The Plane and the Parade (Veronica Barry Book 3)

by Sophia Martin

Eric stood there, wearing a crisp, black peak-lapel tuxedo with a plain white tuxedo shirt and black velvet bowtie. His hair was combed back, and he was carefully clean-shaven. Veronica wanted to run a finger along his jaw.

  Instead, she smiled and whirled around to show off the gown.

  “Quelle beauté,” he said appreciatively. “Ah, Vero, what a pleasure it is to admire a beautiful woman—and what a joy to have her on my arm. Thank you for this evening.”

  “Thank you,” Veronica said. “I love the gown. I love the shoes. I love all of it.”

  “Perfect. Come on, let’s go,” he said, offering her his arm.

  Sliding her hand over the rough silk fabric of his suit, she hooked her arm through his. He gave her his easy grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners and glittering with humor. Together, they made their way to his Mustang.

  ~~~

  Eric drove to the river. The venue for the party was the Delta King, a historic steamboat that had been converted into a hotel. It was a huge boat with a massive wheel, but it floated anchored in the river, so the wheel did not turn.

  Together Eric and Veronica joined the trickle of glamorously attired couples who entered the riverboat. They made their way through gilded corridors and along one open-air deck to reach the Paddlewheel Saloon room. It, combined with the Jenny Lind and Yosemite rooms, had been reserved for the evening by the host of the event, the California Fruit Company. As Eric had explained to her when they first had lunch—was it only three days ago?—his company had recently patented a new air injector nozzle, and this meant that they could produce a new line of ice cream and sorbet, and Eric’s job, in part, was to secure the contracts they needed to supply the fruit.

  “California,” Eric had informed her, “is the largest fruit-producer in the U.S. We work with French farmers, as well, but they do not produce on the same scale.”

  As they entered the riverboat banquet hall Veronica tried to take in as much as she could, as fast as possible. Cocktail tables were covered in white linen with shining plates, glasses and cutlery, as well as little white place cards with red borders. Dining chairs covered in white had dark red ribbons tied round them. A long buffet table ran along one wall, and opposite it, a wide window stretched, with a view of Tower Bridge. At one end of the room was a dance floor, at the other, a bar. Chandeliers of electric candles lit the room. About two hundred people mingled, Veronica estimated, and through the crowd stepped black-tied waiters with trays loaded with glasses of white and red wine.

  “Vero, you see that man there near the window, with the large—I forget the word. Lunettes.”

  “Glasses,” Veronica said. “Is he standing next to the woman in the pink dress?”

  “Yes, him. He is the CEO of Nestle Waters.”

  Eric had also confided in her his intention to approach Nestle Waters, which was based in Sacramento. If Eric could interest Nestle Waters in using the new nozzle for purification, he might secure an even more important contract.

  “Let’s meet him,” Veronica said.

  Eric grinned at her. “A very good idea. But we must not appear aggressive. First, let us say hello to those I know.”

  They proceeded to make their way into the crowd. It might have been more intimidating, but Veronica could feel the appreciative looks she was getting. She had never felt more confident, despite having to keep a hand on Eric’s arm or shoulder as a safeguard against losing her balance on the four-inch heels she was unaccustomed to. Eric would stop and introduce Veronica to this person or that—they were most often large-scale farmers or representatives of corporations that were involved in agriculture. Sometimes, Veronica found she could say a few things that personalized the interaction—particularly when she met the owners of farms in Apple Hill, which lay just east of Sacramento on the way to Tahoe. The farms there had all sorts of lovely delicacies to sell as well as their produce, and she had often visited over the years.

  At last as they continued chatting with one couple from this latter category, the man from Nestle happened to walk nearby.

  “And have you met Greg Kaufmann?” the woman whose name Veronica had already forgotten said, indicating the man.

  “I have not had the pleasure,” Eric said in his smooth, accented voice. Veronica felt proud of him when she watched him charm these people. He held out a hand.

  “Gene, this is Eric Huette and Veronica Barry,” the woman said, and Veronica felt a stab of guilt that she had forgotten the woman’s name, when the latter remembered hers.

  “I am with Lactorco,” Eric said as they shook hands.

  “And what about you, who are you with?” Kaufmann asked Veronica as he reached for her hand.

  “Oh, me?” she said with a quick dismissive wave. She took his hand, and the room fell away.

  ~~~

  The sun beat down—there were so many people, so many colors, that at first, she couldn’t make sense of it. She was outside. The colors resolved. A majority were red and blue—the parade. She was watching the parade again. Children eating ice cream, sitting on their parents’ shoulders. Floats in the street, people tossing candy, band music. Mist in the air over one sidewalk. Two teenagers held sparklers. The veterans marched along next in the parade line, and a man darted among them with water bottles.

  The vision blurred, soon becoming so badly unfocused Veronica couldn’t see. She blinked several times and her eyes cleared. In the parade, several people clutched their throats, and then the vomiting started. Then the screaming.

  ~~~

  Veronica pulled away from Kaufmann and stumbled on the heels. She felt Eric’s hands catch her under the elbows.

  “Whoa, you alright, there?” someone asked.

  Eric eased her onto one of the chairs.

  “Give her some water,” the woman said.

  Veronica barely registered the bustle around her, but felt the cold glass that Eric pressed into her hand. She sipped the water, and then held up a palm. “I’m alright. Just dizzy for a moment there.”

  “We spent too much time talking,” Eric said to the people watching. “She must be hungry.”

  “Yes. Stupid blood sugar,” Veronica agreed. “I’ll be fine.”

  As she began to feel more like herself, she noticed that Kaufmann had moved on.

  Perfect, she thought. Not only did I embarrass myself, I managed to ruin Eric’s opportunity to talk to the guy who could get him that contract. Some asset I turned out to be.

  She started to stand, but Eric stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Please, Vero, I will go get you a plate. Please wait here.”

  Watching his back disappear into the crowd, Veronica tried to hide the misery she felt.

  It didn’t matter if Eric liked her. It didn’t matter if she covered herself in silk and crystal. Nothing would change who she really was, and who she really was could not hope to navigate an event like this one without mishap.

  With a sigh, she leaned back into the chair and considered, for a moment, what she saw.

  The parade again. The suffering again. And she saw it when she touched Kaufmann’s hand. Was he involved somehow? Was it just a clue that pointed to water? Nestle Water bottles? Someone handed out water bottles to the veterans. Were the water bottles the cause of the suffering?

  Veronica was going to have to tell Daniel about this, and it would mean talking about the party. That would no doubt be a barrel of laughs. But maybe this information was just what he needed to prevent the attack. She hoped so. She hoped it would all be worth it.

  It took Eric longer than Veronica would have supposed to return with her dinner. She guessed that he had stopped to talk to more people. How could she blame him, after she ruined things with Kaufmann? At last, he arrived, carrying two plates, and sat next to her.

  “Voilà, Vero,” he said with a smile, placing one plate before her. “There is a waiter on his way with wine, they told me.”

  “Thank you,” she said, poking at a green bean with her fork. “I’m
sorry, Eric. I screwed things up for you.”

  “But of course not,” he said. “You must not think it.”

  “I did. You were just about to have a moment to talk to that man, Kaufmann, and I messed it up. I should have—should have had something to eat before I got dressed,” she said lamely. She was not ready to tell Eric about the visions.

  “Quelle absurdité! Don’t worry, ma chérie, I will have many more opportunities. It is not your fault if you felt ill, isn’t it true?”

  Veronica gave him a half-smile and speared a piece of artichoke heart. He returned her smile with his usual grin, and attacked his own food enthusiastically. At least he didn’t seem upset. Completely without appetite, Veronica forced a few pieces of food down her own throat in an effort to appease anyone who might still be worried about her fainting spell.

  Ah, the joys of being psychic.

  ~~~

  With an effort, Veronica managed to recapture some of her conversational skills, although the heady feeling of being a belle of the ball was long gone. They stayed until almost midnight, Eric taking every opportunity to schmooze with as many people as he could. He did ask her to dance three times, but the dancing was hardly ballroom—more like pale imitations of ballroom dances, like slow dances where the partners had no feelings for each other and preferred to keep a foot of distance between their bodies. As they swayed on the floor, Eric gazed at her with his handsome green-hazel eyes, but Veronica no longer felt the thrill she had when he touched her and looked at her before. No matter what happened with Daniel, she knew now that she was not destined for a future as Mrs. Eric Huette, or even as Eric’s girlfriend. That future evaporated when she nearly ruined his night with her vision.

  She knew now, Veronica mused as he swept her around a corner of the dance floor, why the spirits had kept mum about him. They wanted her to come to this event. They wanted her to meet Kaufmann, so they could throw that parade in her face again. Well, mission accomplished. Had she really believed for a moment that she was free? Had she really imagined that she could have one fairytale night of beauty and dreams without it being interrupted by a nightmare?

  By eleven Veronica’s weariness was winning out in the battle against her determination not to embarrass Eric again. She allowed herself to find a seat at a table with two others—an older man in a tweed suit and a young blonde woman wearing an emerald green cocktail dress with a spray of peacock feathers fanning over one shoulder.

  Veronica smiled at them as she sat. “I’m Veronica,” she said.

  “Tamara,” said the woman in green.

  “Leon Meyer,” said the man.

  “You’re the one who fainted,” Tamara said.

  Taken aback, Veronica didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say. Apparently her little show had a wider audience than she’d realized.

  “I, for one, would like to thank you for taking the initiative,” said Leon. “I thought perhaps I would have to be the one to do it. I appreciate your stepping up and relieving me of the responsibility.”

  Veronica blinked at him.

  “What…?” Tamara said. “You were going to faint…?”

  “And why not, I ask you? When everyone was so busy chit-chatting and no one was lining up at the buffet? I thought I was going to go toes up before my wife would tear herself away from the busy-bodies long enough to let me fill a plate.”

  A laugh escaped Veronica before she knew what she was doing. Leon beamed at her.

  “These events are pretty tiresome when you’ve been to as many as I have,” he continued. “It’s my wife’s scene, you understand. I am not a businessman.”

  “What do you do?” Veronica asked.

  “I’m a teacher. Well, a professor. I teach history at Sac State.”

  A smile burst across Veronica’s face. “I’m a teacher, too. French, at Eleanor Roosevelt High.”

  “You see?” Leon said, turning to Tamara. “We teachers. We get suckered in with the promise of free food. Then they make us wait while they play their little corporate games. It’s cruel and unusual.”

  Veronica felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She gazed at Leon with a smile, and he tipped his glass of wine to her and drank. He had reminded her of something important, she realized. She didn’t fit with Eric’s world—but not just because she was psychic. She was also a teacher, and proud to be one. She would never have much to say to business executives except to compliment them on whatever their company produced for her to consume. And none of them would ever care to hear about how the state budget cuts were affecting her classroom, or anything else that mattered professionally to her. This was not her world, but she liked her world just fine. It was a pity a teacher’s salary would never buy Kate Spade pumps or Oscar de la Renta gowns, but maybe someday she could save enough for a vacation to Egypt or Corsica.

  When Eric finally came and found her, Veronica was feeling much more balanced than before. As he drove her home, she listened as he talked enthusiastically about the people he’d met and the topics they’d discussed which would no doubt lead to future business deals.

  “Vero, it was such a pleasure to have you on my arm this evening,” he said as they neared her block.

  She waved a hand. “Thanks, Eric. I had a great time. But it’s not really my scene.”

  He frowned as he glanced at her. “I hope I did not neglect you too long.”

  “Of course not,” Veronica said, giving him a genuine smile. “I met some great people.” She thought of Leon. “And going to a soirée on a riverboat—it’s definitely an experience I’ve never had before.”

  “It was my first time on such a boat as well,” Eric said. He pulled up alongside the curb in front of Veronica’s duplex and parked. “I would very much like to see you again before I leave for Los Angeles. Perhaps we can make plans now?”

  Veronica shook her head. “Eric, I’ve had a great time. And if you want, I can call Neiman Marcus and see if it’s too late to return the dress and the shoes—”

  “But what is this now? No one is talking about such a thing,” Eric said, his voice scolding.

  Veronica patted the top of the bodice of her dress. “This is, without a doubt, the most beautiful, expensive present anyone has ever given me, Eric, and I love it, but it’s not like I’ll ever have a reason to wear it again.”

  “Keep the dress, ma jolie,” he said. Reaching over, he tucked a strand of hair that had come loose from her twist behind her ear. “Vero, for you and I, the moment is never right.” He leaned in and kissed her, a soft kiss of warm lips that sent a thrill through her whole body. “Perhaps it will be, one day. Soon, I hope,” he said as he drew back.

  ~~~

  In no mood to call Daniel, Veronica opened her laptop and typed a quick message explaining about Kaufmann and the vision. As she shutting it down, she glanced at the black satin clutch that held her cell phone. It was too late to call Melanie anyway, but even if that weren’t the case, Veronica knew she wouldn’t have called. She was still upset that Melanie had told Daniel about the dress. Maybe less upset than about the way he’d responded to the news, but nevertheless.

  Veronica stood in her bathroom in front of the mirror. Taking down her hair, wiping off the make-up, slipping off the pumps—all of it felt like shedding a dream, and the feeling had a bitterness to it. Eric’s kiss lingered on her mouth. Everything had seemed so clear after she talked to Leon Meyer—for a moment, she had been at peace with it all. But that kiss—and now, taking out the eardrops—she wished she could have the life he would give her.

  But let’s face it, she thought. That could never happen. What, in the middle of our Caribbean cruise or some business trip to New York that I tag along for I get some head-splitting vision of blood and death? How exactly would something like that play out?

  She didn’t want to tell Eric about her visions. She liked that she felt separate from that part of herself when she was with him. Well, until the vision she’d gotten from Kaufmann bridged that
separation. Sneaky spirits, letting Eric take her where she needed to go to get more information. Well, so be it. If she could help prevent the poisoning of so many people then it was worth the embarrassment and disappointment.

  “That’s the thing,” she said to her reflection, now clean of eyeliner and lipstick, her dark hair down around her shoulders. The thing was, she liked being able to stop deaths when the spirits warned her of them. The day she stopped fighting the visions and accepted them, they had grown stronger and more consistent than ever before, and she had realized their power. She had realized the purpose they gave to her life. If only they didn’t always have to be so dark.

  Chapter 15

  By Monday morning Daniel still had not answered her email. Veronica was getting anxious about the vision she had had, and whether it meant anything in the investigation.

  That afternoon Harry needed a walk and Veronica started to go on one of their usual routes, but found herself heading in the direction of the downtown police station. It would take at least an hour to walk all the way there, and although she argued with herself over it, her feet stayed pointed in the direction of the station, and refused to turn around. After twenty minutes of this she finally brought herself to a halt at a bus stop. No bus would allow Harry on, she knew, but sitting down for a minute would allow her to think.

  I could call him, she mused, although the option was not attractive. She didn’t want to be the first to call. She hadn’t done anything wrong, while his comment to Melanie revealed he didn’t have as much respect for her as she’d once believed. But Veronica really wanted to know how the investigation was going. It had been easy enough to put it out of her mind driving around with Eric in the Mustang and shopping at Neiman Marcus. The fairytale ended when she touched Kaufmann’s hand, though, and two days had passed. Now she needed to know that the vision had been worth the death of the dream.

  She checked her phone, just in case Daniel had called and she somehow hadn’t heard the ringtone, and noticed that the battery was low. And that, of course, he hadn’t called. Harry sat next to her, panting. Veronica reached out and stroked his head. Licking his lips, Harry gave her his doggy-smile. If only humans could be as uncomplicated as animals.