“You, too, Miss Cesca, Miss Maggie. Y’all take care now.”
I closed the heavy glass door, checked the automatic lock, and hustled Maggie to the elevator around the corner. Out of Holland’s line of sight
and
line of fire. Sure, if he’d wanted to shoot me, he could’ve done it anytime, but, hey, logic didn’t count when I was having a nice, healthy panic attack.
“Cesca, what the hell are you doing? What’s the rush?”
The elevator doors stuttered open, and I hip-bumped her into the car, thinking fast. “We need to get ice on that wrist before it swells too much. And aspirin. You probably want some aspirin, right?”
“I want to know what the problem is.”
I entered the penthouse code on the elevator panel and pressed our floor button rapid -fire five times. “Gomer. I mean Holland,” I corrected as the car chugged upward. “His real name is Holland. I told you and Neil about him. He was on my tour last night, and he came back tonight.”
“Wow, you must’ve made a good impression. You have a date?”
I snorted. “Hardly.”
“Why not? He looks a little goofy, but he seemed nice, and I saw you staring at his butt. Did you get cold feet?”
I didn’t want to worry her, but Holland had seen Maggie and now knew where we lived. She had to be on guard. We reached the sixth floor, and I lurched to the carved cypress penthouse door. “I wasn’t staring at his butt,” I told her as the lock slid open. “I was staring at his gun.”
“Excuse me?”
“His gun, Maggie. He had a gun stashed at the small of his back. Just like in the movies.”
“Maybe he’s a cop,” she said as we dumped her samples and drawings on the couch.
“Cops wear their guns in holsters.”
She considered a minute. “Not if they’re undercover.”
“Undercover?” I rolled the idea around, replayed his actions, his words. All right. It was possible. Except that Holland didn’t want to report Stony to the cops. His way of sidestepping because he
was
undercover?
“Cesca.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m thinking. I guess you could be right.”
“Tell me what happened tonight.”
I did, from the tourists who showed up to Holland walking me home and our conversation. I fixed an ice bag for her wrist while I talked.
“Did you get any particular vibes from this Holland guy?” she asked when I finished.
“Psychically, no, but he’s lying about something.”
“Did you ever sense danger directed at you?”
“No, but seeing the gun gave me second thoughts. He just doesn’t feel right.”
“Sounds like this guy is on something like a hate -crimes task force. An undercover fed,” my ever-practical Maggie said, taking the ice to the sink. “The best thing to do is stay alert when you’re out, and keep your phone charged and with you.”
“You need to do the same. Neil’s gonna have a fit when he finds out Holland knows where we live.”
“No, he won’t, because we aren’t telling him. He’ll just get his shorts in a bunch and drive me crazy, and I don’t have time for that right now. Speaking of which, I need to get to work.”
“Tonight?”
She nodded and crossed to the couch to snag her samples with her good arm. “The Jax Beach restoration client—the one who’s fired four interior designers—changed her mind about colors and fabrics. Again.”
“So you’re stepping in?”
“I have to. Until she settles on colors, I can’t order the kitchen tile.”
“Want some help?” I carried a second load of materials to the kitchen table.
She cocked her head. “No homework? No tests tonight?”
“Nope. My landscape test is tomorrow night. I’ll take it after bridge club.”
“In that case, go change, and let’s get crackin’.”
Cosmil stood in the plaza across from Francesca’s building beside the remnants of an old town well. Pandora in her housecat form sat on her haunches at his side, her tail swishing the grass. The man who’d walked with Francesca crossed the street to the plaza and paced between two benches as he pushed buttons on his cellular phone. Only yards away, it was not difficult for Cosmil and Pandora to overhear.
“I saw Miss Cesca home like you asked, but she spotted my gun. I’m sure of it.”
A woman’s voice floated through the airwaves, but the words were indistinct.
“Yes’m, she got away from me as fast as she could. She’s not likely to trust me now.”
The woman spoke again, briefly.
“All right. Maybe I’ll tell her I’m a PI, but it’ll have to wait. I have another case to take care of in Daytona.”
With a last “Yes’m,” the man disconnected his call, gave his phone a resigned look, and punched another set of numbers. Cosmil heard one word, “Report,” before casting a shield around Pandora and himself to protect them from the malefic energy lashing through the line.
“I’ve searched the beach house, but not the car.”
An angry voice whipped through the phone.
“No opportunity. I’ll try again and search the other man’s place tomorrow.” He paused, listened. “The Marinelli woman has nothin’ to do with it. Yes, damn it, I’m certain.” He paused again to listen. “Then send someone else to do the job. I’m doin’
what you want and nothin’ more.”
A growl so loud emanated from the phone, Pandora raised her hackles and flattened her ears. A spate of angry, unintelligible words shot through the device, then silence. The man folded the phone closed, cursed, and strode out of the plaza to disappear around the corner.
Cosmil glided to the sidewalk and looked up. Low lights shone through the sixth-floor windows where Francesca and the other woman lived.
I can find that man and kill him quickly.
Cosmil glanced at Pandora, then back at the light. “No need. He is not the threat, and Francesca is safe enough for now. We will not interfere.” Francesca’s silhouette passed by the window. “Not yet.”
The second voice. Who was it?
Cosmil grimaced. “One of the true monsters, my friend. Come, I have spells to prepare.”
We worked only an hour on the new presentation board. Maggie refused to labor any longer on it—not when she was sure the client would change her mind a half-dozen more times. I refilled her ice bag, insisted she take a pain reliever, and sent her to bed.
After I repacked Maggie’s materials, I soaked in a long, hot bath and thought about Holland. Maybe he
was
on an undercover sting of the Covenant. If so, whatever evidence he was looking for, I hoped he got it soon. Either way, I ’d be calling the cops if Holland came near Maggie or me again.
I slipped on a St. Augustine nightshirt and memory foam dolphin slippers and e-mailed the tour company about passes for the writers, with three more for Shalimar Millie and her friends.
I tried to study, but after helping Maggie, I was too wired with design ideas. After doodling and sketching for a while, a flip through the on-screen TV guide revealed a mini-marathon of the
Highlander
series. Adrian Paul could take my mind off just about anything, and, yes, by watching him fight the good battles, I fought my own. The slash and scrape and ring of steel on steel reminded me of swordplaying with Triton eons ago.
I veered away from lingering thoughts of the boy and man who ’d been my childhood playmate, then girlhood crush, and finally my dearest friend. Missing him was a raw ache in my soul, and I was stressed enough. Instead, I puzzled over Cat and why she’d been nearby tonight. Again. Why so much weirdness happening when I was just really getting my afterlife together? What happened to normal and predictable? I tell you, I couldn’t wait for the new moon to pass. I’d never missed my ability to purposely psyche out information like I had in the past two days. Even when I only got sporadic bits and pieces of answers, it was better than this exhausting game of guessing what the heck was going on. Good thing tomorrow was Wednesday bridge club. I needed the relaxing competition of a rousing game. For the first time in ages, I was asleep as dawn broke.
Bridge ran promptly from seven to nine with socializing at six thirty. By five forty-five, I was dressed in black jeans and my scoop-neck cobalt knit shirt with black sandals. A dab of makeup, my hair in a braid, and I was ready. We were meeting at Shelly Jergason’s in Crescent Beach. I stopped for gas on the way, cringing at the price and the fumes that rose from the tank.
Shelly, in fact, had invited me to join the club, and we ’d met because of the Vampire Protection Act. One of the strict provisions was that vamps had to take a Human Lifestyle Appreciation class, then participate in some sort of community activity. A garden club, library guild—the organization didn’t matter as long as we interacted with mortals. I’d met Shelly at the Historical Society and mentioned in passing that I was learning to play bridge on the Internet—a game that evolved from whist, so it wasn’t that hard for me. Next thing I knew, she called me to substitute a few times, and when one of the ladies went back to nursing on the night shift, I joined as a full-fledged member. Traffic was light, so I arrived at Shelly’s early. Jenna Jones blew in right behind me in her red power suit, her mouth in high gear as usual.
“You would not be
lieve
the new clients I’m trying to find houses for!” Jenna paused dramatically in Shelly’s huge kitchen, then dropped her purse on a rattan barstool and fluffed her short hair. “And the creepiest thing happened on the way back from my closing in Palatka. I swear it must be the full moon.”
“New moon,” Maybelle Banks corrected. She’s the grand dame of the group. Sixty, dabbles in astrology, and cracks a wry wit.
“What?” Jenna asked with a blank look at Maybelle.
“It’s the new moon,” Maybelle said, “not the full.”
“Whatever!” Jenna said. “I’ve shown this one woman every darned house on the island, and she’s not—” She made quote marks with her fingers. “—feeling any of them. And the man I’m searching for! He’s in California now. Says he grew up here but can’t decide if he wants a place downtown or on the beach. When I mentioned property on Vilano, he had no idea what I was talking about. Vilano Beach has been called Vilano for a long damn time, and this guy doesn ’t sound over forty. How can he not know where Vilano is?”
Goose bumps broke out on my arms as Jenna ranted about her California client, but I had no clue why. The nearly dark moon messing with me again? The Gift resurging?
“That explains your difficult clients,” Shelly piped in, “but what’s creepy about Palatka? There’s not much but farm country between here and there.”
“Exactly!” Jenna exclaimed yet again. “I stopped to look at a property another client asked about. Some land with a shack on it. Well, I found the road tunneling through this tangle of trees and vines, but when I got to a clearing, there ’s no shack, no nothing but empty land in a ring of trees.”
We all waited expectantly. Shelly ran out of patience first. “And?”
“When I turned the car around, I happened to glance in the rearview mirror, and the shack was
there
!”
“Faeries,” Maybelle deadpanned. “They don’t want the place sold, so they hide the shack when you’re looking straight on for it, reveal it when you’re not.”
Jenna blinked. “Are you shitting me?”
Maybelle half smiled and patted Jenna’s shoulder. “Honey, you need a day off.”
“More like a month. Have some wine, and chill out, Jen,” Nadine Houseman advised and handed her a glass of Chablis. Nadine is medium height, in her fifties, and is the perennial chairwoman. She sees a problem, she solves the problem. Jenna accepted the goblet with a cute glass dolphin ring on the stem—the kind meant to help tell glasses apart at a party. If I ever hostess bridge, I need to get some of—
“Cesca!”
I blinked at Jenna. “What?”
“Is Maggie ready to put the condo on the market?” Jenna demanded, apparently for the second time.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Jenna,” Shelly said. “Stop nagging Cesca about the condo. If you really want to make some money, sell that oceanfront house up the block. Those owners rent to the craziest people.”
“More spring breakers?” kindergarten teacher Missy Cox asked.
“No, a couple who yell at each other in some foreign language half the time. And talk about rude? They ‘borrowed’ the Berrys’ rowboat without asking permission. Gene was furious.”
“Who was furious about what?” Kathy Barker asked as she breezed into the kitchen with Daphne Dupree behind her. Kathy’s an artist, Daphne a pastry chef, and they both carried white bakery boxes. I smelled chocolate and lemon already.
“Never mind,” Shelly said, as the ladies set the boxes on the island counter. “Let’s talk about good stuff. Cesca, you first. How did your tours go this week?”
I doubted these ladies would hear differently, so I smiled and fudged. “Great. We had ghost sightings up the wazoo.”
Missy laughed. “One of my students was in your tour Monday. A little pistol named Robbie.”
“You’re kidding,” I said, smiling. “He’s adorable.”
“Not when he talks that loud in a closed classroom all day, but he sure was high on you and the animal ghosts.”
“We have animal ghosts in town?” Kathy asked and shuddered.
“We do,” I said. “Your turn, Kathy. How was the art festival in Deland?”
“I won a first place ribbon and even sold enough to make the show worthwhile. Daphne has good news, too.”
Daphne nodded. “Bridezilla Barbie’s wedding is over, and the cake from hell was a success, ” she said to a chorus of woohoos. “And we’re celebrating,” she continued, “with lemon cake and chocolate coconut bars. Eat up before we deal the first hand.”
While Maybelle and Nadine shared cute things their grandchildren had done, I sampled both goodies, grabbed my sweet tea, heavy on the ice, and was ready to play when Shelly called us to order. One table was set in Shelly’s dining room, the other in her small den.
Maybe it was the moon phase, maybe it was Jenna’s energy, but I had the heebie-jeebies all the time I played at the same table with her. It didn’t help my concentration that my cards were so-so until the end of the night. But when luck turned, it turned inside out. Shelly and I bid and made a grand slam in hearts—doubled—and I got to play the hand. What a rush. On a victory high, I car-danced to the Beach Boys’ greatest hits as I zipped home in my precious SSR. Maggie was out—