Bijou Read online

  Across the street stood the offices of Vineyard Realty, closed at the moment. As soon as I saw the place I found myself heading straight for it, but with lights off, door locked, a plastic clock-sign: be back at 1:30, I found no one there. Whoever kept the office open, they were late. I looked at my watch for the hundredth time; it was after 3pm.

  A forlorn loneliness threatened to swallow me, a feeling banished years ago. But seeing Jonah again invited it back, and it sat like an uneasy but eager guest across from me in the Starbucks. Not a person who found striking up conversation with strangers in a cafe an easy task, I clasped my coffee in two hands and looked at my cell phone, where I had entered the number I found in the phone book.

  The winter before graduation I stopped talking to Sawyer. A cold, rainy morning on a weekend, showers cycling through the valley, the grassy hills gone green. Sun glinted on the creek behind Sawyer’s house; tumbling murky fast water, a creek dried to nothing in summer.

  I had known something was wrong for weeks. Broken dates, postponements, no answer to my phone calls. Mae and I were nervous; we’d both had a rocky Christmas holiday. Dad was out of sorts, worried about Ivy, who had left her first husband, and I knew he fretted about work, although at first I didn’t know why.

  That winter it was all made clear. I parked my beater car in front of Sawyer’s house, an older, nicer neighborhood of Quantum City, heavy with shrubs and trees, winding streets, oversized lawns. Parked in his driveway was a car I had seen at school before—a sporty thing, red and low and nasty-looking, like a scorpion. I knew whose car it was—Dominique Cantini was back.

  When school resumed after the Christmas break, there she sat in my Civics class, polished-black hair longer than I had ever seen it, skin blemish-free and the color of an arctic fox. Boys stared at her breasts, big enough, I thought, to be fake. But she could have filled out. I hadn’t seen her in three years. Sawyer too, couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  I would see them walking together. Although Sawyer ate with us, swam with us, drove to the mall with us, hiked the hills with us, he spent the rest of his free time with her.

  It was tough for both Mae and me. Dominique and Mae were neighbors when Dominique and her father Joseph Cantini came to town, Joseph a lab scientist, Dominique a precocious 13 year old. She and Mae struck up a sort of friendship. I suppose I was jealous of their friendship then, too, just as I fumed in my car in front of Sawyer’s house.

  But Dominique was not an easy friend, and after the baby Justin died, Dominique dropped Mae as if she were a stinging nettle. Then she and Joseph were gone, Joseph transferring to Berkeley, the Cantini’s brief visit a blip on the quiet time line of Quantum City.

  When Joseph Cantini resumed his post at the Rad Lab, bringing the alluring Dominique with him, the Novak world was knocked out of orbit for a time. I saw her scoop up Sawyer and carry him around in her paw, the arctic fox, and Dad grew jittery about his job as chief scientist, for Joseph Cantini wanted it.

  When I saw Sawyer’s car slide into a parking space across the street, I wondered what I thought I was doing. A discourteous part of my soul still condemned him for betraying me. But then, what had he betrayed? He didn’t know I was in love with him then.

  And now, here he was, right where I wanted him. What was Sawyer doing here—I hadn’t called him through a portal, or sent a thought his way that I was here. None of that shit worked anyway. Without thinking, I moved out of sight, watching, not ready for him to see me, unless, of course, he was coming for a latte and would walk right into the cafe.

  But instead he got out of his car and stared for a moment at Vineyard Realty. Then, looking first right and then left, circled the car and kind of darted to the front door and tried the handle.

  Curious, my body took over with an impetuosity I normally did not feel, and I jumped out of my chair, chugged down the last of the triple shot, and left.

  Outside the sun was gasping hot—it must have been over 90° in the middle of First Street. Running across, avoiding a stream of cars, I stopped next to Sawyer’s car.

  Taking a few steps back, Sawyer stared at the building. Again, he checked to the right and left of him, as if he were afraid of being seen. But what could he be afraid of here, on a busy street, as a citizen standing before a closed shop? A crazy idea came to me about what Sawyer might be doing, wondering if he had given up a particular enjoyment of his.

  “Sawyer, how nice to see you!” Darting around the car, I came up behind him. I saw him jump and whirl, his eyes wide, then they narrowed, and the dimply soft grin of his reappeared.

  “Annie!” He sounded breathless. Taking my arm, he sort of pushed and pulled me to his car. “Let’s go for a ride. I called you today. Did you get my message?”

  The car beeped its unlocking magic and I climbed into the passenger side. Leather seats, a navigation system. It smelled like pumpkin pie.

  “I talked to Bruce.” Still smiling, he started the motor, but I could still see a jerky uneasiness in his movements, as he looked over his shoulder as he pulled out. “He probably didn’t give you the message.”

  “Well, I haven’t exactly been home much today.” The BMW zipped down the street, turned a corner with a mild squeal, nearly ran down two teen-aged girls jaywalking, and sort of hurtled through town. “What are you doing downtown? I’m so glad I saw you.”

  I saw you. And I wonder what the hell you are up to. “Hey, Sawyer, you seem kind of nervous. Maybe you should slow down a little.”

  “Yeah, OK. Sorry.” As he inserted the BMW into a small parking spot, I saw we had parked in front of the old Carnegie Library. I winced, remembering. Hadn’t there been a portal here once? Closed up a long time ago?

  “Let’s go sit under the tree. We have a lot of catching up to do.” He was out of the car before I could protest, opened the door for me like a coachman in an old movie, and I followed him up the walk, past the fountain and the worn library steps. He turned abruptly to his left and led me to a bench encased in oleanders—a poisonous flower—but concealed from most views of the street.

  “Sawyer, what is it? You’re acting like the Man from UNCLE.”

  He gave me a sheepish look, one I knew so well, always after he confessed to us about what house or business he had broken into.

  Giving me a sideways glance, he said, “No, I don’t do that sort of thing any more.”

  Disappointed, I nodded, but it wasn’t the answer I wanted. Waiting, I glanced at his left hand, looking for the ring, hoping it wasn’t there. It was. Damn.

  Sawyer pushed thick fingers through sandy hair. “But I will tell you why I was nervous. Jack Easton took out a restraining order against me. I’m not supposed to be seen within 50 yards of him or any of his properties.”

  This was interesting news. How did the sweet, hapless Sawyer piss off Ivy’s ex-husband? I gave him my best, shocked, interested look.

  Sighing, he leaned his elbows on his knees. “I do some free-lance reporting for the Quantum City Herald, and the Valley Times. I wrote pieces about him buying up all this property around here. I have evidence that he bribed one of the city council members, but the council got the sheriff’s office to sanction me. I guess I was badgering the asshole a lot, but Annie, he’s going to destroy this valley, put up developments everywhere, bypassing environmental regulations, avoiding infrastructure expansion.” He shook his head. “If the sheriff catches me near the Realty he would arrest me. I’ve been warned.”

  “But what where you doing there, then?” I needed him on my side, for when I asked him to help me, I knew he would resist. It was a crazy idea.

  He gave me a sideways look, hazel eyes ringed with worry. “I know he has files in there. I was just sort of hoping . . .” When he didn’t finish, I did for him.

  “You were casing it, weren’t you? Trying to figure out how you could break in?”

  Rubbing his face, where a faint stubble dusted his chin, he shrugged. “I don’t do that sort of thing any more.”

&n
bsp; “Sounds like you are trying to convince yourself of that.” Even under the oaks, the air baked. Sweat dampened my armpits; even in my tank-top and shorts, I was turning into a roast. Oh, for the air conditioning of Starbucks. Or Sawyer’s nice car. I wiped my forehead. “But you are willing to take the chance, to right a wrong. I admire that, Sawyer.”

  His eyes stayed on mine. Self-conscious, I forced myself to keep gazing at him. “I like your hair that short, Annie. It’s really sexy.”

  My eyebrows went up at that, and he laughed. I wondered if Dominique thought his eyes were as pretty as I did.

  “How come you took off like that, before graduation?” Sawyer looked at his hands, prayer-like hanging off his knees. “I tried to find you. I tried to get in touch with you, but you were way, way gone.”

  Wasn’t it even hotter now? The oleanders sweating, the trees panting. In a nearby pine tree, the birds were too hot to move.

  On Third Street, cars hissed past. The air smelled of melting tar and roasting pine nuts. The pattern of a mottled vine, curling along the path at my feet, took on a sharp relief. I could see every variation in color, outlined one against the other. Something brushed my cheek; a falling pine needle, a breath of wind? Or the finger of a wraith floating past, reaching out to me. My thoughts zeroed in on Zoe again, and fear amplified in the sultry air around me.

  “Sawyer, I need your help.” My voice was desperate, despite my self-imposed attempt to be calm and business-like, but it worked. His hand found mine. How much to tell him without sounding deranged?

  So I explained, leaving out details about Mae’s ghost and her three tasks. He listened, keeping my hand in his, as I told him I how I wanted to break into my old home, get past the crazy squatters, and find an old diary of Mae’s that might be there. The sun floated hotly in the sky and a breeze kicked up, stirring the oleanders, as if hell was giving a big sigh of relief.

  But when I got to the part about another Mae Worthington journal coming to light, his hand slid away. Anger hardened his eyes.

  “You’re not going to publish it, are you, give it to Meredith to post on her blog and spread this nightmare death obsession around?”

  “As a matter of fact,” I said, stung that he would think me capable of doing such a thing to my dead friend, “What’s in that diary may put a cork in that FOD, stop it dead in its tracks, so to speak.”

  Anger still mottled his face, but he nodded. “That would be a good thing. Annie, I’ve tried everything with Agnes, outside of locking her in the basement or sending her up in the space shuttle, to get her to let go of this thing.” Looking away, he leaned back, straightened his legs, stuck his hands in his pocket. “I can’t help thinking this all has something to do with your nephew. I’m sorry, Annie, but you know your family has always been strange, obsessed with death and dying. And your sister Ivy. She is a real weirdo.”

  I knew what he said was true, but it stung me. She was my sister, well, half-sister, but I had grown up with her as my mentor for how to do bad shit and get away with it. Not that I did bad shit, but I was about to do bad shit, and I didn’t want to do it alone.

  Silence engulfed us again. I worried for my daughter, Sawyer worried for his. I wondered if Agnes/Libra looked like Dominique. If so, he had reason to worry.

  “So, will you go with me tonight?”

  “Tonight?” Sitting up, Sawyer looked at me. A smile hooked the corner of his mouth.

  Wraiths shifted around us. Their soft forms brushed my skin. Their constant presence and attention was almost suffocating. Why where they here? Why so many? I shivered as I waited for Sawyer’s answer, and my invisible companions did too.

  Chapter Six

  Premature Burial

  We parked down the block. A shadow overlay the house, night sky straining to show stars, cold air flowing down empty hills. Quantum City stepped back, allowed ghosts to set the stage. While we waited, I watched specters drift in and out of light and dark. It worried me, gnawed at me, the presence of so many restless dead. A thousand possibilities passed through my mind, each of them unsettling.

  Tense and quiet beside me, Sawyer sat motionless. He had met me at Ivy’s and we took my car to the old house, something less noticeable in this modest neighborhood than a BMW, and less conspicuous than Ivy’s mustard-colored Pacer, which everyone around town recognized.

  I asked Sawyer about Hollis as we neared my house. He hesitated as if choosing his words, but told me Hollis denied aging as one might claim the devil didn’t exist. Never married, a party-guy, moved away for a time; Sawyer got calls from New York City, Amsterdam, Bangkok Then a few years ago he was back, buzzing around town on his Harley, a joke among the young girls he tried to impress, rumors of dope dealing, which Sawyer didn’t believe. He thought Hollis inherited money from someone, bought a small house, lived on a small income doing odd construction jobs.

  Silence fell after he laid Hollis’s life bare to me, and Sawyer and Hollis had drifted apart. He wouldn’t say why, and now stared through the wind shield, a band of streetlight lighting his mouth, tense and unsmiling, his eyes in shadow.

  My face warmed as I recalled my reaction to his agreeing to my harebrained plan to break into my old house. I had planted my lips on his cheek, dusted off shorts that didn’t need dusting, and pretended it hadn’t happened. I wondered what he told Dominique about where he was going tonight.

  For myself, I had taken a long nap, knowing my night shift spent burgling would keep me up all night. I had a late supper with Ivy and Zoe—Bruce was out somewhere with Agnes. We enjoyed spaghetti and garlic bread, and for the first time food tasted good to me. The thought of seeing Sawyer, of going out with him tonight, relieved of having to use one of the portals, freshened my heart. I believed I could accomplish these tasks set before me. It would be a snap.

  Ivy scowled at me when I told her she had to make Bruce stop seeing Agnes. She bitterly complained she had been trying but nothing worked. And I abandoned my plan to ask her more about Bijou, if she really thought someone was stealing souls from the dying at an alarming rate. I could tell by the look on her face I would only get sarcasm.

  Looking at his watch, Sawyer laid his hand on the door handle and glanced at me. I nodded, and we both got out of the car. Just after 1am, time for Mark and Maddy to crash from their meth high, smoke a bong, fall asleep. If they were there. I hoped they had vacated the place after my conversation with a ghost in the side yard, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.

  Not a soul showed on the quiet street—houses were dark, tucked up for sleep. In case we were seen by any local insomniacs, we closed on the house along the sidewalk, hand in hand.

  Street light filtered through the pepper trees and onto the porch. Even with the screen of branches, it was too exposed. Our plan was to go through the back door to the kitchen.

  Crickets droned around us along with the occasional blast of an air brake in the pass. Oleanders perfumed the night, mixed with perpetual baking bread smell of the hot dying grassland.

  We were silent in running shoes, t-shirts and jeans—Sawyer carried only a screwdriver tucked in the back of his jeans and a credit card in his pocket. Without a noise we took the path behind the garage I had used earlier, and entered a side yard pleasantly shaded by night and darkness. No moon tonight.

  I was to wait in the back yard, positioned where I could see through the side yard to the street, in case a cop cruised past. Noiselessly Sawyer went up the steps and stopped before the kitchen door, listening.

  Silence. Either Maddy and Mark the squatters were gone, or they were asleep. Sawyer crept to the kitchen window and looked in. He looked in so long I worried that he had seen something he didn’t like.

  But he was making sure. My heart thundered as I stood in a deep shadow, looking at Sawyer, then the slim view I had of the street. When I looked back at Sawyer he was gone.

  I gasped. Had he left? Been frightened away? Abandoning my post I crept up the steps to see the kitchen door ajar a
nd a dim shape moving through the kitchen. He was already in the house. I hadn’t heard a thing. God, he was good.

  As I went down the steps, I saw a globe gentling bobbing near the rear wall where deep shadow hung, born from the bright lamps of the housing tract behind. A spirit light. Someone was watching, letting me know it was near. But I couldn’t contact it now. It would be too distracting. Besides, my amorphous friend was likely sent by Mae, letting me know she was following my every move.

  Instead I crossed the yard to stand next to the oleanders, straining to hear the merest noise, see any movement other than those lurking in the dark places of the night.

  My skin moistened, and all I could hear was my unsteady breathing. I hoped Sawyer would have luck finding the diary in the attic. I’d had no idea where to tell him to look—likely nothing was left up there, so it would have to be tucked in some cranny, slid behind the trim. Why would she hide it here of all places? I hadn’t asked her that, only knew the attic was the most likely place, as we had played war and treasure-hunt up there as children. Nor had I asked how she got in here, since the house hadn’t been in Novak possession for years.

  Wondering this, I felt a sudden change in the air, like a hand pushing me, followed by a cold breath on my neck. Just as this happened, I turned toward the back porch, heard a shout come from the room above me, running footsteps.

  I bolted for the kitchen porch, expecting to meet Sawyer running out, but no one exited. The house remained in shadow, but I heard panicked whispering voices, and thumps and rustling.

  I could see nothing inside. Someone moved into view in the far kitchen door, holding something that might be a silver flashlight. Or a silver pistol. Too small to be Sawyer, a petite shape. Maddy? She has the gun. Back-peddling off the porch, I jumped to the ground, pelted to the side yard and stopped.