Bijou Read online

  Bruce, who was sitting on the edge of the pool, turned to look at us. “Mom, you wouldn’t believe what Grandpa has—”

  “Bruce,” I interrupted. “Would you get me another glass of water, please?” I held my cup out to him.

  Without a word he got up and did as I asked. Ivy appeared not to have paid much attention to what Bruce had been going to tell her. But she would pay attention to what I was going to tell her.

  “Ivy, I know that you have stolen Bijou. I know who it belonged to, and I know where it is.”

  Ivy’s lips parted with the merest movement to her mouth, but other than that her face gave away nothing. Behind me, from the open sliding glass door, I heard a soft grunt from Bruce, revealing to me that I had struck home.

  “Bruce.” Ivy swung her legs onto the chaise. “Annie and I have to discuss something private. Would you mind?”

  Her tone made me sick with anger. “No, he stays here. He’s in it up to his eyeballs just the same as you.”

  Glancing behind me, I saw Bruce sit down on the step of the sliding glass door and press his chin into his hands.

  I turned to my sister. “Why did you do it, Ivy? I can’t believe you would take a chance like this. You have to get rid of it. Put it back.”

  Ivy leaned back on her chaise and steepled her fingers, bringing them up to her nose. She looked out into the pale suburban-substitute for night.

  “We need the money. Jack will pay me a lot of money for that Bijou.”

  I sat up, astonished that she had so blithely confirmed what I had only suspected. “Money! You can get money. You could have asked me for money. But stealing Hollis’s soul, someone we knew. That’s so wrong.”

  Gazing toward me with no expression, Ivy stared over my shoulder. I felt a hand encircle my arm. Zoe stood next to me.

  I pulled my daughter to me and she slid on the chaise lounge. My bladder nudged me to take care of things, but I couldn’t worry about that now.

  “You may as well know what Aunt Ivy has done.” I smoothed Zoe’s hair. Zoe gazed at Ivy with a worried look in her eyes. “You already know how our family can aid the dying, help them release. You know I am a ghost guide. You know we can summon the dead, and speak with them. We can de-haunt places, but also set it up so a place can be haunted.”

  Ivy was silent as I spoke. Bruce walked over to the pool, sat on the edge.

  I continued. “The essence of human consciousness is an energy we cannot fully understand. Quantum physics, which was your granddad’s field, tried to explain it. Consciousness impacts everything, all matter, all energy. At the moment of death, the soul/energy is released or transformed—no one except the dead knows how this happens. A skilled ghost guide, at the moment of death, one who knows how—” I glanced at my sister, who lay with her eyes closed, but who was, I gathered, not asleep—”can capture this energy. Manipulated this way it becomes a bijou-like bead. That’s why we call it Bijou. A jewel. Like those ones we saw today in Grandpa’s lab.

  A silence, save for the relentless cricket chorus, fell over the patio. I could see questions in Zoe’s face as she thought about what I had just told her. Ivy’s eyes popped open.

  I continued. “To take a person’s Bijou is a craven thing, Zoe. You rob them of their connection with the universe. They become a thing in limbo, and can have no knowledge of the worlds open to them once they are dead. An empty shell. Some, I understand, can become a deadly force, a black cloud, and can bring misery to the living. Maybe those are the ones whose souls are taken when they aren’t about to die.”

  “But why would someone want to do that?” Zoe’s voice was surprisingly calm. She could have been asking about how a combustion engine worked.

  Sighing, I wished I didn’t have to explain at all. “Bijou is abused by the living. A process exists which can distill it into a liquid. Injected intravenously, it can reverse aging. It’s very, very valuable to people who will pay obscene sums to obtain it and use it to stay young-looking.”

  “Especially in L.A.” This from Bruce, who watched me over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe who is using Bijou down there. Some of the biggest stars—”

  “Shut up, Bruce.” Ivy sat up and took a deep sigh. “So you know. And now can’t you just forget about it? It’s my doing. Bruce only knows about it because he saw me get it and started to ask questions.”

  “But Ivy, it’s wrong.” I stared at her, but she wouldn’t look at me. “And Hollis. Did it have to be Hollis?”

  “It was an opportunity. I took it. He was there, dying. I had studied how to do it, in case I had a chance. There it was, handed to me.” She took another breath and stared up at the tiki lights intertwined in the grape vine. “It was as if he was giving it to me. I was the one who was with him as he died, waiting for the aid car.” Her voice got hard again. “You don’t understand, Annie. You don’t know the answer to everything. You think you do, you think you have the market on morality, the rules of death, who should die when. But you have no idea. At least I don’t kill people outright, like the Delphines.”

  At the mention of that name, a chill settled on me. Even the crickets seemed to cease functioning, as if a depraved demon had just flown overhead.

  “Bijou Xtra.” I looked around, as if Dominique Delphine had just appeared behind my chaise lounge. “But Ivy. How did you know Hollis’s death was imminent, irreversible.? What if he would have survived that bike crash?”

  Ivy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why would you say that?”

  “Dad told me. And Dominique is not going to let you keep it.” I sat up, leaned close to her. My anger at her gave way to worry. “She’s already tried to kill you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Her eyes narrowed further.

  “Didn’t someone nearly run you down, in the street? A big old car, you said.”

  “Dominique’s in San Francisco.” Ivy pressed her lips together. “She never comes here.”

  “Right.” Ivy knew I didn’t believe her. But another worry nudged me. “Is Jack in a position to buy Bijou Xtra? What’s it worth?” I had to know, then I had to talk her out of it.

  “He says he does. He’s been buying Bijou from Dominique. He’s been using it himself.”

  “You shouldn’t be selling it at all. Hollis needs it. Dad wasn’t sure what happens to someone whose soul is stolen when they are not dying, but he was very worried. You have to put it back.”

  Ivy looked away, and one by one the crickets began again. The distant odor of grilling floated into the yard.

  “Mom doesn’t know how to put it back.” This from Bruce, who sat with his legs in the water.

  “I do know how, but I don’t choose to.” Ivy looked at me, a new expression of purpose on her face. “All my life I have scraped to get what money I can. We only live here because I inherited this dump from Dad. He left you the money, me the house. Go figure. Bruce needs to go to college. I am tired of worrying about money. Now is the chance to set us up for life. For Bruce to have something when I die.”

  “Money isn’t that important. Not risking the danger of going up against the Delphines.” I swung around to face my sister. “I could give you money.”

  Bruce turned to face me. He lumbered to his feet and approached. I saw a filtering of anger narrowing the space between his eyebrows. “I want Mom to use the Bijou money herself. Doctor bills. Or even inject it. It could save her life.”

  I could find nothing to say to that. In all my fury I had forgotten that Ivy was ill. At least, in all the lies, that was one true fact. There would have to be money for doctor bills. I knew Ivy had no insurance.

  We all were silent for a beat of time. I too wanted Ivy to be well, as much as I was angry at her for stealing Hollis’s Bijou. My very bones ached, my bladder throbbed with wanting to be emptied. Without a word I rose. Zoe got up with me and slipped into the pool, joined by Bruce. Ivy lay on her chaise, her face turned away. I could not, would not look to see if the sincerity I had seen in her eyes
was real.

  I did not recall falling asleep, but I did wake up on my bed in my jeans and t-shirt. My mouth felt like a thousand cotton balls were stuffed inside, and the sun streaming in through a gap in the drapes sent razors through my eyeballs. I was hungover, I realized, but I had not touched a drop of alcohol. My hour in Hell had taken its toll.

  The clock told me it was ten minutes after ten. I had slept three hours. Outside I heard Zoe splashing in the pool again. She would turn into a sea horse if I wasn’t careful.

  The shower felt like manna from the heavens. I stood under the running water until it began to grow cool. I still hadn’t solved Mae’s problem, nor prevented the suicide club. The problem of Hollis’s Bijou—well, there was nothing I could do about Ivy right now. She made bulldoggedess a religion. It would do me no good to hang around and watch her self-destruct.

  Drying off, I put on a loose sun dress and flip flops. I could tell the day promised exhaustive heat. In the kitchen, someone had actually made coffee. Neither Ivy nor Bruce were in evidence. I took a mug of the too-weak stuff in the pot out to the patio. My cell phone was where I had left it; the battery nearly dead. But there was a message.

  “Hi, Annie. Returning your call. I know it’s late. Sorry. Call me at work, huh?” Sawyer rattled off a number, which I then punched into my phone.

  Zoe swam a lap while I waited for Sawyer to answer. She turned on her back and side and stomach, and waved at me. I waved back.

  A woman answered: “Quantum City Independent. Connie speaking.” I asked for him, and she sounded uncertain. “Sawyer Webster?” emphasizing the Webster part, as if she wanted me to spell it. She sounded like she was sixteen going on thirty. But a moment later she came back on the line and transferred me.

  This time a man answered who seemed to know whom I wanted. He put the phone down with a thunk and I heard noises like him walking away, followed by a long silence.

  Finally the phone got picked up again, and Sawyer said hello. He sounded irritable.

  But when I told him who I was, his tone softened. “Annie, this is great. Let me call you right back. I’m the middle of a stop bath.”

  Having no idea what he was talking about, I agreed and waited quietly in the chaise lounge under the grapes for him to call back. Zoe got out of the pool, gave me a kiss, and went into the house for a bath. What was it about this kid and water? Pepper ambled over from the cool lawn and settled down beside me with a grunt.

  When the phone rang again ten minutes later, I had hatched what was probably a lame-brain plan to help Ivy, but I would have to act fast. Sawyer’s voice sounded far more relaxed.

  I wanted to talk to him in person, so we made a date to meet for lunch at a cafe near the old Carnegie library. The sun dress I already wore would be cute enough, but I put on a pair of real sandals. My eyes were puffy and my skin dry, but lotion and makeup subtracted a couple years. After all I was thirty-four now, but hoped I looked no older than twenty. Sawyer of course would know how old I was. What was this sudden sensitivity about my age? A little Bijou, and I could look twenty again. The thought made me slightly sick.

  Remembering Dad’s warning about not leaving Zoe alone, I decided Pepper would let nothing happen to her.

  Zoe wanted to come with me, but when I promised her a bike ride later and ice cream, she relented and went back to reading her book, Pepper at her side.

  The seats of my car were hot stove tops and the car a pizza oven. I got the air conditioning going full blast and drove through town.

  Parking two blocks from the old library, because I was early, I walked past it to the corner of J street and Second to the Valecitas Cafe. Sawyer waited for me out front. The day was hot, but the sidewalk was shaded, and we sat together at one of the tables outside, the last available one.

  Sawyer looked as if he had recovered from our crazy night and was willing to speak to me again. I wondered what he would think when I told him what I wanted, and that I figured it out after talking to a ghost.

  Chapter Fifteen

  My Hour in Heaven

  “Agnes didn’t come home last night,” were the first words out of his mouth as I ordered coffee to get my body jump-started. His was decaffeinated. “She called me, told me she was OK, but she had to stay out with a friend who was having a nervous breakdown, or something like that.”

  I nodded, trying to envision my sweet, perfect Zoe with tattoos and a pierced nose. “Sawyer, Bruce is not a bad kid. You remember how we were when we were that age? Obnoxious and staying out all night. I’m not excusing it, but we never got into any real trouble.”

  “No,” he said, squinting into the sun-laden street. “Our best friend just killed herself, that was all.”

  He sounded so morose I worried for him. Sawyer had always been the most stable of us four. He drove when we were too high. He showed up on time. He remembered where the bathrooms were.

  “Sawyer, I wanted to talk about that.” The waitress brought salads and french bread with an olive oil dip. She said hi to Sawyer with a big smile, and gave me a cold smile. She had long shiny blond hair and wore a tight t-shirt with her belly button showing.

  Cramming a wad of spring mix into his mouth, Sawyer nodded. “I’ve been wanting to talk about her too. I’ve never understood why she did it. You were the closest to her. Do you know why?”

  I shook my head. I had considered, over the years, numerous reasons. All of the primary ones pointed to me. I learned from my therapist that I couldn’t take the credit, but nothing would relieve me more than if I heard the truth straight from the victim’s mouth that it was an accident, if I had the courage to ask her. As I have said, ghosts can’t lie. But I couldn’t tell Sawyer that. I had the privilege of truth, while he had only speculation and guilt.

  But Sawyer’s question gave me an opening, and I lied a little. “Let me say this. I never believed her death had anything to do with any of us.”

  He nodded. I wasn’t sure my words helped. So I probed further.

  “I think it had something to do with the baby that died.”

  Sawyer stopped chewing and took a drink of water. “You really think so? She never talked about it. But it makes sense. No one ever learned the truth.” He leaned toward me. “Annie, did you think she did it? I mean, killed that baby?”

  Licking olive oil off a slice of bread, I shook my head. “No. I think she was innocent. I really do.” The last thing I would do was tell Sawyer his ex-wife is a murderer. “Look, Sawyer, we have Mae’s diary. But it’s not going to be enough. We need proof about what happened. We can help Agnes and those other girls get over this Mae mystique. I have an idea.”

  His eyes followed the waitress as she serviced the next table, but I could tell he was thinking about what I had just said.

  Finally he glanced at me. I marveled at how blue his eyes were in this light. “How? Every time I talk to Agnes, she rolls her eyes and treats me like the Ebola virus. Teenage stuff, age-appropriate, but I’m her father. I want to help her. Ever since Dom and I separated, Agnes has nothing but contempt for me.” He shrugged. “But she wants to live with me, not her mother. I don’t get it.”

  I had some ideas about that, but I kept them to myself. “Teenagers are another species all together, I think. Either that or transplants from another planet.” I picked at the ciabatta turkey sandwich I had ordered, wondering why I had done so. What I really wanted was a cold glass of semillion, but I had to stay sharp. “We need to bust apart the image of Mae as this tragic romantic queen. I just found something out that might do that.”

  “What, shall we have a book burning?” He said it with a smile, and I smiled back. We gazed at each other for a moment.

  I looked down at my plate where a Greek olive had become very interesting. It was comforting to know he had divorced Dominique. “No. But I think we can prove that Mae was innocent of the baby murder.”

  A skeptical look moved his eyebrows up his forehead. “How?”

  The lie came so easily. I was pr
acticed at covering up the Family Novak’s unique abilities. This was no different. “Ivy remembered something about Justin’s father.”

  “Who’s Justin?”

  “The baby who died. Listen. Jeff Nash used to keep journals. He was a wannabe writer. He wrote everything down. It’s possible his journals could still be around somewhere.”

  Leaning toward me, Sawyer looked interested. “I could find out where he is now. They let me use a computer at the paper for research.”

  “I thought you worked for the paper.”

  He smiled in a half-embarrassed way. “I’m a free-lance photographer. I do a lot of work for the Independent, but I sell my stuff everywhere, especially to Internet sites that catalog clip art. That’s what I was doing when you called. I was in the darkroom.”

  “But I thought it was all digital now.”

  Shrugging, he nodded, took a big bite out of his blue-cheese and walnut coated hamburger. He looked like he didn’t give a single thought to a calorie. “Yes, mostly. I work on the computer too. But for the finest quality, for the work I show, I use film. The paper looks the other way and lets me use the darkroom for my own stuff.”

  “But what about all this stuff, exposing Jack Easton? That sounds like reporting.”

  Scowling, he stabbed at his own olive, missed. “That is a personal thing. I’m writing the article. The paper knows, and they said they would publish it if it was good enough.”

  He motioned to the waitress for the check. I felt disappointed the lunch was over. I said, “Could you help? Does the paper have access to certain databases? We could find out where Jeff Nash is now. Ivy thinks he is in SF.”

  Sawyer nodded, his mouth full of the last of his hamburger, and signed the chit. I left the tip. Still chewing, Sawyer got up and motioned for me to follow. The waitress waved at him as we left, but this time he ignored her.

  He led me to his car, opened the door for me. He had finally swallowed his food.

  I got in. “We going to the paper now?”

  “You bet. I have a friend there who can find anybody. I think we can track him down this afternoon.”