by Catie Rhodes
“Dirty-minded pervert.” He turned away to rummage in our junk drawer and pulled out the flashlight. “I just want to make sure those paramedics didn’t leave a worse mess than you started with.” He clicked the flashlight on and off. “Pull ‘em down. Or I’ll do it for you.”
“Promise?”
He gave me a thirty-yard stare. I popped open the button fly on my jeans and slid them down to knee level.
Wade fixed his gaze on the wound and knelt in front of me, the flashlight so close I felt the heat from its bulb on my skin. His exhale tickled my skin and sent a delicious warmth through me. It shivered its way into every nook and cranny and tried to convince me to do something stupid. I forced my gaze to the ceiling and crossed my arms over my chest. Wade gently ran one finger around the swollen lump of skin surrounding the injury. The black opal pinged to life on my chest as his magic touched mine. I inhaled sharply and caught a whiff of cheap perfume.
“I thought y’all were partying with the Sidewinders. Who else was there?” I had enough sense to know his answer would smother the flames of desire. Maybe it would keep me from embarrassing us both.
He raised his dark gaze to mine. “Some of the girls.”
“You certainly smell like a pussy factory.”
He dropped his hands from my leg. “Heard you were on a date tonight. Way I was told, you looked good enough to eat.” Wade sat back on his knees, still staring at my face. “You didn’t go out to the cemetery alone. Not with Michael Gage on the loose. So you went out there with your date. Don’t get high and mighty with me.”
I bent, grabbed my jeans, and yanked them up. I no longer wanted to stand here in my panties with Wade Hill kneeling in front of me. Fighting off Michael Gage and finding Cricket’s remains in the cemetery had dumped adrenaline all over my fatigue, but now the tiredness had crept back in. “If you’re satisfied I don’t have gangrene, I’m going to bed.”
“I’m not satisfied.” He stood and took a few steps back from me. “The wound’s feverish. I’ll heal you. If you draw on your black opal, won’t take much out of either of us, and it won’t even be sore tomorrow.”
“It’ll be fine like it is.” I left him in the kitchen, went into my bedroom, and shut the door. I undressed, whimpering when I had to bend my injured leg. The muscle had stiffened. Moving like a wooden marionette, I put on the t-shirt and shorts I slept in.
Wade’s heavy footsteps came down the hall and stopped at my door. He knocked. “Come on. It won’t make either of us puke.”
“I think it’ll be fine.” I didn’t want Wade Hill’s hands—hands that had been all over Diamond the tramp all evening—touching me any more tonight.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the round mirror over the vanity table. My cheekbones bore red slashes of humiliation mixed with desire. This is ridiculous. Wade was my friend. Nothing more. Neither of us were built for long-term relationships. If we screwed around, we’d hate each other before long, and then never speak again. I couldn’t imagine my life without him. This was the only way it worked. No matter how crazy it drove me.
My cellphone buzzed, signaling I had a text message. I checked it, expecting to see one from Wade, cajoling me to let him use his magic to heal me. It was Tubby Tubman again.
Need to talk to you.
Piss off, I wrote back and turned off the phone. He probably wanted to blackmail me or threaten me. I didn’t have the energy for his bullshit.
Wade knocked on the door again. “Let me know if you change your mind. Don’t let it get too bad.” I listened as he walked to his bedroom and shut the door.
I sat down on my bed, no longer tired. The bedsprings in Wade’s bedroom squealed as the big man laid down. The house quieted, and the sound of the ghosts reliving their fiery deaths reached my ears. I walked to the window and could see the ghost fire flickering in the darkness. Behind me, a floorboard creaked. I spun around.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered to my daddy’s ghost.
He pointed at the closet and made a frantic “come on” motion with his hand. Even though my daddy died when I was only four, his word was law. I walked across the room and opened the closet door. Daddy squatted and pointed to a hatbox leaned against the back wall.
My shoulders rounded. I didn’t want to look through Memaw’s old pictures at this hour. I knelt anyway and pulled out the box. I took it to the bed and opened it. Daddy approached. Picture after picture floated out of the box until he got to a pink envelope. I had looked through Memaw’s pictures a couple of times since her death but never remembered seeing this. Daddy pointed at the envelope.
I picked it up and opened it. Inside was a set of crayon drawings on notebook paper, all done in the distorted artistry of a child’s hand. I recognized them immediately: the pictures they made me draw in the psychiatric facility to show them the vision I had of Adam Kessler revealing where he’d hidden Hannah’s Christmas presents.
“Why do you want me to see these? Daddy?” I raised my head to find myself alone in the room. Ugh. I didn’t understand why ghosts had to be so cryptic. They all watched too damn much TV. Things would go much faster if they just told me what they wanted.
I put up the hatbox, leaving out the pink envelope and its contents, and lay on the bed. I studied each drawing, fighting against reliving the childhood terror of being held in a mental hospital. I resorted to a method Mysti Whitebyrd taught me of separating my emotions from my memories so I could see them with perspective.
Once I calmed my mind, the drawings brought back something I’d forgotten about Adam’s vision. The vision itself took place at the Panther Theater. Not in Adam’s home. I concentrated on the twenty-plus-year-old memory, trying to bring it back in its entirety.
A tapping came from the bedroom window. Gut clenched in dread, I turned to face the wind. Adam Kessler’s ghost glowed as though lit from within. He stared at me, face still. If I let him inside, he’d show me the vision again. I concentrated on his presence and pulled. My mind ached from the effort, but it worked.
Adam stood next to my bed. I couldn’t help staring at him. His red hair and freckled cheeks so reminded me of his daughter Hannah.
“I’m ready,” I lay back on my bed.
Adam came forward and touched his hand to my forehead. The vision formed dreamlike and languid.
Everything around me grew tall, as things were for children. Adam Kessler held out one pale, freckled hand to me. I took it, unafraid of the way it chilled me down to the marrow of my bones.
Adam walked down the sidewalk, the lights of the Panther Theater ahead of us. The sign on the marquee read “Peri Jean’s Awesome Adventure.” We walked under the marquee and to the double glass doors, which swung open to welcome us. Adam led me up the narrow stairs to the production booth. We exchanged a smile, and he hefted me so I could turn the special super-secret light fixture.
A panel popped open in the wall. Adam pushed it and flipped on the interior light. I followed him into my favorite place in the Panther Theater: its secret room. I ran to Adam’s desk and stared at the glass jar of hard candy. He motioned me to take one. I chose a butterscotch.
Adam tugged at my arm and gestured at a closed door. His voice came to my ears, garbled and full of static and whispered, “Open it.”
I opened the door to find the little closet full of wrapped presents. I grinned at Adam, excited to see all those presents. I could tell Hannah where her daddy left her Christmas presents. Maybe then she wouldn’t be so sad all the time.
Adam went to his desk and pulled out a key. “To the closet. They’ll need it.”
I nodded.
“Now this last thing I want to show you is really important. You’ll have to remember it for a long time.” Adam’s ghost flickered like lights in an electric storm. He took a movie poster down from behind his desk and turned it over. On the back was a pencil drawing. It reminded me of a puzzle because there were pieces missing. Adam tried to speak again, but he faded.
I woke up to sunlight str
eaming in my windows and the smell of bacon and coffee. I dressed, barely able to control the thigh muscle in my injured leg enough to do anything other than fall when I tried to sit. The puncture wound oozed clear liquid. The pain in it beat with my pulse. I slipped my feet into flip-flops and padded down the hallway, through the living room, and into the kitchen.
Wade hunched over the stove, his bare back a tattoo mural depicting a scraggly haired marine standing in a sea of skulls. Above the marine, rays of sunlight stretched toward his broad shoulders and the back of his neck, each ending in a unique symbol. The one time I asked Wade what it meant, he said, “Life.” I left it there.
“Hungry?” The muscles in his shoulders bunched and coiled as he removed the bacon from the skillet and placed it on paper towel to drain.
“Maybe.” I poured two cups of coffee and handed him one. “Look, I’m sorry about last night, I…” I didn’t really have a good explanation for giving him such a hard time.
“I had no right to give you a hard time either.” He faced me and cleared his throat. “Or to make you undress in front of me.”
I limped to the table and crashed into my chair.
“Does it really hurt that bad?”
“No, it’s just stiff. It’ll loosen up—”
“No.” He took the last of the bacon out of the frying pan and turned off the stove. He brought the plate of bacon to the table with a jar of mustard and a loaf of white bread. “I’m going to look at it again after we eat, and you’re going to let me heal it.”
The idea of his fingers tender on my skin again, of his scent in my nostrils, brought back the frustration of the night before. I’d rather go through the misery of letting the wound heal on its own than risk making an ass of myself again. I made a bacon sandwich and bit into it.
“Adam Kessler’s ghost came to visit me last night. He showed me something I’d forgotten, something that might help me find the Mace Treasure without resorting to taking on Priscilla Herrera’s mantle.”
“Yeah. I think it’s a good idea for you to stay away from doing that. It’s a commitment you don’t want to make.” He took a huge bite of his sandwich. “But I’m still healing your leg.”
6
I left the house an hour later, my leg feeling good as new. I still entertained filthy fantasies about Wade Hill, but I thought I did better at pretending I didn’t. Wade, for his part, managed to act both businesslike and concerned. It was a lot more comfortable, but I missed the mild flirtation we usually enjoyed.
I started my car and called Hannah Kessler. My gut crawled with apprehension. Adam Kessler’s first visit, when I was eight years old, got me admitted to a mental hospital and ended my friendship with Hannah for more than twenty years. Would she be willing to revisit this topic?
She answered, sounding like she’d stayed up a lot longer and had several more drinks after I left. “Oh, girl. I heard you found what was left of Cricket McKay? Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. It’s like the sky is raining shit again.” I paused. “I’ve got a huge favor to ask.”
“Name it.” She took a sip of something I hoped was non-alcoholic. Hannah had a bad habit of having a hair-of-the-dog-drink after one of her hard drinking nights.
“I had a ghostly visitor last night after I got home.” I swallowed, trying to get some spit into my dry mouth. “It was your father.”
She drew in a breath.
“He helped me remember the vision I had of him when I was a little girl. Do you feel like talking about it?”
“Of course I do.” The volume of her exuberance made my ear ring. “I’d love to hear anything you want to share.”
Ten minutes later, I drove past the museum only to see all the parking places taken. It was the noon hour and about as busy as Gaslight City got while people rushed to eat lunch and be back at their jobs within the hour. I circled the block and found a spot near the building where Rainey Bruce kept her law office.
The dragon lady herself emerged from the building wearing leggings, a long shirt, and running shoes. Her adopted mutt, Ugly, trailed behind her, pulling on his reflective leash. Seeing me, he ran to me as though we hadn’t seen each other for weeks instead of last night. I knelt and petted him as though my life depended on it. He slurped dog kisses all over my face in return.
“You’re keeping me from taking my walk.” She put her long fingered hands on her slim hips and cocked out one leg. “I have an appointment at one-thirty.”
“Don’t mind me.” I lit a cigarette just to watch Rainey’s face pinch. “I’m headed to the museum to talk to Hannah.”
Rainey closed the distance between us and put one dark skinned hand on my arm. “Get ready. Now.”
I wanted to argue, but the fear chilling her coffee colored eyes sent my heart galloping away. Fingers encircled my arm and whirled me around. I never saw the first punch coming. Felicia Brent Fischer Holze’s fist slammed into my mouth, shredding my lips against my teeth. I raised my elbow to knock away her second punch. Her fist slammed into hard bone. She screamed in fury and pain and clapped her other hand over it.
“That’s assault right there, Felicia.” Rainey dragged Ugly several feet away, holding the barking dog’s collar to keep him from attacking Felicia. With her other hand, she took out her cellphone. “I’m calling 911.”
“Don’t.” I put one hand up, hoping Rainey would listen to me. I had a feeling I knew what had Felicia riled up.
“How dare you show my kid a dead body,” she screamed, spittle flying from her lips. She launched herself at me again. Her lack of experience with fistfights showed in her slow, obvious movements. I had plenty of time to bring up my knee and hit her hard between the legs. She shrieked and clutched herself, eyes filling with tears. She dropped to her knees.
“Settle down, dummy.” I knelt in front of her. “I will beat your ass if you come at me one more time. The first shot’s free because I do feel bad Kansas saw Cricket. I wish more than anything he hadn’t seen her.”
“Kansas had a nightmare last night about seeing a dead body. How could you let him see her?” She doubled up both fists. “You’re a danger to everybody you touch. You got my son’s father killed. Hell, you got your own grandmother killed.”
Her words slammed my breath right out of me. I cocked back my fist without even thinking. Someone grabbed it. I turned to see Hannah Kessler standing over me. Her hair hung in wild disarray. She must have run from the museum.
“You’re pathetic,” she hissed at Felicia. “Still mad because Chase loved Peri more than he ever loved you, you nasty skank.”
Felicia’s mouth dropped open.
Hannah hauled me away from Felicia by one arm. As soon as we got a few feet away from her, Hannah turned back. “Don’t you ever talk shit to my friend again, you understand?”
“You better like Peri Jean Mace a whole helluva lot right now, Felicia.” Rainey stalked over to us, Ugly’s collar firmly in her grip. “If it weren’t for her, I’d have called the sheriff’s office out here, and they’d have arrested you for assault. Your daddy-in-law and husband can’t get you out of trouble anymore.”
Tears streaked down Felicia’s face as she got to her feet, but her eyes still blazed with hateful fire. Her stopping the attack didn’t mean she was finished. If I knew her, she was just getting started.
“Go home,” I said.
“Don’t you ever, ever tell me what to do.” She bared her teeth like she was ready to chew a hole in me. “And stay away from my son, you cheap whore.”
“Takes one to know one.” I held out both hands in the universal bring-it-on mime.
She spat on the ground and stomped to her car half a block away. She got inside and hit the steering wheel several times with the flat of her palm. Then she screamed out of her parking spot and gunned the motor all the way down the street.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and my field of vision widened. People stood on the sidewalks, stock still, the same way th
ey’d watch a deer in the woods. Nosy turds.
“Show’s over,’ Rainey yelled. Most of the gawkers jumped back into action at the sound of her voice. People knew enough not to want to tangle with her. A few kept staring until Rainey put her hands on her hips and stared back at them. She was scarier than any movie I’d ever seen. People went about their business.
A car slowed at the curb and Jay Harris leaned out. “Peri Jean Mace, the badass boxer of Gaslight City.”
I shrugged and turned to Hannah, fully expecting her to flirt with Jay. She spun on her heels and stomped in the direction of the museum. Jay chirped the tires of his ride pulling away from the curb and sped off the other way. Rainey and I raised our eyebrows at each other.
“Not my monkeys or my circus.” She took off on her lunchtime walk, dragging her poor dog behind her.
I ran to catch up with Hannah. She was already half a block ahead. By the time I caught her, I fought for breath, my lungs heaving like bellows. It took me another half block to breathe normally. “I thought you had hot undies for Jay Harris.”
“His surprise visit last night did a good job of cooling them off.” She held open the museum’s front door and held it for me.
“Weird. He came to pick up Nash from the cemetery after we found Cricket. Was he with you when Nash called him?” I went into her office and started coffee in her fancy machine.
“No. It was after he dropped Nash back at his apartment.” She sat down at her desk and rubbed at her temple. Must have been a killer hangover. “That’s how he got me to let him into the museum in the first place. He said you’d been hurt, and he wanted to come up and tell me about it.”
“What else did he want?”
She raised her eyebrows at me. “I’d had several drinks and was so worried I couldn’t concentrate, and there he was pawing at me. I told him to get out, and he got nasty.”
“Hit you?” Since renewing our friendship, I’d had to rescue Hannah from more than one angry suitor.
“No. Just launched into some name calling.” Her fingers played over her lips. “I threatened to call Dean. Jay left pretty quick.”
