by Julie Kenner
“What?” I said. “No. Of course not.” Not exactly, anyway.
Eddie snorted. “Just thought. What with the scrape and all.”
Stuart and I turned in unison to Allie, who automatically raised her hand to brush at her bangs. For the first time, I noticed the angry, red abrasion near her hairline.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “Doesn’t hurt at all.”
“I think we should clean the bathrooms before Laura gets here,” I said brightly, before Stuart decided to ask me if I’d bodily wrestled my child to the ground as punishment for her supposed sneaking out. “You could join us, honey. I’m sure Clark understands the need for a candidate to have a sweet-smelling toilet.”
“It’s a nice offer,” he said. “But I’ll pass.”
Of course I’d figured as much, but at least I’d distracted him away from Allie’s face.
“Coffee for the road?” I asked, pulling his travel mug out of the cabinet. Not that I was trying to get rid of him or anything.
“Thanks,” he said, then went over to get big, sloppy wet kisses from Timmy, our son’s favorite kind. I poured coffee to the sound of slurpy kisses, then planted one of my own on Stuart’s cheek as he came back to take the mug from me. At least, I tried to. He turned his head just in time, and ended up planting a knee-weakening kiss on me.
I swooned a little, and I’m pretty sure I moaned. What can I say? It’s not every morning I’m greeted so enthusiastically.
“Um, hello?” Allie said. “There are children present.”
I pulled away, and turned to her with what I’m sure was a googly-eyed smile. “You’re right. We’ll take this into the living room.”
I grabbed Stuart’s mug and walked him to the door, our arms intertwined. “I’d say I had a lovely night last night,” he said. “Except that last night was this morning.”
“You can say it anyway,” I said, pressing the mug into his hand and reaching up to straighten his tie. “On a Saturday, no less. Before you became a man of the people, you used to go into the office in a faded Polo shirt.”
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” he said, making me smile. “Actually,” he continued, “about that going-into-the-office thing. Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t heading straight out the door this morning?”
“You were serious?” I asked, feigning shock. “I assumed that was sweet talk to get me into bed.”
“A little bit of that,” Stuart confessed. “And a lot more truth.”
“Oh,” I said, and stopped moving slowly toward the doorway. “That’s great.”
Don’t get me wrong—I love the idea of having Stuart around more, especially on the weekends. But with a missing demon, I have to say he picked a crappy day to start playing the family man.
“I’m glad you think so,” he said, taking my hand and tugging me back into the living room. “From the look on your face, I was beginning to think you were trying to get rid of me.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said, managing to quash the nervous giggle that bubbled in my throat. “So, um, what exactly did you have in mind? In case you haven’t noticed, the entire household is awake.”
“Nothing that would trouble the natives,” he said. “I only thought we could leave Allie to the slave labor, and you and I could sneak off for a bit. A quick drive, and then a movie. What do you say?”
What I wanted to say was that I was utterly flabbergasted. Stuart hadn’t suggested a Saturday afternoon sneak-away since—well, not since he’d decided to run for office. “Photo op?” I queried. “Chance to show yourself as a man of the people? Random poll at the theater door?”
As soon as I said it, I wished I could take the words back. A flash of hurt crossed his face, quickly replaced by a pathetic smile. “I guess pretty much everything I suggest these days ties back to the campaign, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, Stuart. I was only teasing. It’s not—”
“But it is,” he said.
I took his hands and looked into his eyes. “No,” I said firmly. “It’s not. I understand. You have a campaign to run. You’ve invested a lot of time and energy into this campaign, and you need to do everything to make it pay off. You’ll make a great county attorney, and I don’t resent the time away. Really.” I crossed my heart. “I swear.”
“All right,” he said, and this time the smile seemed genuine. “But my offer still stands. I can carve out two hours to hold hands with my wife in a dark theater. And to be perfectly honest, I’ve even got a little ulterior motive going, too.”
I cocked my head, trying unsuccessfully to read his mind. “More ulterior than a dark movie theater and all the possibilities that lie therein?”
“Hold that thought,” he said. “But I want to show you a house.” He held up a hand before I could protest. “I know we’re just thinking about it, but Bernie saw it come on the market, and he thought I might be interested.”
Before Stuart went to work for the county attorney’s office, he did real estate law exclusively, having put himself through law school by working part time as a real estate agent. Bernie was an investor he’d known for years, and he’d made a killing buying, fixing, and reselling houses in the older section of town. Lately, Bernie had been making noises about going into business with Stuart, and my husband had allowed himself to be bitten by the house-flipping bug.
Honestly, considering that San Diablo was becoming quite the haven for refugees from Los Angeles, the idea wasn’t a bad one. And because Stuart knew that, the infection was spreading at a rapid pace.
“Don’t you think you have enough on your plate?” I asked. “For that matter, are you allowed to do that kind of stuff and still be county attorney?”
“Don’t worry about that, Kate. Legal training, remember? I’ve read all the rules and regs.”
“It’s an awfully big commitment,” I said, thinking of the limited nest egg we had squirreled away. I had additional money, too—primarily my minuscule Forza salary—but Stuart didn’t know about those resources, and I’d already decided to save that money exclusively for the kids’ educations.
He took my hands. “It’s an investment. And it’s something we can do together.”
I laughed. “Because I’m so good at laying tile.”
He didn’t laugh. “You’re good at whatever you put your mind to. And the idea of working side by side with you . . .” He trailed off with a shrug. “I think we’d have fun.”
“We probably would,” I said, starting to feel bad about being so negative.
“So you’ll look at it with me?”
“Okay,” I conceded. “Set up a time.”
“How about we go now? Then the movie?”
For a moment, I seriously considered that option. It had been months since I’d been to a movie, and the idea of sitting close and sharing a bucket of popcorn was appealing beyond all reason.
Then, of course, reality crashed down around me. Missing body. Squirming extraneous limbs. Sword of Caelum. Grounded Hunter-in-training. Hyperactive toddler.
Things to do, demons to kill. The usual Saturday morning rundown.
“Now won’t work,” I said, careening down a slippery slope of lies. “I already told Allie that we were going to be having a little talk this morning before Laura and Mindy get here. About boys and responsibility, the whole nine yards. Considering what happened last night, I don’t know that we want that to wait. Do you?”
He immediately shook his head, looking so totally with that program that I had to plant my feet and smile through a tidal wave of guilt.
“How about this,” he suggested. “The house now. Dinner and a movie later. I’d really like for you to see it during the day, and I’m booked solid tomorrow unless we can squeeze it in before mass.”
I made a face. “Now you’re not negotiating fairly.” With two kids and a husband to get out the door on Sunday mornings, I considered myself lucky if we all managed to get to mass wearing something more appropriate than our pajamas.
“Thirty
minutes,” he said. “Max. And I’ll let you pick the movie.”
I cocked my head, thinking about everything I needed to do right then, the primary task being to find a missing demon.
At the same time, if Eddie had been responsible enough to hide the guy, then surely he’d be responsible enough to keep him safely tucked away until I returned. And if Eddie hadn’t hid the body, then sitting at home for thirty minutes wasn’t going to make the thing any easier to find. That, however, wasn’t something I wanted to think about.
I drew in a deep breath and nodded. “All right,” I said. “Thirty minutes.” Because, really, how much trouble could a missing demon cause in a measly half hour?
Five
"The Greatwater mansion?” I asked, peering out the car’s window at the once-stately mansion that had fallen into serious disrepair. “Wow. I figured you guys would start with something smaller.”
“So did I,” Stuart admitted, his voice laced with excitement. “But the price is right, and the potential profit is astronomical. ”
Built in the twenties, the place had been home to one of Hollywood’s legendary silent-film producers. Or, rather, it had been one of his homes. Then as now, money flowed in Hollywood.
Over time, though, the house had changed hands and fallen into disrepair. The only house on that side of the street, the building sat back from the road behind what must have once been an impressive stone fence. Now the stone had crumbled, leaving a view of the equally ramshackle home and neglected yard.
I blinked, and had a vision of our savings spiraling down a whirlpool. In theory, I fully supported Stuart’s decision to dabble in real estate. In practice, I was a fiscal wimp. “I guess there are tons of people in California who’d want a place like this,” I said. “It’s like a little slice of Hollywood.”
“That’s what Bernie and I are hoping. Want to see the inside?”
“Sure,” I said. How could I say no when he looked so enthusiastic?
The house was even more magnificent up close, with intricate stonework and an attention to detail that you really don’t see in modern houses. “Fabulous, isn’t it?” Stuart asked as we approached the majestic front door. “Can’t you see Timmy’s trains all over the front porch?”
I laughed. “Don’t even think about it. If you buy this house, you’re buying to sell.” Still, I had to silently acknowledge the appeal. The house had an old-world quality that reminded me of my youth, and I really could imagine Timmy’s toys littering the front porch, and Allie’s friends gathering in the front yard amid the hibiscus and birds of paradise. Even more, I could imagine Allie and me training in a closed-off wing, and I have to admit I secretly coveted the idea of having that much extra space. Room in the attic to seriously practice throwing a knife? What suburban mom doesn’t want that for her daughter?
“How long has it been empty?” I asked as Stuart dialed a combination into a lockbox attached to the porch.
“Six months. But Emily Greatwater’s been ill for years, which explains the condition it’s fallen into.”
He popped the key out of the lockbox and approached the front door, turning the knob first and finding it open. He pushed the door open, the creaking hinges singing out like something from an old Vincent Price movie.
He looked at me. “So much for the lockbox.”
“No kidding.” I followed him inside and found myself in a grand entrance hall, illuminated by a wash of light falling in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. But even the California sun couldn’t erase the eerie quality of the room. Shadows fell across the marble floor, and cobwebs hung wide and across corners. The banister of the massive staircase, however, was dust free, as if a ghostly specter dragged a dainty hand-duster along when making its midnight rounds. The place was still furnished, and though most of the pieces were covered with white dropcloths, a few stately pieces had been uncovered, the intricate woodwork a perfect complement to the grand nature of the room.
A pile of rags lay abandoned in one corner, and that combined with the unlocked door made me wonder if this stately old place wasn’t currently home for well-housed squatters.
“A lot of work,” I said, heading down that slippery slope that would lead to breaking into our retirement account. “But this place really could be spectacular.”
“Keep going,” he said, indicating with his hand that I should head farther into the room. “From what Bernie tells me, it gets better.”
I shot him a questioning look over my shoulder, but did as he asked and soon found myself at a fabulous set of french doors overlooking an ornate stone patio and, beyond that, what had to be an amazing view. I unlocked one of the doors and stepped onto the cracked stonework of a massive balcony extending out by at least twenty feet.
“Wow,” I breathed. “It’s like another room out here.” With Stuart following, I led the way to the railing, and found myself gazing out at the reason people move to California. Lush green tapering off to tawny sand and beyond that—stretching for miles—the deep blue of the Pacific Ocean.
The house was nestled at the top of one of San Diablo’s many hills. Not mountains, really, so much as attempts at mountains. As if the topography had tried to extend all the way to this part of the coast and simply couldn’t bring itself to do it.
From this vantage point, we had a stellar view of another hill, this topped by the stunning beauty of St. Mary’s Cathedral, a focal point for the entire town. That view was juxtaposed against the view of the San Diablo cemetery over which the house seemed to protrude. I looked down, saw the familiar Monroe family mausoleum, and found my breath catching in my throat. Eric was buried right next to Alexander Monroe, famous as the town’s founder. Actually, the whole family was famous, from the patriarch Alexander to the freakish great-great-great et cetera grandson, Theophilus Monroe, who in the nineteen twenties had dabbled with psychics and ouija boards and ultimately left for Hollywood, where he set up a dubious career advising starlets out of their net worth. Apparently Theophilus was a bit of a bad apple who went out of his way to demonstrate that he didn’t hold to his ancestor’s pious ideals.
And it was only a few months ago that the Monroe mausoleum had played a role in raising David from the dead.
“Spectacular,” I said, turning away and hoping Stuart wouldn’t notice my reaction.
“I know, isn’t it? I’m surprised there aren’t rumors the place is haunted. Look there,” he added, urging me to turn and look at a spiral staircase leading off the balcony and descending down to the cemetery. “For those romantic late-night strolls.”
I conjured a smile. “Maybe we should come here tonight instead of the movie.”
“Not on your life,” Stuart countered. “I have very specific plans for tonight, and they require a darkened movie theater. ”
“Oh really? In that case, you better finish showing me around. I need to make a significant dent in my to-do list if you don’t want me being a distracted date.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as we headed back through the french doors. “So what do you think? Am I crazy?”
I looked around the huge room that must have once been spectacular. The potential was still there, but it was hiding under a million layers of grime and a thousand hours of repair. “I don’t know how you think you can do it all,” I said honestly. “Work. The campaign. The kids. If you think you can add flipping a house to the mix, I’m not going to argue. But I worry you might be overextending yourself a little bit.” Not that I wanted to tell Stuart at the moment, but I knew a little bit about piling one’s personal plate too full.
“It’s a concern,” he said. “But I’ve been thinking what to do on that end as well.” He reached over and squeezed my hand, his expression far away and a little devious. “I think I’ve got it all figured out.”
“Yeah? So tell me.”
He flashed an enigmatic grin. “Maybe tonight. Deep thinking requires popcorn.”
“Hmmm,” I said. “Methinks the man is keeping somet
hing from me.”
“Never,” he said, so sincerely that a knot of guilt twisted in my stomach. The same answer asked of me wouldn’t generate nearly as earnest a response.
“Well, if your secret plan is to have me do all the work on your investment houses while you’re out fighting for truth and justice, I think there’s a fatal flaw in your plan.”
“You wouldn’t set aside your entire day to lay tile or texture drywall?”
“For you?” I teased, “of course. But you might not like the results. Remember the wallpaper in Allie’s room?” I’d had the bright idea that I could handle wallpaper by myself. Let’s just say I was wrong.
“Good point,” he said.
I wanted to question him more about his secrets, but my cell phone rang and I automatically shoved my hand into my purse, my heart jumping in my chest as it did every time the phone rang and both kids weren’t within shouting distance.
Italy.
I considered not answering, realized that would seem odd, and flipped the phone open.
“Hey!” I said brightly. “I’m so glad you called. I’ve been working on the Easter fair stuff all week, but I’ve still got a few details I need worked out.” Am I as mooth liar or what? Honestly, it’s remarkable how proficient I’ve become at the fine art of deceit.
At the other end of the phone, I heard a confused, “Katherine? ” And then, in a flurry of rushed Italian, “Are you all right?”
“Of course this is an okay time,” I said. “Hang on one second.”
I flashed my husband my best overworked-mommy smile. “I’m sorry, but this committee-head thing is more complicated than it sounds. I know you want to look around, so you go wander. I’ll just be a minute.”
Fortunately, I was right. Stuart did want to check the place out, and he gave in to my suggestion without even the slightest protest. He headed to the kitchen, and I headed as far away from him as I could, moving up the marble staircase and then down a grand hallway until I found a wood-paneled room filled with furniture that would have made an Antiques Roadshow host swoon.
