment can do for your self-esteem.
The warm fuzzies lasted for the thirty seconds it took me to walk through the dark shop and out the front door, where I spied Jason and Geordi several yards away on the sidewalk, their backs to me. Jason took a step forward, looking at something on the ground, then beckoned Geordi closer, and my heart leapt into my throat.
Jason was taking Geordi. I’d totally misjudged him—he had no intention of helping me—he only came along so he could snatch my nephew.
And…do what with him? Ransom him to the Dioguardis?
It was completely irrational. I knew that. But the fear was there, palpable, souring my gut, dizzying in its perniciousness. Was this how it would be from now on? I’d always loved Geordi, but now I was his parent. All at once, a bone-deep need to keep him safe vibrated from my hair down to my toes. With sudden clarity I knew if a bus came barreling at him, I’d throw myself in front of it—or face down a whole pack of demons—just to save him.
Debriefing the Dead (The Dead Series Book 1) Page 7