He'd barely gotten a hello out before Lores spilled his story, peppered with so many anxious apologies that it took Gabriel a few moments to realize what he was saying. When he did, he knew why Olivia had called for those files.
Damn.
Chapter Forty-three
It had been three when I called Gabriel. That meant he would probably knock on my apartment door by about four fifteen. Unless Lores didn't tell Gabriel he'd screwed up. But Lores seemed smart enough to realize his mistake wouldn't go undetected for long. He'd confess before Gabriel found out so he could smooth things over.
Gabriel would realize this was too serious for a phone call. He'd come in person to tell me it was all a misunderstanding and, really, I was making too big a deal out of it.
Four fifteen, then.
I checked my watch. Four twenty-five. I dug into my meat loaf as Gordon Webster--who owned the hardware store--stopped by my table to say hello. How was the meat loaf? Was I working tonight? He thought it was my night off. It was a little creepy that people were following my schedule, but Gordon was this side of forty, recently divorced, and Ida claimed he'd been coming to the diner a whole lot more since I started. That was fine. He was a nice enough guy, and he tipped well.
I said yes, I was on as soon as I finished eating. Larry had said that if I ever wanted extra hours, I could come by any dinner hour that Trudy worked. She'd been with the diner since before Larry bought it. Since before the previous owner bought it, too. She was proud of her ability--at seventy--to still take on weekend dinner rushes single-handedly, but was quite willing to share the load.
As Gordon left, he murmured an apology for almost mowing down someone coming in the door. I heard a dry response in a voice I knew well. I checked my watch. Four thirty. Right on time.
I'd sat with my back to the door. Gabriel stopped at my shoulder, as if waiting for me to sense him there and turn. I took another bite of meat loaf.
He finally stepped around. As he pulled out the other chair, Veronica called, "Gabriel Walsh."
He greeted her, staying politely on his feet.
"It's good to see you, Gabriel," she said. "I've noticed that car of yours in town more often these days. Which is not as welcome a sight when it's flying so fast I can barely see it."
I bit my cheek to keep from smiling. Gabriel exceeded the speed limit in Cainsville by remarkably little, never dropping the pedal until he was past the town limits.
"Yes, well, perhaps I should pay more attention--" he began.
"You should," she said. "We have children here, Gabriel. We didn't allow that sort of behavior when you were a little tyke, visiting your auntie. You should be more careful. And more respectful."
He murmured, "Yes, I should. My apologies," and even sounded like he meant it.
Veronica softened the rebuke with a smile. "It is good to see you around more."
He nodded and lowered himself into the seat across from me. Before he could speak, Trudy approached.
"Can I get--?" she began.
Gabriel waved her away without looking.
"I think she was talking to me," I said. "I would love a slice of apple pie if you get a sec, Trudy. Thanks."
When I said her name, he looked up sharply. "Trudy. Sorry. I--"
"Yes, you're only rude to people you think you don't know. Which is a very poor way to treat anyone, Gabriel Walsh."
"Yes, well, perhaps I will have a coffee and--"
"You know where it is," she said and tromped off, orthopedic shoes clomping.
After a moment, Gabriel said, "Could we step out--?"
"I have pie coming. What do you want, Gabriel?"
"I know you spoke to Martin Lores. I believe--"
"--that I may have misinterpreted what he said? That you didn't set up that interview with him? Or that you weren't paid for it? If either of those lies comes out of your mouth, I will get you that coffee ... and dump it over your head."
He eyed me, as if trying to figure out whether I was serious. He considered long enough for Trudy to return with my pie. Then he cleared his throat.
"Were you pleased with the outcome of that interview, Olivia?"
"You know damn well I was. I made you cookies."
Did he flinch? Just a little?
"You were pleased," he said. "You admitted it was the right thing to do. So I don't see the problem."
"You don't?"
"No."
His gaze met mine. His shades were off, as they had been so many times in the last week that I'd gotten used to those frozen blue eyes. Every now and then, I'd even thought I'd seen a flicker of something in them. Something human. But now they were empty again. I dropped my gaze to my pie and dug in.
After I swallowed a mouthful, I said, "Then we have nothing to talk about. You're fired, Gabriel. As I'm sure you figured out when you realized why I asked for those files."
His fingers drummed the table. "This is ridiculous, Olivia. I did you a favor."
"Bullshit. You did yourself a favor. It just happened to work out in my interests, too, so you're assuaging whatever nub of a conscience you have by pretending you did it for me. I told you I wasn't ready for that interview. When we bumped into Lores, I was terrified. Genuinely terrified. You saw that. You didn't care."
"You were overreacting."
"How much did he pay you?" I said.
"I don't see how that's--"
"It can't be much for a single interview. Does it cover a week's gas for your car? Pay for a new shirt? You didn't need the money. I don't even think it's about the money. That's just an excuse to cover up the real reason you do shit like that." I looked him in the eye again. "Because you can. You get off on manipulating people."
I thought that might make him flinch for real. But his gaze seemed to go even colder, that chill seeping into his voice.
"I helped you, Olivia."
"Inadvertently. If you really gave a shit about helping me, you would have admitted you'd already called Lores and offered to coach me through it. I don't expect you to help me, Gabriel. Not unless it helps you, too. But I do expect to be treated with respect. That wasn't just cruel. It was disrespectful. That's why I'm firing you."
He leaned back in his chair. Studied me, then said, "So you're giving up on Pamela Larsen's case?"
"No, and you know that. I've got your files."
"So you plan to continue alone?"
"I do."
He smiled. A week of working together and I've never seen the bastard do more than twitch his lips. This made him smile. If my coffee wasn't so hot, I'd have thrown it at him. I was still tempted.
"How far do you think you'll get with that, Olivia?" he said. "You're a liberal arts grad who's never held any job other than"--he looked around pointedly--"here. You are in no position to investigate a string of twenty-two-year-old murders. Really, I didn't think you were that naive."
"Good-bye, Gabriel."
He got to his feet. "You have twenty-four hours to reconsider. If you attempt to retain my services after that, you will find my fee has risen. Significantly."
I wanted to tell him to go to hell. Instead I looked him in the eye and said, "Good-bye, Mr. Walsh."
He hesitated a split second, then buttoned his jacket, pulled his shades from his pocket, and strode out.
After my shift, I went home--yes, the apartment was finally becoming home--and read the ritual research files, making notes and looking things up on the Internet until my eyes hurt. Would firing Gabriel mean I'd lose my free Internet access? Would he send a repo man to take back the laptop? Fifty-fifty on both, I figured. Rose seemed to like me, so she might not listen if Gabriel asked her to change her Internet password. Would he be petty enough to ask? Hard to say. Better to do what I could quickly.
Chapter Forty-four
I was up early the next morning. Stressed about firing Gabriel, if I was being honest with myself. I worked it off with a 6 a.m. jog. I was rounding the corner by the community center when I saw a new gar
goyle. It was on an ivy-covered stone post, and I wouldn't have noticed it at all if the breaking light hadn't hit the post at just the right angle, making the gargoyle's green stone eyes glitter.
"Clever," I murmured as I cleared away the ivy for a better look. "Another one for my list."
I started to smile, then stopped myself. Thinking of gargoyle lists only brought my mind back to a place I'd been trying to leave--Gabriel. I shook it off and started to run again, but I kept thinking about the gargoyles, and when I passed the bank, my gaze instinctively went to the place where I'd seen one the other night, with Veronica.
It wasn't there.
I walked over to the stonework. The door was framed with rosettes. The other night, though, one of those carvings had been a gargoyle face. And now? All I saw were rosettes.
I looked from several angles. Even ran my fingers across the one that I was sure had been the gargoyle. Nothing.
"A night gargoyle," I murmured.
I looked back down the road at the post by the community center. That "hidden" one made sense--you just didn't notice it if the sun didn't hit it right. But this...?
I ran my fingers over the rosette again, then gave my head a sharp shake and continued on.
I spent my shift thinking about ritual murder. It wasn't as common as Hollywood and the tabloids might lead one to believe. There's no human sacrificial tradition in Wicca, satanism, voodoo, or any of the faiths we associate with modern American occultism. According to the experts Gabriel had hired, if you find corpses with evidence of ritual sacrifice, you're probably dealing with fringe nut jobs.
There were no indications that Pamela and Todd Larsen were fringe nut jobs. She'd admitted to being a practicing Wiccan, but everything the police found in that chest was evidence of the benign, Earth-mother-worshipping form embraced by college students everywhere.
The experts Gabriel hired hadn't been able to identify most of the ritualistic elements in the murders. There were no pentacles drawn in blood. No black candles. No dead animals. In the end, both experts decided the Larsens had made up their own ceremony. One was convinced they were secret occultists who believed their self-made ritual would grant them some boon. The other thought they'd simply invented it to throw the police off the trail.
I liked theory two. Two sociopaths want to kill people and get away with it. One has some minor experience with occultism. They decide to add fake ritual aspects to their murders to mislead the authorities.
And yet I couldn't help thinking there was more to it. Maybe I was looking for patterns where none existed. I've often thought that's where my obsession with omens and superstitions comes from--trying to find order and meaning in a chaotic world. In trying to make sense of these ritual elements, maybe I was just falling into the same trap as the other investigators.
When my shift ended at three, I offered to come back to help Trudy again. Since the dinner rush in Cainsville starts at five, I'd eat an early meal there and work quietly at a corner table.
That was the plan, anyway. The reading and note-taking wasn't so easy when Ida and Walter stopped by for tea and wanted to talk about whatever I was working on so hard. I shut my folders quickly and said, "Just some research."
In my haste to scoop up the pages, one fell and Walter got to it before I could.
"That's just--" I began.
"About your parents," he said, glancing at the page before he handed it back. "The Larsens. You're investigating their crimes."
Ida nodded, looking as concerned as if I was researching new appliances for my apartment. At the next table, Veronica perked up and inched her chair closer.
"I, uh..."
"You're curious," Ida said as she sat across from me. Walter took the extra chair at Veronica's table and swung it over. "That's natural. It must have been a huge shock for you. You need to understand it."
When Lores's interview came out and no one in Cainsville mentioned it, I'd told myself no one had noticed. That had seemed odd, but they'd said many times that they weren't interested in city news. Now I realized they'd known who I was for a while. Maybe even before the article came out. They just hadn't brought it up.
"I'm just checking a few things," I said. "Are you staying for dinner? The special is roast ham--it wasn't ready for me to snatch some early, but it smells amazing."
"Is that what you were doing with Gabriel?" Walter said. "Investigating the murders?"
"He's not working for me anymore. Did I mention there's strawberry and rhubarb pie? Trudy brought fruit in from her garden, and Larry made it this morning."
Ida reached out and patted my hand. "You don't need to hide things from us, dear. We know you're investigating the crimes and we think it's a lovely idea."
Lovely?
"What are you working on now?" Veronica asked. She'd moved her chair up beside Walter and was peering at the folder.
"Um, just, uh..." Oh, hell. They weren't about to be brushed off. Might as well get it over with. "There were ritualistic aspects to the murders. I'm trying to understand them."
"Witchcraft, wasn't it?" Ida said.
Walter shook his head. "They're called Wiccan now, dear."
"No, Wicca is a different thing altogether. Mavis's granddaughter became a Wiccan when she went away to college, and she certainly never killed anyone. That's witchcraft. Or a satanic cult." She looked at me. "What did they think it was with the Larsens?"
"They didn't know. That's what I'm looking into. What they did to..." I cleared my throat. "The ritualistic aspects don't fit any known occult branch. I'm trying to make sense of it myself."
"Oh, that sounds interesting." Ida reached out for the folder. "May I take a look?"
Hell, no. I lowered the folder onto my lap. "I can't. Sorry. They're official files."
"Perhaps you can give us an overview," Ida said. "I do love mysteries."
"I really don't think--"
"She's trying, very politely, to say, 'not a chance in hell,'" said a voice behind me.
Patrick strolled over. As he met my eyes, he rolled his.
"Those weren't polite little Agatha Christie murders," he said to the others. "Liv's not going to share it with folks whose idea of horror is Bela Lugosi in face paint."
"I didn't say--" I began.
"Why give the old folks nightmares when they sure as hell aren't going to know anything useful about the occult."
It wasn't the first time I'd heard Patrick talk to the town elders like that. They might rebuke Gabriel, but they only glowered and muttered at Patrick. Odd, considering how young he was.
"Shoo," he said, waving his fingers at them. "You can't help here. I, on the other hand, am well versed in the black arts."
I don't know what kind of look I gave him, but he burst out laughing.
"No, I don't mutilate cats in my basement. I'm a writer, remember? This is my specialty."
"Horror?"
He shrugged. "Something like that."
"He's playing with you, my dear," Ida said. "He can't help you."
"Oh, yes, I can," Patrick said. "Not in here, though. Too many nosy senior citizens. How about we take a walk to the park, and you can test my knowledge of arcane occult trivia. See how helpful I can be."
"I need to be back by five," I said as I rose. I could feel Ida's and Walter's chilly displeasure, but with Gabriel gone, I couldn't afford to turn down help.
I murmured a good-bye to the others, and let Patrick lead me from the diner.
Coexistence
Patrick glanced back at the old folks as he shuttled Olivia out the door. Their scowls deepened, just in case he was unaware of how much they disapproved. He knew, of course--he lived under a perpetual cloud of their disapproval.
It had been like this since they'd settled Cainsville. He'd been the sole dissenting voice when they'd devised their silly rules for coexisting with the boinne-fala. They had presumed he would come around, and eventually do things their way. He had not. He never would. Which annoyed them to no end. T
hey could simply have asked him to leave. That, however, would be ... unwise.
Yet it was his very flouting of the rules that allowed him to waltz off with their prize today. He had to laugh at their clumsy attempts to discover Olivia's progress. She looked at them and saw old people, beyond the ability to help, particularly with something so disturbing. It might stop their aged hearts.
They were curious, of course. Concerned, too. Would Olivia find anything? Was there anything to find? The problem was that none of them knew. When Pamela Bowen and Todd Larsen were arrested for killing those four couples, the elders of Cainsville heard only rumors of what had happened, from those who lived outside the town. They helped when they could, like the brunaidh who gave Grace's address to Olivia or the spriggan who scared her out of Chicago. Both had been quick to contact the elders, like eager puppies expecting a scratch behind the ears. They might not live here, but they knew it was wise to ingratiate themselves with the residents of Cainsville.
Now Olivia was investigating her parents' crimes. Gabriel was helping ... Or he had been. Their apparent estrangement concerned Patrick, which was terribly annoying. He hated to be concerned. It wasn't in his nature. He had a soft spot for Gabriel, though, more than he usually did for his epil. If Olivia was to discover anything of interest, it would behoove Gabriel to be there, at her side, to reap the benefits.
Patrick hoped the situation between them would resolve itself. He was sure it would. But if it didn't, he might give it a little push.
Chapter Forty-five
"So you write horror?" I said as we walked to the park.
"No. Paranormal romance."
I glanced over.
A mock-offended look. "You think I'm kidding?"
"I'm not sure, because I have no idea what that is."
"Exactly what it sounds like. Vampires, demons, witches, and the like. With romance. It's a hot market."
"So you're trying to break in by writing it?"
"Break in? I have six books out already. How do you think I can afford to sit in a diner typing all day?"
"Sorry. You just seem young to be published."
"I'm older than I look."
We turned onto the path to the park.
"Do you publish under a pseudonym?" I asked.