The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh - Страница 55
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conditioning. “Sweetness, you are having the works. My Christmas present to you. Or are
you Jewish? I can never remember. I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
“Just the cut and the manicure, really.”
“Maybe we should dye your lashes,” he mused.
“No. Really –” As I spoke, the manicurist, bent industriously over my fingers, sniffed
dolefully. A tear drop splashed hotly on my hand. I met Paolo’s gaze in the mirror. He said
cheerfully, “Don’t mind Jemma. She got dumped too.”
“Sorry, Jemma.”
She nodded without looking up.
“Just the cut,” I reiterated to Paolo.
He pouted. “You are so butch, sweetness.”
Oh, yeah. Watch out, Arnold, ’cause I’ll be back. With a great haircut and skin
smoother than a baby ’s butt.
Paolo reached to clip a stray hair, and I noticed his ring. A chunky silver ring with
what I first took to be a leaf design. A moment later, I realized it was the All-Seeing Eye.
“Are you into that stuff?” I inquired. “The occult?”
“Hmm?” He tilted his head, studied me. Snipped again. “Not actually. I used to know a
guy.”
“There’s a lot of that going around.”
He whacked me lightly with his comb, like a fan-wielding Regency debutante.
“Sex magick, sweetness. Very kinky.” He made a face. “Too kinky, actually. Peter was
one thing, but his friends…ultra creepy.”
“Peter? Peter Verlane?”
Paolo smiled an Oracle of Delphi smile. “Oh-ho, you know him.”
Talk about six degrees of separation.
“No. I’d like to.”
“Drop your shoulder. Better. He’s not your type, sweetness – although he did have a
thing for older guys.”
Older guys…
“I’m interested in the – er – the occult. That sex magick stuff.”
“No! Are you really?” He leaned his head and thoughtfully nibbled his comb. “I think I
still have his number. Tell you what. Let me try something new with the do, and I’ll give you
Peter’s number.”
* * * * *
It was around eight by the time I escaped from Paolo’s clutches. Still unready to face
the silence and solitude of home, sweet home, I decided to wander around the Paseo and
maybe get something to eat.
I wondered if Paolo would be able to put me in contact with Peter Verlane. I wondered
if he was the right Peter Verlane. How many occult-involved Peter Verlanes were there in
Los Angeles County? If Paolo did get me Peter’s number, would I act on it? Hadn’t I
convinced myself yesterday evening that hanging up my deerstalker would be my wisest
move?
The night air was scented with flowers and cooking. A group of carolers entertained a
crowd as I walked through the courtyard, past the apartment buildings and fountains and
boutiques decked out for the holidays.
Once again I had that weird feeling of being watched. I paused in front of one of the
shops, watching the reflections of people passing to and fro behind me, smiling and laughing,
toting their shopping bags. No one seemed to be paying me any attention.
I caught my own image in the window, momentarily startled. The change was subtle,
but definite. Not bad. Maybe that lavish tip hadn’t been too much after all.
I started walking again.
I wasn’t really hungry, and there was nothing I needed to buy. I settled for a cup of hot
cocoa and listening to the carolers finish off their evening’s performance with “Have
Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” It’s not that great a song for caroling, and I found the
message sort of depressing, although the crowd seemed to enjoy it.
I finished my cocoa, found my car, and drove back to Cloak and Dagger.
Pulling into my parking place, I waited a minute to make sure there was no one lurking
by the side entrance. Turned off the engine.
I got out, locked the car. As I went around to the side door, I felt a twinge of unease. I
glanced behind myself. Nada. I put my key in the lock, thinking that something didn’t feel
right. I turned the key and pushed the door open, stepping inside.
Behind me, I heard the scrape of a sole on asphalt. I spun around as someone
whispered, “Adrien…”
Angus stepped out of the shadows of the building.
Chapter Twenty
My heart paused. Paused. The feeble parking lot lights swirled, and I reached out for
the doorframe.
Bad timing.
“Adrien, it’s me,” a voice said from a long way off.
The ground tilted back the other way. I rested my cheek against the peeling paint,
breathed deeply of night air tasting of smog and trash, waiting for things to level out.
“Are you okay?”
I got control of myself. Opened my eyes. The continental plate seemed to have steadied
once more. Look, Ma, no hands! I nodded. “Great,” I managed. “What are you doing here?”
Angus hugged himself against the cold, his thin hands looking skeletal against the dark
flannel shirt. “They released me. My alibi held.”
“Why are you here?” I repeated.
His glasses winked blindly in the lights above the parking lot. “I need a place to stay.”
I stared, uncomprehending.
“I can’t go home. It’s a crime scene. My landlord won’t let me back anyway.”
“What about Wanda?”
He shook his head. “She’s staying at her parents. They don’t want me.” He swallowed.
“It’s over for us.”
Welcome to the Heartbreak Hotel. I could have shown more sympathy for a fellow
sufferer. I said, “There must be someone…”
“There’s no one I can trust. Only you.”
I wished I felt the same way.
Moving aside, I let him into the shop. He walked onto the main floor, staring around at
the tall shelves hungrily, as though he had been gone a million years.
I shut the side door, leaned back against it. I felt shaky, but otherwise okay – all things
considered. It occurred to me that I needed to get the locks changed.
As I stood there, clearly unsure of what to do next, he said pleadingly, “Can I crash
here?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“But why? You helped me before –”
“Angus….” I raked a hand through my beautiful new hair cut. “That was before I
realized that you were involved in murder.”
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