"I know." I closed my eyes as we drove past the PD so I wouldn't have to think of all the things I was busily doing wrong.
David Allen parked beside my stairs. He took Hammet's inert form from the backseat and carried him to my door. Once we got him settled on the sofa with a blanket, I walked downstairs with David Allen.
He took his keys out of his pocket and gave me the look that meant he was deciding whether to risk a good-night kiss. I gave him the look that said no, don't even try, then thanked him for the ice cream and the movies. The look faded, and he told me I was more than welcome. Neither one of us could come up with anything more, so I said good night and went up to my apartment to lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling.
Ruby Bee padded to the refrigerator and took out a plastic baby bottle. She ran some water into a pan, set the bottle in it, and turned on the burner of the stove. Baby continued to howl as Ruby Bee waited a few minutes, then picked up the bottle to sprinkle some droplets on her wrist.
Once she was satisfied, Ruby Bee padded on into the living room and picked up the red-faced, screaming baby and retreated to the sofa. She managed to cut off the cries by inserting the nipple in the appropriate orifice, then sank back to gaze through befogged eyes at the level in the uptilted bottle. In that it was the third time that night that she'd fed the little darling, she was feeling less than charmed by the button nose, perfect flower-petal ears, and tiny clenched fists.
Maybe, she thought as she put Baby back in the bassinet and padded to bed, maybe Estelle should have an opportunity to have a sweet overnight guest tomorrow night. After all, she and Estelle were good friends, and it wasn't fair not to share all those special moments. It would mean so much to Estelle, especially since that foreigner with the mustache hadn't shown up as of yet. Why, it would be a big help in taking her mind off her disappointment.
A smile on her face, Ruby Bee drifted to sleep.
Celeste threw back the satin cover and switched on the bedside light. Despite the lateness of the hour, she pulled on a robe over her negligee and went downstairs to the solarium. She sat down at the table and shuffled the tarot cards, then dealt them out and bent forward to study the results.
The King of Wands, the King of Swords, the Nine of Swords, and the Moon. Could they not for even one time stay away? It was as if they now were citizens of Maggody, these symbols of malice and violence, of deceit and trickery and fear. And Death was there, as always.
The psychic pushed the cards away and sat back, her eyes closed. She forced herself to recall the face she had seen earlier. It was definitely a woman, she decided with a shiver, but it was impossible to see any features beyond those distorted with blood. Although there was an elusive impression of hair color, of age, of eye color, of cheek and brow and jaw…all was dominated by blood. By flies. By the pervasiveness of decay.
She gathered up the cards and once more dealt them, hoping for some sign to identify the face.
The faces on the cards gazed back at her through glassy, two-dimensional eyes. They seemed to be smiling.
Poppy took the milk carton from the refrigerator, then tiptoed across the kitchen to get a glass from the cabinet. She flinched as the cabinet let out a tiny squeak. It wasn't that she didn't want company, she told herself as she eased the cabinet closed. She was committed to the concept of sharing, of oneness and wholeness and cosmic harmony and the manifestation of collective energy and all that; if she weren't, why, she'd still be waiting tables at the Pizza Hut and living in that drab apartment over the bowling alley. It was just that it was tiresome at times, all that determined family sharing and everything.
She was standing by the window when the door opened behind her. Nate gave her a guarded look as he went to the kitchen table and set down a paper sack. "What's wrong with you?" he said, scowling.
"Nothing. The midwife told me to drink a lot of goat's milk."
"Good for her." He sat down and took out a hamburger. "Get me a beer, will you?"
Poppy tried not to pout as she took a beer from the refrigerator and placed it in front of him. "That's poison, you know. The meat is from animals raised on chemicals, and the bread's all preservatives and artificial flavors."
"Name one," he commanded through a mouthful of chemicals, preservatives, and artificial flavors.
"Oh, things that cause cancer. Where've you been all night?"
"Out. I had to see a middleman about a deal. Why are you skulking around the kitchen, for that matter? I thought pregnant women were supposed to sleep twelve hours a night so they weren't too tired for their morning nap."
Poppy almost stamped her foot, but thought better of it. "Rainbow says I need to-"
"I don't care what she says. God, I'm about to drown in her cheerful, warm, cozy, sugary smiles and suffocating cosmic awareness. As soon as I work out this deal, you can kiss my ass good bye, 'cause I'll be driving down that long country road."
Poppy couldn't think of anything to say. On the other side of the kitchen door, with her ear pressed against the wood, Rainbow couldn't think of much herself. But her smile was far from toasty warm and her eyes were cold. Silently she moved away from the door and returned to bed. She snuggled next to Zachery and tried to meditate to the rhythm of his gentle snores.
8
I was sleeping quite peacefully when a hand touched on my arm. In that I had had no companion in my bed for nearly two years, I almost choked on a mouthful of pillowcase as I opened my eyes.
"There be somebody at the door," Hammet said. He was fully dressed and regarding me with a sober expression.
"Who is it?"
"I din't open it yet. You want I should get your gun and blow 'em to smithereens?" He took a step toward my dresser, his hand outstretched and his little yellow eyes bright with eagerness to make his day.
"No!" I said as I scrambled out of bed. "Just give me a second to wake up, then I'll see who's at the door. What time is it?"
Hammet looked at the clock, then at the floor. "I dunno, but I reckon the sun'll come up afore too long. I ain't heard a hoot owl in a long whiles."
I made a mental note to teach him how to tell time, although I doubted his mother would give him a Rolex for Christmas. I was reaching for my bathrobe when I heard an insistent knock on the front door of the apartment. After a glance at the clock to confirm the absurdity of the hour, I pulled on the robe and stalked across the living room.
Hammet trailed after me, reiterating his offer to blow the intruder to smithereens iffen I wanted him to. After assuring him that such actions would be premature (and defining "premature" when I saw his lip creep forward), I opened the door to stare at a man with dark hair, brown eyes, and an apologetic smile. He took in my robe and bare feet while I took in his sports coat, starched shirt, discreet silk tie, and creased slacks. It probably took me longer to do the taking in, but I wasn't standing at his door before the sun rose.
"I'm Mason Dickerson," he said. "I know this is crazy, but I wonder if I might ask you something?"
"You jest did," Hammet said. "Asked her somethin', I mean."
"Well, yes, you're right. But it really is important, Miss Hanks. I realize it's early and I'm a total stranger, and by all rights you ought to slam the door in my face or shoot me…"
I joined him on the landing before Hammet could offer to comply with the latter part of the suggestion. "Mason Dickerson," I said slowly. "You're Madam Celeste's brother, right? You're her business manager or something like that?"
"Something like that. If it's not too much trouble, she would like you to come over to our house. I'll be happy to drive you over."