The Fire and the Veil (Veronica Barry Book 2)

by Sophia Martin

  “What’s wrong with going antiquing?”

  Veronica rolled her eyes.

  Daniel laughed. He loved to get her all riled up. She knew he did. And yet he still succeeded at it every time he tried. What did that say about her? She cracked a grin. He was cute when he laughed like that. And she knew he saw terrible things when he was working. She couldn’t really begrudge him playing with her a little to get a laugh.

  “You better have something nice in mind for tonight,” she conceded.

  He wiggled his eyebrows again, but said nothing.

  She sighed. “Am I at least dressed right for whatever it is?”

  He looked her over, as if his detective’s eyes hadn’t noted the pleated gray skirt, blue paisley blouse and low black heels the moment he saw her. “That should be fine. I do have one question, though.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Do you eat raw fish? Because if you don’t…”

  “Raw fish? Like, sushi? Sure. But will you ever be able to look your clownfish in their shiny little eyes again?”

  “Clownfish never make eye-contact anyway.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “It is now. Tell me, have you ever had a dance lesson?”

  “A dance lesson?”

  “Is there an echo in here?” Daniel asked, smirking at her.

  “What?”

  “You keep repeating everything I say.”

  “I do not.”

  “Do, too.”

  “Oh, this is mature.”

  “Just answer the question,” Daniel prompted. She looked at him blankly. “Have you ever had a dance lesson?”

  “Daniel, you know my aunt, Cybele. You’ve met her. You know I grew up with her. You know she’s a professional dancer. So I’ll ask you, Mr. Homicide Detective. Have I ever had a dance lesson?”

  “Okay… have you ever had a salsa lesson?”

  “Salsa? No. Swing, yes.”

  He grinned. “You should be fine then, there’s just a little more hip action.”

  Suddenly Veronica felt her cheeks warm. “Since when do Koreans go salsa dancing?” she managed.

  “You’re not Korean,” he said, his grin widening.

  She had no response to that. She hadn’t expected to feel nervous like this, out of nowhere. The image that had come to her, of dancing salsa with Daniel… why was she being such a nerd about this? She felt like she was thirteen again, and going on her first date.

  It’s because it means something, she thought. It’s not just salsa dancing. It means he’s planning to kiss me, finally. It means he’s probably thinking about a lot more than that.

  Which, come on, he must have been thinking about, if not from the moment he met her, then at least way back at the hospital, when he first asked her out. Why was she freaking out about this? He was certainly not her first.

  But he was her first in a long time. Her first since Bo Bedragar, three years ago. And that relationship hadn’t gone well at all. One several levels. Not the least of which was in the bedroom. So, okay, yeah. That was it. She was getting all awkward because it had been a while, and the last times, with Bo, were pretty disappointing.

  Jeez, three years, she thought. It’s not like she forgot it had been that long—how could she forget something like that?—but now that it looked like she was actually going to end her epic dry spell, the magnitude of three years made everything all the more overwhelming.

  “You got kind of quiet,” Daniel said, his tone more serious. “Is everything okay? If you don’t want to go dancing, we could just take in a movie—”

  “No,” Veronica said, smiling. She covered his hand with hers. His skin felt so smooth, like silk. Touching him made her stomach do a flip. “No,” she managed. “I want to go dancing. Just… uh… be patient, okay? It may take me a little while to warm up.” If only she had the guts to say what she really meant by that. But by the look in Daniel’s dark eyes, he was all too ready to make inferences, as a joke. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him she was genuinely nervous. It was like the old line: Be gentle with me. She sucked on her lips, forgetting about the gloss for a moment. Then it came back to her and she sighed. “Excuse me for a sec, okay? Powder room.”

  The restroom was for a single occupant and each wall was painted a different color: magenta, green, navy, and turquoise. Veronica angled herself so the navy wasn’t behind her. Her dark hair tended to blend in with the dark paint, and she needed to see herself clearly.

  “Just chill out,” she whispered to her reflection.

  Daniel doesn’t want to hurt you.

  Her breath caught.

  He likes you. He’s concerned right now. He could tell you were upset.

  The ghost voice came through sounding blurred, like it crossed some sort of filter.

  “I’m not upset,” Veronica murmured, looking around. No one was visible.

  The voice was silent.

  “Who is this, anyway? Do I know you?”

  Veronica felt laughter in the air.

  Of course.

  “Who are you?”

  The voice did not respond. Veronica’s gaze searched the room, but it was futile. It was so rare that the spirits showed themselves to her. At the height of the danger Grant Slecterson posed to Angie, she’d gotten full visions from them, like stepping out of reality and into a dream. But apparently dating jitters didn’t warrant that sort of display.

  The voice was familiar. One of the ones she heard the most often. In fact, she was pretty sure that there were a few spirits that just hung out around her all of the time. Or most of the time, anyway. This voice had a female quality to it. Although it was hard to tell. With Sylvia Gomez, Grant’s dead mother, she had recognized her voice because she heard it in visions of Sylvia when she was alive. But when she thought about it, she realized that Sylvia’s voice as a living woman was different from her voice as a spirit. In fact, if she really tried to think about it, she’d have to say that “voice” wasn’t even the right word. The messages she got, that she organized into words in her mind—were they even being sent to her as words? Or something else, that she then interpreted? In any case, gender fell somewhat to the wayside when it came to most of the spirits’ “voices.” She thought this one was a woman. In fact, she suspected she knew who she was. But it would be nice to have it confirmed. It would be nice to know when it was her mother talking to her.

  “Wow, and Mel was complaining about her mother getting into her head,” Veronica muttered.

  She had a sense of that laughter again.

  “Whatever,” she breathed. She quickly reapplied gloss, patted her hair, and walked out of the restroom to join Daniel.

  ~~~

  The salsa bar, Cafe San Paulo, was loud, dark, and crowded, and at first, Veronica found it hard to breathe. When Daniel asked if she wanted a drink, she decided not to mess around with her usual glass of wine. This called for a margarita. The real kind, on the rocks—no pseudo-daiquiri blended stuff. She drank half of it within five minutes and enjoyed the warm feeling it gave her right away.

  Daniel raised an eyebrow, though.

  “It’s just nice to unwind,” she said into his ear.

  “I’m not the only one who had a hard day?”

  “I have a few squirrelly kids,” she said back.

  He smiled and nodded, sipping his own draft beer and then lifting the glass at her. She lifted her margarita and then downed another quarter of it.

  They sat at the bar, facing outwards so they could watch the dance floor. It was only seven o’clock and already a half a dozen couples gyrated and whirled to the music. She could see what Daniel meant about it being similar to swing, with more hip action. Then the thought of him contemplating hip action made her blush. She wished her drink was in a tumbler—a nice cold tumbler—so she could press it to her cheeks. But then, that might be a giveaway that she was feeling flushed.

  She thought about excusing herself to the restroom again as she finished her drink. After all
, between the tequila and the cups of tea she’d had, it made sense that she’d be in and out of the restroom all night, didn’t it? Oh, god. She had to get a grip.

  “Okay, Ronnie,” Daniel said, taking her hand as she opened her mouth to protest the nickname, “let’s get out on the dance floor.” He pulled her so she had to hop off of her stool, and in a moment he had his hand on her hip and he was leading her onto the floor.

  Veronica had to stop worrying: it was all she could do to focus on the movements of the dance. The music was full of rhythm and soon she caught the beat of it, swaying her hips to match it. Daniel held her right hand firmly, and guided her through the turns. He’d obviously done this many times before. Soon she found she could relax and trust that he would lead her through the dance. She liked salsa, she realized.

  The music flowed without a break into the next song, and they kept dancing. He swung her through a kind of whirling dip. It made her pleasantly dizzy. Probably the tequila helped a bit with that, too. She forgot all about her nerves, and got lost in the music and the dancing.

  They only stopped after five more songs. He led her from the dance floor. She felt flushed, but not with embarrassment now, just exhilaration. “I thought you said your feet hurt,” she shouted over the music.

  “My feet know when to shut up,” he said into her ear. “They quit howling when it’s salsa time.”

  “How long have you been coming here?”

  “I started about five years ago,” he answered. “I don’t get out much since I made detective, though. So it’s great to be back tonight. You hungry?”

  She smiled. “Starved,” she said. It seemed like that croissant had disappeared hours before. She checked her phone. It was only seven forty-five. “Are you sure you want to leave, though?”

  “Yeah,” Daniel said. “I really am pretty beat, I’m sorry to say. Let’s go get sushi. We’ll come back here another night.”

  The sushi restaurant he had chosen, Nishiki, was only a few blocks from Cafe San Paulo. The hostess at Nishiki offered them a booth or a spot at the sushi bar. Daniel looked at Veronica with his eyebrows raised, and she chose the bar.

  “Sake?” he asked as he held her chair.

  “No, thanks,” she said. Dancing had done the trick. She felt much calmer now. After all, if she decided she wasn’t ready, she’d just tell him so. Let him think she was weird or whatever. They had a good time together and there was no reason to feel pressured.

  Daniel ordered a Sapporo beer and they gazed at their menus for a few moments. Veronica loved Japanese food. She wondered if it would be bad manners to order the mixed sashimi plate worth $22. A mixed nigiri plate was tempting, too. It was $18. She decided on the latter. She wondered if it was possible to become known as a glutton if you ate a lot of sushi. It was such light, clean food. But then, she imagined that small, delicate Japanese women didn’t eat twelve pieces of sushi in a sitting, plus wakame salad and a bowl of miso broth. Well, she wasn’t a small, delicate Japanese woman. She was a medium-height, curvy woman of French and Italian heritage. Neither of whom were known for having big women, she mused. She’d spent a semester in Paris and she’d actually felt tall there. But still, at least Italian women were known for their curves.

  “I’m getting the chirashi bowl and a side of vegetable tempura,” Daniel announced.

  Quick estimating told her his dinner would cost more than the sashimi plate. “I’ll order the mixed sashimi,” she said with a smile.

  “So,” he said as he set down his menu and gestured to one of the chefs behind the bar. “Tell me about your squirrelly kids.”

  “Ah. Well, I have a few that are just full of freshman energy. Nothing unusual. Most of the kids in French I are freshmen and sophomores. They tend to be sillier than the upperclassmen.”

  “Oh? I’d have thought that all high schoolers were cooler-than-thou.”

  “The freshman are basically still eighth graders until midway through spring, when they realize they’re almost sophomores.”

  “And the sophomores?”

  “Live up to their name. Sophomore means ‘wise fool.’ They think they have everything all figured out. Actually I think some of the sophomores are the worst; they’re completely committed to that teenage rebellion thing.”

  “And it all changes when they get to be juniors?”

  Veronica shrugged. “Lots of them get a summer job before junior year. It’s the first time many of them have ever had to wait on other people for a change. I think it makes a big difference. And developmentally… well, it does seem to make a difference, too. Of course there are often a couple of kids who lag behind and still think it’s funny to say ‘pianist.’ But the rest of the juniors give them the stink-eye for being so immature.”

  “You end up talking about a lot of ‘pianists’ in your French classes?”

  Veronica frowned and wrinkled her nose, not sure what to say to that, but she was saved by the arrival of the sushi chef, who took their order.

  “We got a few new kids just recently,” Veronica said.

  “Angie Dukas,” Daniel offered.

  “Well, yes, of course. But a few others. One of them, a girl, she stands out.”

  “A sophomore?”

  “A junior.”

  “The kind that laughs at ‘pianist’?”

  Veronica shook her head. “No,” she said. “Disruptive though. The first day she came into the room it was like someone threw in a grenade. So much attitude. She slammed her books down on the desk and just glared at me. I didn’t know what to do. I gather they dumped her in the class.”

  “French I?”

  “No, French II. Can you believe it? I can understand dumping a kid into French I when they need an elective. But she’s never taken French and they dump her into French II? Ugh.”

  The chef returned and placed little bowls of miso in front of them. Veronica wasted no time, scooping broth with her porcelain spoon. It was delicious. Daniel brought the bowl directly to his lips and drank.

  “Wow, I thought I was hungry,” Veronica said with a laugh.

  Daniel looked surprised, then glanced at the bowl in his hand. “Oh. Yeah. Sometimes I forget. Miso just doesn’t seem like spoon food to me.”

  “Do you slurp your soup too?”

  “Seriously? I dare you to slurp your soup if you ever eat at my aunt’s table.”

  “But I remember a Brady Bunch episode that said something like that.”

  “Brady Bunch? Aren’t they all white bread?”

  “Yeah, but some relative who’s a world traveler comes to visit and she tells them that in Asia people slurp their soup to show appreciation to the chef.”

  “Well, I can’t speak for all of Asia, but at least as far as my family’s concerned, that would be rude.”

  “Interesting.”

  “So back to this new girl in your class. Is she still as bad as she was the first day? What’s her name?”

  “Dolores Hekili. But she goes by Lola.”

  Daniel started to hum “Lola” by the Kinks.

  “Trust you to make the 60s music connection.”

  “Says the woman whose knowledge of foreign customs comes from episodes of the Brady Bunch,” he countered. “Hey, speaking of which, isn’t Hekili a Hawai’ian name?”

  “Hekili, and yes. But I don’t follow your ‘speaking of which.’”

  “You know. Brady Bunch. Hawai’i. That two-part episode where Greg wakes up the spider hanging over him?”

  “I think it was on his chest actually.”

  “Man, I remember that. To be continued. I was dying to see what was going to happen. Talk about a cliff-hanger,” Daniel laughed. “Although you have to admit, the Bradys weren’t exactly paragons of cultural sensitivity. I mean, Hawai’i was so exotic to them that they got all messed up by a curse.”

  “Yeah. White bread, like you said.”

  “So this Lola Hekili—”

  “Hekili.”

  “Hekili. She’s still a han
dful?”

  “No, she’s not as bad. She’s absent a lot. The main problem when she’s there is that she’s beautiful.”

  Daniel raised his eyebrows.

  “The boys all have to impress her at all costs. You should see her. Sleek black hair. Slim but with… assets. Tough looking, but gorgeous. She’s all done up. And with her attitude they all know there’s only one way to get her to notice them.”

  “Take on the teacher?”

  “Directly or indirectly, yes. They have to rebel. It’s tiresome.”

  “Isn’t Angie in your French II class?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How does she like Miss Hekili?”

  She nodded to show that she noticed that he got the name right, and he beamed. “Ange doesn’t seem to pay much attention to her. I’ve already pulled the names for next weeks’ partners, though, and she’s going to be working with her. If Lola even shows up.”

  “Well, that will be interesting.”

  The chef took their bowls and set down small plates of wakame salad. Veronica dug in with enthusiasm. She loved the spicy-vinegary green seaweed.

  Daniel watched her, looking pleased. “I’m going to have to schedule that sukmo dinner sooner than I thought.”

  Veronica looked up at him. With effort she swallowed her mouthful. “Really?”

  “Sure. You eat seaweed. My sukmos both grew up on the coast, in Busan. They love seaweed. They used to go collect it themselves.”

  “What, like, scuba-diving?”

  Daniel barked with laughter.

  “What?” Veronica said.

  “It’s just the image of my aunt Eun Hee in a wet suit with a tank…” He kept laughing until he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes with his napkin. “That was priceless. Thank you.”

  Veronica pursed her lips.

  “Ah. Well,” he sighed. “So, no. No scuba gear. They collect it on the beach. And sometimes from nets the fishermen bring in. If it’s not in bad condition.”

  “Wow,” Veronica said. She didn’t know how she’d feel about eating that.

  “But not now,” Daniel added hastily. “Now they buy it at the Asian supermarkets.”