“Certainly, but it’s been some time since we’ve seen each other. The three of them—since August was killed, they formed this precious little clique—Bevlin, Wallace, and Kathryn. Too good for me, the frauds. The report on the television said she was possibly abducted by this man, Makepeace, the man who wants to kill you, my dear Julia. I can’t imagine why he’d want that lovely albatross around his neck. What on earth good would Kathryn Golden be to anyone?”
“Maybe Makepeace wants his own psychic,” Cheney said.
“Ha, Agent Stone.”
Julia said, “Do you know, Soldan, it seems that all four of you, even the three you seem to dislike so much, you all adored August. Why is that?”
“How can you ask that, Julia? You knew his powers firsthand. You saw how he brought comfort and enlightenment to so many disillusioned souls floundering in pain. He simply radiated goodness and peace.”
Cheney asked, “Did you ever see or read Dr. Ransom’s journals?”
“Oh no, that wouldn’t ever do,” Soldan said, and puffed.
“Kathryn also mentioned August’s journals,” Julia said, frowning, “but I never saw them, never even knew about them. I certainly never found them when I was going through August’s things.”
“Such a pity. Ah, my oolong. I trust it has only one Splenda in it?”
“Of course, Sol.”
“Thank you, Ancilla.”
He carefully set his hookah pipe on a small dish and sipped his tea. Then he took two more sips and sighed in pleasure. He looked at them. “I have told you as much as I can. I have been as honest with yon as I can. I will ask you to leave now. I must have my rest.”
Ancilla was standing in the doorway, tapping one mule.
Cheney said as he rose, “Thank you for seeing us. Would you be willing to tell me your real name?”
“My name is only the slightest modification of the actual name my beloved parents bestowed on me at my birth.”
“What was that name, sir?”
But Soldan Meissen only waved his hookah at them. Cheney gave him a small salute, took Julia’s arm and followed Ancilla out of the pasha’s chamber.
CHAPTER 46
Tuesday night
Today has been one of the strangest days in my life,” Julia said. She yawned, stretched, and leaned against the wall of the Sherlocks’ upstairs hallway, her head resting just below a painting of a young girl repairing a fishing net.
“And one of the longest,” Cheney said, resting his hand against the wall beside her head.
Her eyes suddenly brightened, and she leaned close, whispered against his ear, “You want to know what would actually have been more fun, if I hadn’t been so terrified—car racing on the beach.”
He laughed. “Don’t forget that, it’s even better in a dune buggy.”
“You got him away from us, Cheney, that was a really good plan you had.” She sighed. “I only wish I’d been a better shot.”
“No, I was the one who should have nailed him.” He lightly trailed his fingers down her cheek. “Anyone else I know would have been scared stupid, but you were enjoying yourself.”
“Are you seeing me as some kind of maniac like you?”
“I’m thinking a maniac is a good thing in some settings. Actually, though, what I’m seeing right now, right in front of me, is a very beautiful woman.”
She gave him a brilliant smile, both exhaustion and excitement clear in her eyes, at least to him. Now wasn’t the time. He stepped back. She said, “Is that an example of a maniac talking?” Cheney shook his head. “No, that’s the plain truth.” He streaked his hand through his hair, making it stand on end.
She laughed and smoothed it down, her hand resting a moment on his cheek. “Cheney—”
“You know, I was thinking Wallace sure read Dix right this evening. His frustration is building fast.”
“Poor man, I can’t say I blame him. The not knowing if his wife was alive or dead for over three years, I can’t imagine going through that. And he still doesn’t know where she is. You’ll find out, Cheney, I know you will.”
He could do nothing but stare down at her, and marvel at the utter certainty in her voice. He said, “That deal with Wallace—I have to say we got what I expected. Exactly nothing.”
She nodded. “But you know what I found fascinating? It was the way Wallace looked at Dillon—with acceptance, only it wasn’t really that, maybe some sort of recognition, no, that sounds absurd. I don’t know.” She gave a big yawn, clapped her hands over her mouth, and said through her fingers, “I’m sorry. Long, long day.”
He took her hands, looked at the length of her. “It’s time for you to get some sleep. Me too.”
He dropped her hands, opened the guest room door, and pushed her inside. “Nice room,” he said, looking around at the pale yellow walls and the white bedspread, and started to close the door.
“Hey, wait, don’t go just yet,” she said, holding the door open, but then she stalled. What was she to say? I’ve known you for all of five days and I want to jump you? She managed a smile. “So much has happened to me since Thursday night, it’s really set me to thinking about my life and what I was going to do with it.
“When I met Sean Savich, I saw Linc in him and I wanted to cry, and forget about the past and the future both. I was sucked right back into that black hole of grief. But then that adorable little boy took my hand, told me he beat his mama at computer games, and he began explaining the strategies of a game called Pajama Sam. And I laughed, couldn’t help myself, and I climbed right back out of that hole.” She paused a moment. “Do you know he told me his dad was giving him a skateboard for his next birthday? He said his dad had been a champ a way long time ago, and he was going to give him lessons. I wanted to yell at him never to get near a skateboard, but then I realized, perhaps for the first time, that what happened to Linc ... it had been a stupid accident, tragic and heartbreaking, but no one’s fault, and it was over, not forgotten, never forgotten, but over, no one to blame, certainly not the skateboard Linc loved so much.”
“So what did you say to Sean?”
“I told him when I came back east, I wanted to drop by and take a few skateboard turns with him and his dad. I told him I had a few moves that might astonish him. He told me that would be cool, and he high-fived me.”
He slowly drew her into his arms and held her, his hand against the back of her head, and pressed her lightly against his shoulder. “He’s a great kid. I’ll bet Linc was a great kid too. Did Linc look like you, Julia?”
She pulled back and he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. Then she swallowed and smiled. “Nope, Linc looked just like his father.”
“I think I heard Sherlock say the same thing about Sean.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Cheney, for getting sentimental on you—”
“No, no, shush, it’s okay.” He hooked her hair behind her ears and cupped her face in his palms. “There’s so much going on here, Julia, so much we still have no clue about. I hate not being in control and I know you feel the same. But everything will be resolved, you’ll see. Now, we’re both very tired. Do you think you can sleep?”
“Oh yes, but I’d probably sleep better if—well, never mind that. If you find you can’t sleep on your monk’s cot down in the Sherlocks’ gym, you can always lift some weights. You’re such a puny little guy, after all.”
He laughed. “Mrs. Sherlock told me the cot wasn’t too bad, she’d slept there once when she was so mad at her husband even three guest rooms away was too close to him. Don’t worry, Julia— Makepeace has no clue where you are. Even Frank Paulette doesn’t know, which means no leaks through the SFPD.”
“I’m not worried, at least not right this minute. Cheney—it’s odd, isn’t it? Look where we are on a Tuesday night, all that’s happened, how we met all of five days ago.”