Immediately she blushed and switched hers off. “I forgot it was on, Mr. Harding.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“I’m going to have to take it to my desk. You can pick it up after class.” He grabbed the phone, then walked away. Being that close to her was exquisite torture. The phone felt warm in his hand as his mind tried to figure out how to be with her. What could he do? How could he have her? Where could he go?
Dad’s house.
The thought had been moving around in the back of his mind. His father was growing dottier by the day. Graham had already taken his car. He could damn near move into the place now, except that the neighbors all shared in his father’s care whether Graham wanted it or not, and they were nosy as hell. The house was a decrepit sty, too. Ever since he and his father had suffered a falling-out the place had gone to shit. Even worse, when the old man finally died, the place was going lock, stock, and barrel to Graham’s sister, a superbitch with a rod up her ass. Luckily, she lived in New York and never visited. Her relationship with their father was primarily by phone.
Graham had been subsequently working his way back into his father’s good graces and was almost there. But no lawyer in his right mind would ever believe his father capable of making the decision to put Graham back in the will. That ship had sailed.
But . . . the house had a basement with its own door. He might not ever be able to own the place but, if he played his cards right, he could still make use of the property.
He was deep into dreaming and planning when the bell rang and the students started filing out. Molly came up and asked if she could have her phone and he handed it over, letting his hands wrap around hers as he made the transfer. As she left, he watched her move to the door, his heart heavy. How was he ever going to be with her?
Especially with HER waiting for him. Her unexpected return had really thrown him for a loop.
Surprise, surprise! Here I am!
But luckily she was leaving again for San Antonio tomorrow. Tomorrow. It was barely soon enough.
He hated Daria. Loathed her. Despised her. Thought of ways that he could dispose of her and still keep her house. She thought she knew all the answers.
How to Beat the Recession and Not Let It Beat You, my ass.
If only he could kill her. He’d liked the feel of the Maori figurine in his hands. The weight. The power.
You can’t kill her. You need her.
Graham ground his teeth together. He needed her respectability. With his job and hers, there was no way anyone would believe he was behind Jilly’s disappearance or any future one, for that matter.
And what about that last encounter at that airport motel?
He broke out in a cold sweat, tried to push the memory aside, but it stayed with him, as persistent as a bad odor. He didn’t know how old
that
girl was, but she sure as hell wasn’t eighteen. Still, their sex was completely unsatisfactory because she’d been around the block a time or two already, even though she was very, very young. Little more than a child, really. Undoubtedly an underage prostitute. If she ever was caught and could finger him . . .
But no. He’d given her a false name and shortly after that encounter he’d hooked up with Daria. On purpose. To gain respectability.
His mind then touched on Jilly, lying beneath the raspberry vines. A chill fluttered inside his heart, part thrill, part fear. He should be more worried about her than the prostitute, he supposed, but he only had good thoughts when it came to her. The figurine crashing into her skull replayed in his memory. He could damn near have an orgasm without even touching himself. In fact—
“Mr. Harding?”
He was sitting behind his desk, thank God, his hard-on camouflaged by the top surface though he could feel his face flush. He looked up, registering that it was a woman’s voice, not a girl’s, as he said, “Yes?”
Then his heart slammed to his throat as he realized it was Molly’s mother. “Mrs. Masterson,” he said with difficulty.
“Oh, it’s Livesay. I took my maiden name back after the divorce.”
Like Molly she was petite and blond, and she was a lot younger than Daria. A lot younger . . .
“Ms. Livesay, then,” he said, forcing a smile.
“I wondered if I could talk to you about Molly.”
“Oh?” He could hear his heart beat in his ears. Had Molly said something about him? Had she guessed?
“Is now a good time?”
He realized she was dressed a little nicer than he’d ever seen her before and there was a light hint of perfume. Was he imagining it, or was she looking at him with extra interest? Maybe this really wasn’t about Molly after all....
“I was just leaving. I’ve got a date with
Monday Night Football
and a beer,” he lied.
“Oh, I love football.” She smiled and a dimple showed, just like Molly’s.
He found himself somewhat entranced. “We should watch together some time,” he said lightly.
“I could do that,” she answered, her smile growing.
“When would you like to talk about Molly?”
“Some time tomorrow, if you’re free?”
The way she said it, he was pretty sure she was coming on to him. In a flash, he thought about Daria leaving and maybe putting Ms. Livesay in her place. It would be a lot safer than his thoughts about Molly and the girl in Mrs. Pearce’s class. A lot safer.
Maybe she would even invite him to her place . . . where Molly might even be.
“I’ve got some time tomorrow evening, if that works for you,” he said. He got up from the chair and came around the desk, resting his thigh on the edge. His hard-on had relaxed but he felt a little twitch of interest. If she looked . . .
She looked. Then her eyes came up to his. “Tomorrow evening would be great. My name’s Claudia.” She reached out a hand and he shook it warmly.
“Graham. Would it be wrong to suggest meeting for a drink?”
“Would it be wrong of me to suggest dinner and wine at my place?”
He knew women liked his slow smile and now he deliberately let it slide across his face. “What time?”
Lucky stood outside her car in the Twin Oaks parking lot wearing her jogging gear and baseball cap. She’d positioned herself closer to a green Ford Fiesta than her Sentra, just in case anyone should remember her, and turned her back to a biting wind. At least the rain had stopped, though the amped-up breeze was swirling loose rust and gold leaves in a whirling eddy. The front window of the school was covered with paper jack-o’-lanterns grinning out at the parking lot.
Her quarry’s Chrysler wagon was two lanes over. She’d followed him to the school—hell, it felt like she’d been following him forever—and now she was anxiously waiting to see if anything would happen after school even though it was dangerous, even though someone could recognize her. But the woman he was living with had wished him good-bye this morning with a big kiss; Lucky had hidden herself by the neighbor’s hedge again, having realized no one appeared to be living in that house, so she’d been able to get up close and personal.
She’d followed after him on his way to school, but since she’d expected this was his destination, she didn’t worry about losing him if he got too far ahead. She’d managed to wheel into the lot just as he was letting himself into the school, and after a few minutes of making sure he was truly in for the day, she turned out of the lot and drove back to Mr. Blue’s, waiting until school was out in the afternoon to pick him up again.
Things were changing all around.
When she’d returned to Mr. Blue’s, she’d walked through the garage to her room, just like always, but this time she’d noticed that half his jars and tins and boxes of herbs and medicines were gone. She asked him about the missing stash when she saw him returning from the direction of the hot springs.
“I’m moving them to the storeroom,” he’d said.
“Is there a problem?” A sense of foreboding feathered across her skin.
He considered his answer for a long time, which only increased Lucky’s awareness that time was passing, the sands slipping through the hourglass.
“I believe in being prepared,” was all he finally said.
“Should I leave?”
“If he has brought trouble to my door, you may not want to be here.”
“You’re talking about the man you mentioned earlier.” Lucky glanced past him to where she knew the hot spring pools were, a quarter mile further on.
“I told him to deal with Juan, but he’s not one to listen to anything but his own desires. Desperate people do foolish things.”
“What’s he desperate for?”
“An escape from reality. He wants to be high all the time.” There was an unusual tone of censure in Mr. Blue’s voice. Most often he didn’t concern himself with the whys and wherefores of other people’s motivations. “He is catching me in the trap he’s made for himself.”
“Can I keep the car, just until I’m finished with what I have to do?” Lucky sensed this was a real breakup, not a temporary split, and it made her feel low.
“The car is yours. Do with it as you will.”
They’d stared at one another then, and it was Lucky who had finally been the first to break eye contact. She’d been overwhelmed. Mr. Blue was the best friend she’d ever had. Maybe the only friend. “I can be gone by tomorrow,” she’d said, her throat tight.
“Come inside.”
And he’d had her sit at the table while he went into his rooms. When he returned, he had a tight roll of bills that he placed into her hand. She could see a Benjamin wrapped around the outside. If they were all hundreds, she wasn’t sure how much cash it was, but it was a lot.
“Buy a cell phone and call the house, so I have your number. I don’t think it will be long before the authorities come looking.”
“Will they arrest you?” she asked, alarmed.
“No. But he is reckless and they will find him and they will come to my door and try to look inside the house. It is better if the curtains are open and they can get a clear view, so no one feels they need a search warrant.” He smiled faintly. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been through this. It won’t be the last. Maybe I’ll invite them in and offer them herbal tea.”
She’d started to feel better after that. Maybe it was just temporary.
But then he said, “If things go wrong, you know how to get into the storeroom, if you need to.”
She almost said, “Things won’t go wrong,” but she didn’t. It wasn’t in her nature to offer false hope and panaceas.
Instead she’d said, “Good-bye, Hiram,” and awkwardly shook his hand.
“I’ll see you before you leave,” he’d told her, and then he’d gone back into his rooms.
She believed when she returned tonight that the rest of the jars, tins, and boxes would be moved as well.
The thought of leaving him filled her with fear. She would be on her own again. Totally alone.
Momentarily she let her thoughts touch on her sister, but she pulled them back and shut them down. Her sister had abilities, too. Not the same as hers, but something. They’d come from the same strange mixture of genetic brew and though their meeting a few years earlier had been brief, she’d known Gemma had an extra vibe that told her things about people, a bit of precognition different from Lucky’s.
A group of preteen girls came out of the school together, and Lucky was brought back to the present. They said their good-byes to each other, then split apart. One of them started heading straight toward Lucky’s direction, so she opened her purse and pretended to be searching through it for something.
She was surprised when the girl slowed near the Fiesta. She was wearing skinny jeans and a raincoat over a red sweater with a deep vee that showed off an impressive set of boobs. She’d already pulled out her phone and was texting. Lucky moved a little bit away from the Fiesta, still searching through her purse.
“Can’t find your keys?” the girl asked, climbing onto the hood of the green car.
Lucky slid her a look out of the corner of her eyes. The girl couldn’t be more than twelve, as Twin Oaks only went through sixth grade, but she looked like she could be in high school. “Uh, no . . .”
“My mom loses hers all the time. God, I hope she gets out here soon. If it starts raining, I’m gonna be really pissed.”
“Your mom’s a teacher?” Lucky guessed.
“Sixth grade. I was like dying that I would get her as homeroom teacher, but they don’t do that. But then, I got Ugh, so that’s no better.”
“Ugh?”
“He’s like a lech. No one believes us because they all think he’s so hot and all, but he’s nasty.” She gave a mock shudder. “He likes the nerds, though, so I get a pass. I wish I’d gotten Mr. Tarker. He’s pretty cool. Owns one of those amphibians, you know?” Lucky shook her head. “They can drive on land and into water. He takes some of the kids sometimes, but oh, no. I had to get Ugh.”
“Why do you call him Ugh?” Lucky asked.
She gave her a sharp look. “Do you have a kid here?”
“I’m just waiting for a friend and then we’re going to jog around the track,” Lucky improvised.
“Oh, there’s my mom now. . . .” She scooted off the hood. “And there’s Ugh, talking to Molly’s mom. Yuck.” She made a face of supreme disgust.
Lucky glanced over to see her quarry smiling at a petite woman whose daughter was walking a few steps behind them. As she watched, “Ugh” slid a look toward the daughter that sent Lucky’s radar into overdrive.
“Why is he called Ugh?” she asked again.
“That’s his name. Ulysses Graham Harding, but all the parents call him Graham. They think he’s cool, but believe me, he’s just wrong.”
The girl’s mother was approaching, a trim, middle-aged woman with a tense expression and short black hair that was undoubtedly dyed. She gave Lucky a look and, taking her cue, Lucky tucked her purse under her arm, not wanting to give away which vehicle was hers, and jogged in the direction of the track. Halfway there she glanced back and saw Ugh still lingering with the woman and her daughter, Molly. Molly was as flat chested as the girl she’d been talking with was buxom.