Legacy, page 24
The air smelled of flowers—he hadn’t been the only one to bring them—and new baby. Soft, creamy life.
New life, he thought again. Not his. And he found himself all right with that.
“Okay, pal?”
“Yes.” He turned his head and kissed her cheek. “Just fine.”
“Come on back. Want a Coke?”
“Oh yeah. It looks good in here, Pats. I mean it. It looks happy, and that makes it just fine.”
“We love the house. It has more than good bones. It has a good spirit. Bick just took Callie up to change her. Yes, we are those mothers, as it turns out. We wanted to put her in one of her ridiculously adorable dresses when you met her. How’re the kids, and everybody else?”
“Great. Excited to have a sleepover with Nana—‘When are you leaving, Dad?’ Maya’s on her last couple laps before we get another new baby. You guys really did the home birth thing?”
“We did, and I’m not ashamed to admit I was scared shitless.” She poured the Coke over ice. “But it went really smooth. Bick is a warrior. I get teary, sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“She just powered through it, and Sherri, our midwife, was awesome. And there she was, the most beautiful creature in the world, yelling, waving her fists like What the fuck is all this about?”
She poured a second glass, and they tapped them. “And here they come.”
Bick walked down the steps holding the bundle in a fussy pink dress with a matching hair wrap.
“I feel like we should have lights,” Bick said, “music, maybe a marching band. Let me introduce you to the newest wonder of the world, Callie Rose.”
She had that look newborns did, as if she’d just swum up from some mysterious world, big, almond-shaped eyes dominating a face the color of gold dust over chocolate. A perfectly carved pixie mouth and a button of a nose.
“Okay, she’s gorgeous. Good work, Bick.”
“Best I ever did. Want to hold her?”
“Damn right.”
He put the Coke aside to take the baby. And his heart melted. “I’ll always have candy, whatever your moms say. You can count on it.”
Callie stared at him, looked as though she might be interested. Then immediately spit up on his shirt.
“That takes me back.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Laughing, Bick whipped the burp cloth from her shoulder.
“We’re fine. We’re all fine here.”
“We can wash your shirt,” Pats told him. “We pretty much have laundry going around the clock now.”
“It’s fine,” he said again. “And you look terrific. And not just for somebody who gave birth a week ago.”
“We’re sleeping in snatches, my nipples are still in shock, and we’ve discovered a seven-pound human poops a half ton a day. It’s the best time of our lives. You brought us a dragon!”
“I brought Callie a dragon, and don’t forget it.”
He sat with her as Bick eased down, put up her feet.
She’d cut her hair into a Halle Berry sort of pixie and, to his eyes, looked nearly as adorable as her daughter.
“How’s your mom doing?” she asked him.
“She’s okay. It’s hard. Dom was a father to her. Having the kids today, tonight, it’s good all around.”
“Just one night?”
“Yeah, I’ll head back tomorrow. Mo’s got her spring dance recital this weekend. Maya’s coming to the finish line. I’m going by HQ later.” He stroked a finger down the baby’s cheek as he spoke. “Drop off some more work, catch up with everybody.”
“You know Cobalt Flame: Turn of the Demon’s killer, right? Thanks, babe,” she said as Pats brought her a glass of orange juice.
“Her evolving relationship with Angel adds the edge, and emotion. Plus, you know, battles. It’s all gotten me thinking more about the team forming we’ve talked about before.”
“Our superhero club.”
“Yeah, not just the crossovers we’ve done. The Front Guard.”
“The Front Guard.” Considering, Bick circled her foot. “Warlike. Sort of political. I like it. We’d need a story line that builds to it, bringing the characters we want as that core together. And we’d need the infrastructure. Where’s the HQ, what does it look like? You’re going to want a big, big bad to incentivize them to build that team, and keep it.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve got some notes, a few early sketches. I figured I’d go over them with Jonah, then we could tele-conference.”
“Bick, baby? Why don’t you go into the office with Raylan?” Pats held up her hand before Bick objected. “You know you want to. We’ve got plenty of milk in the freezer. You nursed her an hour ago, so you’re good there. Get out for a couple hours.”
“Really? You’re sure?”
“For a chance to have her all to myself? Yeah, I’m sure. Raylan can drive you there and back, it’s still too far for you to walk round trip. But we can take a nice stroll when you get back. Get Callie out in the fresh air. You go.”
“Two hours. That would be good. Two hours,” she repeated, and looked at her daughter. “I haven’t been away from her for two minutes. I’m not sure I should … No, I’m not going to be that mom. Am I? No.”
She breathed out. “Okay, let’s go to the madhouse and talk The Front Guard.”
He ended up staying two nights—thrilling his kids and his mother—as the brainstorming revved up. One of those evenings he spent eating pizza from the same takeout place he and Lorilee had used at their old dining room table while he and his partners hammered out plotlines or rejected them.
“Look, I like the visual of the big-ass cavern HQ.” Jonah took another bite of pizza, one loaded with meat. “The stalactites, stalagmites, the passages. But it clicks too close to the demi-demon members.”
“I hate when he’s got a point.” Bick picked up one of the sketches scattered over the table. “Because I love this giant, self-illuminating stone table.”
“Remote’s the important thing. No One’s still got the military gunning for him.”
“We could use a cave anyway,” Jonah speculated. “But not deep underground. Maybe carved into a mountain. The Andes?”
They batted that back and forth, with Jonah eating with one hand, sketching with the other. The baby woke with a squall.
“That’s the hungry one,” Bick said before Pats could rise. “I’ve got her. What about the Himalayas? It’s mysterious.”
She lifted Callie out of the bassinet, sat again to ease her shirt open and nurse.
“I don’t know why you’re pushing them into caves and caverns.” Pats shrugged. “I mean, it’s dark. And they’re always fighting dark forces. You could give them an island, some remote tropical island. Sunshine and beaches.”
For a full ten seconds, no one spoke.
“Sorry. You’re the experts.”
“No.” Raylan shook his head. “We’re all sitting here thinking: Why the hell didn’t we come up with that? The Front Guard Island.”
“Far off the shipping lanes,” Jonah continued. “Lush and untouched. Could No One make an island disappear—not show on satellite imagery, on flyovers?”
“I can work with that.”
“It rose out of the sea, back in the far mists of time.” Bick beamed at Pats. “I really love you right now. I want a waterfall.”
“And a volcano,” Raylan said. “We have to have a volcano. HQ should be glass. Clear. Like it’s not there.”
“Holy shit, I’m loving that—and you, too, Pats,” Jonah said as he started a new sketch.
A good, productive trip, Raylan thought as he drove under the covered bridge to Traveler’s Creek. With Flame’s debut novel going into full production, the bones of The Front Guard set, and his next No One adventure underway, work rolled right along.
Personally, he now knew he’d fully, finally accepted that the house in Brooklyn belonged to his friends, and could even celebrate the life they built there.
He’d have dinner at his mother’s—as she’d already informed him—hear all about their Nana-cation. Once he got the kids home, bathed, in bed, he’d go right back to work.
The ideas just popped and sizzled in his head.
Then he saw Adrian, moving at a steady run with her big dog across the road. The snug pants, the color of wild violets, stopped midcalf—he could actually see the cut of those leg muscles. The tank, fluid, opened in the back, flowing out while her hair, a mass of curls, did the same.
He felt that tug, that twist and pull. He didn’t feel as guilty this time, but winced with embarrassment as he nearly drove right past his mother’s house.
He made the abrupt turn into the driveway, and when he got out of the car, saw Adrian and the dog turn the corner toward home.
She intended to run home, then found herself detouring. She wasn’t quite ready for the quiet of home, so turned toward Teesha’s.
She noted Raylan’s car still wasn’t in the drive. The Creek grapevine had it he’d gone to New York for a day or two. She hadn’t seen him since her grandfather’s memorial.
So much going on.
She started toward Teesha’s door, then heard the shouts and laughter from the backyard, made another detour.
Phineas and Collin made good use of the backyard playset, both of them with flushed cheeks and bright hoodies, scrambling up the steps to hit the slide.
She opened the gate, unleashed Sadie.
The dog bounded straight to the kids, who bounded right back.
“Hi, Sadie. Hi!”
They all but fell on the dog.
“Hi, Adrian. Hi!”
“Hi, yourselves. What a nice Sunday, right? You guys want to play with Sadie awhile?”
“Mama says Sadie’s my surrogate dog—that means substitute—until Thaddeus is at least one year old. And then maybe we can get a puppy. That’s two hundred and eighteen more days.”
Only Phineas, she thought.
“Sadie loves being your surrogate dog. How’s your mom, Collin?”
“She’s having a girl. They don’t have a penis.”
“I’ve heard that. You’ll be a good big brother, like Phin is.”
“I guess. But he got a boy with a penis.”
“Well, I didn’t get to have either and be a big sister, so you’re both lucky. I’m going to go say hi to your mom, Phin.”
“She said for us to play outside because she was going to feed the baby and put him down for a nap. She feeds him milk out of her breasts. Boys can’t do that.”
“This has been an education.”
She went to the kitchen door, peeked in. Teesha, sitting at the counter, waved her in.
“I’m sitting down for the first time in too many hours to count. Baby’s asleep, boys are playing outside, Monroe’s making music.”
“So I hear.”
“And we’re ordering in for dinner because I said so. Help yourself to whatever.”
“Got my whatever.” She tapped her water bottle. “You look tired.”
“Teething. How quickly we forget. Your mom get off all right?”
“She did, just a couple of hours ago. It’s been … interesting.”
“Is the—should I call it a truce—holding? I mean I know she was in DC for a few days, but this is the longest I’ve known her to stay around here.”
“A new record. I wouldn’t call it a truce.” Adrian sat. “More like a new direction. And it is holding. She means it, she’s trying. And I wanted to tell you she’s agreed to the production. We’ve been making those tweaks, but we’ve got a go on it. I’ll email you everything if you want to start the ball rolling.”
“It needs to if you’re determined to do this by the second week in May.”
“I want it before graduation, so yeah.”
“I’ll get on it. You look tired, too.”
“Maybe a little. I met with the job boss this morning, with the inspector. I’m bringing Kayla in for design work, so we’ve been going over ideas in emails and texts. I know you and Jan have Rizzo’s in order, but I still need to keep involved. He’d expect that.”
“And let’s add what you’re leaving out. Did you meet with the PI?”
Adrian unhooked her water bottle, took a long drink. “Yeah, and she seems solid and smart. She actually thinks she may be able to trace this last card. It’s got a publisher. It’s not like the others.”
“And that’s another worry. He’s broken pattern again.”
“He wanted to kick me when I was down, so he did. But the PI—Rachael McNee—said that was a mistake. Before, no chance of tracing. Now there is. Maybe she’s right. Anyway, my mother wants to do this, and I want to let her.”
She looked out the big glass doors, smiled. “Sadie’s in heaven.”
“So are those boys. I love that Phin has a best pal. Big brains really need pals, and they can just be little assholes together.”
“Collin remains disappointed his new sibling won’t have a penis.”
“He mentions it often.”
“I’m sorry I’m going to miss seeing Phin’s penis-bearing sibling, but I should get going.”
“You could stay, get in on the takeout.”
“I would, but I need to rechoreograph a couple of things.”
“You gonna be all right, alone?”
“Yeah, the house is home. And I’ve got Sadie.”
“If you change your mind, just come back. And don’t worry about the rest. I’ll get the setup started, nail down the dates.”
Adrian rose. “So, Raylan’s not back yet?”
“Maya said he was due for family dinner tonight.” Teesha leaned back in her stool. “Why don’t you make a move there?”
“What?” She literally jerked back. “Raylan? No. That’s just … weird.”
“Why? He’s seriously cute, he’s definitely not an ax-murdering rapist drug addict psycho. He’s single.”
“I’m friends with his sister, I’m now his mother’s employer. I knew his wife. I really liked his wife. He still wears his wedding ring. And, on top of all that, it’s been awhile since I made any moves. I’m pretty sure I’m rusty.”
“You dated that guy a couple of times last fall.”
“Wayne? Twice, and he made the move, I just went with it. And nothing clicked. You need that click.”
She paused, sighed. Then puffed out a breath. “I miss sex, I won’t lie, but not enough to make moves on a friend, or go on clickless dates.”
She rehooked her water bottle. “Maybe you could lend me Monroe, just for a couple hours.”
“He is good at it. But no. Find your own man.”
“Maybe later. Kiss that baby for me. I’m taking myself and Phin’s surrogate dog home.”
Teesha laughed. “He told you that one? I had to come up with it, as he started giving me statistics on canine pets for children. I’m not going to housebreak a puppy with a not-quite five-year-old and a teething baby.”
“No shame in that. I’ll send you the finalized agenda and itinerary.”
Teesha got up to walk to the door, then called out, “You know, Monroe and I were friends first.”
“For what?” Adrian called back. “Five minutes?”
“Eight. We made it to eight minutes. Think about it.”
Adrian merely waved, hooked Sadie up to the leash, then ran off.
At the end of the following week, with April struggling to bloom in the quick breaks between chilly rain and cold nights, Rachael McNee sat with Adrian in the living room.
Rachael, a sturdily built woman in her forties, drank her coffee black and wore a navy turtleneck with a stone-gray suit.
The former cop, with her short, straight hair the same color as the suit, looked more like a kindly librarian than a PI with her own agency.
Which might have been why Adrian felt comfortable with her.
“I didn’t expect you to report back so soon.”
“I’ve got a written report for you, but I thought you’d like to hear the progress face-to-face.”
“I didn’t expect any progress this quickly either.”
“You’ve dealt with this a long time,” Rachael said, sympathy apparent, “without any. But up to now, your stalker’s used cheap white bond, cheap white envelopes, and easily obtainable American flag postage. He’s smart enough not to lick the seal of the envelope. He block prints by hand, so the printing can’t be traced to any particular computer software, typewriter.”
“And writing the poems by hand’s more personal.”
Rachael quirked up an eyebrow, nodded. “Yes. Always the same kind of ink—inexpensive ballpoint pen ink. I believe he uses the same brand of pen. He’s a creature of habit. This time, he broke the habit.”
“You were able to trace the card?”
“I was. So will the FBI agent assigned to your case, when she’s able to get to it. Right now, you’re my only client—your mother made that requirement clear.”
“She has that way.”
“She does. What I’m saying is I could pursue this new communication right away. And exploit his mistake. He could have chosen a widely distributed card published by a large publisher. Instead, he went cheap and narrow.”
“Narrow?”
“Cat Club Cards. That’s a one-woman operation in Silver Spring, Maryland, and one that only started publishing and marketing the cards February eighteenth of this year. It’s a shoestring operation, Ms. Rizzo.”
“Adrian.”
“Adrian. She works out of her home, taking photographs of her cats—she has six. Her husband helps now and then, she tells me.”
“She sold him the card?”
“No. She doesn’t sell out of her home—or didn’t until she got a website up, started selling online. But she only got that going last week. Her sister manages a card and stationery store in Georgetown, and stocked a supply of the cards. On February eighteenth. And Mrs. Linney—the cat card lady—talked her cards into three other venues over the next two weeks. One in downtown Silver Spring, a place she regularly shops, shelved the cards on the twenty-third. And two pop-up shops—one in Bethesda, Maryland, one in Northwest DC—shelved them on March second.”
