Kindling the Moon
Page 51

He had a point; we certainly hadn’t.
“He was a professional collector. Paid me under the table. The records still say it’s there, so until we’re audited, no one knows it’s missing.”
“Describe him. Tell me where he was from.”
“Demon,” Danny said, looking at my halo suspiciously. “Tall. Light orange hair and eyebrows. Lots of freckles. Like a giant leprechaun.” He gave us a weak smile.
I glanced at Lon. His faced was flushed and his mouth was hanging open.
Danny continued. “He said he was from Detroit, but he sounded like a California boy to me. He obviously had money. His clothes were expensive. One of the officers up front said he drove up in a flashy red convertible.”
Lon got up out of his seat and offered his hand to Danny. “Thanks. We’ll let you get back to work.”
“Wait, what—”
Lon shot me a hard look. I read it perfectly: Keep your mouth shut. Which I did … all the way back to the sign-in window up front, through the parking lot, and until we closed our car doors and sat in the front seat.
“Explain. Now.”
Lon stuck the key in the ignition and paused.
“I know exactly who he sold it to. He lives in La Sirena.”
“Lon!” I said excitedly and slapped his arm. “Who? How? What?”
“That’s the first time you’ve smiled the whole damn day,” he noted.
“And that’s more words than you’ve spoken to me all day.”
He started up the ignition and began putting his seat belt on. “The man who bought the knife is a member of a club I’m in. He’s … slippery.”
“I thought you weren’t a ‘joiner.’ ”
“I’m not anymore. But once you join this club, you’re in it for life.”
I clicked my seat belt and moved my purse to the floor-board as he pulled out of the parking lot, turning on his wind-shield wipers to clear the late-afternoon drizzle. “That sounds spooky and ominous.”
“It is. I’ll make some calls and see if we can meet him.”
“Fantastic! You are chock-full of networking goodness,” I said, eagerly pulling the pins out of my wig as we pulled out onto the main road. I couldn’t wait to get it off. It was itching something fierce.
“Truth is, it would have been way easier to get the talon from evidence than from this guy. But what are we going to do? We don’t have a choice anymore.”
And we didn’t have much time.
21
Our flight home wasn’t overbooked, so we both got to sit in first class together. I refused the complimentary champagne this go-around, because I was already sleepy from my schedule being thrown off. It was hard to shift from bartender days to normal days.
When we’d been up in the air for about fifteen minutes, I asked him a few questions about his mysterious ginger-haired friend, but he wouldn’t say much. Only that he would make some calls and let me know something later that night if he could manage it. After more drinks and snacks were served, I gave up on trying to pry information out of him.
The sun had set, so the pilot turned off the cabin lights. A few reading lamps switched on above the seats around us. I closed my eyes and turned toward the window, hoping that if I fell asleep, I wouldn’t snore.
“Did it at least work?”
“Huh?” I lifted my head to look at Lon. He was flipping though the in-flight magazine without looking at the pages; it was too dim to see anything.
“If you regret what we did, I understand, but did it at least work?”
Now I was wide awake. I pushed myself up in my seat.
“Not so far, no. But why would you think I regretted it? You’re the one acting all weird. Can’t you just”—I lowered my voice—“read me?”
“I’m not acting weird. I’ve been trying to read you all day. I can’t. You’re chaotic.”
“Umm, you are too acting weird. You’ve gone back to being all clammy and Neanderthal. I mean, I didn’t expect for you to start calling me ‘baby,’ but I thought you’d at least be cool about it. I’m not going to latch onto you like some love-sick brat, or cry and beg you for a date or anything, sheesh. I didn’t regret it, but I’m starting to now.”
I crossed my legs and arms at the same time, settling back and staring at the seat in front of me. Until I got riled up again.
“P.S.,” I added angrily, trying to keep my voice down, “When you first told me about your ability, I thought that trying to keep my feelings hidden was going to be the worst part about being around you. Guess what, it’s not.” I turned in my seat to look at him, pointing my finger into the center of his chest. “I couldn’t give a good goddamn if you know what I’m feeling anymore. The worst part is not being able to read you back. Being around you is so damn frustrating sometimes. The only way anyone could ever figure out your intentions is if they had some kind of special ability like you’ve got.”
For several long moments, we were actors in an old Western, standing alone in the middle of a dirt road. We stared each other down until he finally dropped his eyes. I won. Yippee.
“I thought I was being plain,” he said after a few seconds. His voice was low and even.
“What are you talking about now?” I griped.
“I paid you compliments.”
What in the world was he referring to? Compliments? “You mean when you told me that I had a nice ass?” I asked, sarcastic.