Day Shift
Page 34

“Got it out of Southwest Cooking,” Chuy said. “I left out the roasted corn.”
After that, the talk turned to cooking, and whether the U.S. Postal Service would stop delivering on Saturdays, and where Lemuel might be in his research project to discover more about the magic books he’d finally found, the ones that Bobo had hidden without meaning to.
There was not a reporter in sight when they strolled down to Manfred’s house just after dark. They glanced over at the newly rechristened Midnight Hotel.
“It’s still strange to see it lit up,” Chuy said. He was holding Joe’s hand. This was one of the good things about living in Midnight.
“But kind of nice. Sometimes when I look into the past, I can see all the stores here, busy and bustling. People all around.”
“Horses in the streets.” Chuy chuckled. “And the smell of them. And people who don’t bathe.”
“Do you ever wish we could see the future?” Joe asked. “There’s so much of the past that lives with us still.”
“No,” Chuy said instantly. He stopped walking and faced Joe, taking Joe’s free hand. “I would go mad,” he said, meaning every word.
Joe’s eyes met Chuy’s. “Then that won’t ever happen,” he said quietly. “The past is burden enough.” After a second, they began walking again. “I saw Mildred today,” Joe said, clearly changing the subject. “She was letting Hattie Barnes in the back door.”
“Mildred,” Chuy said, a wealth of rueful comments in the one word. “What a woman, so mistaken in some ways and so ahead of her time in others.”
“She certainly left her house to the right person, though I doubt she ever imagined Fiji would be stronger than Mildred herself ever was. If I remember correctly, Mildred considered Fiji the best of a weak lot.”
Chuy shook his head. “Mildred couldn’t imagine the scope of Fiji’s power.”
“And Fiji herself doesn’t know it yet.” The two were both smiling when Manfred answered the door.
“Glad you all were able to make it,” he said. “Please, come in. You want some water or lemonade? I’ve got some wine, but I don’t advocate drinking any alcohol before an attempt to get in touch with those who’ve gone ahead.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Joe said, trying not to cast a sideways glance at Chuy, with whom he’d split a bottle of wine at dinner. “I don’t believe I need anything. Chuy?”
Chuy shook his head. “Is Olivia here yet?” he asked. “I haven’t seen her today.”
“I’m here,” she called from the kitchen, and Joe followed Manfred into his alleged kitchen. Joe looked around, trying to suppress his dismay. He couldn’t imagine cooking in the depressing and outdated little room.
“Do you cook much, Manfred?” Chuy said, managing to make his tone only inquisitive.
“No, I’m a microwave kind of guy,” Manfred said. “You cook, Olivia?”
“No,” she said, with a little astonishment in her voice. As if she couldn’t believe they were talking about something so unimportant when there was business to be done.
Joe sighed. He realized that once again, he was being reminded to be grateful for the love and nurturing of Chuy, who loved to cook and considered the preparation of good food to be an important part of his day. “So, we’re here to contact the dead,” he said. “Mrs. Goldthorpe, I assume?”
“Yeah,” Olivia said. Joe drew near enough to see that Olivia’s face was bruised.
“You’re okay?” he asked.
“You should see the other guy,” she said, without a smile.
Chuy put his hand on Olivia’s shoulder, and she did not pull away. She even seemed, after a moment, to relax just a little.
“So what’s the procedure?” Joe asked.
“You sound interested,” Manfred said.
“I am. I’ve never done this before,” Joe said. He didn’t need to contact the dead, since he could see them all the time, but he didn’t add that.
“I’m glad you’re open to the experience,” Manfred said briskly. “I’ve pulled this table out so there’s room for all of us.”
So at least the kitchen doesn’t always look this crammed, Joe thought.
“We all sit around it and hold hands. I’ll try to summon Rachel. If she won’t come, I’ll try to reach her husband, Morton. He may not be willing since I don’t have Rachel to use as an attraction, but I can try.”
“The son accuses you of theft?” Chuy said.
Manfred nodded.
“Then we’ll do our best,” Joe said, and took Olivia’s left hand with his right, and Manfred’s right hand with his own left. Across the table, Chuy linked hands, too. Their eyes met, and in his partner’s, Joe saw almost infinite patience.
Olivia did not look excited or interested. She looked intent. And deep past that intensity and committal to move forward, Joe saw pain and suffering and rage. He sighed. One day Olivia would explode from this volatile combination, like a bomb. She was dealing out pain and violence to get rid of the rage, and probably Lemuel’s energy leeching helped. But the more violence Olivia dealt, the less effective it was in controlling the rage.
Manfred said, “Olivia, you need to relax.”
She took some deep breaths and managed to contain herself. “All right,” she said. “All right.” The tension dropped a few degrees, and Manfred’s power began to flow between their linked hands. It was strong and pure, and it glistened. Joe could see it, almost taste it. Joe began to see faces in that power, spirits drawn close by it. It seemed funny to him that Manfred could only sense the presence of the dead, when they were so visible to him and Chuy.