The Book of Mayhem

by Melissa McShane

  10

  Ten o’clock rolled around the next morning without a single person entering the store. It was so weird I checked my phone several times, wondering if the display was right. “I don’t know why no one’s here,” Judy said irritably when my wonderings became verbal. “Just be grateful there isn’t anyone to start a war.”

  I did the day’s mail-in auguries, which took until just after noon, and still no one came. I found Judy sitting at the desk in the office, typing rapidly. “You’re sure it’s not Sunday?” I said, only half joking.

  Judy blew out her breath in exasperation. “Come over here and look at this,” she said. I came around to her side of the desk. She brought up the database interface, clicked on the Search field, and typed BLACK. Seven records came up in the center of the screen. “These are all the people with the surname Black who’ve done business with Abernathy’s. Actually—” She double clicked on one name. “This one’s a duplicate. I’ll have to merge it with the other. But see how easy it was to find that mistake? And it’s even easier to fix it.”

  “I’m impressed. Now what do we do with it?”

  “What don’t we do? We can generate mailing labels for the day’s auguries, search on someone’s history, quickly look up a customer’s records…it’s going to speed up a lot of our processes.”

  “That’s great! Especially the mailing labels. I’ve got a stack of books that need to go out in the mail.”

  “Okay, but lunch first. I’m starving.”

  Two o’clock came, and again the store stayed empty. I was starting to worry. The spectators, the ones who came by just to chat, I could see staying away, but the hunters? They needed auguries more than ever now that the killer had stepped up his game. And Lucia had said she’d be sending someone over for an augury, so where was that person?

  Judy and I finished packaging the auguries, and Judy took them to the post office. While she was gone, I sat behind the front counter and idly picked at the flaws in the glass top with my thumbnail. I remembered Cynthia doing the same thing several days ago. She was picking me up for dinner tonight, and I was trying not to resent having to go. Not that I had anything better to do, since no one was banging down my door looking for an augury.

  The door swung open, and I sat upright. “Oh! Olivia!”

  “Surprise,” Olivia Quincy said. She looked perfectly healthy, not at all as if she’d had half her magic sucked out of her body only days before. “How are you?”

  “Better, now that you’re here.” I came around the counter to hug her. “Do you need an augury, or is this a personal visit?”

  “Augury.” She held out a slip of paper. “Everyone says hi. It’s been crazy the last few days, but we’re so close. At least, Campbell thinks we’re close. I’ve never seen him drive himself to the brink like this before. I think he’s taking these murders personally.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  Olivia shrugged. “He feels guilty that he, in his words, ‘wasted’ so much time pursuing invaders that didn’t exist. Samantha Bannister was a close friend of his mother’s and someone he grew up calling Aunt. He has issues with responsibility.”

  “I see.” No wonder he’d been so short with me. “Hang on, and I’ll get this for you.”

  The bluish light of the oracle comforted me. I unfolded the slip. Where will the killer strike next? I’d seen so many variations on this I wondered if the oracle was tired of providing answers to it, even the cryptic half-answers embedded in the books it selected. I came up with a battered copy of The House With a Clock in its Walls and returned to Olivia, who was doing something with her phone she shut off when I appeared. “I used to love this book when I was a kid,” I said, handing it over.

  “I’ve never read it. Maybe I’ll get a chance now, once its oracular power is exhausted.” Olivia handed over a tube of sanguinis sapiens. “I hope Campbell’s right, and we’re close. Or someone’s close. I don’t care who so long as the killer is stopped. But I’m exhausted. We all are.”

  “I’m sorry. Good luck.” I waved goodbye, then went back to my stool. I’d done my little bit toward finding and stopping the killer. I just wished it could be more.

  Lucia’s messenger came by at nearly six, when I was getting ready to close up shop. The augury was easy to find, which felt like an undramatic end to a strangely quiet day. I handed it over, accepted $7000 in hundreds from the woman, and locked the door behind her. Judy had left early, citing a message from her father requesting her presence, so I was alone as I wandered through the store, picking up scraps of paper and straightening shelves and generally tidying up.

  As I got ready for dinner with Cynthia, I couldn’t help wondering what Lucia would make of her augury. Maybe she had learned something new about the killer, something that would give the Wardens an advantage. Lucia was right; it was remarkable that Parish and Rasmussen were able to handle this as well as they had, without personal animosities getting in the way. It made me respect them more, though I didn’t like them any better, since they both wanted me out of their way. We were never going to be friends, but we could probably work together.

  I put on a strappy dress made of something silky and rose-colored (warm colors, happy now, sis?) and a pair of white sandals, put my things into a purse that matched the dress, and kicked back on my velvet couch to wait for Cynthia’s text. Warm evening sunlight poured through the windows until I felt drenched in honey, perfectly relaxed and ready for anything my sister might throw at me tonight.

  I ran my fingers across the back of the couch, enjoying how the maroon velvet was smooth in one direction and resistant in the other. It reminded me of kissing Jason, and I dug in my purse for my phone. I’d text him, see what he was doing tomorrow night. We hadn’t had a real date in over a week, unless you counted dinner with my family, which was sort of like a date in the same way honeymooning with your mother-in-law was a wedding trip.

  As I pulled out my phone, it buzzed with an incoming text. Cynthia was downstairs. I dithered briefly, then put my phone away and gathered up my purse. I’d text Jason later. Right now I didn’t want to keep Cynthia waiting. Who knew what she might come up with, left to her own devices?

  The little BMW was comfortable and its engine purred just at the edge of hearing. “I love leather seats, don’t you?” Cynthia said. “These don’t even hold onto the heat of the day. I don’t know why. German engineering, probably.”

  “It’s nice,” I said, running my fingers over the smooth contours of the seat. “Where are we going?”

  “A little place I heard about from some of the guys in the conference. It’s called Giuseppe’s and the linguini is supposed to be divine.”

  “I love Italian food.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I do know things about you, Hellie. We grew up together, remember?”

  You don’t know I hate being called Hellie, apparently. I thought about mentioning it, then discarded the notion. “I just didn’t think you paid all that much attention. We didn’t have a lot in common, growing up.”

  “You’re three years younger than me. That’s a big gap when you’re young. Not so much when you’re twenty-two and twenty-five.”

  There were nine years between me and Malcolm. I turned to look out the window so Cynthia wouldn’t see me blush. “I guess that’s true. We’re closer to being in the same stage of life now.”

  “Exactly. We’re both employed, we’re both dating seriously, we’re both living on our own…we understand each other’s lives better now.” Cynthia swung into a driveway and pulled up in front of the valet stand. “Or at least, I think we should.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say to that. A liveried attendant helped me out of the car, and I followed Cynthia into the restaurant.

  Once we were past the foyer, the restaurant was dimly lit, with a bunch of little round tables each with its own tiny lamp. The maroon carpet and the deep red of the walls gave it a cozy, in
timate look. Men and women spoke in hushed tones, filling the room with murmuring sound like flowing water. But more striking than all of that was the aroma of marinara sauce, a dozen different cheeses, and freshly cooked pasta. I drew in a deep breath, and my stomach rumbled. Cynthia laughed. “I can already see this is a hit.”

  “If the food tastes as good as it smells, I may come here all the time.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I wanted tonight to be memorable.”

  The waiter ushered us to a table near the left side of the room. “Any reason why?” I asked as I took my seat.

  Cynthia shrugged. “I’m leaving in a few days, and I don’t know when I’ll be back. This may be the last chance we have to spend time together for a long time.”

  “Well, that’s reason enough.”

  We spent some time looking over the menu, though I already knew what I was going to have: every time I tried a new Italian place, I ordered its lasagna to see if it measured up to my mother’s. The waiter came by and filled up our water glasses, took our orders and our menus, and walked away again. Cynthia’s phone beeped, and she began texting someone. I sat and fidgeted. What could I possibly say to Cynthia that I hadn’t failed to say a hundred times before?

  “Sorry,” Cynthia said, putting away her phone. “Business. Sometimes I don’t know how they get on without me.”

  “Do you ever have trouble with the glass ceiling, or stuff like that?” I asked.

  Cynthia laughed. “It’s all about tradeoffs. If you’re willing to work like a man, you’re more likely to be treated like a man. Though I won’t say it’s not hard. There aren’t a lot of women in my position and there’ll be fewer as I get older and get promoted. Not something you need to worry about, in your job, is it?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Why are you upset? I meant you don’t have to worry about pleasing your bosses so they won’t pass you over for some up and coming young man. Or have I misunderstood your job?”

  I flushed. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

  “I do.”

  “Really?”

  Cynthia unfolded her napkin and spread it on her lap, but her eyes never left my face. “You’ve always felt insecure when it comes to your successes. Didn’t help that I won all the prizes and took all the acclaim in high school, did it?”

  “I see you’re still as arrogant as you used to be.” If she was going to be a bitch, I wasn’t going to hold back.

  “That’s not bragging, it’s just true. I’m not going to apologize for being successful, Hellie.”

  “Would you not call me that!” I said. “It’s like you think I’m some kind of pet!”

  She looked surprised. “I didn’t know it bothered you.”

  “Right, because the last hundred times I told you not to do it wasn’t enough of a warning.”

  “I don’t remember you ever telling me you hated it. Sorry.”

  She sounded so taken aback I felt guilty. “That’s okay. Just…don’t.” Had I ever told her not to call me that? Or had I just thought it all those times? “And I’d rather not talk about your successes.”

  “I don’t want to, either. We were talking about you. I’m just saying that whenever you did succeed at something, it wasn’t big by comparison to what I was doing and Mom and Dad never acknowledged it. I didn’t think about it at the time, but in hindsight, it bothers me.”

  “Yeah, because you were the golden child.”

  “I know,” Cynthia said without a trace of either humility or arrogance. She might have been commenting on the weather. “It probably sucked to be you sometimes.”

  Her candor made me uncomfortable. “Can we talk about something else? How about your conference? How’s that going?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ve already sent information back to my bosses and we should have a deal ready by the time the weekend’s over. But you don’t care about that.”

  It’s better than talking about what a failure I am. “You made an effort to learn about my work, I figure I can return the favor.”

  “I envy you. You seem so confident, running your store, and all those people like you…I can’t think of more than four of my co-workers who think of me more fondly than as a brass-balled bitch. I wish I had what you have.”

  My discomfort grew. “I…I’m sure more people than that—”

  “No, it’s pretty much just those four. And two of them only like me because I buy lunch once a week. You’re so lucky.”

  I leaned back in my chair as the waiter deposited my lasagna in front of me. “I guess I am. Though Judy despised me when we first met.”

  “That’s the little one, right? She’s so cute. Why did she despise you?”

  “She thought she was going to get to run the store. She has experience I don’t. But I’m the one they hired, and she eventually realized she was better off helping than sniping at me from the sidelines.”

  Cynthia laughed. “How’s the lasagna?”

  I cut off a small bite and blew on it before popping it into my mouth. “Mmm,” I said, savoring the blend of flavors. “Almost as good as Mom’s. She uses more cheese.”

  “I keep telling her it’s too bad she never became a chef. She’s good enough she could do it.”

  “She liked feeding us more.”

  “I know.” Cynthia forked up a mouthful of linguini. “I don’t know if I could do what she did. Stay home and raise kids.”

  “She did a lot of other things, too.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not the same as having a job outside the home.” Cynthia took another bite, smaller than the first, swallowed, and put down her fork. “Helena, I’m pregnant.”

  Stunned, I lowered my fork to my plate. “What?”

  “I’m pregnant. Seven weeks.”

  “But…how?”

  Cynthia gave me a wry smile. “The usual way.”

  “I mean…you don’t want kids. Do you? You said you didn’t.”

  “I don’t. It was an accident. Ethan doesn’t even know.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’m going to keep it.” Cynthia nudged her fork to lie parallel with her knife. She looked suddenly old in the dim light of the lamp. “I haven’t told anyone but you.”

  “Not even Mom?”

  “I’m not telling her until I’ve made a decision. I don’t want her getting all excited if…anyway. But I had to tell someone. And you’re my sister.”

  She said it so simply—you’re my sister—and yet with such feeling I was struck mute. All the resentment I’d harbored against her vanished, leaving only regret and a trace of guilt. “I’m not much of a sister,” I finally said.

  “Don’t say that. You’re a great sister.”

  “I mean—Cynthia, I hated you when we were younger. You stole all my boyfriends and you made fun of the way I dressed—”

  “I’m sorry. I was full of myself back then and it was fun to tease you because you got so mad you couldn’t speak—”

  “See? Even now you think that’s funny!”

  Cynthia shook her head. “I was laughing at myself, how stupid I was. We’re really different, I know that, and in some ways that’s never going to change. But we’re both older now, and I hoped—” She had tears in her eyes. “I hoped we could get past that.”

  “How do you expect that to happen if you’ve never once apologized for what you did?”

  “I just did. Hellie—I mean, Helena, if you want me to apologize for every little slight, we’ll be here until next Tuesday. I’m sorry I treated you so poorly and I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate you when we were younger. But right now—” Her voice broke. “Right now I could really use a friend.”

  I scrubbed away tears from my eyes. “Admit it was you who stole the bracelet.”

  “If I’d seriously tried to steal it, one or both of us would have gone to jail. The manager knew it was a gag. I was trying to get you to
lighten up a little. You were always so serious, all the time. I just wanted us to have a shared experience.”

  “The shared experience of nearly going to jail?”

  “It’s brought us closer together right now, hasn’t it?”

  I laughed and wiped away more tears. “Cynthia, I’m sorry I resented you. I would have been a jerk to you even if you hadn’t teased me so much. I was so jealous.”

  “And I never stole your boyfriends, though I admit I did flirt with them. But I flirted with everyone back then.”

  “What about Tyler Grant?”

  “Tyler who?”

  “In drama club? You were starring in The Importance of Being Earnest and I was on stage crew with him? I liked him so much, and you just swooped in—”

  “Oh. Come on, Helena. You weren’t dating him, you just wanted him to ask you out. And you didn’t want him. He made fun of you to me—you were so gawky as a freshman—and besides, he dumped me after two weeks for some girl on the student council.”

  I reached across and took her hand. “Then I owe you thanks.”

  She squeezed my hand in return. “You’d better eat that before it gets cold.”

  “You, too.” I took another bite to give myself time to think. I felt so stupid. What was I supposed to say? I’d never given pregnancy any thought, never considered what I might do or what advice to give someone else. “So…what are you going to do?”

  Cynthia retrieved her fork, but didn’t do more than poke at her linguini. “I really don’t know. This couldn’t have come at a worse time. Being pregnant, and then having a baby to care for…I won’t be able to do what I’ve been doing at work. But the worst part is I don’t know what Ethan will think. He’s talked often about how nice it is that we aren’t tied down to a baby like some of our friends. I don’t even know if he wants to marry me—not that we have to be married to raise a baby, but it’s the same kind of commitment.”

  “I think he ought to know, don’t you?”

  Cynthia sighed. “Yes. But I’m a coward. I don’t want him to dump me.”