Deadly Blessings (19 page)

Sophie’s face crumpled in on itself,
reddening as she tried in vain to stem the tears again. Helena took
her by the shoulders and Bruno extracted his arm in a smooth
movement. He turned to me and smiled, effectively cornering me into
conversation.

“
Alexandrine, isn’t
it?”

“
I’m surprised you
remember.”

“
You were a friend to
Sophie when she needed you. It would be more unlikely that I would
not remember.”

“
I know Sophie is happy you
were able to come, Father,” I said. “She hoped you
would.”

“
I’m certain your presence
here is as welcome as mine. How are you? Everything going well in
your life?”

“
Well, no. And yes.” I shot
him a grin and launched into my charade. I might as well strive for
consistency. “I lost my job. I kinda knew I would, but it still hit
me when it happened.”

His brows furrowed.

“
That’s the bad news. The
good news is I asked Sophie if maybe she’d talk to her boss for me.
See if there’s any place for me where she works.”

“
Well, that is good news.”
He smiled, in a distracted, thoughtful way.

Conjuring up a look of concern, I bit my
lip. “Is that okay? I mean, it just dawned on me this minute that
you might not be happy about it. If that takes away a job opening
that you can use for one of the kids from Europe …” I let the
sentence hang for just a second before interrupting myself. “I
never thought of that till just now. I can really use the job, but
I don’t want to mess things up.”

“
No, that’s quite all
right, my dear. Good luck in the new job. I know you’ll do
well.”

A lineup of women waited to talk to the good
father. I made my excuses and left. The prayer vigil and subsequent
chitchatting left me no time to stop home, and I headed straight to
meet Dan.

Sitting here in the booth now, my stomach
made another insistent growl, causing Dan to cock an eyebrow at me.
It was so loud I wondered if the waitress heard, because an instant
later she stood at the table’s side, pen poised over her order pad.
What I wanted was a Reuben sandwich, fries and an iced tea, but I’d
already downed a cup of coffee and it was pretty late at night for
heavy food.

“
I’ll take two eggs, over
hard, with rye toast,” I said. “And bacon.”

Our waitress turned to Dan. He shook his
head. She eyed our half-empty mugs and headed back toward the
kitchen.

“
I thought we were just
here for coffee,” Dan said. “I didn’t know you were going to
eat.”

I shrugged, in an effort to dismiss his
complaint. What difference did it make? “Oh, here,” I began,
digging into my purse for Dan’s keys.

“
Not yet,” Dan said,
reaching forward, touching my hand. From the look on his face, it
was more a restraining move than a romantic one.

“
What’s with
you?”

He smiled. “I just don’t want you to get the
wrong idea. I wanted to sit and talk a while. If that’s all
right?”

“
Sure,” I said, adding a
tiny bit of half and half to the coffee. It didn’t make a dent in
the deep brown liquid, so I added more. “What’s up?”

Dan made an effort at small talk, asking
polite questions about the shake up at the station, and about
William in particular. I could tell something important was on his
mind. A pair of lines formed between his eyebrows, a sure sign of
his concentration. His eyes held mine, in a way that used to make
my heart beat faster, but now, even the neat symmetry of his face,
the model-perfect look he wore with grace and style wasn’t enough
to even give me pause. I got the feeling he wasn’t concentrating on
my simple answers to his questions; he seemed to be elsewhere.

He leaned forward, arms resting on the
speckled silver tabletop, “Whose wake did you go to tonight?”

“
I told you, a friend’s
brother.”

“
What was his
name?”

“
Why?”

My food arrived, the heavy stoneware plate
thudding as the waitress dropped the end one second too early. I
watched the steam rise from the buttery fare, and thought the shiny
grease on the hash browns was about the best thing I’d seen all
day. Starting in, I forked in a mouthful of eggs, then salted them
lightly before moving on.

Dan didn’t seem to be in any hurry to answer
my inquiry.

“
Why are you asking me?” I
repeated.

The expression on his face was one of muted
anger. “Because,” he said, leaning back in the booth and folding
his arms across his chest, “I think you’re still on that Milla
Voight story and you’ve been lying to me all along.”

Anger rose up with such vehemence and such
power, that I dropped my fork with a clatter.

“
What the hell is wrong
with you?”

“
You went to Matthew
Breczyk’s wake, didn’t you?”

“
And what if I
did?”

“
You’re still working the
story.”

We were getting progressively louder and I
hissed for him to keep our voices down, then added, “I’m not.”

“
Then why the hell were you
there?”

“
That’s
none of your goddamn business.” I said, thinking,
asshole
.

“
I think you owe me an
explanation.”

My stomach squirming, I looked down at the
food. All of a sudden it looked like mishmash swimming in a pool of
grease. I couldn’t touch another bite.

“
No,” I
said, with as much calm as I could muster, “but
you
owe me.” I stood up,
bright lights of anger going off like flashbulbs in my head. “This
one’s your treat. I’m outta here.”

I grabbed my purse and was out the door in
an instant, my mind registering at once that Dan hadn’t followed
me.

I wanted him to, and it bothered me that I
did. Not because of any hoped-for reconciliation, but for some
tangible evidence that I’d ever meant anything to him.

My car was parked at the far end of the
small parking lot. I stopped at my back bumper and turned around.
It was cold. It was dark. And the surrounding area was silent,
except for the buzz of the restaurant’s neon sign and the hum of
the streetlights above.

Supremely pissed, I jammed my fists into my
sides, and stood there a long moment, imagining all the scathing
comments I should have made if I would’ve thought of them before I
stormed out. A quick, cool breeze drew past me, lifting the ends of
my hair, almost in a caress. I blew out a breath of frustration and
watched as it swirled and dissipated into the night air. He wasn’t
worth the energy I expended on him.

Deep down, I knew I was better off that we’d
gone our separate ways. I supposed the thing that bothered me most
of all was that he didn’t realize I’d had such a change of heart.
That I was glad we broke up. Part of me wanted to ram that
knowledge down his scrawny little throat. But my more logical, less
emotional side fortunately took control and reminded me that his
belief that I still carried a torch for him was no real skin off my
nose. And in time, it would fade.

Deal with it, I told myself.

With that, I got in my Escort and, about to
start the engine, I came across Dan’s keys. I’d forgotten about
them entirely.

I muttered under my breath at my lack of
concentration, and made my way back into the restaurant with his
house and car keys in hand.

The hostess was back at her perch against
the counter, but the look on her face as I walked in was one of
apprehension. Maybe she thought I came back to make a scene. I
smiled at her, hoping to give her reassurance, and started toward
Dan’s table.

And then I understood the waitress’s
reaction.

My side of the booth was now occupied by the
polished blonde in the stunning business suit. She and Dan, their
fingers entwined, were engaged in animated conversation, so much so
that neither noticed until I stood next to the table.

I plastered on my best fake smile. “Hi. I’m
Alex St. James,” I said, extending my hand. To her credit, she let
go of Dan long enough to shake it, though with only the very tips
of her manicured fingers. I got immense pleasure out of the fact
that my sudden appearance seemed to have rendered her speechless.
“And you are?” I asked.

She blinked, shot a furious glance at Dan,
and then her poise returned enough to answer. “Pamela
Ricketts.”

“
Pleasure.”

I turned to Dan, wiggling the keychain high
so that it made a nifty metallic musical sound. “Almost forgot to
give you these.”

Pamela Ricketts said nothing, but if looks
could kill, Dan would be dead on the floor.

Stunned, but somehow cheered, I turned to
leave. Dan grabbed my wrist, effectively stopping me. “The reason I
wanted to meet with you tonight—which I was going to tell you
before you got all huffy—is because I have some information about
that guy, William Armstrong, who just joined your station.”

I pulled my arm out of his grasp.
“Uh-huh.”

“
I know
why he left the
Daily
Times
.”

“
Good for you,” I said, the
big smile still in place. “Have a nice night.” I gave a jaunty
little wave, fought an irresistible instinct to bolt, and took my
sweet time walking out the door.

Chapter Thirteen

Today was going to suck. Big time.

I hit the snooze alarm three times, but
didn’t avail myself of the additional opportunity to sleep. I dozed
a bit overnight, but I never fell into a sound enough slumber that
would provide the attitude and energy I needed to pull my sorry
butt out of bed this morning.

Fingers laced behind my head were now
turning numb, and my gaze fixed on a volcano-shaped crack in the
ceiling. I shivered. In my vain attempts to find the right position
all night to coax myself to sleep, I twisted and turned until my
sheet and blanket looked like some giant had wrung out his wash.
Right now, shucked to the side, the bright rainbow-quilted bed
cover that survived the eighties about as well as I had, did
nothing to protect me from the morning’s chill.

The idea of attending Matthew’s funeral was
enough to make me want to burrow in and forget that I’d gotten
involved in this mess. That and Dan’s new girlfriend. How blind was
I?

I felt emotions swell and, like waves of an
incoming tide sweeping me along though my body remained perfectly
still. I was stunned. The idea that he so casually brought us
together in such an underhanded way, bugged me. If he wanted to go
for a late night tête-à-tête with luscious little Pamela, why
didn’t he just have her there at the table, so we could meet like
civilized folks?

I was hurt, in a vague way. He’d made a
concerted effort to keep Blondie secret and I didn’t understand
why. Although she obviously did.

Mostly I was angry at
myself, for letting the jerk’s actions bother me. And I was annoyed
that he said something about William. Something that led me to
believe that whatever the scoop was on his leaving the
Daily Times
, it was not
going to put him in a good light.

Asshole.

Dan, not William.

I tried to convince myself that Sophie could
get through today without me. I’d so much rather just stay in bed.
Of course, that wouldn’t be fair to Sophie, even if she had good
old Father Bruno there to hold her hand.

Father Bruno. Now there was a man I wanted
to know more about.

My energy thus engaged, I swung my legs
around and planted my feet on the cold wooden floor. It was only
after I started the car to head for the service that I realized it
was a priest who’d gotten me excited enough to get out of bed. I
was starting to scare myself.

* * * * *

“
Hi,” I said, holding my
hands against William’s doorjamb, “Got a couple of
minutes?”

“
Sure,” he said, glancing
up with what seemed like downright disinterest, “what’s
up?”

When William told me that his view out the
window was of the building next door, he didn’t mention that it was
so close-up, so near, that if he broke the picture window and
reached out, he could touch the cool white marble. I never knew
what a lousy vista it was from here. The office’s prior occupant
had been an older guy who swore, complained, and smoked. He kept
the dark drapes pulled across the window’s expanse—always. Now I
knew why. It still smelled faintly of stale cigarettes, and the
formerly white walls had an uneven stain of brown up near the
ceiling where the old guy’s exhalations had settled and left the
equivalent of a tobacco-water line. William kept his back to his
window, which, despite the bland view, was bright. Very bright. He
sat almost in silhouette, until I got up close and moved to a blue
nubby upholstered office chair. Another reservoir of leftover
smoke, it shot a gust up to engulf me as I sat.

“
How do you stand the smell
in here?” I asked.

“
Bass promised me a
cleaning crew would be in one of these days to spiff up the place.”
He shook his head. “Every night I go home, my clothes reek. I’ve
been keeping the dry cleaners happy, let me tell you.”

Like a tantalizing puzzle to be solved, I
studied our Mr. Armstrong. My expertise was reading people. I
excelled at it. Which is how I managed to keep Bass happy—by
providing plenty of in-depth research on a steady stream of
interviewees. But, except for small glimpses into William’s
personality, which I suspected he doled out when the mood struck, I
couldn’t read this fellow, despite my senses being on red alert
every time he was nearby. And he didn’t seem to be in the mood to
dole out much right now.