Dance Upon the Air (25 page)

“Two hundred, two-fifty,” he said absently. “Just where did Pamela claim to see this ghost of hers?”

“Oh, some island off the East Coast. I'm not even sure of the name, as I was busy trying to change the subject. Something about sisters. Formal or casual?”

“What?”

“The party, honey. Formal or casual?”

“Formal,” he murmured, and let his sister's voice buzz in his head like bees.

Lulu lived
in a saltbox two blocks back from High Street. It stood out from its more conservative neighbors with its lipstick-red shutters and porch. On that red porch was a glider splattered and streaked with a rainbow of paint in a mad pattern that rivaled a Jackson Pollock canvas.

A purple gazing ball stood on the thin swath of lawn and shaded a gargoyle who squatted, permanently sticking out his tongue at passersby.

A winged dragon of iridescent green flew on the roof as a weather vane, along with a wildly striped wind sock. In the short driveway sat a dignified late-model sedan in practical black, and Lulu's Day-Glo orange VW, circa 1971.

Love beads, from the same era, dangled from the rearview mirror.

Following instructions, Nell parked on the street
one house down, then hauled her delivery to the back door. Lulu swung it open before Nell could knock.

“I'll give you prompt.” And with this, Lulu grabbed Nell's arm just above the elbow and yanked her inside. “I sent the lot of them out for a walk and don't figure they'll be back for twenty minutes. More, if I'm lucky. Syl's been a pain in my butt since she was born.”

“Your sister.”

“My parents insist she is, but I have my doubts.” Lulu poked her head in the box the minute Nell set it down on the center island. “The idea that I share blood with that pompous, narrow-minded, pissy little twerp gives me the willies. I'm eighteen months older, so we went through the sixties at close to the same pace. Difference is, she remembers them, which says it all.”

“Ah.” Nell tried to imagine Lulu as a freewheeling, free-loving hippie, and found it wasn't that much of a stretch. For the family dinner, she'd donned a sweatshirt that announced she was all out of estrogen and had a gun.

Fair warning, Nell decided.

“Um. Still, it's nice that you sometimes get together like this.”

“She just comes out here, once every damn year, to lord it over me. According to the Gospel of Sylvia, a woman isn't a woman unless she has a husband and children, chairs some crappy committee, and knows how to make an emergency centerpiece out of twine, spit, and an empty tuna can.”

“We're going to do a hell of a lot better than that.” Nell busied herself by putting the roast in the oven,
turning it to warm. “I made it au jus, so you just spoon that over, and serve it with the side dishes. The autumn salad goes first. Tell them to leave room for the pumpkin cheesecake.”

“That'll totally amaze her.” Lulu poured another glass of the wine she was tippling to get through the event. “I had a husband.”

She said it so fiercely, so viciously that Nell turned to stare. “Oh?”

“Don't know what made me do it legal. I wasn't knocked up or anything. Stupid. I guess I did it to prove I could still rebel. He was no good, just as useless as he was handsome. It turned out his idea of marriage was having someplace to go after he'd finished boinking whatever floozie caught his fancy that particular night.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. Live and learn. I kicked his ass out in nineteen-eighty-five. The only time it bothers me is when Syl comes around gloating about her husband, who's no more than a paper pusher, and has a spare tire you could ride on to Cleveland, her kids, who are a couple of snotty teenagers in two-hundred dollar track shoes, and the joys of her life in the suburbs. I'd rather be shot dead than live in some cookie-cutter house in the 'burbs.”

Since either the wine or the situation with Syl was making Lulu loquacious, Nell took advantage. “So, you didn't grow up here together?”

“Hell, no. We grew up in Baltimore. I took off when I was seventeen, went straight to Haight-Ashbury. I lived in a commune in Colorado for a while, traveled, experienced. When I came here, I wasn't yet
twenty. I've been here over thirty-two years now. God.”

The idea of that had her knocking back the wine and pouring more.

“Mia's grandmother gave me a job doing this and that for her, then when Mia came along, her mother hired me to mind her when she needed minding. Carly Devlin's a nice enough person, but the fact was she didn't have much interest in raising a child.”

“So you did. I didn't realize.” No wonder, Nell thought, she was so protective of Mia. “Whatever your sister thinks, you've got a daughter at the heart of it.”

“Damn right.” She gave a little nod, then set down her glass. “Do whatever you need to do here. I'll be right back.” She started out, turned back. “If Syl the Pill comes back before I do, just tell her how you work at the bookstore and stopped in to ask me something about work.”

“No problem.” Keeping tabs on the time, Nell organized the meal, slipping the salad and the dressing in the refrigerator, sliding the scalloped potatoes and the herbed green beans in with the roast.

She peeked into the dining room, saw the table had yet to be set, and hunted out dishes and linens.

“First half of your payment,” Lulu announced as she came back in with a wrinkled shopping bag.

“Thanks. Listen, I didn't know what dishes you wanted, but I think these'll work well. It's family, and they're casual and cheerful.”

“Good thing, as that's all I've got.”

Lulu waited while Nell dipped into the shopping bag, then smiled smugly at the gasp of pleasure. “Oh, oh, Lulu!”

It was a simple design, a mock turtleneck that could and would be worn with everything. But the color was a deep, rich blue and the material was as soft as a cloud.

“I never expected anything like this.” Already, Nell was holding it up, rubbing her cheek against the shoulder. “It's absolutely wonderful.”

“You wear too many neutrals.” Pleasing herself, Lulu tugged and fussed, then stood back to admire the result. “They wash the color out of your face. This brings it in, goes with your coloring. I started on the second one, nice tunic length in a good strong red.”

“I don't know how to thank you. I can't wait to try it on and—”

“They're back,” Lulu hissed, and immediately began shoving Nell toward the door. “Go! Get.”

“You need to toss the salad just before—”

“Yes, yes. Go!”

Nell clutched her new sweater as Lulu slammed the door in her face.

“Serving,” she finished and chuckled all the way to the car.

The minute she got home she stripped off her sweatshirt and slid into the magnificent sweater. Unable to get a satisfactory view from top to bottom, she dragged a chair in front of the mirror and stood on it.

There'd been a time when she'd had dozens of sweaters—cashmere, silk, the softest cottons, the thinnest wools. None of them brought her the sheer joy of this one, handmade by a friend.

Or close enough to a friend, she thought. And payment for a job well done.

She took it off again, folded it lovingly in a drawer.
She would wear it to work on Monday. For now the sweatshirt was a better choice. She had messy work to do.

Her trio of pumpkins waited on a bed of newspapers on her kitchen table. She'd already used a portion of the largest for Lulu's dessert. It only waited to be carved into the appropriate design.

She would make pumpkin bread, she thought, as she began on the second. And pie, cookies. The hulls would serve as decorations on her front porch. Big, fat, scary pumpkins to entertain the neighbors and children.

She was up to her elbows in pumpkin meat and seeds when Zack strolled in the door. “I get to do the third one.” He came up behind her, wrapping his arms tight, nuzzling her neck. “I'm a jack-o'-lantern master.”

“The things you learn about people.”

“Want me to dump the guts for you?”

“Dump them? How would I make a pie?”

“With a can.” His brow furrowed as he watched her slide chunks of pumpkin into a large bowl. “You mean you actually use that stuff?”

“Of course. Where do you think they get the stuff
in
the cans?”

“I never thought about it. Pumpkin factory.” He picked up the knife to start on the third while Nell washed her hands.

“You've obviously led a very sheltered life, Sheriff Todd.”

“If that's so, I can't think of anyone I'd rather have corrupt me. How about when we finish this, we take a drive to the windward side, sit in my cruiser and break a few laws.”

“Love to.” She came back with a Magic Marker and began to draw a hideous face on the first pumpkin. “Everything quiet in the village?”

“It tends to be on Sundays this time of year. Did you get Lulu all set?”

“I did. I didn't realize she'd been married once.”

“Long time ago. Some drifter who worked on the docks for a bit, I'm told. Seems to me I heard it didn't last six months. I guess it soured her on men, because I've never known her to take up with one since.”

“She worked for Mia's grandmother, then her mother.”

“That's right. Lu's kept the reins on Mia as long as I can remember. In fact, thinking about it, Lu's the only one Mia's let hold the reins for very long. Mia had a thing going with Sam Logan—his family owns the hotel. It didn't work out, and he left the island, Jesus, it's been ten years, maybe more.”

“Oh, I see.” Sam Logan, Nell thought. The man Mia had loved once.

“Sam and I hung out together some, back when we were younger,” Zack went on as he hollowed out the pumpkin. “We've lost touch. But I remember that when Sam and Mia were seeing each other, Lulu watched him like a hawk.”

He grinned, remembering it, then pulled the knife out of the heart of the pumpkin.

Nell saw it gleam in the overhead light, she saw it drip. She saw, as a rushing wind filled her head, the blood that stained his shirt, his hands, and pooled like a red river on the floor at his feet.

She made no sound at all as she slid bonelessly from the chair.

“Hey, hey, hey.
Come on, Nell, come on back now.”

His voice was dim, as if they were both underwater. Something cool slid over her face. She seemed to rise from fathoms deep, slowly toward the surface. As her eyes opened, she saw a white mist that rolled away, layer by gauzy layer, until she saw his face.

“Zack!” In terror, she grabbed at him, yanking his shirt to check for wounds. Her fingers felt fat and fumbling.

“Hold on.” He might have laughed at the way she pulled at his buttons if her face hadn't been deathly white. “Lie back down, get your breath.”

“Blood. So much blood.”

“Ssh.” His first reaction when she'd fainted had been panic, and he'd dealt with it as he always did. By doing what came next. He'd picked her up, carried her to the couch, and revived her. Now the penetrating fear she exuded tied knots in his belly.

“I bet you haven't eaten enough to keep a bird alive today, have you? Somebody who cooks as much as you do should learn how to eat regular meals. I'm going to get you a glass of water, something to eat. If you're not feeling steady then, I'm calling the doctor.”

“I'm not sick. I'm not hurt. You were bleeding.” Her hands shook as they ran over him. “There was blood all over your shirt, your hands, the floor. The knife. I saw . . .”

“I'm not bleeding, honey. Not so much as a nick.”
He lifted his hands, turning them to prove it. “Just a trick of the light, that's all.”

“It wasn't.” She locked her arms around him, held on ferociously. “I saw it. Don't touch the knife anymore. Don't touch it.”

“Okay.” He kissed the top of her head, stroked her hair. “I won't. Everything's all right, Nell.”