not supposed to let anyone see me, period.”
I decided this wasn’t the time to ask. “There are toiletries and things in the bathroom. Shampoo and soap and stuff.”
He glanced to the bathroom door. Mina’s robe hung on the hook—a bright red silk thing, long and embellished with tiny black flowers. At the sight of it, the first hint of emotion washed over his face, a tide of regret mixed with raw, ragged longing. It was gone in another instant, and when I tried to read his emotions, I came up blank yet again.
“Let me know if you need anything.” I tried to make the words encompass more than just shampoo. I didn’t know why he was here, but I was betting the story didn’t have a happy ending. He didn’t take the bait.
“I’ll do that,” he said.
All I could do was nod and leave him to unpack his enormous bag. I hoped there wasn’t a body in it.
* * *
Shane and I stayed the night at the B&B, in what used to be Shane’s room. Lionel had turned it into a guest room since he’d left, and it was almost unrecognizable—new sage green paint on the walls, new bed linens and photographs of swamp scenes above the fireplace. The antique bed was the same, though, and we fell into it gratefully. We were both exhausted, and anyway, we’d need to be here in the morning. Bruce would never forgive us if we made him explain the situation to Lionel alone.
Of course, Lionel knew something was going on the moment he woke up. The three of us were already in the kitchen making breakfast when he came down. He really did look like he was feeling poorly. He had a runny nose, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was also frowning. Lionel never frowned.
“I was going to let you sleep—” Bruce began, but Lionel cut him off.
“Who’s the young man in Mina’s old room and why does he feel so strange?”
Shane and I looked at each other.
“You-all can handle this one,” Bruce said, and turned back to the pancakes he was making.
“Have some coffee, Uncle Lionel.” Shane telekinetically sent a mug floating over.
“I don’t want coffee, I want to know what’s in Mina’s room.” He ignored the mug, which floated insistently in front of his face. Shane left it there for a few hopeful moments before resting it on the kitchen table. Lionel didn’t break his gaze with Shane once.
“Well,” I said, “Last year, I made this deal...”
I explained the arrangement I had with Susannah—I’d never told him the details. I shouldn’t have been surprised when Lionel took the whole thing in stride.
“All right, then. We’ll just have to bring him his meals.” Trust Lionel to think of the food first. He had some kind of compulsion about making sure people were fed.
Shane and I decided to wait until dark to go back to Diana’s house, and the wait was brutal. Shane made me promise not to go alone, or I would have been camped out in the bushes across the street. I made beds and dusted antique carved mantels in a state of distraction, staring at my phone in case Diana called. She didn’t.
It seemed to take forever for Shane to get home. When he walked into the B&B in his work clothes, carrying a plastic shopping bag from an electronics store, I went limp with disproportionate relief.
“Did you find everything you needed?” I asked him, following him upstairs to his old room.
“Think so.” He set the bag on the floor and unbuttoned his Charlie’s Auto Body work shirt. He wore a plain white T-shirt underneath, and I couldn’t help watching the way his muscles rippled as he shrugged off his button-up. “Did she call?”
“No. I’ve been going a little crazy.”
Shane sat on the bed to take off his boots. “I found out a little more about that house.” He pulled out his phone. “Current owner is Annette Perrin. She bought the place right after Katrina.”
“Really?” I sat down behind him and looked over his shoulder. “How did you find that out?”
“Real estate tracking sites. I got into them when I
I decided this wasn’t the time to ask. “There are toiletries and things in the bathroom. Shampoo and soap and stuff.”
He glanced to the bathroom door. Mina’s robe hung on the hook—a bright red silk thing, long and embellished with tiny black flowers. At the sight of it, the first hint of emotion washed over his face, a tide of regret mixed with raw, ragged longing. It was gone in another instant, and when I tried to read his emotions, I came up blank yet again.
“Let me know if you need anything.” I tried to make the words encompass more than just shampoo. I didn’t know why he was here, but I was betting the story didn’t have a happy ending. He didn’t take the bait.
“I’ll do that,” he said.
All I could do was nod and leave him to unpack his enormous bag. I hoped there wasn’t a body in it.
* * *
Shane and I stayed the night at the B&B, in what used to be Shane’s room. Lionel had turned it into a guest room since he’d left, and it was almost unrecognizable—new sage green paint on the walls, new bed linens and photographs of swamp scenes above the fireplace. The antique bed was the same, though, and we fell into it gratefully. We were both exhausted, and anyway, we’d need to be here in the morning. Bruce would never forgive us if we made him explain the situation to Lionel alone.
Of course, Lionel knew something was going on the moment he woke up. The three of us were already in the kitchen making breakfast when he came down. He really did look like he was feeling poorly. He had a runny nose, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was also frowning. Lionel never frowned.
“I was going to let you sleep—” Bruce began, but Lionel cut him off.
“Who’s the young man in Mina’s old room and why does he feel so strange?”
Shane and I looked at each other.
“You-all can handle this one,” Bruce said, and turned back to the pancakes he was making.
“Have some coffee, Uncle Lionel.” Shane telekinetically sent a mug floating over.
“I don’t want coffee, I want to know what’s in Mina’s room.” He ignored the mug, which floated insistently in front of his face. Shane left it there for a few hopeful moments before resting it on the kitchen table. Lionel didn’t break his gaze with Shane once.
“Well,” I said, “Last year, I made this deal...”
I explained the arrangement I had with Susannah—I’d never told him the details. I shouldn’t have been surprised when Lionel took the whole thing in stride.
“All right, then. We’ll just have to bring him his meals.” Trust Lionel to think of the food first. He had some kind of compulsion about making sure people were fed.
Shane and I decided to wait until dark to go back to Diana’s house, and the wait was brutal. Shane made me promise not to go alone, or I would have been camped out in the bushes across the street. I made beds and dusted antique carved mantels in a state of distraction, staring at my phone in case Diana called. She didn’t.
It seemed to take forever for Shane to get home. When he walked into the B&B in his work clothes, carrying a plastic shopping bag from an electronics store, I went limp with disproportionate relief.
“Did you find everything you needed?” I asked him, following him upstairs to his old room.
“Think so.” He set the bag on the floor and unbuttoned his Charlie’s Auto Body work shirt. He wore a plain white T-shirt underneath, and I couldn’t help watching the way his muscles rippled as he shrugged off his button-up. “Did she call?”
“No. I’ve been going a little crazy.”
Shane sat on the bed to take off his boots. “I found out a little more about that house.” He pulled out his phone. “Current owner is Annette Perrin. She bought the place right after Katrina.”
“Really?” I sat down behind him and looked over his shoulder. “How did you find that out?”
“Real estate tracking sites. I got into them when I
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