Gabriel watched TC settle into his cardboard-box bed. “He certainly seems happy to be home, which suggests he didn’t leave willingly.”
I got the lone can of tuna down from a cupboard. “Or he did, and he regrets it now.”
I opened the can. TC sprang up and flew onto the counter, purring urgently as I dumped the tuna onto a plate.
“I don’t know what happened,” I said. “And I’m not sure I ever will. Too many unknowns, which seems to be the story of my life these days.”
I pointed Gabriel in the direction of the files I’d brought home. While he fetched the pages he needed, I looked around the tiny kitchen.
“Can I make you a coffee? Tea? I’ve got a few Dr Peppers in the fridge. After tonight, they’d probably go down a lot better with a couple ounces of rum or whiskey, but I haven’t gotten around to alcohol stocking. Sorry.”
Gabriel waved off the apology. “Soda’s fine. I don’t usually drink.”
“I suspected that,” I said as I got out the pop. “No matter how bad a day we have, you’ve never said, ‘God, I could use a drink right now.’ I know I have. Silently. Many times.”
“Then say so. I’m not a recovering alcoholic, Olivia. Nor do I have any issue with others imbibing. I do have a drink sometimes, socially, but otherwise . . . it’s not for me.”
Because of his mother. I was sure of that. Whatever mistakes she’d made, he was determined not to repeat them or share her weaknesses. Which is probably why I’d known never to say, “God, I could use a drink,” in front of him.
“Rose has a liquor cabinet,” he said, rising. “Put those back and we’ll go over there, get you something.”
I shook my head. “I was kidding. I don’t need—”
“I saw her light on. We should speak to her anyway, about your vision.”
I sighed. “I’m not running to her every time something strange happens to me.”
“Why not? She enjoys the challenge. This isn’t like running to a fortune-teller every time you have a decision to make. You are experiencing events with a clear preternatural origin. You can’t simply ignore them.”
He looked impatient, a little annoyed, as if I was refusing to visit the dentist for a sore tooth.
When he checked his watch, I said, “Go on home. I’ll be fine.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“You were reminding me that I’m being unreasonably stubborn, while you’re here, helping me, out of the goodness of your heart.”
A flicker in his eyes. My darts rarely pierce Gabriel, but every now and then they manage.
“You got my messages to turn back,” I said. “You didn’t come out here to help me. You came because I’m not sure I made the right choice agreeing to work for you, and you wanted to seal my employment, through obligation if necessary.”
“That’s ridiculous.” The words were said with the right degree of scorn and affront, but if you hang around Gabriel long enough, you learn to detect the tonal shifts that give lie to his words.
“I would like you to speak to Rose,” he said. “It’s not yet ten. Come along.”
I considered letting him go out the door first then locking it behind him, but that was petty. Besides, he could pick the lock.
“At least call her first,” I said. “She did have a date. Just because she’s home doesn’t mean she’s alone.”
He gave me a perplexed look.
“Call,” I said.
He did.
—
Rose didn’t have company. And she wasn’t particularly happy about it.
“Waste of my night,” she grumbled when I asked her how it went. “We’re still on the appetizers, and he asks if I know how to bake banana bread. Can you believe that?”
“First dates are awkward,” I said as we walked into the front room. “He was probably struggling to make conversation.”
She snorted. “Conversation, my ass. I can tell you why he was asking. Because his late wife baked banana bread and he misses it. For date number two, he’d invite me to his place, where I’d find all the ingredients and her old recipe. Widowers. They aren’t looking for companionship; they’re looking for a new housekeeper. This is why I should stick to women.” When I looked surprised, she shrugged. “I’m flexible.”
“Widens the dating pool,” I said as I sat.
“It does. I’m updating my profile tonight. Widowers—and widows—need not apply.”
“You found him through an online service?”
She scowled at me. “Ask me in that tone again when you’re no longer a skinny twenty-five-year-old, and we’ll see if your attitude changes, missy.”
“I wasn’t judging. I’m just not sure that’s safe.”
A grunt from beside me elicited a glare from Rose.
“Don’t start, Gabriel,” she said. “I’m well aware of your views on the subject.”
“Because I’ve defended two clients accused of crimes committed against women they found through an online dating service. Neither was guilty, of course—”
“Of course,” I said.
“But the fact remains that it does not seem a safe way to find a relationship. With either gender.”
She turned to me. “So you’ve stumbled into trouble again. Shouldn’t the omens warn you against that?”
“I don’t know. Shouldn’t the cards warn you against bad dates?”
She grumbled under her breath. “All right. Explain.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Rose handled the discovery of Ciara’s body as matter-of-factly as her nephew had. To them, the point was what it meant for me—why the corpse was being used to threaten me, and whether tonight’s events were a continuation of that threat or mere happenstance.
I showed her the photos of the dining room and parlor friezes.
“Where is this?” she asked, her voice tight.
“Beechwood Street. It’s a Victorian with leaded windows—”
“The Carew house,” she said. “I wasn’t sure which empty house you meant. There are probably a half-dozen in Cainsville at any time, owned by the town. They aren’t an easy sell to newcomers between the commuting issues and the approval committee.”
I got the lone can of tuna down from a cupboard. “Or he did, and he regrets it now.”
I opened the can. TC sprang up and flew onto the counter, purring urgently as I dumped the tuna onto a plate.
“I don’t know what happened,” I said. “And I’m not sure I ever will. Too many unknowns, which seems to be the story of my life these days.”
I pointed Gabriel in the direction of the files I’d brought home. While he fetched the pages he needed, I looked around the tiny kitchen.
“Can I make you a coffee? Tea? I’ve got a few Dr Peppers in the fridge. After tonight, they’d probably go down a lot better with a couple ounces of rum or whiskey, but I haven’t gotten around to alcohol stocking. Sorry.”
Gabriel waved off the apology. “Soda’s fine. I don’t usually drink.”
“I suspected that,” I said as I got out the pop. “No matter how bad a day we have, you’ve never said, ‘God, I could use a drink right now.’ I know I have. Silently. Many times.”
“Then say so. I’m not a recovering alcoholic, Olivia. Nor do I have any issue with others imbibing. I do have a drink sometimes, socially, but otherwise . . . it’s not for me.”
Because of his mother. I was sure of that. Whatever mistakes she’d made, he was determined not to repeat them or share her weaknesses. Which is probably why I’d known never to say, “God, I could use a drink,” in front of him.
“Rose has a liquor cabinet,” he said, rising. “Put those back and we’ll go over there, get you something.”
I shook my head. “I was kidding. I don’t need—”
“I saw her light on. We should speak to her anyway, about your vision.”
I sighed. “I’m not running to her every time something strange happens to me.”
“Why not? She enjoys the challenge. This isn’t like running to a fortune-teller every time you have a decision to make. You are experiencing events with a clear preternatural origin. You can’t simply ignore them.”
He looked impatient, a little annoyed, as if I was refusing to visit the dentist for a sore tooth.
When he checked his watch, I said, “Go on home. I’ll be fine.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“You were reminding me that I’m being unreasonably stubborn, while you’re here, helping me, out of the goodness of your heart.”
A flicker in his eyes. My darts rarely pierce Gabriel, but every now and then they manage.
“You got my messages to turn back,” I said. “You didn’t come out here to help me. You came because I’m not sure I made the right choice agreeing to work for you, and you wanted to seal my employment, through obligation if necessary.”
“That’s ridiculous.” The words were said with the right degree of scorn and affront, but if you hang around Gabriel long enough, you learn to detect the tonal shifts that give lie to his words.
“I would like you to speak to Rose,” he said. “It’s not yet ten. Come along.”
I considered letting him go out the door first then locking it behind him, but that was petty. Besides, he could pick the lock.
“At least call her first,” I said. “She did have a date. Just because she’s home doesn’t mean she’s alone.”
He gave me a perplexed look.
“Call,” I said.
He did.
—
Rose didn’t have company. And she wasn’t particularly happy about it.
“Waste of my night,” she grumbled when I asked her how it went. “We’re still on the appetizers, and he asks if I know how to bake banana bread. Can you believe that?”
“First dates are awkward,” I said as we walked into the front room. “He was probably struggling to make conversation.”
She snorted. “Conversation, my ass. I can tell you why he was asking. Because his late wife baked banana bread and he misses it. For date number two, he’d invite me to his place, where I’d find all the ingredients and her old recipe. Widowers. They aren’t looking for companionship; they’re looking for a new housekeeper. This is why I should stick to women.” When I looked surprised, she shrugged. “I’m flexible.”
“Widens the dating pool,” I said as I sat.
“It does. I’m updating my profile tonight. Widowers—and widows—need not apply.”
“You found him through an online service?”
She scowled at me. “Ask me in that tone again when you’re no longer a skinny twenty-five-year-old, and we’ll see if your attitude changes, missy.”
“I wasn’t judging. I’m just not sure that’s safe.”
A grunt from beside me elicited a glare from Rose.
“Don’t start, Gabriel,” she said. “I’m well aware of your views on the subject.”
“Because I’ve defended two clients accused of crimes committed against women they found through an online dating service. Neither was guilty, of course—”
“Of course,” I said.
“But the fact remains that it does not seem a safe way to find a relationship. With either gender.”
She turned to me. “So you’ve stumbled into trouble again. Shouldn’t the omens warn you against that?”
“I don’t know. Shouldn’t the cards warn you against bad dates?”
She grumbled under her breath. “All right. Explain.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Rose handled the discovery of Ciara’s body as matter-of-factly as her nephew had. To them, the point was what it meant for me—why the corpse was being used to threaten me, and whether tonight’s events were a continuation of that threat or mere happenstance.
I showed her the photos of the dining room and parlor friezes.
“Where is this?” she asked, her voice tight.
“Beechwood Street. It’s a Victorian with leaded windows—”
“The Carew house,” she said. “I wasn’t sure which empty house you meant. There are probably a half-dozen in Cainsville at any time, owned by the town. They aren’t an easy sell to newcomers between the commuting issues and the approval committee.”
