Claire’s nostrils flared. “I thought you said you were okay with it?”
“Well, what else was I supposed to say? You’re the Keeper; you always know what you’re doing, and you never listen to me. I can’t even get you to put your dirty dishes in the sink!”
He was right about the dishes. Claire took a deep breath and forced it out through clenched teeth. “Move away from the phone, Dean. I know what I’m doing.”
“And I don’t?”
“I didn’t say that”
“But you’re always implying it. After all, I’m just the bystander and all this lineage stuff is way over my head. Okay. Maybe it is. But this,” he stabbed a finger toward room three, “this is people stuff, and I know people stuff better than you.”
“The moment Faith entered this hotel, she became lineage stuff.”
They locked eyes for a long moment. Finally, Dean jerked away from the phone. “Okay. Fine. If you’re not after listening to me, I’ll go and do the dishes. That seems to be all I’m good for around here.”
“Dean…”
“You know where to find me if you want something unimportant taken care of.” Heels denting the floor, he stomped back to the kitchen.
“I told you so,” Austin muttered, still safely hidden under the desk.
“Told me what?” Claire asked, fingers white around the receiver.
“That Dean’s all bent out of shape about you pounding the mattress with Jacques.”
“Jacques wasn’t even mentioned!”
He stuck his head out and stared up at her in disbelief. “You really aren’t any good at this people stuff, are you?”
Just after ten, Professor Jackson checked out. He paid in cash and, although a number of smaller things had been broken the night before, he made no mention of them. Since, technically, Claire had broken them, she let it slide.
“I’ll just go up and clean the room, then, shall I, Boss?”
Claire’d been trying to think of a way to apologize—although in spite of a nagging feeling that she was in the wrong, she wasn’t sure for what—but Dean’s emphasis on that Boss changed her mind. She’d wait until he decided to stop being so childish.
At eleven, she tried Faith’s home number again. She’d left two previous messages on the answering machine, and when the same annoying little song came on telling her to not make a peep till the sound of the beep, she decided not to leave a third.
When Dean came downstairs at eleven-forty carrying a waste-basket full of broken lamp, the office was empty, but a thin man in a Thousand Islands baseball cap and jean jacket that looked two sizes too large was limping across the lobby. “Can I help you?”
He jerked around to face the stairs. Pale lips, under a sparsely settled mustache, lifted in what could have been a smile but was probably a twitch. “Hi. Yeah. I’m here for Faith.”
“Faith?”
“Yeah. I’m Fred.” The tip of his nose was an abraded pink that vibrated slightly with every word. “She’s not gone?”
“No.” Dean descended the last three steps and was disappointed to see that he still towered over Faith’s boyfriend. He’d been hoping for a big man, one he could flatten without guilt. “What happened to your foot?”
“My foot?” Eyes wide, Fred stared down as though amazed to see a foot on the end of his leg. “Oh. That foot. I had an accident, eh.” He laughed nervously. “Dropped a cash register on it. Hurts like hell.”
NOT QUITE. BUT IT COULD.
Dean set down the wastebasket and jiggled his baby finger in his right ear, anger momentarily swamped by confusion. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Nothing.”
DON’T YOU JUST WISH YOU COULD WIPE THIS KIND OF SCUM RIGHT OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH?
“Well, yeah, but that wouldn’t solve anything.”
“What?” Fred backed up a step, looking like a small rodent suddenly face to face with a very large cat.
“Did I say that out loud?”
“What?”
If Fred was a monster, Dean decided, he hid it well. On the other hand, a man facing a much larger man was often a different person than a man facing a woman. “Look, you wait here. I’ll check if Faith wants to see you.”
“Is she all right? Is she hurt? The message said she was just tired.” What seemed like near panic jerked the words out in a staccato rush.
“She’s fine.”
“Then why wouldn’t she want to see me?”
Dean sighed. “Just wait here, okay?”
Fred’s gaze skittered around the office as though checking for traps. When it finally got back to Dean, he nodded. “Okay.”
Shaking his head, Dean started up the stairs.
THOSE KIND OF WEASELS ARE THE FIRST TO PICK ON SOMEONE WEAKER THAN THEMSELVES. YOU SHOULD SHOW HIM HOW IT FEELS.
Dean’s fingers curled up into fists.
VIOLENCE IS ONE OF OURS.
Down in the lobby, Fred shifted his weight off his bad foot and stared mournfully at the stairs. He didn’t want to wait, he wanted to see Faith.
Which was when he noticed the elevator. A fascination for all things mechanical drew him across to it, limp almost forgotten. He opened the door, peered past the gate, down into the shaft, and could just make out the top of the car. It seemed to be in the basement.
Brow furrowed under the brim of his cap, he opened the door immediately to his left.
The basement stairs.
It was easier going down the stairs than up. He could take the elevator to the top of the hotel and go down to Faith’s room, missing the big guy with the glasses entirely.
No one would mind. Elevators were there to be used.
Leaning outside the door to room three while Faith put on her face, Dean polished his glasses with the hem of his shirt and tried not to think about how much he’d enjoy flattening Fred’s quivering pink nose.
ONE, TWO, SPLAT. THAT’S THE TICKET.
Lost in memories of a childhood spent riding the old elevator at the S&R Department Store, Fred touched two fingers to his cap brim, murmured, “First floor, ladies lingerie,” and twisted the brass lever to UP.
Sitting in the bathroom, reading the Apothecary’s new catalog, Claire heard the unmistakable sound of an ancient elevator starting up.
By the time she reached the lobby, it was just passing the first floor. She didn’t know the man inside.
Dean frowned as he heard the elevator rise to meet the second floor, then he shrugged. Claire’d said she was through testing, but obviously she’d thought of something else to try.
Then he heard:
“Second floor, housewares and cosmetics.”
By the time he got across the hall, all he could see was the bottom third of a pair of grimy jeans and Fred’s worn and grubby running shoes.
He had to beat the elevator to the third floor. If Fred opened the door…
HE’LL GET WHAT HE DESERVES. FAITH’S TERRIFIED OF HIM. YOU SAW THAT YOURSELF. THERE’LL BE ONE LESS ABUSIVE WEASEL IN THE WORLD.
Dean hesitated.
Then Faith’s door opened. When she stepped out into the hall and saw only Dean, her smile dimmed. “Where’s my Pookie?”
Claire reached the second floor and saw Dean charging toward her. Then past her. The elevator had passed and was still moving up. Gasping for breath, she took the next flight of stairs two at a time, but had only reached the landing when Dean, who’d barely looked as though he were touching down at all, reached the top.
The growl of the motor stopped.
Unless he was a total klutz, it would only take seconds for the man inside to open the gate. The taste of old pennies in the back of her throat, Claire staggered into the third floor hall as the elevator door started to open. Before the latch cleared, Dean threw himself in front of it and slammed it shut.
“Hey!”
Chest heaving, Claire staggered up on rubbery legs as Dean stepped back and, after making sure that it had indeed closed completely, pulled the door open.