“I like my suits. They’re nice ones. I’m fussy about them,” he retorted.
“Yes, you are, but they’re not right for the beach,” Gavenia said, rising from the couch, hands on her hips.
“Bar fight, bar fight!” Seamus crowed.
“Don’t you start,” O’Fallon cautioned. The parrot edged toward Gavenia as if taking her side.
“See, even Seamus agrees. No suit,” she said.
When O’Fallon mumbled under his breath and retreated to the bedroom, Gavenia winked at the parrot and fed him another carrot.
When the Irish guy reappeared, Gavenia let loose a wolf whistle and delivered a thumbs-up. Seamus promptly duplicated the whistle with uncanny accuracy. She waved the PI into the center of the room and circled around him, nodding her approval.
Oh yeah, now that’s nice. O’Fallon’s broad chest worked wonders on the LAPD T-shirt, and the faded blue jeans filled out to good effect. The tan boat shoes were an added bonus. He looked good. Amazing what a change of wardrobe could do for a guy.
“Lookin’ hot, Mr. PI,” she said, and grinned.
“Lookin’ stupid,” he muttered. “I feel like a . . .” He struggled for a word.
“Like a normal person?”
“No, like a geek.”
“You don’t look like a geek. Besides, you’re not meeting a client; we’re dog hunting at the beach.”
“I might see someone I know,” he hedged.
“And they’ll be astounded how cool you look.”
He shook his head, a scowl on his face. After a couple more muttered words, he headed for the kitchen counter, scooping up his wallet and keys. “Did you talk to Alliford?”
“Nope. He’s sleeping it off. The maid said she’d have the key ready for me.”
“Good. Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Hey . . . in those blue jeans . . .” She waggled her eyebrows, and that earned her a sharp look.
“Get lucky, get lucky!” Seamus chimed in from his place on the sofa.
“You be quiet.” O’Fallon scooped him up and deposited him in his cage.
“Yo, baby! Nice buns!” the parrot shouted.
Gavenia leered from the door. “I couldn’t have said it better, Seamus.”
O’Fallon pointed toward the door. “Outside!” He turned the television to the shopping channel. “See if you like that all day, old buddy.” As he locked up, Seamus issued a series of piercing wolf whistles.
The negotiations continued when they reached the parking lot. Feeling testy, O’Fallon refused to allow the sugar junkie, as he’d dubbed her, to get behind the wheel of a car. He predicted dire results when the substance evaporated from her system, leaving her without a working brain.
“Well, I’m not driving to Malibu in a car that has a broken window,” Gavenia said, pointing to the duct-tape-and-cardboard substitute he’d fashioned for the Chevy.
He pointed at her car. “No back seat. If you’re okay with having the mutt sit on your lap all the way home...”
“Got it. Your car, you’re driving. Let’s cruise!”
Chapter Seventeen
O’Fallon watched as Gavenia crawled back into the car at the Allifords’. She was moving slower now. A long yawn followed.
“Sugar high winding down?” he asked with a knowing grin.
She nodded, buckling her seat belt. “It always does.”
“I, however, am in good shape.”
“Hurrah for you,” she said, yawning again.
He knew she’d not be with him for very much longer.
“Go ahead, take a nap. It’ll be a while until we get there.”
Gavenia cranked back the seat and tugged her light jacket around her shoulders, pushing her voluminous hair out of the way. In a very short time, she was asleep.
Lucky you. O’Fallon’s brain was in overdrive. Adam’s assault and the IAD sharks had ratcheted up his nerves. Part of his brain told him he shouldn’t be going to Malibu on some doggie hunt. Still, he’d heard the child’s ghost for himself, and if the witch was on the level, the kid needed to cross. Once that happened, O’Fallon could focus on Glass full-time.
Waiting at a stoplight, he glanced over at his passenger. She looked peaceful, as if sleep was the only respite she received. His mind skipped back to the tarot reading. He’d seen the terror in her eyes when she’d pulled that Entrapment card. What did that mean to her? If she’d created the tarot deck, then each card had to have significance. He made a mental note to do a bit more research into the witch’s past.
Then there were the Lovers card and the Bounty card. Did they mean what he thought, or was he trying to read something into them? Another look at the sleeping woman. Her hair draped around her like a golden cape, her soft breath making her full breasts rise and fall.
We have nothing in common. Except Seamus.
As he passed Castellammare on the Pacific Coast Highway, he nudged the witch back into wakefulness.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, feeling the appellation fit. He pointed toward the side pocket stuffed with maps. “Grab one of those and tell me how to get to this place.”
“Oh, Goddess, you have to be kidding. I’m directionally challenged.”
“You can’t read a map?” he asked in disbelief.
“I’m okay with maps, I’m just not really great with directions. Maybe I could drive and you could navigate.”
He was shaking his head before she finished.
“No way.” He pointed toward the map again. “Work it out.”
Muttering under her breath, Gavenia unfolded it, flipped it around a couple of times, and then asked, “Okay, which side is the ocean supposed to be on?”
“What?” he sputtered.
Gotcha. “Just kidding. I think you need to go about”—she did the math—“four more miles and turn . . .” She thought it through, staring at her hands. “Watch, I mean . . .”
“Watch?”
“Hey, give me a break. I can’t remember left from right, so I go by watch or bracelet,” she said, pointing to each in turn.
“What if you’re not wearing them?” O’Fallon asked, apparently intrigued by her mental acrobatics.
“Then I’m screwed.” She paused and added, “But I’m really good with up and down.”
“I’ll remember that if we’re ever in a submarine.”
When she laughed, he joined in. For a brief moment, the day seemed brighter.
Once O’Fallon made the required turn, Gavenia hunted around for Bart. She found him in the backseat wearing a set of wraparound sunglasses, jeans, and a T-shirt that said Whaddaya Mean This Isn’t Heaven? He had a folded beach towel on his lap and a tube of sunscreen.
“Over the top,” she said, without thinking. That earned her a puzzled look from O’Fallon. “Sorry, just regrouping my brains.”
“I warned you about all that sugar.”
If that were my only problem . . .
* * *
In her mind’s eye, Gavenia figured the beach house would be a two-bedroom affair with a broad porch facing the ocean, sort of an upscale cabin. Instead they were confronted with a large two-story house with a wraparound porch, hot tub, massive glass windows, and a broad expanse of beach.
“Some serious bucks here,” she muttered, leaning against the deck rail, gazing at the ocean. “You know, maybe I should start trading out my services for a few weekends at a place like this.”
“I doubt anyone would fault you,” O’Fallon remarked, taking his place next to her. He leaned forward, hands on the railing, almost relaxed. She wondered if he ever really let loose.
As another wave rolled in to shore, Gavenia took a deep breath, inhaling the heavy salt air. “It’s so beautiful here.”
“And quiet.”
“Yes.”
“Which isn’t good.”
“Pardon?” she asked. That didn’t make much sense.
“It means no Merlin.”
Gavenia groaned, je
rked back to reality like a puppy on a short leash.
“I’ll check out the house,” O’Fallon suggested, resuming his usual uptight posture. It seemed at odds with his casual clothes.
Gavenia wasn’t ready to return to the moment. “Give me a few minutes here. I’m . . . recharging.”
He chuckled and extended his palm. She dug in her purse and extracted the key and the security code.
“I could have hacked this,” he said, waving the paper in the air. “It’s Alliford’s birthday.”
She turned her attention to the call of the ocean as he marched around the side of the house. She heard a door open, a series of beeps, then silence.
Gavenia closed her eyes and took deep, cleansing breaths, allowing the sea air to flow into her lungs. She imagined the seabirds in the air over the water, wheeling in the wind with a freedom she envied. Sunlight rippled off their wings; their shrill cries filled the air. Beneath them the rumbling waves were a counterpoint, like the deep breaths.
When she opened her eyes, O’Fallon was back, standing quietly, respecting her moment of peace. Without thinking, she gave him a soft smile, and he returned it. In the sunlight he appeared years younger.
“I could live here,” he said, gazing toward the moving water. “But I like Ireland better.”
“I’ve never been there. Is it as beautiful as they say?”
His eyes returned to study her. “More.”
“Then I’ll go there someday.”
“I’d be happy to show you around. You could meet my gran. She’s an amazing old lady.”
Did he just invite you home to meet his grandmother? Bart chirped, grinning like a two-year-old.
Gavenia switched subjects. “So what did you find inside?”
For a second O’Fallon looked chagrined, as if he’d been caught shirking his duty.
She put her hand on his arm. “It’s okay to unwind every now and then. That’s why you retired, wasn’t it?”
He put on his cop face. “I found a dog’s bowl and some drug paraphernalia.”
“So Janet and Merlin were here.”
“Looks like it.”
“How long ago?”
“It’s been a while. The food in the bowl is rock hard.”
“Patience,” she whispered. He gave her a curious look. “The Patience card. Sometimes things don’t reveal themselves until the proper moment.”
She could see he understood. Probably part of his detective DNA. She swept her eyes the length of the deck and found Bart reclining on a chaise lounge at the far end, mellow to the extreme.
He delivered a knowing grin. I’d stay and enjoy the scenery. I hear the ocean is gorgeous at night.
The sunglasses flapped back down. End of conversation.
Gavenia announced her decision. “We’re staying, at least for the time being.”
O’Fallon’s mouth fell open. “Why?”
“Merlin is here, somewhere. I feel him. So we might as well enjoy the beach house, get some food, and”—she gestured toward the ocean—“watch the sunset.”
“I . . . uh . . .”
She scrutinized him, amused by his flustered behavior.
“You got a hot date?”
He frowned at the question. “How late are we going to stay?”
“As long as it takes.”
He processed that and then consulted his watch. “I have to make arrangements for Seamus,” he said, pulling his cell phone off the belt clip attached to his jeans. He walked farther down the deck and stopped just short of Bart’s chaise.
“I better call Ari, or I’m in deep trouble,” Gavenia said, digging in her purse for her own phone. Someone else was going to man the shelter’s sink tonight.
* * *
At the bottom of the stairs leading from the deck onto the beach, O’Fallon kicked off his deck shoes and rolled the legs of his jeans to his knees. Gavenia did the same, revealing two jagged white scars on her left calf. Her legs were pale, proving she wasn’t a sun bunny.
“Welsh skid marks,” she said, pointing at her calf.
He rolled the right leg of his jeans up a bit farther and pointed to a long white scar.
“We’re a matched set.”
“Bar fight with a midget?” she joked.
He shook his head. “Drunken stupidity. I got wasted after a girl dumped me, jumped on my motorcycle, and ran it off the road.”
“They nail you for DUI?” she asked.
“Nope, but it was the last straw for my gran. She shipped me to the States to live with my great-aunt.”
“How old were you?”
“Just seventeen.”
“Ugly lesson.”
“Most of ’em are.”
Three steps into the sand and Gavenia halted, wavering on her feet.
“This isn’t going to work,” she said. The cane was useless.
“You’re right. Give it to me and I’ll leave it on the deck.”
She shook her head instantly. “I can’t walk without it.”
“With my help you can.” She didn’t move, reminding O’Fallon of a doe blinded by an 18-wheeler’s headlights.
“Ah, I don’t know about this.” She wavered on her feet again.
He extended his hand, palm up. “Trust me.” Her brow furrowed. “We’re burning daylight here,” he urged.
The frown deepened, but she relinquished the cane—with great reluctance. By the time he returned to her side, she was edging forward in the sand like a toddler taking her first tentative steps. He slipped his left hand around her waist. She stiffened and then relaxed. They took a few cautious steps forward, hips bumping.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“I’d feel safer with the cane.” He gave her a hurt look and she shrugged in response.
“See, it works,” he said, pleased with the results as they matched strides. “You walk pretty well without that thing. Why do you use it?”
She abruptly halted, putting him off-balance. “I don’t see that’s any of your business.”
“Okay, it’s none of my business. Why do you use it?”
The frown returned. He pulled her back into place and they continued along the beach while he waited for an answer.
“Because it makes me feel safe.”
“Safe?”
“It just does.”
He felt there was more, but he wasn’t likely to hear it. After a quarter mile or so of tandem trudging, she stopped and rubbed her left thigh.
“Great exercise,” she said. “Hurts like hell.”
“Time to go back?” he asked.
She looked up the stretch of beach and hesitated.
“What are you sensing?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s all a jumble.”
While he waited for her to make a decision, O’Fallon stared at his pale feet. “I forgot how weird sand feels between your toes,” he admitted.
She laughed, mashing the stuff between her own toes. “So did I.”
“Why do we rush to become adults and then forget how to be kids?” he asked.
She looked up, blue eyes deep in thought. “Maybe because kids act on impulse, and adults think everything through.”
Testing the notion of acting on impulse, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her. To his surprise, she didn’t resist him.
“Then let’s vow to visit the beach every now and then,” he said as he pulled out of the embrace.
Her eyebrows rose. “Separately or together?”
“Either way.” He sucked in a lungful of air. “I feel so much . . . stronger here, like after a good night’s sleep.”
“You’re just getting in touch with Mother Nature.”
“Whatever it is, I like it.”
“Then do it more often, O’Fallon.”
He nodded. “You got a deal.”
They walked back toward the beach house, talking about inconsequential things. After only a short distance, Gavenia halted and looked over her shoulder as if try
ing to hear a faint sound on the wind.
“What is it?” he asked.
She listened a little longer. “Spirits,” she said.
“Are they playing on the beach?”
“No.” Her answer sent a shiver up his spine, and he hugged her closer.
* * *
They walked in silence for a time, listening to the birds. They passed two children building a sand castle with brightly colored spades.
“My gran’s psychic,” O’Fallon said.
Gavenia studied him with renewed interest. “In what way?”
“She knows things before they happen. Do you?”
“No. Just vague warnings about stuff, but nothing specific,” Gavenia said.
“I get those, too. Most of time I ignore them.”
Oh great, another one, Bart said as he trailed behind them, dragging his beach towel and kicking sand in the air like a bored child. O’Fallon’s Guardian hovered nearby, a pint-size ball of light. A Twinkle, as Bart called them. He claimed he couldn’t see them any better than she could.
“From my experience,” she said, “it’s best to listen to those little voices. I wouldn’t have played tag with that wall in Wales if I’d listened.”
“I saw the photo in the paper. I’m surprised you survived.”
“Aunt Lucy says I’m like a cat, that I have nine lives. That was life number two.”
He opened his mouth as if to ask what had cost life number one, but she shook her head.
“Don’t ask.”
He did anyway. “Does it have something to do with the Entrapment card?”
A tremor coursed through her.
He cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I won’t mention it again.”
“That would be best.”
He abruptly switched topics. “The beach house has one of those tropical-rainforest showers with all the jets and the fancy panel that lets you set the temperature.”
Gavenia looked up at him in wonder. “You cops don’t miss a thing.” She visualized what the shower might look like, tried to imagine how wonderful it would feel. Cascades of water, all at the perfect temperature. Heaven.
“Of course, I’ll need someone to wash my back,” O’Fallon added with a hint of mischief.