I quelled a sigh.
“I’m Bill Kaiser—named for my grandfather, Willhelm, who opened Kaiser’s right after Prohibition was lifted. We’re famous for our mahogany bar and smoked maple brandy old-fashioneds.” He looked briefly puzzled, then said, “Should we wait for your—?”
I glanced out the window. Jacob and Barbara were really getting into it. “No, let’s get started.” With him and his sister each as stubborn as the other, no telling when World War Marks was going to reach its armistice. As long as no one made me sample any smoked maple brandy, I should be able to handle one or two minor details while I was stalling for Jacob.
“First of all the napkins,” Kaiser said. “We could do a pocket fold with a printed menu inside. But maybe you’d prefer swans….”
“The pocket fold is fine,” I said without even needing to fake any confidence. Because I might not know what a pocket fold was, but I was pretty damn sure Jacob wouldn’t go for swans.
My quick thinking must have made me seem decisive. Kaiser pulled out a hefty book of fabric samples and said, “And the matter of color….”
“White. Just…white.”
“Always an elegant choice. Would you prefer bright white, soft white, or antique white?”
Since I doubted the napkins came in my favorite color of all time, landlord white, I said, “The second one.”
“Soft white it is. Now for the tablecloths.”
While I may not have any strong opinions on table linens, I knew my future husband well enough to feel confident that neither did he. Kaiser had a mind-numbing list of decisions to run past me, but not one of them struck me as anything we might actually care about. Then again, when you’ve got an existential crisis of the magnitude Jacob was currently facing, it was pretty hard to get excited about chair sashes.
I might not be able to travel past the veil, grab Dr. Kamal, and force him to tell us what sort of experimentation he’d been running on Jacob, but I could at least shoulder some of the inconsequential BS on Jacob’s behalf. And there was a lot of BS. I was starting to think that surely Kaiser would get to the important questions anytime now when he closed his three-ring binder and said, “And you’re sure you don’t need to run any of this by Mr. Marks?”
“Any of—?” I blinked stupidly at the binder. Was he pulling my leg? Didn’t look like it. “No. It’s fine.”
“Well, then.” Kaiser gave a stilted titter. “I guess we know who wears the pants in this marriage.”
I couldn’t decide if he was prejudiced, ignorant, or just your basic, all-around dumbass. Since I had no idea where to even begin schooling him, I settled for the facial expression that usually unlocks my phone.
He blanched and bid me a hasty goodnight.
Could I have given him the benefit of the doubt and patiently spelled out that neither one of us had been assigned the role of “the woman” in the relationship? I supposed. And without an explanation, I’d doubted he’d have any idea why I was scowling. Even so, he should really consider himself fortunate he hadn’t been dealing with Jacob.
I headed back outside. While I was meeting with Kaiser, a moderate rain had rolled in—and heaven help me, I was relieved we were within range of our usual creature comforts, and not in the middle of a tick-infested forest. Barb and Jacob had moved their argument into our car. The windows were getting foggy.
Confrontation isn’t my style, and I was none too eager to insert myself into their dynamic…especially since they’d been honing that dynamic for forty freaking years. But since I could hardly stand there in the rain and claim I was just getting some air, I took a fortifying breath and ventured into the back seat.
Whatever the two of them had been saying, they fell silent when I joined them. Jacob checked his watch. “I guess we’d better get started.”
Barbara muttered, “Might as well, it’s not like we’re getting anywhere out here.”
“It’s all good,” I said. They turned identical looks of suspicion on me, as if surely I was just making up a story to blow off our obligations and go get pie. “There were just a few questions to run through.” The looks grew even more apprehensive over my ability to handle things myself, so I added, “Mostly about napkins.”
Two sets of shoulders unhitched and Jacob let out a sigh. “Thanks for taking care of that.”
Normally, I’d make a wisecrack about being good for something other than talking to ghosts, maybe with a salacious undertone—but not with Barbara in the car. “Look,” I said, “we’re all stressed out…about the wedding. There are bound to be some snags, and not everything will go to plan. But unless the church falls in on us, the wedding’s gonna happen. Any screw-ups that crop up along the way, we’ll be laughing about a year from now. So, everyone keep in mind that we’re all on the same side and take a chill pill.”
Jacob didn’t have the decency to look chagrined, but then again, I’d be shocked if he did. The two of us locked eyes, and I tried to convey that he had to stop stressing about our investigation too, and that somehow we’d dredge up the clue that made everything fall into place.
But as the two of us exchanged our look, Barbara said, “What’s this?”
Jacob’s breath caught. “It’s nothing.”
Holy crap—it better not be a pair of jizz-crusted underpants.
I bonked my head on the roof scrambling see what she’d found. But instead of the evidence of our back-roads tryst, what Barbara had in her lap was Kamal’s notebook.
Not only had Jacob’s sister managed to lay her hands on the most damning piece of evidence in our possession, but we’d studied one particular page at such great length, the notebook fell open directly on it. Jacob went still. I went still. And the atmosphere in the car went fragile enough to shatter.
Barbara had always harbored a visceral aversion to psychic abilities. What would she make of the fact that her family had been somehow involved with a mysterious branch of Psych? Not just recently, but for generations?
“Is this your seating chart? I can’t make heads or tails of it.”
Jacob took the notebook from her unresisting hands. “It’s just a rough draft.”
“Jacob, Kaiser’s doesn’t even have long, skinny tables like that. They’re round, and a lot smaller, with eight settings apiece. Vic, you saw the banquet room. Tell him.”
I fumbled for a plausible reply. “Yeah, no…it’s a really rough draft.”
“Well, don’t forget to finalize it. Otherwise your reception will be nothing but a big, crazy free-for-all.”
Though telling people where to sit was the least of our worries, we dutifully pretended we would follow through with a final seating plan. Barbara must’ve been satisfied—or maybe she’d just run out of ways to express her disappointment—because she gave us each a parting “don’t screw this up” look, went back to her own car, and left us to contemplate just how close we’d come to exposing her to the psychic underbelly that civilians really weren’t prepared to deal with.
Once she was gone, I rifled around under the seat, scrounged up three bottle caps, an old french fry, and the dreaded underwear, and marched them out to a trash can.
Sometimes you’ve just gotta take comfort in averting the crises you can control.
When I got back to the car, Jacob shook his head and said, “That was way too close.” And he wasn’t talking about the briefs, either.
I took the notebook from his hands, tucked it into the glovebox, and locked it up. “Close only counts in horseshoes and scrapbooking. Your sister said herself that she didn’t know what it was. Everything’s fine.”
Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose and sagged into the seat. “Juggling that damn notebook with our wedding is more stressful than breaking up a prostitution ring.”
“Well sure, because you’ve got more skin in the game when it’s personal.” Especially when you’re worried your whole life has been a lie. I worked my fingers into the seam of his fist, then squeezed his hand once he finally unclenched. “I kn
ow it doesn’t feel like it, but we’ve made a lot of progress.”
Or found a lot of nothing, judging by the way he cut his eyes to me, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to be mollified.
I said, “First thing in the morning, we’ll load up with salt and prayer candles, head out to Sacred Heart, and dig up some answers.” But before we did, I figured I should double-check our calendar and make sure we weren’t on the receiving end of any frantic phone calls…only to find that tomorrow was packed to the gills.
Well…damn.
24
I WAITED UNTIL morning to tell Jacob we couldn’t go hunting for the old hospital after all. If it were closer, or if we knew where, exactly, it used to be, maybe I could’ve pried him out of bed at the crack of dawn so we could poke around. But between the two-hour round trip and the fact that every tree looked pretty much the same as the next, chances of making any real progress were slim to none.
In other words, we’d likely miss our various appointments—for nothing—and piss off a whole lot of people in the process.
Funny how uncomfortable I was making unilateral decisions, given how many of them I’d managed to put up with over the years.
I thought Jacob took the news pretty well…until he gazed at me over his oatmeal from across the kitchen table and said, “We don’t have time for Sacred Heart? Fine. Then we go have another chat with my grandmother.”
I’d rather be swarmed by ticks. But it meant so much to Jacob, I could hardly bow out.
Grandma Marks had been moved to her lounger so she could look out the window at the unmemorable manicured lawn. “You picked a great time to visit,” the nurse told us. “She’s pretty lucid today.”
Grandma might not be so happy about that once Jacob was done interrogating her.
The nurse left us to our visit, but even after she was gone, there was an awkward silence. Eventually Jacob said, “Hi, Grandma.”
And got no response at all.
I found myself feeling nostalgic for the ticks.
Jacob tried to engage her in conversation—we learn these things on the force, the sort of small-talk you’d use to determine if someone acting erratically is a real danger to themselves or others. “I see you’re up and around today. How are you feeling?”
No answer.
Jacob peered out the window where a few oldsters were sunning themselves in their wheelchairs or tottering down the path on their walkers. “It seems nice outside. We could ask about going out, if you want. Get a little sun and fresh air.”
He might as well have asked the fake plant in the corner for all the good it did him.
Jacob isn’t exactly what I’d call patient, but when it suits him, he can fake it. He carried on with the pleasantries to try and wear her down, because we’d never get her to talk about that carnival if we couldn’t get her to talk at all…which, unfortunately, was beginning to look like a distinct possibility.
Jacob chatted about the family. He reminisced about her famous pot roast. He even went so far as to offer to read aloud from her bible. But he’d inherited the trademark family stubbornness from somewhere—and attempting to get the old woman to talk was like trying to shake all the glitter off a sherpa-knit sweatshirt. No matter which angle you came at it from, it never did a damn bit of good.
It was painful to watch.
Jacob’s resolve cracked first. Hands on hips, he turned to me and muttered, “This was a bust. Just like the hospital. Hell, just like the goddamn notebook.”
“It’s not over till you throw in the towel.”
“That’s not true, though, is it?” Jacob glanced at his grandmother, who was glaring resolutely out the window at the fine, sunny morning. “We can try till we’re blue in the face but we can’t force her to talk. She’s obviously not gonna tell us anything—frankly, I’m starting to doubt she even can.”
“We’ll try a different time—”
“We have! And what good has it done? Maybe she’d be willing to come clean with you after her time is up…but knowing her, she’ll hold on until we leave, just because.”
“Leave!”
Jacob and I both jumped at the sudden, startling interjection. When we turned to Grandma, she was looking right at him.
“You heard me,” she said. “You don’t belong here anymore. No one wants you here. Get out—and don’t come back!”
Everyone has their go-to stress reaction. Jacob? He hunkers down in his armor. I’ve seen it happen enough to know the signs. He goes still—oddly still—but just for a fraction of a heartbeat. And in that moment, the shields come up.
Now? I swore I could feel the metal plates click into place.
With a parting look as cold as steel, Jacob turned on his heel and strode out the door.
If she’d been yelling at me, I would’ve done the same. Avoidance is, after all, my forte. But she’d laid into Jacob. And I was pissed. “Okay, old woman, I’ve had just about enough of your—”
“How dare you!” Crap. I hadn’t realized she’d fight back. “You might think you can get away with corrupting him, but remember this: God sees you.”
“So let ‘God’ look. There is nothing wrong with what we’re doing. Nothing whatsoever.”
“You can’t possibly believe that. The sinful things you’re doing pervert the natural order.”
“Whoa, hold on. It’s not sin to love someone.”
“Don’t get cute with me—you don’t love him. You don’t love any of them.” Huh? Exactly how many guys did she think I was engaged to? “Oh, you might claim to have their best interests in mind, but you don’t fool me. You’re helping that doctor experiment on them. Plain and simple.”
Whatever this rant was—and it was a hell of a lot more than I’d bargained for—I couldn’t risk calling Jacob back in, since I had no clue who she’d mistaken him for. But I knew exactly who she saw when she was arguing with me: Father Paul.
“We’re just playing a few carnival games,” I said carefully, neither confirming nor denying her accusation.
“Do you think I’m stupid? You’re testing them.”
I knew the Marks family—and I knew the best way to get them to open up was to contradict them, so with false confidence, I said, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You told me it was just a routine follow-up, but that Arab wouldn’t be there unless you’d finally found something.”
Kamal? Must’ve been. “Testing…for what?”
“To put them in that government program! Only one child—that’s what he promised—and leave the other one alone. But I can see what you’re doing. You’re after them both.”
“Listen, I’m sure this is all just a big misunderstanding.”
“Liar,” she snarled, then looked pointedly out the window.
Evidently, Jacob wasn’t the only one who retreated into his armor when the chips were down.
By this point, he’d cooled off enough to come back for round two. He strode back in and demanded, “What were you talking about?” And when his grandmother ignored him, he turned to me. “What did she say?”
I snagged him by the arm and pulled him out of the room, and out of earshot. My “cover” as Father Paul might come in handy at some point. Best not to blow it.
“It sounds like your grandmother wasn’t on board with whatever was going on with Kamal. The best she could do was bargain for one of her kids to stay out of the mix.”
“And that’s why my father was in that journal, and not Uncle Fred.” The same for Shirley and Uncle Leon. “So it was fine to throw Dad to the wolves—?”
“Hey.” I grabbed Jacob by the biceps. Wow…he was really tense. “Listen. I’m not defending her. I’m just saying that she wasn’t a willing accomplice. And that should count for something.”
Jacob ground his jaw a few times then huffed out a sigh and said, “Maybe it’s just easier if I have someone to blame.”
I gave him a little shake. “You do—and that someone is Kamal.”
/> We were so focused on each other, I nearly jumped out of my skin when Jacob’s dad cheerfully called out, “Trying to shake some sense into him? Good luck—it never worked for me!”
Cripes. Hopefully we just looked startled and not totally blindsided. On the bright side, at least Jerry hadn’t walked in on anything too incriminating.
Shirley was right behind him with a Tupperware so full she needed two hands to carry it. “I made muffins,” she said. “Want one? I made plenty. The staff deserve a treat for putting up with Jerry’s mother.”
She peeled open the lid. I hadn’t really intended to deprive the nursing staff of their reward, but I wouldn’t want Jacob’s mom to feel her baking was unappreciated. Plus, the sight of the chocolate-chocolate chip muffins—and especially the sweet smell of fresh baked goodness that came wafting out—convinced me otherwise.
They were still warm.
I took a huge bite, right then and there…and realized it wasn’t chocolate, but bran. And those dark things weren’t chocolate chips.
They were raisins.
“Well?” Shirley asked brightly.
“Mmm,” I said, more or less, around my gigantic mouthful of gluey bran.
Luckily, Jerry changed the subject. “How’s Grandma doing?”
“Not good,” Jacob said. “She’s disoriented. If she says anything strange…I’m sure she’s just confused. I wouldn’t take it too seriously.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” Shirley said with bland Midwestern pragmatism. “But it was sweet of you boys to visit.” Her brow furrowed. “But weren’t you supposed to be at the church?”
I tried to tell my phone to open our calendar, but what came out around the bran blob sounded more like Charlie Brown’s teachers. It took a few jabs, but eventually I got the thing to open manually…and saw that we were due to meet Pastor Jill in ten minutes. I flashed the screen at Jacob, gave his parents a stilted wave, and said, “Gotta go,” around the food-wad.
And though we were in a real hurry, I did manage to slip into a men’s room on our way out the door and spit out the travesty of a muffin.
Other Half (PsyCop book 12) Page 16