Medium Well (9781101599648) (19 page)

Biddy shook her head. “How can she be both?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe Mrs. Palmer's cat was already haunting the house when Mrs. Steadman moved in. Perhaps they simply merged after Mrs. Steadman died.”

“Things happen,” the cat growled.

“Who was the driver man?” Biddy asked. “Did Mrs. Palmer kill him?”

The cat stood up, stretching its full length. “Demons kill. He called it to kill. Demons kill. But she took it away.”

Deirdre gasped. “Demons? What demons?”

“Who was he?” Biddy almost drowned her out. “Who got killed? Who called up demons? Who was she?”

The cat turned her golden gaze in their direction. “Tuna,” she rasped. “You promised. Tuna.”

Her front paws began to fade, slowly, as if shadows were creeping across her body.

“Not yet,” Biddy cried. “Please.”

“Tuna,” the cat murmured. And then she was gone.

Biddy stood blinking in the gathering twilight. She was suddenly aware of her tight grip on Deirdre's fingers. “Sorry,” she muttered, dropping her hand.

“That's all right.” Deirdre gave her a dry smile as she wiggled her fingers. “Rather interesting, wasn't it? I've never talked to a dead cat before.”

“I'm not sure ‘interesting' is exactly the word I'd use, but it was certainly different.” Biddy began to rub her arms against the gathering cold, reflexively. “Demons. What did she mean? Do you know what she was talking about?”

“Maybe. Some of it, anyway.” Deirdre shook her head. “
Demon
can be a kind of generic term for an evil spirit. But it's not anything with horns and a tail.”

Biddy shivered. “Why don't I find that reassuring?”

“It's not, really. We need to sit down and compare notes. To make sure we both heard the same thing. Do you have time?”

Biddy looked at her watch. “Oh, Lord, I'm already late. I've got a show tonight and I need to change. Maybe we could both write down what we remember tonight. Then we can compare it tomorrow.”

“Of course we can do that, but what's this about a show?” Deirdre raised her honey-colored eyebrows.

“Oh. I sing.” Biddy was amazed to find herself blushing. She hadn't been shy about performing since high school. “And I play the fiddle.”

“Really? How wonderful! Where?” Deirdre's eyes sparkled again.

For a moment, Biddy thought of her own mother, who'd come to every performance she'd ever given. She ignored the brief ache in her chest. “At a place called Bodacious Barbeque. I'm in a group. The Chalk Creek Changelings.”

“Tonight?” Deirdre's expression was thoughtful. “I'll tell Ray. He can eat ribs and I can listen to you sing.”

“Terrific. I'll tell the guys to sing something special for you.” Biddy wasn't sure why her throat felt tight. She hadn't had stage fright for years, but suddenly she really wanted to be good.

“Should we tell Danny about the cat?”

Biddy licked her lips. “Maybe not yet.”

“I'm not sure I can agree to that.” Deirdre frowned for a moment, but then her lips spread into a grin that was almost as mischievous as her son's. “But tomorrow we have to deliver the tuna to Mrs. Steadman, and we might need help.”

Chapter 19

Danny dug into Bodacious Barbeque's double meat platter with gusto. Brisket, sausage, a large scoop of potato salad and a bowl of slaw. Along with the stein of beer at his elbow, it was a meal fit for the gods, even if it did mean several hours at the gym to work off the fat content.

He was feeling a little godlike himself at the moment. The Jefferson buyers had come through—their bid had been accepted. When Big Al had stopped in for his weekly visit, he'd been full of praise for that and for the San Diego deal. Danny expected Araceli to have steam issuing from her ears after the first thirty minutes of the afternoon sales meeting.

Of course, she'd gotten some of her own back by mentioning the carriage house and Danny's inability to move it. Big Al was sympathetic to a point, but only to a point. Danny had the feeling he'd better find somebody who was willing to buy that monstrosity, even if they decided to tear it down.

He chewed on another bite of sausage, thinking.
Tear it down.
Would the Conservation Society get upset if the building was demolished? He didn't think so—as far as he could tell there was nothing particularly distinguished about it, and the architect wasn't well-known. On the other hand, most people restored houses in King William rather than pulling them down. The whole idea was to be able to live in an historic building.

Danny sighed. He had a feeling anyone who tried living in the carriage house would be ready to pull it down with their bare hands by the end of the first week.

Onstage, a string band was doing a good job of warming up the crowd. Not as good as the Chalk Creek Changelings, but on their way. He hadn't seen Biddy all day, what with Big Al's visit and meeting his nervous buyers at the Tobin Hill house again. He figured he'd buy her dinner at least. Maybe they could go back to her place. Or his. Whichever one they could reach in the least amount of time.

He leaned back in his chair to applaud the string band, running his gaze around the room. And stopped cold.

His mom and dad were sitting two tables to his left. As he stared at them, his mom looked up at him and grinned widely, waving at him with a wiggle of her fingers.

Danny gritted his teeth and considered staying where he was. Much easier than handling all the questions he'd get if he moved to his parents' table. On the other hand, moving would be easier than handling his dad's reaction if he didn't.

He sighed, gathered up his platter and his beer, and headed toward his parents.

His dad pulled his own plate out of the way, frowning in his direction. “What are you doing here?”

Danny glanced at his mother, who gave him a serenely bland smile in return. “I'm with the band,” he muttered.

His father shrugged and went back to his pinto beans.

“How about you?” Danny asked. “How did you end up at Bodacious Barbeque?”

“We're here to listen to Biddy, of course.” His mother smiled again. “You didn't tell me she was a musician, Danielo.”

Danny scooped up a spoonful of potato salad—celery, onion bits, mayonnaise and smashed potatoes. Heaven. “I didn't know you'd be interested.”

His father snorted, but kept his attention on his ribs. Danny knew the idea of his mother not being interested in one of his dates was ludicrous, but he was still trying to recover from his surprise at seeing her there at all.

“Fortunately, Biddy told me herself.” Her smile ratcheted up to blinding. “I do like her, Danny. She's such a sweetheart.”

Danny swallowed his suddenly dry brisket and told himself it wasn't panic he was feeling. More like indigestion. “She's a nice girl.”

His father raised his gaze again. “Friend of yours?”

His mother began studying the string band with great attention.

Danny wiped a smear of barbeque sauce off his mouth. “My assistant, also a friend.”

Dad's forehead furrowed. “You're dating your assistant? Doesn't your office have rules about that?”

“Probably.” Danny shrugged. “We're keeping it under wraps.”

That particular phrase kicked loose all sorts of images that he could have done without at that particular moment. Biddy under wraps, her breasts skimmed with moonlight, a crumpled sheet wound around her hips. Emerging from the shower with a smallish bath towel draped across her front.

Lordy, lordy. He spread his napkin more securely across his lap.

He had a feeling his father was fighting a grin. Danny decided not to notice.

“This band of hers any good?” Dad picked up another rib and contemplated the meaty end.

“The best.” Danny nodded once, hard. “You've never heard anything like them. Guaranteed.”

His father raised one skeptical eyebrow. “I guess we'll see.”

Danny turned back to his mother. “So how did you happen to be talking to Biddy about her music?”

“Oh, we had lunch.” She began sorting through the chicken pieces on her plate. “You know how it is. You start talking, and one thing leads to another.”

He had a sudden sinking feeling in his gut. “What did it lead to this time?”

She raised her gaze to his, her lips spreading into another faint smile. “Some discussion of King William's more interesting families and a very unusual conversation with a cat. About some demons in the carriage house. Oh, look, there's Biddy!”

The opening song must have been a winner—the crowd cheered for a couple of minutes when it was over. Danny couldn't have said one way or the other. He was still staring at his mother as the last few notes faded away in the background. For the first time since he'd started following the band around town, he hadn't heard a single note of the song they'd just played.

***

Biddy told herself she wasn't upset that Danny hadn't driven her home. His parents had been there, after all, and his mother had wanted to meet the band and then had spent a lot of time telling them how wonderful they were until the tips of Gordy's ears were bright pink and Skip looked like he was five years old. His dad hadn't been quite as talkative, but he'd taken Biddy's hand in his and told her he'd buy their CDs as soon as they had any.

His father didn't look much like Danny until she studied him a little more closely. Danny had inherited the broad shoulders and the sense of power about the chest and biceps.

He'd also inherited the square jaw and the hard line around the mouth, both of which he was definitely showing. Biddy told herself it had nothing to do with her. And she even halfway believed it. Make that more like ten percent believed it. Or at least hoped it.

She had a feeling Deirdre had been talking to her son about things Biddy would rather she hadn't.

She caught a ride home with Skip. If he noticed she wasn't riding with her boyfriend/boss, he had enough sense not to mention it. She wasn't sure what she'd have said if he'd asked, but it wouldn't have been pretty.

Now she opened a Diet Coke and settled into her rocking chair to watch
The Daily Show
. Maybe it was time to return to reality anyway. Too long in cloud cuckoo land couldn't be good for anybody.

The knock on her front door didn't catch her entirely by surprise. She was already pretty sure she knew who it would be and what he'd have to say.

Danny leaned one shoulder on the doorjamb, watching her with bleak eyes. Biddy stepped back to let him in, then headed to the kitchen, pulling a bottle of sauvignon blanc out of the refrigerator. At least they could drink something civilized while they broke up.

He settled into one of her kitchen chairs, wineglass on the table in front of him. “So tell me—why exactly did you take my mother to the Steadman house this afternoon? And whose idea was it?”

“Mine.” Biddy slid into the chair opposite him.” I wanted her help.”

“Why?”

She took a deep breath and then plunged in. “Because I read about your family in a book at the Historical Society when I was looking for stuff about Palmer. I thought she might know how mediums worked. I mean your ancestors were real mediums, right? Unlike Palmer, who was apparently a phony.”

His face was as hard and smooth as marble. “I wouldn't know. I never met any of the Riordans, other than my mother. I'm told they didn't like men.”

Biddy's eyes widened. “You mean they were lesbians?”

He rubbed a hand across his face. “No. Not that I know of, anyway. They had a long history of divorce, though. Apparently, the medium business didn't need any males around to be successful. One of the reasons my mom decided to leave the family firm.”

“They had real power, though, didn't they? I mean your mother's a natural medium, judging from what happened this afternoon.”

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, my mother has some weird abilities. But let's get back on track, shall we? What happened at the house?”

“Weird?” She stared at him. “You think your mother is ‘weird'? Your mother is wonderful, Danny! You have no idea how lucky you are. You have no idea how much . . .” She managed to stop herself before finishing the sentence.

You have no idea how much I wish I had someone like her in my life instead of a sister who thinks I'm a loser because I'm not her carbon copy. And who'll probably stop speaking to me when I quit.

She bit her lip, trying hard to ignore the tears that were hovering around the edges of her vision. If she ignored them, maybe he would, too.

Danny's sigh sounded more irritated than sympathetic. “Look, Biddy, I'm crazy about my mother, but right now I'm trying to find out what's happened and decide whether I need to do any damage control. Who else knows about the information you found on the Riordans at the Historical Society?”

“Knows about it?” She shook her head. “No one. Other than your mother, that is. And of course she knew already.”

“Not Gracie?” His voice was neutral, but his eyes burned. “Not Araceli?”

“Of course not!” She took a deep breath and kept her gaze on her hands. She didn't want to snarl at him. “God, Danny, you know me better than that. How can you even ask?”

“Good.” Danny picked up his glass again. “I figured that was the case, but I needed to ask. So tell me what happened. From the top.”

Biddy sighed. You'd never know from this conversation that they'd spent a large part of the last three nights in bed together. “After I found out about the Riordans, I called your mom. And she asked me to meet her for lunch.”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“I guess she thought I might be hungry,” she snapped. “Did she need a reason?”

“No, I meant why did you call her in the first place? What was it about the Riordans that made you get in touch with her?”

“Because of this book I found—
Shadows of San Antonio
.” She leaned back in her chair. “As I said, Prescott Palmer was a phony medium. A con man, according to this book. He fleeced a lot of rich men here in town with phony financial advice that he supposedly got from the spirits, and then he disappeared with all the money. I thought your mother might have heard of him.”

“And had she?” Danny's jaw was suddenly a hard line.

She looked down at her hands again.
Get off my case, Danny.
“Yes. Your grandmother talked about him a little. Or maybe it was your great-grandmother.” Her shoulders ached with the tension of holding herself back.

He sat watching her for a long moment, his gaze flat. “In all my life, my mother barely mentioned her own mother to me, let alone her grandmother. In one afternoon's conversation, you've gotten more information from her about the Riordans than I got in thirty years.”

Suddenly, she felt a welcome surge of pure exasperation. “What exactly are you pissed about right now, Danny? That I called your mother? That your mother wanted to talk to me? That I know something embarrassing about you? I'm not sure exactly what I'm supposed to apologize for here.”

He stood up quickly and began to pace the length of the kitchen—not that it was all that long. She stared after him, at the rigid set of his spine, as he stomped past her. For a moment, she wondered just how badly it was going to hurt if he walked out, then decided not to think about it.

“This is my problem, Biddy. I'm the one stuck with trying to unload this place, and I'm the one who saw the ghosts. It's bad enough that you got pulled into it with me. But I really don't like the idea of my mother being pulled in, too.”

She felt the weight of exhaustion settle onto her shoulders again. She
so
didn't want to be having this conversation. “I didn't try to pull your mom in—she wanted in. I know that's no excuse, but there it is. And I didn't take her into the carriage house where the bad ghosts seem to be, just the main house. I wanted her to talk to the cat.”

Something passed across Danny's face so quickly Biddy wasn't sure she'd really seen it. Except that she had. Her lips thinned. “Did you take her to the carriage house yourself?”

After a moment, he sank back into his chair, rubbing his hands across his face. “Okay, so I'm full of shit. I'm as much at fault as you are, so tell me what the freakin' cat said to you. And why did you want to talk to the cat? And how the hell can a cat talk, anyway?”

“Because the cat is Mrs. Steadman.” Biddy managed to keep her voice matter-of-fact. “Gracie told me that Mrs. Steadman said she wanted to come back as a cat. So I put two and two together. Only it's not just Mrs. Steadman, it's also a real cat who belonged to the Palmers, which makes her sort of hard to talk to.” Leaving aside for the moment the fact that no normal cat could have any kind of conversation, easy or not.
Down the rabbit hole, Biddy.

She took another breath. “Sometimes she's sort of human, but mostly she's not.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Okay, leaving aside for the moment the whole
What-the-hell?
factor, what did this cat-who-was-Mrs.-Steadman tell you?”