Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Shadowgate 02 (28 page)

 
          
"Staying,"
Ramsey repeated patiently, "in Dayton. I admit it's not the garden spot of
the universe, but its a nice little town; a person could do worse. Look, it's
pretty dead here on the lot; I usually stick around until nine or so, but people
don't buy used cars in the spring, and if anyone decides to buck the
statistics, Mike can have the commission. Why don't you come on back to the
house? You can have your pick of the bedrooms, although I admit they don't all
still have beds in them."

 
          
When
Winter reached Ramsey's house, carefully tailing his blue Subaru out into the
Dayton suburbs, she found out he'd said nothing more than the truth.

 
          
Ramsey
Miller lived in a development of the sort that realtors liked to call
"better homes." The houses were good-sized, and some care had been
taken by the architect and the landscaper to give each one a little
individuality. Ramsey signaled and turned into the driveway, the automatic
garage-door opener in his car raising the door of his attached two-car garage
as he did. He pulled in on the left side with the ease of long practice.
Winter pulled her car up beside his.

 
          
"All
the comforts of darkest suburbia," Ramsey said with slightly forced cheer.
There had been a blue-and-white realtor's For Sale sign stuck into the lawn,
and the sense of failure, of abandonment, was strong.

 
          
"Ramsey,
if this isn't a good time . . ." Winter said doubtfully.

 
          
He
met her gaze directly, with the honesty that had always made him a good friend.
"It's just as good a time as any other, Winter. Believe me. It wasn't a
noisy divorce, and it's over. Laura has the kids and the bank accounts and
she's moved back in with her family in Cleveland for a while. I've got the
house—at least until it sells—and it's probably not going to sell in the next
week, alas. You're welcome to stay here."

 
          
He
pointed the control wand at the garage door and the door descended, shutting
them into darkness once more. Moving through the dark with the ease of long
habit, Ramsey made his way over to the wall and flipped a switch. The overhead
light went on, throwing the walls and accumulated domestic debris into sharp
relief. Winter could see the pale shadows on the walls where bicycles had hung.

           
Ramsey opened the kitchen door.
"Come on. I'll give you the fifty-cent tour
oiCbez
Miller."

 
          
The
garage entrance led into a spacious yellow-and-white kitchen several steps up
the social scale from Janelle's. It seemed oddly empty, and after a moment
Winter realized why: The normal kitchen-counter clutter, from canisters on the
counter to microwave, was absent.

 
          
"This,"
said Ramsey unnecessarily, "is the kitchen. I'll show you over the rest of
the house and then we can decide what to do about dinner."

 
          
When
Laura Miller had taken the kids and gone to
Cleveland
, Winter discovered a few minutes later,
she'd also taken practically everything that wasn't nailed down. The
four-bedroom ranch house was nearly empty—the dining room was bare, the living
room held only a few pieces of furniture, and what—judging from the wallpaper—had
been the kids' bedrooms were empty to the walls. Winter was only surprised that
the woman hadn't taken the wallpaper, too.

 
          
"She
seems to have been very thorough," Winter commented in what she hoped were
neutral tones.

 
          
"Laura
always was efficient," Ramsey said with a trace of pride. "I came
home and the place was like this; she got the movers in while I was at work.
Called me from
Cleveland
and let me know she was leaving me."

 
          
"Didn't
you
mind?"
Winter asked
disbelievingly. If anyone had done something equivalent to her, she would have
hunted them down with a scalping knife, not recounted their exploits with this
sort of fond proprietary delight.

 
          
"I
guess I wasn't surprised; she put up with a lot before she called it quits. And
it wasn't the first time I've been left. She played fair, though—left me the
bedroom set and some of the living room furniture, and there's a fold-out couch
in the guest room you can use. It was her office—Laura was a CPA; she kept up
her business after we got married."

 
          
The
former office was a small room about ten by twelve with a window that
overlooked the house next door. It contained no furniture except the couch,
and Winter wondered why that item had been spared. There was a couch in the
living room, too. Perhaps the former Mrs. Miller didn't like couches?

 
          
But
it would be a place to stay, at least for the night. And she wanted the chance
to spend more time with Ramsey than she could over a piece of pie in some very
public diner.

 
          
"It
looks fine. If you're sure I'm not putting you out . . ." Winter said in a
last token protest.

 
          
"How
could you ever do that?" Ramsey said fondly. "One for all and all for
one, remember?"

 
          
"Whoever is my brother or sister in the
Art, let them be my brother or sister in all things."
Winter shook her
head, trying to dislodge the intrusive voice.
"Were you Sealed to the Circle?"
she remembered Truth
saying. She and Ramsey had shared stronger bonds than blood or love once, so
she was told.

 
          
"Okay,"
Winter said, capitulating gracefully. "You've sold me. Now, what about
dinner?"

 
          
Either
Laura Miller had taken all of the food with her, too—an idea Winter was not
prepared to rule out—or Ramsey was no different than any other bachelor. Both
the cupboards and the refrigerator were nearly bare. Ramsey volunteered that
there was a supermarket not far from the house, and Winter proposed an
expedition to it. Like most busy professionals— male or female, single or
married—she wasn't much of a cook, but she could make an
omelette
and a salad providing she had the ingredients.

 
          
The
grocery store seemed immense by East Coast standards—vast and gleaming and
containing every item known to modern man, from potted plants to motor oil. In
Ohio
something called a "package
store"—a liquor store—was attached to the supermarket, and Winter picked
out several bottles of wine. White for tonight, red for some future meal. Maybe
spaghetti; that was supposed to be easy, and maybe Ramsey was a better cook
than she was. Winter filled the cart with whatever caught her fancy as she and
Ramsey chatted, but some part of her knew the real talking would come later.

 
          
The
Blackburn
Work.
Venus
Afflicted
was still in her suitcase, that biography of the magician whose
"work" Truth said the five of them had repeated up at
Nuclear
Lake
. What connection did their adolescent
dabblings
in whatever it had been have with what was
happening to the members of the group today? She needed to talk to Ramsey . . .
about that and so many other things.

           
By the time they got back to the house
and had put their purchases away, the sky was growing dark and there were cars
in the other driveways along the street. Winter opened one of the bottles of
wine while Ramsey washed and diced ingredients for the
omelette
.

 
          
"But
what about you?" Ramsey said, after a while. "It looks like I've been
doing all the talking—you know about my wives, my kids, my gambling debts. . .
."

 
          
"Gambling
debts!" Winter tried and failed to keep the shock out of her voice.
What can there possibly be to bet on in
Ohio
?

 
          
"Oh,
yes." Ramsey's voice was without regret. "I was quite the lad. In
fact, when the house finally sells the money's going to be split between
Household Finance and Laura; after I settle my debts there isn't going to be a
lot left. No thanks," he said, as Winter offered him a glass of white
wine. "I'm on the wagon these days." He sighed. "After
Marina
left and I lost my job—in no particular
order, those two—I just felt numb. Placing a bet was a way of feeling
something, and I told myself that at least I wasn't sniffing coke. Only they
had to be
big
bets, and you could
write the rest of this story in your sleep. So there's my dark secret; what's
yours?"

 
          
"I
had a nervous breakdown," Winter said quickly before she could censor
herself. "Only I'm not really sure that's what it was. And . . . I'm
trying to find out. That's all." She sipped her wine.

 
          
"That's
the short version, anyway," Ramsey said. "But—other than that—are you
okay? How are you fixed for cash? I don't have much, but a few thousand won't
make any difference one way or the other."

 
          
"No,
I'm fine," Winter said quickly.
And
to think I expected him to hit
ME
up
for money.
"At least I'm fine that way."
For now.

 
          
Ramsey
laughed sympathetically. "'Partially fine, says former Wall street
broker,'" he quipped. "Well, it'll do. But let's move on to the big
questions of life—do you still like onions?"

 
          
Now
that her biggest secret was out in the open Winter felt more at ease. Ramsey
was happy to talk about old times—he'd been Grey's roommate at
Taghkanic
, something she'd forgotten.

 
          
"Everybody's
an eccentric in college, but I've never met anyone like Grey—then or
since," Ramsey said, waving a fluffy forkful of
omelette
.
The built-in breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen was one of the few
parts of the house that had escaped unscathed, and when the food was ready,
Winter and Ramsey had taken their plates and the bottle of wine there to eat.

 
          
"He
really didn't care what other people thought of him, so long as he had a good
opinion of himself. Oh, not arrogant, not exactly . . ." Ramsey said
musingly.

 
          
But he had a tongue like a whip and
leu
tolerance for human stupidity than anyone I ever knew,
Winter
finished silently. The one thing Grey had never understood was that people
weren't being stupid on purpose—he'd really thought they could change if they
were motivated enough. And Lord knew he'd done his best to motivate them.
"There never was anyone like Grey," she agreed aloud.

 
          
"Which
is probably a good thing when you come to think about it," Ramsey said
solemnly, "because Grey didn't exactly lend himself to the quiet life. But
you'd know that best."

 
          
/
wish I did.
"Do you keep in
touch with him?" Winter asked with sudden hope.

 
          
"Don't
you?" Ramsey sounded surprised.

 
          
She
shook her head, surprised at the strength of her disappointment. "I was
hoping you did."

 
          
Ramsey
shook his head. "For a couple of years, yes, but you know how Grey
was—detail-oriented wasn't his style. I'm surprised you two didn't . . ."

 
          
"Well,
things never work out the way we expect," Winter said hastily. Why did
everyone who remembered Hunter
Greyson
seem so
surprised that the two of them weren't still together? "Who would have
expected me to wind up on Wall Street?"

 
          
"Considering
your family and all, I'll admit I'm amazed," Ramsey said. He emptied the
seltzer from his glass and filled it with wine from the half-empty bottle.
Winter said nothing. "But by the time you figure out what you want in
life, you've usually pretty well arranged things so you can't get it."