As we walked together from one snow-covered surface to the next, I felt his arm on my elbow and his gaze on my face. The weather aside, I was warm and happy in a way I'd almost forgotten after so many years apart.
Back at the hardware store, we had takeout pizza for dinner and each other for dessert. Just before midnight, he walked me to the darkened coffee shop. I leaned into him, reluctant for the day to end.
But it had to end. I had a mountain of freelance work, and I'd already promised Crystal that I'd open the store on Monday morning so she could keep an appointment with her hairdresser.
"If I promise to behave," he whispered into my hair, "will you let me stay?"
"Heck no," I said. "You're way too distracting." I pressed up against him. "And I mean that in the nicest way."
His arms closed around me, pulling me close. "Call me tomorrow?"
I nodded, and after one frantic parting kiss, I made my way into the closed coffee shop and up into my apartment.
It wasn't easy, but I forced myself to focus on my other job. Whatever happened, I wasn't about to lose it for missing yet another deadline. I worked until three in the morning and fell into bed, wishing I weren't alone.
A few hours later, I dragged myself out of bed, showered, and made my way downstairs, where I opened the coffee shop and spent the early morning rushing from one coffee order to the next. In the middle of the late-morning lull, the door jingled. I looked up.
It was Conrad.
Chapter 80
I froze, watching Conrad limp into the shop, carrying a small bouquet of spring flowers. He was dressed as immaculately as ever, but his face was a mess of bruises and scrapes. I saw a bandage above his eyebrow and gauze wrapped around both of his hands.
When he saw me behind the counter, he moved slowly toward me, not meeting my gaze.
I scanned the store. Other than a couple of coffee drinks who had wandered to the book room, the store was empty. I fought to keep my voice level. "What happened to you?" I said.
"Hell if I know. One minute, I'm lying in bed. The next minute, I'm lying in some alley." He pushed a hand through his hair. "I dunno what happened – sleep walking, too much to drink, mugged, who knows?" He gave a hollow laugh. "I guess I had that coming, huh?"
Staring at him, my brain churned on overdrive.
Mugged, my ass.
He placed the bouquet on the counter. "I brought you these."
"I don't want them."
"I came to apologize."
"That's not necessary." I reached across the counter to push the flowers aside.
Conrad's gaze drifted to my bandaged hands. "Oh my God," he said. "Did I do that?" His face paled. "Please tell me that's from something else."
"I think you'd better leave," I said.
"Look," he said, meeting my eyes. "I don't blame you. You have every right to be angry."
He was right. I did have every right to be angry. But looking at the guy, conflicting emotions warred in my brain. Someone – and I was pretty sure I knew who that someone was – had beat the snot out of him and left him lying in some alley.
He'd been hurt ten times worse than he'd ever hurt me. And if he hadn't woken up when he did, he might not be standing here at all. Instead, he might be dead of hypothermia or the victim of something more deadly than a random mugging.
He was still talking. "I am so sorry," he was saying for like the tenth time.
"I know," I said, my voice a lot softer than it should have been, given the circumstances.
"How I behaved," Conrad continued, "it was despicable." His gaze shifted from me to his feet. "Most of it's a blur. But from what I remember, it was pretty bad."
I was barely listening. "When exactly were you mugged?" I asked.
He gave a little shake of his head, as if confused by the abrupt change in topic. "I dunno," he said. "Saturday night. Maybe early Sunday morning." He gave another hollow laugh. "I guess I should lay off the alcohol, huh?"
I thought back to Saturday night, working through the timetable in my head. And that's when I knew exactly when this so-called mugging had taken place. So much for a random breakfast run.
"But forget about what happened to me," Conrad was saying. "About what I did to you, I could give a lot of excuses, blame it on the bourbon, or whatever. But the truth is, it was my own fault."
He met my gaze and said, "I guess, if I'm honest with myself, you're the first person I've been interested in for a long while."
Conrad gave me a rueful smile. "Here you are, smart, beautiful, interesting – well, I could go on, but the point is, I probably became more attached than I should've."
Confused, I shook my head. "But we barely know each other."
"I know. I told myself the same thing." His expression became earnest. "But have you ever felt that instant connection with someone?" He probed my face, his eyes hopeful.
When he didn't find what he was looking for, he shook his head. "Forget it. You don't have to answer." Conrad looked off into the distance. "Anyway, when I figured out that it wasn't me you wanted, well, I guess I went a little crazy."
"More than a little," I reminded him.
"I am so sorry," he said, his eyes growing glassy.
I couldn't believe this. I was actually feeling sorry for him. I looked out the window, wondering what I should do. Further contact with him was out of the question, but it wasn't like the guy hadn't already paid for what he'd done.
As soon as he left, Bishop and I were definitely going to have a little chat.
In front of me, Conrad offered up a weak smile. "I don't suppose we can start over?"
"No."
"How about as friends?"
"No."
"Guess I can't blame you." He shrugged. "Look, all I really wanted to say was that I am sorry. If you need any help, you'll call me. Okay?"
"I won't need any help." I looked pointedly at the door. "Now, I'd better get back to work."
Conrad's gaze wandered over the empty coffee shop. "Yeah," he said softly. "I can see you're busy. Don't be a stranger, okay?"
The second he limped out the door, I dialed Bishop's cell phone.
"We need to talk," I said.
Chapter 81
A few minutes later, Bishop strolled into the empty coffee shop. I met him halfway to the door and said¸ "What'd you do to Conrad?"
His gaze catalogued the coffee shop and stopped on the bouquet of flowers, still lying across the counter. "Those from him?" he asked.
"Just answer the question," I said.
"Answer mine first."
I glanced at the flowers. "Oh c'mon, don't tell me you're jealous." I lowered my voice. "After this weekend, you've got to know I’m not interested in him."
"You think that's the problem?"
"It isn't?"
"No," he said. "If that were the problem, I'd deal with it, just like I've been dealing with it."
"What do you mean? How?"
"I've got my ways."
"Yeah, I just bet," I said. "But you're avoiding my question."
"And you're avoiding mine."
"Alright, fine," I said. "Yes, he was here. And yes, those are from him. Are you happy now?"
"What do you think?"
"I think you're the one who mugged him."
"Nope."
I crossed my arms. "So you didn't yank him out of bed, beat the crap out of him, and dump him in some alley?"
"I never said that."
"You did too. Just now."
"No. What I said was I didn't mug him."
"Oh for God's sake," I said. "What's the difference?"
"The difference is, he kept his wallet."
I gave an irritated sigh. "This is exactly why I don’t tell you things."
"Yeah?" His gaze narrowed. "What else aren't you telling me?"
"Nothing. Jeez!" I softened my voice. "Look, I know your heart's in the right place, but you've gotta stop doing stuff like this. Alright?"
"So I'm supposed to l
et it go? Pretend it didn't happen? Is that it?"
"More or less."
"Yeah?" he said. "Well, that's not gonna happen."
"Oh come on," I said. "We've been through this."
"Yeah, we have. And I'm not gonna lie. I've wanted to beat that guy's ass from the first time I saw him looking at you that way."
I threw up my hands. "What way?"
Bishop closed the distance between us. "Like he wants to touch you. To hold you. To love you. To fuck you–"
"Oh come on!"
"But I didn't do anything," Bishop said. "Did I? Because the fact I want to kill anyone who'd want to steal you away, that's my problem. Not his. And not yours."
His voice ground to a low menace. "But when he lays one hand on you, like he did, that's it. Because at that point, it's not just my problem anymore. And there's no fucking way I'm letting him get away with that."
"What are you?" I said. "The great equalizer or something?"
"No," he said. "I'm the guy who didn't do a damn thing when that felon threatened you–"
"Who?"
"Scrufton."
"Scruffy?"
"Whatever the fuck his name is. And I didn’t do a damn thing when three guys started a riot outside your store. And I didn't do a damn thing when two thugs busted into your apartment." His gaze bored into mine. "And you wanna know why? Because you asked me to stay out of it. But enough is enough."
"Wait a minute," I said. "How'd you know about the thing with Scruffy?"
"Your brothers told me."
"I should've known." I shook my head. "I need to solve my own problems, alright?"
"Why?"
"Because what if you're not there someday? What am I gonna do then?"
His jaw tightened. "How do you know I won't be there?"
I looked to the ceiling. The answer was complicated. I loved him. I had never stopped loving him. But why did he have to be so damn difficult sometimes?
"You lied to me," I said.
"About what?"
I gave him a no-bullshit look. "About running out for breakfast."
"I didn't lie. You saw the bag."
"Except," I said, "that wasn't the real reason you left that night. Was it?"
He shrugged. "Think of it as a twofer."
"I don't want to think of it at all."
"Then don't."
My head was swimming. "You know what? We're going in circles again."
"Hey," he said. "It could've been worse. I could've killed him and hid the body."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"I'm just saying."
I reached up to rub the back of my neck." I just need some time to think, alright?"
"About what?"
"Everything."
His voice was flat. "Is this where you take off again?"
"With everything going on?" I glanced outside toward the picketers. "I couldn’t, even if I wanted to."
His voice was tight. "So it's the store that's keeping you here?"
"That's not what I'm saying."
"Then what are you saying?"
"Nothing."
He looked at me a long time, as if trying to read between the lines. He wasn't the only one. At this point, I didn't even know what I was saying. All I knew was things were coming too hard and too fast. The thing with Conrad had rattled me, and if I didn't regroup now, I might never have the chance.
"Just give me a few days," I said. "Alright?"
His eyes were haunted. "If you're planning to leave," he said, "tell me now."
"I'm not gonna leave," I said. "But honestly, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed."
"By me?"
"I don't know. I guess that's part of it."
"And the other part?"
"You do remember that I've got another job, right? Well, I'm really behind." I glanced around the store. "And between that and everything here, I just need a day or two to regroup, that's all."
He gave a tight nod. "Alright."
I brushed my lips against his. "I'll call you in a day or two, alright?"
I missed him the instant he walked out the door, but I hadn't been lying. I did have a lot on my plate. And until I shuffled a few things off that plate, it would be nearly impossible to think clearly about anything.
Just after eleven o'clock that night, I was sitting on my sofa, working at my computer when my cell phone rang. I fumbled for it and squinted at the display. It was Bishop. Smiling in spite of myself, I answered the phone. "Hello?"
"Listen," Bishop said, "I've got some news. I didn't think it could wait."
"What?"
"It's about Harold Scrufton."
"Scruffy?" I said. "What is it?"
"He's dead."
I felt a wave of oddly mixed emotions – shock, pity, and maybe a little fear. Scruffy hadn't died of natural causes. I was sure of it. I sank back onto the sofa.
"It gets worse."
I steeled myself.
"The way it looks," Bishop said, "Gabriel, the guy who works at your store, killed him."
Chapter 82
Early the next morning, I found Crystal sitting in the coffee shop, which was oddly empty, given the time of day. I pulled up a chair next to her.
"I guess you heard about Scruffy?" I said.
She nodded.
"And Gabriel?"
She nodded again.
"How'd you hear?" I asked.
"Officer Jolly came by for coffee," she said.
"What'd he say?"
"It's not good," she said, her voice catching. "Scruffy was killed last night." Her voice became a monotone. "Gabriel did it."
I'd already heard much of the story from Bishop. But that didn't stop me from getting another perspective.
"How do they know it was Gabriel?" I asked.
"When they found Scruffy," she said, "he had a Tarot card knifed to his back." Crystal took a slow drink of her latte. "The Death Card."
"But the Death Card doesn't mean death," I said.
She looked up, meeting my gaze. "Yeah, well, I guess it did this time."
"I don't believe it," I said. "What deck was it?"
"Huh?"
"The Death Card," I said. "Which Tarot deck was it from?"
"Who knows," she said.
"Was it the Crowley one?"
"I don't know," Crystal said. "Why?"
"It's the only deck Gabriel uses."
Some Tarot readers, myself included, have a few favorite decks and switch among them depending on the question at hand. Other readers stick to one deck and one deck only. For Gabriel, that was the Crowley Tarot, a less than comforting deck by any standards.
"You really think he'd stab someone with his favorite deck?" Crystal said.
"I don't think he'd stab someone at all," I said. "It all sounds pretty circumstantial to me."
"There's a 911 call too."
I caught my breath. "From Scruffy?"
"Oh yeah," she said. "Scruffy placed the call late last night, said Gabriel had come to get him." Crystal put the cup to her lips, but didn't drink. "By the time the police showed up, Scruffy was dead."
"Scruffy called 911?" I said. "Doesn't that seem strange?"
"What would you do," Crystal asked, "if someone were chasing you around with a butcher knife?"
I didn't answer.
By noon, the store's parking lot was filled with satellite news trucks, doing live shots from the storefront. With more gawkers than actual business, we gave up and closed for the day.
Together, Crystal and I holed up in our apartments, watching the news and trying to come up with a game plan. The coverage was as bad as I feared. For the tenth time, I watched the replay of Gabriel with his hands around Scruffy's neck. Finally, I turned off the TV and tried to focus on my other job.
Bishop had practically begged to come over, but I hated the thought of getting him involved. The way he solved problems, yeah, it was effective, but not in any way I'd appreciate.
When
the parking lot emptied of news trucks, I dashed out to the police station. When I asked to see Gabriel, my request was declined in a way that left little room for encouragement.
By the time we re-opened on the next day, the parking lot was mostly empty, except for the stray news van. But with nothing to see, even the reporters soon lost interest.
The jailbird picketers were gone because with Scruffy dead, there was no one to pay them. The Wiccan picketers were gone because with Gabriel in jail, there was no one to lead them. The only regular who remained was Darren, who shoveled the sidewalk for a jumbo mocha. Other than that, the store was eerily vacant.
One of our few remaining customers was Officer Jolly, who told me that the Tarot card knifed to Scruffy's back had come from the Rider-Waite Tarot deck.
"But that's the most popular deck in existence," I told him. "You can buy it almost anywhere."
"Doesn't matter where he got it," Officer Jolly said. "You worried about a lawsuit?"
"That's not what I'm getting at," I said. "The whole time I've known Gabriel, I've never seen him use that deck."
"Maybe not for fortune telling." Officer Jolly took a long sip of his coffee. "No telling what deck he likes for stabbing."
The next day brought more of the same, an empty store and not much else. I could've spent the empty hours lobbying for the law repeal. But I didn't have the nerve.
I could've spent the empty hours with Bishop. But with everything going on, I figured my sulking was best done in private. So he'd been calling, and I'd been putting him off, even as I longed to be wrapped in his arms and carried away by sweet oblivion.
Thursday morning, I ambled downstairs to find Crystal behind the coffee bar, reading a typewritten letter. Her hands were trembling.
"What's wrong?" I asked. "Other than the obvious?"
"We've had an offer on the business."
"From who?"
"Gary."
I felt my temper rise. That guy had been nothing but trouble. "How much was the offer?" I asked.
"Half of what I paid for it," Crystal said.
"You're not considering it? Are you?"
Gazing at the letter, Crystal shook her head.
"But it's got you down?" I asked.
Illegal Fortunes Page 33
