"Only one way to find out. When do we bring it over?"
"'We'?" He rose, shaking his head. "'We' are not going back to that house. Oh, no. One half of 'we' stays here while this half goes alone and returns with a vivid eyewitness account of whatever happens."
Gia had expected this. "Not fair. It was my idea."
"We've been over this already, Gi. We don't know this thing's agenda."
"That 'thing' is a little girl, Jack."
"A dead little girl."
"But she appeared to me. Not you, not Lyle, not Charlie. Me. That's got to mean something."
"Exactly. But we don't know what. And that's why you shouldn't get within miles of that place. It's got an unhealthy pedigree, even stranger and weirder than what's in Lyle's Menelaus Manor brochure."
Worse than the part about the mutilated child? Gia didn't think that was possible.
"What? That real estate agent told you something, didn't he."
"He told me lots of things, and I'll tell you later, but right now we have to agree that you're staying away from that place."
"But I'm the one she contacted."
"Right. She sent a message and you received it. Now we're going to dig up what might be her grave. If we find her, and she can be linked to Bellitto, you'll have done plenty. You've pointed the way."
"But what if there aren't any clues?"
"Well, then at least she gets a proper burial. And maybe that's what her father will need to kick start his life back into motion."
Gia wasn't concerned with Joe Portman right now. It was Tara who consumed her. Her need was like a noose around Gia's neck, drawing her toward Menelaus Manor. If she didn't yield to it she felt sure it would strangle her.
"She wrote 'Mother,' Jack. I don't think she meant her own mother—Dorothy Portman is brain dead. I think she meant me. It may be twenty-some years since Tara was born, but she's still a child. She's still nine years old and she's frightened. She needs a mother. That's a comfort I can provide."
"How do you comfort a ghost?" Jack said. He slipped his arms around her and pulled her close. She caught the lingering scent of his soap, felt the afternoon stipple of whiskers on his cheeks. "I guess if anyone could, you'd be the one. But tell me: If Vicky were here instead of away at camp, would you be so anxious to go back to that house?"
What was he saying? That this need she felt burning through her veins was simply displaced yearning for her own child? She had to admit it wasn't such a far-fetched notion, but she sensed that the longing within her went beyond that.
"Maybe, maybe not, but—"
"One more question: If Vicky were here, would you take her along?"
That caught her off guard. Her reaction was immediate: Of course not. But she didn't want to voice it.
"That's not the point. Vicky's not here, so—"
Jack tightened his hug. "Gia? Would you?"
She hesitated, then, "All right, no."
"Why not?"
"I'm not sure."
"I am. Because it's an unstable situation, and you wouldn't want to expose Vicky to an unpredictable outcome. Right?"
Gia nodded against his shoulder. "Right."
"Then why expose your second child to that same unstable situation?"
She sighed. Trapped by unassailable logic.
"Please, Gia" He backed away to arm's length. "Stay away. Give me a couple of days to help Lyle find her bones. Then maybe the circumstances won't be so unstable or unpredictable and we can reassess the whole situation."
"Oh, all right," she said. She didn't like it but she'd been backed into a corner. "I suppose a couple of days won't matter."
"Great." He let out a whooshing breath. "That's a relief."
"For you maybe. How about me?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if that house is potentially dangerous for me, what about for you?"
Jack smiled. "Did you forget? Danger is my business."
"I'm serious, Jack."
"Okay. I'll check in regularly."
"Leave your phone on in case I need to get in touch."
"Will do." He wriggled it out of his pocket and pressed a button. She heard a beep as it activated. He glanced at the clock. "Got to go. Pick a place for dinner—anyplace but Zen Palate—and I'll tell you all about Konstantin Kristadoulou's history of the Menelaus cellar and the findings of our archeological dig down there."
Gia sighed. All secondhand, but she supposed it would have to do.
"And the key ring," she said. That was what she wanted to know most of all. "You've got to tell me what happens when you cross the threshold with that."
"Yeah," Jack said softly. "That could be very interesting. But how do you top an earthquake?"
9
"What?" Lyle said. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "You're joking, right? You're pulling my chain, is that it?"
Charlie shook his head as he pulled clothes from his dresser and dumped them on his bed. He concentrated on what he was doing, not making eye contact.
"Nope. This is on the fo' real, bro. I'm geese."
First the craziness this morning with the first three sitters, seeing into their lives, their pasts, their futures—what little there was for each of them. Now this. He felt as if his world was coming apart.
"But you can't leave. We're a team. The Kenton brothers have always been a team. Who brung ya, Charlie?"
Finally Charlie looked at him. His eyes glistened with tears. "You think I want to? I don't. We still a team, Lyle, but not in this game, yo. And not in this house."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean we bust outta here together and start all over, givin' value for value, like Jack said."
Jack… for a moment Lyle wished he'd never heard of him.
"You mean dump the game?"
"Word. And yo, the way you playin' the game lately, y'know, cancelin' sitters up and down, ain't gonna be a game left, know'm sayin'?"
Lyle winced. Charlie had a point. Lyle had canceled the morning's fourth sitting along with the whole afternoon. He couldn't handle any more. He hadn't told Charlie why.
Should he tell him now? No. It would only reinforce his determination to leave.
"But we don't know anything else, Charlie. We'll starve!"
"No way. We two smart guys. We get by."
"Get by? Since when is getting by enough? I want to make it, Charlie. So do you."
"Not no more. 'What profit it a man if he gains the whole world but loses his immortal soul?' I wanna save my soul, Lyle. And yours too. That's why I want you to come with me."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I got to roll on my own."
"Roll on your own?" Lyle gave in to a blistering surge of anger. "Why don't you think on your own?"
"Say what?"
"This isn't you talking. This is that preacher down that brimstone-breathing, tongue-speaking, snake-handling wacko church you found, right?"
"We don't do no snake handlin'."
"You're such a sucker for these guys. It was the same back in Dearborn when that Reverend What-his-name—"
"Rawlins."
"Right. Reverend Rawlins. He's the guy who told you to boycott the Harry Potter movie."
"That's because it promotes witchcraft."
"How would you know? You never saw it. You never read a line of one of the books. And neither did Rawlins. He got the word from someone else who hadn't read or seen them either. But you all fell in line, marching lockstep against Harry Potter with not a scrap of firsthand knowledge."
Charlie lifted his chin. "Don't gotta do a drive-by to know it's wrong."
"Reading a book to make an informed decision is hardly the same as shooting someone. But you're doing the same thing here. It's this preacher at this new church, right? What's his name?"
"Reverend Sparks."