Callie's Last Dance (a Donovan Creed Novel) (2 page)

2.

“YOU CAME!” SAL says with great enthusiasm, as we enter the main tent.

“Sal?” I say. “Marie? This is Callie Carpenter. Callie? Sal and Marie Bonadello. Our gracious hosts.”

“Thank you so much for inviting us!” Callie says.

Marie shows Callie the deepest frown her face can hold. The very response you’d expect from a seasoned wife standing face-to-face with her husband’s greatest weakness.

She says, “Be forewarned, Miss Carpenter. My husband’s got less class than a nut-licking dog at a church picnic.”

Marie fixes her husband with a harsh gaze and leaves to greet the next guests.

Sal says, “I must apologize for my wife. She and I no longer sleep together.”

Callie and I exchange WTF looks.

“Intercourse,” he adds, by way of explanation. “We don’t—whatcha call—”

“We get it,” I say.

Callie and I press envelopes filled with cash into Sal’s hand, as is the custom when attending these sorts of events. Sal separates the envelopes and hefts mine briefly.

“You’ve always been generous,” he says. Then looks at Callie and says, “He’s very—whatcha call—philanthropic.”

Trying to impress her with his vocabulary.

Then he does something I’ve never seen him do.

He places Callie’s envelope back in her hand and says, “I don’t expect this from you. A goddess like you should be
paid
to attend parties!”

Callie flashes a dazzling smile. “That’s so nice of you to say, Mr. Bonadello. But I insist on making a contribution to your Mothers of Sicily charity.”

“They do great work,” I say, sarcastically.

As he accepts her envelope a second time he says, “Please, fair maid. Call me Sal.”

“Okay.”

“Say it. Say my name,” he says.

“Sal.”

He closes his eyes and swoons.

“Didja hear that?” he says. “An angel just spoke my name.”

He tucks the envelopes into his jacket pocket, then takes Callie’s hand in his.

“I’ve invited you to my—whatcha call—
soirees
every time,” he says. “But you never showed up.”

She shrugs.

I notice Marie coming up behind Sal and cough to warn him. But he’s too wrapped up in Callie to notice. He raises her hand to his lips and kisses it. Then takes a step back and looks her up and down like she’s covered in frosting and he can’t decide where to start licking.

He says, “Did you happen to bring a bikini, sweetheart?”

Marie says, “Why don’t you just sniff her ass, Sal? Isn’t that what dogs do?”

4.

Donovan Creed.

SOPHIE’S SINGING, DANI’S standing left of the stage, watching her. Callie and I stand a safe distance from the crowd that’s gathered to watch Sophie’s band.

“Ready to dance yet?”

“Are they playing our song?”

She cocks her head and listens a moment, then wrinkles her nose.

“We need a special song,” she says. “Something melodic and dreamy. Or at least something slow, with meaningful lyrics.”

“I take it Love Dies doesn’t cut it?”

“Not even.”

“I’d like something from the sixties.”

“Eighteen sixties?”

“Funny.”

“This is a progressive country band,” Callie says. “They’re not likely to play old fogey music.”

“If they do, that’s our song.”

“I don’t plan to wait that long. The very next song they play will become our song. Say it.”

“Even if it’s Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer?”

“Even if.”

“Come to think of it, that would be funny.”

“Say it.”

“Next song they play is our song.”

“Deal,” she says. “And we’ll dance to it?”

“Deal,” I say.

She smiles.

“You spoke to the women,” I say.

“Right.”

“What did you learn?”

“Dani thinks you’re gay.”

“
What
?”

Callie laughs.

“Why would she possibly think that?”

“She says you’re too pretty to be straight. Plus, you asked what it’s like to be with a woman.”

“She told you I said that?”

“She did.”

“Why?”

“It’s part of the sisterhood code.”

“I’ll be right back,” I say, and walk over to Dani. I have to shout for her to hear me.

“This isn’t my face!” I yell.

She gives me a curious look, as if maybe the music is too loud to understand what I said. Then she hollers, “You look like that famous movie star. What’s his name?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’ll come to me,” she says. “In time.”

“This isn’t my face,” I repeat, aware that others standing nearby might be able to hear me.

She gives me that quizzical look again, and says, “Of course it’s your face! Who else’s face could it be?” Then she shakes her head and laughs.

“What?”

“You got me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re playing with me,” she says, chuckling. “I’m a little dense sometimes. You’ve got a wonderful face, and I expect you know it.”

“What if I used to have a huge scar, from here to here?”

She laughs. “What if
I
used to have one?”

“Did you?”

She cocks her head. “Are you always this intense?”

“Do you like intense men?”

“Honestly? They make me uncomfortable.”

“Me too,” I say. Then realize that probably came out wrong.

I trust Callie’s gaydar. If she’s right about Dani being straight, and if I can’t get Callie interested in me, I intend to swarm Dani like bees on Sprite. I start to say something to position myself for such a swarm, but suddenly become aware Sophie’s band has begun playing a slow, melodic sixties song with meaningful lyrics. It also happens to be, as Callie knows, one of my favorite songs.

True Love Never Runs Smooth
.

Sounds fresh and nice, the way Sophie’s singing it. Like maybe she learned it just for today’s party?

Is it possible?

It is.

I can tell by the way Callie’s smiling at me. The look on her face warms my heart and says it all. I take two steps toward her and my phone rings. I check the caller ID, close my eyes and groan. And accept the call.

When I hang up I notice Dani looks concerned. She approaches me.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m good. Why do you ask?”

“Your expression changed. You look upset.”

“One of my best friends just died.”

“Oh, you poor thing!” she says. “I’m so sorry!”

I look back to the area where Callie and I had been standing, but don’t see her. I turn my head some more and squint my eyes against the sun and stare at the people entering and exiting the main tent.

Still no Callie.

Dani points to the dance floor where Callie’s dancing alone.

“We’ll talk later,” I say, then head toward Callie.

She sees me coming and says, “You’re late.” Then sees my face and says, “What’s wrong?”

“Lou Kelly’s dead.”

“What? How?”

“I’m not sure. Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

When we’re far enough from the band to allow normal conversation I say, “I’ve got to meet the Homeland Security team at Sensory Resources.”

“Why?”

“They claim they’re offering me Darwin’s job.”

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’d have to move to Virginia.”

“Not necessarily.”

She bites the top corner of her lip. Then says, “I should come with you.”

“You should. But you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“They might be calling me in.”

“What do you mean? To kill you?”

“That’s what they do, sometimes, when they’re done with us.”

“Then I
definitely
need to be there!”

I look down and notice she’s holding my hand. She notices it too, and releases her grip.

“Sorry,” she says.

I want to say something clever, but my brain won’t work.

“I can’t believe Lou’s dead,” she says.

“Me either.”

“What happened?”

“They’re not sure.”

“What about Angie De Luca? And Frankie?”

“I’d kill them now, on the way to the car, but you know how Sal is. He’d pitch a fit.”

“Not to mention he’d have a hard time getting guests to attend his next party.”

I look at her. “Favor?”

“Stay here and kill the De Lucas tonight?”

I nod.

“Money?” she says.

I smile. “Fifty.”

“Seems light.”

“I was doing Frankie for free, remember?”

“Keep me posted,” she says.

“I will.”

“Regularly.”

“Okay.”

I wait for her to say something, but she’s staring downward, thinking it through first. So I say, “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Please. Say it.”

She looks up at me and says, “Be careful.”

I grin. “I’m always careful.”

She suddenly slaps my face. Hard. Then does something that shocks the shit out of me.

She kisses my cheek.

You don’t understand.

This is completely out of character for her. The kissing part, I mean.

Then she says, “Don’t die on me, Donovan.”

Then she adds, “Not now.”

As she turns to walk away I say, “What do you mean, ‘not now’?”

But she keeps walking.