I also noticed that she was wearing a costume jewelry bracelet—with a gem missing from its inset. That explained that.
“How’s the viola?” I asked her.
“How’s your hairdresser?” she asked me. “Still vomiting up pink hearts?”
There was something about Ophelia’s crabbiness in the face of aggression that I admired, so I just tipped my lovely pink head at her.
There was a gap of time before our next Horizon arrived, and we all awkwardly stood around and talked about how nice the cupcakes were. Except for me, having no cupcake. I also learned that the cupcakes were some sort of inside joke that I did not understand, despite it being explained to me by three people consecutively.
No one mentioned Clemency’s baby bump, for reasons that weren’t clear to me, aside from a guess that if everyone ignored it, it might go away.
The next to arrive was Threadwork, who I could still not quite get used to seeing outside of Clemency’s company. The reason he was late was clear—he was rolling over in his wheelchair, talking to a dark-skinned woman in African garb also rolling over in her own wheelchair. The old dog had picked up a groupie.
“What’s up, everyone? This is Frances—she’s my ladyfriend.”
Frances laughed and said, “I can’t believe you just used the word ‘ladyfriend.’”
“That’s how I roll,” said Threadwork.
Threadwork was emphatically not using his “Threadwork” voice and, in fact, introduced himself as Garrett. While no one else seemed impressed by this, I was having the same reaction I had had the first time I had met him, only now in reverse. I had gotten so used to that tepid Alec Guinness voice of his that now that he spoke in an American accent, it seemed utterly wrong.
But from the looks of it, everyone else was taken aback not by his voice but by Frances.
“You’re not in our guild, are you?” asked Oatcake, with less certainty than I had heard from him to date.
“Oh, no,” said Frances. “In fact, I don’t completely understand what any of this is.”
“Typing All-Stars?” asked Kurt.
“I don’t know what that is,” said Frances agreeably. “All these people in amazing costumes. I just met Garrett at my hotel, and one thing led to another.” She trailed off, leaving us to connect the dots ourselves.
“Well,” said Wayne, amused with himself, “the hookers here in Phoenix certainly are specifically tailored!”
Which earned him a hard punch in the arm from Tambras. Ophelia, rather. Although I do consider her more Tambras-like while she’s punching someone.
“I’m kidding,” whelped Wayne, who certainly took a punch like an elf. I shouldn’t be too smug, though, because I thought his joke was pretty funny, and I had to stifle a smile to avoid getting smacked in round two.
Frances did not seem to mind, however. She seemed, well, happy. “Forget it. It’s just that Garrett and I have so much in common, it feels wrong to at least not spend the day together.”
“Or the whole weekend,” said Threadwork.
From the anticipatory look on Frances’s face, I had the awful feeling that this was going to spiral into some sickly sweet new lovers annoying everyone with their treacly nonsense soon, and so I said, realizing it only as I said it:
“You’re here for the convention on teaching Swahili!”
“Ndiyo,” said Francis, which I assumed was Swahili for “yes.”
“You’re ditching the conference for this?”
“Well,” considered Frances, “a bit, yes. But I’m teaching Garrett Swahili, so I figure that mitigates it a little. He’s very good at mimicry.”
I thought about the veering inconsistency of Threadwork’s accent and said, “Not that good.”
At which point Tambras socked me. The woman was a walking beatstick. Probably years of playing second fiddle (ho!) to violinists. I was amused enough at this joke that I considered saying it aloud, but I decided that it would only get me socked again.
Instead, Garrett said. “Are those cupcakes? How lovely!”
And his Threadwork voice was there again, just around the edges. He can move fast for a guy in a wheelchair, and before anyone could object, he and Frances were each eating cupcakes. Well, damn.
Oraova, the drunken fire mage, arrived in a Megadeth T-shirt that was so lame that I assumed it had to be ironic, and apologized to everyone, explaining that he was extremely hungover. This looked to be true. He looked exactly like I had imagined him looking—lean and mean and with very badly cut hair.
At this point, we were all here except for Chtusk and Orchardary. And Jonah, obviously, but no one was much expecting him to show. I was eyeing that last cupcake, which really did look pretty good, but the damned bug showed up.
Chtusk was a plain-looking girl, with long, straight, almost waist-length hair that managed to be both very simple and yet somehow very badly cared for. She was wearing a green heather T-shirt, which hung over her limply. Kate Moss thin, this girl, like a ghost. But not in the way that guys find alluring. She seemed like your classic wallflower.
It took me a double take to put it together, but this was the girl from the fish-eye lens.
“Hello, everyone,” she said, even meeker than I had expected. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here.”
We all looked at her blankly.
“That was a joke,” she explained. “Are those cupcakes?”
I nearly knocked the cupcake out of her hand, but what could I do? Scarbati ruin everything.
“You ditched me the other night,” I told her, quietly enough not to embarrass her in front of everyone but forcefully enough to let her know that I wasn’t past having Tambras punch her by request. “And you abandoned me at my own doorstep. What’s your story, lady?”
“I did,” she said quietly. “You and I should talk after this.”
Which appeased me for the moment. We waited around for what felt like forever for Orchardary to show up, but it never happened.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I’m proposing,” said Oatcake, “that now that we’ve buffed ourselves up on cupcakes, we now all go out to the bar and drink a beer in the honor of the man who brought us here.”
“It’s ten o’clock in the morning,” said Threadwork.
“And a beer costs eight dollars,” said Wayne, who, nice suit or not, had a budget.
“This is my proposal,” repeated Oatcake, saying it in such a way that it sounded less like a proposal and more like a vague threat. This was how guild leadership worked.
I quickly sent a text to Charice, signaling that this was the time. It would take a moment for her to get in place, and so in the meantime I would need to stall a little bit.
“Before everyone runs off, I have something important I want to say.”
The eyes of the Horizons turned toward me, and it was not pleasant. Let’s face it, I was a stranger keeping them away from midmorning beer. It was especially intimidating because I didn’t have anything important to say. I was just bullshitting until Charice was ready.
I led off with flattery.
“I didn’t know Jonah as you did, but this whole trip has meant more to me than I can say. The immense kindnesses you’ve shown me over the past week—arranging Jonah’s funeral, sharing stories about him with me, and of course welcoming me as one of your own—has been an amazing experience.”
“Who is this person again?” I heard Oraova discreetly ask. I looked up to the balcony, and no, Charice was still not there.
“Thank you, Dahlia,” said Clemency, and with this the crowd began immediately to disperse.
“I’m sorry, just one more thing. Two more things.” Where the hell was Charice? “Jonah’s parents wanted me to quote a few lines in his honor.”
This worked. Everyone stood obediently. I just didn’t have any lines to quote. My head went blank. It was as if I was in the second-grade talent show all over again.
After an expectant stare, I quoted the f
irst thing that popped into my head.
“‘This, Children, is the famed Mongoose. He has an appetite abstruse.’”
Heads nodded respectfully, if a little confused.
“‘Strange to relate, this creature takes a curious joy in eating snakes. All kinds, though, it must be confessed. He likes the poisonous ones the best.’”
More nods.
“‘From him we learn how very small a thing can bring about a Fall.’”
I was getting squints now, but they at least they were still.
“‘O Mongoose, where were you that day, when mistress Eve was led astray?’” I quoted, noting that, thank God, Charice was waving at me now from the balcony above.
“‘If you’d but seen the serpent first, our parents would not have been cursed. And so there would be no excuse for Milton, but for you, Mongoose.’”
There was a golf clap from Threadwork.
“It was one of Jonah’s favorite poems, or so I was told.”
“Who told you that?” asked Tambras.
I ignored this entirely reasonable question. “I do have one last bit of news about the spear.” And this piqued them. I paused for a moment, savoring the complete command I suddenly had over the Horizons. “I have been in contact with Left Field Games and they have verified that the spear… was taken by a gold farmer—in this case, Hungarian. It is presently posted at an off-site auction house. The current bid is nine hundred dollars—if you’re interested, I can give you information on how to bid. I’m sorry.”
Charice was taking pictures of the group from above as I scanned their faces for a reaction. Everyone should be shrugging their shoulders, given that this is exactly what everyone had expected. Everyone except for the thief, whom I hoped would have some sort of visual reaction to my stealing the spear for myself. And everyone was nonchalant. Mostly they seemed happy that I wasn’t quoting nonsense poetry.
Except for Tambras aka Ophelia the violist.
Charice had filmed the thing from above so I could study the faces more closely. But I didn’t need it.
I pulled Ophelia aside as the Horizons ambled down to the nearest bar, which was conveniently still in the convention center.
“You were expecting me to say something else, Ophelia?”
I wish I could include some witty repartee here, some amazing bit of deduction where I wheedled out of Ophelia that she had stolen the spear—while she, all the while, continued to weave a bewildering web of lies that my deductions slowly broke through. But none of this happened. She just socked me in the arm.
“You jackass,” she said.
I liked Ophelia. I really did. I didn’t quite understand why she was interested in Kurt, or why she had stolen the spear, and as it was socially acceptable to ask only the latter of these two questions, that was what I did.
“I was trying to smoke you out,” I told her.
Ophelia grimaced at me. “How did you know it was me?”
“You came to visit Saint Louis two weeks ago to visit Kurt. You went to go see the Saint Louis Opera Theater’s production of Peter Grimes. The spear went missing when you were in town.”
Ophelia just looked at me, impressed.
“Why did you come in secret?” I asked. “Jonah never knew that you were involved with Kurt.”
“It’s embarrassing,” said Ophelia. “Starting a romantic relationship with a guild mate who lives across the country. That was the first time I had ever actually met Kurt, so it could have been a disaster.”
“I see. You also lost this,” I told her, handing her the gem. “It was in Kurt’s… place.” I was not about to explain that I had found it in Kurt’s car.
“Oh, gods,” said Ophelia. “Kurt made this for me with a BeDazzler. I thought it was just good, clean, ironic fun, but he seems to think I should wear it. Keep the gem. Every gem that falls off of it is a gem closer to me throwing it away.”
“Why did you do it?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t wear it most of the time. But I figure it’s a small thing that would make Kurt happy, and it’s not like people aren’t wearing tackier things here.”
“Forget the BeDazzler, Ophelia. Why did you steal the spear?”
“That’s pretty obvious, I should think. I stole it because Jonah was being a jerk to roll for it in the first place. It should never have gone to him. It was infuriating.”
“So Kurt logged you in to his account when you came out to visit?”
“Oh, Kurt had nothing to do with it. We just came by the apartment one day while Jonah was at work. Kurt was taking a shower, and Jonah had left himself logged in to the game. I wasn’t planning it. It was just one awful impulse. I wished I hadn’t done it almost immediately.”
“You did take the time to write that nasty note, though. ‘What comes around goes around.’”
Ophelia blinked at me.
“What?”
“‘What comes around goes around.’ It was a note that Jonah was sent immediately after the spear was stolen.”
“I didn’t send a note.”
“Someone sent a note,” I told her. I wasn’t exactly accusing her, but I was a little confused. It wouldn’t make any sense for her to cop to the theft and deny sending a note afterward. But if not Ophelia, then who?
“I don’t know,” said Ophelia. “Not my problem. Anyway, I probably would have eventually given it back to Jonah, but then he died, and there was all that nicety and free tickets from beyond the grave. Which I still kind of think is bullshit, somehow. But even so, what else could I do?”
There was a pause, and I had expected Ophelia to ask whether I was going to tell everyone that she had taken it. But she didn’t, and I could tell from her body language that she didn’t much care about the issue. She looked happy and relieved, glad to have gotten the story off her chest.
I chatted with her for a few minutes more and left her to return to the Horizons, where she could finish drinking with her friends. Even with all these folks around, I was drinking alone. I was at journey’s end. I had recovered the spear, found the culprit, and earned every bit of my money. So, why did I feel so sad about it—or so I felt the bartender should have asked me. There was no denying that there was something anticlimactic about Ophelia’s tossed-off confession. Although the truth was, I think I would have found anything dismaying, even if Ophelia had wrestled me to the ground all the while screaming, “I’m innocent, you wench! I’m innocent!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It was in this doldrums that Chtusk found me. I was only drinking water—four-dollar water, mind you—but I was sitting alone at the bar with a facial expression that suggested that it was vodka.
“I’m sorry I keep running from you. It’s really not very like me at all.”
Chtusk was stammering and embarrassed. She wasn’t very buglike at all, I realized. More like a rabbit. And running did seem like her. She looked like she wanted to run now.
But I was suddenly tired and didn’t feel like talking to her. “What do we need to talk about?”
She was probably too self-absorbed to tell, but my heart was not remotely in the question. I had the spear, I had the thief—what did I care about what Bug Girl had to say to me?
“I’m Lurleen.”
I blinked at her.
“That’s why I wanted to avoid you. I’m Lurleen. The Lurleen.” She looked down at the floor.
I knew two people in this life named Lurleen. One was a former governor of Alabama, who ran for office with the slogan “Vote for Lurleen, but Let George Do It!” George being her husband, who had been governor for so long that he had run into term limits. The other was Lurleen Rice, the dental hygienist that Erik, my ex, had cheated on me with for at least eight months. I should have guessed something was going on from his biweekly cleanings.
Truth be told, I wasn’t fond of either Lurleen, but at least Lurleen Wallace was a product of her time. Lurleen Rice was just a whore.
I think her next line was something about wantin
g to come clean and make amends. I don’t completely know because I couldn’t hear her over the sudden rage that was overpowering me. Flames on the side of my face, as Madeline Kahn said. I also kept looking at her, my detective’s eye suddenly coming out when I would have preferred it to sit this round out, and it asked, “Erik left you for her?”
Not that I’m that great shakes. I could stand to lose a few pounds, and mostly in my face. But Lurleen. She was older than me. And she was so plain-looking. With that oversized T-shirt hanging off her thin, shapeless body, she looked like she could be wearing the uniform of a particularly unimaginative cult. I had imagined “the hygienist”—as I preferred to call her—as a shapely blonde, with oversized boobs and maybe a sexy gap in her middle teeth, like Lauren Hutton. Somehow that was better.
“I got dumped for this?” I thought—or I thought I thought. Apparently, I said it aloud. Again, flames, nostrils, heaving.
“I don’t want to focus on the past,” said Lurleen. “I just feel really badly for the way Erik and I took advantage of you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
If Chtusk had kept talking, I swear to God that there might have been a catfight. Possibly with actual cats. If one had been nearby, I certainly would have thrown it at her. Check to make sure that I’m okay? I was an inch away from yelling for Tambras and punching her in the gut, but suddenly my detective bits just started taking over. I was asking questions that I hadn’t really even intended to ask.
“Everyone else got spears,” I told her. “Orchardary’s was sent back, because she is not a real person. Or at least, not the person she claimed. But you got none at all.”
This question disarmed her a little. “What? That’s not really important,” she said. “The important thing is that I give you the apology that you deserve. I behaved abominably.”
“Why did Jonah not give you a spear? Because you were too new? Did that make you angry?” Angry enough to kill? I wondered, then instantly put the question out of my head. Lurleen was a wallflower obsessed with getting my forgiveness. Whatever she was, she wasn’t Jonah’s murderer.
The Unfortunate Decisions of Dahlia Moss Page 22
