Edna’s sharp gaze caught the subtle movement and her tiny eyes clouded. “The sermon was excellent, don’t you think?” she asked of no one in particular. Clutching her handbag, she nervously kneaded the worn tapestry with her knobby fingers. “The Reverend Mr. Weems was most inspirational this morning. I was moved, truly moved.”
Averting his eyes, Jules clasped his hands behind his back and stared sullenly into space.
To break the tense stalemate, Janine mumbled that the service was indeed inspirational, then started up the walk-way, anxious to remove herself from the unusual tension between Edna and her grandson. In spite of the older woman’s desperate attempts at cheerful small talk, Jules had quite pointedly remained silent. He’d sulked all morning, responding tersely only when asked a direct question. The entire situation had been unbearable.
Janine was completely baffled by the strange behavior. She’d never seen poor Edna quite so agitated, nor had Jules ever treated his grandmother so coldly. It seemed that everyone in the boardinghouse had been acting weird lately. Janine herself was as edgy as a treed cat, and it occurred to her that no one had been quite the same since the night of the fire—the night Quinn Coulliard had appeared.
As the three of them entered the foyer, Jules walked briskly toward the stairs, pausing only when Edna called his name. Without turning, he laid a hand on the balustrade and waited.
Edna twisted her purse strap. “Jules, dear, it’s such a lovely morning I thought we might walk down to the river.”
His slender fingers tightened around the smooth wooden grip. “I’m rather tired.”
Poor Edna looked positively distraught. “Then perhaps we could share a nice cup of hot tea.”
“I don’t want any tea.”
“It will make you feel ever so much better.”
Intensely uncomfortable, Janine moved discreetly toward the downstairs hallway. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to finish.”
Neither expecting nor receiving an acknowledgment, Janine quickly went to the rear of the building. As she unlocked her office door, the muffled sound of Edna’s pleas and Jules’s resistance reverberated through the hallway.
Once inside her private domain, Janine switched on the desk lamp and settled into her comfortably worn leather chair. She rolled her head, massaged her aching neck and, after idly wondering who would win the battle of wills, finally decided that she quite frankly didn’t care. Whatever unpleasantness was going on between Edna and her grandson was none of Janine’s business.
But even though she wanted to ignore the stressful situation, she couldn’t shake an unsettling premonition that if the tension between them ever exploded, the resultant blast would annihilate everyone in its path. Something strange was happening around the boardinghouse. Janine didn’t like it one bit.
At the moment, however, there was nothing she could do except complete her monthly bill-paying so that she and the rest of her guests didn’t end up on the streets. Janine extracted the album-size checkbook from the neatly arranged center drawer and plucked a blue ballpoint from the section where writing instruments had been arranged by color and tip size. She frowned at an empty space in the segmented plastic organizer. The master key was missing.
Swallowing a surge of panic, she quickly scanned the desktop, then opened and searched the remaining drawers. She sat back, pressing her palms over her temples as though the gesture could jump-start her brain. Could she have left the key in one of the guest rooms? No, that was impossible. Janine was a fastidious person who always paid meticulous attention to details. Although she had to concede a certain mental distraction since Quinn Coulliard had entered her life, she was nonetheless certain that the key had been in its proper place last night.
Janine pushed away from the desk and quickly scanned the room. Perhaps she’d absently taken the key from the drawer and laid it on the bookcase or the file cabinet or had dropped it into her pocket without thinking. What had she been wearing last night?
Before she could answer the silent question, the front door slammed with enough force to vibrate the walls. Janine peeked into the hallway, heard an angry barrage of loud voices and went to investigate.
“You dare defile the Lord’s day?” Edna demanded shrilly.
Still wearing her slinky red cocktail dress, Althea sagged against the wall and pressed both hands against her temples. “Cripes, give it a rest, will you?”
Janine stepped from behind the stairwell. “Are you all right, Althea?”
A pair of bloodshot eyes squinted in Janine’s direction. “Yeah, sure. It’s just this damned freight train roaring through my head.”
A shadow fell from the top of the stairs. Janine knew without looking that Quinn was there, watching. She suppressed a sensual shiver and forced her attention back to the activity in the foyer.
Although Jules folded his arms and regarded Althea with a silent smirk, Edna was beside herself with righteous indignation. “You reek of alcohol and sin,” she proclaimed. “You mock the Sabbath, and He is mightily offended.”
“Bull.” With a derisive snort, Althea waved the woman away, then nearly fell over trying to pull off one spike-heel shoe. “Besides, I haven’t had a drink since midnight, so the way I figure it I haven’t mocked a damned thing.”
Janine reached out to steady her. “Where have you been, Althea? What happened to you?” Since the frazzled woman looked like she’d been ransacked, the questions were issued out of concern rather than curiosity.
With a nonchalant shrug, Althea tried unsuccessfully to comb her tangled hair with her fingers. “I had a wee bit too much cheer and spent the night in my car.” She smiled sweetly at Edna. “I never drive while intoxicated.”
“God sees through your lies, Althea,” Edna intoned. “I heard you moving in your room last night.”
Startled, Janine glanced up at Quinn and saw his knowing smile. Believing that he was thinking the same thing, she felt her face warm and quickly looked away. Mice. Disgusting rodents. The place must be crawling with them. Janine shivered then returned her attention to Althea, who staunchly continued to defend her position.
“I don’t care what you heard,” the disheveled woman replied tiredly. “Where I was and what I did is none of your freaking business.”
“It’s God’s business.”
“Then I’ll take it up with Him so you can stay the hell out of my face.”
Jules’s smirk widened. “What’s the matter, Althea? Was Gregore so good last night that you had to have him again this morning?”
“On the Lord’s morning,” Edna whispered. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Althea’s cheeks reddened. Ignoring the older woman, she responded snappishly to Jules. “Now why would I want a washed-up old man like Gregore Pawlovski? What I want is some hot young stud with enough stamina to keep my furnace stoked.” When Althea slid Jules an appraising glance, his smug grin faded.
Instantly Edna stepped in front of her grandson, shielding him with her squat little body while her tiny eyes flashed with zealous fury. “You are an evil woman, beyond redemption. I have prayed that ekpyresis would be your eventual salvation but you are unworthy. You are doomed, Althea Miller, doomed to eternal damnation.”
Janine blinked. Ekpy what? The foreign word was vaguely familiar, but at the moment Janine’s main concern was keeping a heated situation from getting totally out of hand. “Please, Edna, that kind of talk will only make matters worse.”
Althea, however, simply stared in stunned silence before clutching her abdomen and emitting a raucous laugh. She wiped her eyes and addressed the curly-headed gnome who was quivering with righteous indignation. “Don’t get your girdle in a twist, Edna. When I said young, I didn’t mean I was going to rob a damned cradle.” Grinning, she cocked her head and eyed the stiff young man. “No offense, hon. You’re cute as hell but you could be my own kid, you know?” Her smile warmed as she added, “You’re a good boy, Jules. If I had a son, I’d want him to be just like you.”
At the last comment, Janine steadied herself on a credenza. If Althea wanted a son like Jules, the poor woman must be further gone than anyone realized.
Still chuckling to herself, Althea swept up the stairs like ascending royalty. When she reached the top, Quinn stepped aside and the woman paused, scrutinizing him with a lusty leer. She poked an enameled fingernail in the center of his chest, gave him a smoldering look, then glanced over her shoulder. “Now this is what I had in mind,” she told the gaping group gathered at the base of the stairs.
Returning her attention to Quinn, Althea moistened her lips with her tongue, growled deep in her throat, then presented her backside and walked away with an exaggerated hip-roll.
Quinn watched dispassionately, then glanced downstairs and arched a brow before sauntering back into his own room.
“Shameful,” Edna murmured, waddling upstairs. “Simply shameful.”
Looking completely perplexed, Jules wandered toward the kitchen talking to himself.
Janine shook her head, pondering indefinable threats of doom, mysterious sounds emanating from empty rooms and the inescapable sensation that somewhere along the line, the old Victorian was evolving from boardinghouse to asylum.
Then she went into her office and called the exterminator.
Clutching a Bible, Edna arranged burning candles on the altar, then knelt in silent prayer to beg forgiveness for having failed in God’s blessed work. She had tried to save Althea but had been too late. The blasphemous woman would never know the joy of true redemption. Her sin was too great; Althea must burn in purgatory.
With a heavy heart, Edna prayed for mercy on the woman’s wretched soul, then requested divine guidance for her own troubled life. Jules was turning against her, as he’d once turned against his own mother. Edna didn’t know what to do. When the devil had pursued her beloved daughter, God had stepped in, guiding the lost woman to his kingdom.
But Satan had been angered by the loss and now sought vengeance through her grandson’s weakness. The lust had returned to Jules’s eyes, first for poor Marjorie, now for Althea. His immortal soul was in danger. Edna needed God’s help to protect him.
In fact, Edna needed God’s help to protect everyone for whom she cared deeply. Everyone, that is, except Janine, who consistently refused Satan’s temptation and lived in celebration of the Lord’s holy word. The embodiment of purity and grace, Janine was the sweet, celibate daughter of God and had assured her own place in the Kingdom of Heaven. Edna loved her fiercely.
But it was the failure with Jules that tore Edna’s heart out. Her beloved grandson had repeatedly broken the Lord’s commandments and for that he must answer to God. Until then, Edna must continue to protect the sinful child and conceal his crimes from the mortal world.
Quinn leaned back, scrutinizing Jules’s worried expression as he studied the chessboard. “We can declare a draw, if you like.”
Jules waved away the suggestion without glancing up. “Another moment,” he murmured.
Since the young man was preoccupied with the game board, Quinn allowed his stiff smile to flatten. In the corner, a grandfather clock ticked rhythmically, counting each passing second. Since everyone else had retired hours ago, the rest of the house was silent.
Quinn decided that he’d had enough quiet observation. Now it was time to delve behind the black curtain of Jules Delacourt’s fragile psyche and see what demons could be unearthed. “Your time is up,” he announced harshly.
Startled by the gruff tone, Jules stiffened. “Ah…yes, of course. Sorry.” Seeming suddenly disoriented, he wiped his palms on his slacks, eyes darting between Quinn and the chessboard.
Quinn had expected confusion and momentary loss of concentration. He was, however, taken aback by the childlike fear in the young man’s eyes and his own pang of regret at having caused it.
Jules stuttered something unintelligible, flexed his fingers over the board, then castled his king and again nervously rubbed his palms on his trousers.
Expressing deliberate scorn, Quinn encompassed the board with a derisive gesture. “A rather noncommittal move, wouldn’t you say? I expected better of you.”
The young man flinched as though struck. “I, uh…” He scanned the board anxiously, suddenly unsure.
“You can’t take it back,” Quinn told his quavering opponent. “That would be against the rules. You wouldn’t want to break the rules, would you?”
Sweat beaded Jules’s upper lip. “No…I…of course not.”
Quinn watched quietly, absorbing how quickly Jules’s cocky confidence had dissolved when he was faced with the merest hint of disapproval. That was interesting. Not unexpected, but interesting.
Propping his elbows on his knees, Quinn leaned forward, feigning interest in the game board. He slanted a furtive glance across the table. “Didn’t your mother teach you how to play by the rules?”
Jules stared sullenly at his knees. “It’s your move, Coulliard.”
Quinn smiled slowly. “Another moment.”
Allowing the silence to thicken, Quinn waited until Jules was squirming in his chair before sliding the white bishop into position. Leaning back, he hooked his thumbs in his jeans and inspected his worried opponent.
Jules furrowed his moist brow, hovered over the chess-board like a starved hummingbird and stared at the inanimate pieces as though expecting they, too, would sprout wings and fly.
“You must miss your mother very much,” Quinn said smoothly. “Do you think about her often?”
Jules looked up quickly. “I never think about her.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s gone. It’s foolish to think about someone who’s gone.”
“Where did she go, Jules?”
“She ran away with the devil.”
“How do you know that?”
“Grand’mère told me.”
“Why would your mother do that, Jules? Why would she run away and abandon her only son?”
Jules’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “She…was a wicked woman.”
“Was she disappointed in you, Jules? Is that why she left?”
The young man’s jaw sagged. “No—”
“Time’s up,” Quinn interrupted roughly. “It’s your move.” Near panic, Jules licked his lips and tried to focus on the game. At that moment, Quinn didn’t like himself very much but there was no choice. He had to find out who he was dealing with. Taking a deep breath, he waited until Jules reached out to make a move, then questioned him roughly. “How old were you when your mother left?”
The disoriented man’s hand froze above the board. “I—I don’t remember.”
“Time’s up, Jules. Move or forfeit.”
“I, uh…” Blinking frantically, Jules stared dismally at the scattered pieces, made a hurried move, sagged back in his chair and mopped his brow.
Quinn steepled his hands. “I’ll bet you think about your mother all the time. When you go to bed at night, you smell the pillow and dream of her sweetness, don’t you?”
As more color drained from his wan face, Jules balled his skinny fists and stared at his lap. “Shut up, Coulliard.”
“Is she dead, Jules?”
“No!” He scoured his face with his palms. “She went away, that’s all.”
“I think you’re lying. You were with her when it happened, weren’t you? You watched the final breath slide from your mother’s lips…”
Jules shook his head violently. “That’s not true—”
“And saw her body shudder as the life drained away—”
“No!” The chair fell backward as Jules leaped to his feet. “You don’t know anything, Coulliard, nothing at all!”
Impassively noting that Jules’s face was now a rather odd shade of purple, Quinn glanced absently at the board and slid the white rook into its final position. “Checkmate.”
Jules went totally rigid, staring at the chess pieces in stunned disbelief. Tears splashed from his flashing black
eyes and his thin lips contorted in rage. “You bastard.” He lurched to the doorway, shaking his fist. “You’ll regret this, do you hear? You’re going to pay!” Then he spun around and dashed up to his room.
Quinn stared coldly at the vacant doorway and whispered to the empty room. “I’ve already paid, you sick SOB. Now it’s your turn.”
CHAPTER SIX
The cursed mist enveloped the forest like a death shroud. Bundled against the damp chill, Janine knelt on the cold earth and tended her pitiful garden. Limp sprouts scattered along the wet furrows attested to her inexperience with the dismal climate.
It wasn’t completely her fault, of course. A lack of consistent sunshine resulted in a shorter growing season than she was used to. Still, this was her third failure in as many years and she was becoming increasingly frustrated.
She dropped her spade and shivered. God, she hated the fog and the constant, bone-chilling dampness. Secretly she longed for the warmth of Southern California, the cloudless sky and crystal blue ocean. Of course San Diego had its share of fog but only in the winter. From April on, one could count on the weather to be mild and hospitable to plants as well as people. Janine’s vegetables had flourished, and she’d harvested the bounty well into October.
The sweet memories made her heart twist. She wanted to go home. She wanted to, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Someday, perhaps, she’d gather enough courage to face the demons that had driven her away. In the meantime, she had no choice but to battle root fungus, pray for sun and take whatever solace she could in the beauty of her picturesque surroundings.
A child’s voice startled her. “Whatcha doing?”
Turning, Janine pulled off her muddy gloves and smiled. “Good morning, Rodney…Sara. You’re a long way from home.”
“Ma said we could ride down to the ravine.” Rodney kicked the metal stand and propped his battered mountain bike beside the garden plot. Behind him, his sister watched shyly and clutched the handlebars of her own bicycle, a smaller and considerably shinier version of her brother’s.
Janine spoke to the bashful little girl. “That’s a lovely bike, Sara. Is it new?”
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