Yesterday's Stardust (15 page)

“She’s just a kid.” Green Eyes blew smoke directly at the man.

“Too bad. She’s seen too much.”

Green Eyes crushed his cigarette in an ashtray. “She came in handy.”

“I bet she did.” The gray-haired man’s laugh echoed off concrete walls.

“When that cop stopped us, she played him big time, convinced him I was her big brother teaching her how to drive. Even got him to laugh. The guy forgot all about looking in the back of the truck.”

“So you made a smart decision to take her along, but we don’t need her now.”

Green Eyes glanced her way. “What if we just keep her?”

Spine straightening, Francie leaned forward, arms wrapped around her churning stomach.

Green Eyes nodded. “A little hush money could go a long way. She’s got nothing. Dirt poor folks. We take her to her sister’s, keep her supplied with everything a gal could want, and use her when we need a dame for cover.”

The gray-haired man shoved his chair back, stood, and walked over to the cage. “You listening to all this, sweetheart?”

Francie nodded, sure she’d vomit if she opened her mouth.

“What d’ya think? You good at keeping secrets?”

Her eyes felt stuck wide open. She nodded with more force than before. Whatever they asked, she’d agree to, as long as it got her to Suzette’s.

The man tapped a finger on the end of his nose. “Do you understand there’d be consequences if you told anyone about our little business venture? Consequences to your sister maybe, or your parents? Seems there are things about your Daddy’s farm the authorities might be interested in.”

“There’s a kid,” Baldy added. “Her nephew.”

“Convenient.”

Bile burned her throat. She swallowed hard. She would not give this man the satisfaction of seeing how scared she was. “I understand.” Her words rasped in her tight throat.

“So we have a deal then. Tag here seems to be sweet on you, so I’ll put him in charge. He’ll take you to your sister. I’m thinking maybe you’ll have to play it like you two got a thing for each other so’s your sister doesn’t wonder where all the pretty things are coming from. You got yourself a rich boyfriend, girly, without even tryin’. When we need you, Tag’ll just come ‘round and pick you up for a little romantic getaway.”

Grasping the bars of the cage, Francie pulled to a stand. Her gaze locked on Green Eyes. So his name was Tag. Strange name. Probably not his real one. He stared back at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. His lips pursed. He kissed the air and winked.

Francie felt suddenly warm.

How bad could working with him possibly be?

R
ena stood out of sight in Bracciano’s empty dining room, gaze riveted to the front window. Pulling her phone from her apron pocket, she tried to control the jerking of her fingers as she punched Jarod’s number. “Answer. Answer,” she whispered, praying his phone was on silent.

Outside Nicky pointed toward the far end of the garage building, and Dani followed him. Just as they disappeared around the corner, Jarod answered.

“My brother’s coming around the back of the garage.”

Jarod responded with a whispered curse and broke the connection.

Why was she protecting him? If he got caught, he’d go to jail and she’d be free.

Unless he brought her down with him.

Flying through the swinging doors, Rena dashed through the kitchen. “Hi, Dad, be right back. Front’s empty.” She flashed a fake smile and pounded up the stairs, down the hall, and into her father’s bedroom. Bending down, she pressed the top of her head against the screen, straining to see the garage next door.

From this angle, she couldn’t see a thing. But if she held her breath, she could just barely make out words.

“…in there?” Dani asked.

“I’ve wanted to know…” Her brother’s voice faded.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. “Jarod?”

“I’m inside.” His voice was low, breathless, the way he used to talk when he called her in the middle of the night to say he missed her. He hadn’t done that in months, and now the voice gave her the wrong kind of chills. “Let me know when they leave.”

“You didn’t leave anything outside, did you? Anything they’d—”

“What kind of”—she held the phone away from her ear while he spewed his favorite words—“do you think I am?” The clock on Dad’s dresser clicked four times. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

Trust? You won’t even tell me what it is you’re hiding in there.
“I’m just worried about you. I want you safe.” The lie left a bitter aftertaste.

“I got everything. It’s clean.”

Clean.
Like a person finally off drugs. “They’re leaving. Walking toward the street.”

“Okay. I’m going home.” He didn’t bother saying “I love you.” Again.

She turned away from the window and headed for the stairs, ready to act like nothing was wrong.

Even though everything was.

“It’s midnight in the Midwest. Hope you’re with the one you love in this first minute of Friday, and if you’re not, I hope you’re enjoying a ‘simple little kind of free’ like John Mayer. This is ‘Perfectly Lonely.’”

Nicky sang along as he fed pasta dough into the cutter. The lyrics spoke of belonging to no one. The song usually left him feeling free. Tonight it just made the night seem heavy. He turned off the machine and shut off the radio.

The music didn’t stop. Muffled guitar chords filtered through the vents. Rena’s voice rose above the sweet, clear notes. He walked to the foot of the stairs.

Two steps up, he recognized the song. The words lodged beneath his ribs like a fist.

“Shed a tear at your grave today/a single crystal drop/then I stood and watched it hit the stone/catch light and fade away…”

He waited for her to finish then walked upstairs. Rena sat on the floor, eyes closed as she tuned the strings. Nicky leaned on the doorframe. “Sounded good.”

“Thanks.” She swiped at damp cheeks. “They’re having a memorial for Miguel down at the beach tomor—” She glanced at the time on her radio. “Tonight. I traded shifts so I can go. I thought maybe I’d sing it.”

She hadn’t answered any of his questions all week. Would she close up now if he tried again? He walked over to the bed and sat on the floor facing her. “How well did you know him?”

“Not very well. I’m kind of friends with China, his girlfriend.”

“Can I ask why you didn’t want to go to the funeral?”

Rena stared at her fingernails. “Miguel’s parents were really nasty to China. We stayed away because of her.”

“‘We’ as in you and Jarod?” Acid rose in his throat along with the name. “Or you and Trish?”

“All of us.” She reached behind her for a tissue and blew her nose. “A bunch of us kind of stick together. Take care of each other, you know?”

He knew. His chest burned with what he knew. “People are saying Miguel was one of the Sevens. Is that true?”

She shrugged and tossed the crumpled tissue at a black wastebasket. “I heard that, too.”

Nicky wrapped his arms around bent knees and waited until her eyes finally wandered back to him. “Are
you?” Dear God, let her say no.

“No.” She gave a soft laugh that neutralized the pain beneath his sternum. “You’re slipping. You used to know everything going on around here. The Sevens are only guys. No girls allowed.”

“Thank the Lord for that.”

“Yeah.” She ran the edge of her thumb across the strings. “Can’t really see myself carjacking.”

“Me neither.” He picked a beaded bracelet from the floor. Red, white, and green. A nagging feeling, like the warning of distant thunder, fluttered in his belly. “Funny. We’re talking about the Sevens and I find a bracelet with their colors.” The cords on the sides of his neck stiffened until they hurt.

Rena laughed again. “Those are
Christmas
colors. Man, are you paranoid.” She swiveled toward her dresser, opened her bottom drawer, and pulled out a pair of socks. Red, white, and green. White snowmen, holly leaves, on a red background. “It matches these.”

Totally unconvinced, he nodded. “Danielle Gallagher was across the street today.”

Rena picked up a yellow plastic guitar pick. “I saw you talking to her.”

“Did you know she interviewed Miguel’s girlfriend?”

“Yeah. She’s doing another story on crazy teenagers or something, huh? What were you and reporter lady doing out back?”

“A friend of hers is a photographer. He’s going around taking pictures of graffiti. ‘Wall art’ he calls it.”

“Some of it’s kind of pretty.”

“Those kids need to get a life. There’s nothing pretty about vandalizing somebody’s property.” He stared at her, watching for any sign of guilt.

She stared right back. “It’s nice we have Todd around so much. Nobody would dare do anything to our place.”

“Is that what it is? Is that why they leave us alone? Or is it because you live here?”

Her eyes shot wide. Her fingers whitened on the neck of the guitar. “Get. A. Grip.” She metered it out as if he didn’t speak the language. “You gotta quit thinkin’ stuff like that. You’re gonna drive yourself crazy.”

Nicky ran his hands over his eyes. “You know why I go nuts on you sometimes.”

“I know.”

“Raising you hasn’t been a piece of cake.” He threw the socks back.

“But you’ve done a good job. Now it’s time to retire.”

“You wish.” He shook his finger at her. “When you’re married. Maybe.”

“That’s exceptionally demeaning and sexist, even for you.”

“It’s the truth. At least around here. I won’t feel like you’re safe until you have some six-foot-twelve, four-hundred-pound guy looking after you.”

As she laughed, he weighed the next question. “Which brings us back to the conversation that didn’t go so well last week. Can we talk about Jarod?”

“Not now. Maybe after tonight. I’ve got too many emotions going on right now.”

“Fine.” He slapped his knees and stood.

“You do that just like Dad.”

“What?”

“The knee slap thing.”

“That’s exceptionally demeaning, even for you.” Ruffling her hair, he said good night. He walked into the hallway then turned back. “It was nice to hear you play again.”

She strummed a chord. “I should have closed my door. I didn’t think you could hear me over the radio. That song has to get to you.”

“It does.” He ran his hand along a spot of patched plaster in the hall. “But it’s a good one. You should write more. Maybe a happier one.”

“Yeah. Maybe I will.”

Halfway down the stairs he heard her say “Someday.”

Rena curled in a ball on the bare mattress. The cold from the stone walls seeped into her. In the hesitant light from her lantern, she stared at the four streaks above the door. They’d once scared her. She’d been sure the dark brown stains were blood. Now they were simply a part of her hiding place. She turned off the lantern to save the battery and welcomed the darkness. Jarod had left the little room a mess. Beer cans littered the floor. She felt violated all over again. It was her place, hers alone. She never should have let him in.

Tears ran across the bridge of her nose. She didn’t even know who she was crying for anymore. It had started with Miguel and moved on to every loss she’d ever experienced, including her mother. She’d once told Jarod she sometimes cried for her mother. He’d laughed. “Don’t waste your tears on somebody who ditched you.” It was the last little part of her heart she’d tried to share.

God, can you hear me?
Did thick stone walls, or doubt, block her words?

She had to do something. She’d go somewhere. Maybe China would take her with her.

Is that why they leave us alone? Or is it because you live here?

If she left home, or even just left Jarod, the restaurant wouldn’t be protected and neither would she. She picked up her phone and called her best friend. Trish answered with a sleepy voice and stayed silent as she spoke her fears out loud and searched for a way out.

When she finally ran out of words, Trish sighed, loud and harsh. “Don’t be stupid, Ren.” Her voice raked exposed nerves. “Jarod’s your force field. He’s what’s standing between you and what happened before. You’re not going anywhere, and you know it.”