The Dead Don't Speak (6 page)

"I had fun the other night."

"Me, too. What can I do for you?" Simon asked again.

"You cut right to the chase, don't you?"

"Fastest way to get through the day."

"I just... I missed seeing you," she said.

Her name was Cassandra, Simon recalled, finally.

"Care for a drink, Cassandra? Rum and coke, if memory serves?" Remembering the drink was easy since Simon had made an inward joke to himself that it matched her skin tone, which it didn't.

"Look at you! And here I thought you didn't remember me."

"Of course I remember you. It was quite a night," Simon smiled, beginning to want a second helping.

Cassandra watched him mix the drinks, "I thought we could have dinner sometime."

"I'm sorry. I don't date," Simon said.

"What do you call what we did the other night?"

"I call it fun. But I don't
go out
with women. I don't go out at all, actually."

"What if we had dinner here?" Cassandra asked brightly, trying to keep things upbeat.

"Room service?"

"Sure, whatever," she smiled.

Simon sucked his teeth. "I'm set in my ways," he said.

"Don't you like me?" Cassandra asked.

Simon handed her a drink, "Sure I do. Why?"

Could he really not see the connection? Cassandra was rapidly losing hope of finding a way into his life; her options evaporating before her eyes.

She took a big swallow of her drink. Simon smiled.

"You know I'm seventeen?" Cassandra blurted. She immediately regretted it.

"You are?"

She nodded and finished the drink with a second swallow.

"Fucking Chris," Simon muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing, never mind. You should probably go."

Simon's words pricked her. Her shoulders slumped and she said, "I don't want to go. I want to do what we did the other night."

"I can't," Simon said, not liking this abrupt turn in his day.

"You can... You
did
!"

"I won't then, whatever. Time to go."

Simon grabbed her arm and tried to lift her. Cassandra wouldn't move. His utter coldness toward her was too much. Another unkind move and the tears would come. She could feel them collecting just behind her eyes.

"Time to go
now
!" Simon tightened his grip and pulled her to her feet. Cassandra let out a shriek.

"Get your hands off me," she shouted.

"Calm down!"

"Don't you
ever
touch me!"

Cassandra was screaming now, loud enough for anyone outside to hear. The tears started, dragging long lines of mascara down her face.

"You're not even a man," she said. "You know that? Couldn't get it up!" It wasn't true but Cassandra didn't care. With her feelings lying trampled on the floor she would have said anything to hurt him.

Simon cocked his hand back and slapped her across the face, hard. He took her arm again and dragged her to the door, opened it, and shoved her out. Cassandra collapsed to the floor, a sobbing mess.

Inside the suite, Simon returned to the couch. A smile touched his lips and he began to chuckle. He shook his head at the ridiculousness of that stupid spic. "Please Señor, I need your dick or I might die!" His chuckles became a fit of laughter.

Tim Carter rolled his chair up to the dining room table. Daphne was home in time for dinner, for once, and even Sarah had made it a point to eat with her parents. The spread consisted of rosemary chicken, garlic smashed baby red potatoes, and candied carrots.

"Tim, why don't you wear the prosthetics?" Daphne asked.

She didn't want to be
that
kind of wife, a nagger, but they'd spent a small fortune on prosthetic legs for Tim. While he used a wheelchair, Tim was not paralyzed. He'd lost the lower part of both of his legs in the accident with the texting driver. Both legs had been severed just below the knee.

"Because I don't want to wear the prosthetics. It’s too difficult to stand and walk, let alone transition from standing to sitting and back to standing.
And
they itch!"

"Maybe if you practiced like the PT lady said..." Daphne trailed off.

"If you ever lose your legs, feel free to use them all you want," Tim said, his voice dripping with venom.

"Guys, come on. I never get to see you two at the same time. Can't we have a nice supper together?" Sarah said.

"Sorry, honey," Tim said. He looked at his daughter and smiled.

"Me, too," Daphne said. She was looking at Tim. He caught the look and nodded once, his way of saying he understood all she'd meant with the two words.

"I've been talking to Simon Simmons. You know, the psychic guy at Camelot?"

Sarah held her breath.

Tim nodded at Daphne and said, "What about?"

"Trying to get him to come over to Versailles. Numbers have been dismal. I'm trying to turn it around before I'm out of work."

"The CFO doesn't usually do that kind of thing, do they?" Tim asked.

"Not usually, no. But, like I said, I need to do
something.
"

"What's the matter, Sarah?" Tim asked. She looked a little pale, like she was holding something in.

"Nothing," she replied.

Tim shrugged. If he lost his shit every time his daughter had a problem, he'd have gone insane long ago. The hint of a smile touched his lips. Sarah preferred to handle her own problems, just like her mother.

What would happen with Daphne,
Tim wondered. He watched her take a bite of chicken and close her eyes, savoring the flavor. They were going through a rough patch. Maybe it was the stress of the CFO position. And if things weren't going well, that could explain why she was often gone and moody when she was home.

For all Daphne's time away from home, Tim had never once considered that she might be cheating on him. Many men would have thought that, but he knew his wife. She wasn't the cheating kind. Not at all. Sometimes she seemed like the knights of old, adhering to a stringent code of conduct.

"What?" Daphne asked. Tim had been staring. She smiled at him.

He smiled back. "Nothing. Just thinking."

*****

At the end of the second week of their tenure at the Texas State Fair, Zach and Walter received a visit from Mr. Snider.

"You're drawing decent crowds," Snider said.

"Pretty good," Walter agreed. "We have people standing around the edges now."

"You boys want a bigger stage?" Snider asked.

"We would. But we're clearing out of here tomorrow. I appreciate the opportunity and all but we're headed to Las Vegas," Walter said.

"Vegas, huh? Quite a town," Snider said. "What's bringing you out there?"

"Girlfriend's daughter has an audition."

Zack smirked. In all the time he'd spent with Cayte, the audition had come up once, only once. He doubted that part was true. But a trip to Las Vegas meant spending a lot of time with Cayte, and Walter had left him alone since Margaret came around.

"Your girlfriend?" Snider looked doubtful. However, this was the first time he'd seen Walter fully sober and hadn't detected the smell of stale alcohol that followed him like a loyal pet.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't tell me you're talking about Margaret and her daughter, Cayte."

"Matter of fact I am."

"Good lookin' woman," Snider nodded his approval.

"You're tellin' me."

"What do you think, Zach?" Snider said.

Zach shrugged. He liked Margaret fine but Cayte had repeatedly warned him not to trust her. She was good for his dad though, that was for sure. Walter was making an effort to control his drinking and hadn't sworn at or smacked Zach in the past week. Yes, Margaret was good for Walter, which was good for Zach. It was nice to not have to walk on eggshells around his dad. But none of that mattered. Walter being with Margaret meant Zach got to be around Cayte. Margaret could have been a werewolf and it wouldn't have made a difference.

"Hate to see you go. I've heard a few folks around the fair talking. Said they came just to see Zach. But you gotta do what's right for you, and you've done right by me. Paid your fees each week and made some money in the process. Next year we'd love to have you back. We'll get you a bigger venue. Get you out of the barn and onto a real stage."

"Very kind of you, Mr. Snider," Walter said.

Snider touched the brim of his hat to each of the Hepsons and left without another word.

"What was that about?" Margaret asked, seeming to materialize out of thin air.

"Snider wanted us to stay on 'til the end of the fair," Walter said.

"I don't much care for that man," Margaret said.

What Margaret didn't say was that to get Cayte a side-stage show she'd offered to "persuade" him. Snider, being a stickler about his job, resisted Margaret's advances and demanded to hear the girl sing. Once he'd heard Cayte sing, Snider overlooked Margaret's attempt and booked them for the first two weeks.

"Find someone to take your camper and pickup yet?" Margaret asked Walter.

"Yeah. Got a guy coming by this afternoon to take it off my hands. Can't believe I'm getting rid of Ol' Rusty."

"Please, darlin', that thing shoulda been scrapped years ago."

Walter didn't say anything. Margaret came up to him and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

"Chin up, sugar, we're hittin' the road tomorrow for Las Vegas."

"Yeah," Walter smiled.

It was nice to see Walter smile; it'd been a rare occurrence since Zach's mother died.

"God, this free time is killing me," Cayte said, walking through the barn.

"Calm your britches," Margaret told her. "We're on the road tomorrow. You should be practicin' anyhow."

"I can't practice all day, Margaret. I need to rest my voice."

"Hush up then," Margaret snapped.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Cayte asked Zach.

"All right."

The two had gone on many walks in the couple of weeks they'd known each other. Usually going for a walk consisted of Cayte complaining about her mother while Zach didn’t saying anything and nodded his head when appropriate. This walk started out a little different.

As they strode among the throng of fairgoers, Cayte asked, "How do you hear spirits?"

"I just do. I have for a long time." Zach almost felt bad lying to Cayte. Almost.

"But how? You don't hear them all the time, right?"

"Not all the time. I have to listen for them," Zach said.

"How do you listen for them?"

"I concentrate. I kind of turn off my normal hearing and turn on my
other
hearing. It's not the same as hearing normal stuff, where the sound comes to you. I have to reach out with my hearing and find the sounds, you know?"

Cayte shook her head.

"It's hard to explain," Zach said.

"Are there any spirits trying to talk to me?" Cayte asked.

"I don't know. I've never listened for you. Well, except that one time you came to my show."

When you built up a character the way Zach had you couldn't let the veil slip, not even a little, ever.

"Would you listen for me now? I want to know if this trip to Las Vegas is the right thing."

"Okay, but we need to go somewhere away from people. I can't pick and choose who I hear for. The larger the crowd, the harder it is to tell the voices apart."

"Them large crowds you've been gettin' must have been tough," Cayte said.

Zach nodded, "I couldn't go much bigger."

They found a secluded spot under a set of bleachers where the livestock shows were held. Zach sat across from Cayte and closed his eyes in concentration. He thought back to all the talking Cayte'd done over the last couple weeks. His mind sifted through the words and pulled out only the juiciest tidbits.

"Do I have to do anything?" Cayte asked.

Zach shook his head, not speaking a reply to let her know she should be quiet, too.

"Do you have a Grandma Rose?" Zach asked. He kept his eyes closed.

"I did. She died when I was ten."

Zach smiled, eyes still closed, "She's happy you're a musician, like her. She wants you to know she watches you sing and thinks you're very good."

Anyone who'd spent a practice session with Cayte knew it was her grandma who taught her to play the guitar.

He paused, cocked his head, and then continued, "She says you're better off without your father. Also, she doesn't want you to become like your mother. Grandma Rose wants you to keep being good."

Also, nothing too difficult there.

"There's something about a brown guitar pick..." He paused, continued, "... and a promise... The brown guitar pick was a promise? Was it your grandma's promise to watch over you? Is this making sense?"

She used the brown pick only when she was upset about something. She'd never given Zach the specifics but it was apparent the pick held a special place in Cayte's heart. Zach had connected the dots days ago.

Zach opened an eye to observe Cayte. She sat across from him with a brown guitar pick in the palm of her hand, staring down at it, showering it with tears.

"She taught me how..." Cayte choked on a sob. She swiped the back of her empty hand at her flushed cheeks, wiping the tears away. "She taught me how to play. My Grandma Rose taught me guitar. Before she died she gave me her pick and promised to watch me every time I took the stage."

Cayte lunged at Zach, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Zach's arms were pinned to his sides or he'd have hugged her back.

"Thank you," Cayte said quietly in his ear.

Zach tilted his head so it touched Cayte's. Her hold on him tightened.

With his racing pulse swishing in his ears, Zach said, "You're welcome."

*****

Sarah's Jaguar pulled up to the curb outside Cassandra's home in Sunrise Manor. It was a little pink house that Cassandra's father, Humberto, kept immaculate.

Sarah knocked on the door and waited. Humberto pulled it open. He looked troubled about something. Sarah figured he didn't like his daughter hanging around with a rich white girl. If he only knew the things his daughter got up to, especially her recent fling with Simon Simmons!

She smiled in the hot sun, "Hi, Mr. Hernandez. Cassie around?"

"You mean Cassandra?" the man said.

"Yes, sir, Cassandra," Sarah nodded.

"In her room."

Humberto walked away from the door, leaving it open for Sarah to enter. She walked through the house to Cassandra's bedroom.

Sarah opened the door without knocking. The room was bathed in shadow. All the curtains were drawn and the blinds closed.

"Why's it so dark in here?" Sarah asked.

"I went to talk to him today," Cassandra said. She was sitting in a chair by her window.

"Talk to who?"

"Simon Simmons."

"Oh, my crap! Really?"

"Yes."

"What'd he say?"

Cassandra opened the blinds and faced Sarah. There was a large bruise on the side of Cassandra's face. No wonder her dad was in a mood, Sarah thought.

"Simmons did that?"

Cassandra nodded.

"Man, oh man," Sarah said and sat on the bed. "I knew he had a reputation as a cooz hound. I didn't think he ever hit girls."

"Proof," Cassandra said. She felt her cheek with the tips of her fingers, wincing a little. Then she said, "Look at this," and held out her cell phone to Sarah.

Sarah took it and looked at the picture displayed there. It was Cassandra, looking like a mess, outside a door marked 1147.

"That his door?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah. Now flip back a couple."

Sarah swiped photos aside with shaking hands until she came to one of Cassandra with a good-looking middle-aged man.

"That him?"

"Yeah. I took it the night we hooked up. See what's in my hand?"

There was a glass with dark liquid.